don’t breathe. They’re not like animals, they’re not even like the machines that we make. Locomotives need fuel to propel themselves, fires need air to breathe or they fail to burn. Robots don’t. A mother weaves a mind, and there is sufficient power there to power a body for thirty or forty years!’
‘That’s the way that things work. Is there something wrong with that?’
‘Well, yes, apparently there is.’
The area before Kavan was filled with carnage, it was covered with smoke, it was watered by rain, it was lit by the flare of the guns on the wall that poured high explosive down on the advancing wall of robots, it was lit by the incandescence of minds discharging their life force into the night in one flash, it was rocked by explosions, it was distorted by chaff, it was pounded and twisted and thumped.
Beyond the line of attack, the night was strangely still. The glow of the forges on the plain, the area of quiet expectancy along the rest of the wall lent the scene before Kavan an air of the surreal.
Goeppert appeared at his side.
‘Not long now,’ said Kavan. ‘We’re almost at the wall. You realize you’ll be climbing under heavy fire all the way?’
‘We know that,’ said Goeppert. ‘We were twisted in the mountains, we’re used to fighting on vertical planes.’
‘You have sufficient weapons?’ asked Kavan, looking at the rifle and knives that Goeppert carried. ‘Would you like some grenades?’
‘No use on a wall,’ said Goeppert. ‘Don’t throw them far enough and they fall back towards you.’
A new noise rose above all the rest.
‘Machine guns,’ said Kavan. ‘Titanium-tipped bullets, I would guess. We must be almost there-’
And then there was a huge explosion, bigger than any they had heard so far. It didn’t come from the ground though…
‘Look,’ said Goeppert, pointing, ‘its magazine must have blown up.’
One of the guard towers built into the wall had erupted in flame. The long barrel of a gun appeared over the edge and began to slide slowly, slowly, downwards, slipping into the second moat. A tremendous cheer went up from the attackers, and for the first time that night, the Uncertain Army began to stamp on the ground.
Stamp, stamp, stamp; stamp, stamp, stamp.
A wide tear spread down from the top of the guard tower, the metal of the iron wall split apart by the force of the explosion.
‘It’s begun,’ said Kavan. ‘The soldiers in there know we are here. They know who I am, they’ll know what I represent. They’ll come back to Nyro.’
The gunfire from the top of the walls increased, only it was no longer all turned outwards. Now the city was fighting amongst itself. Just a tiny flame at the moment, but it would spread as it burned, Nyro’s fervour gradually overcoming the whole city.
Calor reappeared, her scratched panelling covered in drops of melted lead.
‘We’re there, Kavan,’ she said. ‘We’re at the walls. The defending troops are in dissarray. They are fired upon by their own side. They leap into the moat for safety.’
Goeppert stepped forward.
‘Then we are ready to attack. Kavan?’
‘Go,’ said Kavan.
He watched with Calor as Goeppert and his troops ran forward, their elongated bodies picking their way amongst the twisted wreckage of the battlefield.
‘And now we follow,’ said Kavan, and he followed the Borners as they made their way to the wall. Bullets rained down around him, they ricocheted from the bodies of the fallen. So many bodies, so many of them still alive. Kavan saw the glow of their eyes, heard the pleading of robots trapped in shorting bodies, waiting to be dragged away from the battlefield and to be rehoused in new machines. There would be time for that later.
Kavan’s feet rang on metal bodies. The smoke formed a roof above him through which the rain fell, the spark and crackle of the injured illuminated the enclosed scene.
Through a gap in the smoke, Kavan saw that Goeppert and his troops had reached the wall. The rest of the Uncertain Army watched as the Borners ran up to the base, placed their feet on the sheer surface, and then began to run upwards.
A cheer went up from the assembled troops; the Borners ran up the wall, they unslung their rifles, they began to fire on the few defenders who realized what was going on. Racing closer and closer to the top.
‘They’re almost in,’ said Kavan. ‘We’ve returned to Artemis.’
Susan and Spoole
‘We never even noticed, Susan! It wasn’t right in front of our eyes, it was right behind them! Our minds, Susan. The wire that a male produces has such power in it. Where does it come from?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a male. I don’t understand what you do, any more than a male understands how a female twists metal!’
‘That’s not what I mean! You want to power a locomotive, you need to burn oil or diesel. You want to heat a forge, you burn coal. But to power a robot, all you have to do is twist a piece of metal. There is power there, it lasts for thirty or forty years, and then it is exhausted. Why is that?’
‘I told you, I don’t know. I’m not male!’
‘You can’t just twist the same piece of metal. Even males know that, don’t we? We’ve seen dead minds. The metal is brittle and lacking in something. You have to mix it with new metal to make a new mind.’
‘Which metals?’
‘That depends upon the mind, but iron and copper are the most important. And palladium and platinum, always a little palladium and platinum.’
The flashing lights beyond the window were building to a climax. Just on the edge of her hearing, Susan could hear the thump and shake of distant explosions.
‘So a mind does need to be refuelled. That would seem to make sense. After all, that’s what an animal does.’
‘Yes, but there is nothing like a robot mind, the efficiency with which it creates power! And we never even noticed! We built atomic bombs and nuclear trains, and we thought we were clever. We never realized that there is an engine like that running in our minds, a source of power produced purely by twisting metal. Imagine if we were to turn minds purely to the production of power? Imagine the energy that would create.’
Susan didn’t have to imagine it, she had already done it.
‘Is that was what was going on in the making rooms? Is that was why we were making those minds? But that’s…’ she struggled for the word, ‘… it’s obscene. It’s treating robots like, like animals, not like metal!’ A thought struck her. ‘Does this have something to do with Nettie? Is this why she vanished?’
‘I don’t know, it could be.’ said Spoole. ‘You still don’t understand, Susan. What might have happened to Nettie – that’s just the start!’
Susan walked away from the window, mind reeling. To see a mind as nothing more than a source of power. It was obvious when Spoole mentioned it. He was right, the answer had been behind their eyes all this time. Was that why no one had ever seen it before? Why had they seen it now?
The floor of the room was covered in a pattern of metal tiles, half of them polished to a shine, half roughened for traction. It was all steel, and yet some of the tiles reflected the light, and some of them were dull. She gazed at the pattern, thinking.
‘Maybe what you say is true,’ she said, eventually. ‘Maybe the Book of Robots does exist after all. Maybe this is written in it.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘It does, doesn’t it? You found the book! Artemis has found the book, and you, Spoole, have read it. That’s how you know, isn’t it?’
Spoole lowered his head.
‘No,’ he said, sadly. ‘I wish that were true. I wish that was the way that I found out.’
‘Then how?’ shouted Susan. ‘How did you figure this out? Which robot finally saw the truth?’
‘Ah,’ said Spoole. ‘If only a robot had done. You see, Susan, there are other minds at large on Penrose…’
