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

‘You have no moral sense,’ chortled the white-bearded oldster.

The fourth member of the team, a man somewhat younger than the others, spoke up. ‘Your question is dealt with by the Riddle of the Sphinx, said by many to predate all recorded history.’

Jasperodus darted him a quick look. ‘Tell it.’

‘The riddle runs: What can a man do that is neither thinking, feeling, sensing nor action? The answer is that he can be conscious that he does any of those things. Here we have the vital difference between a man and any construct. Your Majesty can think, have emotions, perceive – in the machine sense – and perform effective action. But there can be no awareness behind these functions, and if you aver that there is then you have formed an erroneous conclusion.’

‘So my good friend Padua tells me,’ Jasperodus said huffily, disappointed that he had received no praise. ‘And yet I do indeed hold to this error, at no small cost to my peace of mind. Tell me, do you not fear that I will punish you for your ill-considered remarks?’

‘Should we then insult both you and ourselves with pandering lies?’ The man put on an exposition of dignity. ‘We undertake to earn our fee wherever we go, whether with frolics or erudition.’

The expositor twisted the knife still further. ‘It needs to be said that gaining power over others, even in seizing a kingdom by force, is among the coarsest of human accomplishments and does not indicate any high level of attainment.’

But meanwhile the white-bearded poser of paradoxes was apparently seized by a huge joke and sat giggling quietly to himself. Jasperodus’ gaze veered towards him.

‘Why do you laugh, old man?’

‘Who is to prove that human beings are conscious either?’ the other replied, restraining his mirth. ‘There is no objective test. They themselves assert it, of course – but you make the same claim, and we know the claim to be false in your case. Perhaps we are deluded concerning ourselves – therefore rest easy, robot, probably we are all un conscious together! After all, life is but a dream, the playwright tells us!’

‘Well spoken!’ acclaimed Jasperodus in a hollow voice. ‘For all I know your state is just as mine is.’ But inwardly he felt the emptiness of this small victory. The oldster’s argument was clever but too sophisticated to be taken seriously. If he were to cling to it he might well be like the man in the condemned cell who believed he could not be garotted.

‘Let us leave this fruitless area of discussion,’ the old man suggested. ‘Would Your Majesty care to hear more paradoxes? I will prove that motion is impossible, that a swift runner cannot overtake a slow one, and that a bullet can never reach its target.’

‘Enough, enough.’ Jasperodus rose to his feet. ‘Enough of paradoxes. I bid you good night.’

He swept through the hall. All present – save the entertainers – kept their eyes downcast, embarrassed that their lord’s construct nature had been made so much of, and nervous of what his reaction would be. On leaving the hall Jasperodus signalled to Cree Inwing to follow; the two conferred in the passage outside.

‘Do we go now to Fludd?’ Inwing asked.

‘No… I think not.’ Jasperodus uttered a deep sigh, as if of weariness and tedium. ‘I have made a decision, Inwing. Gordona is too small a pond for me. I am abandoning all and taking myself to the east. Since I have no further interest in what happens here you are free to return to Zhorm; I release you from your oath.’

‘Hmm.’ Inwing accepted this statement with remarkably little astonishment, but with some appearance of self-concern. He fingered his moustache doubtfully. ‘You place me in an unenviable situation. There can be no question of taking sides with Zhorm – I am a traitor of the first rank and he will kill me at the earliest opportunity. It seems I had best flee the country.’

‘But you saved Zhorm’s life.’

‘He doesn’t know that; and it would certainly be hard to convince him.’

Jasperodus looked down at the young officer’s face. Inwing was a man of practicality, he decided; in the space of seconds he had turned his back on Gordona and was already contemplating a new future somewhere in a strange land. Jasperodus grunted with a hint of humour. ‘I shall be taking the aircraft. Accompany me, if you want to get away from here in a hurry – it makes no difference to me, and you have served me well so perhaps I owe you that.’

Inwing nodded. ‘I accept.’

‘You don’t feel degraded to travel in the company of a robot?’ Jasperodus asked in a tone edged with sarcasm. ‘You heard the debate in the hall just now; you must have opinions of your own.’

Inwing shrugged. ‘I’m not a philosopher. I’ve no time for subtle distinctions, especially when the throttling cord is practically around my neck. What of Craish and the others, by the way? You leave them in circumstances that are even less to be desired.’

Jasperodus considered briefly. ‘I will send a message releasing Craish and the rest also. Let him try to seize Gordona for himself if he cares to – but I think he’ll take his men and sneak off back to the forest to carry on as before.’

‘Yes, the heart will go out of things without you there,’ Inwing agreed. Jasperodus was pleased that he had dropped all formality and was speaking to him as man to man.

They stopped by the office while Jasperodus wrote to Craish, sending the letter by dispatch rider. He could imagine the ex-bandit’s dismay on receiving it.

Unobtrusively they left the palace. Thunder rolled from the distance and was coming rapidly nearer through the darkness. The rain was heavy, making a continuous splash and patter on the courtyard and pouring off the slanting roofs of the palace.

‘Craish will have time for a getaway, at any rate,’ Jasperodus ruminated. ‘Zhorm will not move tonight.’ Not that he cared; his attitude to his followers remained unsentimental.

Gordona’s one and only serviceable aircraft was kept in a shed in the palace grounds. Jasperodus sent away the guards, then he and Inwing lifted up the door, propping it open with the shafts provided for the purpose. Together they pushed the small, natty flier on to the short grass runway.

The robot opened the cabin door and flicked a switch, causing the dashboard to glow. He checked the dials, was satisfied, then turned back to Inwing standing on the grass.

‘So goodbye to Gordona,’ he said tonelessly, his gaze flicking around at the palace and at the lights thrown up by the town beyond. ‘My kindergarten.’

‘Where are we bound for, as a matter of interest?’ Inwing asked mildly. ‘To the east, you said. But east of here lies a veritable chaos of states and principalities, many of them places of danger and violence. Anarchy has its advocates, but I would prefer that we fixed a safer, more definite destination.’

‘You fear for your safety, then? Set your mind at ease, I am flying directly to Tansiann, the centre of the inhabited world.’

Inwing looked startled. ‘That’s half the world away!’

‘The flier is perfectly capable of making the journey. I have seen to that by helping to service it myself, since there is no trusting these doltish mechanics. The motor is powered by an isotope battery, so we shall not be stranded for lack of fuel.’

Inwing sighed. ‘I fear my provinciality will show. It is a place where one needs one’s wits about one.’

Jasperodus became impatient. ‘Tonight I made a vow to experience everything a man can experience,’ he said in a low voice that was like iron. ‘Where else would I go for this but Tansiann? If you lack the verve to survive in a city I’ll set you down wherever you please en route .’