Blood and Iron (52 page)

‘They’re moving around already,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘They won’t hold their position.’

‘That is why you must make your moves quickly, or your strategies will be of no use. You can be red, you begin.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do fumbled for one of his lice pawns. His hand was too clumsy.

‘It’s no good. I can’t take hold of it.’

‘You give up so easily?’

The man’s words stung Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He tried again. With a feeling of tremendous satisfaction he managed to take hold of one of his lice pawns and move it two spaces forward. As he did so it began to rain. Dark spots appeared on the stone table.

‘Interesting opening,’ observed the other robot, ‘but, alas, it is undone already. Your pawn has wandered away . . .’

The stranger picked up a pawn of his own and moved it onto a square currently occupied by one of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s.

‘ . . . so I take your piece.’

‘What is the point of this game?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, irritated. ‘I can barely move in this body.’

‘Then you will have to be cleverer than me, won’t you?’

With difficulty, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do seized his own pawn, but the piece he was aiming to take had walked out of its range. Frustrated, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do set the piece down on an empty square.

‘This is like life, no?’ said the stranger. ‘Like robots. Our parents twist our mind, set us on their path, but after that they can do nothing more than watch how their children interact with the other players in the game.’

‘There is no logic to the motion of these creatures,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, in frustration.

‘Of course there is,’ said the Stranger. ‘They act as such creatures will. It’s just that the logic is not apparent to us.’

‘It would be easier if we just used regular pieces,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, watching as the robot captured another of his pieces, and dropped it, legs moving, in a stone cup at his side of the table. ‘Or if we could predict which way the pieces would move.’

With a major effort, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do took hold of a beetle. He waited a moment as one of the stranger’s creatures hesitated on the edge of a square, and then brought it heavily down.

‘Check!’ he said.

‘No longer,’ said the robot, and sure enough, his emperor walked from its square.

‘This is pointless!’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Not at all! In life there are many moments when things seem final, then everything shifts and the game resumes. Just like now. The pieces are shifting. This is your moment, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed sharply at the stranger.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘I was told it by a robot on the sea shore. He is waiting there for you now.’

‘Waiting for me? How does he know about me?’

‘Through listening. Some minds speak to each other, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. You know that the whales talk to each other?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the stranger, looked at his thin, delicate body.

‘You don’t look like a whaler.’

‘I’m not. I was brought here by the robot on the sea shore. He thought there might be a place for me here in Ka with the humans temporarily defeated.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Studying them. Finding out more about them. Deciding how best to fight them.’

‘Should we fight them?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, deep in shame.

‘Why not? Your Emperor no longer rules this continent. It is not his
real
wishes you follow by serving the humans. You know, despite everything, you did well in Sangrel, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. Maybe the best anyone could have done.’

The praise did nothing to lift Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s mood. The weight of his body was not the heaviest part of his prison.

‘I could have done more. I could have followed the Emperor, or followed my own beliefs. Instead I did neither.’ He looked around. ‘Maybe I can succeed here. Join the fight with the other robots . . .’

‘There is nothing for you here, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. You know that.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt the last vestige of hope slip away.

‘Then my life is over.’

‘You know that isn’t true. Anyway, isn’t despair forbidden by the Book of Robots?’

‘You know of the book?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, but with no eagerness.

‘The knowledge wasn’t woven into my mind at birth, but yes, I know of it.’

‘What does the book mean now? You’ve seen the humans.’

‘Who said that they wrote the book? There is no reason why they should have done. Even if they did, does that give them the right to treat us in this way?’

‘Do you know what it is like to have your core belief thrust in your face and then twisted out of shape before your eyes?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, his voice full of pain.

‘No,’ replied the stranger, and he picked up a beetle and dropped it on a square, taking another of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s pieces.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt suddenly empty, drained of all emotion.

‘What do you want with me?’

‘Me? Nothing. But there is a robot waiting for you by the sea shore. I think you should go to him.’

‘I’m looking for a robot. She’s called Jai-Lyn.’

‘She’s dead. You know it, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. There’s nothing for you here in Yukawa.’

‘There’s my sister, my family.’

‘Would you shame them by returning to them in that body?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do said nothing. He moved another pawn across the board.

The stranger lifted a piece of his own: the forge. He waited a moment in the pattering rain, then placed it on the grey board.

‘Checkmate. Come on, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, it’s time to go.’

He stood up. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do got to his feet and followed the robot through the streets, down through a forest of crane legs, human craft tangled in the cables and lines above him. He followed the stranger down to the sea.

A robot waited by the water, his body like none that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had seen before. His arms were way too long, his face and body inverted drops of water.

‘His name is Morphobia Alligator,’ said the stranger, ‘and he is a pilgrim.’

‘Where is he taking me?’

‘North, to the top of another continent. When summer approaches in the north, winter approaches in the south. Where there is happiness in spring, there is sorrow in autumn.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed at the stranger.

‘Winter is ending, the humans have just arrived there. From one perspective, you will have a chance to live the last six months again.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do moved forward. Something was rising up from the water beyond. Something huge. It was opening its mouth.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do,’ said Morphobia Alligator. He gestured towards the whale’s mouth. ‘Shall we go inside?’

Spoole

Artemis City was locked in a dynamic equilibrium of busy preparation for the next war. Like a storm cloud, the potential was continually rising, and all the robots were waiting to see where it would discharge itself.

