Blood and Iron (51 page)

He saw the fire on the horizon after the third day. Ka was burning, he knew it. Still he walked on.

Other robots walked the road.

‘What news from Sangrel?’ called one, gazing in horror at Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s heavy body.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do said nothing, he just kept on walking, still too ashamed to speak.

‘Hey! What did they do to you? Let me help!’

‘I don’t deserve it.’

Slowly, he limped on.

That day he turned aside from the white stone road to avoid the other robots that walked it, and he made his way across the land, heading directly for the burning city and its black column of smoke.

The green hills gave way to flatter, marshy ground. To his right he saw the road, graceful white bridges arcing over the ditches and swamps. He ignored them, moving deeper and deeper into the saltwater-soaked land that bordered Ka. The sun burned red as it set, mirroring the flames of the city; it reflected in patches from the land, it stained the sky the colour of dull iron.

He passed into the swamp, and he sought out the rills of rock that lined the marshy bed, following the stone paths, the green water up to his waist, sometimes up to his neck. Occasionally he walked underwater, his vision a green blur, and the slippery shapes of organic life whipped around him all the time. He would emerge onto a soft bank and look ahead to see the city seemingly no closer, the despair within him no less, the pain as intense as ever.

Still he marched on.

Susan

Susan stood in the Marshalling Office. Through the window she could see the silver lines that spread out across the world, converging upon her. A line of wagons was passing beneath her right now and she found her eyes drawn to it, the regular flick, flick as the end of one wagon passed by and another rolled on.

The Marshalling Officer didn’t seem to notice.

‘Well,’ he said, looking down once more at the piece of foil, ‘this is the service you want, but it’s not going to do you any good. It doesn’t run any more.’

‘Why not?’ said Susan, frustrated. Another train rumbled by underneath, this time heading into the yards.

‘Oooh, well, it was a special service, see? Only ran for about a month, straight into the humans’ compound. They’re not accepting direct services at the moment.’

‘Why not?’

The Marshalling Officer laughed. He was painted a pale green, not quite the same as the computers of the Centre City.

‘Why not? Susan, you’re not on official business are you?’

‘Yes I am, I told you—’

‘Susan, it’s okay! I don’t care, see? All I want to do is to ensure that Artemis works. The way I do that is by making sure the railways run smoothly.’

‘Listen . . .’

‘Gresley.’

‘Listen, Gresley, the robot in question used to work in Making Room 14. She has information—’

‘Susan, I really don’t care. Half the information on this continent flows through here. I know what’s really going on. I know that Kavan is out there on the plain somewhere, building an army. I know that he is getting ready to attack this city again, and I know that he is coming closer. He might even be here by now. Troops ride in and out on these trains all the time. If I were Kavan I would have simply hopped on board one of them.’

‘Yes but—’

‘No, Susan, listen to me. I know that the robots in this city are growing more and more unhappy about the way Sandale and the rest have made an alliance with what are no more than a bunch of animals. I know that unrest is growing all the time. They say that we are receiving metal from the humans in return for land, but I’ve examined the lading bills and I know that we’re giving away more than we’re receiving.’

‘And you think this is wrong?’ said Susan, eagerly.

‘Susan, you misunderstand! I don’t care!’

The pale-green robot sat down on a seat by the metal desk that overlooked the yard and spread the foil out before him.

‘I keep trying to explain, I don’t run this city. I don’t make decisions about which lands we should conquer, or about where we build our forges, see? My mind wasn’t twisted to do that. What I do is make sure that the goods on the railways are picked up, and that they are deposited at their destination. If anything passes beneath this gantry, then it is my business to know about it. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Good. Then understand this, Susan. I don’t care who you are, I don’t care if you work for Kavan or Sandale or Spoole. I don’t even care if you’re in this for yourself. In a few weeks’ time such things will probably all be irrelevant anyway!’

‘Yes, so—’

‘So, ask me anything you like, and I will be delighted to answer!’

At that Gresley sat back in his seat and smiled.

‘This state has rust in the mind,’ said Susan.

‘It may well do,’ said Gresley, ‘but as long as the railways run properly, I am a happy robot.’

Susan took the piece of foil from the desk.

‘My friend was taken into the human compound on this service,’ she said. ‘I want to follow her in there.’

‘There we are!’ said Gresley. ‘Why didn’t you say that at the start?’

He leaped to his feet and walked to the other side of the room, where he examined a piece of foil pinned to the wall.

‘Now,’ he said, examining it carefully. ‘As I said, there are no direct services to the human compound planned. However, there are a number of troop trains being prepared for a direct attack on the compound.’

‘They’re going to attack the humans?’ said Susan, in astonishment.

‘I didn’t say that,’ said Gresley, ‘but you can’t just call up a train from thin air. These things have to be prepared. Someone is obviously planning ahead.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. It could be Spoole, it could be the Generals. It could even be Kavan. Like I said, he may be in the city already.’

He pulled a sheet of foil from a book and scribbled something on it with a stylus.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Line 4 point 16 point 3. The lines are numbered from the right. That’s line four down there, the one with the ore hoppers passing by at the moment.’

Susan looked down at the yellow stone-filled hoppers that rumbled by beneath them.

‘Just follow it up and count the branches. You should be able to join the train, dressed like that. I’m sure another infantryrobot would always be welcome.’

‘What do you mean dressed like that? I
am
an infantryrobot.’

‘Of course you are,’ said Gresley, and he turned back to his desk. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’

At that he picked up a pile of foil sheets and began to read his way through them.

