Blood and Iron

‘As the commander wishes,’ she said, and then she smiled. ‘Sparing peasants? Doesn’t it say something in the Book of Robots about all robots looking after each other?’

‘You seem to know a lot about the book, La-Ver-Di-Arussah.’

‘A little, a little. I must say, Honoured Commander, I am surprised that you do not. The belief is rife in the High Spires, is it not?’

‘I am a warrior, La-Ver-Di-Arussah.’

‘I notice that you do not deny your belief, Honoured Commander.’

‘I am also your commander, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. You will be silent now.’

‘Honoured Commander, surely we have much to discuss?’

‘No. This is a time for you to listen. I have new orders. Innocents are not to be executed by way of example. You will ensure this message goes out to the Copper Guard immediately.’

‘Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah can do that.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s voice remained level.

‘You question my orders? Do you wish to fight me now? Challenge me to a duel, if you believe you would make the better commander?’

He held her gaze. This was the true warrior’s duel, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew. Before the swords were drawn, before the bullets were fired: when two robots gazed into each others eyes to see who would falter first.

That robot was La-Ver-Di-Arussah.

‘Fight a duel, Honoured Commander?’ she smiled. ‘That may be the way in the High Spires, but certainly not in the Silent City. And not even here in Sangrel. Of course I will carry out your orders immediately.’

At that she turned and walked away.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, hot current humming within him.

‘Well, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’ he said.

‘Honoured Commander?’

‘Release the prisoners.’

They turned to the four robots.

‘But Honoured Commander, they will have seen and heard everything!’

‘Good! Then the word will spread, that the new commander will not tolerate anything that will bring the name of Sangrel and the Emperor into dispute.’

‘As you wish, Honoured Commander.’

Whilst Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah gave the orders, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned and gazed around the square. There were so many people here, robot and animal. But it was the humans who drew his attention still, so alien, so unnatural in their strange panelling, their insubstantial bodies. They seemed so ineffectual, and yet look at the trouble they had already brought to Sangrel.

‘Tell me, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. Do you think that the animals have souls, as we do?’

‘Souls, Honoured Commander?’

‘I mean, they are obviously intelligent, I have seen evidence of their machinery as I travelled here. But do they have that capacity twisted into their wire that means they can appreciate beauty, as we can?’

‘I think so, Honoured Commander. Look over there.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had already noticed the animals that leaned on the stone balustrade at the western edge of Smithy Square. Now he saw how they were looking out over the western lands of Sangrel province, over the rolling green hills, over the neat orange squares of the open cast mines and quarries, over the tall mine towers. They were gazing at the still blue waters of Lake Ochoa and the Mound of Eternity beyond. They were obviously enjoying the view.

‘I would fear a robot with a soul far more than a merely intelligent animal,’ quoted Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘For only a robot with a soul would understand cruelty.’

He gazed again at the animals standing by the balustrade. They all wore grey and green panelling, and something about the way they moved put him in mind of soldiers. The other animals in the square wore different colours, striking colours, many of which Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had never seen before. Pale greens that seemed to fluoresce in the sunlight, strong reds like iron in the fire. Their panelling reminded him of the flowers of the forest.

‘Look around and one may believe that all is harmony,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Indeed,’ answered Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.

‘I wonder just how aware the Emperor is of what is happening in Sangrel?’

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah waited for two young women to walk past. Their panelling was of the thinnest aluminium, their golden electromuscle lovely to behold. They were carrying bundles of red cloth in their arms. Now Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah spoke in low tones.

‘I have heard that the Vestal Virgins walk abroad. There is talk that they once more inhabit the Eternal Mound.’

‘The Vestal Virgins?’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do feigned innocence, but he remembered the Emperor’s words back in the Silent City. He knew the Vestal Virgins had been sent here to watch him. ‘But why would the Emperor send them here?’ he asked.

‘To ensure that Emperor’s wishes are followed.’

‘Am I to command them too?’

‘Honoured Commander, you joke. For you know, of course, that the Vestal Virgins answer to none save the Emperor.’

And perhaps not even him, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do added to himself.

‘There may be another reason for the Vestal Virgins’ presence, Honoured Commander. For it is known that where the Emperor wishes to forge peace and harmony and accord, there he sends his Imperial Army.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And where the seeds of discord are to be sewn, then the Vestal Virgins can be found, tending and watering and pruning.’ Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah lowered his voice further, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could feel the burning shame he felt has he gave his warning. ‘Watch the humans, Honoured Commander. Listen to their words. For I do not think they are telling all.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked around the square, felt the peace and the tranquility of hundreds of years of history.

‘It is difficult to think that such things can come to an end, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘I fear they have ended already,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, gazing at the green-panelled humans by the balustrade. They had finished their contemplation of the view and were walking back to the Emperor’s Palace. They seemed to march almost in step.

‘Come, let us enter the Copper Master’s house, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. I’m sure that things will not be as bad as you describe.’

‘Perhaps not.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do placed his foot on the steps leading up to the white house, but Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah touched a hand to his elbow.

‘Before we do…’ Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah seemed to be struggling with his conscience. ‘I do not like to say this, Honoured Commander, but I would speak the truth. You are an outsider, one of the Eleven from the High Spires. Robots famed for their skill on the battlefield, robots who proved themselves in the past when Yukawa had enemies on its borders, but who are rarely required in these more, shall we say, settledtimes.’

‘That may be so, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘Indeed. I am sorry to say this, Honoured Commander, but do you not feel that you are a strange choice for such an important command as this?’

‘Explain yourself, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do sternly, though the same suspicions walked his own mind.

‘I am sorry, Honoured Commander, but animals walk abroad in Sangrel, dissent is rife among the population. Surely this is a job for a commander of the Imperial Army, one versed in politics, one who knows the area? A robot such as La-Ver-Di-Arussah? Yet when the call came, no such robot was found to be suitable.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do said nothing. Emboldened, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah spoke on.

‘I wonder why the Emperor has had you sent here, and I feel it is because it will not matter so much if you fail.’

The young robot gazed directly into Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s eyes.

‘I fear that you are to be made a scapegoat, Honoured Commander.’

Susan knelt in the making room, twisting the metal of the Storm Trooper who sat before her.

She hated the Storm Troopers, hated the thick feel of their wire in her hands, hated the sharp feel of the potential current in there.

‘There we are ladies, you may put down the minds.’

Susan remembered the first time she had put down a half-completed mind, the horror she had felt at seeing the wire untwist and the potential life die. Now it was such a common occurrence she felt nothing except an emptiness inside, like someone had scooped out all the living parts of her body, leaving behind nothing but the metal shell. She felt like a ghost.

There were nineteen other mothers in Susan’s making room, all of them women who had been captured from Turing City, all of them united by their hatred of her. They hated her for her friendship with Nettie, hated her for what she had been back in Turing City: the wife of Karel. They thought Karel was a traitor, because of who his father was. Yet was it Karel’s fault that his mother had been raped by an Artemisian soldier? After all, it was no more than what was happening to them all now.

The twenty Storm Troopers in the room filed out, their wire cooling on the floor where the women had dropped it. Susan could feel the current surging in their strong bodies, and she hated it. She hated their arrogant swagger, hated the way they looked at the women, at everyone, like they were inferior beings. Didn’t they realize that such thoughts weren’t the Artemisian way? She wanted to scream that truth out to them, even though she wasn’t an Artemisian herself.

Nettie waited until the last of the Storm Troopers had left the room; she listened to their heavy tread ringing down the metal corridor. When she was sure they were out of earshot, she spoke up brightly.

‘Now ladies, what have we learned?’

The women looked at Nettie with contempt, all of them except Susan. Nettie had never woven a mind herself, yet she was responsible for training them all how to weave minds for Artemis. But there was something else, Susan recognized. Nettie was always at her brightest when she was unhappiest.

‘I don’t get it,’ said Diehl, more in frustration than anything else. ‘The minds will be strong, but they won’t be able to think properly.’

Some of the other women murmured agreement.

‘Don’t worry about that ladies, it doesn’t matter,’ said Nettie. ‘Is the basic pattern sound?’

She looked at Susan for help.

‘It’s sound,’ said Susan, ignoring the looks of the other women. ‘It just doesn’t make any sense. Seriously, Nettie, I really don’t understand. Why are we doing this?’

‘Nyro’s will,’ said Nettie, and she smiled at them all.

The women said nothing. They had learned long ago that Nyro’s will was a euphemism for orders from Artemis command.

Nettie looked back to the doorway of the making room, and there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

‘Listen,’ said Nettie, ‘Please! Don’t make a fuss. It could be so much worse. Really! The other women are making two minds a night now, you know that, don’t you? I had to push to get this assignment for you ladies. Really, I did!’

‘We know,’ said Susan. The other women made grudging noises of agreement. ‘We believe you, we’re grateful, honestly. But what is going on?’

‘No one will tell me,’ said Nettie, and she sagged suddenly as a wave of misery overwhelmed her. ‘I don’t know what’s happening! Everything is confusion within the city. Something happened up in the north. Something bad. Spoole and the Generals returned to the city much earlier than expected and suddenly everything has been put on a war footing. We have stepped up production of everything: minds, robots, metal.’

‘It will be Kavan,’ said Diehl. She looked around the assembled women. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You’ve all heard the soldiers talk as we kneel before them. They think that Kavan is some sort of hero. Another Nyro, almost, and you know how much they think of her.’

‘Not all the soldiers,’ said another woman. ‘The Storm Troopers aren’t so keen on Kavan.’

Kavan, thought Susan. He was the robot who had destroyed Turing City. He had killed her child and had taken her husband away from her. Now, maybe, he was returning to Artemis City.

She wondered what she would do if she ever met him.

Kavan

The Uncertain Army moved south like a silver tide flowing through the valleys of the central mountain range.

Just like a tide, reflected Kavan, for he had as much command over the army as he had over the waters. The robots sloshed forwards and backwards, rushed up into the surrounding hills and mountains, spilling over the edges, sometimes never to be seen again, sometimes to come trickling back in metal streams.

The trouble was, there was no certainty up here amongst the high peaks. No one really knew who was on whose side, and just where all of this was going to end up. Not even Kavan. There were too many variables.

When Spoole had retreated, he had taken as many of the Artemisian troops back with him as would follow: he didn’t want them deserting to join Kavan’s army as it advanced. All those little mountain kingdoms that Kavan himself had so recently conquered suddenly found themselves drained of their new rulers, found themselves free once more. Free to take back their own land and lives, to refortify themselves, to run away, higher into the mountains and safety. Free to launch attacks on the Uncertain Army.

Or even, in some cases, to join it. After all, wasn’t Kavan intending to attack Artemis itself? For some, it didn’t matter that the Army was led by their former conqueror, it was enough to follow it to where it was going. For safety, for revenge, for profit.

Then there were those troops who had found themselves unwilling conscripts in the Uncertain Army, who took the chance to slip away, in ones or twos, in squads and even platoons, to seek freedom, or perhaps to set themselves up in one of the abandoned kingdoms, maybe to rule over those who still remained, or merely to find somewhere to hide whilst the events unfolded without them to the south, waiting to join the victors later on.

Whichever side that was.

Finally, there were those who still saw Kavan and his army as the enemy. Whether Artemisian soldiers loyal to Spoole and the Generals, or the remnants of the armies of the Northern Kingdoms who still held out in the high caves and passes, swooping down occasionally to fight their guerrilla war, there were still enough robots to ambush and bomb and trap and attack Kavan and his troops. Sailing down from the skies beneath silver parafoils, rolling rocks in avalanche down the mountainsides, pouring petrol to fill the streams, filling the air with iron filings and chaff, ricocheting cannonballs from the rocky walls, igniting magnesium flares that filled the night with harsh light that burned out the eye cells, or simply attacking in a chatter of rifle shot and a clatter of knives and awls, Kavan found his progress constantly slowed and frustrated.

As if he was wading against a tide of his own design.

And yet, it didn’t seem to make any difference to the size of his army. If anything, it continued to grow. A constant stream of robots found their way to him, offering advice and allegiance.

Robots like the one that stood before Kavan at the moment.

Calor had brought her to meet him. She wore an engineer’s body: blue panelling, the machinery beneath it adapted, tuned, altered from the standard pattern that Artemis imposed on its robots. Oddly enough, this didn’t upset Kavan. He recognized the Artemisian State’s need for engineers. So long as they helped to advance its cause he never felt a need to understand them.

‘Her name is Ada. She says her mother was a Raman, her father an Artemisian.’

‘And do you follow Nyro’s way?’ asked Kavan, looking at the robot’s elongated body.

‘I do,’ answered Ada. ‘Should my parentage cast doubt on my loyalties? Your mind wasn’t twisted in Artemis, either, Kavan. It’s not about where you were made, it’s what you believe in.’

Kavan noticed the way Calor was looking at him, as if surprised at what she had just heard. She covered up her confusion. ‘I found her up there,’ she said, pointing to the rocky peaks to the west. ‘She was making her way towards you.’

‘I was,’ Ada said, ‘I’ve been looking for you. You’re making a mistake, Kavan.’

Kavan took a closer look at Calor. He could hear the hum of the current running through her body. Scouts always pushed themselves too hard. In Kavan’s opinion they were already half mad when they were made: you never knew which way they would jump. Calor now belonged to an army whose direction changed by the hour. No wonder she was tense. ‘Perhaps you should walk with me a while, Calor,’ he suggested.

Calor shook her head.

‘Got to get back to the mountains, Kavan. Keep watching your path.’

‘As you wish,’ said Kavan. He watched her silver body as she sprang up the side of a cliff, jumping from ledge to ledge, scrabbling with her claws for purchase in the smallest cracks. Showers of stones rattled to the ground behind her, marking her passage.

Kavan turned back to Ada.

‘You said I was making a mistake? Do you think that Spoole and the rest are the true leaders of Artemis?’

Ada’s blue eyes flashed. Whether in humour or anger, Kavan couldn’t tell.

‘Of course I don’t,’ she said. ‘You’re the right robot for the job. It’s just that you’re going about it the wrong way.’

‘Go on.’

‘You’re thinking like you’ve always done, Kavan. It’s not your fault; it’s the way your mind was twisted, to think of leading soldiers to the expansion of Artemis. Well, the conditions no longer apply. The continent is conquered and you’re not in full control of this army. Although there are many who believe in you, there are just as many who don’t. You don’t have the backing of Spoole and the Generals any more, even the backing that they gave you under duress of circumstances. You’re the right robot for the job of overthrowing the Generals, but not for the job of getting this army down to where it’s needed.’

Ada’s blue eyes flashed again, and this time Kavan saw the humour there. He was reminded of Eleanor, his old second in command. But whereas she was twisted a warrior and had always subtly challenged him for leadership, Ada was an engineer. She would be more interested in getting the job done.

‘So who is the right person? You?’

‘I know these mountains well, Kavan. I know what Spoole’s engineers will have done to the road before you. Blowing bridges, mining the roads, setting avalanches. All the traps that I would have set if I were in their position.’

‘And do you know of another way south?’

‘Yes. Head west and follow the Northern Road.’

Kavan gazed at her blue eyes.

‘The Northern Road? I didn’t realize it extended into the mountains.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Kavan,’ said Ada. ‘What does Artemis care for but Artemis?’

‘Nothing, and that is how it should be. Why is there a road through the mountains?’

‘The Borners, or those who became the Borners, followed the road here from the Top of the World. They came to these mountains for iron, and they carried it back to their home.’

‘What happened to them?’

‘War,’ said Ada. ‘The people who settled in the mountains wanted to keep the iron to themselves.’

Kavan nodded. That made sense to him.

‘How far is this road from here?’

‘Barely a mile,’ said Ada, and she laughed. Kavan understood why. This was a land of sheer peaks and deep valleys. A robot could travel a hundred miles to get to a point a mile distant.

‘There is path to that road not far from here. Send your Scouts ahead, they will confirm what I say is true.’

‘Is it safe?’

‘Safe? Of course not. But under the circumstances it’s the right path. Your mind is set on marching a path of conquest. What you need is a path of stealth and convenience. This path will deliver you through the mountains and onto the Artemisian plain. It is the right path to take. I can see that.’

Kavan thought of the road he had travelled so far and then he gestured to a nearby Scout.

‘Listen to this robot,’ he said. ‘Search the path that she suggests. See if it is suitable for us to traverse.’

Of course, thought Kavan, it could be a trap, but no more so than the path they currently followed.

And Ada was right about one thing at least. Kavan was not the right robot to make decisions at this point. He wasn’t commanding an army as such, he was more caught in the middle of the events that were unfolding on the continent. Robots moved this way and that, and for the moment Kavan was following the ebb and flow of the metal tide.

He had no ego in these matters. What he followed was Nyro’s will. If the moment came, he would resume command of the army.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do met Rachael as he descended the Street of Becoming. At the time she looked like any other animal; he was not yet at the point where he could identify a young human female of around fourteen or fifteen. She walked with her arms folded around her middle, a look on her face of withering contempt for the world. She was coming up the hill, heading directly for him, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do realized that she wasn’t going to give way as protocol directed. He signalled to the Copper Guard who flanked him not to intercede.

Her long straight hair was the colour of copper, her eyes like copper sulphate, her skin the colour of titanium dioxide. Her body was not as curved as an adult human female, it more resembled that of a female robot, the same hint of an indentation to the waist that many women built, the same long arms and fingers.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stood still, smiling slightly as the girl halted before him. She raised her gaze almost to his, made a loud tutting noise.

‘Excuse me,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do politely, ‘but this is my right of way.’

The girl rolled her eyes and made to walk around him.

‘I know that you can understand me,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I see the light flicker on the little device you wear by your ear when I speak.’

The girl rolled her eyes. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had never seen that before, he struggled not to laugh.

‘I was walking this way first,’ she said.

‘Ah yes, but I’m the commander of this city. Strictly speaking I could have your coil broken for failing to show me respect.’

