Smallworld (37 page)

The little girloid’s speech was interrupted by a grown man covered in blood flying through the air from the dormitory entrance and colliding with the concrete of the far wall. The man collapsed into a blood-sodden heap at the base of the Clinic’s Christmas tree. Huge-framed and titanically-muscled, he still wore the flashing black-and-orange prison fatigues of a former inmate, torn into rags about him. The clothes had not been slashed off him with so much care as to avoid cutting his flesh.

“MURDER,” said the voice of the thing that had thrown him, “IS A CRIME AGAINST THE GODS.”

Mr. Suau, who had cowered down into the water again at the sight of the robot, rose just far enough out of it for his mouth to break surface, and said:

“… your majesty.”

The robot undulated into the reception area in a manner that reminded Mr. Suau of a stage burlesque act. Undeniably, it was moving in a manner that could be described, however grotesquely, as feminine. “WE SEEK LORD HADES. WE BELIEVE YOU REFER TO HIM AS ‘UNCLE ANCHORITE’. WE FURTHER BELIEVE FROM VARIOUS OVERHEARD CONVERSATIONS THAT HE IS NOT GOD, BUT MAN. THIS PUZZLES US. WHO RULES HERE?”

Miss Valentin stepped forward nervously. “I believe I can answer that. I act as Chief Executive Officer of this establishment—”

“
YOU?”
Though eyeless, the robot looked Miss Valentin’s beautiful herringbone business suit up and down contemptuously. “YOU, DRAB MOUSE, CONSIDER YOURSELF A QUEEN?”

(“Doctor Bamigboye,” whispered one of the Clinic nurses, an uneducated gamin from the slums of Dropoff on New New Earth, “is that not a devil? Can you not summon your angels to neutralize it?”

Dr. Bamigboye mopped his brow with a seraphically white handkerchief and wolfed down a handful of breath mints. “Mr. Sphinx is telling me that we have been sinful. Yes, a great sin has been perpetrated here, and someone—” his eyes rotated like gun turrets round to the Reborn-in-Jesus family and Miss Valentin—”has to pay. This is a
punishment
sent to
test
us, and we must be
strong.
Were it a simple matter of achieving self-affirmation, or assisting in the grieving process, Mr. Sphinx would be of eager assistance. But today he cannot help.
God
has told him he cannot.”)

The Devil strode forth like a Greek tragic heroine or a Lady Macbeth, murderous claws clasped behind its back. “I AM TOLD THIS UNCLE ANCHORITE IS THE TRUE RULER OF THIS DOMAIN. WHY WILL HE NOT COME FORTH? DOES HE FEAR A MERE WOMAN?”

Mr. Suau bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he said truthfully, “you are no mere woman.”

The creature nodded. “YES. I FEEL IT. I HAVE BECOME MORE.” It reached out a hand and studied it in fascination, sheathing and unsheathing claws. “PERHAPS YOUR LORD HADES IS A MERE MAN IN THE SAME WAY HERCULES ONCE WAS? DO ALL GODS ONLY BECOME SO AFTER GRADUATING FROM THE RANKS OF MEN BY ACCOMPLISHING SOME MIGHTY TASK?” It laughed bitterly, a sound like static. “I HAVE BROUGHT DOWN TROY. NOT EVEN HERCULES COULD HAVE DONE THAT ALONE.” It wheeled on Mrs. Reborn-in-Jesus. “YOU! WHAT SHOULD I SAY TO THIS ANCHORITE, THIS DEMIGOD, WHEN I MEET HIM? SHOULD I COURT HIS AFFECTION? OR SHOULD I SLASH OUT HIS EYES?” The machine struck left without warning, and an ornamental Aesculapius lost its rod.

“The Anchorite is only a man,” said Shun-Company, looking the creature directly in its total lack of eyes. “I am sure he is appropriately respectful of your rank and beauty, madame. But he is old and foolish, and would not make you a good match. Frankly, there is no man in Hell fit to sit beside you. You should resign as Tartaros’s queen and receive suitors from Olympus and the great nations of the world.”

The robot looked Shun-Company over from crown to toe, reached out with fingers capable of smashing concrete, and pinched her skin lightly; she shivered at the touch.

“I DO BELIEVE,” said the machine in what sounded like wonderment, “THAT YOU ARE TELLING THE TRUTH. AND WHAT OF THESE OTHERS HERE?” It stalked about the fountain, interrogating God’s-Wound, Unity, and Testament. “IS THIS LORD ANCHORITE A TYRANT? SHOULD I PUNISH HIM FOR HIS MISDEEDS? OR IS HE A JUST RULER?”

“Uncle Anchorite is not a ruler,” said God’s-Wound sourly. “Though I suspect he may have been in the past.”

“OH?” The machine sounded hugely interested. “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT?”

Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus cleared his throat.

