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

‘Not two hours ago a courier arrived from the dispatching station at Barek – from Commander Haight, no less, who put in there en route to Chronopolis. He has returned without the distorter but with the offer of a truce from the Hegemonics. It seems they want to parley for peace. That’s a good sign they know how hopeless their situation is.’

Philipium II laughed. It was a reedy, dry laugh. He had inherited his father’s manner of speech, as he had much else about him. ‘Rather late for that now!’

The emperor nodded with satisfaction. ‘No doubt our retaliatory attacks have taught them what’s in store for them. Also they must have gained some intelligence concerning the might of our armada.’ He frowned. ‘Haight discovered something about the distorter, too, but we shall have to wait until he arrives here for his full report.’

Aton and the princess were now mingling with the courtiers surrounding the throne. Boldly Aton stepped forward to confront the emperor and prince.

‘Your Chronotic Majesty!’ he said in a loud voice.

Both men turned to look at him. Philipium II appeared cold and supercilious, the emperor merely startled.

For one instant Aton looked into his ruler’s tired, feverish eyes and knew that his mission stood no chance of success. Behind those eyes was … nothing. The emperor was dead inside. There was nothing but bigotry, prejudice, set patterns of thought. Even if Aton were to persuade him of the truth of his story, which seemed unlikely, nothing at this stage could possibly cause him to alter his decision.

Aton glanced from him to the younger Philipium, and again from him to Arch-Cardinal Reamoir, who was hovering as always by the emperor’s side. As before he found that his new perceptions laid bare their inner natures. In Philipium II there was only a blind arrogance that was a sort of later version of his father’s unctuous religious humility. And in Reamoir there was ambition of truly shocking proportions: ambition that was prepared to sacrifice whole worlds, to cheat, lie, and kill in the pursuit of personal and religious aims.

He stood, tongue-tied and white-faced, as the awful realisation struck him.

‘What is it, young man?’ Philipium said sharply. ‘Who are you?’

‘Captain Aton of the Third Time Fleet, Your Majesty.’

‘Then you should be helping defend the frontier. On leave, are you? Why?’

‘… The action for Gerread, Your Majesty,’ Aton said after a momentary effort.

‘Ah, yes. Take courage, young man. Eventually we shall regain Gerread, together with all the other possessions that have been lost since.’

An official slid through the circle and murmured something in the emperor’s ear, who then turned and began a conversation with someone else. No one took any notice of Aton. His rude intrusion had been forgotten.

Princess Mayora accosted him as he slipped away. ‘Well, I don’t think much of that!’

‘I suddenly realised how foolish my course of action was,’ Aton said ruefully.

‘Rather belatedly, don’t you think?’ The princess eyed him with growing inquisitiveness. ‘What was your petition? Can I help?’

‘I think not, Your Highness.’

Awkwardly aware of his bad manners, Aton made a perfunctory bow and walked stiffly away. He felt desolated. Here was the centre of the empire and everyone around him was hell-bent on destruction. Impending calamity was tolling like a great bell.

It seemed that his mission was impossible.

Or almost impossible.

Hours later the court chamber was deserted and in half darkness. A shadow slipped through that darkness, pausing and listening to the sleep of the huge palace.

At length Aton stopped before the dully gleaming gold sheet that hid the Imperator.

He had spent the intervening time wandering through the inner sanctum or just sitting brooding in one of the libraries. No one questioned his presence. It was assumed that anyone who had managed to enter the sanctum had a perfect right to be there.

‘Imperator,’ he called in a hoarse voice, afraid to speak too loudly in case he was heard from outside the chamber. ‘A loyal servant seeks audience.’

He had no idea whether the machine-emperor would respond to any voice but Philipium’s. But it was worth a try.

Nothing happened, and he called again. ‘Imperator. The empire is in danger!’

Miraculously the golden panel withdrew towards the ceiling. From the dark cave came the whine of an engine and the rumble of castors. The Imperator rolled majestically into view, a strange sheen playing over its matt surface. A scarcely visible light seemed to flicker between its four corner towers.

‘Who has dared approach?’

The thrilling full-bodied voice, even though at low volume, filled the hall. The experience of facing the Imperator alone was strange and frightening. The machine radiated charisma. Aton, conscious of its majestic relationship with the empire, felt small and insignificant.

‘I am Captain Mond Aton,’ he announced. ‘Late of the Third Time Fleet.’