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

The smashed cruiser was receding. Suddenly there was a bright flash as fuel and liquid oxygen from the ruptured tanks mixed and exploded. The explosion raged through the wreckage in rivers and rivulets. Gouts of flame shot out in all directions. Shortly the wreck was completely burned out.

Jasperodus released his harness and pushed the chair away, contriving thereby to counteract his slow spin and also to lose most of his relative velocity. The guard post receded only very slowly now. He relaxed, spread his limbs, and simply floated, unexpectedly overcome by a strange feeling of peace and calm.

Unresistingly he fell into a serene reverie. The apparent endlessness of sable space was soaking into his perception; he felt as though he had penetrated to the very centre of existence. His senses, moreover, had become incongruously sharp; all around him was universal majesty … The Earth, a great, silent goddess hanging hugely below him. The small, brilliant Moon. He turned, and the flashing sun seared his eyes.

He did not know how long he floated there. It seemed like a long time. But eventually he again took thought for practical affairs and noticed that the guard post was now very small. He activated one of the nozzles of his welding kit. The thrust it produced was extremely low, but accumulative. First imperceptibly, and then slowly, he coasted back to the realm of men.

9

By the time an investigating spacecraft arrived from Tansiann several hours later Jasperodus had taken matters well in hand. Gathering together the survivors among the repair crew, he had shaken them out of their demoralised condition and set them to work. Under his supervision the guard post was now functioning again. The guardsmen from the imperial craft – a sleek near-orbit patrol boat – entered the hatchway to find him welding in place a new bulkhead to replace the one shattered by the Borgor shell.

He switched off his welding kit and touched his hand to the nearest guardsman’s helmet, so as to conduct sound. ‘Your tardiness is less than commendable,’ he greeted. Then he gestured to the slotman, who was floating motionless by the other wall. ‘I believe his oxygen has just run out. You had better transfer him to your ship without delay.’

The guardsman approached the unconscious figure, examined it, then unclipped the slotman’s oxygen pack and inserted in its place an emergency cylinder from his own equipment. He turned to his comrades and spoke something through his suit communicator. Making an attempt to lip-read, Jasperodus thought he deciphered the words: ‘Maybe he’ll pull through, maybe he won’t.’

Then he signalled Jasperodus to touch his helmet again. ‘Well, somebody’s done a good job here. We’ve roughly got the picture: a Borgor ship attacked while the station was out of commission, and the repair crew destroyed it somehow, using the shuttle.’ He jerked his thumb. ‘Who’d have thought a slotman could pull off a stunt like that? There’ll be a medal for him, I shouldn’t wonder. Tansiann tells us the post’s transmitting all go signals now, so let’s get aboard.’

Planing down through the atmosphere the slotman recovered consciousness. Moved by some residual fellow-feeling, one of the robots had been attending him, moving his arms so as to exercise his lungs. He sat up, moaned lightly, then lay down shivering.

Buffeted by cross winds they approached Tansiann and made a screeching landing on one of the spaceground’s runways. The crew, still accompanied by guardsmen, straggled back to the iron shed where they were to be debriefed and receive their wages. Shortly, however, an officer wearing a livery Jasperodus did not recognise arrived.

‘Hold the proceedings,’ he ordered the guardsmen. ‘Word of the exploit has reached the palace. Today the Emperor is to receive those who lately have performed the Empire some special service, and he has directed that the man responsible should be present.’

The guardsman grinned and yanked the cringing slotman forward, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘Hear that? A signal honour!’

The slotman gasped, his face white. ‘Me? Presented to the Emperor? Oh no! It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!’ And he shook all over, rolled up his eyes, and fainted in a heap on the floor.

‘Hm.’ The liveried officer looked down at him doubtfully. ‘Not quite of the backbone one expects in a hero.’

Jasperodus thrust himself forward. ‘Allow me to enlighten you. It was I, not this creature, who by my initiative saved the guard post from destruction. And I claim my reward, namely to be presented to the Emperor.’

The guardsman turned to him in surprise. ‘You, eh?’ He looked at the others. ‘Is that right?’

The robots all confirmed Jasperodus’ boast.

‘Oh, dear,’ said the officer from the palace. ‘Well, he will have to do.’

‘But a robot? It’s a mockery!’