‘Not true?’ said one of the terrified robots. ‘But it’s got to be! Merriac told us.’
Merriac was their king, or at least, he had been until Artemis had driven its railway line into the valley below the castle and sent three trainfuls of troops to its gate. To the consternation of his subjects, Merriac had surrendered without a shot being fired.
‘Don’t worry,’ he had said. ‘Artemis will make use of us.’ And Merriac’s subjects had listened to him, because they trusted him.
‘Merriac said Artemis will make use of us,’ said one of them.
‘And so it will,’ replied the man by the door, ‘for this is Artemis City. The city built out of the bodies and minds of robots from across the continent of Shull. Literally.’
There was another low hiss of static, and the man by the door warmed to his theme. ‘Once you’re through that door they will march you into the disassembly rooms, where you’ll be taken apart. Plating in one hopper, electromuscle in the next, cogs and gears in a third. They’ll spool the copper wire from your bodies, unscrew your arms and legs and peel away the electromuscle, ready for combing and reweaving. And then they’ll lay your bodies on conveyor belts and dismantle your chests and unhook your coils and remove your heads. Last of all, they’ll unwind the blue twisted metal of your minds.’
‘No!’ The sound of static was both pathetic and terrifying.
‘But why?’ asked one of them. ‘Surely we are more use to them as living, moving robots? Why take us apart?’
‘Because, above all else, they want your metal. Because Artemis doesn’t recognize the difference between the living metal of the mind and the unfused metal of the body. To them you’re nothing more than raw material, walking into their forges.’
In the dimness they could just make out his face, smiling grimly.
‘Come on, you must have heard of the forges of Artemis! You can see them for miles across the great plain: square, red-brick buildings, topped with grey chimneys belching smoke into the air, filling the sky with black cloud. The broken-up parts of conquered robots go into them, and sheet metal and wire and plate is rolled out.’
‘What will they do with our metal?’ asked one, timorously.
‘Some of you will be used to build more Artemisian soldiers. The wide parade grounds before the military factories shake to the stamp of feet of newly made infantryrobots marching!
‘Some of you will go to make more railway lines and engines and trains. The railway system that binds together the continent grows all the time, extending branches and lines to the remotest corners of distant lands!
‘And some of you will go to make new buildings. To make new factories and forges in order that Artemis grows still further in strength.’
The wagon swayed. Now yellow bands of light swept across its interior and the robots heard the sound of heavy machinery pounding, clanking, thumping. Iron was being beaten somewhere close by.
They looked at one another in terror.
‘But that can’t be true. Merriac said we would be safe!’
‘Safe?’ said the man by the door. ‘Doomed more like.’ He looked around the frightened faces for a moment. ‘Or maybe not. Because all is not yet lost.’
The background noise of static ceased at once.
‘Go on…’
‘Have you heard of Turing City?’
They looked at one another.
‘No,’ said one.
‘Turing City once stood on the southern coast of Shull. It was the last of the great city states of Shull to stand up to Artemis. But now it too is defeated.’
And at that he lowered his voice. ‘… or so it seems. For it is rumoured that deep below the ground, below the broken and shattered ground on which the city once stood, some few robots still shelter. They gather the minds of those captured by the Artemisians, and build them new bodies. Soldiers’ bodies. They say that they are building an army that will some day rise up and defeat Artemis City.’
‘Could it be true?’ asked one of the captured robots, eagerly. Merriac’s mistaken words were already forgotten, now they had new hope. The mothers of their kingdom twisted minds that were gullible. Small wonder it had fallen so easily.
‘Oh, it’s true,’ said the man by the door.
‘But how do you know this?’
The man raised his voice. ‘Because I am not a prisoner, as you are. Or rather, I am a prisoner, but voluntarily so.’
‘Why? What do you mean?’
The expectation in the wagon was audible. Metal squeaked as the robots leaned closer to listen.
‘Listen, robots. I know a way to escape. I found the route by chance two years ago when I rode this train as you do. I return time and again to lead others to safety.’
‘Who are you? You must have great courage!’
‘My name is Banjo Macrodocious, and no, I do not have great courage. For I feel no hope or fear.’
‘Banjo Macrodocious!’ chorused the other robots. They may not have heard of Turing City, but all of them had heard of the robots from the North Kingdom. Twisted to have no sense of self, they were in much demand for dangerous work. Or had been until Artemis had invaded.
‘Listen,’ said Banjo Macrodocious. ‘I work for the resistance of Turing City. I travel these lines, bringing the news to robots of how they may escape. Listen closely, for I know the route to freedom. It is dangerous, but you too may follow me, if you have the courage.’
‘We have the courage! Tell us, what should we do?’
Banjo Macrodocious leaned forward a little.
‘When the train draws up we will be met by soldiers with guns. They will herd us off this truck into a wide area, lit by lights but surrounded by darkness. There are few guards, and you may be tempted to run. Do not do so! It is a trick! The ground is surrounded by a moat of acid. Fall in and the metal of your mind will quickly burn away, leaving your body lifeless and easier to manipulate. Do not give the Artemisians that satisfaction!’
‘We hear you, Banjo Macrodocious. What should we do?’
‘Follow the guards’ directions. They will march you into the first disassembly area. Do not wait for their mechanics to come to you! Strip apart your own bodies. Tear the plating from your chest and arms and legs, and throw it into the waiting hoppers. Speed is of the essence!’
‘But why?’
‘Because though the disassembly room will be empty at first, it will fill with more and more robots as this train empties. More Artemisians will enter to aid in the deconstruction. We need to be at the front of the line! The first few minds through are always the ones to be saved: they are taken for storage. It takes time to twist a mind, and the women of Artemis are always behind schedule. Artemis will ensure its store rooms are full before it destroys healthy minds!’
The robots looked from one to another.
‘That makes sense, Banjo Macrodocious. What do we do next?’
‘Once you have stripped your panelling, form into a line.’
‘Okay…’
‘Take apart the robot in front of you. Remove their electro-muscles and drop them on the moving belt to your left. Unship their arms and legs and drop them on the belt to your right, and then lift the body onto the final conveyor belt, and hope that the robot behind will do the same for you.’
‘Where will you be, Banjo Macrodocious?’
‘I will be at the rear of the line.’
‘What if someone does not do the same for you? What if you are left whole?’
‘Then I will not make it through.’
A brief hiss of static.
‘But what do I care? I who have no sense of self. You robots will survive. Though your minds will be in darkness, you will be safe, in the store rooms. Some of you will be used to drive machinery, some of you may even