Susan watched him for a moment, and then turned and headed out to find her train.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do

Ka was a city caught between worlds, a city built half on sea and half on land, a city caught between the harsh realities of whaling and the culture and civilization of the Empire.

It was a shifting, animate city. Whales were dragged from the sea, their bodies taken apart and separated into piles of metal. That metal was taken to plate the bodies of robots, robots who would then strip the metal from themselves and use it to construct new buildings, buildings that would then be dismantled and rebuilt elsewhere as more robots flowed into the city, or taken to line the new roads that were built into the sea. Metal would be formed into cranes and used to construct the little ships that carried metal up and down the coast, then the ships themselves would be dismantled and the metal used to construct new buildings.

Ka had moved up and down the coast over time; it waxed and waned like the tide. It was anchored only by the Whale Road, running as it did from the long-unused jade and stone buildings of the Emperor’s Sea Palace, all the way back through the provinces and cities of Yukawa to the Silent City itself.

Not that many of the Emperor’s robots travelled to this harsh town, grey and utilitarian as it was, lashed by the sea rain and choked with the smoke of forges.

This place was left to the strong and uncultured robots that worked there. Mostly male minds, full of lifeforce that powered big, heavy bodies, suitable for pulling whales down to the sea bed. Minds that thought nothing about ripping open the panelling of the huge creatures, and reaching through to disable the electro-muscle beyond.

Robots who had fought back.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw the signs almost immediately he entered the city.

These robots had fought against the humans.

With guns and harpoons, with swords and spears and anything else that came to hand. Rocks and stones and metal bars lay discarded all around. The ground was still soaked with the red blood the humans carried within them. He saw the bloated remains of their bodies, long stripped of any useful materials, the yellow-white bones poking through the bare flesh.

The robots of Ka had swatted the flying craft with cranes. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wandered through the docks, the grey sea splashing beside him, and he saw one of the human craft lying broken on the ground. Close up, it seemed so fragile: metal skin as thin as gold leaf, the transparent plastic cockpit bubble bulging and torn by the metal girder that had pierced its length. Two humans lay dead behind it, the fluid that had once filled their bodies dried and rusted around them. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held out a hand near the red patch. There was iron there, just a trace. So these creatures had a little in common with robots. He inspected the face of the dead human. Had it felt pain or fear as it had died? He couldn’t tell.

But the dead humans were only part of the story.

There were dead robots, too. Dead robots lying everywhere in the streets. The humans had dropped one of their electric bombs here, too, though it hadn’t been anywhere so near as effective as in Sangrel. Many more robots still lived. Going about their work, clearing the streets, sorting the body parts into piles for re-use.

When they saw Wa-Ka-Mo-Do pass by they obviously recognized the handiwork of the Vestal Virgins, but this didn’t seem to bother them so much. If anything, his slow fight against the agony within his leaden shell seemed to grant Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a certain respect.

A man came running up to him.

‘You have one of these?’ he asked, handing Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a flexible metal mesh. ‘No? I thought not! Put it around your head and shoulders if the humans return. If they drop the electric bomb again, I mean.’

‘Thank you.’

The man hesitated. He gazed at the dark metal of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s body.

‘That is, if you can reach up to your head. Will your hands move that far?’

‘I can manage.’

The man’s eyes glowed.

‘Spread the word, brother. I say, let the animals return. We’ll be ready for them next time.’

With that the robot turned and dashed off.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do dragged the heavy shell around the city, looking for Jai-Lyn. It was a pointless task, he knew, slowed further by his constant need to rest and recharge. She wouldn’t have stood a chance in the fighting, not wearing that thin, delicate body. Even if she was spared death from some human gun, then the electric bomb would have surely caught her. Only the heavy-duty bodies had survived, that and those robots who had later emerged from the sea, fresh from the hunt. Those robots found a city much changed since they had set off in search of whale metal.

He came to a set of making rooms. An old building, made of stone, chased in copper and lead. There was a forge inside, cold in the middle of the floor. The rest of the room was so neat and tidy. Bundles of wire and piles of plate, tins and tins of paint of all colours, neatly arranged on shelves around the walls. Doors led from the main area to the little rooms where the robots of higher rank would go. A dead woman lay in each, hands clutched to her head, the metal of the skull deformed and crushed by her own dying strength. None of them were Jai-Lyn.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the last woman, full of silent shame. Somewhere in this city, Jai-Lyn would no doubt be sat, her hands clutched to her head in just that posture.

He emerged from the making rooms back into the red daylight. A robot was sitting by one of the stone tables in the middle of the square, waving at Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Hello, stranger,’ he called.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do moved towards the robot. He was sat on an iron seat, the stone table before him crawling with life, both metal and organic.

‘Pull up a chair.’

‘It will break beneath the weight of this body.’

‘You know, I think it will. Perhaps you can kneel instead?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do did so, and felt the pain in his feet move to his knees. There was no relief to be found in any position.

The table was marked with a seven by seven grid of squares. Metal beetles, worms and lice wandered at random across its surface, all of them contained by the stone lip that ran around the table’s perimeter. Half of the creatures had a blob of red paint on their back.

‘Have you played chess before?’ asked the stranger.

‘Not like this. Not with animals.’

‘Really? This is the true game.’ The stranger reached out and quickly placed the creatures on their starting positions. Slow creatures, worms and placid beetles on the back row, skittering lice in the position of pawns.