The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

There were also some surprising touches. Planted neatly among the sprawling sheds were three interconnected buildings of almost human elegance. Moreover these villas were built of stone, a material usually scorned by robots. Secondly, the place seemed almost deserted, in contrast to the aimless outdoor sociability of construct townships generally.

Eager to show off the dramatic change in the scenery, Cricus had stopped to allow Jasperodus to inspect the view. ‘How does this illusion work?’ Jasperodus asked. ‘I have not met its like before.’

It is some kind of projected image,’ Cricus told him vaguely. ‘An invention well within the scope of the minds serving the Gargan Work. It has hid this location from Borgor eyes for a number of years.’

They resumed the descent. On gaining the canyon floor, Cricus set off for the clustered buildings.

They had not gone far when a rapid-fire sound, such as that made by a machine gun, came to their ears. The source of the sound proved to be two strange figures approaching in the shadow of the cliff wall from further down the canyon: black robots, riding astride hurtling machines with two wheels apiece mounted in tandem.

The noise was produced by small engines that powered the bizarre contraptions, which the robots rode in a posture that was peculiarly tense and aggressive-seeming. The main controls were steering bars which they reached forwards to grip in both hands, forcing them to crouch low. They were heading straight for the travellers and reached them in moments, circling as if to herd them before braking to a sudden stop in their path, throwing up spurts of dust.

Both riders and machines were larger than had appeared from a distance. The broad wheels were rimmed with thick layers of wire mesh, fitting them for travel over rough ground. One foot on the ground to prevent their machines from toppling over, the robots leaned back in their saddles, regarding the newcomers.

They had a wild and reckless look, their eyes swivelling silver slits, the lower parts of their faces jutting out like the muzzles of steel beasts. One spoke in a rasping voice. ‘You have arrived none too soon! For days we have searched for constructs, but all have fled the region and the village is long since deserted.’

Turning in the saddle, he pointed to the junkheap that towered in the distance. ‘Come, you are destined for the pile.’

‘Let us pass,’ Cricus said nervously. ‘I am Cricus, and I bring Gargan a new recruit for his team.’

The first robot turned to his companion. The latter murmured gruffly: ‘We shall be food for the pile ourselves, if we find none.’

‘True.’

He turned back to Cricus. ‘So you come to serve the Work? Then be grateful, for you shall! Gargan has ordered more brains to be added to the pile. Yours are as good as any other.’

Jasperodus became convinced of danger too late to flee. A net shot out from between the handles of the wheel machine to drape itself over him, so that he found himself struggling in a mesh of reticulated tungsten steel that tightened with his every movement. A tug from his captor toppled him to the ground. Rope he could have torn to shreds, but this net was made specifically to catch robots. He threshed about, before realizing he was only enmeshing himself further, then became still.

A second net had trapped Cricus. The riders now dismounted, propped up their machines on short extensible rods, and reached behind their saddles to open large square boxes that were placed there. From these they took out objects which unfolded to form fairly large wheeled carts.

Without another word they lifted Jasperodus and Cricus one by one into the carts, which they then attached to the rear of their vehicles. With the same machine-gun noise as before, the machines set off, towing the carts behind them.

Over the racket, Jasperodus bellowed to Cricus. ‘What will be done with us, Cricus?’

His friend’s frightened voice drifted to him. ‘I don’t know … some experiment or other.…’ Then: ‘At least we shall be of use to the Work.…’

Raising his head over the shallow rim of the truck, Jasperodus saw that they were approaching the junkheap. It was now visible as a sprawling pile, twenty to thirty feet high, of immobilised robots. Arms, legs, heads, torsos, all were tangled and tossed together. He had seen such sights before. It was common to see junked constructs piled high in scrapyards, in the yards of iron foundries, in the streets of Tansiann, and on the outskirts of robot townships. The difference was that the robots on such heaps were generally dismantled, emptied of useful parts, while here they seemed mainly complete. Only the obvious fact that their motors controls had been disconnected, he guessed, prevented them from being fully functional.