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

On either side were doors, from some of which came the sound of murmurs or muffled chanting. Aton led Inpriss to a staircase. Confident of his ability to deal with all comers, he set off down it, leading her by the hand.

On the second floor a door opened a few yards along the corridor and a bony-faced figure wearing a preoccupied look stepped out. Aton pulled up sharply at the sight of him.

‘Sergeant Quelle!’

Quelle looked up, jerked out of his reverie, and plainly could not believe his eyes. His lips mumbled something inaudible. He seemed rooted to the spot. Then, with an inarticulate cry, he turned and tried to claw his way back through the doorway.

Aton raised his free hand and pointed with his index finger. From the finger issued a tight, brilliantly white ray that struck Quelle on the back of the skull. Along the ray passed images: a succession of images at the rate of billions per second. A few of them were marginally visible to Aton and Inpriss, rushing along the narrow beam like a superfast comic strip.

The heretical sergeant fell headlong to the floor, his brain overloaded and burned out by the unnaturally high rate of impressions that had been forced into it.

More Traumatics crowded the doorway in answer to Quelle’s cry of alarm. Aton released more power balls in their direction, feeling exultant in his newly acquired might. Inpriss simply watched, her disbelief totally suspended by everything she had been through.

Again he led her down the stairway, but now the building was coming to life. He heard the sound of running feet, of doors opening and slamming.

Aton was puzzled. Could all this activity be on account of him? Not, he reasoned, unless they had been observed by remote, which could not have been by means of the camera in the altar room or they would have been intercepted before now.

One floor further down his question was answered. Here the staircase descended to a lobby opening out from the building’s hotel-like front entrance, whose doors had been forced. The lobby was filled with the toques, plumes and grim faces of the Imperial Guard. The temple was being raided.

The guardsmen spread out through the building, trotting past the two fugitives as they mounted the stairs. The captain of the invading force put a bullhorn to his lips.

‘The building is surrounded. There is no escape. Come down and surrender to the forces of the law.’

As soon as they appeared Aton and Inpriss were seized and hustled urgently down to the lobby. Aton found himself face to face with Prince Vro Ixian, who was accompanied by the stocky Perlo Rolce.

The prince, enwrapped in a purple cloak, presented a picture of youthful hauteur. He raised his eyebrows on seeing Aton.

‘But that the question might provoke a lengthy answer,’ he said, ‘I would ask what you are doing here.’

‘Highness, the lady with me is one of the Traumatics’ victims,’ Aton replied. ‘I beseech you to guarantee her safety. She has suffered much at their hands.’ In a lower voice he murmured: ‘She needs careful handling.’

Vro gestured impatiently to the guardsmen who held the two in their grip. ‘It’s all right, they are no Traumatics. Release them.’

Inpriss immediately curtsied, apparently overawed by the presence of royalty. Vro acknowledged her with a just-perceptible movement of her head, but his eyes softened.

‘Did they abduct you too, my dear? Never fear, you are under the protection of the House of Ixian now. This nest of villains will be cleaned out. Here, let my officer take care of you.’

He called over the Captain of the Guard. As Inpriss was led away, she looked back imploringly at Aton. He smiled and nodded to her, trying to reassure her.

Prince Vro turned back to Aton. He could not help but notice a change in him since he had last seen him. There was something godlike about the handsome young officer. His eyes were stern and flashing; his whole being seemed charged with life and energy.

‘We are here looking for my beloved Veaa,’ he told Aton. ‘I would appreciate your assistance. Have you acquainted yourself with the layout of this den?’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. I arrived here only in the last few minutes. But I have killed three Traumatics in that time.’

‘Easy,’ Prince Vro objected, ‘I want them alive.’

They walked together up the staircase and through the house. Aton watched as Vro’s detective and his assistants questioned the Traumatics who were brought to them, using a combination of torture and field-effect device. Most were eliminated after a minute or two; Rolce did not become interested until he interrogated one of the two women to be found.

She was a tough-faced woman of about fifty whose ragged hair bore streaks of grey. ‘She knows something,’ Rolce announced as she lay between the plates of the device. ‘I’m getting images.’

Vro peered close. On the monochrome screen flickered the shadowy spectre of a young girl in a coffin. ‘Veaa!’ he cried in a choked voice.