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

Ignoring the slotman by his side, Jasperodus surveyed the crew robots, struck by how subdued they were. They were all caught in the psychological trap known as the double bind, he realised. The logical machine-mind did not take to gambling: odds of one in seven would normally be too much for wild robots to risk. Each had no doubt been forced into the job by desperate circumstances, probably by the need to buy a power pack before a certain date was up. Thus the decision to join the repair crew was prompted by the directive to survive, and at the same time it contradicted it – a perfect example of the double bind. Consequently they were very much depressed.

Jasperodus could not help but contrast their dejection with his own buoyant self-confidence. He remained unfrightened by thoughts of danger. Uncharacteristically for a machine, he believed in his luck.

The slotman essayed one more remark, indicating the other robots with his pipestem. ‘Quiet, ain’t they?’ he quavered.

Jasperodus nodded and deigned to reply. ‘For once it is a misfortune to be free. Freedom exacerbates a construct’s survival instinct. Were they under the orders of a master, now, they would be able to undertake this mission without suffering psychological distress.’

A door at the far end of the hut banged open. Into the room stomped two uniformed and helmeted Imperial Guardsmen.

They looked around at the gathering with bleak eyes. ‘Right, you lot,’ the sergeant began, ‘you know your business. This is the drill for today. There are malfunction signals from three orbiters. Two are surveillance satellites – nothing to that – the third is a guard post. The shuttle will be piloted from the ground, by remote, as per usual.’

Jasperodus spoke up. ‘Will the shuttle be armed?’

‘No,’ said the sergeant irritably, as though the question surprised him, ‘it will not be armed. Right, let’s get moving.’

Clanking slightly, the repair crew shuffled from the hut and walked half a mile to launch point. The shuttle was a battered vehicle that by the look of it had been converted from an old booster rocket. Clamped to it were a number of additional solid-fuel boosters to assist take-off.

They climbed a ladder to the hatch, and found themselves in a bare metal chamber large enough to admit about twenty men. Jasperodus waited to see if the guardsmen or some other supervisor would follow, but when the crew were all aboard the ladder was removed and the hatch closed itself. They were on their own.

The only furniture in the chamber consisted of two seat-couches and upon these, despite the slotman’s frantic efforts to appropriate one first, two of the robots casually draped themselves. The slotman began arguing with them, heatedly insisting on his right to a couch.

‘Away, away,’ dismissed one of the reclining robots with a wave of his hand. ‘I am an old construct. I cannot withstand sudden shocks as well as I might.’

‘At least you will not suffer broken bones and burst blood vessels!’ complained the slotman. ‘Give me that couch – it was meant for me, not for you!’

‘The acceleration is not so terrible. You can endure it.’

Jasperodus came over. ‘You look sturdy enough to me,’ he told the stubborn robot. ‘Get off that couch and leave it to this weak creature of flesh and bone. He is a true human being who possesses a soul, and not as you are, merely a candidate for the junkyard.’

The robot glared at Jasperodus, eyes glowing with resentment. But he obeyed, reluctantly quitting the couch which the slotman then occupied with alacrity.

‘Thanks,’ he grinned.

Jasperodus turned away. A klaxon sounded deafeningly in the confined space, warning of imminent departure. The robots sat down on the floor, leaning against the bulkhead, and Jasperodus, presuming this to be a precaution against the stress of blast-off, followed suit. The slotman, he noticed, was stuffing cotton-wool in his ears and holding it in place with his fingers.

An explosion sounded from below. The shuttle shuddered, the walls vibrated, and the crew chamber was suddenly filled with a shattering din as both the main liquid-fuel motor and the solid-fuel assist pods roared into life.

The vessel lifted, swaying as its inadequate stabilisers sought to gain balance. For a short time nothing more seemed to be happening; then Jasperodus became aware of a steadily growing pressure pushing at him from below. The chamber tilted: they were hurtling at an angle towards space.

Some minutes later the terrifying racket ceased abruptly. The shuttle was in free fall.

One robot more dented and older than the rest rose from the floor and sailed through the air to the other side of the cabin where he opened a wall locker. Jasperodus moved his body gingerly and found the absence of gravity less novel than he had expected. He adapted to it easily, controlling himself by means of light touches on wall, floor or ceiling.