‘To the south of the city. Robots with blades and oil and petrol. They mean to destroy the crops the humans have planted as a signal to the Emperor of their displeasure.’
‘The Emperor will be humiliated indeed if his guests were to witness such an occurrence.’
‘I realize that.’ He drew himself up. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention, fair ladies. You can trust me to deal with this.’
The three women gave him smiles of such sweetness.
‘Of course we trust the Honoured Commander of Sangrel,’ said one. ‘We trust him at all times to remember his duty to his command. We know he will never abandon that duty.’
‘I will not.’
‘And he will do what is required to maintain the harmony of the Emperor?’
‘I will.’
‘Then we shall allow him to continue with his duty.’
And at that, the three Vestal Virgins left the room by the concealed door.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held his poise until they were gone, and then he released the current he had been building up in his electro-muscles in one long shudder.
Kavan and the Uncertain Army marched down from the mountains onto the plains of Artemis. They marched from the cold remnants of winter that clung to the peaks into the warming summer of the plains, they marched from the petty guerrilla conflicts towards the decisive battle.
They walked out from the shadows of the mountains, towards the bright plains, the rock sheets giving way to stones, then pebbles, then sand. The temperature rose, the glare of the sun ever present in the daytime, the stars clear and cold above at night.
The plains of Artemis vibrated to the stamp of robots. Straggling companies of infantryrobots who had managed to evade the Artemis retreat came to join Kavan and his army. A silver stream of robots in the distance was a garrison from Raman heading south to reinforce Artemis City.
But by far the most numerous, Kavan knew, would be those robots that chose not to make themselves known. They were the ones who would be waiting in the distance, waiting to see which way the forthcoming battle would go. The ones who would emerge to pick over the shattered corpses before blending once more into the background, or who would perhaps come and join the winning side.
So much metal flowing across the plains of Artemis, swirling and eddying like currents in a pool, with Kavan buoyed along in the centre.
‘You know, this battle has been written in the Book of Robots many times before,’ said Goeppert. He marched with Kavan for the most part, a group of his robots nearby. Calor and Ada and Goeppert. Kavan’s staff.
‘There is no such thing,’ replied Kavan evenly.
‘Of course, there is no book as such,’ agreed Goeppert, ‘but the stories that twist around this planet will be collected into a volume some day, and that will become the Book of Robots.’
‘Ah. Verbal trickery. I believe in nothing more than Artemis and metal.’
‘Someday Artemis itself will be written in the Book of Robots. You know, Kavan, you should not ignore the stories. They are the verbal equivalent of the patterns twisted into our minds. What is a robot but a story that a mother has woven?’
‘Given the choice between a story and a rifle, I would take the latter anytime.’
‘Yet you don’t seem to carry a rifle, do you?’
Kavan waved a hand at the surrounding army. ‘They carry them for me.’
Goeppert laughed.
‘Still, Kavan. Nicolas the Coward, Janet Verdigris, Eric and the Mountain. All these stories mean something.’
‘Eric and the Mountain?’ said Kavan, suddenly interested. ‘You know that story?’
‘Only the first half. Do you want to hear it?’
Kavan looked at the surrounding army.
‘Maybe another time,’ he said.
The midnight streets were filled with light and sound. Electric light, burning flares, the shriek of arc lights all heard over the marching of robots: grey infantryrobots running to their positions; the stamp of Storm Troopers, shouldering all aside as they headed to the front. Only the Scouts passed by unheard, a half-seen flash in the night. The pounding of hammers, the rumble of trains: the city was busy building its defences in readiness for Kavan’s attack.
Susan passed amongst the preparation, lost and uncertain where to go, but always moving. It had been so simple to slip away from the making rooms. It was only when she had done so that she realized she had no further plan. She had no idea where Nettie was or how to find her, but she was nonetheless filled with a determination not to return. She kept to the back streets, the narrow alleys, heading vaguely for the centre of the city.
‘Hello there.’
The robot moved unusually quietly for a Storm Trooper. He towered over Susan, his matt black panelling only half seen in the darkness. His body looked newly made, but Susan sensed the mind that rode it was old, and cynical, and evil.
‘A Turing Citizen, I think,’ he said.
‘I’m a mother of Artemis,’ said Susan.
‘Possibly. You’re certainly dressed that way. Shouldn’t you be down in the making rooms?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.
The robot leaned closer to her, the lights of its eyes reflecting from her face. She could feel the current from its strong body.
‘You sound angry, but I sense nervousness. I don’t think you should be here at all.’
He moved so quickly, seizing Susan by the hand before she had a chance to jump back.
‘Let go of me,’ she demanded.
‘No,’ it said. ‘That’s not real anger. Too frightened. You shouldn’t be skulking here, in the back streets, should you? And even if you should, who’s going to miss you? As far as I’m concerned you’re just metal for me to do with as I will.’
Susan grabbed his hand and feebly tried to pry his fingers free. The Storm Trooper laughed.
‘Don’t bother! You’re not as strong as I am!’
She was cleverer, though. She unsnapped her wrist and ran, leaving the big robot holding her hand. Brief laughter sounded behind her, and then the clatter of metal feet on the stones as the Storm Trooper ran after her. Where to? Where to? She veered towards the bright lights of the wide street ahead. She could see robots moving there, grey infantryrobots, marching along in ranks. Something grabbed her foot, she tripped and slid into the light, her body sparking on the stones.
She came to a halt bathed in electric streetlight, the stamp of marching feet all around her, a steady stream of infantryrobots marching past in perfect time. And, in the centre of all that motion, stillness. Five faces looking down at her. Infantryrobots.
The Storm Trooper loomed above her, still holding her hand in his.
‘He tried to rape me,’ said Susan. ‘Help me.’