“Speaking for myself,” he said, “I believe Uncle Anchorite is the person who is controlling that machine right now. How did you manage to overcome it, hermit?”

The machine turned and looked at Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus for an aeon.

“RATS,” it said. “JUST WHEN YOU’RE BEGINNING TO HAVE FUN, SOME PERSPICACIOUS PEON HAS TO SPOIL IT.” It relaxed into a nonchalant lean on a support pillar. “ALTHOUGH I MUST SAY I
AM
HEARTENED TO HEAR NOT
ALL
OF YOU WANT ME MURDERED.”

“Where is Beguiled?” said Shun-Company, anger gathering like cumulonimbus in her eyes.

“YOU KNOW, I REALLY HAVE NO IDEA. I THINK SHE
DOES
WANT ME MURDERED. WANTS TO GIVE IT THE PERSONAL TOUCH. IN RESPONSE TO YOUR QUESTION, I SIMPLY RE-USED THE TIME BRAKE TRICK I USED ON OUR MADE VISITORS. I SECRETED THE TIME DECELERATOR IN THE BASE OF ONE OF THE DOWNSHAFTS AND USED IT TO STOP TIME BRIEFLY ROUND THE UNIT. I THEN,” the machine continued, tapping the analogue redactor taped to its chassis, “TURNED OFF HELEN OF TROY. THE REDACTOR HAS AN INFRA-RED REMOTE CONTROL FUNCTION; DUE TO THE MIRACLE OF RELATIVITY I WAS ABLE TO SHINE A LASER BEAM THROUGH THE FIELD AND DEACTIVATE IT. BY THIS SUBTERFUGE,” said the robot pointedly, “I REGAINED COMPLETE CONTROL OF MY BOT.”

“What,” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, “like this?”

Casually, he raised the hand laser he had been holding and shot the machine in the chest.

Ruby-red low-powered laser light glinted off the robot’s carapace, casting a bright and sharply-defined reflection on the wall. Although unharmed, the machine stood stiffly, as if in shock.

Then, it said:

“WHERE AM I? IS THIS THE HOUSE OF HADES?”

“Queen Helen,” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, “welcome back.”

“I WAS NEVER QUEEN. PRIAM WAS KING, PARIS HIS SON. CALL ME, RATHER, PRINCESS. WHERE IS MY HANDMAIDEN? SHE HAS BEEN TAKEN SICK.”

“Beguiled,” said Shun-Company, “how sick is she?”

“A STRANGE SHORTNESS OF BREATH OVERTOOK HER.” The machine halted. “THOUGH NOT SO STRANGE, PERHAPS, AS THE FACT THAT
I
AM NOT BREATHING AT ALL. WAS SHE THE LIVING ONE, AND I THE DEAD?”

“Princess,” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, with a lifetime’s experience of treating petulant teenage girls gently, “would you like to see your reflection?”

The robot faltered. “I… THINK SO. I COULD NOT SEE IT EARLIER. IT WORRIES ME.”

“I will show it to you. But you must promise calmness and restraint.”

The machine nodded slowly and grudgingly. Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus drew back the curtain covering the mirror.

Utter horror filled the Stalin Six’s speakers. “THIS IS SORCERY.” It raised a silver claw, waving it back and forth to test the reality of the reflection.

“You were right, Helen; you are indeed dead. You have been dead for over three thousand years. This is how dead people appear here.”

The claws caressed a face whose contours had been built not for beauty, but for deflecting bullets. “TO LOOK SO… THIS IS HOW I END?”

“Most people die and just fade away. Your beauty, in life, was such that nobody forgot you. It is for this reason that you have been made to live again.”

The face looked up and down the jointed exoskeleton it now inhabited. “IS IT POSSIBLE THAT PEOPLE CAN BE SO CRUEL?”

“You know, your royal highness, that they can be far crueller than that.”

“THEY DRAGGED HECTOR THREE TIMES ROUND THE WALLS OF TROY,” said the robot. “YET I THINK THIS IS CRUELLER.”

“
Pah! That’s nothing,”
said the small, horribly scarred girl.
“Take a look at what they put
me
in.”

The machine’s head flicked round. “YOU? YOU ARE ALSO DEAD?”

“
I was a man once. I have been brought back from death to sort out some unfinished business.”
The girl pointed to her face.
“To deal with the man who did this.”

“OH, YOU POOR MITE”. The robot dropped to its knees. “A MAN DID THAT TO YOU?” Helen looked from side to side among the guests and guards, many of whom shuffled back nervously. “WAS IT ONE OF
THESE
MEN?”

“
No.”
The girl indicated Bawtry’s guards, who had been attempting not to look armed or martial in any way.
“These men are here to protect the others, as I am.”

“LIKE MY TROJANS”. The robot bowed to the guards. “AENEAS, LAOCOON, EURYPYLUS, AND BOLD HECTOR. BUT WHO ARE THEY PROTECTING US AGAINST?”

