A breeze blew up, playing over his body with sensations so fresh and delightful that he was astonished. And his mind simply stopped when he encountered the warm, heady summer of perfumes the breeze brought with it: sensuous, delicate, powerful and bewitching, yet clean and innocent. Marvellous!
Marvellous!
Some of his recent dourness dropped away. It was impossible to remain sullen in the midst of such wonders. He strolled through the garden; his fingers played with silky smooth petals and cool, ribbed leaves. See this red rose: what perfect harmony between colour, texture and scent! Not to speak of perfection of form! Jasperodus paced on, an Adam in a new Eden, smelling the scent of new-cut grass, feeling the shortened blades tickle his feet.
This, surely, proved that existence – even his kind of existence – was worthwhile! What if he did lack this mysterious quality called consciousness? What if his identity was a fiction? Were not some of the world’s greatest dramas fictions? In the face of these new experiences it now seemed to him that the whole affair was purely a sophistry and that he had been a fool to have been brought down by it.
A new excitement germinated in his mind: the excitement known to the world as AMBITION. I have been through fire and am purged of despair and self-doubt. Am I less of a man than Horsu Greb? Than King Zhorm? Than Padua, even? Am I capable of less than they? Demonstrably, no! And I shall prove my worth. I shall prove it by gaining power over them … they all shall defer to Jasperodus the robot.
He paused, revelling in his new-born senses; and in that hidden, empty place where his soul should have been was formed a resolve having all the force of obsession. I know my strength … There is nothing I cannot do … King Zhorm, look to your throne …
5
‘This then, Your Majesty, is my scheme. In place of one furnace we have two. The main furnace is for isotope fuel and is sealed. The other burns combustibles and will serve as an assist to the first, or for emergencies. The heat exchanger is also a considerable improvement on the present arrangement. The same water can be circulated through the jackets of both furnaces or through either of them alone. All the controls are simple and employ no interior moving parts except for a system of movable trays, for the disposal of waste, which are proof against any kind of breakdown. I can promise Your Majesty that the new powerhouse will do away with the erratic voltages and frequent breakdowns, not to say danger to life and property, that have been a source of annoyance in the past.’
King Zhorm glanced cursorily at Jasperodus’ blueprints, following the features pointed out by the latter’s metal finger and pretending he understood them.
‘If the scheme is approved,’ Jasperodus added, ‘I may then go on to re-design the generators, which also incorporate many defects.’
‘You seem to think we are living in Tansiann, with the taxes of half the planet to draw on,’ grumbled Zhorm. ‘Already I have expended much on the extension to the present powerhouse.’
This claim was hardly true; the extensions consisted merely of fuel bunkers built by robot labour. Only the materials had involved any expense. Jasperodus made no comment, however. The King seemed to be distracted today, so he decided to drop the whole matter for the time being.
‘Your Majesty perhaps has more important questions on his mind,’ he ventured.
‘Indeed I have. Those bandits out in the West Forest are becoming an intolerable pest. Matters are reaching serious proportions.’
Zhorm poured goblets of wine, absent-mindedly offered Jasperodus one, then downed it himself after a hasty curse. It was disconcerting to have this machine about the palace, he thought. Jasperodus was more intelligent than any other robot Zhorm had ever seen and he kept thinking of him as human.
Jasperodus’ eagerness for change was not unreservedly welcome either. If given free rein the clever robot would embroil Zhorm in grandiose schemes far beyond his means. As it was he was having to divert most of his resources into his small army because of these confounded bandit raids … Idly he mused on what other appointment Jasperodus could be given in his retinue. Why not make him court jester? He had already shown he had wit. Zhorm smiled, imagining Jasperodus bedecked in fool’s garb, prancing about and forced to invent inane jokes for the general amusement.
Jasperodus was at a loss to explain the King’s sudden laughter.
But no matter. He was remembering a recent conversation he had held with Major Cree Inwing, an officer in the Gordonian Guard, Zhorm’s little-practised army.
