Blood and Iron

This is the story of Kavan and Karel, who fought when they were a thousand miles apart and endured a bitter truce when together.

Both represented their states, though neither was of their states.

At the time of their making, Artemis and Turing City were the two greatest states on the continent of Shull. The robots of Turing City were made to respect themselves and others as individuals; the robots of Artemis were made to place the state above all else. Turing City celebrated the ascendancy of the mind. Its streets and buildings were artfully planned and decorated, its parliament and forges rang to the sound of vigorous debate as the robots discussed the philosophy of their state and others. Artemis City saw no distinction between the twisted metal that formed a robot’s mind and any other metal. Its forges rang to the noise of hammers, building the army that was already marching into other states and claiming them for its own. Already the robots of Artemis City were looking beyond Shull and thinking of other continents they could subsume. Some had even dared to think of moving beyond the planet of Penrose itself. Little were they to know that other planets were looking to them.

But that is not part of this story, rather it is part of Blood and Iron, the story that follows.

Now, Karel was a child of war. His mother was forced to weave his mind from the metal of an Artemisian soldier. All through the making of the mind, the soldier taunted the mother by asking which philosophy she had chosen to weave, but Liza refused to answer. So Karel grow up surrounded by suspicion, never quite trusted by any robot save Susan, his wife, and that was only because Susan had been woven to love Karel. When Artemis turned its attention towards Turing City, many doubted where Karel’s loyalties lay.

Kavan was not made in Artemis, but no one doubted his loyalties. It was said that his mother came from Segre, that she had looked at the way the world was moving and wove the Artemisian philosophy into her son, believing it to be the best route to his survival. If that were true, she wove better than most mothers of Artemis itself. Artemis welcomed all robots who were willing to follow Nyro’s way, so Kavan became a member of the Artemisian infantry. He gained status all the time in the eyes of other Artemisians, eventually leading the final push that ensured the fall of the state of Wien. So great was his following by this time that Spoole, first amongst equals of the Generals who led Artemis City, began to regard him as a threat. It was Spoole who ordered Kavan to attack Turing City, reasoning that whether Kavan or Turing City fell, he would rid himself of one of the greatest threats to his leadership.

Kavan succeeded in taking Turing City, and during the battle Karel saw his son killed, his wife taken into slavery and all he believed in destroyed. Karel’s mind was removed from his own body and set to driving a diesel engine in support of the Artemisian war effort.

Now all of Shull knew Kavan’s name, and Karel hated him. Karel blamed Kavan for the death of his son, the loss of his wife, and his enslavement.

But did Kavan know of Karel? For Karel was still spoken of by many robots, mentioned by some as a traitor who had betrayed Turing City, mentioned by others as the coming mind that was referred to in the almost mythical Book of Robots.

Perhaps Kavan was yet to hear of Karel, but the time was approaching when the two robots would certainly know of each other’s existence. When that happened, life on Penrose would change forever.

Here the story of Karel and Kavan fragments into many versions. All agree that Kavan was sent by Spoole to conquer the kingdoms of northern Shull, for Spoole still feared Kavan, and did not wish him to return to Artemis City at the head of an army.

Artemisian records were second to none, and most survived the coming troubles that were to beset Artemis City, so it is without doubt that Karel travelled north, carrying troops and other materiel to support the invasion.

All of the accounts agree that Karel and Kavan met on the northern coast of Shull and that Karel fought Kavan, but before the outcome could be resolved, circumstances forced them to go their separate ways. It is also agreed that it was on the northern coast that Karel finally understood his own nature. He saw that the anger within him was so powerful he would never accept the world as it was, and would instead try to change it. In this, he was unusual indeed amongst robots, most of whom had their beliefs set when their minds were woven.

The different versions of the stories arise in their recounting of what happened just before they fought, when Karel and Kavan entered an ancient building that stood on an island just off the coast of Shull said to hold the proof of the origins of life on Pen-rose.

In some stories, the building is said to hold a copy of the Book of Robots, the book that contains the instructions for building the original robot mind.

In other stories, the building is said to contain proof that robots evolved naturally on Penrose.

All these stories agree on only one point.

When Karel and Kavan entered the building, they found the titles of three stories written in metal on the far wall.

The Story of Nicolas the Coward

The Story of the Four Blind Horses and

The Story of Eric and the Mountain

Ruth Powdermaker, 2141

(For a fuller, though less rigorous and occasionally historically inaccurate retelling of the history of Penrose immediately before the arrival of the human race, see Twisted Metal by Tony Ballantyne.)

Merriac’s Robots

From all over Shull, trains were converging on Artemis City.

They carried the spoils of war, materials captured by the Artemisian army in its conquest of the continent. Long chains of rolling stock, bumping together, shaking the dust from the coal and ore in the hoppers; rippling the oil and the acid in the brim-filled tankers; rattling the metal plate and wire stacked on the trucks; and unnerving the prisoners crowded together in the locked wagons.

‘We’re almost there,’ said the robot by the door, peering out through the crack. ‘I can see the glow from the forges.’

A low hiss of static swept through the tightly packed wagon, the sound of barely restrained fear.

‘They say that the Artemisians allow you to enlist in their army!’

‘They say that they only destroy the old and the damaged!’

‘They say that if you can prove yourself there’s always a place for you in Artemis City!’

The tightly packed robots looked at one another for comfort, dark shapes striped in the red light squeezing through cracks in the panelling.

‘Not true, I’m afraid,’ said the robot by the door.

He was different from the rest of them. They had been herded onto the train at some tiny little city state in northern Shull, just a few forges and fortifications clinging to the side of a hill. They built themselves all in the same manner, tall and thin, of copper and iron. The man by the door was different. A little shorter and stronger, he wove the electromuscle in his arms and legs in a thicker pattern.

‘Not true?’ said one of the terrified robots. ‘But it’s got to be! Merriac told us.’

Merriac was their king, or at least, he had been until Artemis had driven its railway line into the valley below the castle and sent three trainfuls of troops to its gate. To the consternation of his subjects, Merriac had surrendered without a shot being fired.

‘Don’t worry,’ he had said. ‘Artemis will make use of us.’ And Merriac’s subjects had listened to him, because they trusted him.

‘Merriac said Artemis will make use of us,’ said one of them.

‘And so it will,’ replied the man by the door, ‘for this is Artemis City. The city built out of the bodies and minds of robots from across the continent of Shull. Literally.’

There was another low hiss of static, and the man by the door warmed to his theme. ‘Once you’re through that door they will march you into the disassembly rooms, where you’ll be taken apart. Plating in one hopper, electromuscle in the next, cogs and gears in a third. They’ll spool the copper wire from your bodies, unscrew your arms and legs and peel away the electromuscle, ready for combing and reweaving. And then they’ll lay your bodies on conveyor belts and dismantle your chests and unhook your coils and remove your heads. Last of all, they’ll unwind the blue twisted metal of your minds.’

‘No!’ The sound of static was both pathetic and terrifying.

‘But why?’ asked one of them. ‘Surely we are more use to them as living, moving robots? Why take us apart?’

‘Because, above all else, they want your metal. Because Artemis doesn’t recognize the difference between the living metal of the mind and the unfused metal of the body. To them you’re nothing more than raw material, walking into their forges.’

In the dimness they could just make out his face, smiling grimly.

‘Come on, you must have heard of the forges of Artemis! You can see them for miles across the great plain: square, red-brick buildings, topped with grey chimneys belching smoke into the air, filling the sky with black cloud. The broken-up parts of conquered robots go into them, and sheet metal and wire and plate is rolled out.’

‘What will they do with our metal?’ asked one, timorously.

‘Some of you will be used to build more Artemisian soldiers. The wide parade grounds before the military factories shake to the stamp of feet of newly made infantryrobots marching!

‘Some of you will go to make more railway lines and engines and trains. The railway system that binds together the continent grows all the time, extending branches and lines to the remotest corners of distant lands!

‘And some of you will go to make new buildings. To make new factories and forges in order that Artemis grows still further in strength.’

The wagon swayed. Now yellow bands of light swept across its interior and the robots heard the sound of heavy machinery pounding, clanking, thumping. Iron was being beaten somewhere close by.

They looked at one another in terror.

‘But that can’t be true. Merriac said we would be safe!’

‘Safe?’ said the man by the door. ‘Doomed more like.’ He looked around the frightened faces for a moment. ‘Or maybe not. Because all is not yet lost.’

The background noise of static ceased at once.

‘Go on…’

‘Have you heard of Turing City?’

They looked at one another.

‘No,’ said one.

‘Turing City once stood on the southern coast of Shull. It was the last of the great city states of Shull to stand up to Artemis. But now it too is defeated.’

And at that he lowered his voice. ‘… or so it seems. For it is rumoured that deep below the ground, below the broken and shattered ground on which the city once stood, some few robots still shelter. They gather the minds of those captured by the Artemisians, and build them new bodies. Soldiers’ bodies. They say that they are building an army that will some day rise up and defeat Artemis City.’

‘Could it be true?’ asked one of the captured robots, eagerly. Merriac’s mistaken words were already forgotten, now they had new hope. The mothers of their kingdom twisted minds that were gullible. Small wonder it had fallen so easily.

‘Oh, it’s true,’ said the man by the door.

‘But how do you know this?’

The man raised his voice. ‘Because I am not a prisoner, as you are. Or rather, I am a prisoner, but voluntarily so.’

‘Why? What do you mean?’

The expectation in the wagon was audible. Metal squeaked as the robots leaned closer to listen.

‘Listen, robots. I know a way to escape. I found the route by chance two years ago when I rode this train as you do. I return time and again to lead others to safety.’

‘Who are you? You must have great courage!’

‘My name is Banjo Macrodocious, and no, I do not have great courage. For I feel no hope or fear.’

‘Banjo Macrodocious!’ chorused the other robots. They may not have heard of Turing City, but all of them had heard of the robots from the North Kingdom. Twisted to have no sense of self, they were in much demand for dangerous work. Or had been until Artemis had invaded.

‘Listen,’ said Banjo Macrodocious. ‘I work for the resistance of Turing City. I travel these lines, bringing the news to robots of how they may escape. Listen closely, for I know the route to freedom. It is dangerous, but you too may follow me, if you have the courage.’

‘We have the courage! Tell us, what should we do?’

Banjo Macrodocious leaned forward a little.

‘When the train draws up we will be met by soldiers with guns. They will herd us off this truck into a wide area, lit by lights but surrounded by darkness. There are few guards, and you may be tempted to run. Do not do so! It is a trick! The ground is surrounded by a moat of acid. Fall in and the metal of your mind will quickly burn away, leaving your body lifeless and easier to manipulate. Do not give the Artemisians that satisfaction!’

‘We hear you, Banjo Macrodocious. What should we do?’

‘Follow the guards’ directions. They will march you into the first disassembly area. Do not wait for their mechanics to come to you! Strip apart your own bodies. Tear the plating from your chest and arms and legs, and throw it into the waiting hoppers. Speed is of the essence!’

‘But why?’

‘Because though the disassembly room will be empty at first, it will fill with more and more robots as this train empties. More Artemisians will enter to aid in the deconstruction. We need to be at the front of the line! The first few minds through are always the ones to be saved: they are taken for storage. It takes time to twist a mind, and the women of Artemis are always behind schedule. Artemis will ensure its store rooms are full before it destroys healthy minds!’

The robots looked from one to another.

‘That makes sense, Banjo Macrodocious. What do we do next?’

‘Once you have stripped your panelling, form into a line.’

‘Okay…’

‘Take apart the robot in front of you. Remove their electro-muscles and drop them on the moving belt to your left. Unship their arms and legs and drop them on the belt to your right, and then lift the body onto the final conveyor belt, and hope that the robot behind will do the same for you.’

‘Where will you be, Banjo Macrodocious?’

‘I will be at the rear of the line.’

‘What if someone does not do the same for you? What if you are left whole?’

‘Then I will not make it through.’

A brief hiss of static.

‘But what do I care? I who have no sense of self. You robots will survive. Though your minds will be in darkness, you will be safe, in the store rooms. Some of you will be used to drive machinery, some of you may even be used as minds for infantry-robots. But you will be safe, waiting for the call. Waiting for the day that Turing City rises again!’

Although they had never heard of Turing City, they felt a surge of hope at the name. They wanted to live. They wanted Artemis City to be defeated.

And so the train drew to a halt. The robots waited in tense anticipation, but now a little of the fear had gone. The doors fell open and the sound of a guard was heard, harsh and commanding.

‘Outside, all of you!’

The robots dutifully filed out into a wide area lit by floodlights and surrounded by darkness. To their surprise there was only one guard, and he was a pitiful thing, a grey infantryrobot carrying an old weapon. But they weren’t fooled. They marched forward in line, into the waiting building.

Inside all was astir, blue-painted Artemisian engineers marched back and forth, sorting through the hoppers of robot parts. Hands and feet and electromuscles of robots from across the continent. Bins filled with blue twisted wire.

The engineers looked on in amazement as the prisoners began to strip themselves down, but then they moved forward and helped them to remove those awkward parts that had stuck together during those long weeks in the wagon without oil or grease.

First the panels, then the electromuscle, then the steel bones; the robots took themselves apart, dropping muscle here and limbs there. The air was filled with the clank of metal, the hum of machinery, the spark of the cutter, the glow of the forge.

The engineers’ surprise turned to disbelief as the prisoners lifted each other onto the final conveyor belt. These robots were of an unusual build, but the engineers had disassembled bodies from across the continent. They quickly figured out what to do.

Now all of the robots from the wagon were lying on the conveyor belt, and the blue-painted engineers moved in to remove their minds from their heads. They cracked open the metal skulls and pulled out the blue wire bundles inside, which they tossed into the fires that glowed yellow-red behind them. The blue metal sagged and then melted, running down through the coal to form a hard metal clinker beneath. Soon the fires would be extinguished and the ash and clinker raked away to be recycled.

One of the engineers moved to the rear of the line. The last robot from the wagon stood there, watching in amusement.

‘I don’t know how you get them to do that, Fess,’ he said.

The man who pretended to be called Banjo Macrodocious was looking on in wonder.

‘Their king had his subjects made to be that gullible. It’s how he kept himself in power.’

‘Well not any more,’ said the engineer briskly. ‘He’ll be through here himself soon. Artemis will have no use for someone like that.’

How beautiful stand the plants in the Emperor’s garden.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, self-built robot; warrior of Ko of the state of Ekrano in the High Spires; one of the Eleven, displayed none of the wonder he felt at standing here in the heart of the Silent City. His expression was still, for the mothers of Ko believed in this as they knelt to twist the wire that would form the minds of the next generation: that a robot should have the aspect of a warrior, but the soul of a poet.

So Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s body was still and silent. Unlike the other robots here in the Silent City, his panelling was painted. The metal had been dipped in scarlet paint and then left to dry smooth. Gloss paint, polished to a shine, easy to chip, easily damaged in a fight. Did the robots of the Silent City understand that? Did they understand that the chrome beading around the eyes, the mouth, the joints in his arms and legs would easily mark? That keeping himself unscratched was an advertisement of his skill?

The red joints of his fingers and feet would move like beetle backs, but for now he was motionless, blending into brightly coloured surroundings. Seen from a distance he was a collection of fragments, sharp amidst the dappled sunlight, hard blades and glossy red painted metal; mind fixed in contemplation of the poetry arranged before him.

Poems written in the medium of organic life: a folio compiled by the robots whom the Emperor had sent out across the planet Penrose, commanding them to seek beauty in every form, whether it be the glow of iron, pulled hot from the forge, or the curve of the body of some young robot in her newly built adult form.

But the Emperor’s vision was wider than this, for he also commanded that his robots look for poetry amongst the lewd profusion of organic life that flourishes in the most unlikely corners of the continents of Yukawa: maybe in the curl of a plant or the arrangement of petals on a flower or the spreading canopy of a tree.

And so those robots, those poets of another age, had travelled the length and breadth of the continent, taking an insect or a seed here, a piece of plating or a cutting there, and had brought them back to be placed in the garden of the Emperor.

And, oh, what vision the Emperor had displayed when he had his stately garden decreed.

A pit, three miles across, long mined of porphyry copper, had been filled with gravel and soil and then surrounded by a wall of burnished iron, bound in brass, inlaid with copper. Stone paths had been laid through the virgin soil, along which robot gardeners walked, sowing seeds, planting roots, watering and weeding, pruning and tending, raising the plants and trees and ferns that were brought to them. Silver insects scuttled across the floor, metal shells flashing brightly. Larger animals paced their gilded cages or pulled disconsolately at feet welded to metal platforms.

In the midst of this, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do finally collected his thoughts and began to walk towards the Silver Circle, the heart of the garden. His iron feet pressed dents into the green turf, his polished scarlet body danced in yellow and gold, the reflections of the cloud of butterflies that burst from the grass with each step. Pollen fell from the scarlet flowers that sprouted in obscene profusion amongst the canopy of the fuchsia trees, it dusted his body, worked its way into his joints and seams to be trapped in the delicate thread of his electromuscle. White pom-poms nodded their heads in the breeze, a stream of pink blossom meandered its lazy way down from the treetops, it wound its way through the golden butterflies, a widening stream of blossom, a river, a wave of pink petals, a tsunami…

From the swirl of colour, a figure materialized. A tall robot, clad in intricately worked metal. He had no arms.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do lowered his head in submission.

The tall robot spoke.

‘When you meet the Emperor, don’t speak of the world outside of the garden.’

‘I thought you were the Emperor,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, looking up.

‘No, I am O, his spokesrobot. The Emperor is too busy to attend to all the details of the State of Yukawa. Your audience, however brief, will be sufficient to grant the seal of approval on your mission.’

‘So I am still to see the Emperor?’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could not quite conceal the edge of hope in his voice.

‘Yes. The importance of your mission is such that an audience is necessary. Now, it would be appropriate to remain silent until we are within the Silver Circle. A wise robot would enjoy the delights of the garden.’

And indeed now they were passing two tall trees that seemed to have lifted themselves from the ground, their roots standing in a lily pond, the trunks well clear of the water. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do eyed the two creatures trapped in the cages of roots. One of them reached out a metal hand in supplication, eyes glowing pale green, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked away.

They approached the Silver Circle: a loop of silver filigree that wove its way through the garden in a circle half a mile across. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could cut easily through it with one of the blades in his hands, but he knew he would be dead even as he approached it. The loop of silver rose up in an arch, flanked by two more robots without arms.