The girl just rolled her eyes once more and turned her back on him. The Copper Guard saw the slight and began to move forward. Swiftly, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do reached out and seized her arm. It felt softer than he expected, but stronger too. There was a hardness at the centre. The bone, he later discovered.

‘Aaaoow!’ yelped the girl, pulling her arm free. She rounded on him, face flushed with fury. ‘That hurt! What are you playing at?’

‘Saving your life.’ And preventing a diplomatic disaster, he added to himself. ‘Yukawa is a land steeped in tradition, young lady. You should never turn your back on a superior.’

‘Your hand is burning!’ She rubbed her arm. ‘You robots stand in the sun all day and you don’t realize how hot your metal gets.’

‘I didn’t realize,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I’ve never touched a human before. I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive.’

‘Sensitive? Look! You made a mark! And I turn my back on who I want. What gives you the right to tell me otherwise?’

‘Four hundred fully armed troops garrisoned within the city,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Plus another two thousand spread across the surrounding land. Plus the fact that I am trained in the seven arts of combat, and the nine arts of weaponry. Oh yes, and the fact that I am the commander of this city, and what I say goes.’

That brought a faint smile to the human’s lips, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt a kindling empathy with this strange creature. She reminded him of his sister, and of Jai-Lyn.

The thought brought a certain symmetry to his life. Three young females.

‘What’s your name, human?’ he asked.

‘Rachael. What’s yours, robot?’

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. That’s a stupid name.’

‘I think Rachael sounds rather pretty.’

‘Really?’ She gave a smile that vanished as soon as it appeared. Now she just looked bored. ‘Can I go now, or are you going to get your men to cut off my head for showing your name disrespect?’

‘They’re women, actually,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, gazing at the Copper Guard. ‘You can go in a moment. But first, Rachael, I want to ask you something. You’re the first human I’ve ever spoken to. I want to know, what do you think of Sangrel?’

Rachael stared at him with those copper-sulphate eyes. Two lines of hair like copper wire were stitched above them. From that moment on, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do thought of Rachael as his copper girl.

‘What do I think of Sangrel?’ she said. ‘Do you really want my opinion, or are you just trying to win me over?’

‘Oh, both,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Congratulations, though, for seeing through my strategy.’

‘Now you’re patronizing me.’

‘I wouldn’t dare. Go on, tell me what you think of Sangrel.’

‘I think it’s a lovely place,’ said Rachael, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wondered if she was being sarcastic. ‘But I don’t like how you run it. Yukawa is a cruel Empire. Cruel and stupid. You’re selling yourself far too cheaply, you know that?’

‘Selling ourselves too cheaply? What do you mean?’

‘You’ve given away your mines and your land for a song. Now can I go?’

‘For a song? I’m sure the Emperor is being generous to his guests-’

‘Oh, the Emperor! But we have to be nice to him. Look, I’m late. May I go?’

‘You may,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, thinking about what she had just said. Just in time he remembered the Copper Guard, standing to attention either side of him. ‘But make sure you don’t turn your back to me. I don’t want my Guard to have to kill you.’

Rachael rolled her eyes once more and walked on her way. But she kept her back away from him as she did so.

Ada was a true Artemisian, and a true engineer. Kavan could see it in the way she organized the movement of the Uncertain Army through the mountains. She approached the problem of moving metal from one location to another just as she would any other project, whether it was navigating a railway line or building a bridge.

The robots marched along narrow paths at her guidance, disassembling themselves to be carried by others or even shaping their own bodies into ramps and ladders to enable other robots to climb over them to higher paths, trusting in their fellows to reassemble them afterwards.

She was right, realized Kavan. He had been treating the problem as yet another attack, charging down a path, pushing aside all resistance, but as he climbed from shoulder to shoulder on a pyramid of robots arranged up a rocky slope, he acknowledged that her way of thinking was more appropriate here.

It took them four days to travel the distance to the Northern Road, and often Kavan would look down on a windblown valley, silver and black robots clinging to the sheer sides, body parts being passed hand-to-hand along the edges of ridges. Always there would be blue engineers organizing winches and cranes to collect bodies from the deeper ravines, in order to save the precious metal, and always there was Ada, moving back and forth, organizing and planning and building.

‘Good work,’ he said to her on the evening of the last day. Ada had ordered the robots to remain still at night. Better to lose ten hours’ travel than to waste twenty retrieving broken metal from the foot of a mountain, she had said.

‘I’m impressed. How much further?’

‘You’ll see the Northern Road in the morning,’ said Ada. ‘After that, you only need point your army south.’

‘I want you to remain with me. You’ve proven your worth.’

‘I intend to,’ replied Ada. ‘You’ll need me yet.’

The Northern Road had been impressive enough as they had travelled through the hills of northern Shull. Up here in the mountains it inspired awe in the robots that gazed upon it. Even Kavan found himself wondering at the robots who had imagined it, wondered at the state that had the vision, the planning and the technical proficiency to build it. How would Artemis have fared against them, if they had faced them at the height of their strength?

Kavan was in no doubt, Artemis would have prevailed. Still, the Northern Road was a worthy artefact.

‘I’d say this road even surpasses the railway system of Artemis,’ said Ada, at his shoulder.

The road was built of stone, not metal. Sometimes made of bricks, sometimes of huge boulders, sometimes even carved from the side of the mountains themselves. Seven yards wide and surfaced in cobbles, a low wall on each side, it ran in the shadows of the mountain peaks. Kavan marched amongst the Uncertain Army, part of the metal river that flowed up steep inclines where steps were cut into the road’s surface, a river that ran by the sheets of snow that still lingered up here despite the approach of summer, a river that plunged into the shadows of hanging valleys.

The robots of the plains weren’t used to these high passes; the days when the sun reflected so brightly from the snow that their eyes filled with flashing interference, the nights where the temperature dropped so low that metal became brittle and electro-muscle would tear if flexed too quickly. They were playful in the cold, scooping handfuls of snow from the banks as they passed by, kicking at the ice formed in the lee of the low walls. And then the temperature dropped further and they tapped at joints that seized up through contraction, they looked at canisters of diesel turned waxy by the cold.

Kavan walked with Ada.

‘What if we are attacked here?’ asked a Storm Trooper, its body emitting clanking, popping noises as it stamped along beside them. The cold was not kind to its large frame.

‘We fight,’ replied Kavan, simply.

Only the Scouts seemed happy. Or not so much happy as manic. They jumped and skidded down steep banks of snow, skiing on extended claws towards sheer drops, only flicking a foot at the last moment to veer clear of the edge. Sometimes they went over and Kavan and the rest listened for the distant clatter of metal hitting rock.

There was no sign of any other robots this high up.

‘Oh, they’re here,’ said Ada. ‘They’ll be watching you.’

‘Who will be?’

‘The Borners. This is their territory.’

‘Artemis territory.’

‘No. This isn’t the part we conquered. I’m talking about the real Borners. The robots of the mountains.’

‘You like to draw questions from me, don’t you Ada? Very well, there is time whilst we walk. Tell me about the robots of the mountains.

The Story of the Robots of the Mountains

‘Long ago, robots found the land of Born, a thin stretch of land squeezed between the sea and the mountains. Now, some say that the first inhabitants of that land descended to it from the peaks, and others say that the first inhabitants climbed from the sea, but all are agreed that the land of Born was a paradise for robots. The ground was rich in coal, buried so shallow that a robot did not have to mine, but could pull it straight from the earth. All they had to do was hold out their hands for iron ore to tumble onto them from a nearby mountain. Some days, it was said, even molten lead would rise from the earth around their feet, ready to be scooped up and used. A robot could stand in one place and wait for the materials of the forge to come to it.

‘And so robots flourished in the land of Born. It is said that the whales would come to the shore to speak, secure in the knowledge they would not be harmed, such was the abundance of metal in the land, and so a friendship grew up here between the two species.

‘Some even say that robots travelled from the Top of the World, riding in the bodies of the whales.

‘So the robots lived a life of ease. But such ease does not suit robotkind. For sloth and indolence took hold of those robots, until there came the day that that the best women of Born looked at the men, and they found them wanting.

‘There was much iron to be found in the mountains, so much so that the men took it for granted, making themselves bodies of iron, and never bothering to roam further afield in search of copper or chrome or nickel. Therefore the best of the women began to complain of the diminishing quality of the men’s wire, for the minds that they wove would be much improved by the presence of silver or a little gold, but the men just laughed and said the women were being too demanding, and wasn’t that the way of women?

‘Eventually the best women tired of this. So one night, when Zuse and Neel shared the sky and the snow of the mountains seemed to shine palely itself, the women took themselves along the paths into the high peaks. There they built themselves castles and towers out of rock, and they set traps and deadfalls and did all they could to make the passage to themselves as difficult as possible, that only the most worthy men could reach them-’

‘I’ve heard this story before,’ interrupted Kavan. ‘In the North Kingdom. And in Stark.’

‘This is not a story,’ said Ada. ‘Follow this path and you will see the places in the mountains that the women built. You will see the high balconies upon which they waited.’

‘Very well,’ said Kavan, ‘I believe you.’

Ada resumed her story.

‘The women waited. Eventually, the first men came climbing up to meet them. Those women looked down from their high towers that pierced the clear blue sky and saw the robots climbing the icy paths. But these robots were not the men they had left behind in the lowlands of Born. For the weak, iron-bound bodies those robots had worn would not have withstood the journey up into the high peaks. The men who approached the women in their towers had, of need, built themselves better bodies. They had been forced to travel in search of new metal and new ideas, and these they had incorporated into themselves. Furthermore, these robots were the few who had the bravery and the skill to climb the mountains to meet the women. And so the only men who showed the necessary skill and engineering to climb the mountains and make it past the traps and the deadfalls were judged worthy to make new minds with the women.

‘Time passed. And it came to be that the robots who dwelled in the highlands thought less and less of their brothers and sisters of the lowlands. For did not those robots who had remained behind still have the same iron bodies that they always had? Had they not remained in place whilst others had been tempered by the fire? And so those highlanders gradually separated themselves from the world below. They lived a harsh life in the mountains, and through this they became stronger and better engineered.’

Kavan listened to the story with interest.

‘Well, that would explain why the robots of Born were so easy to conquer,’ he said.

‘You never met the true Borners,’ said Ada. ‘You may see them yet.’

‘You said your mother was a Raman. You admire the Borners?’

‘I appreciate good engineering.’

Kavan nodded thoughtfully. He looked out to his right, down the sheer wall along which the road ran.

‘Was it really the Borners who built this road?’ he asked.

‘Possibly,’ said Ada. ‘That’s what they claim.’

Kavan nodded. He understood this much at least. ‘I’d do the same. It would help to inspire fear in my enemies.’

Night fell, and the army came to a halt.

Robots sat down, they pooled coal and charcoal, piled it against the low walls at the side of the road and made fires on which they could heat metal and make some repairs to themselves.

Kavan had spent only a short time in the polluted lands of Artemis; most of his adult life had seen him wandering the continent of Shull. Even so, he had never seen a sky as clear as this. The stars seemed to billow in great sheets of light above him, darkening the surrounding peaks still further by comparison. He gazed up into the sky, thinking.

‘You can see the planet Bohm over there,’ said Ada, still there at his side. ‘The bright light, just through the peaks.’

Kavan looked over to where she indicated.

‘They say the robots who travelled down the Northern Road liked to look at the stars,’ she continued. ‘They built an observatory up here in the mountains. The air is thinner, you get a better view.’

‘I saw an observatory on the northern coast,’ began Kavan, but his voice trailed away. All around him robots were pausing in their repairs and staring up into the night sky. Kavan followed their gaze and saw why.

Zuse, the night moon, was on fire.

Kavan was not a superstitious robot, but as he stared into the sky as rainbow light arced from the moon, he wondered what it signified.

‘Is this an atmospheric phenomenon?’ he asked Ada, not quite concealing the note of hope in his voice.

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Look, you can see how it’s erupting from the surface of the moon.’

Kavan looked back down the path behind him. Thousands of pairs of eyes were turned to the sky, yellow and green and red lights shining in the darkness.

Then he turned back to the sky. A long flare of light trailed from the moon into the darkness. What was going on?

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do heard the Copper Market well before he entered it. The noise of so many robots speaking and shouting; the ringing of metal being beaten into shape; the cackle and lowing of animals: the sounds echoed through the narrow streets of the mid-city.

He entered beneath the bone arch and found himself amongst the seemingly random collection of close-packed stalls and booths that had been gathering here in Sangrel for hundreds of years. Commanders had come and commanders had gone, but the Copper Market had sailed on through time untouched by higher events. There were stalls here whose position had been handed down from maker to robot for generations; there were traders whose lineage went back to the time that Sangrel had been carved from the rock.

Originally, this had been the place where copper was traded, but as the fame of the market spread, so other stalls had been set up, until the Copper Market had become the principle place to buy and exchange goods for all of southern Yukawa.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had entered the market by the livestock gate, and he found himself jostled by two skinny cows pushing their way through the crowd. Their owner, an iron robot carrying a long wooden stick, fell to his knees before Wa-Ka-Mo-Do in horror and supplication.

‘Peace,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, signalling to the Copper Guard to remain still. ‘They are fine animals,’ he said to their owner.

‘Thank you, oh my master.’

‘This is a breed prized for its leather, is it not?’

‘Yes, my master.’

The robot remained kneeling before him, eyes fixed on Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s feet.

‘You had better retrieve your animals before they cause some damage,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and he went on his way into the crowded square.

There was so much to see here. Birds with clipped wings fluttered and squawked in cages, lizards baked in the hot sun. A frantic bellowing sounded, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned to watch a cow being carefully cut apart. Two strong robots held it in a metal grasp whilst a woman drew a knife beneath its throat. Rich red blood squirted over her body, it dripped from her elbows onto the stone ground. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked down to see that he had been walking in the sticky fluid: red metal footprints tracked his progress through the market.

There was a sudden commotion, the sound of someone shouting, and laughter spread through the crowd. The noise reminded Wa-Ka-Mo-Do of home, it was so long since he had heard people laughing like this, and he moved to see what had happened, the Copper Guard clearing a path for him as he went. He came upon a woman scolding her child, holding up the bodies of four dead animals by their tails. Rats, he thought. What use a robot would make of their skin and bones he didn’t know, but poverty found a use for most things.

‘No!’ she was shouting. ‘They’re animals. Animals! You can’t swap their heads around!’

The crowd laughed all the louder as the child tried to stick the heads of the dead animals back on their bodies. They laughed at the woman, at her frustration at losing stock, but the laughter died away as they saw Wa-Ka-Mo-Do standing there in their midst.

‘Madam, he made an honest mistake,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, but already the crowd was dissipating. The woman fell to her knees before him, and at that moment Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah appeared at his shoulder.

‘Honoured Commander, I have found you at last!’

‘Greetings, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘Honoured Commander, if I may say, it does not do to be too approachable to your subjects. Not ever, but especially not now, when they talk and plot against you.’

‘Against me, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’ He laughed. ‘I have only just arrived here!’

‘They plot against the Emperor, and so by default, against his representative here. Honoured Commander, the people here are angry. Rumour sweeps the city and the surrounding lands.’

‘The people here seem quite content, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.’

‘The people here haven’t lost their jobs in the mines and the fields. The people here still have goods to trade.’ For just a moment, the frustration sounded in Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s voice. ‘My apologies, Honoured Commander, I speak out of turn.’

‘No, not at all. It’s your duty to keep me informed. Now, lead on. What is it you wish me to see?’

A shadow passed over Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s face. ‘Not out here, Honoured Commander. For the moment, you are merely taking a walk in the market, inspecting the produce. Follow me, and I will show you.’

Puzzled, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do followed Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah out of the livestock market and through the tanner’s quarter, where he saw slowly turning drums filled with chromium sulphate and animal hide.

‘I knew a robot with a nose who walked through here,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. ‘She said the smell was terrible!’

‘Really?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, looking at a rack of pale blue skins, drying in the sun.

They passed into the Copper Market proper, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do halted for a moment, struck by the scene.

The stalls here were older, but more substantial. They were made of iron decorated with a fine filigree of copper. And set out on them, glowing pale pink, looking so pure it made Wa-Ka-Mo-Do ache to touch them, were ingots of copper. Beautiful, clean pink copper.

‘What couldn’t a robot make with such metal?’ he said in awe.

‘Oh, indeed,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, ‘but not now. This way.’

They passed on, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looking about him at the pure ingots of iron and aluminium and gold and feeling the pull of them throughout his electromuscles.

They came to the poorer part of the market, the northern end, built up against the walls and cliffs that rose up to the high city where Smithy Square and the Copper Master’s house were built. The light here was dimmer, the stalls crowded closer together. The wares on sale were of poorer quality, the robots that thronged the narrow ways were of poorer construction. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched a young woman searching through a selection of scraps of tin and poor alloys, hunting for the best-quality metal. Her body was cheaply made, dented and scratched. In that she resembled the other robots who walked here. Fires glowed pale red, lit by poor coal, and black smoke drifted by. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was aware of how the robots here gazed at him. There was still fear, yes, but there was envy too. Envy of his strong body, envy of who he was. And underneath it all, resentment.

‘We’re here,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw he had been led to very edge of the market. The old stone walls of the city rose high up above him, partly rockface, partly bricks. Caves and rooms had been cut out of these walls, and robots had set up more stalls and forges and storerooms within them. Despite the bustle of the market, the area in front of one of the caves stood empty. There was a leather curtain draped across its entrance, and it was to this one that Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was leading Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘What is it?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘It is best that you see, Honoured Commander.’ He pulled aside the curtain, just a little, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped into the darkness beyond.

A silver robot moved towards him, drawing her blade. She let it fall when she saw who it was.

‘My apologies, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. I did not immediately realize it was you.’

‘Peace, La-Ver-Di-Arussah.’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do recognized her insult: she was implying that he dressed himself in the manner of a peasant.

‘At the back,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. The cave was deeper than Wa-Ka-Mo-Do expected. An oil lamp didn’t quite illuminate its furthest reaches.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do moved into the dimness, and he saw the body. He could not quite hide the shock in his voice.

