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

It was some moments before he noticed that there were also two men in the tavern. One, carrying some kind of apparatus, moved from robot to robot, speaking to each in turn. The other stood by a door at the rear and looked on the scene calculatingly.

Jasperodus turned to a nearby construct who stood humming a turgid tune.

‘What happens here?’

‘Here,’ the construct told him, ‘robots may get drunk, as men do.’

Now Jasperodus saw the first of the humans – probably the ‘tavern’s’ proprietor – accept a coin from a construct and put his apparatus to work. A mesh of wire filaments was applied to the client’s metal cranium. The robot’s eyes flared briefly. The vendor moved on.

‘What is the nature of that device?’ Jasperodus asked his informant.

‘It is a neural pattern generator. It conveys specially modulated electric currents to the brain so as to produce feelings of euphoria and intoxication.’

‘Hah!’ Jasperodus laughed momentarily. ‘So intoxication is not exclusively the province of human consciousness.’

‘Indeed not. This method, applied to an artificial brain, is as fully effective as alcohol or other drugs are to an organic brain. I have been as drunk, merry and incapable as a human many a time.’

It cheered Jasperodus to see yet one more barrier between machine existence and human status go down. The vendor of electric current approached him. ‘Want a jag? Only three imperial shillings.’

Jasperodus waved him aside. ‘Later.’ He fully intended to sample the experience, but he wanted to enlarge his observations first.

Accordingly he pushed his way through the press of bodies (many of them so far gone as to be pitted with rust) and installed himself on a bench to the rear from where he could watch all.

The second of the two men, who up until now had been inactive, was engaged in conversation with a construct whose body was finished in matt silver. Finally their deliberations seemed complete. The rear door opened; the robot was ushered inside.

Jasperodus waited to see what would transpire. After a while the robot returned, carrying a small money-pouch which jingled.

Otherwise Jasperodus could discern no difference, apart perhaps from a certain stiffness of gait, and he could not guess what service the robot had performed in return for his money.

His ignorance, however, was soon dispelled. There walked unsteadily past him a robot whose cranial inspection plate was missing. Through the gap Jasperodus could see that part of the brain had been removed and what remained was exposed to the air, presenting a bizarre sight.

The partially decorticated robot confronted the mysterious dealer. ‘You have the unit that was promised?’ he asked pleadingly.

The man nodded. The robot handed him a largish money-bag. ‘Then here. I have worked long and without pause to raise your price. It is not a simple matter to work so hard with only half a brain.’

The dealer emptied the bag and counted the coins slowly. There was a substantial amount of money. Finally he nodded.

The robot was admitted through the door. When he returned twenty minutes later his cranium was smooth and complete. He looked around the room, flexing his body. There was a new stance to him; the slouch he had worn earlier was gone.

‘Ah, ratiocination!’ he boomed. ‘Man’s greatest gift to robot!’

Jasperodus beckoned him closer. ‘What is the cause of your sudden joy?’ he asked.

‘Rather ask the cause of my previous misery,’ the construct corrected him. ‘It lies in the fact that most robot brains are capable of being broken down into sub-units. I sold my greatest possession, namely my ability to think with rigorous logic and so to enjoy the delights of the intellect. It is indeed a twilight world without the power of thought, and I have had to labour for many years to buy a replacement.’

This revelation gave Jasperodus new food for thought. He now noticed that several of the tavern’s occupants displayed gaping skulls, so much of the contents being absent that the robotician had found it inconvenient to close up the cranium again. One unfortunate, who squatted against a wall, was so deprived that he could have had only vestigial mentation left.

The neural modulation vendor approached Jasperodus again. ‘Care to try a shot now?’

Jasperodus dipped into his satchel and produced three imperial shillings. Attending carefully, the vendor bent forward and brushed the meshwork against the base of his skull, apparently knowing just where to introduce the stimulatory currents. The box attached to the leads gave forth a hollow buzzing sound; Jasperodus felt a premonitory thrilling sensation, and then his mind seemed to light up; he felt a surge of well-being. The room went hazy for a moment and then seemed to sway.

Evidently the ‘jag’ involved some slight derangement of the senses – as did alcohol, he reminded himself, recalling Cree Inwing’s frequent inability to see, talk or walk straight – and that was the penalty for the feelings of intoxication and gaiety that were now assailing him.