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

A short while later the meeting came to an end. Jasperodus took his leave and sauntered from the military wing of the palace, making for the inner sections. All military personnel saluted him smartly as he went by. Others, even civilians of high rank, eyed him with respect.

He made a striking figure in these luxurious surroundings, even more so now that he wore an item of apparel: a medium-length cloak which flowed down his back and set off the angular lines and bronze-black hue of his body. The cloak had arisen from the need to wear insignia in the absence of a uniform. It was divided down the centre by a purple line; on one side was the blazon of a vizier, on the other the badge of rank of a marshal of the Imperial Forces.

Crossing a terrace, Jasperodus entered the group of smaller buildings surrounding the basilica. There, in one of the several large lounges, he came upon the Emperor in conversation with Ax Oleander. Charrane looked up at the sound of Jasperodus’ arrival.

‘Ah, Jasperodus! The fellow I was waiting to see. Join us, and we will come to our business presently.’ He turned back to Oleander. ‘Pardon my interruption. Please continue.’

Oleander shot an unwelcome look at Jasperodus and shifted perceptibly closer to the Emperor. The man had never made any attempt to improve relations with Jasperodus. Jealous of his influence, he had continued to insinuate that the robot was secretly under orders from the Borgor Alliance – a suggestion which could hardly stand up against Jasperodus’ record. For his part Jasperodus had sought no retaliation for these provocations, though several times he had been amused and fascinated to see Oleander, in a room filled with people, adopt the classic stance of a monarch’s toady, whispering information into Charrane’s ear.

At the present moment the vizier was criticising the economic arrangements within the Empire.

‘In one vital respect we are particularly primitive in comparison with the old world, sire,’ he was saying. ‘I have been studying how Tergov achieved its prodigious level of production – I am referring, of course, to the “factory system”, as it was called. It seems to me that we must adopt this system ourselves. Our present arrangements are haphazard and old-fashioned.’

Charrane’s reply showed that he too had given this question some thought. He mused for a moment, then snorted softly. ‘Mass production! Have you studied also how Tergov came to fall? The reasons were complex, no doubt, but among them was that the level of production was so prodigious, in comparison with the amount of labour required for it, that the majority of the population found no place in the manufacturing process. An idle populace, Ax, is no substitute for a happy and industrious citizenry, no matter how much it may be pampered by the state. That is why I am no advocate of this “mass production”. I am content to see the main wealth of the Empire produced by individual artisans, assisted when they can afford it by a robot or two, perhaps.’

Oleander chuckled fawningly. ‘Statecraft, my lord. You are a wizard at statecraft! But think! The nations of the Borgor Alliance have already begun building their factory complexes – Borgor herself is particularly advanced in it. The advantages to be gained are overwhelming. Production lines may be operated in the first instance by unskilled labour, and finally can be made completely automatic. A commodity which an artisan would make at the rate of one a week can be turned out by one of these factories every two minutes! Think, at least, of the military potential this opens up!’

‘Well, what do you think, Jasperodus?’ Charrane asked.

‘I concur with your own outlook, sire. A society’s strength lies in its people, not in its machinery. A city of independent men is worth a continent of slaves. There must be some large-scale enterprises, of course – foundries, certain heavy industry and so forth – but the free artisan, plus the peasant-proprietor farmer, is by far the healthiest base for the economic pyramid. Besides, who would not prize the produce of a craftsman of Tansiann above the rubbish from a Borgor factory?’

‘Pah!’ muttered Oleander. ‘A pair of boots is a pair of boots. What does it matter whether it’s made to custom or turned out by the million? Look at it this way, sire. On an assembly line the manufacturing process is broken down into simple steps which can be performed by untrained hands or by crude automatic devices. No time is wasted. An artisan, however, needs skills that take years to acquire – and often he is assisted by a robot that itself has taken months to manufacture, that is needlessly self-directed and has abilities entirely redundant to the task in hand. What a ludicrous superfluity of talent! Mark my words, if we do not match her industrial output Borgor will bury us in cheap goods within a few years!’

‘I do not think so,’ Jasperodus retorted. ‘I think Borgor’s factories will bring her social unrest and she will crumble within, as Tergov did.’