They gazed straight ahead as O led Wa-Ka-Mo-Do past them, into the garden beyond, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do struggling not to betray the excitement he felt at being here.

O turned to him. ‘Now we are within the Silver Circle, I will speak freely. You will have heard that Yukawa has been visited by creatures from beyond our shores?’

‘I had heard that they come from beyond even our world, my master.’

‘You would do well not to speak of such things to the Emperor,’ replied the armless robot drily. ‘You may also have heard that the visitors are not robots?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do said nothing.

‘You are wise to remain silent. You learn quickly. So I will tell you that the rumours are true.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do paced on. The sound of birds singing from tiny barbed cages covered the increased hum of current in his electromuscles.

‘The visitors are animals,’ continued O. ‘Naturally, this does not worry the Emperor. The Emperor is wise and all powerful, and his rule of the continent of Yukawa is just and proper. Those who perpetuate the myth of the Book of Robots are hunted down and destroyed, because it is beyond doubt that robots evolved here on Penrose. There is no possibility that they were originally constructed by others, for whatever reason. Certainly, we could not have been constructed by animals such as those that are now visiting us.’

‘Indeed,’ agreed Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, his face devoid of expression.

‘Your silence speaks volumes, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. There are many within the Emperor’s court who would feel it odd that one such as yourself, a half-caste from the far south, a near Tokvah, should be welcomed at court…’

‘Ekrano has long been a part of the Empire,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘The right to send eleven warriors to serve the Emperor is a long-cherished tradition.’

‘The Eleven have a duty to replace the Emperor if he fails the Empire,’ observed O drily. ‘They warriors of Ko have done so in the past.’

‘A responsibility that has long been remembered in tradition, though rarely in practice,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I hope, rather, that it is remembered here in the Silent City how well the Eleven have served the Emperor.’

‘Indeed. And today you will have the chance to prove yourself equal to your predecessors.’

‘I hope so.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt unnerved by the armless robot. It was known by all that the Emperor had no arms, this way others must serve him. But Wa-Ka-Mo-Do hadn’t realized that others within the Silent City also went armless. Oddly, even though he was trained in the arts of war, even though his arms and legs contained tempered blades, hard and sharp, it was he who felt at a disadvantage. But what could this robot do to harm him?

‘It pleases the Emperor to deal with the animals, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do,’ continued O. ‘He has established trading areas in designated parts of the Empire. Whilst, naturally, the animals do not have the same grasp of culture or society as the Empire, it amuses the Emperor to speak with them, to trade examples of their technology and thus to educate them in our ways.’

‘The Emperor is indeed generous.’

‘He is indeed. He has established an Embassy for the animals in the city of Sangrel. You are to travel there as his Special Commander.’

‘Commander of Sangrel? That is indeed an honour!’

‘A warrior may rejoice at such an honour, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, for in Sangrel he may prove himself worthy of the Emperor’s trust in upholding the ways of the Empire. For the Emperor could not lose face by having his subjects attack the animals through a mistaken sense of grievance. A feeling that, perhaps, the interests of the Emperor’s subjects have been placed below those of the animals.

Now Wa-Ka-Mo-Do began to understand the nature of his mission. He needed to be diplomatic in his questioning.

‘I’m sure that it is inconceivable that the Emperor’s subjects would shame him so. But, my master, suppose that such a circumstance was to arise?’

‘Then I am sure that the Commander of Sangrel would make it plain that, in the long run, all favours granted to the animals would be repaid tenfold by them to the Empire.’

The armless robot smiled as he spoke these words.

‘Of course,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘But suppose, for example, that some robots found themselves driven from land that they and their family had occupied for many generations. Suppose that they found themselves in the grip of an unreasonable desire for reparations and found themselves, unjustly of course, in conflict with the Emperor’s appointed officials. What course would the Commander of Sangrel be wise to adopt in such a case?’

O smiled.

‘You are wise in the manners of court, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, despite your origin. You ask my advice, as is right in these circumstances. I would say that it would be appropriate, if not desirable, for the Commander to destroy all those robots, and their families, and their villages, as an expression of the sorrow of the Emperor, and his wish to demonstrate his authority.’

‘I understand,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and, true to his mother’s weave, his face betrayed no expression of the discomfort he felt at these words.

‘And let me say furthermore, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do,’ continued O, ‘that I’m sure the Emperor would wish the same attention to be paid to those who were to perpetuate the myth that our creators have returned to rule us. The idea is, of course, ridiculous.’

‘Of course.’

‘Now, silence. We are approaching the Emperor.’

The Emperor wore no metal panelling: his body was plated with sheets of nephrite jade, carved in exquisite shells that encased him in a creamy green that contrasted with the emerald of the sunlight glade in which he stood. Four members of the Imperial Guard stood to the north, south, east and west of him, their bodies thin and curved, built of katana metal. They looked like living blades, curved under tension, ready to spring out in one slicing movement.

None of them wore ears or eyes. At need, they would pull them from their bodies and push them into place.

‘Emperor, this is Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was standing in the middle of the sunny glade just inches from his Emperor. He lowered his eyes and found himself gazing at the carvings on his jade feet, pale and exquisite.

The Emperor spoke.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, warrior of Ekrano. It pleases us to speak to you.’

‘Thank you, oh my Emperor.’

‘The High Spires are a long way from the Silent City, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

‘Indeed,’ he replied, thinking on how O had told him not mention the world beyond the garden.

‘The land of the Sirens. Did you ever see those fortunate robots, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do?’

‘No man may see the Sirens and live, my Emperor.’

There was a long silence.

‘Do you mean to correct your Emperor? Are you suggesting that we were unaware of the nature of the Sirens?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the Emperor, and, in a sudden moment of clarity, saw how ridiculous his armless body was. The thought was treachery. Unconsciously he shifted to a fighting position. Surely the guards would know what he was thinking? Surely even now they would be attacking?

But nothing happened. The Emperor was waiting for an answer.

‘My Emperor, not for a moment would I think such a thing. The wisdom of the Emperor is recognized by all his subjects.’

‘Our wisdom is respected, you would say? Yet you come before me still standing?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do fell to his knees at this point. Nobody had mentioned this to him. He was under the impression that subjects remained standing in the presence of the Emperor, ready to serve him.

‘You kneel before us?’

Now Wa-Ka-Mo-Do fell forward, the grass all around his metal face.

He heard a thin keening above him. Gradually it occurred to him that the Emperor was laughing.

‘It would appear that ignorance is still the norm in Ekrano! No one kneels before the Emperor, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. We are not barbarians in Yukawa!’

He climbed to his feet.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do,’ said the Emperor. ‘You will have heard of the Book of Robots?’

Again Wa-Ka-Mo-Do remembered the words of the aide who had led him here. ‘No, my master.’

‘We think you are lying. It is well known that the heresy of the Book of Robots is woven deep into the metal of those of the High Spires. We would expect that you, too, have this heresy woven into your mind.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s gaze was still, his current was calm, and yet the Emperor’s words were accurate. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do believed in the book. Of course he did.

The Emperor spoke.

‘Even so, it must be understood that there are conventions for the lesser subjects, and there are conventions for those who follow a higher calling. We know of the Book of Robots.’

‘Have you read the book, my Emperor?’

That same thin keening laughter.

‘Our subject is as lacking in guile as he is in intelligence, for not only does he forget that he has claimed not to have heard of the book, but he has also forgotten that no robot is known to have read it, if indeed the book ever existed.’

‘My Emperor is indeed wise to point this out to me,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and again the treacherous thoughts arose inside him. Did the Emperor, wise above all, think himself clever by employing tricks effective only against those that could not answer back?

‘Your Emperor is wise indeed. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, in Sangrel you will meet the animals that have travelled to our world. And you will look at them and you will wonder how any robot could believe that creatures such as they could claim to have had us built. And yet some do. We trust that our subject will remember his duty, should he encounter such robots.’

‘You may be sure that he will, my Emperor.’

‘Good, good.’

The Emperor smiled. ‘We are pleased with our subject. Now, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, we do not need to mention that our people place great faith in the Empire. It has stood unchanging for centuries, built on the rule of the Emperor and its queens. It has met new ideas in the past, and woven them into the rich tapestry that is the Empire. Is my garden not eloquent testament to this?’

A golden butterfly fluttered by, as if to confirm this.

‘Indeed, my master,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘And yet some ideas are not to be contemplated. They throw the weave out of balance, and so they shall not be tolerated. Does our subject understand this?’

‘I do, my Emperor.’

‘So our subject will be thankful that Vestal Virgins are already in Sangrel. They will watch our subject, and ensure that his mind is on his task. Do you understand, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt his gyros spinning just a little faster. He forced them to slow.

‘I understand, my master.’

Something caught his attention: the butterfly. It fluttered past Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s face, turned to the right, and then changed direction again, heading to settle on the Emperor himself.

There was a flicker of silver, and the butterfly fell to the ground in two parts. An Imperial Guard slowly replaced her sword in her sheath. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was impressed to note she had not inserted her eyes.

The Emperor did not seem to notice.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘The audience is at an end. We wish you every luck in your endeavour. You may leave by the Road of Reflection.’ He turned to indicate the path that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had entered by.

For the first time, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do noticed the remains of two robots lying at the edge of the clearing, the metal of their minds twisted around their bodies in blue filigree. He saw the lifeforce flickering around them, and realized the warped creatures were still alive, frozen there in agony. The Vestal Virgins, he thought, as he walked by. The Vestal Virgins did that.

He wondered if some day his body would lie there too.

Kavan walked south.

A Scout was standing in the middle of the path ahead, the blades at her hands and feet retracted.

He couldn’t go to the right of her: melting ice fuelled the tumbling stream that lay to that side, water dashed white foam off the sharp rocks littering its bed.

He couldn’t go to the left of her: even the grass struggled to grow on the rocky slope that sliced into the pale blue sky.

And he couldn’t go back. There was nothing behind him but the northern coast of Shull and, beyond it, the iron-grey waters of the Moonshadow sea.

He would have to go past her. Not that Kavan would ever deviate from the path he perceived to be the right one.

He raised his hand in greeting.

‘Hello Kavan,’ said the Scout. ‘I bring the compliments and the congratulations of Artemis City.’

Kavan’s gaze travelled the length of the Scout’s silver body, the metal unscratched and polished to a shine.

‘Have you come directly from there?’ he asked.

‘I have. Three brigades have been sent to aid in the securing of the North Kingdom, following its conquest by you.’

‘Three brigades? That was more than I was given to take the whole of Northern Shull!’

Now Kavan commanded no one. He had expended nearly all his troops in the taking of the North Kingdom. The few survivors would be picking through the melted remains of that ruined land, either that or chasing down the last of the robots who had escaped from the battleground, supposedly carrying the remnants of the Book of Robots in their head. Kavan had travelled to the very top of the kingdom; seeking conquest, not answers, it was true; but even so, along the way he had found nothing but confirmation of his own beliefs.

But that was past. For the moment, he was a leader without troops.

The Scout inclined her head.

‘The story of your conquest is told across the continent, Kavan,’ she said. ‘Your name has been engraved in the Great Hall of the Basilica.’

‘And yet we meet here, in an empty valley at the uttermost north of Shull. No soldiers, no weapons, just you, a Scout in a brand new body and me, a broken-down infantryrobot.’ The fresh wind sang in his badly adjusted joints, as if by way of illustration. ‘So, what are your orders?’

‘To locate Kavan, the hero of Artemis, and to escort him to Spoole, leader of Artemis. You are to be honoured, Kavan. Spoole himself travels north to greet you.’

‘Does he, indeed?’

His tone made the Scout shift slightly, the blades at her hands protruding for just a moment.

‘Kavan, where have you been? Soldiers and Scouts have scoured these hills searching for you. Rumour has been rife. That you were killed, that you had found the Book of Robots, that you had quit these shores and were travelling the sea roads to the Top of the World itself. Tell me, where have you been?’

Kavan gazed at the Scout, her body so smooth and sleek compared to the scratched utility of his grey infantry panelling.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Kavan. ‘Thinking about new lands to conquer. And I have come to a decision. Tell me, Scout, what’s your name?’

‘Calor.’

‘Your body is polished and unscratched. But that means nothing, perhaps you are freshly repaired. Tell me, Calor, have you ever fought in battle?’

‘Yes, Kavan. In the northern states. Two weeks ago. I was caught by three of the mountain robots.’

‘That wasn’t a true war. The conquest of the northern states was completed three months ago. The few robots who still fight are under-resourced and tired.’

‘Even so, they rose from beneath the ground as I ran by; they caught me by the legs, tearing the electromuscles there. I was dragged down beneath the soil. I fought with my arms as they pulled me deeper and deeper into the earth. I cut my own body free beneath the waist, that I may fight better, and then I despatched them, one by one in the dark. I emerged from the earth, my body scratched and filled with soil, and I dragged myself home with my own hands. I have fought, Kavan.’

‘Very well, Calor,’ said Kavan. ‘You have fought. So, I will tell you this. I have been thinking, here at the top of Shull, wondering at my next move. And finally I have seen what it must be.’

The stream splashed by in that empty land, not heeding the words being spoken on its bank.

‘I march south, Calor. My next conquest will be Artemis City itself.’

Now Calor’s blades slid properly free of her hands and feet, sharp and deadly in the pale morning sun.

‘Treason!’ she called.

‘Treason? No, I don’t think so. Ask yourself this, Calor: which more truly embodies the spirit of Artemis? Spoole and his Generals, living cosseted in Artemis City, cladding themselves in expensive metal? Or me, who has led armies across this continent and conquered all in his path?’

The Scout didn’t answer, but her blades retracted, just a fraction of an inch.

‘You see? You know I am right. So follow me. We march.’

And at that he strode forward, pushing past the Scout, resuming his march by the side of the stream, heading south, back through the lands he had conquered, heading towards Artemis City. After a moment’s hesitation the Scout began to follow him.

‘Wait!’ she called, running lightly across the sodden turf between the path and the stream. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I told you, south.’

‘But you are heading towards a squad of Storm Troopers.’

‘If they are loyal to Artemis they will follow me.’

‘If they are loyal to Spoole they will shoot you!’

‘Then I will fight them.’

At that Calor looked up along the top of the rocky slope, looked back behind them. She laughed.

‘Ah. I begin to understand. Kavan, the master tactician. You have more troops, more weapons. Hidden just out of sight.’

Kavan halted so suddenly that Calor almost tripped over him. She watched, puzzled, as he squatted down by the stream that ran alongside the path. He dipped his hand into the water, it looked blue as he felt for the rounded pebbles on the bed. The plastic grips at the end of his fingers were worn, he had to scrabble in the churning water for a handful, but finally he seized them and held them out for Calor to see, water draining from the dents in his panelling.

‘Your claws and a handful of pebbles. These are the only weapons I command now. You are my army.’

Calor nervously extended the blades at her hands and feet once more.

‘But there are only two of us!’ she said. ‘There are hundreds, thousands of soldiers, combing these hills, looking for you. They will kill you if you resist them. Why should I get myself killed too?’

Kavan leaned closer, and she saw the golden glow in his eyes.

‘Why?’ he said softly. ‘Because you know that I am right. Artemis is not a place, Artemis just is. How did your mother weave your mind, Calor? Was she an Artemisian?’

‘Yes!’

‘Then this is where you learn the truth about yourself.’

‘I could kill you now,’ said Calor, a hiss of static in her words. She was moving her bladed hands through the killing pattern. ‘You wear the body of an infantryrobot. I could slice through you before you have a chance to move. I could disable you and carry your mind back to Spoole.’

‘Then why haven’t you done so already?’ asked Kavan. ‘There are many robots who claim to be Artemisians, but their mothers wove their minds to think more of themselves than of the state itself. Are you one of those robots? Some live a long time before they find this out about themselves. You will find out today.’

Calor stilled her killing dance, wondering about what Kavan had said. He stared at her with those golden eyes. Then, slowly, the blades at her hands and feet withdrew.

‘It will be my death, but I will follow you, Kavan.’

‘Arm yourself, then,’ he said, and he handed her a pebble.

How sweetly bloomed the railway station outside the Silent City.

Cherry blossom fluttered down from the branches woven amongst the metal arches of the roof, or was it the metal that was woven around the branches? Wood and metal sprouted from the ground, twisting around each other to form the living canopy of the station. The metal feet of the robots stirred pink petals on the platforms.

Everything looked so normal, so unchanged. It was odd to think that outsiders now walked upon Yukawan soil. And not just outsiders, but animals. Animals that walked upright, like robots. Animals that, if stories were to be believed, had hands and faces. Animals that could think and bend metal to make tools and machines. It was said they had been here for nearly a year, and yet it was odd that so few people had actually seen them. Perhaps they were shy, reflected Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. Perhaps they were embarrassed by the richness and culture of the Empire.

A Shinkansen entered the station in a silent wave of blossom, a white needle threading the living cloth. Petals stuck to the metal shells of the waiting passengers; they slowly fluttered to the ground as the train drew to a halt.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do opened the door of a carriage for the pretty young female who stood by him on the platform. There was something about the line of her body, the way she had forged simple metals into a harmonious whole.

‘Thank you, warrior,’ she said, eyes lowered. ‘My name is Jai-Lyn.’

‘I am Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’ He followed her into the corridor. ‘Where do you travel to?’ he asked.

‘Ka. They have need of young women there who can twist children.’

Ka was on the west coast, two hundred miles or so from the High Spires of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s home. A whaling city inhabited mainly by the men who followed the steps down from the city to the sea bottom, there to walk the sea bed, hunting the whales, firing their harpoons up at the great creatures as they passed by overhead. They would wrestle with them for hours, tiring them out before dragging the spent bodies down to their waiting awls and cutters. It was tough, dangerous work for strong robots with plenty of lifeforce. Women who could spin new minds were in short supply.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do found himself and Jai-Lyn an empty compartment. The seats were of carved and varnished wood set with a chevron pattern of rubber grips to stop metal bodies slipping when the train slowed to a halt. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do waited for the young woman to sit down first, admiring her movement as she did so.

‘That’s a well-built body,’ observed Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘You have some ability.’

‘Thank you, warrior.’

‘You will do well in the city.’

She looked pleased at that, smiled such a pretty smile. ‘Do you really think so? I’ve never left the Silent City before. Still, I follow the Emperor’s will.’

A shadow fell across the doorway, and a clear voice sounded out.

‘Clear this compartment for the Emperor’s Warriors, Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah and Har-Ka-Bee-Parolyn and their wives.’