Jasperodus had been working on his blueprints using a table in the lobby (he had no room of his own to work in), when he had witnessed an exchange between this officer and Prince Okhramora, the King’s half-brother, whom Jasperodus had encountered on the evening of his first induction into Zhorm’s household: he was the fat man who had tried to belabour him with an iron rod. Inordinately fond of food, drink and lechery, he was often to be seen bustling about the palace on errands of doubtful propriety.
On this occasion, however, his business was indignantly moral. He was upbraiding Major Inwing for the Guards’ failure to bring the bandit bands to book. With him he had a farmer from an outlying district, a sad-faced fellow who only the day before had been attacked, his farm despoiled and his brother and eldest son killed. Such raids were occurring nearly every other day now, and were penetrating deeper into the small kingdom.
‘If this goes on these thugs will be coming right here into Okrum!’ Prince Okhramora declared angrily.
Major Inwing, a normally self-confident young man with wheat-coloured hair and a brisk moustache, stood to attention, his face pink with embarrassment. ‘Everything is being done that possibly could be done, Highness. The Guards can’t be everywhere at once.’
‘What a pathetic reply!’ stormed the Prince. ‘I’m taking this unfortunate subject to the King himself, and I’ll have you drummed out of the service, you see if I don’t! It was one of your companies that should have defended this man’s family, but where were you?’
And Prince Okhramora swept away, the dejected farmer in train. Jasperodus had noticed that he was zealous in seeing that incompetent officers were stripped of their rank; their replacements were usually friends of his or relatives on his mother’s side. This time Jasperodus was certain he would get nowhere, however; Major Inwing was so popular with his men that the King would never agree to cashier him or even to demote him.
He sidled up to the discomfited officer. ‘What is the problem with these raiders, Major?’ he enquired politely. ‘Could they not be tracked to their lairs and destroyed?’
‘That’s something we’ve tried to do a score of times,’ Inwing retorted in exasperation, ‘but the West Forest stretches for hundreds of miles and it’s practically impossible to sniff them out – one might as well go hunting the antelope,’ he added, adducing the ancient mythical beast. ‘Ours is not the only kingdom to be harried by these gangs and no one else has managed to flush them out either.’
‘Surely something is known about them,’ Jasperodus persisted. ‘How many groups of these men are there?’
‘Several. But the largest and fiercest of them is led by a man called Craish, that much we do know. A clever devil he is too, by all accounts.’
And Jasperodus remembered the railway track, the journey through the forest, and the natural amphitheatre.
But he said nothing of this to Inwing. More was to be gained by speaking to King Zhorm himself …
… His private joke over, the King looked glum. ‘A monarch must protect his people or he won’t remain monarch for long,’ he fretted. ‘A few days ago these villains took over a hamlet and terrorised it for a day and a night – tell me, my clever construct, what would you do about these pests?’ Zhorm eyed him half jokingly, half hopefully.
Jasperodus said diffidently, ‘I think I could undertake to wipe out this nest of troublemakers altogether.’
‘How so, Jasperodus?’ Zhorm’s eyes widened. He listened attentively to Jasperodus’ story, then nodded judiciously.
/>
‘You are sure you can find this place again?’
‘Certainly, Your Majesty. They could have moved since, of course, but I very much doubt it. The camp had all the appearance of being permanent.’
Zhorm rang a bell, summoning a page. ‘Bring me Captain Grue.’
Jasperodus laid aside his blueprints and spoke in a low, confidential voice. ‘Your Majesty, engineering is not my true bent. I aspire to a military career. Let me command the attack on the bandit camp. After you see my performance perhaps you will think me fit to be granted a commission in the Guard, which is my most earnest desire.’
In the act of draining his goblet, Zhorm almost choked. ‘What? Where in the name of the Almighty do you find the audacity for a request like that? Be careful I don’t return you to the furnace!’
‘Consult Padua, Your Majesty. He will assure you the idea is perfectly feasible. In fact I could not be put to better use. I will make an excellent officer.’
