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

‘And how should I be wise?’ Jasperodus asked. ‘And what is this drivel about evil? What else is there? Why should any good exist? There is no virtue in the world, that has been amply demonstrated. Once I was crass enough to expect it, fooled no doubt by my lack of consciousness, but now the nature of things is clear to me… the world itself is an enemy; whosoever one loves it takes away…’

Jasperodus broke off. Nearby was Arcturus, eavesdropping, his pasty leaden face intent. ‘I am not the one you should be talking with, philosopher. Arcturus here is more the man for ethical discussion. He has a marvellous scheme for putting the world to rights, whereby the human race is to place even its minutest affairs under the direction of a central committee, that is to say of Arcturus and his friends, who inevitably will be characterised by a mad lust for power.’ Jasperodus emitted a braying laughter and Arcturus, who had in fact modified his views on witnessing the grasping and immoderate behaviour of the Subuh mob, looked uncomfortable.

‘Unfortunately I have little appetite for debate tonight,’ he murmured.

Jasperodus turned back to the old troupster. ‘At our first meeting you entertained me. Now let me entertain you, with a work of my own devising.’

He stepped before the orchestra, raised his hands and called for silence. A hush fell on the hall. The attendants began persuading people into the rows of seats that had earlier been set out. Jasperodus nodded to the conductor as a signal to begin, then offered the old man a seat at the front and took a place next to him.

After seizing the palace Jasperodus had discovered in the store rooms all his old papers and belongings, including the manuscript score of his symphony, an ambitious musical work which he had just completed when he was dismantled. His desire to see this work performed before an audience was the main motive behind the soirée, and the orchestra had been in rehearsal for the past four days.

After a dignified pause the conductor raised his baton.

The symphony opened with a full, sonorous chord which was broken and reiterated in various slow rhythms. Then, leisurely and with unfailing ease of motion, the first movement developed. The subsidiary themes were long, extraordinarily inventive, and unfolded with an elaborate baroque logic. The main motifs, on the other hand, possessed a sedateness and a detachment that was ravishing, stated with fetching simplicity, advancing and receding now winsomely, now wistfully, through the evolving pattern of sound.

The movements succeeded one another without hiatus. There was no dramatisation or straining for effect. The music was abstract in content; it conveyed only the most impersonal of emotions. It spoke of endless space, endless time, ceaseless effort; of nascent being struggling against blind eternity – as in the slow third movement, where the horns erupted intermittently against a serene, timeless background of poignant melody, pulling and tugging with their sudden pullulations.

Jasperodus had put the totality of his effort into the work. It summed up all the thought and feeling of which he believed he was capable, and he did not think he could ever better it.

He had written a voice part into the final movement, making it a sort of miniature oratorio. As the preliminary bars were played he rose from his seat and joined the orchestra.

His manly, pleasing baritone issued forth, emerging as a wilful, individualistic entity, sometimes blending with the orchestral framework but sometimes bursting out of it to explore unrelated tonalities. The words he sang were in a dead language – copied from a magical description of mystic worlds – and were there merely as a stop-gap, to give the voice articulation. It had been his intention later to incorporate the movement into an opera, supplying more intelligible words from a libretto.

This closing section tempered the formerly abstract character of the symphony with more personal, more romantic feelings. Initially the voice part did no more than display its strength; but soon it found its direction and began to express a hopeful joy. This gradually turned into a display of barren tension, however, as it wandered, seemingly without relief, through an arid and friendless vastness, ranging higher and higher. Never losing its passion, it eventually spiralled despairingly down, accompanied by quiet discords which hinted at darkness and tragedy. And yet, after resigning the field to the orchestra for a spell, it finally ascended again, this time with a degree of objectivity that was strange, almost inhuman in its indifference to all feeling.

Jasperodus’ voice faded. For some bars thereafter the orchestra held a persistent humming note, which in turn faded away.

The audience, the educated part of it at least, sat spellbound. At length enthusiastic applause broke out.

Jasperodus returned to his seat. ‘What do you think of it?’ he asked the riddle-poser.

The oldster did not reply for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

‘First performances are apt to provoke judgements that later become invalidated. Nevertheless I would pronounce it a work of genius. The productions of men truly are extraordinary and without limit.’

‘But it is not the work of man,’ Jasperodus pointed out. ‘It is my work.’

‘That is what I meant. You are the work of men, are you not?’

Jasperodus made a disappointed gesture. ‘You regard me, then, as only a relay for human talents, having none of my own?’

‘The question is not altogether meaningful. Certainly you are constructed so as to possess abilities that men have conceived and developed, but which robots never could. That, at least, is the scientific opinion.’ As the old man spoke these inconclusive words the familiar blackness that lay like a blanket over Jasperodus’ feelings was intensified. He grew displeased with the conversation, quit the old man and drifted away, to receive everywhere effusive congratulations for his symphony.

‘Do not praise me,’ he said abruptly to one strikingly beautiful young woman, the daughter of a famous artist, who though gazing wide-eyed into his face glanced more slyly over his body. ‘My achievement is vicarious: the expression of conceptions created by others.’

Arcturus sidled up to him. ‘I was given some unsettling news during the concert,’ he said quietly. ‘The Fourth Army left the frontier two days ago to join the Second Army already on its way here.’

‘Hm,’ grunted Jasperodus. ‘Well, advance the arrangements for the defence of the city.’

He turned away, but minutes later a dishevelled messenger came into the hall and sought out Arcturus. The rebel commander hurried up to Jasperodus wearing a startled look.

‘The Borgor Alliance has launched a full-scale attack on the Empire!’ he announced in a shocked voice. ‘They have crossed the border in force!’

‘No doubt they judged the moment ripe,’ Jasperodus commented. ‘Oh, well, the Fourth Army will be forced to wheel about to face them. So at least they are off our necks.’

‘Frankly it looks to me as though we shall be besieged by the imperial armies or by Borgor – or by both! What a mess!’

‘Hah!’ Jasperodus’ tone was glowering. ‘What we need are a few nuclear weapons. Then we could wipe out the Borgor invasion and the imperial armies all together, in one blow while they fought one another.’

Arcturus moved closer, glancing to left and right. ‘That is not all. We have also just now received intelligence that the Emperor Charrane is to land on Earth in three days’ time.’

‘An ignorant rumour. He is on Mars – that is months away.’

‘The information comes from a reliable source. As soon as the Emperor heard of the revolt he embarked on a secret new vessel – an extremely fast space cruiser that by chance had just made a test flight to Mars. This vessel is a nuclear-powered rocket and is capable of constant acceleration; consequently it cuts the journey down to less than two weeks.’