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

His words provoked such a look of unhappiness on the robotician’s face that he instantly regretted them – he had spoiled Padua’s pleasure. But he impatiently cancelled the feeling. Padua had enjoyed his work and he , Jasperodus, had to pay the price for his enjoyment.

‘Would it be any use if I advised you not to brood too much on this enigma?’ Padua suggested cautiously. ‘It is part of your integration state, and it does appear to work, as a device for raising your degree of function to a greater independence than is normally found in a robot. You are, almost, a perfect simulation of a man.’

‘Thank you,’ Jasperodus said with scathing irony. ‘It helps not at all, especially as I must now return to the tender ministrations of Horsu Greb.’

‘I have been considering that,’ Padua replied. ‘Horsu could be accused of not making full use of your potentialities – it grieves me to see you wasted on manual labour. Perhaps I can persuade the Major Domo to assign you to more challenging duties where you will not be under his direction, though that would be a break with our usual practice. After all, Greb has effectively discarded you.’

An idea came to Jasperodus. ‘Though my knowledge of engineering is far from extensive, I could undertake to design a better powerhouse than you have at present. It gives one a poor view of Gordona’s engineers.’

‘They are better described as optimistic amateurs,’ Padua agreed. ‘Possibly it could be arranged. Failing that, how would you like to become my assistant? But we must discuss this later – I have duties elsewhere, and perhaps you would like to be alone to collect your thoughts. I’ll be back in about an hour.’

Padua departed, leaving Jasperodus to his own devices. Attracted to the garden, and wishing to test his new faculties, he unfastened the catch on a glass door and stepped outside. Some yards along a stone path, through a trellised arbour, brought him to a lawn whose further end descended into a series of cultivated terraces. All around were flowering trees, blossoms and shrubs, and beyond these could be glimpsed the circle of low buildings that comprised the palace: mixed timber and stone surmounted by curved, pointed roofs.

A breeze blew up, playing over his body with sensations so fresh and delightful that he was astonished. And his mind simply stopped when he encountered the warm, heady summer of perfumes the breeze brought with it: sensuous, delicate, powerful and bewitching, yet clean and innocent. Marvellous!

Marvellous!

Some of his recent dourness dropped away. It was impossible to remain sullen in the midst of such wonders. He strolled through the garden; his fingers played with silky smooth petals and cool, ribbed leaves. See this red rose: what perfect harmony between colour, texture and scent! Not to speak of perfection of form! Jasperodus paced on, an Adam in a new Eden, smelling the scent of new-cut grass, feeling the shortened blades tickle his feet.

This, surely, proved that existence – even his kind of existence – was worthwhile! What if he did lack this mysterious quality called consciousness? What if his identity was a fiction? Were not some of the world’s greatest dramas fictions? In the face of these new experiences it now seemed to him that the whole affair was purely a sophistry and that he had been a fool to have been brought down by it.

A new excitement germinated in his mind: the excitement known to the world as AMBITION. I have been through fire and am purged of despair and self-doubt. Am I less of a man than Horsu Greb? Than King Zhorm? Than Padua, even? Am I capable of less than they? Demonstrably, no! And I shall prove my worth. I shall prove it by gaining power over them… they all shall defer to Jasperodus the robot .

He paused, revelling in his new-born senses; and in that hidden, empty place where his soul should have been was formed a resolve having all the force of obsession. I know my strength… There is nothing I cannot do… King Zhorm, look to your throne …

‘This then, Your Majesty, is my scheme. In place of one furnace we have two. The main furnace is for isotope fuel and is sealed. The other burns combustibles and will serve as an assist to the first, or for emergencies. The heat exchanger is also a considerable improvement on the present arrangement. The same water can be circulated through the jackets of both furnaces or through either of them alone. All the controls are simple and employ no interior moving parts except for a system of movable trays, for the disposal of waste, which are proof against any kind of breakdown. I can promise Your Majesty that the new powerhouse will do away with the erratic voltages and frequent breakdowns, not to say danger to life and property, that have been a source of annoyance in the past.’

King Zhorm glanced cursorily at Jasperodus’ blueprints, following the features pointed out by the latter’s metal finger and pretending he understood them.

‘If the scheme is approved,’ Jasperodus added, ‘I may then go on to re-design the generators, which also incorporate many defects.’

‘You seem to think we are living in Tansiann, with the taxes of half the planet to draw on,’ grumbled Zhorm. ‘Already I have expended much on the extension to the present powerhouse.’

This claim was hardly true; the extensions consisted merely of fuel bunkers built by robot labour. Only the materials had involved any expense. Jasperodus made no comment, however. The King seemed to be distracted today, so he decided to drop the whole matter for the time being.

‘Your Majesty perhaps has more important questions on his mind,’ he ventured.

‘Indeed I have. Those bandits out in the West Forest are becoming an intolerable pest. Matters are reaching serious proportions.’

Zhorm poured goblets of wine, absent-mindedly offered Jasperodus one, then downed it himself after a hasty curse. It was disconcerting to have this machine about the palace, he thought. Jasperodus was more intelligent than any other robot Zhorm had ever seen and he kept thinking of him as human.

Jasperodus’ eagerness for change was not unreservedly welcome either. If given free rein the clever robot would embroil Zhorm in grandiose schemes far beyond his means. As it was he was having to divert most of his resources into his small army because of these confounded bandit raids… Idly he mused on what other appointment Jasperodus could be given in his retinue. Why not make him court jester? He had already shown he had wit. Zhorm smiled, imagining Jasperodus bedecked in fool’s garb, prancing about and forced to invent inane jokes for the general amusement.

Jasperodus was at a loss to explain the King’s sudden laughter.

But no matter. He was remembering a recent conversation he had held with Major Cree Inwing, an officer in the Gordonian Guard, Zhorm’s little-practised army.

Jasperodus had been working on his blueprints using a table in the lobby (he had no room of his own to work in), when he had witnessed an exchange between this officer and Prince Okhramora, the King’s half-brother, whom Jasperodus had encountered on the evening of his first induction into Zhorm’s household: he was the fat man who had tried to belabour him with an iron rod. Inordinately fond of food, drink and lechery, he was often to be seen bustling about the palace on errands of doubtful propriety.

On this occasion, however, his business was indignantly moral. He was upbraiding Major Inwing for the Guards’ failure to bring the bandit bands to book. With him he had a farmer from an outlying district, a sad-faced fellow who only the day before had been attacked, his farm despoiled and his brother and eldest son killed. Such raids were occurring nearly every other day now, and were penetrating deeper into the small kingdom.