‘Padua has already made plenty of representations on your behalf,’ Zhorm snapped. ‘I am almost tired of hearing him sing your praises.’
He frowned. He had never made use of robots as soldiers, for the simple reason that their obedience was such that the enemy could easily turn them round against their own side. One way round this was a robot with a command language known only to its masters, but such robots were expensive and Zhorm did not own any. Men were cheaper …
Admittedly Jasperodus answered neither of these cases and though not controlled by a command language seemed not to suffer from extreme obedience either. Padua had explained it thus: his command structure was unusually elaborate and he was able – strange though it seemed – to ignore orders altogether sometimes. Zhorm took this to mean that Jasperodus would disobey an order that contradicted a previous order – or something like that.
‘Flexible end-game,’ he murmured.
‘Your Majesty?’
‘Flexible end-game. Padua was talking about it the other day. It’s the strategy your brain is based on.’
He glanced up as Captain Grue entered and saluted smartly.
‘Captain Grue here will command the force,’ he said incisively. ‘You will accompany it as guide. Now, let us discuss the expedition itself.’
‘Damn you, metal man, damn you!’
Craish’s raging imprecations were music to Jasperodus’ ears. Hands on hips, he stood on a rise in the ground. Below him in the dell the bandit leader’s men were being roped together by Gordonian troops, cringing away from the ring of guns.
The foray had worked out even better than Jasperodus had hoped. Captain Grue had set out with a force of a hundred men, riding the transcontinental railroad on a flimsy, primitive train powered by an oil-burning engine. The train possessed a look-out tower to give warning if a long-range express approached, so as to give its passengers a chance to take to the ground and perhaps get the train off the rails as well. Nothing of this kind occurred, and the expedition quickly reached the spot designated by its robot guide.
From then on events had followed with rapidity. Since Jasperodus had last seen it Craish’s gang had expanded and itself numbered well over a hundred well-armed ruffians, so that the attackers found themselves evenly matched. These desperadoes’ first ambush had been a near-disaster for the expedition, due in part to the way Jasperodus had led it openly through the forest without any caution or reconnoitre.
It was during this ambush that Captain Grue had been killed. In the ensuing confusion the other officers had yelled conflicting orders and the troops had milled around hopelessly. Then Jasperodus had come into his own. Leaping on to a rock, bullets ringing off his impervious body, he had made an imposing figure, his voice booming out over the scene like thunder. He had rallied his men, brought them through withering fire, and then had assumed full command to lead them on to victory.
‘Hurry it up!’ he bellowed now. ‘Get them to the train!’
A subaltern approached and hesitated. Jasperodus cast him a fierce look; hastily the subaltern saluted. Lazily Jasperodus returned the salute.
‘Why don’t we just slaughter this rabble where they stand?’ the officer asked. ‘That was Captain Grue’s intention.’
‘Their fate is for the King to decide,’ Jasperodus growled. ‘We will take them back to Okrum.’ He turned away, shouting stentorian instructions across the amphitheatre.
Shortly they set out for the railway, the long file of prisoners in their midst. Lieutenant Haver, who by rank should have taken command on the death of Grue, persisted in issuing orders every now and then; each time Jasperodus bellowed a contradictory order, and the men, whose lives Jasperodus had already saved, instinctively tended to obey the stronger personality.
The Lieutenant eventually confronted Jasperodus, complaining about this undermining of his authority. But the big robot chose to ignore him. Soon Haver, too, was reduced to accepting his orders.
Back at the railroad Jasperodus made a discovery: an engine and some trucks hidden in a culvert. By this means Craish had been able to travel at speed through Gordona, striking and withdrawing along the railroad. He had the crude train smashed, except for a couple of trucks which were added to his own stock, while the prisoners were loaded on board for the return journey.
Already on board were the captives that had been found in the bandits’ camp. They were mostly women, sitting quietly with heads downcast, remembering the ill-treatment they had received.
