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

Other robots were amusing themselves by performing zero-g acrobatics. Jasperodus pulled himself to the single porthole. Through it he saw the shining curve of the Earth. Cloud and sea glinted with a pure brilliance, while on the opposite side extended the blackness of the void. For long moments he stared at the vision, struck by innumerable unvoiced thoughts.

The old robot at the wall locker turned to face them. ‘I am your ganger,’ he announced in a firm voice. ‘Attend to our division of labour.’ Calling each crew member by name or number he began to allocate task functions, pulling equipment from the locker as he did so.

‘Jasperodus: I recall that you are competent in control unit repair and space welding. As this is your first trip we will restrict you to space welding for the moment.’ And from the locker’s cavernous interior came a welding set which Jasperodus strapped to himself.

The slotman received a microcircuitry rig and a spacesuit with special visual attachments. By now they were approaching the first rendezvous, jolted occasionally as the controller on the ground applied thrust to correct their course.

Jasperodus positioned himself once more by the window. Soon the malfunctioning guard post hove into view. In shape it was like a fat barrel, banded as if with coopers’ hoops, but additionally equipped with missile launcher racks. As they jockeyed closer the barrel occluded clouds of stars. Beyond, in the upper left quarter of Jasperodus’ field of vision, was the radiant white Moon.

The hiss of close-range manoeuvring jets sounded through the walls of the chamber. The guard post loomed up and blotted out everything else. Then the shuttle’s hatch opened slightly, bleeding air into space until the interior of the chamber was a vacuum. It opened fully; the ganger urged his crew through it.

Outside, they floated across a few yards of space to a larger square hatch, still bolted tight, in the side of the guard post. One robot missed his direction and went sailing off into the void, limbs flailing desperately, whereupon the ganger jetted after him using a hand-held thruster and dragged him back.

The bolts released, the hatch was pulled open. The repair crew flowed into the interstices and chambers that riddled the interior of the big barrel-shape and began their inspection.

The post was unmanned and was designed to help protect imperial space routes – and imperial territory too if need be – by means of automatic response against enemy encroachments. Peering over the shoulders of the trained robots who were examining the systems boards, Jasperodus saw that it was currently quite defunct. Not a launcher or a gun was operative. The robots muttered among themselves. The repairs would take some hours.

Jasperodus relaxed. He did not think there would be much work for him today. In fact, now he thought of it, the size of the crew was altogether supernumerary to the task in hand. Wild robots were so cheap to hire that they could be used in redundant numbers, just in case something unforeseen should arise.

He wandered through the guard post, observing everything with interest. Once he was called upon to spot-weld back in place a plate that had been removed, a service that took him approximately forty-five seconds.

An hour later an unexpected commotion ran through the post. The robots began hurrying hither and thither in agitation, gesticulating wildly. Jasperodus stopped one such witless construct and touched heads with him so as to converse in the airless medium.

The robot’s voice vibrated tinnily through the metal of his cranium. ‘A Borgor cruiser! We are doomed! Doomed!’ With a wail the construct broke away and propelled himself deeper into the guard post in an attempt to flee.

Pushing aside yet more panicking robots, Jasperodus made his way back to the primary service area into which the main hatch gave access. There he found four robots, including the ganger, huddled closely together.

The slotman, however, had adopted a surprisingly different posture. He stood upright in the hatchway, fully exposed to the starlight. Cautiously Jasperodus approached the opening and peered over the rim. Glinting darkly against the starry background was the lobed, bulbous form of a foreign spaceship. It gyrated slowly and he could see the crescent of Rendare, one of the chief states of the Alliance, painted on its flank. Clearly it was contemplating attack and perhaps had not quite realised that the guard post was defenceless.

The slotman was staring at the cruiser, eyebrows raised in an expression of melancholy. Jasperodus could guess at his state of mind: imminent death came as an unexampled opportunity for sad self-pity and, at the same time, was something of a relief.

But he ignored the human and returned to the robots, pressing his head against the ganger’s. ‘Can weapons be made functional?’ he grated.

‘Not in time! Nothing to do but wait for extinction!’