Jai-Lyn was already rising to her feet, her head lowered so she did not meet the eyes of the great warrior who stood by the door. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do remained seated.

‘This compartment is already occupied by Wa-Ka-Mo-Do of Ko, and his travelling companion Jai-Lyn,’ he said smoothly. He waved a hand to the spare seats. ‘Though you are welcome to join us.’

One warrior gazed at Wa-Ka-Mo-Do in amusement.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do?’ he said. ‘What sort of a name is that?’

‘A warrior’s name,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, without heat. ‘Know that I am one of the Eleven sent to the Emperor by the state of Ekrano, newly appointed Commander of the Emperor’s Army of Sangrel, travelling there to take up that position.’ He looked up politely at the tall robot who stood in the doorway. ‘And you are?’

‘Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah, Warrior of the Silent City.’

With that Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah stepped into the compartment, and allowed Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and Jai-Lyn to look upon his wonderful body, forged of the finest metal by the craftsrobots of the Silent City. There wasn’t a straight line on him, every curve that made up his perfectly balanced frame would have been patiently formed by the heating and folding and cooling of metal until his body was strong but sprung. His electromuscles would have been knit from the finest wire, his eyes ground by the most skilled lensmen. It was said that the Vestal Virgins modified the minds of the Warriors of the Silent City, tuning them to make faster and better fighters, but Wa-Ka-Mo-Do suspected that to be nothing more than rumour.

‘Did you make that body yourself?’ asked Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah, insulting Wa-Ka-Mo-Do in the politest of tones.

‘I did,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, equally politely. He waved a hand again to the free seats. ‘Now, will you join us? For we are both of equal rank and protocol suggests that it would be unbecoming for warriors to fight so close to the Silent City, particularly on a day such as this when the cherry blossom is so beautiful.’

Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah laughed as he turned to his companion in the corridor.

‘The cherry blossom is indeed beautiful! And it is also said that the Eleven Warriors place greater value on poetry than they do on fighting!’

‘No,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Equal value.’

A look of anger flickered across Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah’s face.

‘I wonder if it is appropriate for you to contradict me before an inferior?’

‘Jai-Lyn is my travelling companion, and therefore our equal, at least for the length of the journey.’

Jai-Lyn looked frightened.

‘Oh warriors, please do not speak of me in such terms…’

She hesitated at the noise from outside. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and the other warriors heard it too. A shout, a clamour and a clatter of metal. The sound of robots moving, disembarking, the sharp crackle of hurriedly shouted orders. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do leaned out of the door to see that a group of robots had entered the station and were ordering everyone off the train.

‘The Silent Wind,’ said Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah in wonder. ‘What are they doing here?’

Where the Emperor’s Warriors advertised their strength and power in the polish and decoration of their strong bodies, the Silent Wind were panelled in dull grey and green. They wrapped oiled silk around their joints and rubbed carbon black on their hands and feet where metal showed. They moved through the station unchallenged, the polished crowd parting like tree branches blown by the wind.

One of them approached Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s compartment.

‘Disembark. This train has been commandeered for the Emperor’s business.’

The words were spoken with quiet authority.

Jai-Lyn was already moving to leave the train. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do put an arm at her elbow to halt her.

‘Wait,’ he said, holding out the metal foil scroll that declared his status and right to passage. ‘I too am on the Emperor’s business.’

The Silent Warrior pushed it back.

‘That is none of my concern, this train is required immediately.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked down at the matt-grey hand, looked up into the eyes of the warrior.

‘Come along, Jai-Lyn,’ he announced. ‘We shall leave now.’

Dar-Ell-Ji-Larriah and his companion were already making their way onto the platform. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and Jai-Lyn followed them out into the blossom-filled daylight.

All around, the station was filled with angry, confused and bewildered passengers. It was rapidly emptying of the Silent Warriors, who slipped on board the waiting train. At the end of the platform, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could see two more of the Silent Wind climbing into the control cabin. The regular driver stood on the platform, looking confused.

The doors of the train closed, and it accelerated rapidly from the station in a swirl of cherry blossom.

‘What’s happening?’ wondered Jai-Lyn.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do jumped at the amplified sound of her voice, then turned his ears back down to normal level. He had been listening to the conversations around him. For the moment he said nothing, thinking on what he had heard. One of the Silent Wind had mentioned the word softly as he climbed on board the train. He had heard the name echoed from around the station.

Ell.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wondered what it meant. Ell was a city somewhere to the south, only a hundred miles from Sangrel, the place where he himself was headed.

Ell. Something had happened in Ell.

Kavan and Calor walked south.

The landscape here twisted around itself, the valleys curling around the rolling green hills, their rocky interiors exposed in cross section by ancient quarries dug by long-forgotten robots. There were paths and roads made by robots that had roamed the countryside hundreds of years ago in search of metal with which to make their children. Occasionally Kavan and Calor passed by an old stone shelter or pile of stones or some other marker.

‘We are being watched,’ said Calor. ‘Two Scouts on the hilltops. Not that experienced, you can see the sunlight reflect from their bodies.’

‘I’ve seen them,’ replied Kavan. ‘I wonder if they’re watching the Storm Trooper ahead.’

The stone path they followed was rising up to the head of a valley.

A black figure stood in the middle of the path, six grey infantry-robots behind him. He held up a hand as Kavan approached.

‘Greetings, Kavan.’

‘Hello Tams. My army marches south. Join us.’

Tams searched back along the path.

‘No, Tams. Here she is.’ He pointed to Calor.

Tams seemed disappointed.

‘A bluff, Kavan. A pity, seeing how times have changed. Spoole himself is coming north. We are to escort you to meet him. You’re a hero now, Kavan.’

‘Artemis has no heroes, Tams. That I am declared one goes to show just how hollow a shell Artemis has become. You must realize that?’ He looked at the other robot, seeking acknowledgement. When none came, he continued, ‘I’m raising my last army to march on Artemis City itself.’

‘No, Kavan.’

The voice came from behind him. He turned to see five more Storm Troopers standing there, rifles pointed at the ground.

‘Sorry, Kavan,’ said Calor. ‘I didn’t see them. Maybe I’m not so experienced either.’

‘Everyone underestimates how quietly Storm Troopers can move when they want to,’ said Kavan loudly. ‘Don’t they, Forban? We fought together in Stark, I think. You served with me in the last battle in the North Kingdom.’

‘I did, Kavan.’

Forban’s rifle remained pointed at the ground, but it could easily be swung in Kavan’s direction. Kavan pretended not to notice.

‘You are a true Artemisian, Forban. I wouldn’t expect you to follow Spoole and the rest. Join my army.’

‘You no longer have an army, Kavan. The battle with the North Kingdom was a battle too far. Barely fifty robots survived the final onslaught. Too many Artemisians were melted in the petrol pits…’

‘Their metal will be recovered,’ interrupted Kavan. ‘The battle ended in victory.’

‘Too many minds were lost,’ said Forban. ‘It’s over, Kavan. Now that Artemis controls all of Shull, it’s a time for consolidation, not conquest. You were a great leader when we were expanding, but your job is done. We need robots like Spoole to lead us now. Fall in, Kavan, we march to meet him.’

Forban waved a hand. The grey infantryrobots shouldered their rifles and fell into position.

‘What if I refuse to follow?’ asked Kavan.

‘We pick you up and carry you.’ Behind Forban, the other four Storm Troopers had shouldered their rifles and were marching up the stone path to join their companions. ‘If you continue to fight, I will have your mind removed from your body.’

‘Very well, I will follow.’

‘And what about you?’ Forban asked Calor. ‘Who do you follow now?’

The Scout looked at Kavan uncertainly. Ahead, she saw the grey infantryrobots looking at each other as they stood, arms sloped, awaiting the order to march. The infantry had always had an affinity with Kavan. After all, didn’t he wear the body of an infantryrobot himself? The Storm Troopers, however, had never been quite so loyal. Six infantryrobots and six Storm Troopers. And one Scout. The odds were on Forban’s side.

‘Well,’ prompted Forban. ‘Which will it be? Artemis, or Kavan?’

‘Aren’t they the same thing?’ asked Calor. Kavan smiled at that.

Forban pointed his rifle at Calor’s head.

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Kavan.

‘Why not?’

‘There are Scouts up there in the hills. If they see you shoot one of their own they will be very unhappy. And they will talk to each other. How far do we have to walk through these hills?’

‘I do what is best for Artemis.’

‘Forban,’ said Kavan. ‘I led an army across Shull. Listen to my advice. Let her be.’

Forban looked from Calor to Kavan and back again. Slowly he lowered his rifle.

‘Very well. We march. Watch the Scout.’

The Storm Troopers took a step forward. The grey infantry remained still. They were looking unhappily at each other. Forban rounded on them.

‘What’s the matter?’ he shouted. ‘Didn’t you hear the order? We are to escort Kavan to Spoole! He is a hero!’

Still the grey infantryrobots exchanged looks. Eventually one of them stepped forward.

‘What does Kavan say?’

Kavan pointedly looked from the heavily armed and armoured Storm Troopers, to the thin shells of the infantry. When he was sure that everyone there had got the point, he gave his answer.

‘For the moment, Forban and I are in agreement. We march south.’

Kavan and Calor, Forban and his troops marched south.

The signs of long-abandoned robot inhabitation seemed to rise and fall across the landscape like tides on a beach. Long ago, robots had followed the Northern Road through this land, bringing news and devices from the Top of the World, carrying the metal they quarried from these hills back up there by way of trade. Kavan had heard something about the history of this land as he had fought his way north, but he had seen little, if anything, of its former glory. The robots who had built these roads and the half-collapsed buildings that stood by them were long gone.

The hills rose and fell as they marched, the Storm Troopers beat a path through the wet turf, shouldering aside boulders, slashing at the twisted and weatherblown plants that clung to life in the thin soil. The infantryrobots marched on, eyes fixed upon Kavan, who walked silently in the centre of the group, his thoughts elsewhere.

Calor’s gaze constantly searched along the top of the surrounding hills when they walked through valleys, it flicked from boulder to tree when they walked the high moors, watching the movement all around them.

Because word of Kavan’s reappearance was spreading. Calor saw the flickers of sunlight at the top of the hills. Scouts, looking down at the grey and black bodies that marched south, relaying messages back and forth to others who marched nearby.

Forban noticed them, and he spoke into a radio just out of Kavan’s earshot. Half an hour later, a squad of twenty Storm Troopers marched in from a side path and joined them.

Kavan and the infantryrobots now found themselves surrounded by the black marching bodies. The air was filled with the percussion of metal on rock, the hum of electromuscle working and the prickling of electricity. Feet were covered in grey dust, mud and moisture.

And then Calor raised herself up on tiptoes in a dancing, skipping movement, looking over the tall heads that surrounded them. She jumped and spun, dodging through the dark press of bodies, her hand blades slightly extended as she did so.

Four Scouts were running up to join them. Calor dropped back to speak to them, and now Kavan found himself walking alongside an infantryrobot. Coal, his name was.

‘You’re outnumbered, Kavan,’ said Coal. ‘Forban has been on the radio, calling up yet more Storm Troopers to join in the escort duty. They have always been more loyal to Spoole. You need to find more infantry! They will support you!’

‘Move away there! Get back to your place!

Forban appeared at Kavan’s side. The infantryrobot stared at Kavan significantly and then fell back to his place in line.

‘We are bearing a little too far to the west,’ said Kavan.

‘There is an old road over this way,’ answered Forban. ‘It runs south across the whole of Northern Shull. Didn’t you notice when you marched these lands?’

‘It runs north, not south,’ said Kavan. ‘All the way north to the Top of the World. The robots of these lands believed that Alpha and Gamma, the first two robots, were made up there. Their descendants travelled down the Northern Road to populate Shull.’

‘Do you believe that, Kavan?’

‘I know it’s not true. I have seen the proof, up on the northern coast. There is a building there, I have been inside. I know that robots evolved here on Penrose.’

‘I think… hey, who are you?’

Calor had rejoined the middle of the party, but there was another Scout with her now. They were both speaking to one of the infantryrobots that trudged along. The new Scout looked at Forban for a moment and then turned and quickly ran off, body flashing in the sunlight as she dodged between the black bodies of the Storm Troopers.

A quarter of an hour later they joined the Northern Road, a grass-grown expanse of broken stone, long stamped down by the tread of many robots.

A squad of forty infantryrobots was waiting for them there. Kavan recognized their leader as Gentian, a woman who had served under him in the past. Forban gave no sign of being either pleased or disappointed at their presence.

At the approach of the escort party, the infantryrobots picked up their rifles and joined the procession, heading south.

Spoole leaned on the stone balustrade, looking out across the vast landscape of Northern Shull spread out below him, and he felt, for just a moment, his power.

All that he could see, he commanded.

Except, of course, he didn’t. Spoole was too much of a realist to think otherwise. It was part of the pattern twisted into his mind, a realization that there was a time to lead and a time to step aside.

The difficulty, of course, was knowing when that time was.

The robots who had built this citadel had not been able to tell. Whoever had built this place must have been way in advance of the other civilizations that inhabited these mountains. Why, they must have been well into the Stone Age whilst the surrounding tribes were still struggling through the Iron Age, and yet, despite that, they were long vanished.

The citadel was an island of rock at the edge of the Northern Mountain range. The builders had taken a mountain just like any of the others around it, and had chipped and hammered and dug and blasted away the surrounding stone, isolating their peak from all the others save for three stone arches leading east, west and south that they left to serve as bridges. But this had only been a prelude to their greatest feat of engineering.

Spoole had heard Kavan’s reports of the reservoirs that lined the mountains of Central Range. He had seen them himself as he had travelled north but he hadn’t appreciated their use until he had visited the citadel. The robots who made this place had used water to carve their home. The water that had been hoarded behind dams was directed down sluices and aqueducts towards this place, carrying rain and snowmelt and channelling it to just the right point, then they had let the water run over hundreds of years, smoothing the pillar that supported the great city until it shone dully in the sunlight, the bands of rock clearly visible, climbing in tilted shelves almost a mile into the sky.

All the while the water was carrying out its work, the robots were busy on the peak of their mountain, carving it flat to give a circle half a mile across. On this they had used dressed and jointed stone to build walls and forges, keeps and houses. The north side they had left for their final glory: a huge window, five stories high, formed of three arches, empty of glass but looking north across the lands of Shull to the Top of the World.

Now the citadel stood as a gateway to the north, and Spoole and his Generals had commandeered it to await the arrival of Kavan. The Supreme Commander of Artemis stood on the roof of Shull, waiting for its most favoured soldier.

Except, of course, that wasn’t quite true either. In any respect.

He heard movement behind him and turned to see General Sandale approaching. For a ridiculous moment, Spoole imagined the General rushing forward and pushing him backwards, sending him tumbling back out of the open window to be smashed on the rocks far below. But, no, General Sandale merely raised a hand in greeting.

‘Forban has Kavan,’ he said.

‘Good,’ replied Spoole. ‘Good.’

General Sandale remained where he was, gazing at Spoole. His body was polished to a shine, a contrast to Spoole’s matt-iron body. It wasn’t that Spoole wasn’t made of the very best materials; it was just that he didn’t advertise it. The leaders of Artemis never had done in the past. When did that thinking change?

Still the General waited.

‘Yes, General Sandale?’

‘Nothing, Spoole.’

The General joined Spoole by the open window. Again, Spoole had the ridiculous idea that the General would push him out. As if the General would stand a chance. Spoole had fought battles in the past. The General was one of the newer leaders, rarely having left the command post, seldom having felt the surge of current as he rushed into battle, suffered the blistering feedback as an awl pierced electromuscle. But then, at least he had fought, unlike some of the other leaders.

‘So, Spoole. We were wondering. What is it you will do with Kavan?’

‘Recognize his achievements, of course.’

‘And stop him attacking you. He would have marched upon Artemis City if you had let him. He would have replaced you as leader.’

‘He would have replaced us all, Sandale.’

‘Perhaps-’

‘Don’t question me, Sandale,’ said Spoole mildly, but there was current there. Enough to make Sandale pause. Suddenly, his shiny, unscratched body seemed so ineffectual compared to the workaday iron of Spoole’s.

‘Perhaps you have work to attend to?’ suggested Spoole, and after a moment, Sandale turned and left to join the other Generals, leaving Spoole alone on the wide balcony. He leaned on the stone balustrade, looking out once more across the vast landscape of Northern Shull.

The central mountain range ran east-west across the continent of Shull, effectively cutting it in two, separating north from south. That was until Kavan had blasted a path through the mountains with atomic bombs. The northern end of that path could be seen to Spoole’s left, a wide cleft in the mountains through which silver railway lines ran, branching across the green plains of Northern Shull before burying themselves in the low rounded hills that rose up to the north. Kavan was out there somewhere, hidden in the twists and turns of those hills, being escorted back here by Forban and his troops.

Standing in this place, it was easy for Spoole to feel invincible, but only a fool felt so. The robots who had built this citadel must have felt the same once, but they were long gone, vanished from this place before even Kavan and his troops had come here.

Spoole didn’t care. He was waiting for Kavan.

Kavan and Calor, Forban and his Storm Troopers, Gentian and her infantryrobots, plus all the various Scouts and other soldiers who had joined their growing band, marched south.

The Northern Road was old and unmaintained, but it had been well built and the troops made good progress over its still mainly smooth surface. The road wove its way through the hills like an animal; only occasionally did it slip and fall. Kavan and the rest of the robots walked through yet another river, the bubbling water cold on their electromuscle, the broken body of the road strung out above them on the hillside. The earth must have shifted over the years, exposing the road’s interior, the paved surface, the gravel beneath it, then the larger stones, then the rocks. All the strata reminded Kavan of the body of a whale he had once seen taken apart, back in Wien.

Still the robots marched on, and the band grew larger as robots drained from the surrounding hills to join the procession.

The countryside was changing. Ahead of them, when they rose to the level of the surrounding moors, the robots could make out the snowy peaks of the central mountain range. The character of the Northern Road changed too, the shape of the stones that paved the surface altering, becoming a little smaller and more rounded. The hills were lower, the valleys wider.

Calor ran up from behind Kavan. Her body was developing a slight squeak, she needed oil and grease. They all did. Still, she wasn’t complaining. Kavan appreciated that.

‘Someone is waiting for us up ahead,’ she said. ‘Someone important.’

‘What is the land like there?’ asked Kavan.

‘Quarries. The valley has been widened as robots have dug into the hills. There are sheer walls standing to the east and west.’

