The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

About half the robots were jet black, while the other half were silvery-white. In places solid groups of one colour stood together. Turning his attention to the field, Jasperodus saw a comparable situation. Some sort of game was in progress, half the players being black, half silver-white.

The gatekeeper invited the visitors to seat themselves on a padded bench but remained standing himself. He began to explain the game.

‘The count considers himself an expert on games of all kinds,’ he began. ‘This one was played in the ancient world. As you will observe, there are two teams, distinguishable by colour, which are engaged in kicking a ball about the field. Control over this ball is the essence of the game. It may come in contact with the feet, or with the head, but never with the hands without penalty. At either end of the field you will notice a net-covered structure open at the side facing the field and guarded by one player. The goal of the game is to manoeuvre the ball into the net belonging to the opposing team, upon which one’s own team receives a score of one. It is a kind of ritualised war.

‘Considerable skill and team-work are involved, and in ancient times were the subject of a vast body of tactical lore.’

He stopped to allow them to watch the game uninterrupted. A black construct had raced up the field, cleverly shepherding the mud-coloured ball, and now was intercepted by a white player who tried to take it from him with some tricky footwork. In response black sent the ball soaring away from both of them, and white, tripping over black’s legs, went sprawling on the turf.

Jasperodus wondered why black had discarded the ball in this way, then saw that he had in fact lobbed it to a colleague, who neatly took it, ran a few yards then kicked it into the net despite a frantic lunge by the defending goalkeeper.

Excitement mounted in the crowd, practically exploding when the ball hit the back of the net, the cacophony of roars and shrieks reaching maximum volume while robots leaped up and down. Even Cricus, carried away by the atmosphere of the occasion, clinked his arms together in applause.

Meanwhile observer robots with coloured flags had been patrolling the edges of the play area. A shrill whistle blew, summoning the two teams to form up afresh in opposing halves of the field. The ball was placed between them by a flag-bearing robot, and again the whistle blew; play continued.

Recalling that the noise from the stadium had continued ever since his arrival, Jasperodus asked the gatekeeper how long the game had been in progess. The attendant answered with pride in his voice. ‘It has run continuously for nearly five years now.’

‘Then when is it scheduled to end?’ Jasperodus asked, suppressing any amazement he might have felt.

‘Not until the end of eternity! This is the count’s great work. In a trillion years it will not even have reached half time. Already projects are in hand to see that it survives the eventual dissolution of the planet, probably by locating it on a newly-formed asteroid.’

‘There is some point to such a demonstration?’

‘The count says the stadium is the universe in miniature.’

Cricus interceded in a low voice. ‘This is derived from the count’s talks with Gargan,’ he said. ‘According to Gargan, the world consists of an eternal war or contest between opposing forces. The game illustrates that principle.’

Jasperodus realized he was again hearing ideas first explained to him by the Zoroastrian mage in the hills. A perpetual sports match was, for a fact, a fair simile of the endless interplay of the forces of light and darkness. The doctrine had presumably appealed to Gargan—as, indeed, it had appealed to Jasperodus himself.

‘So our count has a philosophical side after all,’ he said.

‘He is a curious mixture of character traits,’ Cricus agreed.

‘What of the spectators? Do they form part of the symbolism?’

‘They have known nothing but the game, and never will know anything but the game,’ the gatekeeper told him.

‘Always there are spectators. Indeed every entity in the real world is both a spectator and a player. The count’s symbology is fully worked out.’

‘Even if not immediately obvious,’ Jasperodus responded. ‘By the way, is a score kept for this perpetual battle?’

‘Oh indeed. Do you not see yonder scoreboard?’ The gatekeeper peered at something on the far side of the stadium. ‘White: forty-nine thousand five hundred and forty-three; Black: fifty-one thousand and thirty-eight.’

‘Just as I would have expected,’ Jasperodus said ironically. ‘Evil is in the lead.’

‘You are moralising,’ the attendant rebuked him. ‘Neither are you correct in assuming that Black maintains a constant lead. The two teams are evenly matched in skill, though it is true I have noticed a distinct tendency for White to suffer more injury. That does not affect the score, of course.’

‘It is rather a rough game,’ Cricus remarked, as though by way of explanation.