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

Charrane looked from one to the other of his human companions with raised eyebrows. Then he gazed at Jasperodus, but with no hint of feeling.

‘At our first meeting some years ago you brought forward points affecting the security of the Empire. Now your work is done. The Empire is secure. That is all.’

‘That is no reason for a death sentence, sire!’

‘Death?’ echoed Charrane in puzzlement. ‘Death?’ Again he glanced at Breed and Oleander and for a moment seemed almost amused. ‘Listen to me, my friend. Because it has been your function over the past few years to question my judgement on matters of strategy, on the broad affairs of state, do not imagine you can become presumptuous over the business of your own disposal.’

‘I … I confess myself bewildered by your change in attitude towards me, sire …’ Jasperodus quavered, seeking some handle by which to grasp the situation.

Ax Oleander humped his shoulders in a jovial shrug. ‘If the construct wishes to be given reasons, sire, why not indulge him?’

Charrane lowered his eyes, then nodded curtly. He turned to Jasperodus.

‘There is an inexorability about machines, they say,’ he remarked. ‘Never halting, always advancing on the course they were first set to, whether circumstances warrant it or not. Certainly it has been the case with you! I have been made aware of how far your activities are beginning to extend. Projects here, projects there – many of them unsolicited!’ Now Charrane looked indignant. ‘Your talents are indisputable, but I do not wish to see them become unwelcome … besides, a certain King Zhorm of Gordona has lately applied to become my vassal, and he has recounted anew the story of your stay there, which has given me fresh food for thought.’

‘That kind of thing is behind me, sire! I work only for the advancement of the Empire!’

‘I am aware of that, Jasperodus. But I am also aware that your concern for the Empire now covers all spheres, not merely the military. May I remind you that the care and welfare of the Empire is my province? I do not care to be usurped in any form or fashion – ambition, Jasperodus, is a quality that should be restricted to men. In machines it is altogether unacceptable.’ He spread his hands in a gesture of reasonableness; a hint of humour came to his features. ‘What else could I do with you? My human ministers may be pensioned off with fleshly pleasures when they reach the end of their usefulness, and be no further bother to me. How does one turn aside the ambitions of a machine? Only by resort to the junkyard.’

Jasperodus hung his head. ‘My services to you should merit a better reward, sire. I will forgo all ambitions, if you will spare me. Even constructs are endowed with a survival instinct.’

‘I have no doubt they are endowed with many things,’ Charrane muttered. Then he turned to accept a goblet of sherbet that was offered by a serving maid.

Amid his shock and dismay, Jasperodus was forced to perceive his fundamental mistake. All this time he had been under a misapprehension regarding his relations with Charrane. The Emperor had never for a moment looked upon him as a living entity, but only as an inanimate machine, the use and disposing of which involved no sense of morality.

Badly shaken, Jasperodus rose to his feet. Behind him he heard the heavy tread of the wreckers as they entered the hall.

During the conversation Ax Oleander had been unconsciously moving closer to the Emperor, until he had almost adopted the mouth-to-ear whispering position so familiar to Jasperodus. For the first time since Jasperodus had known him Oleander was wearing a smile of genuine pleasure, and it was clear now where many of Charrane’s just-stated thoughts had originated.

‘Mouth to ear!’ Jasperodus cried. ‘He feeds you his poison and you swallow it!’

The wreckers gripped his arms.

Jasperodus began to howl.

‘DEATH, DEATH, DEATH – you fools, do you not see? You are as dead as I! Death – all the world is nothing but death!’

They dragged him out still howling – not into the city, as he would have expected, but to a cellar under the palace. He passingly understood the reason for it: it would not be seemly to drag a marshal of the Imperial Forces through the streets. Here waited robotic technicians, around them strewn the tools of their trade with which to disassemble him. Broken up into small parts, he would be delivered to the masher.

They laid him down on a board table. But Jasperodus broke free and retreated to a corner of the cell-like room. The technicians fell back, disconcerted by this ferocious, glaring robot who fought for his life.

‘What can it matter what thoughts and feelings inhabit this empty vessel?’ Jasperodus babbled. ‘When my voice echoes out of this vacant iron drum, where does it come from? From nowhere, from emptiness – the voice of no one – a voice in the void without a speaker. And what of you? Does any entity form your words?’

Uncomprehendingly the technicians stared at him. The wreckers seized him again, and again Jasperodus began to howl.