Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

‘I have no time for your casuistry, robot. You are a thing, not a person. That is all there is to it and I pronounce you to be the property of the King’s court.’ With finality he banged his gavel, but was interrupted once more by the presumptuous young man who was keen to make the most of his duties.

‘By your leave, Your Honour, may we also recommend that this robot be given some adjustment by the Court Robotician. Its brain appears somehow or another to have acquired an aberrant self-image.’

Grumpily the magistrate nodded. ‘Enter it on the record.’

Stunned by the failure of his defence, Jasperodus became aware that one of the guard robots was tugging at his arm. Passively he followed them from the dock.

They conveyed him not back to his cell but out of the building and into the windowless interior of a waiting van, which was then firmly locked. His inquiries elicited that his destination was the residence of King Zhorm, ruler of the tiny kingdom of Gordona. The van went bumping through the old town’s streets. He felt too bewildered even to begin to plan escape. All he could do was brood over the disconcerting pronouncements that had just been presented to him.

An aberrant self-image, he thought darkly.

King Zhorm’s palace was in the dead centre of the town. It was as large and as luxurious as the resources of Gordona would permit, which meant that it allowed the King and his court to live in luxury but not in ostentatious luxury. Zhorm, however, was content with what he had. He enjoyed life in his own rough way, kept his kingdom in order, and was neither so ambitious nor so foolish as to tax his people until they bled, as did some petty rulers.

When Jasperodus arrived the evening banquet was in progress. Proceeding through a long corridor draped with tapestries he heard the sound of rough laughter. Then he was ushered into a large, brilliantly illumined hall where fifty or more persons sat feasting at long trestle tables. At their head, in a raised chair much like a throne, lounged King Zhorm.

The King was surprisingly young-looking: not above forty. He had dark oily skin and doe-like eyes. Each ear sported large gold rings, and his hair hung about his shoulders in black greasy ringlets. Catching sight of Jasperodus, he raised his goblet with a look of delight.

‘My new robot! A magnificent specimen, so I am told. Come closer, robot.’

Though disliking the riotous colours and air of revelry, Jasperodus obeyed. The banqueters eyed him appreciatively, passing remarks among one another and sniggering.

‘Try some food, robot!’ cried a voice. A large chunk of meat hit Jasperodus in the face and slid down his chest, leaving a greasy trail. He made no sign of recognition but stood immobile.

King Zhorm smiled, his eyes dreamy and predatory. ‘Welcome into my service, man of metal. Recount me your special abilities. What can you do well?’

‘Anything you can do,’ Jasperodus answered, confident that he spoke the truth.

A fat man who sat near the King let out a roar. ‘Say “Your Majesty”, when you speak to the monarch!’ He took up an iron rod that leaned against the table and began to beat Jasperodus vigorously about the arms and shoulders, to the merriment of all watchers. Jasperodus snatched the staff from his grasp and bent it double. When its two ends almost met it snapped suddenly in two and Jasperodus contemptuously hurled the pieces into a corner.

A sudden silence descended. The fat man pursed his lips. ‘The robot has mettle, I see,’ King Zhorm said quietly. ‘A fighter, too.’

‘Gogra! Let him fight Gogra!’ The cry went up from all three tables. The idea seemed to please Zhorm. He clapped his hands. ‘Yes, bring on Gogra.’

The banqueters sprang up with alacrity, pushed the tables nearer to the walls and scuttled behind them for protection. Jasperodus made no move but merely waited to see what was in store for him.

It was not long in coming. At the far end of the hall a tall door swung open. Through it strode Gogra: a giant of a robot, twelve foot tall and broad to match.

Gogra was coal-black. In his right hand he carried a massive sledge-hammer that in a few blows could have crushed Jasperodus to junk, tough as he was. Pausing in the doorway, the terrifying fighting robot surveyed the hall. As soon as he caught sight of Jasperodus he lunged forward, lifting the hammer with evident purpose.

Jasperodus backed away. Gogra’s appearance was frightening; his head was thrust forward on his neck, reminiscent of an ape-man; and the face was such a mask of ugliness as to arouse both terror and pity: Gogra’s designer had sought to give his massive frame sufficient agility by filling his interior with oil under pressure; the safety valve for that oil was his grotesque grilled mouth, from which green ichor dribbled copiously and continuously.

Studying the monster’s movements, Jasperodus formed the opinion that Gogra’s intelligence was moronic. He would fight according to a pattern and would not be able to depart from it.