‘Now we run,’ said Melt.
Out of the cave, into the darkness, sliding down the rain-soaked grass.
Karel and Melt tumbled down the slope, rolling back towards the town, scraping on stones, slipping on the turf.
They reached the bottom in a tangled clash of metal. With some difficulty, they got to their feet, bodies badly dented.
‘They’re not following us,’ said Karel, looking backwards.
‘They won’t. We’re too much trouble.’
‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’ asked Karel, eyes bright so he could see Melt in the darkness.
‘I . . . don’t remember,’ said Melt, and again Karel knew he was lying. But that was for later.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Maybe Morphobia Alligator was right.’
‘In what way?’
‘Sending you to look after me.’
‘I wish he was,’ said Melt, and Karel could hear the longing in his voice.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do crossed to the Copper Master’s house, his head spinning with questions. The sky was clear, and he gazed up at the night moon, wondering at Rachael’s words. So Zuse was made of metal. What was so strange about that?
The Copper Guard stood to attention as he passed through the doors into his residence. A nervous looking aide was waiting in the hallway.
‘Honoured Commander, your presence is requested in the Copper Room.’
‘Later,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, ‘I have work to attend to.’
‘I’m sorry, Honoured Commander, but your presence is requested.’
The aide looked terrified at having to contradict Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and no surprise. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do himself was growing irritated by the constant directions he had been given since he arrived here. He was beginning to realize that the post of Commander offered more restraints than it did freedoms.
‘Who wishes to speak to me?’ he asked, but the aide had retreated into the depths of the house.
For a moment Wa-Ka-Mo-Do considered ignoring the summons, but curiosity got the better of him.
He padded past robots, their eyes glowing in the dim light, heading for the heart of the building.
The Copper Room was in the centre of the Copper Master’s house. It had no windows and only two doors. One led out into the main building. The other was concealed and led down through the rocks upon which Sangrel was built; a secret passage, an escape route built in less enlightened times. The Copper Room was the ideal place for holding private meetings. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped into the room and felt his gyros lurch. No wonder the aide had looked so nervous.
Three robots stood in the middle of the room. Female, so obviously female that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt the wire stir within him. They were the most beautifully constructed robots he had ever seen, their bodies bent into curves of perfect symmetry. He could feel their metal from here, the mix of platinum and gold, steel and aluminium shone like starlight across his senses. He wanted to move closer to them, just to touch them, just to have them touch him, to pull his metal from his body . . .
He suppressed the thought. What would they want with his metal? They were Vestal Virgins; they only worked on minds that had already been twisted by others!
But it was so hard. . . . Look at them, so beautiful, they seemed to shine all by themselves. Their faces were so delicate. Look at those smiles, so knowing, so calculating, so pretty . . .
‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’ said one, and her voice was the sweetest notes of copper bells. ‘Honoured Commander of Sangrel. We wish to speak to you.’
‘Really?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Is it important? I am very busy.’
‘Are you?’ said a second robot, her voice a little deeper than the first, still it resonated in Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s chest. ‘Zil-Wa-Tem is dead and yet the market place runs as normal.’
Zil-Wa-Tem, thought Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and he remembered that was the name of the robot who had been found stitched into the animal’s skin in the market.
‘I would have expected the city to ring with the cries of the grieving,’ said the third woman, her voice the deepest of all. ‘I would have expected to see the minds of men and women arranged in a circle by the entrance, their coils crushed. I would have expected to see the smoke of a hundred fires filling the air, the bare electromuscles of the captured held over them in order that confessions be extracted.’
‘Or maybe we misjudge our Commander,’ said the first of the Vestal Virgins. ‘Maybe we underestimate his cruelty. Perhaps he intends instead to play the silent game, to raise fear by remaining still for a time before making a move?’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ continued the second. ‘Perhaps he wishes to request our help? To ask us to steal children away in the night and to work on their minds. Twist them so that they don’t recognize their own parents. Or maybe to make it so they are filled with the urge to disassemble themselves slowly whilst their mothers look on in despair.’
‘That must be it,’ said the third. ‘Then the word of the Honoured Commander’s displeasure would quickly be spread and the names of the perpetrators of the crime brought to the Copper Guard—’
‘Silence!’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.
‘Silence?’ said the first, her tone one of laughing delight. ‘He orders us to silence? We think he must have forgotten his place.’
‘I have not!’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I am the Commander of Sangrel, and it is my prerogative to decide how to handle this situation.’
‘Handle this situation? Perhaps we misunderstood? Are the perpetrators already caught, their bodies filled with molten lead as an example to others?’
‘You know they’re not,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘But what you have described won’t achieve anything. There are robots out there who have already lost everything. It won’t take much to push them over the edge into full-scale insurrection. What then?’
‘Then the Commander of the Emperor’s Army will have no choice but to order the death of all the robots of this province.’
‘Of course. And if some humans get caught in the fighting?’
‘Then the Commander of the Emperor’s Army will be held accountable.’
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do spoke with an authority he did not feel.