‘It’s one of the Emperor’s army!’ he said. ‘One of the robots under my command!’ He looked closer. There was something strange about the body. The metal panelling didn’t look right, it didn’t look like steel and aluminium should…

‘It’s leather,’ he said softly, reaching out to touch the skin. ‘They took off the metal panelling and dressed him in animal skin.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew that he could not show his concern to his inferiors, yet it was a struggle to remain calm in the face of this obscenity. What minds would do this to a robot?

‘There was a note around his neck,’ said La-Ver-Di-Arussah.

She held out a thin sheet of foil with words inscribed upon it. A human next time…

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt as if there was a current running through the metal of the note. It seemed to surge through his body, burning him.

‘When did they find him?’

‘Last night. The brothers who owned this place have vanished. There are rumours that they were involved with the resistance.’ Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s voice was laced with static. ‘These were robots who did this. Robots will suffer because of this. Children will lose their parents. Husbands will lose wives.’

Something occurred to him. ‘Does the Emperor know of this?’ he asked Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.

‘Not yet.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the dead guard again. ‘Then he shan’t,’ he decided.

‘That isn’t your choice to make,’ observed La-Ver-Di-Arussah.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do spun to face her.

‘Would you question my orders?’

‘Not at all, Honoured Commander,’ she replied, and she rested her hand on her sword. ‘But I consider it my duty to advise you.’

‘But not in such a manner that I lose face,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and he drew his own sword so quickly that even La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s eyes flashed in surprise. ‘And so for the second time I wonder if you are challenging me to a duel. Or would you rather apologize for insulting me before an inferior?’

‘Honoured Commander, I-’

‘Silence, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. Before you answer, La-Ver-Di-Arussah, I should explain. Whoever did this is expecting an extreme response. They are hoping that arrests will be made, and that examples will be set. They are hoping to see coils being crushed in Smithy Square as they believe that will galvanize the people to more acts of defiance and subversion.’

La-Ver-Di-Arussah remained motionless, her hand still on her sword.

‘Would you force the Emperor’s hand, La-Ver-Di-Arussah? I suggest that there are some things the Emperor would prefer not to know! Would you have it said that the Emperor knew of this outrage, of one of his soldiers humiliated so, and yet he stayed his hand for fear of inflaming the uprising that would lead to the humans being harmed?’

‘The Emperor does not fear the humans!’

‘Of course he does not. Yet who would seek a fight where none is necessary? Let us second guess those who perpetrated this atrocity, let us choose the cultured way, let us listen in the silence, let us ask the quiet question, and then, when we find the answer, strike quickly and mercilessly, decapitating this monster, rather than feeding it.’

La-Ver-Di-Arussah held his gaze for some time, and then, slowly, she withdrew her hand from her sword. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do resheathed his own.

‘You are right, Honoured Commander.’ There was the faintest edge of sarcasm to her words. ‘And I thank you for your instruction. May I say, it was never my intention to challenge you to a duel, or to hurt you.’ And she drew her own sword, brought it flashing through the air to stop just before Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s head. He looked at the blade, so sharp, poised just between his eyes, watched as it fell to the ground, La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s hand still gripping the hilt.

All three robots looked to Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s sword, they marvelled at the way it had been drawn and cut through the wrist, all in one movement.

‘And it was not my intention to hurt you,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘The hand will be easily reattached.’

‘Of course, Honoured Commander.’

Using her other hand, La-Ver-Di-Arussah took the sword from the floor, resheathed it, bowed, and then retrieved her hand. Just as she was leaving, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do called to her.

‘One last thing, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. What do you know of the city of Ell?’

‘Ell, Honoured Commander? What do you mean?’

She was hiding something, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew it.

‘It is nothing,’ he said.

La-Ver-Di-Arussah left, pushing her way through the leather curtain.

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah waited until she was out of earshot and then turned to his commander, eyes glowing in awe.

‘Honoured Commander. Such speed-’

‘Do you know who this is?’ interrupted Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, pointing to the dead soldier.

‘Zil-Wa-Tem. Originally from Ka.’

Ka. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had a momentary thought of Jai-Lyn.

‘Ka,’ he repeated. ‘Look at this leather, look how carefully it has been stitched to make this skin. Who can have done this?’

‘There is a whole market full of people out there who could have done it,’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah.

‘Yes. But some of them will know.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stared at the dead robot. Zil-Wa-Tem’s coil was cut, his eyes dim. Someone had pushed an awl up into his mind, tangling and shorting the twisted metal there.

‘I really don’t understand!’ said Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah in despair. ‘Where is this dissent coming from? The robots of Sangrel province are woven to be loyal. For generations loyal parents have woven loyalty into their children.

‘But loyalty to whom?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, thoughtfully. ‘Loyalty to their Emperor, or to Sangrel, or to themselves?’

He came to a decision.

‘Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, fetch two trusted soldiers. Strip this robot and then disassemble his body, carry it from this place. Then I want you to return here and take the skin. Carry it, carefully concealed, around the market, looking for robots who stitch leather for a trade, and show it to them, and when you show it to them, watch their reaction.’

‘Understood, Honoured Commander.’

‘I will return to the Copper Master’s house to think.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do rose to his feet. As he made to leave Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah called out to him.

‘Honoured Commander?’

‘Yes Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’

‘Are we right not to tell the Emperor what has happened here?’

‘Would you prefer that we take arms against this market place, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah?’

The young robot didn’t say anything.

‘Then there is your answer.’

The following day dawned tinged in silver. The strange light from the night before hung in the air, turning the rocks to the colour of metal. Kavan stood in a land of frozen mercury, solidified as it poured from the sky. The snow glinted oddly like quartz in neon.

Calor appeared before Kavan, her bright body covered in scratches. Melting snow dripped from her body.

‘There’s a trap ahead, Kavan,’ she said.

‘How far?’

‘Less than a mile. There’s a bridge, the biggest I’ve ever seen. It crosses between two mountains. Several Scouts have gone across it, none have come back.’

‘Can you see anything on the far side?’

‘Movement. I can’t tell what.’ Calor looked around and buzzed. ‘What’s happened to the moon, Kavan?’

‘I don’t know.’

He looked around for Ada. She was balancing on one leg, holding onto the wall of the road with one hand as she fiddled with her foot with the other.

‘Ada,’ he called. ‘What do you know about a bridge ahead?’

‘The Evening Bridge,’ she said. ‘It marks the border of Born.’

Kavan looked back to Calor.

‘They will guard their border. Whether they mean to attack us or allow us to pass remains to be seen. Come on, let’s go and see.’

Kavan stood near the start of the bridge, looking at the biggest bolt he had ever seen. It was screwed into a wide metal plate riveted into the black rock. Red paint covered the large mushroom rivets that held the construction against the mountainside. Turning around, Kavan saw a huge red pipe looping up into the air, arching out over the sheer drop of the chasm by which they stood, and then dropping down to the pier of stone that rose from the centre of the chasm, a stepping stone between the mountains. Another red pipe did the same in parallel, a hundred feet away. And suspended beneath these two pipes, a road.

It was a bridge, but a bridge like none that Kavan had ever seen before.

‘How come we never saw anything like this when we conquered these mountains?’

‘We never came this far west,’ answered Calor.

‘They have to keep it painted,’ said Ada, ‘or the iron would just flake away.’

‘How do they do it?’ wondered Kavan.

‘Magnetic feet,’ said Ada.

He gazed across the bridge, felt the wind whipping through his body.

‘It would be the easiest thing to defend the far side.’

‘Then what shall we do?’ asked Calor.

‘I’ll cross,’ said Kavan. ‘Perhaps they will speak to me.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘The Uncertain Army will find its own way south. Ada can guide it out of the mountains, and after that Nyro’s will shall prevail.’

‘I’ll come with you, Kavan,’ said Calor. Kavan looked at the Scout, saw how she twitched and buzzed.

‘No, Calor. I need you to stay and organize the Scouts. Don’t let any more of them across.’

‘Okay, Kavan.’

Kavan stepped onto the bridge. So much metal, it was a wonder it hadn’t been taken and twisted into more minds and robots. Whoever guarded it must be strong indeed.

He began to walk, listening to the wind singing through the struts and cables, looking down at the peaks below him, wrapped in clouds and mist. This would be a clear blue morning, were it not for the fading silver light that filled the sky. Now Kavan reached the central pier: an island of stone on which an iron and brick support for the bridge had been built. He looked down. There were buildings there, clustered on this island in the sky, and on the roof of one, the silver body of a Scout lay, unmoving. Someone would retrieve the metal later, one way or another.

Now he moved on to the second span. He saw movement ahead. Figures on the other side of the bridge. More and more of them, crowding in. Robots, but oddly built. Too tall, too thin.

Kavan walked on. A robot detached itself from the group ahead and came forward onto the bridge to meet him. They met halfway across the second span, standing in the wind above the swirling mists below, the silver light fading from the sky above them.

‘You are Kavan, and behind you is your army.’

‘Sort of,’ said Kavan. ‘They may become my army. Will you join us or fight us?’

‘I haven’t yet decided.’

Kavan looked at the other robot. It was much taller and thinner than he was. Its limbs seemed to bend like springs when it moved, and Kavan wondered how it would look climbing from rock to rock up here in the mountains, how it would swing its body from ledge to ledge.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘My name is Goeppert.’

‘Are you the leader of these troops?’

‘They aren’t troops, and I am not their leader. A robot must follow the path woven into its own mind. Some paths lead up into the mountains, and some down to the plains-’

‘No,’ said Kavan. ‘I have marched from the top to the bottom of this continent, and I have conquered all that I have seen. I’ve heard robots issue challenges, I’ve heard robots plead for mercy, and I have heard robots spout philosophy. It all means nothing to me in the end. Tell me who you are, Goeppert.

‘I am a Speaker. Some days ago another army came through these mountains. A small group of Artemisians. They were fleeing a robot named Kavan, they said that he might follow them down this path. They gave us much metal. Gold and silver, platinum, lead. Metals that we do not often see in these mountains. They promised us more if we were to fight him, should he come this way.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘We promised that we would, and we took the metal.’

Kavan shifted, his left side squeaking.

‘I would have promised the same,’ he said. ‘That way I would have the metal. So you will fight us?’

Goeppert held his gaze.

‘We don’t know. Promises made to lowlanders mean nothing.’

Silence in the silver light.

‘Then will you let us pass?’

‘What would you offer us if we were to do so?’

‘The chance to follow Nyro. I go to take control of Artemis.’

‘And if we allowed you to pass, but we chose to remain here?’

‘Then I would take my army to Artemis. If I were successful in my conquest I would someday return here and conquer this land.’

Goeppert smiled.

‘I think you might find that more difficult than you would imagine. Even so, I appreciate your honesty. The world is not an honest place at the moment. Even the sky is wrong.’

‘Zuse flared last night,’ said Kavan. ‘I’ve never seen that before. Is it a feature of these mountains?’

‘No.’

Kavan said nothing.

‘Do you know the whales are dying?’ said Goeppert, suddenly.

Kavan was little unsettled by this change in the conversation. ‘The whales?’ he said. ‘What do you know about whales, living up here in the mountains?’

‘We listen to their songs. They are in constant communication with each other. Didn’t you know this?’

Kavan didn’t care.

‘Goeppert, I travel with an Uncertain Army. It will follow me forwards, it will not go backwards, and if it stands still for too long it will simply evaporate to nothing. I cannot afford to stand here all day, so tell me, will you fight me, or let me pass?’

Goeppert didn’t say a word, but somewhere behind him, somewhere out in the land of Born, robots were detaching themselves from the mountainside, coming into view, forming themselves into lines on the road beyond the bridge.

‘Both,’ said Goeppert. ‘For the moment we will let you pass. We will even give you troops to accompany you. They will learn how to fight, and maybe return here with more metal from the plains.’

‘Good,’ said Kavan.

‘The robots who return here will be stronger for having travelled. They will bring us new knowledge that we will put to use.’

Kavan understood. ‘You seek to temper yourself further.’ He looked back to the far side of the bridge where his troops waited. ‘I feel no such need.’

Spoole gazed at the map of the city.

‘Is this the best they could do?’ he asked.

‘They did well, given the time they had available,’ said General Sandale reprovingly.

Spoole doubted it. Someone had taken a sheet of polished steel and engraved a map upon it. The Basilica was a rectangle in the centre, the forges clustered around it. Beyond it was Half-fused City, the railway stations, the goods yards, the chemical tanks, the construction yards, the making rooms, the barracks, the gasometers and cable walks… All the signs of a busy city. Beyond all that, there was a planned outline of the defences.

He looked at the lines of the trenches, represented on the map. They were well laid out, offering clear, overlapping lines of fire. The railway lines picked their way through them, offering an effective way of keeping the front lines stocked with ammunition.

‘We thought of running lines out beyond the defences,’ said Sandale. ‘Fill a load of wagons with guns and send them out to fire a broadside into Kavan’s troops.’

‘It would only work once, but it could be effective. Still,’ he said grudgingly, ‘the overall plan looks workable.’

But will it be enough? he wondered. He had seen the way the troops had retreated back in the mountains. Kavan hadn’t even had a proper army then. If he reached Artemis City, and he would, then he would do so with troops hardened by the march, and tempered by the fighting they would have been forced into on the way.

Still, Spoole was fighting from his home territory. The land beyond the city was mined, the trenches could be flooded with petrol, trains could be loaded with explosives and sent running on railway lines buried beneath the sand and soil of the plain towards the attacking troops.

That thought gave Spoole pause. Once Artemis City had been connected to the continent by railway lines. Now those joins were severed, the city cut off from the rest of Shull. What were they doing, he wondered. Surely this wasn’t Nyro’s will?

He wasn’t a superstitious robot, none of the Artemisians were; it wasn’t woven into their minds. Nonetheless, he remembered the lights in the sky from the night before, the way that Zuse had lit up. The whole city had stopped work, robots had thronged the streets looking to the skies whilst fires burned unattended in forges and robots remained half assembled.

He pushed the thought from his mind and turned his attention back to the job in hand.

‘We need to do something about the aerial masts,’ said Spoole, pointing to the map. ‘Kavan could take them out easily, and thus cut off our communications.’

He scanned the map.

‘Here,’ he pointed. ‘The northern quarters. Demolish this sector and move the aerials there. They’ll be safe behind the forges and the garrisons.’

He looked up, saw Sandale and the other Generals exchanging looks.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Spoole, that’s where we are quartered. Don’t you think our capacity to lead will be severely reduced if we cannot guarantee our bodies are in working order?’

‘Surely we will be quartered here, in the Basilica?’ said Spoole. ‘A little privation during the course of the conflict is normal, surely?’

General Sandale took a long rod of iron and pointed.

‘I suggest we relocate the aerials here, just a little closer to the city than their current position. We leave the area where they stood empty. It should give a good line of fire on any robot that tries to attack across the ground there.’

Spoole inspected the map.

‘It’s not that bad an idea,’ he admitted, ‘but what’s to stop Kavan simply moving his troops onto the land and occupying it?’

The Generals exchanged looks once more.

‘Nonetheless,’ said Sandale, ‘we think this is a better idea.’

‘Since when was this a democracy?’

‘Since your decisions began to lose their effectiveness.’

Long ago, Spoole had seen the mugger snakes of Stark, watched them as they slipped out of their bore holes to capture a passing insect. They didn’t move that quickly, but they moved with an ease and assurance that meant they could often capture their prey before it was aware of the movement. Spoole moved in the same manner now, he had his hand behind General Sandale’s neck before the soldier knew what was happening.

‘You’ve lost your edge, General,’ said Spoole. He dragged a finger down Sandale’s chest panelling, scratching it.

‘And you are losing yours, Spoole,’ said Sandale. ‘Enough of this charade. Let me go.’

He had pushed a magnetic bomb against Spoole’s chest.

‘It’s not armed,’ he said, ‘but if it were, it would freeze your body before you could harm my coil.’ He smiled to the other robots. ‘There’s a time for action, and a time for thought.’

‘Want to try it?’ asked Spoole. ‘Put it to the test?’

‘There’s no need,’ said General Sandale. ‘Your moment has passed Spoole. Other arrangements have already been made.’

‘What arrangements?’ asked Spoole.

‘Troop deployments,’ said General Sandale. ‘We have a plan.’

Again the Generals looked at each other.

‘I think its time we told you,’ said General Sandale. ‘Come with me, Spoole.’

Wondering, Spoole followed General Sandale from the room.

He was heading for the topmost level of the Basilica. For the staterooms. Spoole’s own quarters were located up here, along with the radio centre. Spoole wondered if this was when the coup would finally happen. Still, he walked on.

He was Artemisian to the core. Whether by Kavan, or by San-dale and his cronies, if he was overthrown by other Artemisians, then that would be the will of Artemis.

Susan

The women filed into the lecture room.

‘Where’s Nettie?’ asked Susan.

‘I don’t know,’ said the woman next to her, forgetting her old hatred for Susan. She too was unsettled by the stranger standing in Nettie’s place, preparing to give the morning lecture. Susan and her neighbour held each other’s gaze for a moment. Life had become almost comfortable in Artemis City. What did this change signify?

The new woman at the front smiled brightly. ‘Good Afternoon, ladies! My name is Gretel, and I’m here to show you a new pattern.’

Susan raised her hand. ‘Where’s Nettie?’ she asked.

‘Reassigned. Now, I am here to talk about a pattern of mind that has recently been resurrected by the women of Artemis. We call it the half fuse.’

‘The half fuse? Like Half-fused City?’

Half-fused City was the old quarter, it lay not that far from the making rooms. The women tended to avoid it. It was against the rules to talk, but the women were regarded as mothers of Artemis now, and that gave them some leeway. There was a buzz as they discussed the half fuse: what did it mean? Was it moral? All of them but Susan, who was gazing at the metal floor, wondering about Nettie, wondering about her friend.

‘The half fuse,’ said Gretel. ‘Maximum power and longevity backed up with just sufficient intelligence. Imagine the robot that would power! Strong, capable of following orders to the glory of Artemis.. .’

