King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth)

by Coney, Michael G.

  “Yes, frightened! We’re all frightened, cowering here in Dream Earth because we don’t have the guts to go out into the wind and the rain and live like real people. Frightened to get out and compete against one another, to till the soil and earn a living by honest work. Frightened of the heat and the cold against our soft bodies. Frightened of pain, of childbirth, of death. And encouraged in this fear by the robots that Nyneve calls the Tin Mothers. It’s not our fault; they are a powerful enemy and they caught the human race at a vulnerable moment.

  “The Tin Mothers are like a vise, crushing the human spirit. They are like a pillow suffocating human endeavor. When they came to real Earth, we let them conquer us without raising so much as a sword against them. But now, here in Camelot, we’ve shown ourselves what can be done, when we have the will to do it. The Tin Mothers saw the danger to themselves, and look what they did! Camelot was beautiful, so they tried to destroy it. It was exciting, so they tried to suppress it. But this time they met their match. The spirit of Camelot was too strong for them—too human for them. So we beat them. They were defeated in this last stronghold of the human race.

  “But they still rule real Earth! They still walk the lanes and the moors, discouraging people from adventure, wrapping them in protective cocoons. They’re out in real Earth, thousands of them, and now they’ve shown their true colors. They’ve realized they can’t keep you locked in Dream Earth forever, so they’re plotting to destroy you!”

  There was a murmur of alarm from his audience. “I know!” shouted Arthur. “I’ve just arrived from real Earth myself! The Tin Mothers plan to drain all the power from the dome! You know what that means. Your minds will die. True, your bodies will survive, but they will be zombies with no free will, obedient to the commands of the Tin Mothers. Your minds—the real you—will be snuffed out here in Dream Earth like candles at bedtime!”

  “What can we do?” someone yelled. “Tell us what to do, Arthur!”

  “There’s only one thing to do,” Arthur shouted back. “It just takes a little determination, that’s all. Reincorporate! Get out into the real world, smash the Tin Mothers, and build a new Camelot, one that will endure forever! Reincorporate!”

  Nyneve lay down on the grass and closed her eyes.

  She thought, she wished. Reincorporate. …

  She opened her eyes to find herself back in the vast hibernation chamber of the dome. A great dark blur hovered over her like a thundercloud. She blinked and focused. The cloud became a Tin Mother. As she wondered drowsily what it was doing, it raised a knife and shouted words that made no sense at all.

  “There are times when a small unit in possession of all the facts is a more appropriate decision maker than the greatest of computers!”

  “What?” she said.

  The Tin Mother had apparently made its point. It plunged the knife toward her heart.

  Nyneve reacted sluggishly, rolling aside. It was probably this slowness that saved her life, because it did not give the Tin Mother time for a second try. The knife grazed her back and thudded onto the shelf. The Tin Mother, caught off-balance, grabbed at the shelf to save itself. The shelf swung away. The Tin Mother, fingers scrabbling at the smooth surface, fell between the shelf and the catwalk, crashed to the railing of the next catwalk below, bounced off it, and fell through level after level of the chamber until all sounds ceased.

  Nyneve found strong hands steadying her shelf. Eyes stared at her anxiously. Beside her was the nose of the Miggot of One. Incredibly, there were tears in the eyes of that irascible little gnome.

  “Oh, Nyneve,” said the Miggot, “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

  All around them, the dreamers began to stir.

  21

  STARQUIN LIVES!

  THE SUN WAS A CRIMSON MEMORY IN THE WEST AND blackness was slipping in from the east, but the upper curve of the dome still gleamed. Rosy clouds brushed its surface, and the moor glowed with a pink reflected light. Fang and the Princess watched the day end from their perch atop Pen-tor.

  “I’m so cold,” said the Princess. “And hungry. Do you suppose the Miggot got through, Fang?”

  “Of course he did.”

  “Unless the Tin Mothers stopped him.”

  “He would have ordered them out of the way. The Miggot stands no nonsense.”

