‘They’re not true Artemisians.’ said Calor.
‘No,’ said Kavan, but he was experiencing something very rare. Doubt. Spoole wasn’t a fool. Why would he trap himself like that? What were they planning in there?
Kavan had travelled a long way. Starting alone on the northern coast of Shull, he had walked over a thousand miles, through hills and valleys, over the mountains, and finally over this vast plain, all the while picking up an army as he went.
Well, an army of sorts.
It lacked discipline and organization, but to Kavan it was just another tool to Nyro’s purpose. All that metal would end up in the forges and furnaces of Artemis City one way or other. Even himself.
And now he was finally arriving at his destination, just as night approached. He walked near the centre of the army, as he had done all the way here, not quite a leader, not quite a prisoner.
Ahead of him two streams of metal were flowing around the city. The sparks and flames from the distant chimneys danced, half seen, against the darkening sky. The tiny figures of robots could be seen on the top of the iron wall, rushing this way and that, getting themselves into position. Kavan thought he could hear sirens sounding from inside the city.
Closer and closer, he became aware of something that had been a growing presence in his life these past few weeks, something he had put from his mind: the sound of marching feet. The hum and spark and crash of so much metal, striking the ground as one. He realized something else: that over time these robots, this ramshackle array of men and women, had gradually begun to march in time with each other. Order had arisen from the chaos, and Kavan felt an incredible sense of inevitability as to what was to follow. He looked at Goeppert, marching nearby, strange elongated body keeping perfect time, and he was struck by a sudden insight. He, Kavan, was in the middle of a story, a story that would maybe one day find itself written in the Book of Robots – if indeed such a thing existed.
Now he had reached the place where the columns divided, and he followed the left-hand stream. To his side he saw, not four hundred yards away, the edge of the first moat. And beyond that, the grey bodies of infantryrobots, marooned there to fight him and his army. They just stood and gazed at the seemingly endless stream of robots that marched past them. No one on the moat raised a gun in challenge, nor did any members of the Uncertain Army.
Kavan marched on, following the length of the iron wall to his right. From the ramparts, more robots gazed down at him, their gradually darkening silhouettes lit by the golden light behind them.
A flash of silver, and Calor appeared at his side.
‘Something’s up, Kavan. They just stand there, watching us.’
‘They’ll be hoping to settle this by words,’ replied Kavan.
The robots ahead were coming to a halt; a wave of stationary metal seemed to travel back through the moving stream.
Kavan, Ada, Calor, Goeppert and the rest stopped. They turned to face the city.
‘Now what?’ asked Calor.
Kavan looked to the left and right, searching for any signs of weakness in the seemingly impassable wall. There were none. For the moment.
‘Now what?’ repeated Calor.
‘Is there any question about it?’ said Kavan. ‘Now we attack.’
Years ago, Karel had told her about the Centre City, long before the war had come to Turing City State.
‘It’s the utility of the place, Susan,’ he had said, eyes glowing as he remembered his recent trip. ‘Everything is just iron and steel and brick. There is no decoration, no paint, save what they use to keep the rust at bay. I walked down streets surrounded by grey and green and blue robots, and I saw nothing there that didn’t have a purpose.’
‘They’ll be making a point,’ Susan had said. ‘It won’t be the same inside the buildings, you can trust me on that!’
‘No, you don’t understand! That’s not the way they think in Artemis City. To them, everything is bent towards Nyro’s purpose.’
‘That will be what they say,’ laughed Susan. ‘There will be some variation in the way their minds are twisted. There always is! Listen to me, I’m a mother. I know what it’s like to make a mind. There’ll be decoration somewhere in that city. And even brutal utilitarianism is a sort of aesthetic statement.’
‘I realize that. But it’s different there, Susan. They really believe in what they’re doing!’
‘Most of them will,’ Susan agreed. ‘But anyway, I don’t like you going there Karel. I don’t like what Artemis City is doing. They say they are going to attack Wien!’
‘They may do.’ Karel had been suddenly serious. ‘But that’s the way they think. It’s the way their minds are twisted. That’s what I’m trying to explain!’
‘Then I don’t like the way their minds are twisted.’
‘Well, at least they are true to themselves. You can see it in their Centre City. You’d understand if you could see it for yourself.’
‘Well, I don’t think I ever will…’
But she had been wrong on both counts. Here she was now, thought Susan, and look, Karel had been right.
The Centre City was well made, but it was utilitarian from top to bottom. The road was constructed of good brick, as were the walls. There were steel and iron pillars and doors, steel window frames and guttering and copper tiling, and that was it. It wasn’t like the centre of Turing City, where metal had leaped in loops and arches, and stained glass and copper and brass chasing had decorated every surface. The paint in Turing City had been of all colours; here, if paint was used at all, it was the same standard red lead, splashed onto the metal with little waste but little care.
There was a stillness in the middle of the Centre City. Occasionally she would see a figure, hurrying along in the distance, or a door would open and shut further down the street, and a clerk of some kind would come dashing past.
One of them had called out, ‘Kavan is here!’ as he hurried by, three rolls of foil tucked beneath his arm. The panelling around his legs was loose, as if he had been suddenly called away while tending himself. She watched him go, and then turned and resumed her wandering through the streets.
This was where the computers worked, she knew. This was where the calculations were performed that balanced metal coming into the city with robots walking out. All the numbers that modelled the Artemisian State were brought here on sheets of foil: tons of coal mined, yards of railway line laid, gallons of petroleum refined, number of robots built, number of robots conscripted… All of these were added and multiplied, means and standard deviations calculated, regression lines plotted on yet more sheets of foil, and then reports were compiled, the mass of data reduced to a few lines of figures and graphs, and then those results inscribed on yet another sheet of foil that would be passed to the leaders of Artemis, that they could better decide their future strategy.
Susan understood all that, it was what she used to do back in Turing City, though for very different reasons. There it had been about maximizing happiness. There they hadn’t exactly tried to put a number on beauty, but they had least attempted to model curves both on foil and in actual steel that were pleasing to the eye.
Even so, Susan was confident of this: that whatever had happened to Nettie would be logged here somewhere. Somewhere amongst the millions of sheets of foil that resided here would be the record of what had happened to her friend. Find Nettie, and then maybe she would be ready to look for Karel. If he hadn’t found her first.
All she had to do was find the correct sheet.
Another robot came hurrying towards her, his shell painted the green of a computer.
‘Hey,’ she called. ‘I’m looking for Spoole. Where is he?’
‘In the Basilica, I should think. You should try the Main Index, two blocks over,’ said the robot. ‘Though you won’t find anyone to help you there. They’re on a stripped-down staff what with Kavan and everything.’
‘That’s okay, I’ve got my orders.’