‘A good place for an ambush.’

‘Possibly.’

The road wove between the hills before disgorging the growing band into a wide valley. The walls that surrounded them were old and weathered, the quarry works long since abandoned. A few old tumbledown houses stood by the river on the valley floor next to a broken-down forge. Grass and moss had poured down from the hills, leaping from the sheer planes of the quarry walls, like streams in a waterfall to cover the grey stone of the buildings. Some of the robots escorting Kavan broke off from the main party and went sifting through the piles of discarded stones by the buildings, in a hopeful search for metal to repair themselves with.

Gravel roads ran down the hillsides in all directions, leading from the exhausted quarries that surrounded them.

A company of Storm Troopers were waiting for them up ahead, their black bodies sleek and well built, a contrast to the derelict background. At its head was a robot dressed in iron and bronze, silver and platinum and gold.

‘General Mickael,’ said Forban, and the relief in his voice was obvious. Kavan was no longer his problem.

General Mickael walked forward to meet them, the surrounding troops opening up, leaving Kavan and Forban and the General alone in the centre of a circle of metal.

‘General,’ said Forban. ‘I present to you Kavan. I have escorted him this far. What would you have me do now?’

‘General,’ said Kavan. ‘Have your men fall in and join my army. We march south, on Artemis City.’

General Mickael looked from one robot to the other, his blue eyes glowing. Then he laughed coldly.

‘Your army, Kavan?’ he said. ‘You dare to give me orders? Damn your cheek!’

‘You’re discredited, General,’ said Kavan. ‘I marched across this continent with you and the rest of your kind nowhere to be seen.’ He raised his voice. ‘Now that Shull is conquered you emerge from your city to claim the spoils, walking across the backs and broken metal of the soldiers who fell during the fighting. Soldiers who believed in the cause of Artemis. What did you believe in, hiding back there in the city? Nothing more than cladding yourself in the best metal.’

And he reached out with one hand and scraped a finger across the General’s chest, tearing and smudging the gold filigree. The General recoiled.

‘Silence him!’ he shouted, rubbing at the damage on his own chest. ‘You, remove his voicebox.’

‘His name is Forban,’ said Kavan. ‘I always know the names of the soldiers that I fight alongside. How about you? How many of the soldiers here could you name?’

‘Be quiet, Kavan,’ said Forban urgently. ‘I’m still loyal to Artemis. I don’t want to have to remove your voice.’

‘I don’t think that these soldiers would let you.’

Forban looked around the wall of metal that surrounded them. Red and yellow and green eyes glowed. Silver and grey and black bodies were still for the moment, but the hum of charging electromuscle was rising. Forban shifted slightly.

‘You are still outnumbered, Kavan,’ he said. ‘There are still more Storm Troopers than anyone else. General Mickael’s troops are clean and tuned, not like the rest of us. Listen, Kavan. I bear you no ill will, but times have changed. They mean to make you a hero. Let us take you to Spoole. You will come to no harm.’

He looked at Mickael for confirmation, but the General pretended not to hear any of this.

Kavan spoke quietly. ‘That’s what you don’t understand, Forban. Whether I come to harm or not is of no concern to me. It does not concern a true Artemisian.’

Kavan and Calor, Forban and his Storm Troopers, Gentian and her infantryrobots, General Mickael and his Storm Troopers, all of the Army of Uncertain Allegiance, marched south.

Kavan’s army – or maybe it was General Mickael’s army – was growing as the hills sunk down beneath the land and the peaks of the central mountain range rose up before them.

There were now two thousand soldiers marching south down the Northern Road. They spilled over the verges, black Storm Troopers tramping down the borders, smashing trees, crushing stone. Silver Scouts ran in flashing patterns around them, grey infantryrobots plodded across the land, tearing holes and ruts in the mud and grass, all making their way back towards Spoole and his Generals, come to meet the conquering hero.

They had left the uncharted lands of the far north and were back amongst the signs of Artemisian expansion. Railway lines threaded north, trains could be seen in the distance carrying metal and plate and wire and coal.

Still they marched, and around them new forges were springing up, new buildings and barracks and warehouses, dropped amongst the stone castles and buildings that had been constructed by the former rulers of this land. The robots who worked in the new buildings came out to watch the passing band. Some of them waving and cheering, some merely standing in silence, eyes glowing as the procession marched by.

Kavan found himself marching in the centre of growing space. No one seemed to want to come too close to him. No one but Forban and Calor.

‘No one knows which way this will go,’ said Forban. ‘They want to be on the winning side.’

‘What about you, Forban?’ asked Kavan. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want what’s best for Artemis,’ said the Black Storm Trooper, miserably.

Calor joined them.

‘The land seems to be drained of soldiers,’ she said. ‘All the troops that should be out here have vanished.’

‘Spoole will have ordered them to withdraw,’ said Kavan. ‘He will have them grouped safely around himself.’

He looked up at the mountains ahead. They seemed to fill the sky.

‘Not long now,’ he said.

And so the Army of Uncertain Allegiance left the hills of the north and approached the mountains of the central range, where they saw arrayed against them the armies of Spoole and Artemis City.

Row upon row of black Storm Troopers, thousands upon thousands of grey infantry robots. The high peaks shone with the glimmering array of Scouts. All new and unscratched, freshly minted by the Artemisian forges, and untouched by the glamour of Kavan. These soldiers had not marched with him. They had not fought alongside him, and they bore him no loyalty.

The troops of the Uncertain Army gradually halted, stopping in ones and twos, looking to their companions for a lead. Only Kavan and Calor and Forban continued forward.

‘It’s over, Kavan,’ said Forban.

Kavan continued to walk. Calor and Forban followed hesitantly.

Spoole had chosen a good place to meet the Uncertain Army. They stood on a rocky plain between the hills and the mountains. The only way south was between the arms of the mountains, into the valley that Kavan himself had blasted all those months ago.

‘Enough of this!’

The voice came from behind. General Mickael, who had kept well clear of Kavan since they had met, was coming forward.

‘Why are we hesitating?’ he called, blue eyes flashing. ‘Move out, now.’

Forban and Calor looked at Kavan. All eyes were on Kavan.

‘I said move out!’

Kavan ignored him. He waited a moment, thinking, and then turned to face Spoole’s troops.

‘Soldiers of Artemis,’ he called. He waited, waited for their attention. Then he raised his hand, pointed forward.

‘There is your enemy,’ he said. ‘There, arrayed before you in polished metal.’

He waited for his words to sink in.

‘And so it is time. Take up your weapons, and charge.’

He barely raised his voice, but the words rippled outwards from where he stood. Infantryrobots lifted their rifles. Storm Troopers turned in warning, told them to lower their arms. But not all of them. Scouts began to dance at the perimeter. A wave was set up. Robots pushing this way and that, but with no overall direction.

‘Put down those weapons!’ called General Mickael. ‘Put them down at once.’

Nobody listened. More and more soldiers were raising their arms, pulling out awls, moving this way and that. Storm Troopers voices could be heard, ordering infantryrobots to stand down.

Somewhere there was an electronic cry, and then silence. It took a moment for the ranks to figure out what had happened. An infantryrobot had been cut down by a Storm Trooper. All eyes turned to see the black robot, blue wire twisted around its hand. An electronic growl sounded. A shot rang out. Then another.

‘Put down your weapons! Forban, order them to stop!’ General Mickael was growing angry.

Kavan held out a hand to Forban.

‘Your awl,’ he said.

And just like that, the motion in the Uncertain Army ceased. Kavan could feel them all, looking in his direction. ‘Your awl,’ he repeated.

Forban looked from Kavan to the General.

‘No, Kavan… I can’t…’

‘What’s going on?’ demanded the General. ‘Forban. What are you doing?’

‘For the last time, Forban, give me your awl.’

No one spoke. In the distance, Spoole’s troops were motionless.

‘Kavan, this is not the way. You can’t-’

‘Who would you rather serve, Forban? Him,’ Kavan pointed at General Mickael, slowly backing off, eyes glowing, ‘or Artemis?’ A group of infantryrobots moved forwards to surround him. Storm Troopers looked on, uncertain what to do.

‘Forban, I order you…’

Forban looked from Kavan to the General. Finally, he decided. Quickly, he passed the awl across to Kavan. Kavan looked at the awl for a moment, and even the wind stilled. Then suddenly, so quickly, Kavan dived forward. The General jerked back, held up a hand, but he was no fighter. Kavan feinted, dodged around behind him, got hold of him around the neck and pulled him backwards, off balance. He reached around with the awl and stabbed up beneath the General’s chin, up into the brain. Again and again.

‘Take this, Kavan.’ An infantryrobot was suddenly at his side, handing him a blade with a nick in the end. The General was struggling now. Kavan took the blade and stabbed upwards, catching the twisted metal of the General’s mind in the nick of the blade. He pulled it out, unwinding the blue wire that held the General’s thoughts. The General struggled harder and harder, and then, all of a sudden, he went limp.

Kavan let the body slip to the ground. It fell in a clatter of metal. So much expensive plating was now nothing more than spare parts.

Forban looked on in horror.

‘Okay,’ said Kavan. ‘Now, Forban, sound the attack.’

The standing wave that wobbled up and down the Uncertain Army was resolving itself.

‘The attack,’ said Kavan.

Forban turned towards the troops arranged before them. He raised a hand, pointed forward.

‘Artemisians,’ he said. He collected himself. ‘Artemisians! Attack!’

First one or two soldiers, then a handful, then a trickle, and then a great wave of metal began to pour south, towards Spoole’s waiting troops.

Metal pounded forward, clanking thundering metal.

Kavan’s army charged!

‘The city seems so empty at the moment,’ said Susan. ‘Listen. When was the last time you heard the wind?’

The two women tilted their heads, listening to the breeze as it hissed through the gratings. It blew notes on the drainpipes as it sent thin streamers of ash dancing through the gutters of the street.

‘Isn’t it lovely? To think that this is always here, only drowned out by the hammering and the pounding of feet. To think, there is beauty even here in Artemis City… ’

‘The Generals have all gone north with Spoole,’ said Nettie. ‘They’ve taken their troops with them.’

‘I suppose they all want to be there at the capture of Kavan.’

‘Not at all. Spoole ordered them to go. He didn’t want them left here in the city, plotting against him.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Oh, help me with this, Susan. It’s stuck again.’ There were railings in this part of the city, screwed to the red brick walls that lined the tarmac road, intended to help steady newly made robots, unused to their bodies. Nettie held onto a rail with one hand and bent down to fiddle with her foot. The segmented plates were new and badly fitted, they kept catching on each other. Susan knelt down, and, taking hold of the foot in one hand, she pried at the plate with the other.

‘It’s no use, it’s stuck. Do you have an awl or something?’

‘Why would I have an awl?’ asked Nettie.

Susan cast about for something to use. The trouble with Artemis City was it was just too clean and well kept. Every bit of metal was accounted for, neatly assigned to make walls or electrical wire, girders or fingers, railway lines or minds. Not a twist of swarf, not a lost link of chain was left lying on the floor or brushed up as scrap. In the end she pulled the grey plate from the back of her hand and used it to tap at Nettie’s foot.

‘Will that work?’ said Nettie.

‘It does sometimes,’ said Susan. And with a click, the foot could suddenly move again.

‘Thank you Susan,’ said Nettie, and she looked so sad. ‘I’m really no good at this am I? I’m no good at making things.’

‘You do fine,’ lied Susan, sliding the plate back onto her hand. ‘I was lucky. I was raised where there was plenty of fine metal.’

The answer seemed to cheer her friend up a little.

‘Now come on, where should we go?’

‘Let’s go to the radio masts,’ said Nettie. ‘I like to feel the patterns they make.’

The radio masts lay to the south-west of the city, and the two women cut through the half empty streets of the Centre City. They were both dressed in similar grey bodies, but there was a workmanship to Susan’s that drew admiring looks from the few men that passed down the neat streets. Many approving looks, but no comments, for it was obvious what Susan and Nettie were. They were mothers of Artemis, they were women who worked in the making rooms of Artemis.

Once, Susan had been a free citizen of Turing City, but then Kavan and his troops had marched south in conquest. Now her son was dead, killed by an infantryrobot’s bullet. And her husband was gone, captured on the night of the invasion.

As for Susan, she had been brought here and indoctrinated in Artemisian philosophy. Now, every night, she knelt at the feet of yet another Artemisian soldier and drew forth his wire, twisting it into a mind that embodied Artemisian principles. Another mind bent to see metal as nothing more than metal, nothing more than something bent to the continued expansion of the Artemisian State.

And the Artemisian State kept expanding. The Centre City grew from metal stripped from across the continent. Where the rest of Artemis City was built of brick and prefabricated steel, the Centre City was where the copper ended up. It was where the chromium and nickel was plated on the arches and columns. Not that it remained there for long. It was constantly stripped back and put to more prosaic uses elsewhere. There was no sentiment in Artemis City.

Unlike Turing City. But Turing City was no more. So what did that make Susan? An Artemisian? Certainly she was now held in some respect by the members of that state. She was a mother, a woman who twisted the minds of the future generations. After weeks of imprisonment in the making rooms beneath the city, she had proven her loyalty by her actions every night. Now she was allowed out by day to walk the streets of Artemis City. This she did, and she was welcomed and acknowledged wherever she went.

She felt a traitor to herself. The memory of a conversation she had had back in Turing City was constantly at the edge of her memory. She repressed it.

‘I wonder what the radio masts are saying?’ she asked.

They had come to the far side of the Centre City, and Nettie was looking down a long straight road, lined with the prefabricated steel buildings of the cable walks. One of the masts stood clearly framed at the end of the road, a lattice tower six hundred feet high, guyed by steel cables. Susan could only see the ripples of the electromagnetic spectrum that ran up and down the structure. Nettie, however, could read them. Sometimes.

‘They’re talking about Kavan,’ she said. ‘Kavan, Kavan, Kavan. They’ve found him. And yet, that can’t be right, they also say that he is attacking.’

‘I don’t want to hear about him.’

Nettie was immediately chastened and Susan felt ashamed of her words. She reached out and took hold of her friend’s hand, the only friend she had here in Artemis City.

Possibly the only friend she had in the world. After all, the other mothers of Artemis distrusted her. They had been Turing Citizens too. They remembered Karel, her husband. Many robots back in Turing City had thought him a traitor. Karel had been an immigration officer, he believed in new ideas, welcoming in those whose minds were woven in a different fashion. Many robots were convinced that this had hastened Turing City’s downfall, that their philosophy had been diluted by these strangers.

Karel had been taken from her on the night of the invasion. She had thought he was dead, but just a few weeks earlier, the robot she had been kneeling before in the making rooms had assured her he still lived. The robot would not reveal how he knew, nor why he was telling her. Still, she hoped it was true. Karel and Nettie were all she had left. Nettie, who had never woven a mind in her life, but who was responsible for directing the other women in patterns they should weave. The other women scorned Nettie: in their eyes Susan’s friendship with her was proof that she was a traitor.

And, truth be told, she was. They all were. What had she been asked, when she had first learned of the Book of Robots? When it came down to it, would she be strong enough to twist a mind in the way she knew was right?

The answer, it had turned out, was no. When it had come down to it, when Turing City had been destroyed and she had been brought here, she had bowed down before her captors and subdued her will to theirs. The minds Susan twisted each night were Artemisian minds.

She was a traitor; there was nothing else to say.

The radio masts were set in an expanse of flat ground to the west of the city. Three tall lattice towers cradled by iron cable. A fourth, smaller tower stood some distance from them. Susan and Nettie stood at the perimeter of the radio ground and watched the rippling patterns as they climbed the masts.

‘You know they’re thinking of stepping up production,’ said Nettie, suddenly.

Susan felt her gyros spin a little faster. ‘How?’ she asked.

‘A mind every day as well as every night.’

The news didn’t fill Susan with the horror that she would have imagined. Rather, she felt annoyed at the stupidity of it all.

‘It can’t be done,’ she said simply. ‘We need a rest. A woman needs time to get her thoughts in order after making a mind. If not then she runs the risk of weaving the second mind imperfectly.’

Nettie looked away from her, ashamed.

‘I know that,’ she said. Of course, she didn’t. Nettie had never woven a mind in her life, nor would Artemis ever allow her to. She was too clumsy a craftsrobot.

‘Artemis doesn’t care about imperfect minds,’ Nettie retorted. ‘They have worked out that if two minds are woven every day, around one point six of them will be usable on average. That’s a net gain on the current rate.’

‘So what about the minds that don’t work?’ asked Susan. Nettie didn’t answer. She just stared at the ground. Susan figured it out straight away.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘No. They’ll just recycle the metal, won’t they? Start all over again…’

Radio waves rippled against the empty grey sky. Susan felt as if the little comfort she had gained was radiating away too.

‘Oh Nettie, I hate this place,’ she said. ‘It becomes so comfortable, you almost convince yourself you’re part of it, and then something like this happens and reminds you just how awful it really is.’

‘I know.’

‘I don’t know what I’d do without you here, Nettie. You’re the only friend I have left.’

For a moment, just a moment, a picture of Karel, her husband, appeared in her mind. She suppressed it, it was just too painful.

‘How long?’ she asked. ‘How long can this go on for?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nettie. Shyly, she reached out a hand and sent a soothing wave of current into Susan’s own.

‘Why are they doing it? They’ve conquered the entire continent. What else could they want?’

Nettie looked around. They were two tiny figures dwarfed by the sky and the city behind them, the silver shapes of trains moving across the horizon. Even so, Nettie lowered her voice.

‘Susan, there are rumours. Rumours about the Book of Robots. Have you heard them?’

Susan looked at Nettie.

‘Nettie, I’ve heard nothing. The other women don’t speak to me, the only friend I have in here is you.’

Nettie looked around again.

‘I speak to the other supervisors. There is another who knows of the book. She speaks to me sometimes.’

Nettie leaned closer.

‘They have come, Susan. The writers of the book! The creators of the first robots!’

Susan didn’t know what to feel. She didn’t have belief of the book woven into her mind like some other robots did. Her mother had believed, she had woven Susan to be nothing more than a companion for Karel, her husband. Karel was important in some way, she understood that. His mind was different. Beyond that, she really did not care about the book. If only the others who had spoken to her about it understood that. Nettie was gazing at her, excited.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘Don’t you see what that means? They have come to free us! Surely they won’t allow Artemis to continue as it is?’

