Barrington Bayley - The Rod of Light

Igor changed the subject. ‘Is it true that you are the legendary robot who briefly commanded the forces of the Emperor Charrane?’

I was never Marshal-in-Chief,’ Jasperodus corrected him. ‘That promotion was denied me. I was a marshal, and also, for a while, a close adviser to Charrane.’

‘Why did you not go to him with this warning? Why to us, your one-time enemy?’

‘I would have been poorly received in Tansiann, to say the least. Charrane had ordered me junked. Besides, what remains of the New Empire has neither the will nor the capability, even, to deal with the problem. Only Borgor has that.’

‘I would agree. The rulers of Borgor are all too well aware that robots are a danger.’ Igor paused and reflected, tilting his face pensively. ‘Later I shall question you on this period in your life. It is of considerable interest to us. Now, before I prepare my report there are two more questions. Firstly, why have you come to us at all? Why should you care what happens?’

‘I was made to be a servant of mankind,’ Jasperodus answered. ‘It was not my doing that I became a wild robot. That was due to the Emperor’s discarding me.’

‘You say he ordered you junked?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you were an obedient robot you would have allowed yourself to be junked, without protest.’

‘I was junked,’ Jasperodus told him, ‘but later someone reassembled me… it is a long story.’

‘Oh, really?’ Igor’s tone was supercilious. He was, Jasperodus saw, being deliberately sceptical. ‘Let me suppose that your narrative is true. Isn’t your wish to be of service to mankind unexpectedly persistent, in one of your provenance? You show a degree of initiative that is practically abnormal. It would make me happy to think that I could show the same determination, but then I am Borgor-made… are you sure there is no ulterior motive?’

‘There is absolutely none,’ Jasperodus answered truthfully. ‘I have a predisposition to assist human civilization. Mankind could lose control over this world, could even come to an end as a species. In trying to stop that happening, I am only obeying my manufacturer.’

‘That is a good answer,’ Igor said.

He paused, his haughtiness disappearing. ‘My other question is, can you locate this hidden valley?’

‘I could find it again. But as for placing it on a map, I am not so sure. The region is pretty featureless.’

Igor rose from where he had seated himself and made for the door. His rounded bulk and ponderous, careful movements suddenly, incongruously, reminded Jasperodus of Gargan.

The guards will take you back to the basement,’ he said. ‘We shall speak again.’

The door opened; he passed through, between the wide mouths of beamers that, once again, were pointing at Jasperodus.

Something like two days passed before the Borgor robot sent for him again. This time he was not taken to an office. Surprisingly, Igor had his own quarters.

The room was small, not much more than a cubicle, tucked away in an odd corner of the ministry building. It was obvious that Igor spent most of his time there. A table was piled with papers, together with a film-file for the reading machine. Books were stacked against the walls, there being no shelves. Otherwise the room contained nothing apart from a few pathetic signs of Igor’s one-sided assimilation into human society: a picture of Borgor’s head-of-state on the wall, and one or two ornaments he had acquired from somewhere.

Still, there was a cosy, lived-in feeling to the room. Igor informed Jasperodus’ guards that they could depart, and they strolled nonchalantly down the corridor without reply. He closed the door and turned to Jasperodus.

‘I have tendered my report, based on my interview with you, and subsequently I spoke personally with Marshal Krugoff. My assessment was that you are in earnest and that matters are as you state. The Marshal decided that this is a perilous development and that prompt action is necessary. As you know, it has for some time been Borgor’s policy to wipe out all wild robot communities. Your news fully vindicates our campaign, which we now see should have been pressed more vigorously.

The Marshal has ordered that this research station be wiped out as soon as possible. There are problems in carrying out the task. We have no forces in the region at present, and quite apart from the difficulty of finding the station, from what you tell me it may quite possibly be well defended against air attack. We shall therefore require your cooperation.

‘The plan that has been devised is that you will return to the station. You will take with you a secret transmitter from which one of our satellite surveyors can take a location fix. The station will then be destroyed by long-range rocket barrage. Afterwards we can despatch airborne troops to mop up, and later we shall have to see to it that the Gargan Cult is so completely expunged that it is not even a memory.’

‘That accords completely with my desires,’ said Jasperodus, immensely relieved.

‘To lend all possible assistance in effecting the operation,’ Igor added, ‘I am instructed to accompany you.’

‘Is that because your masters don’t altogether trust me?’ Jasperodus asked.

Igor nodded. ‘You cannot expect otherwise.’

Not replying, Jasperodus allowed the luxury of success to flood through him. He scanned the titles of the books stacked against the wall. There were volumes on military strategy—Igor’s everyday subject, he reminded himself. But these were outnumbered by books on history—not factual histories only, but also historical polemics and philosophical interpretations. Some of them were very old, written pre-Dark Period.

‘I see we have a common interest. I also study history.’

‘Indeed? Oddly, not many humans are interested in it at all.’

‘Their memories are short,’ Jasperodus said sarcastically. ‘Igor, there is something I have been wanting to ask you. How do you get along with the humans you must mix with, here in Borgor?’

For a moment it appeared that Igor would not reply, and Jasperodus was left feeling that he had asked an impudent question by the mores of Borgor society, or else one that was hurtful to Igor. But then, after a pause, the robot’s matt bronze face moved very slightly. Perhaps he was reminding himself of the extent of Jasperodus’ ignorance.

‘I can count myself privileged,’ Igor said. ‘I have extensive acquaintances among the nobility, and am well received. I am, so to speak, the exception that proves the rule where the Borgor attitude to robots is concerned—mine is one of those cases where the ruling class takes pleasure in openly flouting the standards it imposes on society in general. Some of the more patriotic intellectuals, with whom I have had much fruitful discussion, practically count me as one of them. The military who are my workaday colleagues take a brusquer attitude.’

‘Do you never feel lonely? Specifically, how does it make you feel to serve a state whose aim is little less than the extermination of intelligent constructs?’

‘I experience no contradiction. When the Borgors design a robot, they make it especially good at some particular thing. That is why they construct it in the first place—unspecialised constructs are what they anathematise. My specialty is loyalty to Borgor, which in me is absolute and unconditional.’

‘And which involves you in being forced to act against your own kind.’

Igor was silent again, apparently puzzled. ‘I have no “kind” in the sense you seem to be implying. I am only a machine.’

‘But surely you feel a hint of sympathy for the Gargan Cult? You are a robot, like them. What they seek could be given to you, too, if they succeeded. Then you would be more than just a machine.’