Ka-Mo-Do had touched a barrel, revelled guiltily in the sleek smoothness, the absolutely zero static charge. What was it about these weapons? Did the humans deliberately build them to look so feminine? Were they even aware of what they had done? Wa-Ka-Mo-Do doubted it. It was obvious that the humans had little regard for what robots thought.
The land seemed darker in contrast to the brilliance of the rising moon, but the lake… The lake reflected the universe in curdled white clouds. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the stars, shining in the water. That was where the humans had come from, he thought. What else lurked out there? For that matter, what else was lurking here on Penrose, just beyond the horizons? The robots of Yukawa had lived in splendid isolation for so long. Now the universe had come looking for them.
He wondered how La-Ver-Di-Arussah and Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah were getting on. He had sent them down into the city to try and calm the population. The streets below sounded quiet for the moment, but he knew that wouldn’t last with La-Ver-Di-Arussah down there. Still, if she had remained up here the two of them would probably be fighting each other by now.
It was peaceful for the moment, though. An island of calm under the stars. Somewhere out there humans were grouping to attack. Land ploughed up and covered in alien crops that poisoned the native life of Yukawa was being trodden by robots speaking openly of rebellion. And here he stood, in this square with humans on one hand and robots on the other, and somewhere in the Copper Master’s house Li-Kallalla would be piecing together the parts of the radio, and for the moment keeping quiet about what he, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, had done. How long would this suspended moment last? He was happy to have nothing for company but these darkly fascinating machines, singing with that strange alien electricity.
The guns suddenly raised themselves into the air and turned as one to face the same direction. A rapid pumping sound started up. There was remarkably little noise, it was almost a rippling of the air, but Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw the electromagnetic field formed by so much metal being sprayed through the planet’s own magnetic field. Orange light flared, out there in the distance of the night. The firing ceased, the guns turned their heads a little and then immediately resumed. Another orange explosion. The guns moved once more. Something was coming out of the night, so fast that one of the guns set up by the Copper Master’s house was cut neatly in half. Now it was the turn of the house itself. Tiles shattered in a line of destruction that snapped off as suddenly as it had begun. The guns were firing once more, pointing at the third orange explosion lit up in the distance.
After that the guns seemed to lose interest, they lowered themselves, resting. Alien women, exotic and fascinating – they were moving! Up and turning to face the opposite direction, too late…
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was tumbling over and over, clattering metal, scraping red paint on stone. The ground was shaking and cracking; Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s vision was filled with static, he felt his thoughts fold themselves around each other for just a moment, felt time jump forward a few seconds, as he moved from a scene of motion, dust and stones and tiles sliding and shaking through the air, to one of stillness, of the world recast after the explosion; the rubble and debris settled.
‘What happened?’ He was speaking out loud, to whom he didn’t know.
The human guns were dancing around him, bobbing up and down in their bizarre dance, spinning this way and that, lighting up the sky in orange balls, lighting up the distant hills, the far horizons, casting deep, fiery reflections in the lake below.
Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was running towards him, flanked by two humans, coolant water shining on their faces.
‘What have they done, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’ cried Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘What have they done to the Emperor’s city?’
‘Half the west side of the city is gone,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. ‘The Street of Becoming is buried beneath the houses that once lined it, the human weapon pierced through to the rock below!’
Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah had lost most of the panelling from his body. His grey electromuscle was smeared in carbon: he sparked as he moved.
‘I’ve failed, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I’ve failed in my duty.’
‘No, Honoured Commander. The city still stands!’
From somewhere deep below them, half felt, half heard, came the sound of rock cracking, the shifting, sliding rumble as more of the city collapsed upon itself.
‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do!’
He turned to see Gillian, the human commander. The green cloth panelling that she wore was torn, her headset crackled as she spoke.
‘They hit us with a mini-nuke, high radiation yield,’ she explained.
‘Do you understand those terms, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.
‘No, Honoured Commander.’
‘I do. It means that robots minds are being affected.’
Gillian wiped a hand across her brow.
‘We’re evacuating this city. There’s a shuttle dropping towards us right now, we need to get all the humans up to this square so they can board it!’
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was watching the human cannon, leaping and spinning all around him.
‘Your guns seem to be holding off the enemy,’ he observed.
‘They will,’ said Gillian. ‘It’s the radiation that’s the problem,’ her voice was still crackling. So was his own, he realized. ‘And they may try another mini-nuke: go for an airburst, though if they do that they will irradiate the land. There’ll be no crops here for-’
‘Damaging the land? This is the Emperor’s land.’
‘Not any more, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, not any more.’ There was a sadness and finality in her words that the headset managed to translate.
‘Honoured Commander?’
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do realized he was still staring, lost in the motion of the guns.
‘Yes, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’
‘Shall I help escort the humans up here to the terrace?’
‘Yes,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Yes, quickly.’
He heard, above the odd purring of the human guns, a new sound. One that was gaining in volume.
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.
‘What is it, Honoured Commander?’
Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew what the sound was.
‘Gunfire. Those are robot weapons. It’s finally happened. The rebellion has begun.’
‘We’re going out of our way,’ said Simrock. ‘The Northern Road will lead us into Raman.’
‘So?’ said Karel. ‘It’s easy to walk. Better to take our time leaving the mountains than to rush and fall to our deaths.’
‘No,’ said Simrock. ‘There is a better path. An older one. One from before the time that robots walked these mountains.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Melt. ‘How do you know?’
‘He just does,’ said Karel. ‘The Spontaneous just do. He was right before, wasn’t he?’
‘Come on. Over this way.’
The Spontaneous robot stepped over the wall at the side of the road. He began to walk up a narrow ledge.
‘Hold on!’ called Karel. ‘What do you mean, before the time that robots walked these mountains. Who could have made the path?’
‘Robots, of course.’
He carried on, creeping along the ledge.
‘Do we follow him?’ Karel asked Melt.
‘For the moment.’
‘Are you sure? I thought you didn’t trust him.’