  “Let’s huddle together a bit closer, Fang. For mutual warmth. In a way,” said the Princess, “it’s quite exciting to be looked on as breeding stock. Don’t you think so, Fang?”

  “As long as they keep looking on us that way. It won’t take them forever to find the bat. And once they do, they’ll have breeding stock to spare.”

  “But not such enthusiastic breeding stock,” said the Princess hopefully, cuddling close. “Shall I tell them I’m pregnant?”

  “Not unless we have to. … What are you doing, Princess?”

  “Well, we have to do something, and this is the best thing I can think of. Besides,” she said sadly, “it might be the last time.”

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” said Fang. “Nyneve will be here soon, and she’ll put things right. But just in case …” He began to fumble with his clothes.

  And so the gnomes consoled themselves while the converter aimed its destructive network of filaments at them, and the Tin Mothers scrutinized the greataway. Nothing had happened all afternoon. Most of the Tin Mothers were immobile, conserving power. The penetrating hum of the converter was constantly in the ears of the gnomes.

  Later the Princess said, “Something’s happened.”

  The Tin Mothers began to move again, as one, like a battalion given a command. The hum of the converter deepened. Two Mothers detached themselves from the group around the giant machine and began to pace toward the Rock.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” said Fang.

  “I’m scared, Fang.”

  “That makes two of us. Hold my hand, Princess.” They crept to the edge of the rock, keeping the approaching robots in view. “What are the bastards up to now?”

  The Tin Mothers halted, looking up. “Come down!” one called.

  The gnomes did not answer. They had been through this before.

  “Very well. We shall come up and get you. We have considered the matter at some length and have decided that we are justified in using force.”

  “But we are your masters!” shouted the Princess. “And mistresses!” she added as an afterthought, with some vague notion that it might strengthen their case.

  “That is true,” replied the Tin Mother, beginning to climb. “It is because we hold you in such high regard that we are taking this unprecedented step. Your value as breeding stock has been reduced to near zero since we located your organic ship six minutes ago. However, it is not in our power to destroy even two kikihuahuas. We will try to avoid damaging you as we remove you from danger.”

  “Suppose we jump?” asked Fang, moving to the very brink of the drop.

  “That would be a pointless thing to do,” said the Mother, gaining the summit and advancing toward them. “But we will not deny you the right.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” said Fang desperately. “I meant if we jump, you will be responsible for killing us. How can you justify that?”

  “We do not understand your logic,” said the Mother, grasping him by the arm. The other Mother, following up, took hold of the Princess. “But it is no longer a point worth debating.” Picking the gnomes up, the robots carried them back across the summit of Pentor.

  “We tried, Princess,” said Fang.

  “There was nothing more we could have done, was there?” The Princess was crying.

  “I expect there were all kinds of things on all kinds of happentracks. But we’re not like Nyneve. We don’t know how it’s all going to work out. Don’t cry, Princess. It’s not our fault.”

  “I just keep thinking of Nyneve dying in that dome.”

  But Fang was staring north.

  “I don’t think she’s going to die in t
here,” he said, a sudden exultation in his voice. “I think she’s done what she set out to do. Look, Princess!” High in the Mother’s arms, he could see over the rim of the moor.

  Advancing through the twilight toward Pentor came an immense body of people. They surged across the valley, out of sight of the Tin Mothers around the converter but clearly visible from the top of the rock. They all wore white like avenging angels, although the mundane fact was that white robes were standard dome issue for ambulatory inmates. However, it was an inspiring sight, and the gnomes quickly drew the Mothers’ attention to it.

  “They’re coming to get you, you bastards,” said Fang.

  The robots considered the oncoming hordes and communicated with their fellows. After a moment of frozen immobility, one of them spoke.

  “It seems more likely that they have come to witness the conversion. Humans enjoy a spectacle.”

  In the distance, the multitude reached a sentinel Mother and flowed over it as though it did not exist. Fang’s Mother said, “They attacked that savior. Communication ceased almost instantly. Please explain that, Fang.”