This was the mind that Nettie had begun to show them, realized Susan. But why would anyone want to make such a mind? What sort of society would this be? Strong, but nearly unthinking? What would be the point in it?

She couldn’t hold the thought, because another truth was forcing its way into her mind. First Axel and Karel, and now Nettie. Everyone she had loved had been taken from her. And she just sat here, in this room, accepting it.

She remembered a robot she had met, what seemed like a lifetime ago, back in Turing City. Maoco O, the City Guard. He had known of the Book of Robots, and had thought that Susan did too. He had asked Susan a question:

When the time came, would you be strong enough to twist a mind in the way you knew to be right?

He had been talking about the coming war, talking about Turing City’s defeat. It had been easy to be defiant when City Guards such as Maoco O still patrolled in their sleek, over-engineered bodies. But now she was here, alone, in the middle of the enemy city, she was confronted with the real answer.

No. When the time had come, she had sacrificed her principles in order to stay alive.

And so what? Was that anything to be ashamed of? Wouldn’t any other robot do the same in her position? A remnant of her old life as a statistician came to her aid. Yes, most other robots would. At least, all the ones who had lived to make new robots. So why did she feel so guilty, if that was the way that robots were made?

At the front of the room Gretel was talking about the half fuse, and Susan realized what she was doing. She was hiding from the new reality. Circumstances had changed. She was no longer the frightened, dented woman who had been led into this room those months back.

She was a mother of Artemis, she had something like respect in this city. She was free to come and go as she pleased, within reason. So what was keeping her here now?

Nothing. Nothing but fear and momentum.

Nettie was gone, reassigned. Reassigned where? To what purpose? Nettie wasn’t allowed to make children, was this the final reassignment?

And that wasn’t all.

Karel was out there somewhere. Her husband was alive, somewhere in Northern Shull. So she had been told, anyway. What would she tell him, if he ever found her? That she just sat here and waited for him? That the one friend she had here had vanished, and she had just let her go?

That decided her.

She was going to get out of here. If it was too big a step to leave the city for the moment, then at the very least she would find Nettie.

And then, if he hadn’t come to her by then, they would go look for Karel.

Karel

South of Blaize, the valleys were full of dead towns. Hollow shells of stone buildings, long stripped of any metal, shedding their flat slates across the grass-grown road.

‘What are they doing here?’ wondered Karel.

‘Perhaps they mined the surrounding hills to make robots, and the robots just walked away down the road, leaving these buildings behind them to rot.’

‘Could be,’ said Karel, looking down yet another narrow valley crowded with dead buildings. Grey slate held together with green moss, all crowded higgledy piggledy together.

‘They remind me of something…’ began Melt.

‘What?’ asked Karel.

‘… nothing.’

‘Were you remembering something about your past?’

‘I remember lots of things. Morphobia Alligator told me this would happen. The metal of my mind is pushed together.’

‘I would have thought that would short it out,’ said Karel, suspiciously.

‘You would have to ask Morphobia Alligator about that,’ said Melt.

‘I’d like to ask Morphobia Alligator about a lot of things,’ snapped Karel, and he immediately felt bad about it. He had never seen a robot in such pain as Melt. He had tried to imagine himself trapped in the body, and had failed. He couldn’t have even stood up in it, he was sure.

Melt stumbled, a hiss of static pain briefly escaping from his voicebox.

‘Do you need a rest?’ Karel asked.

‘I’m fine.’

‘No, you’re not. You can’t go on much further.’ Karel scanned their surroundings. ‘That building over there looks like it used to be a forge. Come on. We can sit in there for a while. There may be some coal or metal remaining.’

‘The place will have been stripped centuries ago,’ said Melt. ‘You can feel the emptiness in this land. Let me keep on walking.’

Karel felt it too. There was nothing here but wind and grass and stone. The echoes of whatever life had once hammered metal here had long since faded. Then, up there, on the hillside, shaking green hands at the wind he saw…

‘Trees! They burn! I saw that in the Northern Kingdom. I could climb up there and cut some pieces from them. We could make a fire and dry our electromuscle at least. Heat some metal and bend it-’

‘It’s too wet,’ said Melt. ‘The wood will be too green.’

‘So you know something about trees?’ asked Karel, who knew nothing. There had been virtually no organic life back in Turing City.

‘I remember forests, and wood and carving,’ said Melt, gazing at the floor. Once more Karel had the impression he knew more than he was saying. It was as if the robot was deciding just what it would be safe to reveal. ‘But I don’t think it was me who did it. I remember that you need a sharp blade to cut into wood.’

‘Are there forests at the Top of the World?’

‘The Top of the World?’

‘You say that Morphobia Alligator brought you here, Melt. Do you think it was from the Top of the World?’ He gazed at the strange half-melted body of the other robot. Even before it had been damaged it would have been nothing like his own.

‘The Top of the World,’ repeated Melt. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’

Liar, thought Karel, and then he immediately felt a surge of shameful panic as he watched Melt freeze in place. Slowly, the great lead and iron body toppled forward, landing on the ground with a crash that sent Karel’s own body rattling.

‘Melt!’ he called, ‘Melt! I’m sor-’ He stopped himself just in time. He was being ridiculous. Thinking that Melt was a liar hadn’t caused this failure. He knelt down and looked into the other robot’s eyes. They barely glowed, such was Melt’s exhaustion.

‘I’m okay,’ he said.

‘No you’re not!’ said Karel, and the sky unfolded a fall of rain that began to patter upon their metal shells.

‘Bullets,’ said Melt.

‘Rain,’ said Karel. ‘Just a shower. Come on, let’s get you into shelter.’

‘Soon pass,’ said Melt.

Karel took the robot by the shoulders and began to drag him awkwardly to the nearest building. He weighed so much! Melt said he had once been a soldier. What sort of a soldier would fight in a body like this?

Slowly, painfully, he dragged the other robot to shelter, metal grinding and scraping on the wet ground. Finally, he pulled him across the threshold and let him go.

Karel looked around the ancient room in which he found himself. Nothing but dry brick and stone and crumbling mortar. Green organic life grew around the cracks where water had made its way in. The place was long stripped of anything useful: he could feel the hollowness of his surroundings, empty of all metal.

‘Melt, I’m going out to look around. There must be some dry wood or something somewhere.’

Melt gave the faintest hiss of static in reply.

Karel re-emerged into the long grey street, huddled under the dull green hill beneath a wretched grey sky. The rain plinked on his shell, and he felt utterly miserable. A noise, the sound of shifting stone. He turned, but there was no one there.

Something had changed. Karel scanned the blank faces of the old buildings. Something was out there, he could feel it. A flicker of movement to his right and he swung round. Nothing.

‘Hello?’ he said, his voice lost in the pattering rain. ‘Morphobia Alligator?’

He sensed something behind him.

He turned around and saw two robots walking towards him, their hands raised in greeting. His feeling of pleasure at the sight of help quickly turned to disgust as he saw the state of the robots that approached.

Their bodies were dented and in poor repair, the squeaking and grinding noises they made as they walked showed what little care they took of themselves.

Worst of all though, and the sight of it filled him with utter revulsion, they were covered in rust.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked around the Emperor’s Palace in deepening awe, trying to put his emotions into order, trying to make sense of the odd trepidation that he felt. It wasn’t the sight of the high, polished ceilings of brass and titanium; it wasn’t the paper scrolls that hung down over the brushed aluminium walls, a few strokes of paint evincing autumnal scenes, a bough of cherry blossom or elegant robots from times past dressed in copper bodies. It wasn’t even the sound of the robot gamelan that played in the corner of the room, and this was unusual, for Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, warrior and poet, understood the music of the metallophone and the gong, and those instruments cast in Sangrel were famous throughout Yukawa for their clarity and tone.

No, what truly moved him to silent wonder was the sight of the animals that moved through the building. Humans everywhere, their soft brown and pink and muddy-yellow bodies covered in bright fabrics. That the Emperor should give this place up to the animals was hard enough to believe, that they could accept this gift seemingly without understanding its significance was beyond comprehension. Yet it was so, for the animals had pushed aside the busts and vases and screens of the palace, with no regard for the harmony of the place. And then, insult upon insult, they had brought in their own furniture. Plastic chairs; long tables covered in cloth; ugly white lights. Everything they used had function but little form. Their artefacts were plain and ugly, an insult to the Emperor. And everywhere they had draped the long black wires that snaked through the rooms and corridors, singing with the strange electricity that the humans used. Rectangular screens hung on walls, flickering with pictures of other places, they made Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s head buzz if he looked too closely.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah entered the Great Hall together. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s scarlet body was polished beyond its usual shine, it seemed to glow with a deep red light this evening. The ceremonial blades at his hands and feet sharpened to a razor’s edge. His electromuscles were freshly straightened and his joints lubricated with fine oil. He looked just how the commander of Sangrel should look. Or so he had believed, until he saw Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. He had forgotten that fashion of the nobility: to wear another body to events such as this. Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah’s dress body was built in the imperial style, a stylized representation of a warrior, a sweeping arrangement of fins and blades, of quicksilver motion captured halfway through an attack. Impressive to look at, but so thin and fragile, it would crumple almost at a touch. Of course, that wasn’t the point. The nobility could afford to wear bodies such as this, protected as they were by their position. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do knew that some of the animals in the room would mistake Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah for the commander of Sangrel. He didn’t mind. The robots were here to put on a show. Tonight, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah at least, outshone the humans.

The humans wore virtually no metal. They covered themselves either in plain black fabric or exotically coloured silks. It took Wa-Ka-Mo-Do a few moments to realize there was a system to their dress. He had seen quite a few of the humans by now: he was at the stage where he could distinguish the sexes without having to look for the two swellings on the chest that signified a female (so gauche). Now he realized that the men all wore black cloth. They were the ones who most resembled robots, if black fabric tubing pulled up around the arms and legs could ever be said to resemble panelling. But as for the women, they looked like no robots Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had ever seen before. They wore long flowing envelopes of silk that seemed to start just above their chests, to hug their strange bodies down past the waist and hips and then to flare out to touch the floor. They gave the females the strange appearance of not having any legs, so that they seemed to move across the floor as if they were on wheels.

Ah, but Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was mistaken. Not all the females were dressed in that fashion. Those soldiers who stood around the walls were dressed in the same grey and green uniforms regardless of their sex. Yet these soldiers were not like his own Copper Guard. They didn’t seem to maintain the motionless stance his own Guard would have done were they here and not marking their time in Smithy Square. These humans turned this way and that, they nodded and chatted to each other. That wasn’t to say they weren’t well trained. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could tell by the way they were always scanning the crowd, despite their easy posture. And yet they seemed to regard the people at the party with something like amused derision, not like their superiors whom it was their honour to guard.

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah appeared at his side.

‘Mr Ambassador, may I present Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, commander of the Emperor’s Army of Sangrel.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do found himself face to face with a human a little taller than he was. The animal’s skin was a shiny black colour that reminded Wa-Ka-Mo-Do of anthracite. His hair was grey, his eyes a deep brown. He reached out one shiny black hand and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stared at it.

‘The Ambassador wishes to shake your hand,’ murmured Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do remembered his instructions, and reached out and took the anthracite hand in his, looking at the pail pink tips at the end of the fingers. The hand was warm and soft. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do moved it up and down.

‘And how do you like our city, Mr Ambassador?’

‘I find it both spectacular and beautiful, Commander. It is a wonderful testament to the culture of the Yukawan robots. The sense of history and tradition is written in the very stones themselves.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But I understand that this is not your own city, Commander? I have been told that you represent a very, ah, different culture?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt a skitter of current up and down his hand. How on Penrose would the Ambassador know this? Was this La-Ver-Di-Arussah’s doing?

‘I represent the Emperor, Mr Ambassador,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do carefully. ‘However it is true that I come from another province, some distance from here. You may have seen its mountains from your ship?’

‘How fascinating. You must tell me about it sometime. Now, forgive me, I must circulate.’

And at that the Ambassador shook his hand once more and headed off around the room.

‘What just happened there, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah? I feel as if I’ve just been dismissed. Doesn’t he realize who I am?’

‘I fear he realizes all too well, Honoured Commander. I don’t think it would serve either of you to engage in anything but small talk. Do you really wish to mention what happened this morning in number three mine?’

‘I don’t know! What happened in number three mine?’

‘You mean you haven’t been told?’

‘Obviously not.’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s voice was cold with fury. Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah looked at the floor, embarrassed.

‘The robots refused to work, Honoured Commander. They said that they would only follow the commands of the Emperor’s robots, not animals.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held his face immobile.

‘And what did the humans do?’

‘Nothing, Honoured Commander. They chose to pretend they could not understand what was going on.’

‘Is the matter resolved?’

‘Of course. La-Ver-Di-Arussah led a detachment of the Copper Guard there and killed one in ten of them. Half of them children, as is customary.’

‘What!’

‘Children cannot work as efficiently, Honoured Commander. Plus the effect on the parents is remarkable. It is the logical thing to do for so many reasons.’

‘You know that’s not what I mean! How dare you take such action without my permission?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do realized that he had spoken too loudly. Animals and robots were looking in his direction. At that moment he saw La-Ver-Di-Arussah, standing with three humans, resplendent in a body of gold foil. She was staring towards Wa-Ka-Mo-Do with a look of amused condescension.

‘Bring her here, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘At once!’

La-Ver-Di-Arussah strode up, the gold of her body swaying in the wind. Long sheets had been stretched out and soldered back on themselves, giving her a flouncy, puffed up appearance that reflected the dress of the human women.

‘Honoured Commander,’ she said. ‘I hardly think this is the place-’

‘Silence, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. I’ve just heard about number three mine! How dare you take such action without my permission?’

‘Honoured Commander, it is neither custom or practice that you are informed of every action that takes place within the city. I acted according to precedent.’ She moved, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do heard the sweet singing of current perfectly tuned in to her golden body. He was more than aware of the deadly force that lurked beneath that fair construction. ‘However,’ she continued. ‘In future I will inform you of all activities, if that is your wish?’

‘Don’t try that dumb insolence with me, La-Ver-Di-Arussah. We are not playing court games here. My orders are clear. Punitive actions on civilians will only take place with my express permission. Do you understand me?’

‘Of course I do, Honoured Commander,’ La-Ver-Di-Arussah smiled sweetly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I left our guests rather suddenly. I fear I am being rather rude…

At that she turned and made her way back to the waiting humans.

It was all Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could do to remain still. The urge to kick her to the ground was surging through every electromuscle in his body.

Sometimes Karel felt as if he lived in a ghost story of the north. He stood in an empty town under a grey sky, watching two robots that had succumbed to rust walking towards him through the rain. He felt nothing but disgust at their state. Good metal left to flake away, joints squealing for lack of oil, sluggish current dulled by dirty contacts… How could a robot have so little self-respect?

‘Greetings,’ said one. Her voice was so badly tuned that it sang with harmonics. ‘My name is Gail, this is Fleet. May we help you?’

She held out a hand, as if to support him. Karel took a step back, as if rust was something that would spread from her body onto his own.

‘Please, don’t look badly on us,’ said Gail sadly. ‘There is precious little metal in this place. We do our best with what we have.’

Karel felt a mixture of shame and anger at this.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, carefully. ‘One forgets how lucky one is sometimes.’ Even so, surely there was always something one could do to prevent oneself falling into this state of disrepair? ‘My name is Karel.’

‘We saw your friend collapse,’ continued Gail, and her voice wobbled up and down the registers, harmonizing and burbling. ‘We have a fire and some metal. Perhaps we could help?’

Some metal? Then why not use it on themselves?

‘There are always those worse off than ourselves,’ said Gail, guessing his thoughts. ‘We can still move around.’

Karel looked back towards the forge where he had left Melt.

‘Maybe we can at least dry him out?’ she suggested.

‘How far is your place? We will have trouble moving him. ‘

‘A little way into the hills. We cannot stay in this town. Other robots are about. Soldiers. Silver Scouts. They carry sharp blades on their hands and feet. They would tear us apart.’

Gail was right, realized Karel. Although, he felt a little like doing the same himself. And yet, there was pity mixed with his contempt. Karel realized that Fleet had not spoken yet. Gail noted his look.

‘Fleet cannot speak, his voicebox is long decayed. Yet he will still do all he can to help.’

Pity moved Karel, that and embarrassment. How could he refuse such an offer of help from those who had so little?

‘Thank you,’ he said.

There was a narrow path leading up into the hills from behind the buildings of the old town. They dragged Melt along it with less difficulty than Karel had expected: Fleet, though badly warped and rusted, was stronger than he looked. He took a firm hold of Melt and dragged.

‘So much metal,’ said Gail, in wonder, looking at the melted mass of lead and iron.

The path split into two. Karel looked down the left hand branch. There was something inviting about it, the way it curved around the hillside, disappearing into the rain. A wide path, well trodden in the past…

‘Don’t follow the left branch,’ said Gail. ‘Robots who take that path never return.’

Karel looked along the track of the path to where it vanished around the green hillside.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘That’s a story for later,’ replied Gail. ‘Come on, up here.’

The right-hand branch of the path led further up the hill. The rain was growing harder, it made metal slippery, made it harder to grip Melt. Below them, Karel caught a glimpse of the old town, snaking through the hills, and he had a sudden urge to return there. What was he doing up here, following these rusty strangers?

‘Almost there,’ said Gail, and she pointed to a stone arch built into the hillside, a thin trail of smoke emerging from it. ‘This is the last entrance to the mine that made the town below rich. But all the iron is gone now.’

The path they followed widened as it approached the opening, and Karel wondered if he could make out the faint imprints of sleepers on the level ground before it.

‘In here,’ said Gail. Karel hesitated. He turned for a moment and gazed back down at the town. You got a good view of the Northern Road from up here, he realized. This was an excellent place to watch for robots approaching. Robots like him and Melt.

‘In we go,’ said Gail. ‘Nice fire inside.’