‘Why not?’ asked Susan. ‘Maybe Artemis is what they want. How do we know what the creators want?’ If they really exist, she added to herself.

Nettie looked troubled for a moment. Susan pressed home her point.

‘And how do we know they are the creators, Nettie? What are they like?’

At that Nettie looked even more troubled.

‘Oh Susan. I don’t know. There are so many rumours. Messages become garbled and twisted-’

‘What have you heard, Nettie?’

Nettie looked around once more.

‘Animals, Susan. They are animals! They walk like robots, they have two arms and legs and a head, but they are animals! It surely can’t be true!’

‘Animals?’ said Susan, disbelievingly.

‘Yes, they say they…’

Her voice trailed off. Three people were approaching, walking towards them across the bare field of the radio masts. A computer, a young man in a body painted green. He was flanked by two Storm Troopers.

‘Good afternoon ladies,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

There was something unsettling about the two Storm Troopers. Susan knew she shouldn’t feel intimidated by them, but she felt as if she were back in Turing City, coming face to face with the invading forces. Yet what could they do to her? The worst had already happened.

Nettie spoke up.

‘We’re mothers of Artemis,’ she said, primly. ‘We need to walk the city in order that we do our job properly at night.’

One of the Storm Troopers laughed.

‘You keep walking,’ he said, staring at Susan. ‘You could twist my wire any day.’

‘Shut up,’ said the other Storm Trooper to his companion. He turned to Nettie. ‘Why do you need to be here?’

‘I like to watch the patterns of the signals,’ replied Nettie, truthfully.

‘Not any more. This area is off limits. General Sandale’s orders.’

‘But why?’ said Nettie. ‘We’re doing no harm.’

‘That’s irrelevant. Come back here and I will have you both recycled, mothers or not. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Susan.

‘I’ll escort them back,’ said the young man in the pale green body. ‘I need to report to the Centre City.’

‘You do that.’

Susan could feel the two Storm Troopers eyes on her as she and Nettie followed the green robot back into the city.

‘Rusting Storm Troopers,’ said Nettie. ‘I hate them. Those big bodies, and yet their wire is so thin and insipid.’

Susan said nothing in reply. What would Nettie know about twisting wire? And yet she was right. They may have big bodies, but there was something about those Storm Troopers that was strangely weak and ineffectual compared to her husband’s thoughts…

Too late. The image was there now. Karel. Karel in his finely built body, painted by Susan herself. Karel with Axel, both of them telling stories together. Both of them now gone… A soft electronic whine erupted from her voicebox.

She stilled it.

Karel’s anger was like a diesel engine, constantly churning, belching dirty black smoke that left a trail behind him. Most of the time it was there, running in the background, but then something would rev it up and the air was filled with that rattling purr and his vision was obscured by a black cloud of unreason…

For the moment, though, it was under control. Karel worked his way up the valleys and river beds that wound their way back down to the sea. He stuck to cover as he picked his way southwards towards Artemis City. That was where Kavan would be heading, and Kavan was responsible for the death of his child and, in all likelihood, his wife.

This green, windblown land was nearly deserted. Occasionally he would see a soldier in the distance, catch the flash of a Scout as she ran along the hillside, hear a distant shout carried by the wind. At first he had dropped to the ground for cover at any sign of life, more recently he had just continued walking. He was wearing the body of an Artemisian infantryrobot, after all.

But for the most part he was alone. Kavan’s army seemed to be draining from the northern hills, leaving nothing but broken and twisted metal to show for his conquest. The north had been tamed, but at tremendous cost to Kavan himself.

Good, thought Karel. Good!

The stream he was following led to a busy river, flushed with the snowmelt that ran from the surrounding hills. Karel looked at the churning waters and tensed the electromuscles in his weak body, gauging whether or not he should cross. The slope on this side was uneven, giving way to rocky walls that sliced down into the water. The far side was flatter, paved in the rough grass that clung wherever it could in these wild lands.

He decided to try it, and managed to wade halfway across before the current caught him and swept him off his feet. He was sucked below the surface and swept back northwards, his body crashing and scraping on the rocks of the river bed. He snatched for handhold after handhold, eventually managing to find a purchase, hands and feet wedged in the rocky bed. He rested for a moment, looking up through the white swirling patterns of water that streamed around him, seeing the pale glow of daylight above. Then, moving carefully on all fours, he picked his way to the opposite bank and began to climb free of the water.

As he did so, someone grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him clear.

Karel sat for a while on the bank, letting the water drain from his battered body. His electromuscles were shorting with the moisture, he felt weak and uncoordinated. Everything about this land seemed unnatural, the grass that covered the soil, the twisted organic trees that thrust roots into the cracks in the grey rocks, tearing out stones that tumbled into the cold water. And so much water! More than a robot needed.

Still, he had a more pressing concern.

‘Who are you?’ he asked the tall robot who stood silently looking down at him.

‘Banjo Macrodocious.’

‘I should have known.’

Karel had met the robot, or more likely, one of his brothers, before. Banjo Macrodocious. They all had the same name, they were all unnaturally strong. And, despite the fact they were obviously intelligent, they had no sense of self.

‘You shouldn’t stay here,’ Karel warned. ‘Kavan has his troops out hunting for you. He knows that you escaped from the Northern Kingdom before it fell and he wants you all destroyed. Kavan doesn’t believe in the Book of Robots, he thinks it’s nothing more than sedition.’

‘It’s no matter,’ replied Banjo Macrodocious.

‘Why not? I thought the book was important to you! Don’t you carry it in your mind? I thought you all did!’

Banjo Macrodocious was unconcerned.

‘We do. But Kavan and his troops are currently no threat to us, if it can be said that Kavan still commands any troops. The soldiers that once filled our land are marching south. Artemis is undergoing a time of change. Spoole and Kavan and the rest will fight to determine who leads Artemis and what its future direction will be.’

There was an iron-grey lid on this strange land. Karel stared at the dull sky, trying to remember another world, one filled with metal and stone and singing with the current of life.

‘Who leads Artemis has nothing to do with me,’ said Karel.

‘It does. Your wife is in Artemis City.’

Karel felt as if he had been struck by a hammer. For a moment, his head seemed to ring like a bell. Susan was still alive. Happiness and fear mingled within him.

‘Is she okay?’ he asked, his voice almost crackling with joy. Banjo Macrodocious didn’t seem to notice.

‘She is healthy. She works in the making rooms, twisting new minds.’

Now Karel felt his gyros lurch.

‘They’re… raping her,’ he said.

‘Every night.’

He struggled unsteadily to his feet, water still dripping down the grey metal panelling of his body. Mud covered his fingertips.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, wiping his hands on the grass. ‘I need to save her.’

‘Not now. Not like that.’

Weak as he was, Karel bunched his fists, squeezing more water from them as he did so. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’ he asked, anger surging within him.

Banjo Macrodocious moved forward, blocking his way. He was a big robot, humming with power. Karel was well aware that, even were he not in his current, weakened state, the other robot would have no trouble subduing him. Karel lowered his hands, dampened the anger that was telling him to push the big robot out of the way.

‘Why won’t you let me go?’ he asked.

‘I’ve come to take you to someone who may help you. His name is Morphobia Alligator.’

‘Morphobia Alligator? Who is he?’

‘He’s a pilgrim. He has been looking for you.’

Jai-Lyn was young and sheltered, she had never been outside the Silent City before. Now she was torn between the view from the window of the train and the company of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Is it really true that you have travelled all the way from the High Spires to the Silent City, Warrior?’ she asked in awe.

‘Much of the journey takes place on metalled roads, Jai-Lyn, and through the lands of the Emperor. There are few of the robbers and the other dangers of the old tales.’

‘You say few of the robbers! Did you meet any?’ ‘Some. When they realized who I was they did not attack.’ ‘I suppose you made them hand their ill-gotten gains back to the peasants. Am I not right, oh my master?’

‘It is true that the peasants benefitted from my passage.’ The robbers he had met were poorer than the peasants upon which they preyed, reflected Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He had dispatched the unfortunates with a blow of his sword, cutting cleanly through the metal of their minds, then he had dragged the metal of their bodies to the closest forge, where it was recycled to the benefit of the people, and through them, their Emperor.

‘And what about monsters? Did you meet the Nightwalker?’ ‘There are few monsters in the Empire, Jai-Lyn,’ he laughed. ‘But I saw many marvels. The metal forests of La Wen, where acid is poured into the ground and left to evaporate, and the metal that is washed from the salts blooms as trees under the soil, to be excavated by farmers over the centuries. I saw the great animal farms of Mel-Ka, where the organic cattle roam over grassland and come to slaughter when called. I crossed the four rivers of Fla. I fought there, it’s true, cutting myself free of the squid that reach for metal from the water-’

‘Surely you are the best of all warriors!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do smiled at the way Jai-Lyn’s eyes glowed as he spoke.

‘The Imperial Guard would think otherwise.’

Jai-Lyn reminded Wa-Ka-Mo-Do of his younger sister, La-Cor. Bright and skilled in the working of metal. His sister had built a body that caused Wa-Ka-Mo-Do to walk with one hand near his sword when the young men came calling; her conversation had the same eager questioning, always seeking out new knowledge and experience. So similar. At one point Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had traced the symbol of the Book of Robots: a small circle on the circumference of a larger one, but Jai-Lyn did not seem to notice.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do realized he had been careless in almost revealing himself like that, but she was so like La-Cor…

Sweetest of all was the way that both of them seemed to regard Wa-Ka-Mo-Do as the most skilled of warriors. Jai-Lyn would not be dissuaded from this point of view, and she spoke most prettily in his favour.

‘But, oh my master, it is true that the Imperial Guard have the best metal, the best training. Who can deny that? Surely it would be treason to suggest that the Emperor would do otherwise than ensure the best of all is made available for his own soldiers. Without doubt, their bodies are shaped from the purest iron and aluminium by the most expert craftsrobots!’

She lowered her face most delightfully.

‘But what of their minds?’ she asked. ‘I am sure they have not your experience, warrior! They would not have stood in the snow of the High Spires and looked north across the Empire! They would not have learned to fight in those cold and sparse lands. Robots who spend their life in the Silent City would not have been tempered by their journey from the south!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do laughed delightedly.

‘I am sure, Jai-Lyn, that you will be a huge success in the city of Ka! If you twist a man’s wire as surely as you build his ego, you will produce minds at which robots may wonder!’

Her eyes glowed brightly.

‘I only speak the truth, my master. The robots of the Imperial Guard are not like you! Nor have they been granted such a high command. The city and province of Sangrel!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do smiled back at her, but he felt uneasy. Commander of the forces of Sangrel was indeed a high honour. It was almost unknown for the Emperor to place one of the Eleven in charge, and not for the first time he wondered whether some deeper scheme was at work here. His thoughts wandered to the sudden evacuation of the train back at the station. It was unheard of for the Emperor’s railway to be so disrupted, for such an event implied a lack of planning on behalf of the Emperor: it implied an unseen event, and this was impossible in Yukawa, for did not the Emperor see all?

It had taken Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a good day to find another train to take him on his way, a task made doubly difficult by his insistence that Jai-Lyn be allowed to accompany him. In all this time he had found no one who could tell him what had happened in Ell. He suspected that this was not due to robots withholding information: genuinely, no one knew. And yet Ell was not so far from Sangrel. Barely a hundred miles

‘Look, warrior!’

Jai-Lyn interrupted his thoughts. She was pointing out of the window.

‘Jai-Lyn, perhaps if…’ but his words trailed away.

For most of the morning the train had travelled through the green forests of An-Dara Province, and Jai-Lyn had gazed at long lines of trees, carefully farmed to feed the forges of nearby Ban City. But now they had left the trees behind. They were gliding through the grass plains of northern Sangrel Province.

A robot could see for miles here, look across plains that fed the thin cattle and sheep, bred by Yukawan robots throughout the centuries to remove as much of the muscle as possible to leave the skin and bone that were so useful to industry. Oily crops flowered in the distance, bright yellow marks against the horizon, punctuated by the glint of sunlight on the metal skins of robots tending the fields.

But something disturbed the harmony. The earth had been churned up to leave great brown scars in the ground.

‘What is it?’ asked Jai-Lyn. ‘What’s happened there?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

They gazed from the compartment in silence, two robots in a little place of metal and wood looking out on a world seemingly destroyed. The carefully harmony of fields and cattle and trees, cultivated over hundreds of years of Empire, had been ruined. It was like a robot had wiped his hand across a picture on a sheet of metal, erasing it. The brown churned earth seemingly stretched for miles.

‘It’s like when a farmer plants crops,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do slowly. ‘Only much, much bigger.’

‘I have never seen a farmer plant crops,’ said Jai-Lyn.

‘I grew bonsai trees, back in Ekrano,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, engrossed by the scene before him. The excavation was so large. What possible use could it be? And then he saw something else.

‘Do you see it too?’ asked Jai-Lyn.

‘Yes,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, staring at the yellow machine that worked its way across the grassy plain in the distance. The machine was so big, and so smooth. So much metal, it seemed to have been poured in one piece. Behind the machine stretched a brown ribbon of churned earth.

‘That’s what’s causing those marks,’ said Jai-Lyn. ‘But I have never seen a machine like it. What robot could have built that?’

‘I don’t think it’s robot-built,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He caught a movement high up in the sky. He and Jai-Lyn looked up at the silver shape that drew a line of condensation through the heavens.

‘I think the animals have done this.’

Karel

Karel followed Banjo Macrodocious through the hills. His metal squeaked as he strode after the other robot: it had been too long since he had had time to tend to it, but of his mental turmoil, there was no sign.

‘What’s a pilgrim?’ he asked carefully.

‘The opposite of my kind. Morphobia Alligator will explain everything to you.’

Karel didn’t press the point. If Banjo Macrodocious had been told to say nothing, then he would say nothing. Still, he was distracted by other thoughts. Susan was alive! Somewhere to the south, his wife knelt in Artemis City to twist the wire of other men. He should be heading there right now, yet Banjo Macrodocious was leading him west. He caught glimpses of the Northern Sea to his right as they traversed the rough green hills, cutting across this foreign land of grass and stone. A grey beetle watched him as he walked by, metal shell warming in the sun, then he felt a boiling of electricity at his feet and looked down to see he had kicked an ants’ nest, the little creatures swarmed around his feet, scraping nicks of metal from his soles. He leaped forward, stamping his feet hard.

Banjo Macrodocious watched him.

‘Insects everywhere,’ said Karel. ‘We must be getting near to ore.’ He paused, tasting his surroundings. ‘I can feel it in the ground. Very faint.’

‘We are heading towards Presper Boole,’ Banjo Macrodocious volunteered. ‘Its prosperity was built on metal ore and trade.’

‘I’ve never heard of it,’ replied Karel.

‘That was a long time ago, when many robots still travelled the Northern Road to the paths beneath the sea. There was much trade between Shull and the robots at the Top of the World.’

‘You believe in the robots at the Top of the World?’ asked Karel. He smiled. ‘I suppose you do. You believe in the Book of Robots after all.’

‘I don’t believe,’ said Banjo Macrodocious. ‘I know it to be true.’

Of course he did, thought Karel, it was woven into his mind. Banjo Macrodocious really would think that he had part of the plan for the original robots there in his head, he really would believe that he knew a little about how robots should behave.

And yet, who was he to feel anything but envy? At the moment, Karel was certain of nothing more than the fact he wanted his wife back.

‘How much further?’ he asked, as they crested the top of another low hill.

‘Nearly there,’ answered Banjo Macrodocious, and they both looked down.

The land fell into a wide sea inlet fed by a river that flowed from the south, the waters churning against the incoming tide. Across the way Karel saw more land, rocky cliffs and edges dressed in green grass. He felt caught between the elements, exposed to the choices of the world. Which way now? North beneath the vast expanse of the Moonshadow sea, down the river to the south, or follow the coast to where it took him? Then, further down the hillside, he saw the ancient remains of a town. Grey stone buildings, long broken by the elements. All the metal stripped away.

‘That was Presper Boole,’ said Banjo Macrodocious. ‘Across the way you can see Blaize.’

Karel looked across the water and saw the other town. It looked much bigger than Presper Boole, and better constructed. The buildings rose higher, they were squarer and topped by spires and towers that gleamed white even under the dull skies.

‘Blaize must have been quite impressive in its day,’ he ventured.

‘Both cities were,’ said Banjo Macrodocious. ‘I have the memory of them woven into my mind. They were built of the riches that flowed down from the Top of the World.’

Seeing the spectacular remains of the two cities there, Karel almost believed it was true. That there really were robots at the Top of the World.

‘Greetings, Karel.’

The voice came from somewhere to his side. Karel turned to gaze at the strangest robot he had ever seen. Everything about it was different. The proportions of its body were all wrong: its arms far too long and jointless, they waved and rippled like snakes. Its head was the shape of a droplet of water turned upside down, rounded at the top and then curving inwards and downwards to meet at a sharp point well below its neck. It had two large black hemispheres for eyes, set wide apart, so that Karel gained the impression it could see behind as well as in front. It had a fat body, like a light bulb, bulging at the top and pinched in where the short legs joined on. It didn’t have feet as such, instead four rods curved out from its ankles like blunt claws. They pierced the grass as it walked towards Karel, making him feel deeply uneasy. He quelled the feeling.

‘Greetings,’ replied Karel. ‘You must be Morphobia Alligator.’

Morphobia Alligator bowed in a complicated movement that made Karel’s gyros wobble. The other robot seemed to have joints in all the wrong places.

‘You are Karel, yes, yes? Formerly of Turing City, now stateless since the fall of the Northern Kingdom.’

‘Were you there?’ asked Karel.

‘No, no. But Banjo Macrodocious was. All of them were. When that place was on the brink of collapse, they were sent out to find safer lands so that the knowledge they held in their minds would be preserved. Some of them found me. Strange how old enemies work together in these times.’

‘Banjo Macrodocious is your enemy? You don’t believe in the Book of Robots?’

‘Oh, we believe what it says is the truth. Oh yes, yes! But that misses the point.’ His eyes brightened, and Karel sensed he was amused. ‘Anyway, I was told that you were nearby. I asked them to bring you to see me.’

Karel was confused. The robot’s words made little sense. Even its voice sounded wrong, like it was being modulated in a different way. And then Karel noticed the strangest thing about the robot.

‘Your body. That metal, what is it?’

‘Aluminium,’ said Morphobia Alligator.

‘The mythical element?’

‘Obviously not a myth.’