  “I told you. They’re going to get every last one of you.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ve outlived your usefulness on Earth,” said Fang.

  The main body of people moved toward the converter. A small group broke off, running toward Pentor. Their shouts carried clearly to the top of the rock against the background roar of ten thousand voices.

  “Fang! Hold on!”

  “We will save both kikihuahuas and the humans,” said the Tin Mother, “at the expense of the few.” The hum stopped and the filament glowed suddenly white, lighting up the moor and reflecting from the Mothers like actors on a floodlit stage.

  The rock began to hum. Fang saw Nyneve and Arthur arrive at the base, glancing up at them. Nyneve flung herself against the smaller part of Pentor known as the Moon Rock, pressing the palms of her hands to the indentations while Arthur began to climb. The rock began to vibrate with a deep resonance that passed through the Tin Mother’s body to Fang, shaking him to his very cells. He felt, rather than saw, a ribbon of force extending into the sky and away into some unknowable corner of the greataway. He felt a surge of joy and love that transcended his terror. It was a total love, extending from that instant into his past and future, so that he would never be the same gnome again.

  Arthur came scrambling over the lip of the rock. “Turn that thing off!” he shouted.

  “Too late,” said the Mother.

  There was a sound like the cracking of a gigantic whip. Afterward Fang found it difficult to describe exactly what he’d seen. It seemed that a bolt of light shot from the converter toward the rock. Just as he closed his eyes he caught an image of Arthur facing the converter, Excalibur held high. He heard a clashing, metallic reverberation. The Mother trembled as the rock shook beneath its feet. A sulfurous whiff caught at his nostrils. As he opened his eyes, smoke was drifting away on the breeze.

  “What happened?” he asked shakily.

  Arthur was still standing there. Excalibur glowed with unimaginable heat.

  Nyneve came crawling onto the top of the rock and collapsed there, pale, shaking, yet smiling. “It’s all right now,” she said. “Starquin’s passed through. He’s safe. Thank you, Arthur.” She caught sight of the gnomes, still in the grasp of the Mothers. “Starquin thanks you, too, Fang. And you, Princess. I’m sorry I took longer than expected in the dome, but I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  Arthur was regarding her curiously, Excalibur still at the ready. “What was it like, helping Starquin on his way?”

  She chuckled. “Like nothing on Earth. Even you couldn’t match it, Arthur. It’s an incentive given to us Dedos, to make sure we do our duty at all times.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’ll try to do better.”

  “Where’s Morgan le Fay?” asked the Princess.

  “She’s gone home. There was nothing more for her to do here. She played her part very well. In fact,” said Nyneve thoughtfully, “I’m not sure she was playing a part.”

  Fang shouted suddenly, “They’re turning the converter on the humans!”

  “It seems this rock is defended,” said the Tin Mother. “But there are other ways. A substantial charge remains.”

  Down below, the Tin Mothers had swung the converter to face the oncoming humans. The scene was set for the most appalling carnage.

  “Everything is fine with us and the humans now,” said Fang desperately into the ear of the Tin Mother as the converter’s hum deepened. “Machines are useful for a while, then they become obsolete. It’s the way of all things. No criticism is intended.”

  “But we are perfect.”

  “You were perfect up to the time we kikihuahuas left the Home Planet. But you should have stayed where you were. We left because we’d invented something better.”

  “We saw no sign of improved versions. There was no development program, no prototypes.”

  The human tide surged on. The Tin Mothers held their fire, listening to Fang.

  “Your statement is puzzling. Explain why we didn’t recognize the prototypes.”

  “Because they were not machines.”

  “You are referring to your genetic-engineering program. We fail to see how its products could replace us. Our functions are different.”