The sky chose that moment to let fall a further tumult of rain. It slipped into Karel’s panelling; it was cold on the electromuscles. That decided him. Despite his misgivings, he followed Gail into the mine.

The west side of the Great Hall resembled a waterfall of iron arches, set with glass. The windows in the lowest, largest arches had been opened up to allow the robots and humans access to the terrace beyond. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do followed the evening breeze outside, the sound of the robot gamelan diminishing as he left the room.

The stars were bright above. Their light, and the light streaming from the open windows of the Great Hall, made the surrounding lands that much darker by comparison. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could just make out the flatness of the lake beyond and below the edge of the terrace, then the hills that lay in the distance. The orange glow of fires could be seen, dotted here and there across the hills, and he moved forward to get a better look.

Rachael, the young human woman from the Street of Becoming, was there, covered in lengths of long green fabric. She wore a set of polished gemstones around her neck in a setting of crudely made silver.

‘Hello, robot,’ she said. ‘What are you going to do now? Order up an airstrike because I’m blocking your view of the lake?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do smiled. ‘I don’t know. What’s an airstrike?’

She waved a hand at him. ‘Never mind. Hey, while you’re here perhaps you can tell me what that is?’

She pointed out across the lake to the low mound, barely visible on the opposite shore.

‘That?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘That’s the Mound of Eternity.’

‘Thank you!’ Even coming through the little speaking machine she wore, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do could hear the frustration in her voice. ‘You know, I’ve asked just about everyone here about that place and no one would give me a straight answer.’

‘They wouldn’t,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘They don’t speak of the Mound here in Sangrel.’

‘Why not?’

‘Ah,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I’m not sure if this is really the time to tell you. We’re supposed to be on our best behaviour tonight, after all.’

She liked that answer, he could tell by her smile. Maybe he was getting used to humans after all

‘Perhaps I’ll tell you later,’ offered Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Perhaps I could do something else for you first?’

‘Like what?’

He reached out and touched the silver chain that hung around her neck.

‘May I?’ he said.

‘Go on.’

He undid the tiny metal clasp, resisting the temptation to press down on the exposed flesh of the human, to get a feel of the structure underneath.

‘This is good metal,’ he said, ‘but badly formed.’ He began to work on the tiny links of chain, bending out the imperfections.

‘Wow!’ she said. ‘How are you doing that? Your fingers don’t seem to touch it.’

‘It’s just twisting metal,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘You know, this would be stronger and more attractive if you put a half twist in the loops, like so…’

He held a length of adjusted chain before her eyes.

‘Oh! That’s beautiful!’

‘Or how about making it into a flexible band, like so…’

He worked the chain again, flattening the silver loops and stretching them and forming them into a plait.

‘Of course, if I had a little copper in the mix-’

‘No! No! It’s perfect just the way it is!’

He adjusted the settings for the polished gemstones and then handed her back the reformed necklace.

‘Are all robots such craftsmen?’ she wondered, turning it this way and that in her hands. ‘Hold on, how am I supposed to put it back on?’

‘Sorry! I forgot that you were a…’ his words trailed away.

He retrieved the necklace and quickly formed a clasp into it. He showed her how it worked.

‘That’s so clever,’ she said, fastening it back into place. ‘Thank you, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

‘It was my pleasure. It looks beautiful on your neck now.’ He wasn’t just saying that. There was something oddly attractive about the sight of the silver chain against the white curve of her neck.

‘I feel as if I owe you a favour now.’

‘Certainly not. You humans are our guests.’

She grinned at that. ‘Actually, you are the guests in our embassy tonight. So I do owe you a favour.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wondered if, despite her smile, he detected a note of bitterness in her words.

‘Well,’ he said carefully, ‘maybe you could tell me what you are doing here? I mean here, on Penrose. You’re not like the other humans.’

‘And you’re not like the other robots. I like your smooth, shiny body. You look like a classic car, not like those other kitchen utensils.’ She waved a hand in the direction of Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. She was angry.

‘Rachael. Have I said something to upset you?’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I couldn’t help noticing. I’m so sorry, but you do seem different. You’re… well, younger. I wondered why you were here. Why no one else like you-’

‘What am I doing here?’ Even in the dim light, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do noted the way that Rachael’s face changed colour. ‘What am I doing here?’ she repeated. ‘Well, my father is the controller of --.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at the human in confusion. She had spoken, he had heard her, but for some reason the device that she wore clipped around her head had not translated her final words.

‘What happened there?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Your machine didn’t speak properly.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was fascinated to see the red colour deepen in Rachael’s pale face.

‘I’m being censored, that’s what happening.’ She raised her voice. Some of the other humans were looking in her direction. ‘I’m not allowed to say what I think! What do you think of that, robot?’

‘My name is Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and there’s no need to shout.’ He lowered his own voice. ‘I don’t call you human, do I, Rachael?’

Her eyes flicked to the ground for a moment.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Hey, that’s a mouthful. Maybe I’ll call you Wacky.’

‘That would be an insult, Rachael. A Yukawan robot earns their full name.’

‘I’m sorry, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’ And then her face flushed again. ‘But maybe you’ll understand how I feel. I’ve been dragged here from -, made to leave home and travel -- -- --, all for the sake of my father’s job. And the time has gone all funny on Earth, you know that? I won’t be -- for --. -- – -.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held up his hands.

‘Rachael, you’re cutting out. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘That’s what happens when you grow up surrounded by fascists.’ She clenched her fists and rolled her eyes, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had to force himself not to laugh. It seemed such a strange thing to do.

All of a sudden she calmed down. ‘I’m thirsty, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

‘Thirsty?’ the word confused Wa-Ka-Mo-Do for a moment, but then he remembered what Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah had told him. ‘Oh yes. I understand.’

‘It’s polite for a gentleman to fetch the lady’s drink,’ added Rachael.

‘Is it?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, puzzled by this custom, but pleased for the opportunity to watch a human drink. ‘What do I do?’

‘You mean you don’t know? I suppose you wouldn’t. Well, you call across one of the waiters, ask him for a glass of champagne, and then you take it from him and hand it to me, and then I drink it.’

‘Champagne,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, carefully. ‘Very well.’ There was a black-clad human nearby holding a tray. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do signalled to him, as he had seen the other humans do.

‘Champagne, please.’

The light flickered on the waiter’s headset as Wa-Ka-Mo-Do spoke the words, but if the human thought there was anything odd in the request, he didn’t say so.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do took the champagne and turned to see Rachael had walked off along the terrace’s edge, as if she didn’t know him. This seemed a very strange custom. Wouldn’t it be easier if human females fetched their own drinks? He carefully carried the glass across to her, noting what a ridiculous design the vessel was. The yellowish liquid that it contained seemed to be always about to spill over the rim of the wide bowl. Surely it would be more sensible to make the glass taller and narrower?

‘You did it!’ said Rachael, sounding impressed. She seized the glass and took a sip. Immediately, she began to make a harsh hacking sound.

‘What is that you are doing?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Does that mean you are enjoying the drink?’

‘Just a cough,’ said Rachael, her voice strangely modulated. ‘It went down the wrong way.’ She made the hacking noise once more, and then took another sip of the drink. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched fascinated, seeing the way her throat moved as it went down.

She turned to lean against the stone balustrade, seemingly unperturbed by the sheer drop below her. She was looking out at the green mound opposite.

‘Now, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. You said you’d tell me more about the Mound of Eternity.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked around, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah and the rest of the robots and humans still circulated in the Great Hall. He could see the Ambassador, talking to two robots in copper skins. Mine Chiefs, he guessed. He should really be in there himself, but he couldn’t face returning to that room just yet. Besides, he was enjoying Rachael’s company.

‘Do you want to hear a story about a story?’ he asked. ‘A story about a story? Is this a robot thing?’ ‘It’s supposed to tell you something about yourself.’ ‘I’d rather know about the Mound of Eternity.’ ‘This story is about the Mound of Eternity too.’ ‘Then I’d like to hear it.’ She took a drink of champagne, and Wa-Ka-Mo-Do began to speak.

The Story about a Story

‘A long time ago, the robots who built this city ruled the world, or at least all the land that they could see, which in those days was the world. They were proud and clever.

‘They mined this hill for iron and copper, and built the walls from the stone that they excavated. They built forges and presses and foundries, and the city waxed strong. And all would have been well, but for the streak of cruelty woven into the minds of those who led, and they treated those in their charge badly. When they wove their children, they wove a little more cruelty into their minds. And so cruelty deepened with each generation.

‘Now, you need leisure to be truly cruel, and these robots had leisure. Do you want to hear more?’

‘Yes,’ said Rachael.

‘But I warn you, the story of the Mound of Eternity is not a pleasant one.’

‘Go on.’ She took another sip of the champagne. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was a novice in the ways of humans, but it seemed to him she wasn’t really enjoying her drink.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘So the metal of this land was twisted into patterns of exquisite cruelty, and the people of this city suffered under the hands of the rulers-’

‘Hold on,’ interrupted Rachael, waving a hand airily in the darkness. ‘It couldn’t be that bad.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt disorientated to be put off his flow so.

‘Well… Why not?’

Rachael took hold of the balustrade and looked out over the orange fires, burning in the dark distance. She seemed to be a little uncoordinated, her speech a little slurred.

‘Because robots have it easy. If someone damages your leg or arm you can always build another one. If a human is tortured they can be damaged for life.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wore a tolerant expression. ‘That’s why it’s better to be a human.’

‘No way! Really? Why?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed at her face. He could barely read human expressions; even so, he got the impression that this wasn’t bravado. Rachael really hadn’t thought this through.

‘It’s better to be a human,’ he repeated, ‘because once a human’s body is destroyed the pain ends. With a robot they just fasten on another limb and start the torture all over again.’

He leaned closer to her; he heard the strange rasping noise she made as she blew wind into and out of her mouth.

‘You know that if you cut the coil of a robot it cannot control its body?’ he said. ‘It’s cast into a world of darkness before it dies?’

‘I had heard that.’

‘Not that long ago, here in Sangrel, they cut the coils of robots. They cut the coils of children. They made mothers watch as their children were brought forward and their coils broken before them. They made mothers weave minds knowing they would be destroyed immediately they were finished.’

The human’s eyes widened. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw the intricate patterns woven in the blue circles that acted as focussing mechanisms.

‘But that was awful!’

‘That was just the start,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I told you, as the years passed, the cruelty of those robots increased. Cruelty is a sport that must be constantly reinvented lest it grow dull. Look at this.’

He led Rachael to the end of the terrace, to where the exhibits lay.

‘So? It’s a suit of armour. What’s so bad about that?’

‘Not a suit of armour. A robot body. Doesn’t it look odd to you?’

‘A little. Why? What is it really?’

‘I can’t tell you. You’re too young.’

‘Too young? I’m fourteen!’ She picked up her empty glass. ‘I need more champagne,’ she said. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do signalled to another waiter who replaced the glass with a full one.

‘Cruelty was once written throughout this state,’ he said. They moved back to the edge of the terrace and looked back over the lake to the dark shape of the Mound of Eternity. The rhythm of the gamelan had changed, now the slowly ringing gongs spoke of stillness and calm.

‘The robots of this city were tortured and crippled and melted and bent. Voiceboxes were amplified so that the screams of the suffering could be heard across the countryside. Ever more inventive ways were found to torment the populace. Do you want to hear more?’

‘Yes! Go on!’

‘Very well. Know then, that in the end, the robots of Sangrel wove fear directly into the minds of their subjects.’

Rachael frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

She wouldn’t. She was a human.

‘They were made to be afraid. They were, what is the word you use? Born? That’s it, they were born to be afraid of everything. Of the changing of the weather, of patterns in the stone, of the forge and the flame. Even of the very touch of metal itself.’

He gazed down at the mound below.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do?’ said Rachael. ‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do! Speak to me. You still haven’t told me about the mound!’

‘The mound? Oh yes, the mound. It was raised at the very end. Just before Sangrel was made a part of the Empire.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It was there that the last of the old race performed its most unspeakable acts.’

‘Like what?’ She leaned close, concern etched on her face.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do lowered his voice.

‘I can’t tell you,’ he said, in grave tones. ‘They were unspeakable.’ And then he laughed, loudly.

‘Hey!’ Rachael forgot herself and slapped him on the chest. They both looked at each other in surprise, Rachael sucking at her fingers.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But don’t tease me like that.’

‘I won’t.’

‘So what’s in the mound now?’

‘No one goes there. It’s the property of the Vestal Virgins.’

‘What are the Vestal Virgins?’ asked Rachael, eyes wide. ‘They’re mentioned in Earth stories.’

‘Have you heard of Oneill?’

‘Yes! He’s the mythical creator who’s supposed to have made the first robots, isn’t he?’

‘Sort of. Well, the Vestal Virgins were supposed to have tended the fire of the first forge where Oneill made all the robots. One night, when Oneill was out searching for more iron ore, they took one of the men that Oneill had made that day and they began to twist his wire. You understand what I mean? They were making a new mind.’

‘I understand,’ giggled Rachael.

‘Good. But Oneill returned and found them and was angry, so he declared that the Vestal Virgins would never twist fresh metal, but rather would only be able to work on minds that had already been made by other women.’

Rachael was nodding. ‘The Vestal Virgins were keepers of the sacred flame on Earth,’ she said. ‘This translator is a clever piece of kit. It seems to understand stories as well as individual words. But what do you mean, they can only work on minds already made?’

‘They twist the metal of other creatures to their own ends. They form the lengthening caterpillars, for example. The Emperors keep them as pets and for sport. In the wild caterpillars have ten segments. The Vestal Virgins twisted them so that they fight. The winning caterpillar takes the segments of the loser. There are pictures of them hanging in the Great Hall.’

She nodded. ‘I think I’ve seen them. I wondered what they were.’

‘It’s not my favourite of the royal sports. The longer a caterpillar, the more power it has to stun the weaker competitors. The Emperor has caterpillars more than a mile in length. They have trouble moving…’

They weren’t the only ones. Rachael had drained her second glass of champagne. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do saw she was having real trouble standing up straight. She swayed as if her gyros were incorrectly tuned.

‘Anyway, enough about caterpillars. You said you were going to tell me a story!

‘I said I was going to tell you a story about a story, and I did.’

‘When?’

‘Just now. The story of a story is the story of a robot, or a human, I should say, wanting to hear about cruelty.’

She shook her head.

‘I don’t get it.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do laughed.

‘This is a game that is played on young robots. Asking them if they want to hear about cruelty, in order to reveal the fascination with cruelty that’s woven into their own minds. What pure person would wish to hear about such evil?’

‘But you told me you were telling me a story! You tricked me!’

‘I didn’t trick you, I asked you repeatedly if I should go on, and I warned you each time that the next step held worse cruelties, and yet still you wanted to know more. Humans are like robots: they have a fascination with evil woven into their minds.’

‘Humans can’t help the way they are made. Robots must be worse because they chose to put such things into the weave.’

‘Minds need a mix of emotions. Or so the women say. This is something that men can never understand.’

‘Yeah! You never do understand!’ She swayed as she spoke. She seemed angry and more uncoordinated than ever. Did champagne affect all humans in this manner? Then if so, why drink it?

‘I’m sorry, Rachael, I didn’t mean to offend. The point of the story is to show that cruelty is everywhere, and it’s in you. Weren’t you aware of this?’

‘Weren’t you aware of this?’ she mimicked. ‘Look at you, so smug. Think you know everything. And yet, you’re the ones who don’t realize

…’

‘What?’

She raised herself up. ‘You don’t realize, do you?’

‘Realize what?’

‘The way you make yourselves. Like humans. Two arms and two legs and five fingers. You have a head and two eyes. You even have mouths to smile with. You’re just like us!’

‘Or you could say that you are like robots,’ replied Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Don’t try and be clever. You’re not thinking. Why do you need mouths, anyway? Why not just communicate by radio?’

‘There’s all the different frequencies, and the trouble with metal and-’

‘No, you’re not listening to me, are you? I stand here in front of you, breathing the air of an alien planet unaided and you don’t think that’s strange?’

‘Should I?’

‘Of course! Look at me. What about -- and --’.

There they were again, those strange discontinuities. She was speaking, he could hear it, but the device that she wore wasn’t translating her words.

‘Rachael, I really don’t understand.’

‘Look!’ she said, and she pointed up into the sky. ‘Look at that!’

He looked up. Zuse, the night moon was there, a perfect metal sphere, reflecting the sunlight down upon the world.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘That’s just Zuse.’

‘Just Zuse?’ she mimicked. ‘It’s a metal moon! And none of you think there’s anything wrong with that?’

‘Well there isn’t,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, puzzled. ‘Why should there be?’

‘You don’t even know what we’re doing here, do you? About -- the…

‘Rachael!’

The words came from behind Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He turned to see a human male hurrying up. In the light cast from the Great Hall, he had the same copper colouring as Rachael. Was this her father?

‘Rachael! Why are you shouting? Have you been drinking?’

The man looked from Rachael to Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and something about his gaze caused the robot to rise on his toes a little and prepare a fighting stance.

‘Did you give her champagne? Don’t you know that she’s too young?’

‘Honoured guest, if I have made a mistake I apologize…’

But the human had an arm around Rachael’s shoulder and was already leading her away from the terrace.

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah appeared at Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s side.

‘Are young humans not supposed to drink, then?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, genuinely puzzled.

Karel

Karel turned up the brightness of his eyes. Just inside the mine entrance was a wide chamber, the only illumination the glow from the small forge in the centre of the room. The air was filled with smoke, and through the haze he made out the shapes of three other robots. Peering closer, he found them to be in a poorer state than Gail and Fleet.

‘Don’t be like that,’ said Gail, noticing his reaction. ‘Or are you afraid of us? Come on, what could we do to harm you? Look at us! Too weak, too far gone. Here, let’s drag your friend to the fire.’

They dragged Melt closer, and Karel took a look at the forge. There was a bucket of coal next to it; he weighed a piece in his hand.

‘This is good quality,’ he said. ‘Where do you get it from?’ No one answered.