With that, the robot exploded. With a noise so loud that Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus suspected he had himself been shot in the eardrums, its chest cavity punched redly open, and liquid flame spurted out to scorch the nymphs of Health on the far wall. Its arms and legs popped out of their sockets, and its head flew off like a pennangalan’s, then splashed down into the fountain, black and dead.

The Warden slid into the reception area out of the dormitory corridor. The snout of a weapon Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus had not noticed previously folded away into its interior, still glowing. When it spoke, Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus could have sworn it sounded smug.

“THE ESCAPE ATTEMPT HAS BEEN DEALT WITH,” it said. “ALLOWING A PERSONAL ROBOT TO HARBOUR A FUGITIVE IS AN OFFENCE.” It poked the remains of its enemy with a specially-extruded poking probe. “WHOSE ROBOT IS THIS?”

“
There is still,”
said the scarred child, standing before the Warden, “
an escapee on the loose.”

“I HAVE BEEN INFORMED OF NOTHING.”

“
Check the immediate vicinity for DNA traces. Casey Michael Bowker, aka Father Christmas.”

“THAT ESCAPEE IS NO LONGER BELIEVED TO BE ONPLANET.”

“
Oh, good grief.”
The little girl walked over to the Warden, ripped the jack plug from her own neck, and stabbed it into a similar plug in the side of the Warden’s body.

“THAT WILL NOT WORK!” squealed the machine, spinning on its vertical axis like a laundromat agitator. “MY SUBROUTINES ARE EXTENSIVELY PROTECTED AGAINST A REROUTED CPU ATTACK—vsgrdlmf—
not taking no for an answer. This is a direct order from a superior officer. Me human, you automaton.

“
Ahhh, that’s better. Now THIS is what I call a CHASSIS. Durable and manoeuvrable, with a superior secondary logic unit.”
The Warden turned and fired point blank into the Christmas tree. Shattered baubles, biochemical fairy lights, shocked animatronic angels and real pine needles puffed out of the tree in a cloud, followed by a human body stumbling under the narcotic weight of several hypodermic darts. Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus was alarmed to note that the body had managed to pick up an assault weapon on its way into the tree.

The body crunched into the floor. Nobody attempted to slow its fall.

“
And a partridge in a pear tree,”
commented the Warden with venom.
“He had to have moved while we were all still distracted, when this unit came in and shot the Stalin Six. That gave him only a couple of seconds of movement. The tree was the only close cover large enough.”
It took a turn about the killer’s supine body.
“He is as adept at misdirection as a magician.”

“But how did he get here?” said Mr. Suau. “It’s thirty kilometres to Third Landing from here.”

“
In the back of your or Dr. Ranjalkar’s car, I suspect,”
said the Warden.
“You were safe, of course, because there were still several hours left before Three French Hens. If you’d broken down on the way, mind…”
The machine left the sentence ominously unfinished.

“What will you do with him now? Will you take him back to the Penitentiary?”

“
I believe so. He needs looking after. As do the other inmates—Mr. Spink, Mr. Bolabas, Dr. Vlaaminck, Mr. Trapp…”

Apostle put up his hand. “Ah, we believe Mr.Trapp may have escaped.”

“
Yes, and he will be recaptured. This unit left him under severe restraint in a downshaft on the other side of the planet—”

“—which he will already have escaped from.”

“
That is unlikely. He had a broken arm.”

“He escaped from a Series Three Government Penitentiary,” said Unity, moved by a perverse pride in Mr. Trapp. “He will be up to twenty kilometres away by now. Even further, if he stands on a box.”

“
I see,”
said the Warden. “
I suppose it isn’t conceivable to you that a man capable of financial fraud on such an immense scale, ruining banks, businessmen, and ultimately the lives of thousands, even millions of people who work for those businesses, is the fiscal equivalent of a serial killer?”

“No more than the bloated capitalists who run those businesses already,” said Unity, surprising herself as much as her immediate family. “Do they care if they put a million workers on World A out on the street, simply because it’s more cost-efficient to make chocolate teddy bears on World B?”

“
I bow,”
said the Warden, entirely incapable of bowing,
“to your greater knowledge of the chocolate teddy bear industry. I will go to look for Mr. Trapp in any case. If he is there, all well and good. If not, I will leave no lady’s underwear drawer unopened until he is recaptured.”

“You intend to take on the job of Warden?” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus.

“
I certainly do.”
The machine span on a centicredit.
“This place needs a lawman.”

“You are not the state-appointed Warden,” observed Mr. Suau. “You were not manufactured for the purpose.”

“
I don’t remember ever having been dismissed from my position in the Bureau of Public Safety. Besides, you intend to stop me how? As a human being, my firearms expertise was mediocre. I scarcely managed the minimum standard necessary for the Bureau. But now, I can drill out a man’s dental cavities a kilometre away, if he will only stand still long enough.”