Demonworld Book 6: The Love of Tyrants

by Kyle B. Stiff

  “I’m Yardalen,” she said. “In a few days we’ll return to the Deepest Vale. Why don’t you leave everything and come with us?”

  “Fine,” he said. He was unsure why he was so quick to agree, but then reasoned that it would at least relieve his boredom.

  “Good,” said Yardalen. “Then the son of God will meet you there.”

  “Son of…?”

  “Of God. He was born of a virgin, he has no father but the Father of all creation, he performs miracles, and he says nothing but truth.” Yardalen walked away. Turning back suddenly, she added, “And he’s my husband!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Robots, Friends

  Wodan woke in a plush bed in his room within the Tower. He studied the pale orange walls, lingering on memories still cloaked in sleep. A squat, wide opening gave view to the desert outside, bright and mostly drained of color; dim ochre sand, vast expanse of white sky, horizon stretching out in a long, hazy line.

  Wodan remembered his exhaustion the day before, how Master Setsassanar guided him to this room, saying, “Rest, son. Don’t worry. No more tricks, no more tests for now. Tomorrow your training begins.” Wodan had protested weakly, then given in to sleep.

  Besides Capricornus, which was laid across the window sill, Wodan’s possessions were gone. He wore only a simple garb of starched white linen and a pair of soft white slippers, and had no idea how the things had been put on him. As he looked at the wasteland from his window, a door opened and the robot servant shuffled in bearing a tray. Wodan propped himself up on the windowsill and the robot set his tray before him, a meal of amber liquid in a clear glass decanter, and several rows of yellowish-brown cubes laid on a glass plate.

  The robot shuffled away, then opened another door and directed Wodan’s gaze inward. An elaborate toilet sat inside.

  “Thanks,” said Wodan. “That’ll save me from having to use the window.”

  The robot shuffled out. Wodan felt slightly nervous, but beyond that he felt nothing besides a sort of psychic cleanliness. It was as if he had cast off a burden of worries that had grown heavy over many years.

  Have I really abandoned everything so easily? he wondered.

  He felt of his wrist that had been broken only a dozen hours before. It was fully mended.

  The cubes were very tasty, a sort of salty, synthetic herb mixture with a surprising variety of texture. The liquid was warm and sweet; his thoughts sharpened, and he could tell that it was laced with some sort of stimulant.

  Once finished, Wodan opened the door leading out of his room and saw Setsassanar sitting alone in a long white hall. He sat on a bench, turned sideways, and Wodan immediately thought of a family member waiting to hear the status of a sick patient in a hospital. The Master was dressed in black garb similar to Wodan’s. He turned and smiled, seeming genuinely pleased.

  “How long have you been waiting there?” said Wodan.

  “Over thirty years now,” said Setsassanar, rising. “Come.” Wodan caught sight of an emblem of a dragon on his breast.

  The two walked side by side, past long windows opening onto the wasteland.

  “Where are we going?” said Wodan.

  “If we’re to acquaint you with your new home, you must meet its inhabitants.”

  New home! thought Wodan.

  “There are nine robots here, young apprentice. You must meet them all, and learn their relation to you.”

  Setsassanar stopped by a door of white wood, then they entered a wide, circular chamber. The floors and walls were all dark blue marble, and the high ceiling was upheld with white pillars streaked with blue. Wodan had the sense that they were walking around inside a living crystal. In the center of the room was a short pedestal, and on it sat a white orb lined with glittering blue veins.

  “Slave Circuit,” said Setsassanar, lifting his eyes.

  “Yes, Master?” said a disembodied, feminine voice.

  “This is my son, the apprentice Wodan. Greet him. You two will be working closely together.”

  “Greetings, Wodan,” said the voice.

  “Hello, Slave Circuit,” said Wodan, feeling a little self-conscious.