‘What happened to him?’ asked a very thin robot, half crawling, half dragging herself up to Melt’s great cast-iron body. She ran a hand over Melt’s chest, feeling the metal there.

‘He won’t say,’ said Karel. ‘He seems to have been permanently joined to that body somehow.’

‘Levine will be able to help you,’ said Gail. ‘Would you like metal?’ She brought forward two strips of iron. ‘We have some oil, too.’ Fleet came up, carrying brass and tin.

Karel gazed at the iron that Gail held. Like the coal it was of good quality. He turned his gaze to her rusted body.

‘There is more to life than metal,’ said Gail, answering his unspoken question. ‘Come, take this. Perhaps it will help your friend.’ She pushed the metal towards him. Five pairs of eyes gazed through the smoke at Karel, and he felt a growing sense of unease.

‘We don’t need metal,’ repeated Gail. ‘We repaired ourselves not that long ago. Come, use this metal on yourself. Look here…’

She crossed the room to another robot lying on the floor, arms and legs so bent as to be useless. Her steel plate was punctured by crumbling circles of rust.

‘Look at her chest,’ she said. ‘Look at her electromuscle, how kinked it is. She’s draining her own lifeforce away.’

‘And yet she’s happy,’ said Levine, and the woman who lay on the floor increased the glow of her eyes by way of confirmation. ‘She understands the truth: that metal is not the sum total of a robot’s life. Look at your friend. He understands the trouble that metal can bring.’

They all looked at Melt, who was stirring feebly on the floor, trying to sit up.

‘Relax,’ said Gail. ‘Lie back and let the fire dry you. Let Levine take away some of the metal that troubles you.’

Levine was still running her hands over Melt’s body, feeling the metal there.

‘I can do something for him,’ she said.

‘Levine is a great craftsrobot,’ said Gail. ‘She was a princess in one of the mountain states, born to a body of steel and silver and gold. She walked here dressed in the finest metals, bent into patterns that you would marvel to see.’

‘I realized that such things are nothing but vanity,’ said Levine, and she ran her hand over Melt’s body, peeling away the finest shavings of iron. Karel was impressed. His wife had been a great shaper of metal, too. The skill that Levine evinced showed her to be at least her equal. And this was in that poorly constructed body.

‘Is this something to do with the Book of Robots?’ asked Karel, suddenly.

‘The Book of Robots?’ asked Levine. ‘No? What is that?’

‘The Book of Robots is a fallacy,’ said Gail.

‘Then you’ve heard of it?’

‘I read it once, or at least part of it.’

‘You read it? When? Where?’

Gail smiled and shook her head.

‘It doesn’t matter, Karel. Don’t you see, that such things are not of interest? The Book of Robots simply shows another way of twisting metal, and metal does not concern us here.’

Levine continued to scrape thin flakes of iron from Melt’s body. It didn’t seem to be hurting him.

‘I’ve travelled in the north,’ said Karel. ‘I heard many robots talk of the Book of Robots. I never met anyone who actually read it.’

‘Karel,’ smiled Gail. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s not speak of it.’

‘But I want to,’ said Karel. He felt uncertain and uneasy, and when Karel felt like that his anger kindled. His mother had woven that into his mind.

‘Who are you all?’

‘I’m Gail, I come from the north. Fleet walked the Northern Road. Levine and Carm came from the mountain states, and Vale came from sea. We help travellers who come into difficulty on the Northern Road.’

Fleet bent and collected together the scraps of metal from the floor that Levine had scraped from Melt; he rolled them together into a ball.

‘Why don’t you take that metal and use it to repair your voicebox?’ asked Karel in frustration. Fleet just shrugged and handed Karel the metal.

Karel still felt uneasy, but his anger was slowly passing. These people were different, but there seemed to be no harm in them. And Levine definitely seemed to be doing Melt some good.

‘There’s lead inside him,’ she said. ‘Why would anyone fill a robot with lead?’

‘Can you remove it without hurting him?’ asked Karel.

‘Not all of it,’ said Levine. ‘But I’ll do what I can.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want any metal?’ asked Gail, pushing the strips of iron towards him once more.

‘I’m fine,’ said Karel.

Time passed to the slow scraping of metal. There was something strangely satisfying about this place, a sense that things no longer mattered. All the pain, all the exertion: wouldn’t it be easier just to sit back and let the world pass by?

It was with some surprise that Karel looked out of the mine entrance and noticed that night had fallen. Fleet had gone, he realized. But when? And where to? He realized then just how sluggish his thoughts had become.

There was a hum of current and suddenly Melt sat up. He looked around at the circle of swarf in which he sat.

‘I feel so much better,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I could do so much more, if you gave me the time.’

‘I’m sorry, we have to move on.’ Melt flexed his arms and shoulders.

‘We understand.’

‘I want to thank you for your help,’ said Melt. ‘If there is anything we can do for you?’

Through the smoke that filled the chamber, Karel saw how Gail and the rest of the robots smiled at that.

‘You could accept a gift from us,’ said Gail. ‘Would you do that?’

‘We would be delighted,’ said Melt, not seeming to notice the look that Karel directed towards him.

‘Then, please, take these, as a token of our respect for you.’

Gail held out both hands. A scrap of silver wire lay on each palm.

‘Thank you,’ said Melt, reaching out to take one. Karel pushed the leaden robot’s hand away. He leaned forward suspiciously, to get a better look at the gifts. Two pieces of metal, two scraps of silver wire.

‘What’s the matter, Karel?’ said Melt. ‘It’s only metal…’

Karel peered closer. It was only metal. So what was wrong? And then he saw it. They were moving.

‘No!’ shouted Karel, slapping Gail’s hands away. The two twists of metal flew somewhere in the room.

‘Oh Karel,’ said Gail, in such disappointed tones that Karel felt ashamed of himself. ‘It was a gift!’

Melt lurched to his feet, heavy body at the ready to fight.

‘What is it, Karel?’

‘Worms!’ said Karel. ‘No wonder they care so little about metal!’

‘Worms?’ said Melt, confused.

‘A story from the Northern Lands. Worms that creep into your head whilst you are sleeping, they twist themselves into the metal of your mind. They work on your thoughts, twisting the wire in your head into copies of themselves.’

‘They bring peace and happiness and understanding,’ said Gail. ‘How can you condemn what you haven’t tried?’

‘And you did say you would accept our gift,’ reminded Levine, the former princess. She had retrieved the two twists of silver from where they had fallen. Now she held them out on one thin, bent palm. Karel saw them wriggling, sensing the lifeforce in his mind, turning their little blunt upper ends in his direction.

‘We’re leaving now,’ said Karel turning to go. Something was blocking the mine entrance. Fleet. There were four other robots with him. These robots were nowhere near as badly rusted as Gail and the rest. Two of them wore the bodies of Artmesian infantry.

‘All the robots who take the worms return here in the end,’ said Gail. ‘They come back to the spawning ground.’

‘Try it,’ said Levine. ‘You promised.’

Melt swung a heavy cast iron arm and smashed her hands away.

‘Stop that!’ shouted one of the infantryrobots by the door.

‘Peace,’ said Gail. ‘Metal doesn’t matter, Kerban. You will see that in time.’

Kerban? That was an Artemisian name! To think that an Artemisian would come to believe that metal was not important! They had to go, now.

‘Let us past,’ he said.

Fleet moved to push him back into the chamber. The two infantryrobots stepped forward to help.

‘Hold them down,’ said Gail. ‘Once the worms enter their minds we will let them go as they please. They will return here in the end.’

The two infantryrobots seized Karel’s arms. He tried to tug them free.

‘Easy,’ said one of them.

Karel kicked down, dented a robot’s shin. It didn’t care.

‘Melt!’ he said. ‘Run!’

Run? The word was ridiculous. Even scraped of metal as he was, Melt could barely walk. He knew it. Gail knew it. She hadn’t even bothered to try and restrain the heavy robot.

‘Let him go,’ said Melt.

‘Melt, don’t be stupid! Get away!’

‘Are you suggesting I have so little honour?’ said Melt. ‘I used to be a soldier.’ And he reached into the fire with both hands and pulled out two burning coals. The robots in the chamber watched, frozen, as he pushed them into the neck of one of the infantry-robots, screwing them back and forth, squeezing hot coal past the panelling. The robot let out an electronic squeal and Karel pulled his arm free of its grasp. Now Melt clasped his hands together and brought them down as hard as he could on the head of the other robot, badly denting the metal skull.

The other robots moved forward. Melt took hold of one of them and pulled backwards, using his considerable weight against it. He swung the robot around and slammed it into the others with a ringing crash.

‘Now we run,’ said Melt.

Out of the cave, into the darkness, sliding down the rain-soaked grass.

Karel and Melt tumbled down the slope, rolling back towards the town, scraping on stones, slipping on the turf.

They reached the bottom in a tangled clash of metal. With some difficulty, they got to their feet, bodies badly dented.

‘They’re not following us,’ said Karel, looking backwards.

‘They won’t. We’re too much trouble.’

‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’ asked Karel, eyes bright so he could see Melt in the darkness.

‘I… don’t remember,’ said Melt, and again Karel knew he was lying. But that was for later.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Maybe Morphobia Alligator was right.’

‘In what way?’

‘Sending you to look after me.’

‘I wish he was,’ said Melt, and Karel could hear the longing in his voice.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do crossed to the Copper Master’s house, his head spinning with questions. The sky was clear, and he gazed up at the night moon, wondering at Rachael’s words. So Zuse was made of metal. What was so strange about that?

The Copper Guard stood to attention as he passed through the doors into his residence. A nervous looking aide was waiting in the hallway.

‘Honoured Commander, your presence is requested in the Copper Room.’

‘Later,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, ‘I have work to attend to.’

‘I’m sorry, Honoured Commander, but your presence is requested.’

The aide looked terrified at having to contradict Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and no surprise. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do himself was growing irritated by the constant directions he had been given since he arrived here. He was beginning to realize that the post of Commander offered more restraints than it did freedoms.

‘Who wishes to speak to me?’ he asked, but the aide had retreated into the depths of the house.

For a moment Wa-Ka-Mo-Do considered ignoring the summons, but curiosity got the better of him.

He padded past robots, their eyes glowing in the dim light, heading for the heart of the building.

The Copper Room was in the centre of the Copper Master’s house. It had no windows and only two doors. One led out into the main building. The other was concealed and led down through the rocks upon which Sangrel was built; a secret passage, an escape route built in less enlightened times. The Copper Room was the ideal place for holding private meetings. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped into the room and felt his gyros lurch. No wonder the aide had looked so nervous.

Three robots stood in the middle of the room. Female, so obviously female that Wa-Ka-Mo-Do felt the wire stir within him. They were the most beautifully constructed robots he had ever seen, their bodies bent into curves of perfect symmetry. He could feel their metal from here, the mix of platinum and gold, steel and aluminium shone like starlight across his senses. He wanted to move closer to them, just to touch them, just to have them touch him, to pull his metal from his body…

He suppressed the thought. What would they want with his metal? They were Vestal Virgins; they only worked on minds that had already been twisted by others!

But it was so hard… Look at them, so beautiful, they seemed to shine all by themselves. Their faces were so delicate. Look at those smiles, so knowing, so calculating, so pretty…

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’ said one, and her voice was the sweetest notes of copper bells. ‘Honoured Commander of Sangrel. We wish to speak to you.’

‘Really?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Is it important? I am very busy.’

‘Are you?’ said a second robot, her voice a little deeper than the first, still it resonated in Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s chest. ‘Zil-Wa-Tem is dead and yet the market place runs as normal.’

Zil-Wa-Tem, thought Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and he remembered that was the name of the robot who had been found stitched into the animal’s skin in the market.

‘I would have expected the city to ring with the cries of the grieving,’ said the third woman, her voice the deepest of all. ‘I would have expected to see the minds of men and women arranged in a circle by the entrance, their coils crushed. I would have expected to see the smoke of a hundred fires filling the air, the bare electromuscles of the captured held over them in order that confessions be extracted.’

‘Or maybe we misjudge our Commander,’ said the first of the Vestal Virgins. ‘Maybe we underestimate his cruelty. Perhaps he intends instead to play the silent game, to raise fear by remaining still for a time before making a move?’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ continued the second. ‘Perhaps he wishes to request our help? To ask us to steal children away in the night and to work on their minds. Twist them so that they don’t recognize their own parents. Or maybe to make it so they are filled with the urge to disassemble themselves slowly whilst their mothers look on in despair.’

‘That must be it,’ said the third. ‘Then the word of the Honoured Commander’s displeasure would quickly be spread and the names of the perpetrators of the crime brought to the Copper Guard-’

‘Silence!’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘Silence?’ said the first, her tone one of laughing delight. ‘He orders us to silence? We think he must have forgotten his place.’

‘I have not!’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘I am the Commander of Sangrel, and it is my prerogative to decide how to handle this situation.’

‘Handle this situation? Perhaps we misunderstood? Are the perpetrators already caught, their bodies filled with molten lead as an example to others?’

‘You know they’re not,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘But what you have described won’t achieve anything. There are robots out there who have already lost everything. It won’t take much to push them over the edge into full-scale insurrection. What then?’

‘Then the Commander of the Emperor’s Army will have no choice but to order the death of all the robots of this province.’

‘Of course. And if some humans get caught in the fighting?’

‘Then the Commander of the Emperor’s Army will be held accountable.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do spoke with an authority he did not feel.

‘Humans will get killed if we pursue your course of action. I know this. I come from the poor lands, far from the Silent City and the court of the Emperor. I’ve seen what happens when robots have nothing to lose. Believe me, my methods are the right ones.’

One of the Virgins held up something for inspection. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed at the object in fascination. It was like a mind, but twisted into the wrong shape.

‘This is the neighbour of Zil-Wa-Tem. She sells cleansed oil,’ said the woman.

‘You mean she’s still alive?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, unable to hide his horror.

‘She will live as long as we decide.’

‘But what has she done?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then why punish her?’

‘Because she did nothing. She did not defend her neighbour, or the honour of Sangrel.’

‘Is she in pain, her mind twisted like that?’

‘Agony.’

Almost too fast to follow, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do drew his sword and sliced it through the twisted metal. The Vestal Virgin holding the former mind looked at the two pieces, the cut ends of wire shining like little mirrors, and then dropped it to the floor.

‘You interfere with our work?’ said one of them, in the softest, most beautiful voice.

‘This is my city. You interfere with mine.’

The three women exchanged glances.

‘Perhaps you are right, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.’

‘Perhaps I am.’

‘There is to be an attack tomorrow night. That mind that you destroyed told us this.’

‘Where?’

‘To the south of the city. Robots with blades and oil and petrol. They mean to destroy the crops the humans have planted as a signal to the Emperor of their displeasure.’

‘The Emperor will be humiliated indeed if his guests were to witness such an occurrence.’

‘I realize that.’ He drew himself up. ‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention, fair ladies. You can trust me to deal with this.’

The three women gave him smiles of such sweetness.

‘Of course we trust the Honoured Commander of Sangrel,’ said one. ‘We trust him at all times to remember his duty to his command. We know he will never abandon that duty.’

‘I will not.’

‘And he will do what is required to maintain the harmony of the Emperor?’

‘I will.’

‘Then we shall allow him to continue with his duty.’

And at that, the three Vestal Virgins left the room by the concealed door.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do held his poise until they were gone, and then he released the current he had been building up in his electro-muscles in one long shudder.

Kavan and the Uncertain Army marched down from the mountains onto the plains of Artemis. They marched from the cold remnants of winter that clung to the peaks into the warming summer of the plains, they marched from the petty guerrilla conflicts towards the decisive battle.

They walked out from the shadows of the mountains, towards the bright plains, the rock sheets giving way to stones, then pebbles, then sand. The temperature rose, the glare of the sun ever present in the daytime, the stars clear and cold above at night.

The plains of Artemis vibrated to the stamp of robots. Straggling companies of infantryrobots who had managed to evade the Artemis retreat came to join Kavan and his army. A silver stream of robots in the distance was a garrison from Raman heading south to reinforce Artemis City.

But by far the most numerous, Kavan knew, would be those robots that chose not to make themselves known. They were the ones who would be waiting in the distance, waiting to see which way the forthcoming battle would go. The ones who would emerge to pick over the shattered corpses before blending once more into the background, or who would perhaps come and join the winning side.

So much metal flowing across the plains of Artemis, swirling and eddying like currents in a pool, with Kavan buoyed along in the centre.

‘You know, this battle has been written in the Book of Robots many times before,’ said Goeppert. He marched with Kavan for the most part, a group of his robots nearby. Calor and Ada and Goeppert. Kavan’s staff.

‘There is no such thing,’ replied Kavan evenly.

‘Of course, there is no book as such,’ agreed Goeppert, ‘but the stories that twist around this planet will be collected into a volume some day, and that will become the Book of Robots.’

‘Ah. Verbal trickery. I believe in nothing more than Artemis and metal.’

‘Someday Artemis itself will be written in the Book of Robots. You know, Kavan, you should not ignore the stories. They are the verbal equivalent of the patterns twisted into our minds. What is a robot but a story that a mother has woven?’

‘Given the choice between a story and a rifle, I would take the latter anytime.’

‘Yet you don’t seem to carry a rifle, do you?’

Kavan waved a hand at the surrounding army. ‘They carry them for me.’

Goeppert laughed.

‘Still, Kavan. Nicolas the Coward, Janet Verdigris, Eric and the Mountain. All these stories mean something.’

‘Eric and the Mountain?’ said Kavan, suddenly interested. ‘You know that story?’

‘Only the first half. Do you want to hear it?’

Kavan looked at the surrounding army.

‘Maybe another time,’ he said.

The midnight streets were filled with light and sound. Electric light, burning flares, the shriek of arc lights all heard over the marching of robots: grey infantryrobots running to their positions; the stamp of Storm Troopers, shouldering all aside as they headed to the front. Only the Scouts passed by unheard, a half-seen flash in the night. The pounding of hammers, the rumble of trains: the city was busy building its defences in readiness for Kavan’s attack.

