The cheer was ragged. This was where the true followers of Nyro would show themselves, thought Kavan. Those who had followed him all this time would understand the necessity to move now. It would be those who had joined his army out of convenience who would be having second thoughts.
‘And so,’ continued Kavan, ‘we march on Artemis City itself! Not in a month’s time, or even a day’s time, but now! Because that is what we must do, even if that is the dangerous choice, because we are the true Artemisians! Because we are true to Artemis, we must march to where the Generals are on their home territory. To where the soldiers will huddle safe within walls and behind trenches. We must march to where we are outnumbered.’
More cheers. Were they more or less enthusiastic? It didn’t matter.
‘But do not be too disheartened. Our numbers will grow as we march south. Some of you will slip away into the night. We will reclaim you in the end, for those robots who see the truth in what we do will be marching to join us even now, and, cowards that you are, you will see that your path returns you to us. But most of you will follow because you know what we do is right! Even though the journey will be hard, for you know that Spoole and the rest will fight us every step of the way…’ He paused, turned in a circle to see all of his troops. ‘But from a distance,’ he continued, ‘and half-heartedly. Because that is all that Spoole and his Generals will know and will dare. That is why we you know we will triumph, because we have the will. And because we are right!’
Somewhere behind him, back where the infantryrobots assembled, someone began to stamp their feet. Stamp, stamp, stamp; stamp, stamp, stamp. The beat spread out to fill the whole of the pass, and Kavan did something he very rarely did.
He smiled.
Spoole
‘What you should have done…’ began General Sandale.
‘Later,’ said Spoole, evenly.
‘I only meant to say-’
‘General,’ Spoole was aware that all the Generals in the railway coach were attending. This coach was made of the best metal and insulated with plastic. The noise of the wheels on the track outside could barely be heard, and the Generals were listening closely to what was being said. He knew what they were thinking: they were wondering is today the day we get a new leader?
‘General,’ repeated Spoole, and he lowered his voice a little further so that all present strained to hear, ‘I don’t want to hear what you only meant to say or what you were only asking. I don’t want any suggestions about what we could have done after the event.’
He stressed the word we. General Sandale’s voice was smooth.
‘I do think a thorough examination of what went wrong would be appropriate.’
‘And this shall be done, when we return to Artemis City. Although I think it obvious already what happened back there, General. Kavan is right. Artemis has lost its way. Its own soldiers obviously believe that.’
‘You’re the leader, Spoole. The state is what you made it.’
‘It’s what we made it, Sandale,’ answered Spoole. ‘Look at us all, look at this coach. Gold and copper and plastic. This isn’t the way that Kavan will travel, I bet.’
‘A leader does not need distractions-’
‘Leaders?’ interrupted Spoole. ‘Leaders stand at the front of their troops. What’s the last battle you fought, Sandale? How long ago was it?’
Before Sandale could answer, Spoole was looking around the rest of the Generals.
‘And you Spine, and you Pont? Ossel? Wines? Chekov? At least Sandale has seen action. You younger ones have never been out in the field, have you?’
The silence in the carriage deepened.
‘I think-’ began Sandale.
‘No,’ said Spoole. ‘I don’t want to know what you think. Not now. Perhaps when we get back to Artemis City.’
‘I really think that we should talk now, Spoole.’
‘No, Sandale. As you said, I’m the leader. Unless you think otherwise? Perhaps you want to fight me?’
General Sandale gave a faint smile as he turned away from Spoole.
‘I don’t think fighting is appropriate for Generals, Spoole,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Spoole. ‘And I can’t help thinking that’s just another example of where Artemis has lost its way.’
Karel
Karel felt as if he was in a tale from his childhood. He racked his memory: had there ever been a story of someone who travelled to a land of fire at the northern edge of Shull in order to meet a melted man?
If not, then there should have been.
The towers of the ancient city beyond were lit up by the crimson light of the setting sun. The sea was dark with pink highlights. The strange robot seemed almost black, as if made of lead.
‘My name is Karel,’ repeated Karel.
‘I thought it might be. He said you would come.’
‘Who did?’
‘Morphobia Alligator. Before he left me last night, he said he had left oil and metal and a fire for us to repair our bodies. It is waiting in a forge, just beyond the gates to the city.’
Karel turned towards the gates.
‘Then take my arm,’ he said.
He supported the other robot as they made their way up the slope of the beach.
‘How do you know Morphobia Alligator?’ asked Karel.
‘I don’t know. I was coughed up on this beach by a whale. Morphobia Alligator was waiting for me. He said I might be able to help you find your wife.’
‘Coughed up by a whale? What were you doing in a whale?’
‘I don’t know. Look at my body, how melted it is. My mind must have melted a little, too. All the memories have run together. I can see mountains and cities and the sea. I can see different lands through which I must have travelled, but I don’t know the order in which I visited them.’
‘You don’t know who you are?’
‘I can see faces of robots, but none of them can be my own, can they?’
‘Can you see a robot’s face in a mirror?’
The other robot paused, remembering.
‘Clever. But no, the memories are all jumbled; I can’t tell where one person ends and another begins. How can I tell who I am?’
‘You must know some names?’
‘Part of me is missing, Karel. Part of my mind has melted too far.’
Karel wondered if the other robot was telling the full truth. He had met robots in the past who had claimed to have lost their memories, back when he worked as an immigration officer in Turing City. Those robots had a reason to not admit the full truth of their past. What reason could this robot have for wanting to do so? It occurred to Karel that maybe he was ashamed of his past.
‘But still, I have to call you something,’ he said.
The other robot’s face didn’t move. It was melted into an expression of permanent surprise.
‘A name,’ said the robot. ‘Then how about Melt? It describes me, at least.’
‘Melt,’ said Karel. ‘And you are going to help me? Morphobia Alligator says you used to be a soldier.’
‘Yes, that feels right.’
‘Who did you fight for?’
Melt paused. This time Karel had the definite impression that the other robot knew the answer to this question.
‘I don’t know,’ said Melt, slowly.
The two robots passed under the broken arch of the city entrance, and they paused a moment, looking at the strange architecture of the ancient buildings around them.
‘Does this feel right to you?’ asked Karel, ‘that we should do what Morphobia Alligator tells us?’
‘I don’t know what feels right any more,’ said Melt, and there was a sincerity to his tone that had been
