looks like it used to be a forge. Come on. We can sit in there for a while. There may be some coal or metal remaining.’
‘The place will have been stripped centuries ago,’ said Melt. ‘You can feel the emptiness in this land. Let me keep on walking.’
Karel felt it too. There was nothing here but wind and grass and stone. The echoes of whatever life had once hammered metal here had long since faded. Then, up there, on the hillside, shaking green hands at the wind he saw…
‘Trees! They burn! I saw that in the Northern Kingdom. I could climb up there and cut some pieces from them. We could make a fire and dry our electromuscle at least. Heat some metal and bend it-’
‘It’s too wet,’ said Melt. ‘The wood will be too green.’
‘So you know something about trees?’ asked Karel, who knew nothing. There had been virtually no organic life back in Turing City.
‘I remember forests, and wood and carving,’ said Melt, gazing at the floor. Once more Karel had the impression he knew more than he was saying. It was as if the robot was deciding just what it would be safe to reveal. ‘But I don’t think it was me who did it. I remember that you need a sharp blade to cut into wood.’
‘Are there forests at the Top of the World?’
‘The Top of the World?’
‘You say that Morphobia Alligator brought you here, Melt. Do you think it was from the Top of the World?’ He gazed at the strange half-melted body of the other robot. Even before it had been damaged it would have been nothing like his own.
‘The Top of the World,’ repeated Melt. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’
Liar, thought Karel, and then he immediately felt a surge of shameful panic as he watched Melt freeze in place. Slowly, the great lead and iron body toppled forward, landing on the ground with a crash that sent Karel’s own body rattling.
‘Melt!’ he called, ‘Melt! I’m sor-’ He stopped himself just in time. He was being ridiculous. Thinking that Melt was a liar hadn’t caused this failure. He knelt down and looked into the other robot’s eyes. They barely glowed, such was Melt’s exhaustion.
‘I’m okay,’ he said.
‘No you’re not!’ said Karel, and the sky unfolded a fall of rain that began to patter upon their metal shells.
‘Bullets,’ said Melt.
‘Rain,’ said Karel. ‘Just a shower. Come on, let’s get you into shelter.’
‘Soon pass,’ said Melt.
Karel took the robot by the shoulders and began to drag him awkwardly to the nearest building. He weighed so much! Melt said he had once been a soldier. What sort of a soldier would fight in a body like this?
Slowly, painfully, he dragged the other robot to shelter, metal grinding and scraping on the wet ground. Finally, he pulled him across the threshold and let him go.
Karel looked around the ancient room in which he found himself. Nothing but dry brick and stone and crumbling mortar. Green organic life grew around the cracks where water had made its way in. The place was long stripped of anything useful: he could feel the hollowness of his surroundings, empty of all metal.
‘Melt, I’m going out to look around. There must be some dry wood or something somewhere.’
Melt gave the faintest hiss of static in reply.
Karel re-emerged into the long grey street, huddled under the dull green hill beneath a wretched grey sky. The rain plinked on his shell, and he felt utterly miserable. A noise, the sound of shifting stone. He turned, but there was no one there.
Something had changed. Karel scanned the blank faces of the old buildings. Something was out there, he could feel it. A flicker of movement to his right and he swung round. Nothing.
‘Hello?’ he said, his voice lost in the pattering rain. ‘Morphobia Alligator?’
He sensed something behind him.
He turned around and saw two robots walking towards him, their hands raised in greeting. His feeling of pleasure at the sight of help quickly turned to disgust as he saw the state of the robots that approached.
Their bodies were dented and in poor repair, the squeaking and grinding noises they made as they walked showed what little care they took of themselves.
Worst of all though, and the sight of it filled him with utter revulsion, they were covered in rust.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked around the Emperor’s Palace in deepening awe, trying to put his emotions into order, trying to make sense of the odd trepidation that he felt. It wasn’t the sight of the high, polished ceilings of brass and titanium; it wasn’t the paper scrolls that hung down over the brushed aluminium walls, a few strokes of paint evincing autumnal scenes, a bough of cherry blossom or elegant robots from times past dressed in copper bodies. It wasn’t even the sound of the robot gamelan that played in the corner of the room, and this was unusual, for Wa- Ka-Mo-Do, warrior and poet, understood the music of the metallophone and the gong, and those instruments cast in Sangrel were famous throughout Yukawa for their clarity and tone.
No, what truly moved him to silent wonder was the sight of the animals that moved through the building. Humans everywhere, their soft brown and pink and muddy-yellow bodies covered in bright fabrics. That the Emperor should give this place up to the animals was hard enough to believe, that they could accept this gift seemingly without understanding its significance was beyond comprehension. Yet it was so, for the animals had pushed aside the busts and vases and screens of the palace, with no regard for the harmony of the place. And then, insult upon insult, they had brought in their own furniture. Plastic chairs; long tables covered in cloth; ugly white lights. Everything they used had function but little form. Their artefacts were plain and ugly, an insult to the Emperor. And everywhere they had draped the long black wires that snaked through the rooms and corridors, singing with the strange electricity that the humans used. Rectangular screens hung on walls, flickering with pictures of other places, they made Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s head buzz if he looked too closely.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah entered the Great Hall together. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s scarlet body was polished beyond its usual shine, it seemed to glow with a deep red light this evening. The ceremonial blades at his hands and feet sharpened to a razor’s edge. His electromuscles were freshly straightened and his joints lubricated with fine oil. He looked just how the commander of Sangrel should look. Or so he had believed, until he saw Ka-Lo- Re-Harballah. He had forgotten that fashion of the nobility: to wear another body to events such as this. Ka-Lo-Re- Harballah’s dress body was built in the imperial style, a stylized representation of a warrior, a sweeping arrangement of fins and blades, of quicksilver motion captured halfway through an attack. Impressive to look at, but so thin and fragile, it would crumple almost at a touch. Of course, that wasn’t the point. The nobility could afford to wear bodies such as this, protected as they were by their position. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew that some of the animals in the room would mistake Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah for the commander of Sangrel. He didn’t mind. The robots were here to put on a show. Tonight, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah at least, outshone the humans.
The humans wore virtually no metal. They covered themselves either in plain black fabric or exotically coloured silks. It took Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a few moments to realize there was a system to their dress. He had seen quite a few of the humans by now: he was at the stage where he could distinguish the sexes without having to look for the two swellings on the chest that signified a female (so gauche). Now he realized that the men all wore black cloth. They were the ones who most resembled robots, if black fabric tubing pulled up around the arms and legs could ever be said to resemble panelling. But as for the women, they looked like no robots Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had ever seen before. They wore long flowing envelopes of silk that seemed to start just above their chests, to hug their strange bodies down past the waist and hips and then to flare out to touch the floor. They gave the females the strange appearance of not having any legs, so that they seemed to move across the floor as if they were on wheels.
Ah, but Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was mistaken. Not all the females were dressed in that fashion. Those soldiers who stood around the walls were dressed in the same grey and green uniforms regardless of their sex. Yet these soldiers were not like his own Copper Guard. They didn’t seem to maintain the motionless stance his own Guard would have done were they here and not marking their time in Smithy Square. These humans turned this way and