Susan passed amongst the preparation, lost and uncertain where to go, but always moving. It had been so simple to slip away from the making rooms. It was only when she had done so that she realized she had no further plan. She had no idea where Nettie was or how to find her, but she was nonetheless filled with a determination not to return. She kept to the back streets, the narrow alleys, heading vaguely for the centre of the city.

‘Hello there.’

The robot moved unusually quietly for a Storm Trooper. He towered over Susan, his matt black panelling only half seen in the darkness. His body looked newly made, but Susan sensed the mind that rode it was old, and cynical, and evil.

‘A Turing Citizen, I think,’ he said.

‘I’m a mother of Artemis,’ said Susan.

‘Possibly. You’re certainly dressed that way. Shouldn’t you be down in the making rooms?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.

The robot leaned closer to her, the lights of its eyes reflecting from her face. She could feel the current from its strong body.

‘You sound angry, but I sense nervousness. I don’t think you should be here at all.’

He moved so quickly, seizing Susan by the hand before she had a chance to jump back.

‘Let go of me,’ she demanded.

‘No,’ it said. ‘That’s not real anger. Too frightened. You shouldn’t be skulking here, in the back streets, should you? And even if you should, who’s going to miss you? As far as I’m concerned you’re just metal for me to do with as I will.’

Susan grabbed his hand and feebly tried to pry his fingers free. The Storm Trooper laughed.

‘Don’t bother! You’re not as strong as I am!’

She was cleverer, though. She unsnapped her wrist and ran, leaving the big robot holding her hand. Brief laughter sounded behind her, and then the clatter of metal feet on the stones as the Storm Trooper ran after her. Where to? Where to? She veered towards the bright lights of the wide street ahead. She could see robots moving there, grey infantryrobots, marching along in ranks. Something grabbed her foot, she tripped and slid into the light, her body sparking on the stones.

She came to a halt bathed in electric streetlight, the stamp of marching feet all around her, a steady stream of infantryrobots marching past in perfect time. And, in the centre of all that motion, stillness. Five faces looking down at her. Infantryrobots.

The Storm Trooper loomed above her, still holding her hand in his.

‘He tried to rape me,’ said Susan. ‘Help me.’

‘Leave,’ said the Storm Trooper. ‘She’s mine.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Five rifles swung from shoulders and pointed at the black robot.

‘Are you telling us what to do?’ asked one of the infantryrobots. The Storm Trooper raised itself up, then it seemed to notice the faces of the other soldiers. Susan got the impression that these were experienced fighters. Their bodies were well worn, covered in a fine tracery of scratches.

‘What’s a mother of Artemis doing roaming the streets with the city preparing for attack?’ asked the Storm Trooper.

‘I was trying to get back to the making rooms and he captured me,’ lied Susan. ‘He dragged me down there. He took my hand…’

‘Give it back to her,’ said the lead infantryrobot.

‘She’s lying!’ The Storm Trooper seemed more amused than angry.

A rifle pointed directly at his head.

‘Give her back her hand!’

The Storm Trooper dropped the hand to the ground. Susan quickly snapped it back into place.

‘I must get back, right now!’ she said, and before anyone could stop her, she turned and ran up the street, losing herself in the crowd of marching robots.

The Storm Trooper’s voice followed her up the road, deep and growling, it cut through the sound of the marching.

‘I’ll be coming for you…’

Susan ran up the street, dodging through the moving ranks. Ahead of her she saw a black phalanx of Storm Troopers, and she dodged down another side alley. She was quickly lost in darkness, the lights of the city vanishing as the buildings enfolded her.

Where was she? This was like no part of the city she had been to before. It seemed so empty, and it took Susan a moment to realize that the area in which she walked was almost completely devoid of metal. Stone buildings ran in every direction. Tall and short, wide and long, crammed together higgledy-piggledy, they seemed ancient and modern and everything in between.

It seemed so strange, so un-Artemisian, in a city that prized utility above all else. She walked through an area without purpose. The current in her body seemed to pulse. Somewhere behind her was the Storm Trooper. She imagined him looking for her now, creeping through the darkness, reaching out to seize her shoulder…

She spun suddenly around. Nothing. Only darkness. She started at a sudden movement, and then relaxed. Just her hearing and vision turned up full and responding to every stimulus.

She walked carefully on, her path defined by the bright stars above her, irregular patches of light over the dark world.

It was so silent, the sound of the hammering and marching had faded to nothing and for the first time in months Susan felt utterly alone. It was a new sort of fear, different to that instilled by her capture by Artemisian troops. This was the fear of the strange, the unknown. The fear of asymmetric streets under starlight, the fear of empty windows and hollow buildings.

Ahead of her two towers climbed into the night, so tall, their shapes only seen where they occluded the stars. There was something so unsettling about them, she wanted to avoid them, but now all the side roads seem to have vanished. She could either walk towards them, or back into the arms of the Storm Trooper.

The two towers seemed so sinister, but there was nowhere else to go. They rose higher into the sky as she approached them; they loomed over her.

She found herself walking between them.

‘I’m coming…’

The Storm Trooper! It was almost a relief to hear the words, their distant menace a thread of familiarity to lead her from this strange night. Keep away from him, but don’t get lost in this empty, silent place.

She felt the metal door to her side. In the middle of all this stone, its presence seemed amplified. She found herself walking towards it without thinking. It was a stupid thing to do, she realized later. Where else but in here would the Storm Trooper think to look for her? But nonetheless she found herself placing her hand on it, feeling for the catch through the metal, opening it.

She edged into the darkness beyond and pushed the door close, shutting out the city beyond.

As she did so she heard the movement in the room behind her.

She turned around.

Yellow eyes illuminated the darkness.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do summoned two dressing women and made his way to the Copper Master’s forge. There he stripped away his panelling and allowed the women to clean him, to adjust his electro-muscle, to work smooth the roughened bearings, to gently oil him. Red coal light filled the room, white flame flared, pumped by the leather bellows. There was the gentle knock and clank of metal on metal.

The armourer was summoned; she opened a black metal case before him. Inside was a display of pistols arranged in order of colour, alloys running from grey to black.

‘May I recommend this one, Honoured Commander?’ she said, lifting a black snub-nosed specimen from the case. The grip was smooth, it would be moulded to the shape of Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s hand should he choose it. ‘I supervised its construction myself. It is made of steel, obviously, but there is a version in red brass, should you prefer.’

‘No, thank you, Ging-Lan-Keralla. Do you have a shotgun?’

The armourer could not quite conceal her look of hurt surprise.

‘My apologies, Ging-Lan-Keralla. I did not mean any insult to your craft. But I think a shotgun would be the most suitable weapon within this city. Less lethal, for one thing. And easier to aim at close quarters.’

‘The commander is perhaps not used to firearms?’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed up at the armourer. There was no insult intended, he was sure.

‘I am competent, Ging-Lan-Keralla, however I prefer the blade. I would be most pleased if you would sharpen my sword, and the blades of my body.’

At that he extended the blades at his wrists and fingers. He caught the change in the electrical hum of the dressing woman nearest to him and noted how she immediately looked away from his naked form, blades extended. Ging-Lan-Keralla, however, gazed down at him with a look of approval that was entirely down to her craft.

‘It will be my pleasure, Honoured Commander. And I shall arrange for a shotgun to be delivered immediately.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was a self-made robot, and his form caused a little confusion to the dressing women, but they worked efficiently enough. Despite the pressure he was under, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do allowed himself to relax: this was one of the arts of a warrior.

Eventually, he was cleaned and fixed and tuned. A dressing woman brought him the first of his panelling, freshly polished.

‘My mistake,’ he said, taking it from her. ‘I should have told you that I was dressing for the field, not the ballroom,’ and he showed her how to hold the gleaming scarlet-painted metal in the flame of the fire, blackening it. As he did so Ging-Lan-Keralla returned with a short, black shotgun.

‘Thank you,’ he said, admiring it. ‘But why the wooden stock? Surely that will make it harder to repair?’

‘It will. But the Commander of Sangrel is known as a poet as well as a warrior, and that is both a weapon and a thing of beauty.’

‘It is indeed,’ he replied, turning it in the light.

‘Excuse me, Honoured Commander,’ said the armourer, taking the gun. She fastened a long leather strap to it, and then slung the gun over his shoulder.

‘There. It suits you.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do looked at himself in a sheet of polished copper. It did.

‘Thank you, Ging-Lan-Keralla. You are a master of your craft.’

Her eyes glowed briefly.

His body oiled and humming sweetly beneath blackened panelling, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do stepped out into the midmorning daylight.

His company was waiting for him in the Street of Becoming, just beyond the Ice Gate.

Eighty robots, in red-brass bodies, their swords sheathed in wood at their left side, their rifles slung over their right shoulders. They were lined up in compact formation, each robot pressed against the robot in front, a mass of metal pushed together so that virtually no inch of space was anything but robot. Only their eyes moved, following him as he walked to meet them.

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was waiting, too.

‘Honoured Commander, I wish to be allowed to accompany you on this mission.’

‘No, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah, I want you to remain here. I need you to watch La-Ver-Di-Arussah.’

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah was visibly shocked.

‘But Honoured Commander, she is my superior!’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do chose a different tack.

‘Forgive me, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. You understand I am a robot of the High Spires. I do not always express myself as well as robots such as yourself. What I meant to say was that La-Ver-Di-Arussah will find her attention drawn to many events. I wish you to maintain the peace whilst she is otherwise engaged, not to raise the tension.’

‘Surely you would be better placed to do so, Honoured Commander. Let me lead the troops instead.’

He was right, realized Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. But the Vestal Virgins had been most insistent that he leave. More than that, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wanted to see what was happening outside the city.

‘No, Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah. A good commander should walk the extent of his command. Now, return to the Copper Master’s house. I will lead these robots.’

Ka-Lo-Re-Harballah saluted, obviously torn between what he believed to be right and what he believed to be his duty, then turned and made his way back up into the city.

‘Captain,’ called Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, and a captain detached himself from the crush of robots. He wore bronze flashes on his shoulders. ‘Get the robots ready to march.’

‘Commander.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched as the ranks of robots opened up like a bellows. Arms unfolding and legs shuffling free. The company expanded before him, filling the street. He took his place at the head, told the captain to give the order, and the company began to march.

Outside the Ice Gate, Lake Ochoa shone with the healthy blue of copper salts. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned his gaze away from the Mound of Eternity, imagining the eyes of the Vestal Virgins upon him. It was a fine day, lit by a yellow sun that warmed the metal of the robots moving busily back and forth around him. He heard the singing of the nearby rails: a train was approaching the station.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do! Wa-Ka-Mo-Do!’

The voice came from over towards the lake. A human was running towards him. Rachael. She was wrapping a piece of cloth around herself as she came, concealing the pink-white skin of her body.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do! Wait!’

Couldn’t she see that he was marching at the head of eighty armed robots? Didn’t she realize that he wasn’t going to bring the troops to a halt, just for her? It dawned on Wa-Ka-Mo-Do that she really didn’t. Humans didn’t seem to consider the Empire’s work as being important. It wasn’t even a considered insult; it was just a simple lack of awareness.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do! I know you can hear me!’

He remembered her father’s attitude the night before. He didn’t want to be seen to insult Rachael again, even unknowingly. Maybe in human terms it was just as wrong to ignore a young woman as it was to give her something to drink. Frustrated, he ordered the captain to call a halt. Beyond him he felt the discharge of electricity, heard the clank of metal as the soldiers stopped.

He turned and waited for Rachael as she ran past the red-brass robots, their bodies warming in the yellow sun.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do! You stopped! Thank you!

Rachael was in front of him, wrapping that strange piece of cloth over her body. It was almost transparent. Through it he could see the two dark strips of cloth she wore around her chest and the top of her thighs. She realized that he was looking at her, and she clutched the cloth tighter. Then she looked straight at him with those copper-blue eyes.

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, I wanted to apologize.’

‘For what, Rachael?’

‘Wa-Ka-Mo-Do, what I did last night was wrong. Tricking you into giving me drinks. I was taking advantage and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.’

‘I accept your apology,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He was uncomfortably aware of the captain standing by his side, gazing straight ahead.

‘I hope I haven’t got you into too much trouble?’

‘Trouble?’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do in surprise. ‘I’m the Commander of Sangrel.’

‘I know that,’ said Rachael. ‘Listen, I explained everything to my father. It should be okay.’

Again, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was struck by the humans’ attitude to the robots. They certainly did not act like guests of the Emperor. He dismissed the subject.

‘All is harmony, Rachael. Now, if you will excuse me…’

She finally seemed to notice the soldiers, lined patiently in the sun behind him. The contrast between her soft pink body, barely wrapped in thin cloth, and their hard, steel bodies was marked.

‘Oh! I’m sorry! You’re busy. I’ll get back to the beach. The sun is the best thing about this place. Shame you poisoned the lake.’

‘Poisoned? That’s copper!’

But she was already gone. He watched her running back towards the lake, the strange cloth flapping behind her.

Susan

‘What are you doing in here?’

Yellow eyes gazed at her out of the darkness. Susan turned up her own eyes to get a better look at the stranger. She made out the grey shape of an infantryrobot.

‘I’m looking for my friend. She’s called Nettie. Have you seen her?’

Susan stepped forward, the other robot moved away, keeping the big stone bowl at the centre of the room between herself and Susan.

‘No! She’s not here. Now go away. Leave me alone.’

Susan gazed thoughtfully at the other robot.

‘You’re hiding in here too, aren’t you? Have you run away from the battle as well?’

‘That’s none of your business! Get out of here!’

‘I should keep your voice down if I were you. There’s a Storm Trooper out there, hunting me.’

The other robot looked at her, trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not.

‘I’m Susan. I was from Turing City, I’m now a mother of Artemis. Who are you?’

The other robot’s eyes glowed brighter for a moment, and then they dimmed just a fraction.

‘Vignette,’ she said. ‘I’m from Lankum in the central mountains. I was conscripted into the Artemisian army along with rest of my kingdom when Spoole fled south. We were brought to help in the construction of the trenches they’re digging around the city. We were to have been stationed between Kavan’s army and the walls of the city, showered by the cannons and the guns of both sides. I wasn’t going to have that happen to me, so I slipped away as we marched through the city.’

Vignette’s voice echoed oddly in the building. Susan raised a hand.

‘Too loud!’ she said, ‘He’s out there, looking for me.’

‘Then why did you lead him here to me, you selfish Tok? I was safe until you turned up!’ Her eyes flashed, more in fear than anger. Susan was patient. She knew what it was like to be frightened.

‘There is no safety here in Artemis City. You can only hide for so long. In the end they’ll find you, and then…’

‘You must have been safe,’ said Vignette, the envy thick in her voice. ‘The mothers of Artemis work beneath the ground, away from danger.’

‘Raped twice a night.’ Susan laughed bitterly. ‘I’d rather take my chances in the trenches.’

Vignette gazed at her, eyes glowing in the darkness.

‘I’d rather shelter in the making rooms.’

‘That’s immaterial. What is done is done.’

Susan spoke with bitter finality.

‘No it’s not,’ said Vignette. ‘Change places with me. Swap your body for mine.’

The idea brought Susan up short. Swap their bodies? It had its attractions. Surely an infantryrobot would fare better in the city at the moment? She would certainly be less noticeable in that grey body. Would that aid in her search for her friend?

‘But how?’ she said, slowly. ‘We’d need a third robot to unplug our coils.’

‘The robot at the top of this tower would do it. We could ask him.’

Susan felt as if she had wandered into a children’s story.

‘What robot at the top of the tower? Where are we? What is this place?’

‘You don’t know? Have you never seen a shot tower? We used to have one in Lankum like this, only ours was taller. We carved a groove in the side of the mountain, and then built a tower on the top of it. There was a copper sieve at the top through which molten lead fell in drops. It formed into spheres as it fell and then landed in a basin of water at the bottom.’

Susan looked up, the light of her gaze lost in the darkness. The tower was a spiral of stone. A robot could walk up the interior wall to the top, she realized.

‘Who is he, the robot up there?’

‘He’s the robot who built this tower. His wife built the one opposite.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘He told me.’

‘Why is he still here?’

‘He’s waiting for lead. Sometimes Artemis needs more spherical shot than it can produce elsewhere.’

Susan looked down at the stone bowl. She saw the water inside, as still as the night outside.

‘You know that if you leave this tower in my body, the Storm Trooper out there will rape you?’

‘Better than dying in the trenches,’ said Vignette.

Susan looked up again, up to the top of the tower.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Let’s exchange bodies.’

They climbed the tower’s interior and emerged into the night. Susan found herself standing on an island of darkness in the middle of the illuminated city. Up here the night sky billowed with stars. In the distance, around the edge of the dark sea of this strange, forgotten collection of buildings, light bloomed. It blossomed in yellow flames from chimneys, it glowed deep red from forges, it reflected in gold and silver from metal towers and aerials. Beyond it there was the darkness of the Artemisian plain. Susan gazed out, wondering if she could see the lights of Kavan’s army out there, moving to surround the city. Was Karel somewhere out there too, separated from her by two armies? Was Nettie trapped in here with her?

‘Bouvan?’ called Vignette. ‘Are you there?’

Susan gazed into the darkness at the centre of the tower. She was standing on a circle of stone that surrounded the three hundred foot drop. Something was moving, something was rising from the centre of the tower.

‘Bouvan?’ said Vignette again. ‘This is Susan.’

Bouvan had the longest arms and legs of any robot Susan had ever seen. She realized he must live wedged in the space at the top of the tower.

‘What do you want?’ Bouvan spoke in the flat tones of an unfused robot.

‘We want you to swap over our minds,’ said Vignette.

‘Very well,’ said Bouvan. Susan recoiled as a hand reached towards her on the end of an impossibly long arm, felt a surge of current as she realized how close she had come to stepping back over the edge.

