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

He switched off his welding kit and touched his hand to the nearest guardsman’s helmet, so as to conduct sound. ‘Your tardiness is less than commendable,’ he greeted. Then he gestured to the slotman, who was floating motionless by the other wall. ‘I believe his oxygen has just run out. You had better transfer him to your ship without delay.’

The guardsman approached the unconscious figure, examined it, then unclipped the slotman’s oxygen pack and inserted in its place an emergency cylinder from his own equipment. He turned to his comrades and spoke something through his suit communicator. Making an attempt to lip-read, Jasperodus thought he deciphered the words: ‘Maybe he’ll pull through, maybe he won’t.’

Then he signalled Jasperodus to touch his helmet again. ‘Well, somebody’s done a good job here. We’ve roughly got the picture: a Borgor ship attacked while the station was out of commission, and the repair crew destroyed it somehow, using the shuttle.’ He jerked his thumb. ‘Who’d have thought a slotman could pull off a stunt like that? There’ll be a medal for him, I shouldn’t wonder. Tansiann tells us the post’s transmitting all go signals now, so let’s get aboard.’

Planing down through the atmosphere the slotman recovered consciousness. Moved by some residual fellow-feeling, one of the robots had been attending him, moving his arms so as to exercise his lungs. He sat up, moaned lightly, then lay down shivering.

Buffeted by cross winds they approached Tansiann and made a screeching landing on one of the spaceground’s runways. The crew, still accompanied by guardsmen, straggled back to the iron shed where they were to be debriefed and receive their wages. Shortly, however, an officer wearing a livery Jasperodus did not recognise arrived.

‘Hold the proceedings,’ he ordered the guardsmen. ‘Word of the exploit has reached the palace. Today the Emperor is to receive those who lately have performed the Empire some special service, and he has directed that the man responsible should be present.’

The guardsman grinned and yanked the cringing slotman forward, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘Hear that? A signal honour!’

The slotman gasped, his face white. ‘ Me? Presented to the Emperor? Oh no! It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!’ And he shook all over, rolled up his eyes, and fainted in a heap on the floor.

‘Hm.’ The liveried officer looked down at him doubtfully. ‘Not quite of the backbone one expects in a hero.’

Jasperodus thrust himself forward. ‘Allow me to enlighten you. It was I, not this creature, who by my initiative saved the guard post from destruction. And I claim my reward, namely to be presented to the Emperor.’

The guardsman turned to him in surprise. ‘ You , eh?’ He looked at the others. ‘Is that right?’

The robots all confirmed Jasperodus’ boast.

‘Oh, dear,’ said the officer from the palace. ‘Well, he will have to do.’

‘But a robot ? It’s a mockery!’

The other glanced at him disdainfully. ‘The Emperor himself has given a specific command. Would you disobey it? Besides, there are constructs serving at all levels of government, so the encounter will not be so strange… Now let me see… He’s in good shape for a wild one, isn’t he? Most of them are a bit decrepit. Come along with me, fellow, and we’ll get you cleaned up.’

Later, scrubbed and polished, Jasperodus was conducted into the central basilica of the massive palace that ruled Tansiann, and beyond that, the New Empire. A feeling of excitement burned in him. To enter this place had been his eventual goal, but he had not expected to achieve it for several years to come.

Already his journey through the palace had shown him how impressive it was – but then, he reminded himself, it was built to impress. Also, it was replete with treasures and artworks, both from the ancient world and of more recent fashioning. True, there was a certain lack of tasteful arrangement about this huge collection, as though it was booty for booty’s sake. The Emperor, perhaps, cared more for the idea of art than he properly understood it.

The basilica itself, however, had been designed with discrimination. The sides of the oblong hall were screened by a double colonnade. Light from small mullioned windows set high in the walls mingled with a warm radiance from hidden illuminators. A concave effect was imparted to the whole interior by a series of hangings that descended from the ceiling towards the colonnade in a stepped arc.

Murals and rich tapestries abounded. Blues, golds and purples completed the creation of an atmosphere of sumptuousness. In the dome-roofed apse at the far end of the hall was set the throne; and upon this, raised above the general run of humanity, sat the Emperor Charrane.

Jasperodus gazed with interest upon this reputedly extraordinary man who was attempting to set a seal on history. Hitherto his only model for a monarch had been the sultry King Zhorm. Charrane, as it happened, resembled him only in evincing the same air of absolutist rule. Physically he was unimpressive: a little below medium height, slight of build, with an undistinguished face verging on the haggard and framed by a straggly fringe beard. The eyes were mild, somewhat tired-looking, and mobile.

Someone nudged Jasperodus forward. A line of waiting men, most of them uniformed, had formed and now they were ushered one by one into the imperial presence. Each bowed low then exchanged a few words with the Emperor, before being given by him some token of his recognition. Sometimes the Emperor questioned earnestly for several minutes, but usually the interview was brief. Many of the decoratees were badly mutilated, having been flown home from the crumbling front on Mars, or having performed some feat of bravery in the occasional skirmishes with Borgor forces on Earth.

At length, last of all, Jasperodus’ turn came. He marched resolutely before the throne, bowed, and announced: ‘Your servant, sire.’

The page standing by Charrane’s side whispered in his ear, reading from a sheet he held. ‘Ah, yes,’ Charrane said loudly. ‘The orbital affray.’

Now that he saw him more closely Jasperodus realised that Charrane’s face, unremarkable though its features were, contained an unobtrusive strength. The mild violet eyes made no attempt to overwhelm but kept their own counsel. His voice was melodious and confidential, with an odd thrilling quality.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘exactly what happened.’

Jasperodus gave him a concise, factual account of all that had taken place, beginning with the launching of the shuttle and finishing with the return to the spaceground. Charrane listened attentively, his eyes flicking over Jasperodus as he did so.

At the end of the account he spent a minute or so looking around the basilica in ruminative fashion. There was a quiet but constant coming and going in the hall. Small groups of people gathered here and there, talking. Jasperodus could imagine the furtive intrigues that went on here, all under the gaze of this prospective ruler of mankind.

‘A stirring adventure,’ Charrane remarked casually. ‘You would appear to be endowed with considerable military prowess. Perhaps you would fare well on Mars. We have need of talent there. It is a hard fight, one that has cost me many good men. Four who came before me today have been awarded the Solar Circle, the Empire’s highest decoration for bravery.’ He glanced at Jasperodus. ‘Are you familiar with the campaign?’

‘I have followed it with interest, sire.’

‘Perhaps I will send you to Mars.’

Jasperodus told himself that he might never again be presented with an opportunity like this one. This was no time for caution. He resolved to speak with all boldness, even impudence.