All business in Okrum ceased when they paraded the prisoners through the town. Jasperodus permitted Lieutenant Haver to march at the head of the column with him for appearance’s sake, but of the two it was the bronze-black robot who made the most striking spectacle, and who most enjoyed the acclaim of the crowd.
It had begun. He was on the way to becoming a master of men.
It was a signal honour indeed for a robot to be invited to banquet, and to sit at the King’s table with the nobles and notables of the realm. The other guests at first found it to be an object of great amusement and made fun of Jasperodus; but though he could not of course eat and drink, he soon made them change their attitude with the dominating excellence of his conversation, recounting how he and the Gordonian Guard had defeated Craish’s stronghold. In passing he expressed regret for the death of Captain Grue, who he skilfully managed to convey was a brave but unimaginative officer.
Having captured everyone’s attention, he went on to discourse upon how a military force for defending a small country should be constituted. ‘The Guard of the Realm should be small but disciplined to the utmost and trained to the optimum,’ he said. ‘It should be able within the hour to strike in any part of the kingdom. So besides the transport to achieve this there should also be good communications throughout the kingdom so that any attack or disturbance immediately becomes known in the capital. Now as to the commander of armed forces: he should be a man whose alertness never wanes and who knows how to keep an army in a constant state of tension. He should not be such a one as will sink into complacency, inattention to changing circumstances, or fleshly pleasures.
‘Finally, if the country has external enemies it is useful to train and arm the population to some extent, but the people should never be allowed to command as much fire-power as the army.’
A snort came from down the table. ‘One would think this metal construct himself coveted the post of commander.’
‘Did I say so?’ rejoindered Jasperodus sharply. ‘The Guard already has a commander of irreplaceable mettle.’ He inclined his head towards Commander Haurk, who sat fiddling with his goblet and frowning with some displeasure. ‘But since you raise the point, it would only be fair to point out that I possess all the qualities I have outlined, to a greater extent than any flesh-and-blood man. I do not sleep, day or night. My mind can be given unremittingly to my duties, oblivious of the diversions that a human being cannot forgo. Lastly, being a machine and not a man, I do not strive to acquire power for myself as do the commanders of some armies, as their
sovereigns have found to their cost.’
A weighty silence followed his words. Jasperodus turned to King Zhorm. ‘Your Majesty, it is a slander to say that I aspire to such an exalted post. But may I again mention my desire for a commission as a subaltern?’
A roar of laughter greeted his words. A young man uncontrollably sprayed a mouthful of wine over the table. ‘What? A robot be an officer?’
‘Why not?’ Jasperodus’ gaze went from face to face. He spoke with a passion which this time was genuine. ‘A soldier’s rôle is combat, is that not so? Test me, then. I challenge any of you to any contest that suits you, whether of skill, strength or cunning, whether of the body or of the mind – I undertake to defeat you all.’
‘I accept!’ came an animated voice from down the hall. ‘We shall be rivals: you must seek to seduce a certain maid I shall name!’
Jasperodus angrily ignored the howls of merriment that followed the challenge. ‘And if you think I cannot command the respect of subordinates,’ he said loudly, ‘then speak to those I led today!’
‘But this is ridiculous!’ someone protested. ‘To make an officer of a robot!’
King Zhorm the while was watching Jasperodus with his dreamy, barbaric eyes. ‘Enough!’ he interjected. ‘It is not ridiculous at all. I have heard of such things being done in lands to the East, where robots of great sophistication are available. By your amazement you merely display your bucolic ignorance.’
‘Well said, brother!’ Prince Okhramora spoke up, addressing the King with his usual over-familiarity. He wiped the grease from his face with a napkin. ‘These clods who surround us are indeed ignorance personified. But what of the prisoners? How are they to be disposed of?’
Zhorm replied sardonically, ‘Perhaps the robot Jasperodus has some ideas as to that, since he seems to have ideas on every other subject.’
Jasperodus and Prince Okhramora exchanged secret gratified glances.
Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis Page 6
