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

At that moment Jasperodus bounded forward to mount the steps and snatched the Crown from his hands, cuffing him violently to send him sprawling a dozen feet away.

Swivelling himself round on the floor, Okhramora stared with wide, disbelieving eyes. ‘What happened?’ he squeaked. ‘Is the Crown booby-trapped? No? Then what? – Jasperodus?…’

One of the women screamed.

Jasperodus unhooked his repeater. ‘Used me as a plaything, did you?’ he growled. ‘You believed me to be your slave. Poor moron, you were my tool, not I yours!’

The gun voiced its hideous chatter. Okhramora jerked again and again, edged along the floor by the impact of the bullets. While blood seeped from his body horrified screams filled the chamber.

‘SILENCE!’ Jasperodus roared. ‘Silence, or I will deal thus with you all!’

They became hushed. Jasperodus saw Count Osbah sidling to the back of the gathering, trying to gain the doors unnoticed. But he did nothing to stop him and stood as if momentarily paralysed. Unexpected emotions coursed through him and the Crown seemed to burn his metal fingers.

Before the Count could reach the doors they were flung suddenly inwards and Craish entered with his men. At the sight of Jasperodus standing with the throne at his back and the Crown in his hands they came to a halt.

‘Enter,’ Jasperodus commanded in a booming, almost trembling voice that reverberated about the chamber. ‘Enter and witness.’ He paused, feeling slightly dizzy. He tried to remind himself of his carefully laid plans, of the calculated moves and periods that must pass before he became King. But all went by the board. A madness had come over him; a madness of pride, of power and of victory. He was not in control of himself. His voice roared out wildly.

‘ALL KNEEL!’

Though startled, Craish’s men obeyed immediately – all but two or three who had thought themselves to be working for Okhramora’s cause. But something supernatural seemed to have happened to the bronze-black robot; his charismatic presence filled the room, overpowering all present, and in seconds not only these but the civilians, too, sank to their knees, brought down by a combination of fear and personal force.

Jasperodus lifted the Crown and brought it slowly down on his head. As the gold touched his metal skull a feeling of ecstasy swept through his brain.

‘ I, I, I am your King!’ he proclaimed, lifting his voice so that it resonated in everyone’s consciousness. ‘I am the sole initiator of my deeds, architect of your destinies!’

Craish set up a cry which was echoed in frightened tones by the others. ‘Long live the King!’

Jasperodus sank back majestically to seat himself upon the throne and looked upon his minions, his head rotating slowly, his eyes glaring red with power and ferocity.

Moments later another soldier came into the Throne Room. He seemed astonished by what he saw, but managed to splutter out his message.

‘King Zhorm has entered the palace, Commander!’

‘And where is he?’

‘He was seen to make directly for the nursery, Commander.’

Jasperodus nodded. That would naturally be his target. He had three small children, two boys and a girl, between the ages of five and ten.

He rose from the throne. ‘Put these hangers-on of Okhramora’s under lock and key,’ he said to Craish. ‘What follows, I must do alone.’

He left the Throne Room, laying aside the Crown, and made his way through the palace. The corridors were silent and dim, empty except for an occasional sentry at an intersection. He was near the nursery when a movement ahead caused him to halt and peer suspiciously.

Major Cree Inwing was lurking in the shadows, probably not realising he was visible to Jasperodus’ spectrum-shifting vision.

‘Show yourself, Major, or you’re as good as dead,’ Jasperodus threatened.

Major Inwing slipped into the feeble light, his face pale. ‘I am alone and unarmed,’ he said curtly.

Jasperodus studied the other’s face. There was a brisk but open quality to it that he found likable; however, Inwing was also too loyal to be drawn into treasonable plots, and so he had left him out of his machinations.

‘How did you get here?’ he demanded. ‘I thought I had you detained in the officers’ quarters.’

‘True, but I escaped. Mutiny is an ugly thing.’ Jasperodus saw that Inwing’s arm was bloody where a bullet had nicked it. ‘I have to admit that I misjudged you badly, Commander. All this is Prince Okhramora’s work, I suppose?’

Jasperodus did not reply to the question. ‘I have word that Zhorm is in the nursery,’ he said. ‘You, I imagine, know that also.’

Inwing went even whiter, and Jasperodus saw that he was sweating. ‘What do you intend?’ he said quickly. ‘No – it’s too obvious. Trust Okhramora to use you for work like that.’ His voice was heavy with contempt.

‘It would be folly to do otherwise. My throne would never be safe while Zhorm and his children live.’

‘The children too?’ Inwing seemed not to notice how Jasperodus framed the statement in his revulsion for its main import. ‘You can’t do it, Commander – it’s going too far. Not even you can do it, whatever you are. You mustn’t do it.’ The young Major was pleading with him now.

‘I see no great difficulty,’ Jasperodus replied, and made to move on.

‘Wait…’ Inwing stepped in his path, ‘How do you think the people will take to knowing that their King has been murdered? Think of that.’

‘Again I see no great difficulty,’ Jasperodus answered. He wondered why he lingered to talk to Inwing, instead of getting on with his business. Nevertheless he went on: ‘A small, compact armed force is all that is necessary to hold down a country the size of Gordona. Such a force of men can always be raised, if there are suitable inducements.’

Inwing’s face looked tragic as he recognised the logic of the argument. But he made one last try. ‘Listen, Commander, your control of the country will be much easier if you have the whole of the Guard with you. I can give you that: you know that at least half the men will follow my lead when it comes to a showdown. I’ll serve you, faithfully, absolutely faithfully – you or your master – for the rest of my life. I swear it. My only condition is that King Zhorm and his family must be allowed to go with their lives.’

Inwing’s popularity was already a factor in Jasperodus’ mind. ‘You are previously sworn to serve King Zhorm,’ he pointed out.

‘I can do him no greater service than to strike this bargain with you,’ Inwing retorted. But suddenly Jasperodus’ obduracy seemed to come home to him and he became angry and despairing. ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it?’ he sneered, looking as though he were about to spit. ‘Here I am trying to appeal to your better nature! You may be clever, but you’re a robot – there’s nothing to appeal to in that dead brain.’

Jasperodus shoved him aside and strode onwards.

Finding the nursery door locked, he smashed it inwards and surveyed the scene inside.

Two nurses were hurriedly dressing the children, who seemed sleepy and upset. Zhorm was on his knees, helping them. At Jasperodus’ intrusion he swung round with a glare of fear and hatred, clutching an impotent pistol.

The robot’s gaze flicked quickly around the nursery: the beds on which the children slept, the toys strewn around the floor, the colourful pictures of soldiers and animals on the walls.

He had not made any decision as to how he would act; but when he spoke the words came out of his mouth as if unbidden.

‘You will take your family and leave Gordona forever. Do you hear me, Zhorm? Forever! My men will be here in ten minutes to take you to the border. Be ready!’