‘Humans will get killed if we pursue your course of action. I know this. I come from the poor lands, far from the Silent City and the court of the Emperor. I’ve seen what happens when robots have nothing to lose. Believe me, my methods are the right ones.’
One of the Virgins held up something for inspection. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed at the object in fascination. It was like a mind, but twisted into the wrong shape.
‘This is the neighbour of Zil-Wa-Tem. She sells cleansed oil,’ said the woman.
‘You mean she’s still alive?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, unable to hide his horror.
‘She will live as long as we decide.’
‘But what has she done?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then why punish her?’
‘Because she did nothing. She did not defend her neighbour, or the honour of Sangrel.’
‘Is she in pain, her mind twisted like that?’
‘Agony.’
Almost too fast to follow, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do drew his sword and sliced it through the twisted metal. The Vestal Virgin holding the former mind looked at the two pieces, the cut ends of wire shining like little mirrors, and then dropped it to the floor.
‘You interfere with our work?’ said one of them, in the softest, most beautiful voice.
‘This is my city. You interfere with mine.’
The three women exchanged glances.
‘Perhaps you are right, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’
‘Perhaps I am.’
‘There is to be an attack tomorrow night. That mind that you destroyed told us this.’
‘Where?’
‘To the south of the city. Robots with blades and oil and petrol. They mean to destroy the crops the humans have planted as a signal to the Emperor of their displeasure.’
‘The Emperor will be humili
ated indeed if his guests were to witness such an occurrence.’
‘I realize that.’ He drew himself up. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention, fair ladies. You can trust me to deal with this.’
The three women gave him smiles of such sweetness.
‘Of course we trust the Honoured Commander of Sangrel,’ said one. ‘We trust him at all times to remember his duty to his command. We know he will never abandon that duty.’
‘I will not.’
‘And he will do what is required to maintain the harmony of the Emperor?’
‘I will.’
‘Then we shall allow him to continue with his duty.’
And at that, the three Vestal Virgins left the room by the concealed door.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held his poise until they were gone, and then he released the current he had been building up in his electro-muscles in one long shudder.
Kavan
Kavan and the Uncertain Army marched down from the mountains onto the plains of Artemis. They marched from the cold remnants of winter that clung to the peaks into the warming summer of the plains, they marched from the petty guerrilla conflicts towards the decisive battle.
They walked out from the shadows of the mountains, towards the bright plains, the rock sheets giving way to stones, then pebbles, then sand. The temperature rose, the glare of the sun ever present in the daytime, the stars clear and cold above at night.
The plains of Artemis vibrated to the stamp of robots. Straggling companies of infantryrobots who had managed to evade the Artemis retreat came to join Kavan and his army. A silver stream of robots in the distance was a garrison from Raman heading south to reinforce Artemis City.
But by far the most numerous, Kavan knew, would be those robots that chose not to make themselves known. They were the ones who would be waiting in the distance, waiting to see which way the forthcoming battle would go. The ones who would emerge to pick over the shattered corpses before blending once more into the background, or who would perhaps come and join the winning side.
So much metal flowing across the plains of Artemis, swirling and eddying like currents in a pool, with Kavan buoyed along in the centre.
‘You know, this battle has been written in the Book of Robots many times before,’ said Goeppert. He marched with Kavan for the most part, a group of his robots nearby. Calor and Ada and Goeppert. Kavan’s staff.
‘There is no such thing,’ replied Kavan evenly.
‘Of course, there is no book as such,’ agreed Goeppert, ‘but the stories that twist around this planet will be collected into a volume some day, and that will become the Book of Robots.’
‘Ah. Verbal trickery. I believe in nothing more than Artemis and metal.’
‘Someday Artemis itself will be written in the Book of Robots. You know, Kavan, you should not ignore the stories. They are the verbal equivalent of the patterns twisted into our minds. What is a robot but a story that a mother has woven?’
‘Given the choice between a story and a rifle, I would take the latter anytime.’
‘Yet you don’t seem to carry a rifle, do you?’
Kavan waved a hand at the surrounding army. ‘They carry them for me.’
Goeppert laughed.
‘Still, Kavan. Nicolas the Coward, Janet Verdigris, Eric and the Mountain. All these stories mean something.’
‘Eric and the Mountain?’ said Kavan, suddenly interested. ‘You know that story?’
‘Only the first half. Do you want to hear it?’
Kavan looked at the surrounding army.
‘Maybe another time,’ he said.
Susan
The midnight streets were filled with light and sound. Electric light, burning flares, the shriek of arc lights all heard over the marching of robots: grey infantryrobots running to their positions; the stamp of Storm Troopers, shouldering all aside as they headed to the front. Only the Scouts passed by unheard, a half-seen flash in the night. The pounding of hammers, the rumble of trains: the city was busy building its defences in readiness for Kavan’s attack.