  “We can create life-forms that do everything you once did for us—and do it better. We can breed creatures to carry us over land, to take us on water or through space; to clothe us, to feed us. … Haven’t you heard of the Kikihuahua Examples? True kikihuahuas never kill, or work metal, or light fires. Those are wasteful processes. Although,” Fang said wistfully, “a good blaze can be a lot of fun. But we don’t need machines anymore. We fled from you, don’t you understand? We fled from our mistakes.”

  After a long pause the robot said, “You fled into worse danger. Space travelers have been known to disappear without trace. We followed, ready to help. And along the way we helped other races. Finally we reached Earth and helped the people here. Such is our duty. Such is the way you built us.”

  People were climbing over the converter, attacking the delicate filaments with rocks and clubs. The Princess said quietly, “Oh, Fang. We’re safe.”

  “We befriended humans,” said the Tin Mother, “and now they are destroying us and our creations. This is not the first time we have been rejected by those we try to help. It makes us doubt the purpose of our existence. All over Earth, humans are leaving their domes in pursuit of some illogical dream they call chivalry. We don’t understand why the first objective of chivalry is to destroy us. We have many millennia of useful life. But so be it. We must accept that what you say is correct, Fang. We will shut down.”

  So saying, the Tin Mothers knelt and put Fang and the Princess down, gently, on the summit of Pentor Rock. They remained kneeling.

  The Princess, feeling unaccountably sad, placed her hand on the nearest Mother’s leg. “It’s not your fault. It’s ours, for not thinking things through when we created you. We’re not so perfect as you are.”

  “She can’t hear you, Princess. They’ve all switched themselves off.”

  All over the moor, the Tin Mothers stood motionless. The humans had gradually ceased their activity too. The converter had fallen silent.

  “She …” said the Princess. “You called the Mother ‘she,’ Fang.”

  “Or ‘he.’ It doesn’t matter. Anything’s better than ‘it.’ They meant well.”

  They heard a scrabbling on the rock. More people were climbing up. Adam arrived, followed by Marc, Sally, the Miggot, and Afah.

  “We won!” shouted Sally exultantly. “We beat the bastards! Look at them, all over the place, despondent. Beaten. Now we should dismantle every last one of them, starting with these two here!”

  “Please don’t,” said the Princess.

  The Tin Mothers knelt, with heads bowed, on top of Pen-tor Rock. A full moon had risen, silvering the
ir masklike faces. The glow behind their eyes had died, and their chest screens were blank.

  “Leave these two as a reminder,” said Afah.

  And there the two Mothers stayed for a thousand years until the combined forces of wind, rain, and snow toppled them and they fell into a crevice behind the smooth rock with the strange warm facets. There they disintegrated and were forgotten by everybody except the Rainbow.

  A roaring came from the moor, deep and vibrant, swelling until it seemed to reverberate from the very stars.

  “What’s that?” asked Marc.

  “It’s all those people,” said Sally. “They’re cheering us.” She waved, spreading her wings.

  “All those people …” murmured Adam. “How are we going to feed them? Where are they going to live?”

  “Oh, don’t be such an old misery!” cried Sally. “Come on, let’s go down there and behave like heroes for a while. I need to boast and gloat!”

  Nyneve and the humans left the kikihuahuas standing on top of the rock. Once on the ground, Adam said, “I’m going back to the village. I’ll need time to prepare our people for what happens next. We’ll have to start building shelter and organizing food supplies. It would be a tragedy if those people died of starvation and exposure now that we’ve got them out of the dome.” Nodding to them briefly, he hurried southward down the moorland path to Mara Zion.

  “Old worry-guts,” said Sally.

  “He’s not a bad fellow,” Marc said, defending his father.

  Nyneve had been regarding Sally and Marc thoughtfully. “I’ve got an idea,” she said. “Are you willing to trust me for a while?”

  “Another adventure?” asked Sally eagerly.

  “The biggest you’ll ever have.”

  “That sounds good to me,” said Marc.

  Nyneve took a deep breath. “Well …” she said. “I just might know a way to get you two people to the worlds you were created for. The journey won’t be like anything you expect, but if you trust me you’ll find it worthwhile.”