‘Where are you from?’ Karel looked aghast as realization dawned. ‘You’re from the Top of the World!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do

They glided on in silence, gazing from the windows. The vast patches of churned brown earth had given way to something even more disturbing.

‘Warrior, I have never left the Silent City before. Surely these plants are not natural?’

‘They are not,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Not natural to Pen-rose, anyway.’

The plants were tall as robots, straight green stalks swelling to a cylindrical bulge at the top. They were planted in staggered rows that allowed long views along the green lines as the train rolled past. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had never seen anything so alien.

‘Do you think that the Emperor is aware of what the animals are doing in his kingdom?’ murmured Jai-Lyn in a voice that hummed with static.

‘Be quiet, Jai-Lyn,’ warned Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, glancing around the otherwise empty compartment. ‘I am sure the Emperor is aware of all that happens in Yukawa.’

‘Then how could he permit this? Those plants should not be here! They look so wrong!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed again at the long rows of green stalks. Some of the bulging tops had peeled back to reveal the yellow segmented fruit that lay inside.

‘The rumours are true…’ said Jai-Lyn, softly.

‘What rumours?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

Jai-Lyn lowered her eyes, well aware she had said too much.

‘Jai-Lyn. What are the rumours?’

‘Oh my master! I should not have spoken.’

‘But you have. Tell me, Jai-Lyn, what have you heard?’

Green speckled with yellow flickered by the window. Jai-Lyn stared at his feet as she spoke.

‘Oh my master, back in the Silent City, some of the women would service the Emperor’s messengers. Robots who had been the length and breadth of the Empire. They would remove their plating for polishing, they would dip their electromuscle in fine oil and reweave it, they would listen for the singing of the current in the wire, all to ensure the smooth running of the messengers. And sometimes, as they did this, the messengers would speak of what they had seen on their travels.’

‘What did they say?’

‘What we have seen, warrior. The messengers who had been to the south spoke of whole swathes of land given over to the animals that they might grow crops for themselves.’

‘Well, it is true. We can see that for ourselves!’

Jai-Lyn wore only cheap metal, and yet she moved with an elegant grace. Even looking at the floor, her hands pressed together so nervously, she looked so pretty.

‘There was worse, my master,’ continued Jai-Lyn, miserably. ‘For what is land to a robot but a luxury? Crops and cattle help one to live a more comfortable life, but they are not essential.’ She looked around again, to see if anyone was listening. ‘I…’

‘Go on, Jai-Lyn,’ urged Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘I… Oh, my master, it cannot be true, but I also heard it rumoured that the animals were to be given mining rights. That the Emperor had granted them leave to take coal and ore from his mines. Oh, I am sorry.’

She lowered her head now so that it touched her chest. Silence descended, underscored by the sound of the wheels on the track.

‘Be very careful that you do not speak these words outside this carriage, Jai-Lyn,’ warned Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘They are highest treason. The Emperor would never allow what you say to be.’

‘I know it is true, but that is what I heard, warrior. And it troubled me, for I also heard that the animals had no use for the robots who worked in the mines.’

‘No use for them?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. But he knew what she meant. He had seen the silver machines in the fields. If the animals could make a machine that would plant and tend crops, then surely they could make one that would mine for ore.

‘No use, my master. The robots of the mines were cast out to walk the land, with access to neither fire nor forge until their bodies fell apart and they were left broken and unmoving.’

‘Be silent, Jai-Lyn!’ He hadn’t meant to shout, but he was rattled by her words. He already nursed doubts about this command; this news only unsettled him further.

Jai-Lyn had fallen to her hands and knees, her face close to the floor.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do centred himself. ‘Be silent,’ he repeated, though more softly. ‘Such things cannot be true. The Emperor is just and wise. He would never countenance such actions.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had met the Emperor, and had seen him to be neither wise nor just. Surely, though, he would not contemplate this? To give metal to animals?

‘Warrior?’ said Jai-Lyn, face still turned to the ground. ‘I’m sorry.’

Look at me, thought Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. One of the Eleven, taking out his anger on a young unarmed woman. What would those robots of the Imperial Guard think if they were to see me now? They were right. I am uncultured.

‘Jai-Lyn. Please get up. I’m sorry I shouted. Here.’

He bent down and held out his hand, helped her to her feet. He smiled in apology.

‘Jai-Lyn, will you forgive me?’

‘I have nothing to forgive you for, warrior. I shouldn’t have spoken as I did.’

‘No. The fault is mine. I commanded you to speak. Please, forgive me.’

She looked at him hesitantly; more than ever she reminded him of La-Cor, his sister.

‘I forgive you,’ she said. ‘Warrior, may I ask you a question?’

‘Of course you may.’

‘Warrior. You are to command the warriors of Sangrel, are you not?’

‘I am.’

And that feeling of unease returned to Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. Just why was he being sent to command the city?

‘Warrior, if you saw injustice in Sangrel, you would address it, would you not?’

‘Of course I would,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He felt more confident now. This he was sure of.

‘Then I am pleased,’ replied Jai-Lyn. ‘For I know that I can trust you. Look, we are approaching Sangrel…’

She pointed out of the window. Over the high heads of the crops, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw the hilltop town of Sangrel. Old stone and iron buildings clustered within walls that gathered the town to safety at the top of the steep slopes and cliffs of Sangrel Mound. The town commanded a view for miles around, and in turn it commanded respect of those who looked up at it.

‘It has been a pleasure to travel with you, warrior.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked down at the young robot, at her cheap but beautiful body, and worried at how she would fare in the city of Ka with its predominantly male population. All those whalers with their thick metal bodies, all that current surging within them, looking for release…

‘It has been a pleasure to travel with you too, Jai-Lyn,’ he said, and he took her hand. ‘Remember, you have a friend in Sangrel. If you ever find yourself in need whilst in Ka, just mention that you know the commander of Sangrel.’ He gripped her hand all the tighter as he spoke.

‘No one would ever believe me,’ laughed Jai-Lyn, gently disengaging her hand. ‘And besides, your duty will lie elsewhere.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘But, for friendship’s sake, if nothing else, if there is ever a need, you will promise to send me a message?’

He felt the surge of electricity in her hand.

‘Friendship? Oh my master, thank you!’

‘Then you promise?’

‘I promise.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt a little happier.

‘Then I vow that I will do what I can to aid you.’

‘Don’t make such a vow, warrior!’

‘It is done.’

She gazed at him, golden eyes shining.

‘Thank you,’ said Jai-Lyn. ‘Thank you, my master.’

The note of the engine changed. The train was decelerating, magnetic motors slowing it rapidly to a halt.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was approaching his command.

Karel

Morphobia Alligator might have been smiling at Karel, but Karel couldn’t tell. If Morphobia Alligator did have a mouth, it was hidden behind the long tapering point that extended down from his head like an elongated chin.

‘You think I’m from the Top of the World?’ he was saying, and there was something about the timbre of his voice that wasn’t quite normal. ‘Yes, yes, that is right. You would think that, of course. You see the aluminium in my body and so you naturally assume that’s where I would come from.’ He held his arms wide as he spoke, each of them twice as long as he was tall. He shook them, sending a sine wave sinuating to each hand and back again to his body. ‘No, No. I’m not from the Top of the World.’

‘Then where did you find aluminium?’ asked Karel. ‘There is no such metal anywhere else in the whole of Shull!’

‘Karel, Karel! Shull is riddled with it! Yes, Yes! I noted limestone hills to the south of here that are doubtless full of aluminium, but the quantities therein will be too diffuse to be mined! The same is true of the lands around your former home. What they lack, though, is this hot, wet climate that will lead to the chemical weathering, which concentrates the metal as stone erodes. The central coast of Yukawa is rich in aluminium! It has such a climate! Yes, Yes!’

‘Yukawa? I’ve never heard of it.’

‘Yukawa is probably the most advanced state on Penrose,’ said Morphobia Alligator. ‘They have certainly heard of Shull, yes, yes!’

‘Are you from Yukawa then? Do all the robots in Yukawa look like you?’

‘No, No! I’m not from Yukawa, Karel. No land can lay claim to a pilgrim.’

Karel felt the familiar anger rising within him.

‘Don’t play games with me, pilgrim. I have just learned that my wife is a prisoner, way south of here in Artemis City. Why am I wasting my time with you?’

Morphobia Alligator shook his arms again in that sine wave pattern. Karel wondered if he was being laughed at.

‘Why are you here, Karel? Why are you here? Because if you’re left to your own devices you will rush towards Artemis City in such a great temper and you will probably get yourself killed or captured in the process. Yes, yes! It’s true, isn’t it, yes, yes? I’m right!’

Karel calmed himself. Morphobia Alligator was speaking the truth, and they both knew it. A long arm snaked around his shoulder and gently turned him.

‘Come, look out over this seascape with me, Karel. Though you do not have the mental capacity, the senses, the learning to enjoy it as I do, you may still gain some small measure of peace as we speak.’

‘I don’t want to gaze at the scenery, I want to see my wife.’

‘But which way would you go, Karel? South, straight into Kavan’s arms, or west to Presper Boole and the Northern Road? Or maybe north, to where the past lies?’

Karel pushed the arm from his shoulder. He looked out across the grey waters.

‘I don’t know, Morphobia Alligator. You tell me, which way should I go?’

‘Ah! A pilgrim would not presume to tell you what to do, Karel. No, no! Your mind is a special thing; it is free to make its own decisions. Not many robots on this planet could say the same.’

‘So I’ve heard. I have free will, and what difference has that made to me? My child is dead and my wife a prisoner. I was captured by Artemis and forced up here to the top of Shull, where I watched as two armies destroyed each other, and then I was abandoned to my own devices. Believe me, my life these past few months has not been of my choosing. Free will has made precious little difference to my circumstances, Morphobia Alligator. Dare you say any different?’

He gazed at the other robot in challenge, noted the odd glow to his eyes. Was there any part of Morphobia Alligator that was normal? The other robot answered in that strange voice.

‘Dare I say any different? Long ago we won a battle and lost a war over robots like you. But Penrose is changing. For centuries the robots on this planet have woven the minds of their children to believe definite things and to possess definite skills. Some patterns of mind were more appropriate to the world than others, and those robots and their descendants prospered, so that now this world is a suitable place for robots with certain mindsets to live.’

What Morphobia Alligator said was true. Karel thought of Artemis, and how their state of mind had enabled the conquest of Shull.

‘But all of that is changing,’ continued the other robot. ‘A new species has arrived on Penrose. Animals! They stand like robots, they walk and think and talk like robots, but they are animals!’

‘Animals?’ said Karel, disbelievingly.

‘Yes, yes! Animals! I speak the truth, Karel. Animals! They have not yet visited Shull, but they will. They are clever, these creatures. They build ships to bring them here, ships that carry them across the stars from their own planet, many, many miles away. They use materials that we have never seen, plastics and alloys manufactured by processes we cannot begin to guess at! These animals are rich in knowledge and learning and metal. They have strong machinery that rips apart the land and rocks without effort, they have delicate devices that can change the passage of a breeze, machines so large you could build a city inside them, and devices so small you could hold one in your hand, balance it on a finger tip; devices so fast they fly across this land in minutes-’

‘What are they doing here?’ interrupted Karel. A sudden suspicion seized him. ‘If they exist at all, of course.’

‘Oh, they exist, Karel. Yes, yes they exist! You will see them soon. As to why they are here, well, they have come to trade, or so they say. The Emperor of Yukawa has granted them land to grow their crops, given them mines so that they may own metal-’

‘Crops?’ asked Karel.

Morphobia Alligator tilted his head, and then his eyes glowed with understanding.

‘Of course, you’re from Turing City! You don’t know that the robots of Yukawa have not sterilized their land like the robots of southern Shull. You don’t realize that in Yukawa they still plant crops and farm animals, harvesting the oil and skin and bone that they produce! Yes, yes? And so the animals, presumably seeing these crops and farms as they approached Penrose from space, have landed in Yukawa and have begun trade with the robots there. They take metal and work it to make wondrous devices that they give as presents to the Emperor in order to flatter him. The animals are skilled in agriculture – a Tokvah word relating to the growing of crops, Karel, and they are teaching the Emperor this lore.’

Karel looked around at the shiny grass, blown in patterns of light green and dark green by the fresh sea breeze. He found the sight vaguely unpleasant. Now he imagined the whole of the continent covered in the same vegetation, farmed by the animals. The thought made his gyros spin. It was obscene!

‘But what has all this to do with me?’ he asked.

Morphobia Alligator turned his head towards the silver sea, a strange movement given his odd body.

‘What has this to do with you Karel? Everything or nothing! Who knows which it will be? You are unusual, Karel, in these times. Not unique, understand, there are other robots with minds such as yours. But not many. You are unusual. Yes, Yes!’

‘So I’m unusual. So what?’

‘Think of this. Suppose the animals had come to Shull forty years ago, how would the robots have responded?’

Karel gazed at the robot, hurt to be asked such questions. They reminded him of his past.

‘I’ll tell you,’ said Morphobia Alligator, not seeming to notice his silence. ‘The robots of Stark would have studied their technology so that they could become stronger, the robots of Wien would have traded coal and their own serfs and slaves with the animals in order to gain more power, and the robots of Bethe would have observed them and waited to see what they did next. And as for the robots of Turing City-’

‘We would have spoken to them. We would have tried to understand who they were and what they were.’ Karel spoke softly. That had been his job. He used to negotiate with outsiders. To think that he might have been summoned to speak with the animals, back when Turing City was at its height. What an opportunity that would have been!

‘But that was then,’ said Morphobia Alligator. ‘What about now? What will happen now, when the animals come to Shull?’

‘Artemis will attack them, they will try and defeat them.’

‘Is that the right course to take, Karel?’

‘Of course not! There is a time for fighting, but one should always speak first!’

‘Yes, yes, but of course you would say that, Karel! That is what Turing City robots do! That is the way you were made. But you will be made that way no longer, because all the minds that will be twisted on Shull from now are to be twisted in the fashion of Artemis.’

Karel nodded. He understood what Morphobia Alligator was saying now.

‘So Artemis will fight the animals. Well, that may not be a bad thing.’

‘It may not be. But the animals are very clever. They are very powerful. What if they defeat us all? What if they melt down all the metal life on this planet and place organic life in its place?’

‘Zuse, yes,’ said Karel. His gyros were churning. ‘But what difference does it make now? Artemis is strong. If the animals had come forty years ago.’

‘Yes, yes. If they had come forty years ago. What then, though? How do we know that Stark or Bethe or Turing City or any of the other states would have had the right mindset to deal with the animals?’

‘How am I supposed to know that?’

‘How indeed, Karel? How could a robot with a mind such as yours possibly be expected to understand that? Now, I on the other hand.. .’

Morphobia Alligator let the sentence trail away.

‘Who are you?’ asked Karel.

‘I am a pilgrim. I am a mule. I am only one hundred years old, yet I was one of the first robots to walk on Penrose. I was there when the truth of the Book of Robots was first understood and yet my mind was not yet twisted.’

‘Spare me the riddles, Morphobia Alligator. You know I have a temper.’

‘I know you’re not a fool, either, Karel. You’ve been to the reliquary on the northern coast of Shull. You’ve seen what is in there; you’ve seen the mind patterns engraved around the outside of the building. You should realize that there are more types of robot that walk on Penrose than those like yourself. You have met some of the others. Robots like Banjo Macrodocious, who once fought the pilgrims. Robots like myself. Maybe we are not so plentiful as your own species who have spread their offspring across this planet, but we all have our place on this world.’

Karel looked again across the waters to the town of Blaize. He had spent nearly all of his life in Turing City. He had thought of himself as educated and urbane, he was increasingly aware of how wrong that impression was. He felt as out of touch and provincial in the eyes of this robot as the robots of Artemis had once seemed to himself.

‘So I ask you again, Morphobia Alligator. What do you want with me?’

‘I want nothing with you personally, Karel. But at times like this, pilgrims have always paid special attention to robots such as you. Robots whose minds weren’t made up for them by their parents.’

‘Why? Am I so special?’

‘I don’t know, Karel. Most of you die young, you know. But, just occasionally, one of you has a thought so original it can change the path of life of Penrose. Nicolas the Coward was one such robot.’

‘Are you saying I am a coward?’

‘You know that I’m not. Nicolas the Coward realized that the mind was more important than metal.’

‘That’s not how the story goes.’

‘Stories have a way of changing as they are twisted into new minds. Stories change with each telling, slowly evolving into new stories. Perhaps some day there will be a story about Karel and Kavan?’

Karel gazed at the pilgrim, suspiciously.

‘So you are saying that I’m special?’

‘Who knows, Karel? No one ever knows until afterwards. In all probability, the chances are that you are not such a robot. There are around two hundred of you that we know of on Penrose at the moment, and most, if not all of you will die young and unfulfilled.’

‘I had a sister,’ said Karel. ‘She was just like me.’

‘I know. Eleanor.’

‘Kavan killed her.’

‘Robots such as yourself usually die young, Karel. I told you that.’

‘All I want to do is free my wife.’

‘Just maybe, I can help you do that.’

‘Then why are we wasting time here? Let’s go!’

‘No, no. You don’t understand, Karel. I am not going anywhere. I have seen you and spoken to you, and I have played my part. All that remains for me to do is to give you some advice, give you a direction in which to travel. Not south, Karel. At least, not at first. Climb down this hillside to the waters edge, and there find the heaviest rock that you can carry. Pick up that rock and then follow the road beneath the water to Blaize.’

‘Why take a rock?’

‘The currents in the inlet are strong. They can sweep a fully grown robot out to sea.’

Karel looked across the grey water to the distant town.

‘What do I do when I reach Blaize?’

‘There is another robot waiting there. He is a soldier, or at least he was once. He might be able to help you. And you him. He needs to redeem himself.’

‘Redeem himself? From what?’

‘Perhaps he will tell you himself.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I will continue on my way…’

At that Morphobia Alligator was silent.

Karel looked once more across the grey choppy waters. The clouds were dispersing a little, allowing sunlight through in red bands. It cast a red glow over the far-away town, giving it an alien air.

‘Will I see you again?’

‘Perhaps.’

There was nothing else to say. Karel had already made up his mind; he wanted to be on his way, off to rescue his wife. He quickly descended the slippery green hillside, skirting the grey ruins of Presper Boole. The town had an eerie, dead aspect, empty of all iron. Childhood stories of northern ghosts arose in Karel’s mind.