  Setsassanar turned to Wodan. “As for the first robot... we will come to him last. But this is the second robot. She is called Slave Circuit, and she has many functions. She provides upkeep to the Tower, routes solar-generated power, acts as a storehouse for data, and coordinates all of the nanomachines as well as the Scry and Mirror programs, which you will become acquainted with soon enough.”

  Wodan nodded to the shining orb. “Is that her, there?”

  “Oh no,” said Setsassanar. “Robot Number Two runs throughout the entire Tower. This orb is a terminal. I had it shaped so that you could interact with her. I need no terminal, as I am connected with her directly.”

  Wodan walked around the room, eyeing the orb terminal. “You call it ‘she’. Does it have a personality?”

  “No, it does not. I have purposely limited her capabilities. However, she is a close cousin to the computer program which you encountered in the seed-cave in the Black Valley, in the place you called the Cave of the Ancients. That program did have a personality, of sorts. I suspect that it went... insane... by the time you encountered it.”

  “It served its purpose,” said Wodan, stopping suddenly.

  “That it did. As must we all. Come along.”

  “Goodbye, Slave Circuit,” said Wodan.

  “Be seeing you,” said the feminine voice.

  They left by another door and entered a black hallway. The servant robot shuffled up to them with a smoking, dripping torch, and Wodan laughed at his down-turned face.

  “And here is Robot Number Three,” said Setsassanar. “He is the first robot that I built after establishing this place. He is called Yohei, named after a humble, cowardly farmer in an old story. He is my butler, and while Slave Circuit is more than capable of assuming all responsibilities for cleaning and maintenance, I keep Yohei around because he provides company and amusement. He will gladly follow any simple commands you see fit to give.”

  Yohei, the third robot, turned his sad face up to his master, then regarded the torch, then turned his eyes to the ground.

  “Yohei,” said Setsassanar, and Wodan saw the robot’s shoulders jerk slightly. “This is my son, Wodan. You are to accept level-one commands from him so long as they don’t interfere with my own.”

  The robot nodded lamely, seemingly tired.

  “What does that mean?” said Wodan.

  “He will clean up after you, or fetch things for you, or feed you as you like. He will even protect you, so long as I am not in danger myself. Come along.”

  “Is he strong?”

  “Not really. But he has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

  The three walked down the dark hallway, then entered a wide chamber with white, padded floors and walls of pale brown wood. Hundreds of wicked hand-to-hand weapons lined the walls - swords of all sizes, heavy axes, curved and serrated daggers, poles tipped with various blades, long coiled whips, rusted chains, clubs run through with nails. In the center of the room stood the very same robot that Wodan had fought and destroyed. Its white and black-edged body was whole. It stood at attention with hands clasped behinds its back, the smiling mask staring ahead at nothing.

  “Do not be alarmed,” said Setsassanar. “This is Robot Number Four, the training model. It will not attack unless ordered to do so. You have overcome it once, but in the coming days you will smash it hundreds, thousands of times. It is programmed for many forms of combat and can handle all of the weapons you see here, as well as a few more.” Setsassanar circled the serene creature as he explained. “It can be set to perform at various levels: Strength, tenacity, grace, speed, planning - all of these variables can be changed.”

  “I have to fight this thing again?” said Wodan. Deep dread coiled in his gut. It was physically far more powerful than any demon or dogman he had ever faced.

  “If you want to u
nlock your potential,” said Setsassanar, “and have any interest in saving your species from extinction at the hands of devils, then you will fight it over and over and over again, at ever-increasing levels of difficulty.”

  “My species?” said Wodan.

  Setsassanar smiled, then continued on.

  The next chamber was colored in shades of purple, full of draperies and thick, black carpets. Flowered prints in a style he had never seen decorated the walls. A round, garish bed dominated the chamber. The female robot, with a wig of rough red hair and red-painted face, lounged in a reclining chair and surveyed the two.

  “This is Robot Number Five,” said Setsassanar. “SexBot.”

  “Suh... sex... bot?”

  “Yes. I placed her chamber next to the training room. Think of her as a reward after a long day of training!”

