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

King Zhorm the while was watching Jasperodus with his dreamy, barbaric eyes. ‘Enough!’ he interjected. ‘It is not ridiculous at all. I have heard of such things being done in lands to the East, where robots of great sophistication are available. By your amazement you merely display your bucolic ignorance.’

‘Well said, brother!’ Prince Okhramora spoke up, addressing the King with his usual over-familiarity. He wiped the grease from his face with a napkin. ‘These clods who surround us are indeed ignorance personified. But what of the prisoners? How are they to be disposed of?’

Zhorm replied sardonically, ‘Perhaps the robot Jasperodus has some ideas as to that, since he seems to have ideas on every other subject.’

Jasperodus and Prince Okhramora exchanged secret gratified glances.

Their relationship had developed much more favourably since their first unhappy encounter. Jasperodus, as if to make amends for his earlier indiscretion, had privately shown himself willing to perform small services for the Prince, who had come to look upon him as a useful ally. For that reason he was far from being opposed to Jasperodus’ advancement and was already apprised of the suggestion the robot was about to make.

‘While their crimes deserve instant death, it is sometimes a good principle to make use of such men instead of destroying them,’ Jasperodus said carefully. ‘Ruthlessness and bravado are not to be decried, provided they work for one and not against one. Now, many of Craish’s men are riff-raff and should be garotted without delay. But others would make good soldiers, given the right discipline. Craish himself is a man who turned to crime through recklessness rather than through any innate evil, and he possesses both courage and resourcefulness. He would surely submit to military service and swear allegiance to Your Majesty in return for his life.’

Zhorm scratched his chin, looking at Jasperodus askance. ‘Not the traditional way to deal with criminals.’

‘The populace need not be made aware of it,’ Jasperodus pointed out blandly. ‘An immediate advantage to be gained is that Craish must know the whereabouts of the other outlaw groups in the forest, and doubtless he could be persuaded to work towards their extermination with enthusiasm. Give me him and a few of his followers, and I will soon knock the rough edges off them, I assure you. And if they should prove intractable, why, they can be shot at any time.’

‘Dammit, this robot talks sense,’ voiced a middle-aged, heavily-jowled man in a quilted tabard. ‘We can be rid of these infestations for good and all.’

‘In a general sense, I also would tend to agree,’ Prince Okhramora said mildly.

‘I will think on the matter,’ King Zhorm announced. ‘But I have had enough of serious talk.’ He clapped his hands. ‘Bring on the entertainment!’

Musicians advanced into the hall, bowed, took their places, and were followed in by a troupe of dancing girls. Deep in thought, Jasperodus watched idly. As soon as he could do so without giving offence he slipped away, leaving the scene of merriment behind.

He went through the palace and across an open courtyard to the barracks. Beneath them, deep in the earth, were some ancient dungeons, built of stone that had become damp and mildewed and smelling of decay. Descending the worn steps, Jasperodus heard the disconsolate murmurs of the prisoners who were crammed into a few dank cells. He went on past them, however, and down a passage to the cell reserved for Craish alone, where he prevailed upon the guard to unfasten the bolts.

Before entering he waved the guard away, waiting until the man was out of both sight and earshot. Then he swung open the door.

Squatting on the floor beside the far wall, Craish lifted his seamed face to stare impassively. The robot moved into the cell and loomed menacingly over his prisoner, his bulk eclipsing the weak electric light and throwing the cell in shadow.

‘What the hell do you want?’ Craish said defiantly.

The door swung shut with a clang. Craish looked alarmed but belligerent. ‘What’s this? Are you Zhorm’s executioner now?’

‘If I choose …’ Jasperodus’ voice reverberated quietly in the confined space. He took one step and wrenched Craish to his feet by the front of his jerkin, bringing his face close to his own. The bandit looked frightened and trapped, so close to Jasperodus’ bizarre visage.

‘Listen to me, you fool … you can live if you do what I say. There is a price to be paid, a small price indeed when measured against the loss of your life, effectuated by the garotte and accompanied by the howls of a vengeful mob – but it must be paid, without any omission. You must become my secret slave, together with others whom I will select. Your life will belong to me, your existence will depend upon my will. No one else will know of this; you alone will know that I am your lord and master and that my command is law.’