Down at the water’s edge he found a wide, paved road that led down beneath the waves, and he wondered once more at the robots that had once inhabited this land, wondered at the journeys they had formerly made between the two towns. He found a large stone by the road, remnants of a collapsed column. He picked it up and made his way into the water, his electromuscles aching with the cold once more.

Just before he vanished beneath the waves, he turned and looked back up at Morphobia Alligator, still standing there on the hillside, arms waving in sine waves.

Karel hoisted the stone and followed the road under the water.

The road to Blaize was old and mostly overgrown with slippery weed, yet the path down the centre was a little clearer, suggesting that a few robots still travelled this way. Karel turned his eyes right up, and strode determinedly on, his field of vision extending only a few feet before being lost in the gloom of the surrounding water. Faint streamers of light rippled in the ceiling somewhere above his head. The currents in the water swirled around him, tugging him this way and that; his feet skidded on the writhing weed.

Still, he walked on, feeling the path descend as he approached the centre of the wide inlet, wondering all the time at Morphobia Alligator. Was he wasting his time coming this way? He didn’t know. Morphobia Alligator was right, if he had been left to his own devices, he would have blindly walked south until he had been killed or captured by the Artemisians. On and on he walked, the ache in his electromuscle increasing all the time.

Eventually the road ceased its descent and began to climb upwards. Karel had passed the halfway point, he guessed. Just as he began his struggle up the far side of the inlet, the road split in two. One fork bent to the right, heading north, and for a moment Karel hesitated. Did that path lead to the Top of the World? For just a moment, he was tempted to follow it but the image of Susan appeared in his mind and he resumed his climb.

He reached the far side as the sun was setting. Across the inlet, Presper Boole was lost in shadow. Behind the hills upon which it stood, the low sun had set the sky seemingly on fire. Karel realized he was still holding onto the rock, and he let it fall into the sea, water splashing up over his knees, water draining once again from his grey infantryrobot’s body. Not for the first time, he noted that though the Artmesian robotics might not be as sophisticated as those of Turing City, they could take a lot more punishment.

Now that he had reached Blaize he had his first inkling of how enormous the place was. The city was comparable in magnitude maybe even to his former home of Turing City. Morphobia Alligator had said he was to meet someone here: a soldier. That could take some doing in a place of this size.

Just as he was thinking this he saw, lit up in scarlet sunlight, the metal shell of another robot. It was sitting near the top of the road, just where it ran up through the remains of a wide arch into the city proper.

Karel raised a hand, and slowly, the other robot returned his gesture. As Karel made his way to towards it, he realized that there was something odd about the other person. His body seemed half melted. The joints and seams of his panelling looked as if they were soldered together. Karel felt the current drain from his electromuscles. The thought of having his mind placed in that body made him feel fuzzy with static. It would be like being trapped in a prison.

The other robot got up with some difficulty. Stiffly, it made its way towards Karel.

‘Hello,’ said Karel. ‘My name is Karel. I have been told that you could help me.’

‘I help you?’ said the other robot. ‘I don’t think so. I can’t even help myself. Tell me, do you know who I am?’

The Uncertain Army charged, and a storm of metal arose upon the face of Shull. Metal pumping and flexing, pistoning and scraping, stretching and bending across the earth, metal tearing into the ground, thudding deep into the soil, metal rising up into the air in a swarm… The swipe of blades, the crash of cannon-balls, the spung and ricochet of bullets, the whirling of saw-edged discs, flares of wire, rains of chaff, explosions of shrapnel, swarf springing up all around…

Through it all danced the energy of electricity, jumping in blue sparks, crackling down arms and legs, earthing itself on blades, shorting out between electromuscles, singing in the mind…

The noise of explosions, crackling orange and yellow flames, burning phosphorus, the clash of metal, the squeal of drills slipping across plate, the scrape of knives, the thud of lead on iron… The atmosphere was squeezed and sucked this way and that by explosions, smoke and iron filings pushed through panelling in great gasps that sent the gyros shuddering, eyesight and hearing baffled by the flash and crash and roar…

And amongst it all, the Uncertain Army stumbled forward, retreated back, reeled sideways, was pushed and knocked and tumbled over itself, the whole force swaying this way and that, but all the time slowly advancing on the Artemisian army.

Spoole had positioned his troops well; he had given his cannon clear lines of sight at Kavan’s approaching army. They fired round shot and chain shot, canister and shrapnel, shell and carcass and magnetic bolas: pairs of magnetized balls that orbited each other as they flew, whipping and crashing their way through the approaching ranks. File after file of robots were smashed down, bodies crushed, electromuscle torn, blue wire tangling across their comrades, and still the Uncertain Army came on.

Seen from above, the fighting didn’t just occur at the boundary between the forces: it boiled all the way through the troops. The robots of the Uncertain Army fought amongst themselves, they fought to get away from the charge, they fought to be at the front of it, they fought just to keep their feet. Kavan moved in the eye of the hurricane, surrounded by grey-bodied infantryrobots who marched with cold determination, but also with an air of homecoming: they had marched for Kavan before, they were marching for him again. Iron-tipped bullets rained down from above, they rattled off their grey shells. They were fired by the robots that lined the distant mountain peaks, their killing energy spent by the time it reached them.

‘Onwards,’ called Kavan. ‘Onwards! Aim for the centre!’

The Uncertain Army was getting less spread out: they were being funnelled between the low hills that led to the pass Kavan had once blasted through the centre of the mountain range. Now that passage was being choked with railway lines. He guessed that somewhere safely beyond Spoole’s troops would be marshalled the trains that had brought his army north. They would be waiting to carry the broken metal from this battle back south to Artemis City to be remade anew once the war was over.

A volley of shots sounded to Kavan’s right, and a huge explosion fountained brown soil into the air, smeared clinging dust across eyes and bodies. Black and grey and silver robots lost their nerve and began running for the surrounding hills, barely seen through the smoke and flame: they were cut down by shots fired by the grey robots that Spoole had stationed up there. A gust of wind blew clear the smoke for a moment, revealing silver Scouts running down the hills towards them. Some of his own Storm Troopers stepped forward to meet them, then the smoke drew back in, blotting out the scene. Were the Storm Troopers defecting to Spoole’s side, or were they fighting the Scouts?

Still the Uncertain Army moved on, a creeping determination spreading through the ranks as they realized they were now committed: there was no way to go but forward. The army moved like a robot carrying a large rock, unsteadily but with an unstoppable intent.

Grey infantryrobots spilled down from the hillside in front of them. Kavan thought that this was an attack, then saw the soldiers on his side that charged to intercept them pause and open their lines, welcome the infantryrobots back into their ranks. Kavan realized that the message was spreading.

Kavan was returning, and he was raising an army.

Silver Scouts came rushing up to join the battle on the hillside; they fought the Stormtroopers and the infantry alike, and Kavan saw the careful arrangement of Spoole’s troops unravelling, a tearing in the ranks that spread back along the hills further and further to the distant mountain peaks. Robots were changing sides as the fight reached them. Spoole’s and Kavan’s armies were flowing together and splitting apart and changing allegiances too fast to follow.

The grey band of infantryrobots that surrounded Kavan was growing thicker and thicker as more soldiers defected to his side. The infantry had always been loyal to him, he was one of them after all. The ground was shaking with the stamp and crash of so many feet. And then there was another noise, a high-pitched whistling.

The battle seemed to freeze for just a moment. So many robots halted, looking into the dark smoke, listening…

The area ahead of Kavan erupted in incandescent white fire. Metal and shrapnel exploded into the air, molten lead droplets rained down upon Kavan, melting into his panelling, searing the electromuscle beneath. The Uncertain Army moved forward once more, the fighting reforming itself around the smoking pit ahead.

‘What was it?’ Kavan realized he was asking the question of himself. Then he heard the answer. ‘Magnesium. They’re burning magnesium.’

The sense of outraged indignation spread through the robots battling in the flare and the noise. They were wasting metal! Those people who called themselves Artemisians were destroying metal!

Again, that same high-pitched whistling, and Kavan looked up to see something falling overhead. A dark metal sphere, it burst in the ranks behind him in another bright white flare. Hot air rushed forward, coating him with soot.

His ears were singing, some of the circuitry had been damaged by the blast, but he still heard the faint crump ahead of him, he saw the flames there on the slopes of the distant mountain. He stood taller when he knew what was happening.

The robots who fired the missiles had realized what they had done. It was the tipping point, even for them. Now those same weapons were being turned back on Spoole’s own troops. The mutiny had reached the artillery even as the Uncertain Army came within its range.

‘We are winning,’ shouted Kavan, ‘We are winning!’

He stamped his feet, once, twice, three times. Stamp, stamp, stamp; stamp, stamp, stamp. It was an old beat, one that the Storm Troopers had used in the past. Now Kavan adopted it for his own. His growing army marched on, with the sound of stamping rolling before it, shaking the very mountains themselves. It echoed from the mountains, it was taken up and copied by the soldiers that Spoole had brought to capture Kavan.

‘We are winning!’ shouted Kavan.

We are winning! We are winning!

The shout was echoed by the infantryrobots around him. It echoed down the ranks, spreading out in a circle, losing itself in the crash of the battle.

Kavan raised his arm and shouted into the noise.

‘And now, everyone who is with me, the time is at hand! This is the time of the final charge! Pour all your shot forward, slice every body that stands against you, claw with your hands, discharge every last watt of power from your electromuscle! Break yourself on the enemy, and watch as their ranks crumble and retreat! For this is the day when Nyro’s dream is finally realized!’

They couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter, it was already happening, Kavan could see it. Lines of metal peeling away from Spoole’s ranks: walking, pushing, running, heading for the trains and the route back to Artemis City. Spoole’s army was retreating.

Kavan sent all the power he had into his voicebox, almost rupturing it in the process

‘Charge!’ he called.

It wasn’t a rout. It wasn’t a glorious victory. It wasn’t even a battle in the end. It was what happened when soldiers no longer believed in what they were doing, that point when they turned and ran, thinking of nothing but the twisted metal of their own minds. All the noise, all the violence seemed to pass away, rising into the sky as gently as the black smoke smouldering from the battlefield.

Peace settled on the broken scene. Robots lay crushed and broken across the valley floor. Smashed by bullets and shot, trampled by other robots rushing to the charge or to the retreat.

Voiceboxes whined and whistled and screeched. Blue twisted metal lay tangled around arms and legs and hands and feet. It had tripped up robots; it had bound and sliced friend and foe alike. It was the same as on any battlefield, but this was only the visible sign of destruction. There was also the unguessable number of minds that lay trapped in bodies, on the valley floor, in the hills, on the mountains, fallen between cracks and down cliff faces and gorges. Minds whose coils had been broken, leaving the thoughts trapped in darkness for the rest of the robot’s life, or worse, minds where the coil had suffered a few breaks, leaving current surging agonizingly through the twisted metal. How many robots lay in silent agony, hoping, waiting for the salvage teams to discover them, to reclaim their metal and to crush the metal of their minds, ending their life and their pain?

Kavan didn’t care. As far as Artemis was concerned, there was no mind, there was only metal.

Kavan walked to the head of the pass, saw the broken podium where Spoole must have stood, waiting for Kavan to be brought to him. It was deserted. Spoole and the rest of the Generals were long gone, the first on the trains that had loaded up and headed south as the tide of battle turned. The railway lines were littered with the metal of those robots that had not made it on board the trains; mostly raw, untempered recruits, chased down by the silver Scouts, their coils broken by one swift swipe.

Later, some of Kavan’s troops would walk the broken railway lines, the metal twisted, the sleepers and ballast wrecked by Spoole’s retreating army, and they would follow a line of dead bodies that led through the mountains to the very edge of the Artemis plain itself.

But for now, they looked around at the carnage, incongruously roofed by the fresh blue sky, sharply illuminated by the clear spring sun.

His army was taking shape, all by itself. Robots were forming ranks around him. Infantryrobots, Storm Troopers and Scouts. Even some Generals and engineers, recently defected from Spoole’s army. Did they really believe, or were they just taking the most likely route to survival?

He would find out soon enough.

He counted his troops. Nearly three thousand, he guessed, arranging themselves in squares on the floor of the pass, in tiers up the sides of the low hills to the north. Not bad. But not enough to launch an attack on Artemis City.

At least, not yet.

He raised his voice.

‘Robots of Artemis,’ he called. He paused. He heard his words being relayed back through the crowd, and he felt an electric glow of satisfaction. This was how it had been in the old days, standing in the trenches, passing on commands. This speech would take some time for the message to get through. But for all the old soldiers out there, it would be more poignant for the method in which it was delivered.

‘Robots of Artemis,’ he repeated. ‘This was our easiest fight, out here, on our territory, on the battlefield, the place we are familiar with, the place that Spoole and his City Generals have forgotten or have never visited. This battle was always going to go our way.’

He paused, hearing his words relayed out, a diminishing electronic whisper.

‘Of course it would go our way! We had the will! Our former leaders are no longer true to Nyro, they dwell too much on their own lives and comforts, to the exclusion of Nyro’s way. It is obvious that their day is past!

‘But now we face a harder struggle, for we cannot remain here long. What would you have us do? Lurk here in the mountains, preying on the folk who live here, building our strength, for the day we feel comfortable attacking Artemis City? That would be the easiest way, but it is not the Artemisian way!’

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 lacking in his previous speech.

Karel pointed straight ahead. ‘There is a glow coming from that building. Do you think it’s the forge Morphobia Alligator mentioned?’

‘What else could it be?’

They walked towards it, and Karel felt a sudden sense of homecoming. Despite the strangeness of his surroundings, despite the distance he had travelled from his broken city, there was something about the glow of a forge that always reminded him of home. The memory of his dead son glowed for a moment, but it quickly faded, and a picture of Susan arose instead. He felt a faint satisfaction.

He was coming for her.

Well, he was beginning the journey.

The inside of the building was at once familiar and alien. The doorways were a little smaller than was comfortable, some of them so small he wondered if the robots who had once used them crawled through on all fours. A frieze was carved into the stone near the ceiling, pictures of creatures with the head, arms and chests of robots, but with the bodies of horses. Karel stared at them for a moment, wondering if the animals they depicted had once existed. His gaze was drawn back to the red glowing fire in the corner of the room. A bucket of good, hard coal stood at the side, there was a trough filled with sea water nearby. Plates of iron and copper and tin lay stacked on the floor and, on closer inspection, joy of joys, Karel found two cans of thin, clear oil.

‘Oh, to clean out my feet,’ said Kavan. He sat down on a metal stool and began to strip the panelling away from his legs. ‘Or maybe we should start with each other’s hands?’

Melt said nothing, he just remained standing by the door, watching Karel.

‘Come on, Melt, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. You go on.’

Karel rose to his feet and, electromuscles bare from the knee down, walked to Melt.

‘Come on, I’ll help you get this panelling off,’ he offered.

‘You can’t,’ said Melt. ‘It’s welded to the electromuscle.’

Karel felt a wobble in his gyros. He peered closer at Melt’s dark metal body, looking at the faint lines where the seams of the panelling had melted together.

‘What happened to you?’ he murmured.

‘I don’t remember,’ said Melt, and once again Karel had the impression that this wasn’t quite true.

‘You know,’ said Karel, ‘I used to work as an immigration officer, back in Turing City.’

‘What is that?’

‘I used to speak to people, communicate with them. See if they were suitable to join our state. I got know when people weren’t telling the full truth.’

‘Really?’ said Melt. Karel wondered for a moment, but didn’t press the point. He ran a hand down the seam in Melt’s arm, feeling the mix of metals there.

‘What are you made of?’ he asked. ‘I can feel cast iron in there, and lead, and steel. How can you walk around in that body? It must weigh so much! We should just remove your mind and start again.’ Karel glanced back towards the fire. ‘There isn’t enough metal here, but I’m sure if we head back to the battlefields we’ll find a body there we can use. Or maybe we can put it together from parts. These Artemisian bodies are pretty standard,’ and he rapped his knuckles on his chest for effect as he spoke.

‘There’s no point,’ said Melt. ‘My coil is fused to this body. I’m trapped in here.’

Karel felt as if his gyros had been dropped in the fire, as if they were melting, spinning out of true, jamming. He had seen death and destruction on the battlefields of Artemis. Nothing had been quite as nasty as this.

‘So as you can see,’ said Melt, ‘there is no point waiting for me. Tend to yourself. That body needs cleaning and adjustment. We will travel easier once you are repaired.’

‘No way,’ said Karel. ‘Not with you fighting against that body to make every step. Come over here to the fire. I’m good with metal, all Turing Citizens are. My wife was… is… much better than I. When we find her she will fix you up properly. In the meantime, if we are ever going to get to her, I need you working as best you can. You’re a soldier, aren’t you?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well, there you are. We’ll need to fight, I’m sure. Now sit down here on this stool while I see what I can do.’

‘I can’t sit down. I can’t bend my legs enough.’

Karel thought about that. Melt couldn’t even sit down to rest from the weight of his body. What other hardships did he suffer?

‘Okay,’ said Karel. ‘We’ll start on the legs.’

He selected a piece of metal from the pile by the fire, and started to shape it with his hands, folding and pulling it, making it into a crude knife. ‘I’ll see if I can open up these seams a little. Maybe plane away some of the metal from your body, reduce the weight a little. The least we can do is loosen you up, restore some movement to your body.’

He thrust the proto-knife into the fire. Oddly enough, he felt quite positive. For the first time in months, he was doing something useful. He was helping someone. It felt good.

Sangrel was built on a rocky plug of stone thrust clear of the rolling grassy countryside that surrounded it. Centuries ago, robots had chipped away at the natural outcrop, making its walls more sheer, carving steps and passageways into the slopes leading to the summit. They had dressed stone to make bricks and flags and used it in building gates and archways and walls, making a maze of passageways and courtyards overlooked by firing steps and loupes, the better to defend the city they planned to grow on the flattened top of the hill. Sangrel was a fortress at its foundations, but something more beautiful had risen from them.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had watched the multicoloured roofs and domes of the city rising above the city ramparts as he approached, gradually losing sight of them as the railway line tucked itself into the shadow of the hill upon which Sangrel stood. As the train slowed, squeezing between the cliffs and the clear blue waters of Lake Ochoa. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked across the lake to the dark wooded hill that stood on the far bank. The surrounding hills seemed to have drawn back to leave it standing on its own, as if even they knew of the stone temples that hid amongst the dark green foliage of the Mound of Eternity, those temples that had made the place infamous throughout the whole of Yukawa.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped from the train into the shade cast by the Mound of Sangrel. He wanted to turn, to wave goodbye to Jai-Lyn, who he was sure would be watching him from the carriage, but protocol forbade that. Further down the platform, a captain stood waiting, four soldiers standing to attention behind him.