  Wodan realized his jaw was hanging slack. “I’m supposed to have sex with a robot?”

  “It’s no different from masturbation. You don’t pace around the room in an existential crisis before you do that, do you? The truth of the matter is that nothing helps clear the mind like this friendly little machine.” Setsassanar’s face was without expression, as if explaining something to a child.

  “Isn’t that a little... strange?” said Wodan, looking back and forth between his Master and the metallic concubine.

  “Strange! You know better than most that life is strange, Wodan! Biological organisms are prey to all sorts of bizarre emergent properties that come about from coupling sexual impulses with conscious awareness.”

  “Huh.”

  “Ah, I see. It’s been quite some time since you engaged in the act. If you’d like, I can climb on her right now, and show you how it’s done...”

  “No, no,” said Wodan, stifling a laugh. “I can probably remember the basics. But, still.”

  Robot Number Five tilted her head slightly, then covered her mouth as if stifling a yawn.

  “Do not worry,” said Setsassanar. “Her insides are quite warm. And while her shell appears metallic, it’s actually padded in a mesh of soft fibers that are yielding to the touch, I assure you.”

  “I see...”

  “What’s worse?” said Setsassanar, in a firm voice. “A world where people make love to machines, or a world where children are continually born by accident, into poverty and neglect, and are thrust into the hands of resentful parents? Sex should be a conscious decision, Apprentice, and simulacra under our control puts the power of conscious breeding under our control, too.”

  Wodan did not doubt the logic of the argument, but he was also disturbed by the fact that Dove Langley was being held hostage somewhere nearby. Still, he wanted to learn and understand more than he wanted confrontation, so he sealed up his unease. “I’ll become used to the concept,” he said finally.

  “Then let us move on.”

  They passed through many halls until they came to a rounded hallway of black brick lined by many long windows. Just then something flew in from outside, buzzing and clanging loudly as it banged against the opening. Wodan jumped back, shouted, then saw the black robot clamber within the opening, its jet pack humming as it powered down. The robot regarded the two quietly as it crouched above them, the claws of one hand clicking slowly against one another.

  “And here is Robot Number Six,” said Setsassanar. “This little creature does my bidding outside the Tower, if I have such a will. Do not bother being friendly toward it. Black has no friends, and is not programmed for communication of any sort.”

  “This is the creature,” said Wodan, fuming, “that you used to kidnap Langley.”

  “It is. It is armed with a variety of poisoned pellets, stun bullets, and nerve-disabling weapons. It is not built for combat, though; if you attack it, it will only flee.”

  The robot clambered down from the window, its wide torso seeming clumsy on skinny legs and arms, then quietly moved into a side passage and disappeared from view.

  “Master,” Wodan said suddenly, “what exactly do you intend to do with Langley?”

  “We will speak of that later,” said Setsassanar, already moving on. Wodan swallowed his resentment, then followed.

  They entered a chamber of rough-hewn gray stone open to the sun, like some kind of medieval solarium. A long white tapestry swayed in the breeze. “As for Robot Number Eight...”

  “What about Number Seven?” said Wodan.

  “Ah. You’ve been keeping track.” Setsassanar stopped, then smiled strangely. “Black is not the only robot who goes out into the world. That Robot... ah, how to explain? It is not in the Tower now.”

  Wodan thought for a moment, then said, “Is it the one who recorded the images I’ve seen played here?”

  “No. Slave Circuit does all that using the Scry program. Robot Number Seven is difficult to explain. Perhaps you will meet it someday.” With that, Setsassanar moved on, but Wodan made a mental note that his strange Master must have another creature in the world doing his bidding.

  They approached the tapestry on the far wall. It depicted an ancient warrior in armor reminiscent of Won Po’s, but more elaborate and intimidating. A long sword was in his belt, and at his feet crouched a guard dog with bared teeth and gleaming eyes painted in violent strokes.

