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

‘Pah!’ muttered Oleander. ‘A pair of boots is a pair of boots. What does it matter whether it’s made to custom or turned out by the million? Look at it this way, sire. On an assembly line the manufacturing process is broken down into simple steps which can be performed by untrained hands or by crude automatic devices. No time is wasted. An artisan, however, needs skills that take years to acquire – and often he is assisted by a robot that itself has taken months to manufacture, that is needlessly self-directed and has abilities entirely redundant to the task in hand. What a ludicrous superfluity of talent! Mark my words, if we do not match her industrial output Borgor will bury us in cheap goods within a few years!’

‘I do not think so,’ Jasperodus retorted. ‘I think Borgor’s factories will bring her social unrest and she will crumble within, as Tergov did.’

He paused, and judged the moment ripe to broach a related subject that had entered his mind from time to time, but which he had not dared to mention.

‘Sire, it is heartening to hear you assert the right of every citizen to earn his living by his own efforts. Yet it is noticeable that there is poverty in the Empire, markedly so here in Tansiann. Many lack their proper dignity, while faced on all sides by unbounded wealth which they cannot touch. When I first arrived here I was puzzled by this disparity, for there is no extreme poverty in the lands where I first saw the light of day. After deliberation, I believe I now understand it.’

‘Yet one more brilliant idea from our construct friend,’ Charrane said caustically, giving Oleander a sarcastic glance. ‘Speak on.’

‘My lord, I believe the root cause of poverty lies in the private ownership of land.’

Both Charrane and Oleander frowned, the latter with a trace of indignation. ‘How so?’ Charrane asked, suddenly serious.

‘In Gordona, and in many other small kingdoms in the West of Worldmass, it is a recognised custom that upon attaining the age of responsibility a man has the right to occupy a piece of land where he may live and work, whether as a farmer, a craftsman or a trader. This is regarded as his due. Where land is free and any man who so wishes may acquire a plot for himself there need be no question of poverty, since he will always be able to provide for himself. Very often he will need little else by way of starting capital – sometimes only a few simple tools. Within the Empire, however, all land is in private hands and it is by no means a simple matter to acquire even a few square feet of it. In Tansiann, where land values leap up year by year, it has now become virtually impossible for any but the affluent to come into possession of property. Unable to acquire sites on which to set themselves up in business, increasing numbers of men are forced to offer themselves for employment by others more fortunate, generally for low wages, or failing that to become dependent on the state. Thus I see it as a social law that the independence of men requires free land.

‘The same principle is the cause of slums – is it not an irrefutable fact that slum dwellers invariably occupy land owned by someone else? The tenants of these properties are in no position to improve them, of course, and the landlords have no incentive to do so – slums, sire, are profitable.’

Oleander smiled smugly. ‘The population grows. Land is in short supply.’

‘But there is no shortage of land. The city contains countless thousands of derelict acres that are being held out of use. Meanwhile the employee class grows and may eventually outnumber that of independent men. These conditions, my lord, are already sowing the seeds of the factory system which you decry. It will come by itself. Soon we may have a class of propertyless factory labourers.’ The more he thought about this the more important it seemed to him to be.

‘And you would suggest a remedy?’

Jasperodus was more vague on this point. ‘Possibly the customs of the West could be adopted and the absolute private ownership of land brought to an end. Land should be looked upon as a common resource, available to all. Or if a tax were levied upon its ownership, land which is currently left lying idle would quickly be offered for sale or lease. By that means we would end the iniquitous speculation in land which now takes place.’

‘Hm – your conceptions are novel,’ Charrane admitted. ‘I dare say you are right. I would even look into it further – if I didn’t need the goodwill of the Property-Owners’ Association! Not to speak of the great land-owning nobles!’ He smiled. ‘It is not always possible to be a despot, even a benevolent one.’

Oleander, himself a leading light in the Property Owners’ Association, became exasperated. ‘We sit here talking philosophy, when instead we should be looking at Borgor’s Gross National Product! What is needed is to concentrate land ownership into fewer hands, so as to discourage this inefficient artisan production and make men more productive as factory wage-earners. I am voicing a warning, sire! Borgor’s factories will make her wealthier and mightier, and we will become feeble by comparison!’

An uneasy look came over Charrane’s face. Jasperodus could see that Oleander had planted in him a fear that might sway him in the end.

‘Well, enough of all that,’ Charrane said with a sigh. ‘What of the meeting, Jasperodus? What did the Council find?’

‘The Council approves the plan, sire.’

‘Good, good.’ Relieved to turn away from abstract matters, Charrane cheered up at the mention of the coming campaign. ‘Then as soon as it’s out of the planning stage we can begin construction…’

An hour later Jasperodus retired to his private apartments in the north wing of the palace, to ponder further on the details of the invasion scheme.

He had been at work for only twenty minutes when a gentle tone sounded on his desk. He opened a circuit and the face of his robot secretary appeared on a screen on the wall. The communicator was of a new phosphor-dot colour type – a technique preserved through the Dark Period by the robotic art, but available so far only in the palace – and the robot’s brass-coloured face shone with a burnished sheen.

‘The investigator you hired has made his report, sir,’ the secretary said. ‘Aristos Lyos is living in a villa on the south coast, a few miles west of Shang.’

Jasperodus glanced at his wall map, then at the clock. The time was approaching midday. ‘Can you find a guide immediately?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then have him meet me in the flying stables in half an hour.’

He cut the connection and sat brooding.

The past seven years had been good ones. He had thrown himself into his duties with genuine enthusiasm, believing in the worth of what he was doing. He was solidly for the New Empire, which for all its faults did at least offer conditions in which the arts and sciences could flourish, and this he saw as a good thing. The Borgor Alliance, against whom so much of his energy had been directed, stood only for the old feudal chaos, however much it was dressed up with technological reorganisation.

Nostalgically he scanned some of his memories. In the command tank, helping direct the huge battle in which they had smashed three Alliance armies… Yes, there was much to look back on. His nature had mellowed in that time; there was less harshness in him, and he had gained a reputation for clemency towards beaten enemies. He had found time, too, to turn his attention towards art, music, things requiring feeling as well as intellect…

And of course he was wealthy. Apart from the emoluments from his various offices – he was probably the only robot officially in construct bondage to receive such emoluments – he had taken advantage of his rank, as was the fashion of the time, to enrich himself. Not that money was attractive in itself, but it facilitated his various activities and suited his life style.