Only four, noted Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He wondered if this was a deliberate slight, given his low parentage. Before he had time to ponder on this, the captain stepped forward and saluted.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. Welcome to Sangrel. My name is Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. I must apologize for the paucity of your welcome, but there are precious few troops to spare here in Sangrel.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do took an immediate liking to Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. He was young, his body work suggested nobility, but there was an honesty about him that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do recognized straightaway.

‘And so you decided that my reception was less than essential, given the circumstances.’

‘No, Honoured Commander, but-’

‘And that was an excellent decision. I can see that you are a robot who understands the exigencies of command. Now, I would be obliged if you would escort me to the command rooms.’

‘Certainly, Honoured Commander.’ Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah stood to attention and about-turned. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was impressed to see the four soldiers do the same in perfect synchronization. At the same moment, there was a roar of a diesel engine, and the train began to roll from the station. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched it go, rounding the far corner of Sangrel Mound as it began the journey from Sangrel province, heading for the marshland that surrounded distant Ka.

‘We will enter the city through the Emperor’s Gate,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, indicating the tall arch behind the railway station, the underside carved with shapes of hanging icicles. Centuries ago, the commander of Sangrel displayed his power by having ice brought from many miles away and hung from the gates, glistening in even in the hottest summers, for no other reason than to show that he could.

‘You occupy the Copper Master’s house, facing onto Smithy Square.’

‘The Copper Master’s house? An exalted position indeed. With views over the western terrace and the lake, I believe.’

‘You are certainly well informed, Honoured Commander.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had read up on his command before leaving the Silent City. However, a question remained.

‘But what of the Emperor’s Palace? Surely that is the traditional residence for the commander of Sangrel?’

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah gave Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a sideways look.

‘That building has been given as embassy to the animals, as you are of course aware, Honoured Commander.’ The young robot seemed almost ashamed by his answer.

‘Of course,’ answered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. It was unheard of, by any protocol, for the Emperor to give up any of his residences, for was not the Emperor supreme? What signal did this send to the robots of Sangrel, seeing that the animals had, quite visibly, been placed above the Emperor himself?

At that moment something appeared from the gates of the city that drove all other thoughts from Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s mind. He found himself slowing to a halt, turning to watch.

Three of them, walking upright like robots, walking through the Emperor’s Gate. They strode beneath the stone icicles without so much as a second glance, as if they were peasants heading from the mine after their shift, not as if they were honoured guests to take this most glorious of paths.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t help himself. They moved like robots. Almost like robots, but with less… formality? Was that the word? They strode through the sunlight as if they weren’t really part of their surroundings. Perhaps they weren’t, they were strangers to this world, after all. There was something so odd about them though, something almost ethereal. Was it simply because they weren’t made of metal? Look at them, clad in green-cloth panelling, hands and faces emerging from the strange material that they wore, their flesh an odd colour, and so different, even to each other. Two of them were pale pink, the other a brown colour. An unnatural hue, no metal was of that shade.

‘Honoured Commander?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was embarrassed by his rudeness.

‘Thank you, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah,’ he said, lowering his face in shame. ‘I did not mean to stare. Only, I have never seen the animals.’

‘One never quite gets used to them, Honoured Commander. There is an emptiness about them. You can see them with your eyes, and hear them with your ears, but you cannot sense their metal. They seem so insubstantial…’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned to watch the animals as they walked down past the railway station.

‘Where are they going?’ he asked.

‘To the lake, probably. They float upon the water there, or lie upon its shores.’

‘Why?’

‘Recreation, I think.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do passed through the Emperor’s Archway and followed Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah up the Emperor’s Road into the city. Sheer stone walls rose up to their left, studded with balconies and loupe holes from where defenders had once dropped magnetized iron snow and forced water at high pressure over invading troops. Channels were cut in the road down which heavy iron balls were rolled. Some of them were fused to explode, others simply rolled over the attackers, plating their bodies onto their huge mass, their size growing with each attack.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was still wondering at what he had seen.

‘They look so weak…’ he began.

‘No, Honoured Commander,’ interrupted Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. ‘No, they are not weak. The animals are so strong. They speak softly, but they have terrible power.

‘You speak with them?’

‘Yes. They have machines that help them to do this.’

‘Machines?’

‘The humans build machines to do everything for them.’

‘Humans?’

‘This is the name they give themselves. Or at least, the word that the machines speak.’

They reached the end of the Emperor’s Road. The Silver Ice gates stood open at this end.

‘Why are the gates left open for me?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Not for you, Honoured Commander,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, and you could hear the shame in his voice. ‘The animals requested it. This road is the most convenient for the lake. The Emperor himself approved the request.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt sorry for poor Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. He was one of the nobility. The shame he felt would be like a physical pain to him. It would be woven into his mind to be so. What did Wa-Ka-Mo-Do himself feel, he wondered? A little shame, it was true, but something else too: the awakening urge to fight. After all, wasn’t this what he had been woven for? It was a dangerous thought. He wasn’t here to fight the animals.

They passed through the Silver Ice gates into the lower city. Tall buildings made of stone and brick, their small windows set high up. Shiny green and red tiles decorated their roofs.

‘The animals are powerful, Honoured Commander.’ Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah lowered his voice, ‘More powerful than we are. The Emperor maintains that he is pleased to trade with them, but I suspect the reverse is the truth. The humans have the advantage in all negotiations.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked carefully at Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, wondering if this were some sort of test.

‘This is treasonous talk, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘I know that, Honoured Commander, and it shames me to speak in this fashion, but is it not more shameful to deny the truth?’

‘This is a wise thought.’

‘You will see, Honoured Commander, the humans roam far and wide across this land, much wider than they are permitted under the terms of the trade agreement. They move so quickly in their flying craft. They are taking up good land to grow their strange crops. The chemicals they use stunt the growth of our own farmers’ crops.’

‘What do our farmers say to this?’

‘I don’t know. La-Ver-Di-Arussah says that is not important.’

‘La-Ver-Di-Arussah?’

‘The acting commander. She is waiting upon your arrival. She says that the Emperor does not listen to the opinion of peasants. Rather, the peasants listen to the Emperor.’

‘This is indeed true, but sometimes a little conversation can prevent conflict…’

Now Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could feel the current humming through Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. The young robot was obviously upset at what was going on here.

‘The farmers are merely part of the problem, Honoured Commander. The humans are turning robots out of the mines and filling them instead with their own machines.’

‘They are turning robots out of the mines? Surely the Emperor would not allow this?’

The hum of current through Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s body increased. His voice modulated up a couple of tones. ‘The Emperor insists that this is his will, that he seeks further trade advantage, but all the while more and more robots are being displaced from this land.’

‘Then where are they going?’

‘Everywhere and nowhere. This is your problem, Honoured Commander. There are displaced robots everywhere throughout Sangrel province, all the way to the borders of Ka province.’

Ka? Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt a lurch as he thought of Jai-Lyn, travelling there on her own. ‘And there is growing anger at the humans’ actions,’ continued Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. ‘They are asking why we of the Imperial Army are not protecting them.’

‘They never asked such questions in the past.’

‘They have never lost so much in the past.’

They walked through the third gate into the middle city. Now the houses were well built, of stone and freshly painted wood and metal.

‘Well, the first thing to do is straightforward,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do decisively. ‘We will form an army of the dispossessed. Make good use of their skills and talents. All those robots that have lost their mines and fields can be put to work building roads and bridges. They can delve deeper into the earth for metal.’

He looked at the young robot by his side.

‘I sense a lack of enthusiasm for my order, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘Your predecessor tried that, Honoured Commander. I fear events have moved beyond that. There is growing resentment amongst the dispossessed. There has been minor damage and vandalism against the Emperor’s property, insolence towards the Imperial Army.’

‘This will not be allowed to continue,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do mildly.

‘Your predecessor said the same, and he is no longer with us. La-Ver-Di-Arussah, your second in command, is of a good family. Her voice is heard in the Imperial Court. She does not believe in capitulation to the peasants, under any circumstances. Yet I fear that if we continue to ignore them, their anger may drive them to do something worse.’

‘Worse than to refuse to follow orders? Such a thing is almost unheard of within the Empire! What could be worse than a disobedient robot?’

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s voice was so low that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had to strain to hear it.

‘One who attacks the humans themselves?’

‘Attack our honoured guests? That would bring shame upon us indeed.’

‘Shame upon us?’ There was a squeak in Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s voice. He was close to breaking point, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do realized. What was going on here was deeply affecting the young soldier. ‘Honoured Commander, it would bring our utter destruction! You do not realize just how powerful the humans are.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was a warrior of Ko. One of the first lessons he had learned was how to avoid conflict. He spoke calmly.

‘Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, you are an honourable soldier who works hard in the service of his Emperor. Together, I am sure that we can…’

His voice trailed away as he saw what Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was looking at. There was a message painted on the wall of a nearby house. The robot’s whole body sagged.

‘You must understand, Honoured Commander,’ he said, ‘this street is busy with robots at all hours of the day. Many people would have seen this message being painted here, and yet no one thought to stop it, or to report the perpetrators to us.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do read the message.

What happened in Ell?

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt as if the current was draining from his electromuscle. He remembered the scene in the railway station just before he left the Silent City. All those soldiers, commandeering the train. They were heading to Ell.

‘Just how far from here is Ell, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’

‘One hundred and nine miles.’

‘What has happened there?’

‘I don’t know, Honoured Commander.’ And again, there was a squeak in his voice, ‘we are too busy with the problems here in Sangrel.’

He turned to one of the escorting soldiers, and pointed to the wall.

‘Clean this,’ he said.

The soldier was already moving to do so. Two of the other soldiers, meanwhile, had drawn their swords and had seized two people from the crowd.

‘What are they doing?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s orders, Honoured Commander. For every act such as this, four peasants are to be executed, as an example.’

‘Hold,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. It wouldn’t do to undermine his second-in-command, he knew that. But at the same time, these were bad orders. They would heighten rebellion, not quell it. He came to a decision.

‘Bring them with us,’ he said. ‘I wish to meet La-Ver-Di-Arussah directly.’

Karel

The last of the evening sun died in the doorway, as Karel set to work on Melt by the light of the fire. The knife he had made was not as hard or as sharp as he would like, but it would do for now. He scored a line down the side of Melt’s left thigh, cutting his way into the dissolved seam there.

‘As we travel south we may find better-equipped workshops,’ he said. ‘We should be able to keep on improving you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘How long were you waiting here for me?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How many days? How many sunsets?’

‘Four sunsets. I sat with Morphobia Alligator. We talked.’

‘What about?’

‘This planet. Shull.’

‘Morphobia Alligator is a strange robot. Have you met any like him before?’

‘No. I’m sure of that at least. None that look like him, nor any that think like him. He asked me a question: how do beetles and whales and all the other robot animals reproduce when they don’t have hands?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘It’s a good point, though, isn’t it? When robots reproduce, the female twists the metal that comes from a male to make a mind. Then they place that mind in a body they have built themselves, with their own hands. How do animals make bodies, when they have no hands?’

Karel worked away at the seam. The metal there was so hard, he was struggling to scrape it away.

‘Does it matter?’

Melt didn’t answer. He was thinking of something else. ‘Do you know he counts days backwards? Wednesday follows Thursday by his reckoning.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure that Morphobia Alligator is the same as us. He’s not quite a robot.’

Karel thought of the building at the northern coast of Shull, the one Morphobia Alligator had called the reliquary. He thought of the mind patterns drawn on the wall there. Did Morphobia Alligator really have a mind twisted in a different way? Was such a thing possible?

‘I think he’s waiting for something. Something in the future. Every sunset was one less to him, not one more, eeeeeeeeeeee!’

The last word was lost in an electronic squeak. Karel had felt the surge of electricity through the knife.

‘I’m sorry!’ he said. ‘Did I hit the electromuscle?’

‘Not exactly. But the muscle and the metal are joined together.’

‘I’ll stop then. I’ll try the other side.’

‘No, go on. I can ignore the pain.’

Karel looked up into Melt’s dim grey eyes, then he steeled himself. He resumed his hacking at the seam, hesitating when he felt the surge of current, going on when Melt commanded him to.

The night passed. The doorway to the forge was lit up in pale green.

‘I’ve done all I can,’ said Karel, dropping the knife and flexing his fingers.

Melt stretched, this way and that.

‘I feel a lot freer, thank you.’

‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’

‘You did your best. It wasn’t easy for you, either.’

Karel looked through the forge door. The broken archway to the sea framed the distant town of Presper Boole, now lit by the dawn. The robots who had built this city were fine architects, he thought. What could have happened to them? He dismissed the thought for the moment. He had more pressing concerns.

‘Another clear day coming. We should set off now, get some miles covered.’

‘But you haven’t attended to your own body yet.’

‘No matter,’ said Karel, looking wistfully at the containers of thin oil. But he didn’t feel as if he had anything to complain about, having seen how Melt was suffering.

‘No, it does matter,’ said Melt. ‘Here, let me see what I can do. I was a soldier once, and that’s a soldier’s body you are wearing.’

‘If I could, I would exchange it for another.’

‘Then we shall find one for you.’

‘Thank you, Melt, but for the moment I will keep this body. It will be to our advantage to pass as Artemisians.’

Melt came around behind Karel.

‘Take off your panelling, and I will straighten it for you and hammer out its dents. I will file it and apply solder and rub in oil.’

Karel didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled a little at first with the joints. The body was built so that an enemy would find it difficult to pierce its seams, and Karel was unused to this design. Finally he stripped away the panels of his upper body and sat there, naked electromuscle glinting in the firelight. He examined its pattern. There was nothing fancy there, just simple arrangements that any soldier would be able to knit and maintain. The last owner of the body had done a reasonable job of keeping it in order. There wasn’t time to knit new muscle, so for the moment Karel did the best he could, straightening out kinks here and there and applying oil or the hot knife as appropriate. He cleaned out his feet and his legs, he did what he could with the cogs and gears of his chest section. All the time behind him came the scrape and tap and bang of Melt working on the panelling.

Eventually they were both done. Karel accepted the panelling and was impressed by the neat job Melt had made of it. Everything fitted smoothly back together. Karel swung his arms and stamped his feet, feeling how easily the metal slid over itself. There were none of the annoying clicks and catches he had grown used to over the past few days.

‘A good job,’ said Karel. ‘Whoever you were, Melt, you were a skilled builder.’

‘Thank you,’ said Melt, obviously pleased.

They made their way from the forge into the clear morning. A fresh breeze blew off the sea, and Karel was pleased to note it no longer penetrated his body.

They looked around the large square into which the sea road emerged. They were in the middle of a crossroads. Another road ran southwards, through the remains of the city. Once grand buildings lined either side of the road, their facades broken, their upper stories missing. Rusty trails ran down marble facings, metalwork long dissolved by the rain.

‘The Northern Road,’ said Melt. ‘Morphobia Alligator said that was the way to your wife.’

‘Morphobia Alligator,’ said Karel. ‘I wonder where he is now? Is he watching us, do you think?’

‘I don’t know.’

Karel gazed southwards, down the lines of buildings to the distant hills.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. Susan, I’m on my way.’

They set off.

Sangrel had grown rich on copper. Green copper was a constant theme in the patterned roofs of the city. In the past, on special days, the most honoured robots of the city had dressed in new copper skins, the metal so fresh it shone pink in the sunlight.

No wonder the second most important building in the city was the Copper Master’s House.

Smithy Square was the highest plateau that had been levelled on Sangrel Mound. The Copper Master’s house stood at the south side: a low white-painted building that gleamed brightly in the midday sun. Its windows and doors were bordered in gold and silver. Four bell towers rose from the top of the house, each containing seventeen bells of varying copper alloys. The peels of music that rang forth on special days could be heard for miles across the province.

‘This is a beautiful place, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah,’ observed Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

Smithy Square was thronged with both robots and animals, and all of them walked and sat and chatted amongst some of the loveliest scenery in Yukawa. The patterned domes of the Emperor’s Palace lay to the north, the bell towers of the Copper Master’s house to the south, and as for the view from the western edge of the square…

A woman was coming towards them. She wore the body of an Imperial Warrior, but the metal and the quality of its construction told of her true rank. She moved with a grace that only the best engineering skill could achieve. This was a woman who had had access to the finest materials since the day of her making, a woman who had been trained well in the arts of metalwork. Her panelling was of brushed aluminium, her arms and legs were curved and sprung, there was a pattern of gold filigree around her head, tracing loops around her eyes and ears.

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah stepped forward.

‘Honoured Commander, may I present La-Ver-Di-Arussah, Commander of the Copper Guard. La-Ver-Di-Arussah, this is Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, Commander of the Emperor’s Army of Sangrel.’

They touched each other’s upper arms, felt the current there. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do noted the knot patterns engraved just above her shoulders, emblems of one of the imperial families.

‘Honoured Commander, and how is life in the High Spires?’

For a moment Wa-Ka-Mo-Do thought this was a gentle insult, and then he felt La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s finger slip into his palm and trace a shape. A circle on a circle. Current sang into life as he realized what she was doing. The Book of Robots. Did she know? Was the truth woven into her mind too?

‘You pause, Honoured Commander,’ said La-Ver-Di-Arussah, and there was something in her gaze that caused Wa-Ka-Mo-Do to remain still for the moment. ‘Do you recognize the sign?’

‘I do, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. It is the symbol of those who believe in the Book of Robots. Those who believe that there is a shape and a philosophy that all robots should adopt, a shape given to them by the makers of the first robots.’

‘And do you believe that, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do?’

‘Such beliefs are treason, La-Ver-Di-Arussah, as I’m sure you know.’ He changed the subject. ‘There are more important things to discuss. Someone has been defacing the walls of this city with graffiti. Are you aware of this?’

‘Indeed, Honoured Commander. You will be pleased to know that such incidents are dealt with immediately. Punishment is swift and severe.’ She looked at the robots who had accompanied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do to the square.

‘These robots were found in the presence of graffiti not five minutes ago,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘They were to be executed by the Copper Guard.’

‘As is right and proper.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed into her eyes. They shone a blue-silver colour he had never seen before.

‘I have spared them.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Only the guilty are to be punished, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. I believe that making an example of the innocent will only inflame the situation.’

There was the merest flicker in La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s eyes, but she controlled her anger quickly.