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

‘And what do you propose we should do?’ Philipium’s eyes had lost their deadness now. They were glittering.

‘It occurs to me that the Hegemony is carrying out these attacks because it feels itself threatened by us, Your Majesty. In my opinion we should seek a truce and abandon our plans for conquest – at least until we know more about the time-distorter.’

The emperor turned beady eyes on Commander Trevurm. ‘And what is your opinion?’

Trevurm stroked his chin and sighed. ‘There is much sense in what our friend says,’ he admitted. ‘The time-distorter brings an unknown factor into the equation.’

‘So you both advise caution?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘Have you both forgotten the mission of Holy Church?’ said the arch-cardinal to Trevurm and Mayar, affecting a shocked tone. ‘Your Majesty, we are doing God’s bidding. The armada must do its work. The heathen must be converted by its power.’

‘But at the risk of wreaking havoc with the structure of time?’ Mayar protested.

Reamoir turned and spoke for the benefit of Philipium alone. ‘What else should we do? Have we not tried to convert the Hegemony by peaceful persuasion? Our missionaries have gone forward in time, not only to the Hegemony but even beyond, to little avail. Many have been spurned and ejected back to their own time. Some have even been martyred. The pride and stubbornness of the future people is displeasing to God; only force remains. God will go with our armada; He is on our side. All will be well.’

‘All will be well,’ echoed Philipium. ‘The armada must proceed. The only question to be answered is when. And that is a matter for the Military Council, not for amateurs.’ He gestured irritably.

‘I understand, Your Majesty,’ Mayar said, feeling defeated.

The emperor rose from his chair and clutched at Reamoir, holding up his trembling right arm. ‘My arm, see how it shakes,’ he said, his voice hollow-sounding. ‘Listen, my friend – I have had a vision in a dream. God has told me that if the Hegemony is subdued my affliction will vanish.’

‘That indeed will be a miracle, sir.’

‘Yes. God’s message is clear. All will be well.’ He turned to Mayar. ‘And yet your forebodings are not without substance, Archivist. We are merely human and we can err. Even I am merely emperor, not Imperator. Come, we will consult a wiser being.’

Philipium tottered towards the door. Outside, attendants were waiting and accompanied them through the cloistered passages of the inner sanctum. From ahead came cheerful noises of talk and laughter, growing steadily louder until eventually a pair of large doors, quilted and padded with stuffed satin, drew open to admit them.

They entered the main inner chamber of the court.

Strictly speaking it was more than a chamber, being the size of a ballroom. Tastefully arranged here and there were couches, tables, and chairs. The arched recesses that skirted its circumference formed a motif that was repeated in the ribbed and curved formation of the ceiling. All in all, the effect was most pleasing and restful to the eye.

A favourite meeting place, the court chamber had a relaxed air and nobles and privileged persons from all parts and nodes of the empire came and went through its several entrances. The Ixian family predominated, of course, its members hailing from all periods of history – though in their case the term ‘history’ was practically redundant. The Ixian dynasty was fully mobile through time, being the only family permitted to intermarry with its descendants and ancestors.

One end of the court chamber was kept clear. Emperor Philipium I made towards it with tottering step, followed by the arch-cardinal, Mayar, and Commander Trevurm. A hush fell over the scene as his presence was noted, but then the chatter started up again.

One of his young daughters, Princess Mayora, approached him with a smile, but he brushed her aside and stood before the great panel, featureless and of a dull gold colour, that occupied that entire end of the chamber.

‘Imperator,’ he called in a weak husky voice, ‘grant us an audience!’

After a pause the gold panel rumbled up to reveal a square-cut cavity. There was the whine of motors.

The machine they knew as the Imperator slid out on giant castors and stood in the vacant space as though surveying the chamber. A deep hum issued from within its body.

Even though he had seen it several times before, Mayar still could not prevent a sensation of awe as he beheld the huge machine. It towered over them like a miniature castle, with its odd crenellated towers, one at each corner, and its walls plated with matt greyish-black metal. It had a distinctly regal appearance entirely in keeping with its function. For though the Imperator was a machine – admittedly much more advanced and mysterious than a common computer – it was also, in some indefinable way, alive.