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

Standing near Haight was a man Aton knew as Colonel Anamander. Like Haight he had the granite impassivity common to many senior officers in the Time Service, but his features were more amenable, slightly less uncompromising.

Haight lifted a hand in a half-hearted gesture. ‘Later, Colonel.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Anamander skirted around Aton and exited.

The commander rose and approached Aton, who stared straight ahead, the muscles of his face slack. As if he were an inanimate object Haight unstrapped the dispatch case from his chest and carried it to the table.

Before opening it he glanced up at Aton again and suddenly his eyes narrowed in recognition.

‘Captain Aton, is it not?’

After a long pause Aton forced his larynx into action. ‘Sir,’ he croaked feebly.

‘Captain Aton,’ Haight repeated sourly to himself. ‘An extraordinary case. One that surprised and distressed me a good deal. I have wondered if you would end up here.’

Aton found his voice. ‘Am I to terminate my life now, sir?’ He waited expectantly for Haight to pronounce the releasing words.

‘Wait until I am ready,’ snapped the commander. He eyed Aton calculatingly, then sat down and broke the seals on the dispatch case.

For what seemed like a long time he studied the papers he found within, and outwardly became oblivious of Aton’s presence. The viols and trombones pursued each other unendingly through winding, cloying themes, and listening to the music, Aton found himself drifting back to a seemingly stratlike state. There was no before or after. The intricate melody hung on the air like a perfume and Aton stood stock-still in an eternal moment, unable to locate the transition between one note and another.

Commander Haight jutted out his lower lip as he finished studying the papers. He laid them aside, frowning. Then he leaned back in his chair. His grey eyes settled on Aton’s face, concentrating there with an almost obsessive interest.

‘The dispatches originate from the emperor himself,’ he announced gruffly. ‘The raid into Hegemonic territory is to take place. And the Lamp of Faith, no less, is to conduct the mission. That, surely, is a measure of its importance.’

Aton said nothing and Haight continued, his eyes never leaving the other’s face. ‘Do you realise how successful the Hegemonics’ attacks have been over the past week or two? Cities and regions eliminated or mutated. At Node Five the entire continent of Australos was altered. It is now peopled by tribes of Stone Age aborigines. Even worse, there are numerous cases of causal discontinuity. You know what that can do to the fabric of time. The work of the Historical Office is being set at naught. And all due to the Hegemonics’ new weapon, the time-distorter. Once our scientists had called such a device impossible. Now –’ He spread his hands.

His gaze became heavy, penetrating. ‘Speak, Captain Aton,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘Tell me what it is like in the strat.’

Aton blinked and stuttered. ‘It is – it is –’

He fell silent.

Haight nodded. ‘I know that it is beyond description. And yet something could be described. Words are never entirely useless. Try to collect your thoughts. To remember. Take possession of yourself once again. Speak, Captain.’

Aton struggled, then said, ‘Sir, should I terminate my existence now?’

‘Ah, you wish to obey your orders and escape this realm. And it is my beholden duty to see that you do. Yet I could not tell you how many times I have been tempted to forget my duty at these moments. There is a comforter at the Imperial Palace – Brother Mundan is his name – whose father fell into the strat some years ago, following a collision between timeships. Mundan cannot forget the strat since then. He dreams of it, has nightmares about it, tries to imagine what the Gulf of Lost Souls is like. After a lifetime in the service I am filled with a similar curiosity.’

The drift of Haight’s speech came through only faintly to Aton.

‘Most of the couriers who stand before me are, of course, low types,’ the commander continued. ‘Mentally degenerate, hopeless cases. But you, I tell myself, are of different mettle. Despite your astonishing dereliction, you are presumably a disciplined officer. Given time, you might recover your senses. You might be able to answer my questions.’

He lumbered to his feet, walked around the polished table, and stood close to Aton, peering straight into his eyes. ‘On this occasion I think I will commit a dereliction of my own. At such a time – for in my opinion the raid has little chance of succeeding, it is suicide – a small peccancy will go unnoticed. No, Captain Aton, you are not to die now. You are to live, to recover, and perhaps to tell me what you have experienced.’ He turned and pressed a button.

‘This is Captain Aton,’ he said to the two batmen who entered at his summons. ‘See that he is made comfortable in the guest bedroom. But do not allow him to leave this suite.’