Susan passed amongst the preparation, lost and uncertain where to go, but always moving. It had been so simple to slip away from the making rooms. It was only when she had done so that she realized she had no further plan. She had no idea where Nettie was or how to find her, but she was nonetheless filled with a determination not to return. She kept to the back streets, the narrow alleys, heading vaguely for the centre of the city.
‘Hello there.’
The robot moved unusually quietly for a Storm Trooper. He towered over Susan, his matt black panelling only half seen in the darkness. His body looked newly made, but Susan sensed the mind that rode it was old, and cynical, and evil.
‘A Turing Citizen, I think,’ he said.
‘I’m a mother of Artemis,’ said Susan.
‘Possibly. You’re certainly dressed that way. Shouldn’t you be down in the making rooms?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.
The robot leaned closer to her, the lights of its eyes reflecting from her face. She could feel the current from its strong body.
‘You sound angry, but I sense nervousness. I don’t think you should be here at all.’
He moved so quickly, seizing Susan by the hand before she had a chance to jump back.
‘Let go of me,’ she demanded.
‘No,’ it said. ‘That’s not real anger. Too frightened. You shouldn’t be skulking here, in the back streets, should you? And even if you should, who’s going to miss you? As far as I’m concerned you’re just metal for me to do with as I will.’
Susan grabbed his hand and feebly tried to pry his fingers free. The Storm Trooper laughed.
‘Don’t bother! You’re not as strong as I am!’
She was cleverer, though. She unsnapped her wrist and ran, leaving the big robot holding her hand. Brief laughter sounded behind her, and then the clatter of metal feet on the stones as the Storm Trooper ran after her. Where to? Where to? She veered towards the bright lights of the wide street ahead. She could see robots moving there, grey infantryrobots, marching along in ranks. Something grabbed her foot, she tripped and slid into the light, her body sparking on the stones.
She came to a halt bathed in electric streetlight, the stamp of marching feet all around her, a steady stream of infantryrobots marching past in perfect time. And, in the centre of all that motion, stillness. Five faces looking down at her. Infantryrobots.
The Storm Trooper loomed above her, still holding her hand in his.
‘He tried to rape me,’ said Susan. ‘Help me.’
‘Leave,’ said the Storm Trooper. ‘She’s mine.’
It was the wrong thing to say. Five rifles swung from shoulders and pointed at the black robot.
‘Are you telling us what to do?’ asked one of the infantryrobots. The Storm Trooper raised itself up, then it seemed to notice the faces of the other soldiers. Susan got the impression that these were experienced fighters. Their bodies were well worn, covered in a fine tracery of scratches.
‘What’s a mother of Artemis doing roaming the streets with the city preparing for attack?’ asked the Storm Trooper.
‘I was trying to get back to the making rooms and he captured me,’ lied Susan. ‘He dragged me down there. He took my hand . . .’
‘Give it back to her,’ said the lead infantryrobot.
‘She’s lying!’ The Storm Trooper seemed more amused than angry.
A rifle pointed directly at his head.
‘Give her back her hand!’
The Storm Trooper dropped the hand to the ground. Susan quickly snapped it back into place.
‘I must get back, right now!’ she said, and before anyone could stop her, she turned and ran up the street, losing herself in the crowd of marching robots.
The Storm Trooper’s voice followed her up the road, deep and growling, it cut through the sound of the marching.
‘I’ll be coming for you . . .’
Where was she? This was like no part of the city she had been to before. It seemed so empty, and it took Susan a moment to realize that the area in which she walked was almost completely devoid of metal. Stone buildings ran in every direction. Tall and short, wide and long, crammed together higgledy-piggledy, they seemed ancient and modern and everything in between.
It seemed so strange, so un-Artemisian, in a city that prized utility above all else. She walked through an area without purpose. The current in her body seemed to pulse. Somewhere behind her was the Storm Trooper. She imagined him looking for her now, creeping through the darkness, reaching out to seize her shoulder . . .
She spun suddenly around. Nothing. Only darkness. She started at a sudden movement, and then relaxed. Just her hearing and vision turned up full and responding to every stimulus.
She walked carefully on, her path defined by the bright stars above her, irregular patches of light over the dark world.
It was so silent, the sound of the hammering and marching had faded to nothing and for the first time in months Susan felt utterly alone. It was a new sort of fear, different to that instilled by her capture by Artemisian troops. This was the fear of the strange, the unknown. The fear of asymmetric streets under starlight, the fear of empty windows and hollow buildings.
Ahead of her two towers climbed into the night, so tall, their shapes only seen where they occluded the stars. There was something so unsettling about them, she wanted to avoid them, but now all the side roads seem to have vanished. She could either walk towards them, or back into the arms of the Storm Trooper.
The two towers seemed so sinister, but there was nowhere else to go. They rose higher into the sky as she approached them; they loomed over her.
She found herself walking between them.
‘I’m coming . . .’
The Storm Trooper! It was almost a relief to hear the words, their distant menace a thread of familiarity to lead her from this strange night. Keep away from him, but don’t get lost in this empty, silent place.
Blood and Iron Page 18
