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

Jasperodus turned to a nearby construct who stood humming a turgid tune.

‘What happens here?’

‘Here,’ the construct told him, ‘robots may get drunk, as men do.’

Now Jasperodus saw the first of the humans – probably the ‘tavern’s’ proprietor – accept a coin from a construct and put his apparatus to work. A mesh of wire filaments was applied to the client’s metal cranium. The robot’s eyes flared briefly. The vendor moved on.

‘What is the nature of that device?’ Jasperodus asked his informant.

‘It is a neural pattern generator. It conveys specially modulated electric currents to the brain so as to produce feelings of euphoria and intoxication.’

‘Hah!’ Jasperodus laughed momentarily. ‘So intoxication is not exclusively the province of human consciousness.’

‘Indeed not. This method, applied to an artificial brain, is as fully effective as alcohol or other drugs are to an organic brain. I have been as drunk, merry and incapable as a human many a time.’

It cheered Jasperodus to see yet one more barrier between machine existence and human status go down. The vendor of electric current approached him. ‘Want a jag? Only three imperial shillings.’

Jasperodus waved him aside. ‘Later.’ He fully intended to sample the experience, but he wanted to enlarge his observations first.

Accordingly he pushed his way through the press of bodies (many of them so far gone as to be pitted with rust) and installed himself on a bench to the rear from where he could watch all.

The second of the two men, who up until now had been inactive, was engaged in conversation with a construct whose body was finished in matt silver. Finally their deliberations seemed complete. The rear door opened; the robot was ushered inside.

Jasperodus waited to see what would transpire. After a while the robot returned, carrying a small money-pouch which jingled.

Otherwise Jasperodus could discern no difference, apart perhaps from a certain stiffness of gait, and he could not guess what service the robot had performed in return for his money.

His ignorance, however, was soon dispelled. There walked unsteadily past him a robot whose cranial inspection plate was missing. Through the gap Jasperodus could see that part of the brain had been removed and what remained was exposed to the air, presenting a bizarre sight.

The partially decorticated robot confronted the mysterious dealer. ‘You have the unit that was promised?’ he asked pleadingly.

The man nodded. The robot handed him a largish money-bag. ‘Then here. I have worked long and without pause to raise your price. It is not a simple matter to work so hard with only half a brain.’

The dealer emptied the bag and counted the coins slowly. There was a substantial amount of money. Finally he nodded.

The robot was admitted through the door. When he returned twenty minutes later his cranium was smooth and complete. He looked around the room, flexing his body. There was a new stance to him; the slouch he had worn earlier was gone.

‘Ah, ratiocination!’ he boomed. ‘Man’s greatest gift to robot!’

Jasperodus beckoned him closer. ‘What is the cause of your sudden joy?’ he asked.

‘Rather ask the cause of my previous misery,’ the construct corrected him. ‘It lies in the fact that most robot brains are capable of being broken down into sub-units. I sold my greatest possession, namely my ability to think with rigorous logic and so to enjoy the delights of the intellect. It is indeed a twilight world without the power of thought, and I have had to labour for many years to buy a replacement.’

This revelation gave Jasperodus new food for thought. He now noticed that several of the tavern’s occupants displayed gaping skulls, so much of the contents being absent that the robotician had found it inconvenient to close up the cranium again. One unfortunate, who squatted against a wall, was so deprived that he could have had only vestigial mentation left.

The neural modulation vendor approached Jasperodus again. ‘Care to try a shot now?’

Jasperodus dipped into his satchel and produced three imperial shillings. Attending carefully, the vendor bent forward and brushed the meshwork against the base of his skull, apparently knowing just where to introduce the stimulatory currents. The box attached to the leads gave forth a hollow buzzing sound; Jasperodus felt a premonitory thrilling sensation, and then his mind seemed to light up; he felt a surge of well-being. The room went hazy for a moment and then seemed to sway.

Evidently the ‘jag’ involved some slight derangement of the senses – as did alcohol, he reminded himself, recalling Cree Inwing’s frequent inability to see, talk or walk straight – and that was the penalty for the feelings of intoxication and gaiety that were now assailing him.

‘Have another,’ offered the vendor.

Jasperodus gave up another three shillings. This time the jolt, added to the first, had a double effect. He began to laugh, understanding, as he did so, that he was becoming prey to a dangerous excess of confidence.

Shortly he discovered that the vendor’s partner, the parts dealer, had sidled close. ‘You’re a fine machine and no mistake,’ he said to Jasperodus. ‘One of the best models I’ve seen. That’s an excellent brain, with a lot of functions – I can tell that from the shape of your cranium. Yes sir, there are a lot of processes in that cortex.’ He touched Jasperodus’ arm admiringly. ‘You can’t need all those processes – wouldn’t miss a few logic centres at all, for instance. Probably a lot of built-in redundancy anyway. Like to sell me a few? I give a good price and it won’t take long. Keep you in jags for a long time.’

‘No,’ said Jasperodus.

Smiling, the other turned to the vendor. ‘Give him another. On the house.’ And he returned to his station by the door.

Jasperodus accepted the free shot. His vision became blurred. He was becoming drunk, he realised, enjoying the knowledge that the ebullience coursing through his system was the same as that he had so often observed in Inwing and others.

‘Vendor!’ he bellowed recklessly a minute or two later. ‘Bring me more of this electric poison!’

The vendor was quick to oblige, and even quicker scarcely another minute later when Jasperodus again called for more. After the dose had been delivered, however, Jasperodus groped in his bag and found that his scant few shillings were all spent. ‘I cannot pay you,’ he growled.

‘Three imperial shillings,’ the man insisted. ‘You owe me for your last jag.’

‘Electricity is cheap,’ Jasperodus said. ‘You are not out of pocket.’ He rose to his feet, staggered and nearly fell over.

The parts dealer had again appeared, and the vendor spoke to him. ‘This construct has tried to cheat us,’ he exclaimed indignantly. ‘He has accepted a jag and cannot pay. This is a serious matter.’

‘Indeed,’ said the dealer with gravity. He looked on Jasperodus with a frown, then adopted a more friendly pose.

‘My offer is still open,’ he said smoothly. ‘For the sale of only trifling fragments of your cerebral apparatus you can not only clear up the debt but also ensure a supply of exhilaration for many days to come.’

‘It appears, indeed, to be the only way you can deliver yourself from the predicament you are in!’ the vendor added angrily.

‘HAH!’ Jasperodus’ cry of contempt sounded through the noise of the shack. He pushed them both aside and staggered drunkenly away, while expostulations went unheeded behind him. Groping, supporting himself occasionally by grabbing the bodies of others, he gained the exit where he was confronted by the doorkeeper.

‘You may not leave without settling your debts.’