  “This is a metaphorical blueprint for the psyche of Robot Number Eight, which is called Guardian Demon. It alone among the robots I keep separate from myself. It sits in a cage, as it has done for hundreds of years, and analyzes and updates its own combat capabilities. I have placed some limits on its development, but other than that, I leave it be. I have no idea what it thinks and does. Perhaps someday, when you are ready… if you are ever ready… you will go down into its cage and face it.”

  “Why? Why not just fight the training robot? Why keep a monster around?”

  “Because your life must ultimately be lived outside of any safe zone. If you would truly pit yourself against the demons, you must understand that they are the great Other. No amount of routine training can ever fully prepare you for that. So this Guardian Demon is also an Other.”

  Wodan looked at the image of the warrior and the guard dog, wondering what the real thing would be like, then turned his eyes to the windows and the skies beyond. “And Robot Number Nine?” he said.

  “A purely theoretical robot,” said the Master, crossing to one of the tall windows. “It would be a self-replicating, complicated machine that, if built, would set out and destroy the flesh demons. If built, it would evolve as it fought, enhance its own capabilities based on failures and victories, and it would fight until the demons were utterly destroyed.”

  “What!” said Wodan. “If you’ve the design in mind, then you should build it!”

  Setsassanar stopped. “Should I? The only way to guarantee victory over the enemy would be to make the robot capable of unlimited growth, unlimited potential. Such a thing would have to be hard-wired for fast improvement. Evolution on an exponential scale rather than over the span of generations. What would happen, Wodan, if we were to unleash such a thing into the world? Could it be controlled? If such a thing were made, it would eventually become so powerful, so alien, that we would likely not recognize it by the time the genocide was accomplished. The weapon would get out of hand. It could even become something worse than the devils with which we are already familiar.”

  Wodan thought for a moment. “I see. You’re saying that it’s better that we do things as you’ve already set out to do. You want to train me to fight devils so that such a beast will never have to be created.”

  “I’m going to do more than train you to fight devils, Wodan. I’m going to train you how to live. I’m going to teach you how to walk through Leviathan’s Door using potential which you have no idea that you even possess. No one has ever gone where you are going to go, my Apprentice.” Setsassanar’s violet eyes burned into Wodan’s skull. “I will shape you into a Master of this world. Small men see this Tower on the horizon, and they call me a god. But I am nothing compare
d to what you can become.”

  Wodan felt overwhelmed, and a little scared, and wanted to change the subject. “You’ve gone over all the robots, then, but you skipped the first.”

  Setsassanar crossed over to an opening in the wall. He spread his arms, framing his silhouette against deep blue sky.

  “You’re looking at it,” said Setsassanar. “This creature before you is Robot Number One.”

  “You’re... a robot?”

  “A synthetic flesh-and-blood construct that, at the end of every day, dumps its pool of memory data into the reservoirs deep in the Tower. If this one is killed, it can be replaced by another. These can be grown in a matter of weeks.”

  “But, Master… where are you, then, if you’re not… not in that body?”

  Setsassanar gestured around the room. “I am the Tower itself,” he said. The words sounded hollow and distant. “Long ago I was a single body, like yourself. But when the world was destroyed, I hid within a seed-cave similar to the one in the Black Valley. That cave was alive, Wodan. It grew by feeding on its surroundings, and sustained and oversaw its own development. For hundreds of years I hid within such a place, but I shaped it into a tower. As I developed and grew and forced my mind to expand its limits, I became more and more aware of my limitations. Eventually, I chose to merge with the tower, and became it. My neural network is housed in a special place, but these walls, floors, everything around you, is my body. I feed off solar power and the heat that is in the land surrounding us. All of these robots are connected to my neural network, such that their experience is like my own. My physical brain is very large now... Slave Circuit is kept busy organizing my memory banks so that nothing of importance is lost in such a massive, disorganized cluster. I dream often; there are dark spaces in my awareness, channels for dumping frustrations, or surges of intense and strange longings that no human mind could have prepared me for when I was first made.”

  Wodan was shocked on a profound level. “God,” he muttered.