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

The banqueters sprang up with alacrity, pushed the tables nearer to the walls and scuttled behind them for protection. Jasperodus made no move but merely waited to see what was in store for him.

It was not long in coming. At the far end of the hall a tall door swung open. Through it strode Gogra: a giant of a robot, twelve foot tall and broad to match.

Gogra was coal-black. In his right hand he carried a massive sledge-hammer that in a few blows could have crushed Jasperodus to junk, tough as he was. Pausing in the doorway, the terrifying fighting robot surveyed the hall. As soon as he caught sight of Jasperodus he lunged forward, lifting the hammer with evident purpose.

Jasperodus backed away. Gogra’s appearance was frightening; his head was thrust forward on his neck, reminiscent of an ape-man; and the face was such a mask of ugliness as to arouse both terror and pity: Gogra’s designer had sought to give his massive frame sufficient agility by filling his interior with oil under pressure; the safety valve for that oil was his grotesque grilled mouth, from which green ichor dribbled copiously and continuously.

Studying the monster’s movements, Jasperodus formed the opinion that Gogra’s intelligence was moronic. He would fight according to a pattern and would not be able to depart from it.

Jasperodus easily dodged his adversary’s first hammer-blow, which left the floor shattered and starred with cracks. He retreated nimbly towards the wall, causing the spectators hiding there to squeal and run along the side of the wall to escape.

A cheer went up as Gogra, uttering a deafening hiss, charged at Jasperodus who appeared to be trapped against the wall. At the last instant Jasperodus flung himself sideways to go sprawling full-length to the floor. Gogra, carrying the full momentum of his rush, crashed tumultuously into the wall with a shower of stone and plaster. Jasperodus sprang to his feet to see that the bigger robot had indeed, as he had anticipated, gone straight through the wall head-first; he stared at the thick, pillar-like legs attached to gigantic hind-quarters which stuck out from the wreckage. But he had time to give the jointed pelvis only one kick before Gogra pulled himself free, bringing a lengthy section of wall down with him as he did so. While the dazed giant staggered upright, hissing plaintively, Jasperodus gathered himself and took a leap upwards to land straight on Gogra’s back. Clawing for holds, he hoisted himself up over the vast head and clung there athwart the skull, his arms obscuring Gogra’s vision.

Pandemonium broke out in the hall as Gogra whirled round and round, staggering from wall to wall and crashing into the tables which splintered like matchwood. In panic and fury he hissed like a steam engine. But he had not forgotten what he was about: the great hammer still waved in the air, seeking its target. Jasperodus was keeping his eye on that terrible weapon, and he chose exactly the right instant to throw himself from his perch.

He fell to the floor with a loud clang. The hammer, swinging down into the vacated place, went smashing into Gogra’s own head instead of into the body of his enemy. In a slow majestic descent the massive construct toppled with an even louder clang. The metal skull was split open; an almost-fluid mass of electronic packaging spilled out and spread slowly over the flagstones amid a soup of green oil.

Jasperodus climbed to his feet, relieved to observe that his plan to make Gogra brain himself had gone well. The banqueters, Zhorm among them, reappeared cautiously from behind their refuges.

‘The stranger has slain Gogra!’ someone exclaimed in astonishment. Widened eyes stared admiringly at Jasperodus.

King Zhorm, though likewise astounded, quickly recovered his composure. ‘A remarkable feat,’ he announced. ‘Surprising initiative for a robot.’

‘It was not too difficult,’ Jasperodus replied. ‘Your monster had as much brain as a centipede.’

‘I rather liked him for that.’ Sourly Zhorm looked down at the inert form of his champion, then clapped his hands again.

‘Remove it.’

Servants struggled to drag away the dead hulk, aided by one or two other robots. Inch by inch it was hauled towards the big doors; meantime the tables were replaced, and fresh platters of food and more flagons of drink appeared.

Zhorm tossed a grape into his mouth. ‘Well, robot, I hope you perform your other work as well as you disposed of Gogra. You look as if you need cleaning up – my girls will see to it.’ He beckoned to a servant.

Jasperodus looked down at himself. He was, it was true, somewhat dirty. His travels had left him caked with mud and dust – added to, now, by plaster and brick-dust.

Some of the banqueters nearest the King giggled and ogled him as he was led away. ‘Lovely naked girls,’ leered one. ‘Nice soft hands – enjoy yourself!’

Fools! Jasperodus thought. As if their touch could mean anything to me .

He followed the servant through the wide doors from which Gogra had emerged, along a short passage and into a perfumed chamber. Three naked girls rose smiling to meet him.

‘Come, honoured guest. Let us bath you.’

In the centre of the circular room was a bath filled with scented water. Soap and various implements lay on a low table. For Jasperodus’ benefit, so that he would not have to enter the bath, there was also a couch on which he was invited to lie.

The girls got to work, cooing and chuckling as they washed his metal body with caressing movements. He was surprised to see that they appeared to enjoy their task and to gain some perverse kind of pleasure from his strange but man-like form. One in particular – a pretty red-head – stroked him specially languorously, lingering around the box-like bulge at his groin and on the insides of his thighs. Once or twice he noticed her eyes become hot and her breath come in short little gasps. He wondered if it was the strong air of masculinity he imagined he possessed that gave them stimulation. He himself, however, felt nothing.

When they had finished drying him they showed him into an adjoining room furnished as a bedchamber and left him alone. Evidently the King’s instructions had been loosely worded but the girls were taking them literally and treating him as a human guest. There was a soft bed on which, he presumed, he could if he wished rest; but as he could remain without fatigue on his legs he stood stock-still at the window overlooking the garden around which the King’s residence was built. He was deeply troubled, and was trying to sort out the truth of what had been said to him earlier.

After some time the door opened and in came a man in his late forties with wavy grey hair and a thin face with high, prominent cheekbones. His expression was distracted, slightly effeminate. He wore a loose robe and carried a large box studded with knobs and dials.

‘I am Padua,’ he announced, ‘robotician to the King, I have instructions to examine you, so if you would please lie face down on the floor…’

‘You believe I have a sickness,’ Jasperodus interrupted.

‘Not a sickness exactly…’ The robotician sounded apologetic.

‘An aberrant self-image, then.’

‘Just so.’ Padua laid down his box. ‘Now…’

‘Wait a moment.’ Jasperodus spoke with such a tone of command that Padua raised his eyebrows and blinked.

‘I have need to talk to you. You are an expert on creatures such as I. Is it true what they tell me – that it is impossible for me to be self-aware?’

‘Yes, that is so.’ Padua looked at him with a waiting, blank expression.

‘Then explain how it is that I am self-aware.’

‘The answer is simple: you are not.’

‘But do I not show all the signs of awareness? I have emotions – do they not mean awareness?’