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

Jasperodus nodded, inspecting the map with scant interest. As he had anticipated, his double impetuosity – in seizing the crown prematurely, and in afterwards sparing Zhorm – had borne troublesome fruit. It had been necessary to hold down Gordona by forceful means, using the methods of a police state, and the population was in consequence discontented. This had made it easier for Zhorm, having taken refuge in a neighbouring kingdom, to win support for his cause. Around the nucleus of a small foreign force loaned to him by his host monarch he had gathered together enough armed loyalists to invade the country and was proceeding in fair order.

Cree Inwing had been as good as his word; Jasperodus had not once needed to remind him of his oath. He had organised the policing of the kingdom, weeded out the diehard elements in the Guard and won over all the rest. He had automatically risen to be Commander of the Guard – Craish was his Second-in-Command – and now, in an ironic twist of events, he was fighting with Jasperodus against Zhorm himself.

‘The dispositions seem satisfactory,’ Jasperodus announced. ‘All is in order; we can hold them.’ Privately he reckoned the chances to be about fifty-fifty. He was unhappily aware that the intensity of his own enthusiasm would be the factor most decisive for the outcome.

‘Has Your Majesty any special instructions regarding public order?’ Inwing asked. ‘There are bound to be local uprisings.’

‘The main thing is to break Zhorm’s assault,’ Jasperodus replied. ‘Afterwards your bully-boys can always put down any other trouble – eh, Craish?’

Craish nodded, grinning.

‘In that case we will repair directly to Fludd,’ Inwing said stiffly.

Jasperodus made a vague gesture. ‘Craish, you go. Inwing can stay here for a while and we shall travel to Fludd together.’ His voice fell to a mutter. ‘We may as well entertain ourselves while we can.’

Inwing looked surprised and puzzled, but said nothing. Craish saluted and departed.

Contesting thoughts flitted through Jasperodus’ mind. He glanced around his office, and noticed for the first time how desultory, how temporary, everything looked. Chaotic piles of documents and lists littered the tables that had been crammed into the room with no regard for their ordered arrangement. There were not even any chairs, since he was equally at ease standing, and only one inadequate filing-cabinet.

Why had he been so careless about his daily working environment? Had the sense of urgency left him once he had attained his object? No, that could not be. He would have known it …

He motioned Inwing to follow him. In the long corridor outside all the drapes were flapping violently in the damp gusts of wind that were coming through the open windows. The evening air was heavy with threatened thunder, and he told himself that the weather would be too bad for Zhorm to attack tonight.

The banqueting hall, however, was more cheerful. A wood-burning fire had been lit in the huge fireplace and the audience that had already gathered made a lively contrast to the stream of dour officers and ministers he had been receiving all day. He settled himself on a wrought-iron chair overlooking the assembly, then signalled for the entertainment to begin.

The players were that same group of travelling entertainers who had figured, albeit peripherally, in his seizure of power. It was not by their own choice that they still performed for his court; he had refused to let them leave Gordona, wishing to sample their wares for himself but up until now finding little time for it. They accepted their enforced stay with equanimity, which suggested that they had met this kind of cavalier treatment before.

They bowed and set up their apparatus, a tripod surmounted by an arrangement of small tubes at various angles, emitting pencil-thin beams of coloured light.

Suddenly the cleared space in the centre of the hall sprang to life. In place of emptiness was a market place with people moving about it.

The illusion was complete: the picture had colour, depth and parallax, so that it presented a different aspect if viewed from a different angle. The scene betokened some ancient time, to judge from the architecture and the costumes; into it walked living, flesh-and-blood actors from the players’ troupe.

Neither the eye nor the ear could tell which of the characters were real and which were projected by the laser device – except that occasionally the projector produced special effects, flattening the picture into a plane, or into a receding series of planes, against which the living actors stood out starkly. But even this could be achieved by imagery alone. Only when the living actors emerged from the picture and approached the audience to deliver monologues did they truly reveal their presence.