The robots were forming into clans: infantryrobots, Storm Troopers and Scouts, computers and engineers, all forming their own groups, all waiting to see where to move next. On the edge of the city, the human compound sat in silence, its guns constantly scanning the surrounding area.

Rumour was rife. It jumped from robot to robot. The humans were leaving, they were going to attack. Sandale and the rest were arming themselves with human weapons; Spoole had taken the north side of the city; Kavan was about to attack the city, attack the humans; Kavan was already here, inside the city . . .

And at the centre of this maelstrom of uncertainty, Spoole marched into the largest of the forges, surrounded by a group of infantryrobots and Storm Troopers that were not quite escorting him, not quite following him. Kavan wasn’t the only person with presence, he noted with satisfaction.

He saw the Generals in the middle of the floor, just as he had been told to expect, and he felt a surge of relief. So that information at least was true.

‘Sandale!’ he called. ‘Why do you and the other Generals hide in here?’

They had been expecting him. All those Generals in their new bodies, all of them sporting the metals the humans had bought. Their bright, flashing panel work was in marked contrast to the dull greys and blacks of the soldiers who had followed him here.

He noticed the way they had arranged themselves: the younger Generals had moved to the back of the crowd. It was the older ones like Sandale who had the courage to challenge him.

What have we done?
thought Spoole.
What have I done? To think, if the animals had never arrived we may have carried on in this way, tearing Artemis apart through our constant jockeying for power. Robots like Kavan marching across the surface of this planet, conquering all, robots like these Generals, making copies of themselves, making robots to lead, robots that have never done anything else . . .

Sandale had stepped forward. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded. ‘Why do you bring these troops into this place?’

‘As witnesses, Sandale.’ And he raised his voice so it could be heard within the forge.

‘General Sandale. Generals. I accuse you all of treachery! You are traitors to Nyro!’ Silence fell in the forge. All were listening. ‘Robots!’ he shouted. ‘We have made a grave mistake in Artemis City. We see it standing here before us. Where we should have built robots to fight and to build to the glory of Nyro, we chose instead to weave minds to
lead
us. That was a mistake! Because to them, leadership has become all! They have never walked a battlefield, they have never constructed a bridge or a forge or an engine. Worse than that, they don’t see any reason why they should do so! Instead, they believe that an ability to lead is all that is required. And so they do anything they can to continue that leadership, even if it means betraying us and Nyro to the animals! Better that, in their minds, than have Kavan return here to oust them!’

The forge was filled with silent attention. The crackle of the fires burning, the gentle pulse of the magnetic motors, the distant hammering, all seemed to fade into the background in the ringing of this greater truth. So many robots looking on, their rifles and knives and awls so far untouched. There was unresolved tension, waiting to be dissipated one way or the other. Of all the Generals, only Sandale seemed untouched by the building current. His low voice carried across the room.

‘You accuse
us
of treachery? It is
you
who do not follow the will of Artemis. Artemis’s leaders did not request your presence in this forge.’

Spoole walked forward, his simple, elegant body an eloquent contrast to the over-engineered machine that Sandale wore.

‘You no longer have any authority, Sandale. Not since you gave over part of Artemis to those who do not follow Nyro.’

Sandale smiled.

‘Spoole, did not Nyro herself say that land is not important? Only Artemis. The animals rendered a service to Artemis; they took the land as their payment.’

‘What service, Sandale?’

‘They rid us of Kavan, Spoole. Have you forgotten that was also your wish?’

‘Not in that manner, Sandale, never in that manner!’

But Sandale’s words had achieved their intended effect. Spoole sensed the change in the mood, he felt the scales tilt against him. Still, he pressed on.

‘The animals have taken their payment and more, Sandale! They are spreading across our land!’

A buzz of current ran across the room, jumping from robot to robot. Sandale raised his arms for attention.

‘You exaggerate, Spoole,’ he said, once silence had returned. ‘The animals remain within their compound.’

‘They remain within their compound? Except for their flying craft! Except for the railway lines they convert to their purpose and then use to take metal and fuel from us! Day by day the number of trains that ride the rails to their base increases, trains laden with refined oil and good plate steel, all carried from their bases in Stark and Raman and Wien!’

The point struck home, as Spoole knew it would. Taking metal away was like taking children away. All those unmade children that were the future of Artemis. Still, Spoole knew he should not underestimate the Generals. They were of a different manufacture. The newer minds may not be prepared in the ways of the battlefield, but they were twisted to rhetoric and the art of debate. Already, one young General clad in the lightest of bodies was stepping forward to speak.

‘Indeed, Spoole is right!’ she declared. ‘The humans do take oil and steel, but what you seem incapable of realizing is that they return more than they take! And what they return is of a higher quality, or better than that, of materials previously unknown to us. Look at the metal that is scattered around this forge, given to us by the humans! Look at the aluminium they have brought!’

The entire room gazed at the body of the General, regarded its lustre, felt with their senses its strange but natural essence.

‘Aluminium!’ said one robot, near to Spoole, and the wistfulness in its voice was almost painful to hear.

‘Yes!’ called Sandale, delighted at how the point had struck home. ‘Aluminium! Look, all of you, look at the metal that lies to the far wall of this assembly room. Look, too, at the copper and the platinum, the gold and the electrum that the animals have exchanged with us!’