‘Hold on a moment!’ she shouted, suddenly uncomfortably aware of what she was agreeing to. Allowing another robot to unplug her coil, leaving her perfectly helpless. ‘How can I trust you both?’ she said. ‘How do I know that you will reattach my mind?’

‘I’ll go first,’ said Vignette.

‘Hey, you!’

The voice came from behind her. Susan turned and looked out over the darkness to the other shot tower. Down on the street they had seemed so far apart. Up here, in the stillness beneath the twinkling stars, she almost felt as if she could jump from one to the other. Ridiculous, of course. They must be sixty feet apart.

‘Yes, you!’ Sound travelled easily in the clear air, that voice could have come from a robot standing just by her. She looked and saw another robot standing at the top of the other tower. She looked just like Bouvan, and Susan realized that this must be the wife Vignette had talked about.

‘Listen, lady! You don’t want to trust him! He’ll fumble and break your coil! Come over here, I’ll change your minds!’

Bouvan’s eyes flashed in the darkness and he spoke with an emotion that completely contradicted Susan’s first assessment of him as being unfused.

‘Shut up, Appovan!’ he shouted across the night. ‘Why do you always have to interfere? This is my tower, they came to me.’ He turned back to Vignette. ‘Come here, I’ll be gentle.’

He was too. Susan saw the way that he felt around the infantry-robot’s neck and gently opened up the head and pulled the mind clear, unplugging the coil as he did so. He laid the body carefully down on the top of the tower.

‘There,’ he said, holding the twisted metal of a mind towards Susan with his incredibly long arm. She looked to see the coil intact. A sense of vertigo overcame her.

Be careful not to drop it! The words never made it to her voicebox.

Bouvan could see the look of satisfaction on the robot’s face at his successful removal of Vignette’s mind. ‘Your turn,’ he said. She hesitated.

‘He’ll drop you!’ called Appovan from her tower. ‘He’s always been the same. Clumsy! It took him for ever to build that tower, he was always dropping stones. He hit a soldier once! Flattened her! It’s a wonder they didn’t melt him down for scrap…’

‘Shut up, woman!’ shouted Bouvan, eyes flaring.

This was all so unreal, thought Susan, standing here above the world, listening to the two of them argue.

‘You built the tower?’ she said.

‘Oh yes. It took me nearly thirty years. Don’t listen to her talking about me being clumsy. It took her longer. Couldn’t find the right sort of stone, always trying to make patterns, like that was going to make the shot any better.’

‘But that can’t be right,’ interrupted Susan, ‘this tower looks so old. How old are you?’

‘One hundred and fifty years old,’ said Bouvan.

‘Don’t listen to him!’ called Appovan. ‘I’m not a day over twenty!’

‘No robot lives that long,’ said Susan.

‘They do if they’re half-fused,’ said Bouvan, ‘like me and her. This is Half-fused City you’re in. Didn’t you know that?’

Half-fused. Suddenly it all made sense to Susan. Robots of limited intelligence, but robots that lived longer and were stronger. Robots like the ones Nettie had told her about, the sort of minds that Susan would soon have been twisting, had she stayed in the making rooms.

‘Come on, lady. I’ll swap your head with hers.’

‘He’ll drop it!’ called Appovan. ‘He dropped a block of half-melted lead once. What a waste! They were looking for bits of metal for weeks afterwards! Weeks!’

Susan wanted to run back down the steps of the tower, down to the streets below.

Down to where the Storm Trooper searched for her. That thought brought her up short.

She looked back at Bouvan, the half-fused robot. She had had the plan for a half-fused mind explained to her, and she understood something: such a robot would be too stupid to lie. In that sense, she could trust it.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Do it. Swap my head with hers.’

She carefully lay face down on the floor. She felt something touch the back of her head, then her sense of the world vanished, leaving her in darkness and silence. She waited for sensation to return.

And waited.

What if it were a trick?

It was a trick! How could she have been so stupid? To give her mind to a complete stranger, a mad robot who lived on a tower high above the city. Maybe he had dropped her? How would she know? Would there just be sudden oblivion, her thoughts ceasing to exist? Or would her mind be damaged, twisted out of shape? Would she begin to imagine strange places, strange thoughts? Trapped in a twisted world of her own mind?

Then, just like that, sense returned. She could see darkness again, and a long hand moved and she was gazing at the stars.

‘Careful!’ called out a voice. Her own. That was confusing. She hadn’t spoken, she was sure of it.

She remembered where she was, and she realized who had spoken. That was Vignette, now in her old body. She lay still for a moment, getting the feel of her new body. It was really quite well made, she realized. She moved her hands, felt for the edge of the ledge on which she lay, sat up slowly, and she recognized a fellow craftsrobot’s work This body was made of cheap materials, it was true, but an expert job had been made of the construction.

She looked across the other side of the circular chimney to see Vignette gazing back.

‘You build well,’ said the other robot.

Susan felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Vignette was wearing her old body, now she had the use of all the good metal that had gone into its making. Now Vignette looked well made and attractive, a true mother. And she, Susan, was just another infantryrobot.

But this is what she had wanted.

‘You build well, too,’ she replied. The two robots exchanged a look of mutual respect.

Susan got to her feet.

‘Are you going?’ asked Bouvan.

‘Of course they’re going,’ shouted Appovan from across the way. ‘No one ever stays up here, do they?’

‘I used to know other robots,’ said Bouvan. ‘Back when I lived on the ground, but I had to go higher and higher. It’s always been in me to beat Appovan. So they brought me stones and I started to build. Now I live up here, all alone.’

‘You’ve got me, haven’t you?’ called Appovan.

‘But I don’t like you.’

‘And I don’t like you.’

‘Please don’t leave me alone,’ said Bouvan.

‘Come down with us,’ said Susan.

‘I can’t. I have to stay up here. That’s the way my mind was made.’

Susan hesitated.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I have to find my friend. I don’t know where she is, but I need to find her. But when I do, I’ll come back here, if I can.’

She was lying, and she knew it. She couldn’t imagine how she could ever return here. Not with Kavan about to attack the city. Not with her a fugitive, fleeing from the making rooms, but she had to say something.

‘Thank you,’ said Bouvan, and he seemed so pathetically grateful that Susan felt ashamed.

‘Come on,’ called Vignette, already descending the steps.

Susan gave a last wave to Bouvan and then followed her. As she went she heard Appovan’s voice.

‘She’s never coming back, you old fool. She was lying so she could get away from you.’

‘She wasn’t,’ said Bouvan. ‘I did her a favour! She’ll repay it!’

Susan turned her hearing right down, shame building within her, and followed Vignette down the stairs.

They reached the bottom of the steps and Vignette made to open the door.

‘Hold it!’ called Susan

Vignette turned back to look at her. Silence. Susan remembered she had turned down her hearing.

‘What is it?’ repeated Vignette.

‘Don’t forget, there’s a Storm Trooper out there looking for me. He’ll be looking for you, now, given that you’re wearing my body.’

Vignette looked down at herself.

‘So what do we do?’

‘Let me go first. Let me do the talking if we meet him.’

Susan pushed the door open and peered out into the night. There was nothing, just the starlit street, the eerie, empty buildings.

Silently, she signalled to Vignette, and the two of them slipped from the tower, pushed up against the shadows. Susan was impressed at how the grey paint of her new body blended into the surroundings.

She began to move down the street, but Vignette put a hand on her arm.

‘Wait,’ she said, so softly. ‘They trained us in this when I was conscripted. Take a few moments to tune in with your surroundings.’

Susan did so.

The dark buildings around her seemed to solidify into view, partially illuminated by the dark sky above. She wondered if any of them housed others of the half-fused, ancient and forgotten. Strange, it was so un-Artemisian, leaving metal in a place without a purpose.

‘Okay,’ said Vignette. She began to move down the wall, heading back the way that Susan had come earlier.

‘Not that way!’ said Susan. ‘He’s back there somewhere.’

‘There’s nothing the other way,’ said Vignette. ‘Just the Centre City. We don’t want to go there…’

Her words were lost in a flurry of movement. Susan saw something big and black hurtle past, she heard the clatter of metal on metal, of metal slamming onto brick and stone.

‘Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!’

It was the Storm Trooper, it was on top of Vignette, had both her hands clasped in one of his. He was sitting on her chest, his big body humming with power.

‘Only two places to hide. Through this door or that one. I only had to sit and wait to see which you emerged from. But hold on…’ He looked closer, looked into Vignette’s eyes. ‘You’re not the woman I found earlier. Who are you?’

Susan brought down both her hands as hard as she could on the back of the Storm Trooper’s neck, hoping to break the coil there. There was a dull thud and pain shot through the electro-muscles of her hand.

The Storm Trooper moved so fast, his arm swung back and caught Susan’s head, cracking an eye and sending an electric snowstorm fizzing across her sight.

Vignette had twisted one hand free, but she wasn’t fighting, she was patiently fiddling with the Storm Trooper’s wrist.

‘Hey, stop that!’

The Storm Trooper turned his attention back to Vignette, and Susan dived for his free arm, grabbing it through the storm of electricity that danced across her broken vision. It was enough time for Vignette to finish what she was doing: she had unshipped the Storm Trooper’s hand. He let out an electronic roar and brought his other hand down on her head, denting it.

Now Susan grabbed him around the neck again and set to work finding her way through the panelling there, trying to locate his coil. Bright lights swirled around her, she wasn’t sure if it was feedback or the stars above.

‘What are you doing, you rusty Tokvah? Get off me!’

The Storm Trooper wasn’t shouting at her. Her world lurched as he got to his feet, and Susan saw Vignette there on the floor, a wicked smile on her face, twisted metal around her hands, and she realized that Vignette had pulled it from the Storm Trooper, pulled it from between his legs.

‘You little Spartz!’

Vignette giggled, tugged harder at the pliable blue wire. The Storm Trooper yelled again, stamped down hard on Vignette’s thigh. She let out an electronic squeal of pain, but she tugged harder on the wire. The Storm Trooper jerked back and Susan, still clinging to his neck, fought to keep her grip. She scrabbled again at the panelling there, but he was too well designed, there was no easy access to his coil.

Now the Storm Trooper reached back with his one remaining hand, and Susan saw her chance. The panelling at his shoulder lifted a little as he raised his arm, and she took hold of it, jerked it upwards, stabbed up into exposed electromuscle and smiled grimly as he shrieked. Vignette kept pulling more wire from the Storm Trooper, wrapping it around his legs, tangling him up, sending him mad with rage. He kicked at her, catching her full in the chest, denting it badly, but still she fought on. Susan wriggled her fingers in the electromuscle at the shoulder, trying to get a grip, trying to tangle it, squeeze it, short it. She sent as much current through her hand as she could, there was a blue flash and the arm fell to his side, useless.

And that was the beginning of the end for the Storm Trooper. He fought viciously, he had strength and power on his side, but he was fighting two women who were in the grip of a passion that had lain dormant all this time they had been in Artemis. It was a hatred that had grown in muffled darkness, repressed and compressed whilst the women struggled to survive. Now it arose with a vengeance, with a spitefulness and a loathing that was taken out on his metal body. They didn’t kill him: they tore off his metal panelling and removed his electromuscle in strips, they humiliated him, tying him up in his own wire. Then they left him, a mind marooned in a broken body whilst they stripped parts from him to repair themselves. Vignette removed one of his eyes and used it to replace the one of Susan’s he had broken. Susan bent some more of his metal with her own hands and used it to patch Vignette’s broken chest.

‘Go to the making rooms,’ she said. ‘They will fix you up there. You will make a good mother of Artemis. You handle metal well.’

The Storm Trooper watched them with his one remaining eye. Occasionally, he let out an electronic moan. Eventually, Vignette detached his voicebox so they didn’t have to listen to him.

‘You seemed so afraid when I first saw you in the base of the tower,’ said Susan.

‘I was,’ said Vignette. ‘I ran away for too long. Perhaps now is the time to fight. First, though, I will go to the making rooms. And then, who knows? What about you?’

‘I’ll head for the Centre City,’ said Susan. ‘Perhaps my friend was taken there.’

‘You’ll only get so far dressed in that body.’

‘Then perhaps I will find myself on the front line. There are worse things that could happen.’

‘Will that help find your friend?’

‘No.’

Vignette reached out and touched Susan’s shell, pulled loose a piece of swarf.

‘Stay smart,’ she said, suddenly practical. ‘Listen. I heard that the Generals are in disagreement. My advice, find one of the weaker ones and attach yourself to their staff. They’ll be grateful for your support. And you’ll be closer to the centre of power.’

‘Find a General? I don’t know anything about them.’

‘Learn. Go in search of Spoole, he’s isolated now.’

‘Spoole? He’s the robot who had my city destroyed. If I were ever to meet him, I think I would kill him.’

Vignette smiled.

‘So you say. I always thought I would fight to the death, and yet look at me now, running away to hide in the middle of the enemy’s city. Until you live the reality, you can never be sure the way your mind is woven. It turns out that my mother wove my mind to place my survival above all else. Would killing Spoole help you find your friend? Would it help you find your husband?’

Susan said nothing. She knew the way her mind was woven: her mother had made her mind to look after her husband, first and foremost. It was a current-draining moment, to realize that her thoughts of revenge meant nothing compared to this truth: that she could calmly work with the man who was ultimately responsible for her child’s death if it brought her closer to Karel.

‘You understand what I’m talking about, don’t you?

They gazed at each other for a moment. Vignette looked down at the broken body of the Storm Trooper.

‘He’ll have heard everything we said.’

Whatever cold hatred had filled Susan’s mind in the middle of the fighting was suddenly gone.

‘We have to kill him,’ said Vignette.

‘I know,’ said Susan. ‘But I don’t think I can.’

‘I can,’ said Vignette.

She bent down said something so softly that Susan didn’t hear it. Then she reached around behind his neck and broke his coil.

‘What did you say to him?’ asked Susan.

Vignette wore a nasty expression.

‘I told him that his wire was weak and of low quality.’

‘That was cruel.’

‘He would have killed us!’

‘He was only acting the way he was woven.’ Susan was suddenly sad.

‘Then so am I,’ said Vignette, coldly. Her eyes glowed for a moment and then faded back to normal level.

‘Good luck, Susan,’ she said.

‘You too.’

The two women turned and headed off in opposite directions. Back to the lights of Artemis City. Back to the approaching war.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do and the rest of the troop waited amongst the tall shapes of the human crops. The plants were so strange. Where robot plants were thin and fibrous, ideal for making paper and other useful materials, these human crops were mutants, the yellow fruits at the top of the stalks hugely oversized, so heavy they threatened to topple the whole plant. No wonder the farmers out here were so angry! What use would plants like this be to the robots of Sangrel?

He raised himself up and peered north through the top of the stalks.

From this distance, Sangrel was a scene of golden radiance set on a black throne. The city was a collection of jewelled lights beneath the bright stars. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do wondered what was happening back there. Was La-Ver-Di-Arussah following his orders? There was nothing he could do about it out here, that was certain.

He thought back over the past few days, wondering at the events in this province: his presence in Sangrel, the death in the market place, the trouble in Ell, the trouble that threatened here tonight, the humans.

The humans were more powerful than the Emperor had led him to believe. Yet there was something more… He thought of Rachael, the night before. Her father’s behaviour, the way that her translator had kept cutting out.

What was it they were holding back? Did the Emperor know?

He remembered the Emperor’s insistence that this had nothing to do with the Book of Robots.

It was funny, robots like La-Ver-Di-Arussah mocked him, questioned out loud if he believed in the Book of Robots.

How could they be so stupid? Of course he didn’t. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do had the knowledge woven directly into his mind by his mother. He didn’t believe in the book, he knew it to be true. He knew that there was a pattern of instructions for the first robot mind. He knew that there was a way robots were supposed to be.

What terrified him was the thought that he may have met his makers. He hoped that it wasn’t true.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see the captain beckoning. He followed him through the tall plants, pushing aside the mutant stalks until they came to a path trampled through the centre of the crops. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do bent down to examine the trail. It was recent. Quickly, silently, he followed it until it came to a fork. He listened carefully. He could hear a sound in the distance. Robots trying to move quietly.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do pointed to one path after the other, indicating that the troops should split up. The captain nodded and gestured to some of the red-brass soldiers behind him. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do watched them lope quickly down the path, impressed. These soldiers were well built and well trained. A few civilians should present them with no problems.

He signalled to the remaining soldiers to follow, and led them silently down the path. Up ahead he could hear the sound of splashing. Petrol. They were going to set fire to the crops, just as the Vestal Virgins had predicted. He unslung his shotgun and swept it in a wide circle, indicating that the soldiers should fan out.

Somewhere in the distance he heard the crackle of gunfire, and he realized it was the captain attacking.

‘Now!’ he shouted.

The soldiers jumped forward, surprising the saboteurs, firing once, twice. They dropped their petrol canisters. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do drew his sword and slashed down at a third robot. The saboteurs were efficiently dispatched.

‘Stop!’ he commanded, holding the blade of his sword before a soldier’s raised gun. ‘We need at least one to question.’

The hum of current died away, leaving the robots standing amongst the broken stalks. Broken bodies lay around them, the living still squealing in electronic pain. As for the dead: twisted metal uncoiled across the ground. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do suddenly realized just how pathetic these people were. Their panelling was of cheap tin, they hummed and buzzed as they moved. They sounded as if their electromuscles were full of dust and dirt. He could see how poorly repaired they were, and he wondered when they had last seen the inside of a forge.

‘On your knees,’ shouted a soldier, pushing the captive down. She reached out and unfastened one arm, whilst another soldier did the same on the other side.

‘Please don’t kill me,’ begged the saboteur on the ground. ‘My husband, my children-’

‘Silence,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. He didn’t feel any particular anger towards this being. Rather he felt pity; pity at her circumstances, at what she had been reduced to.

‘How many more of you are there?’ he demanded.

‘There were twelve of us, Honoured Commander.’

‘Why do you act in this fashion?’

‘We have no land, Honoured Commander. We have no purpose, no place to go. We wanted someone to heed our situation. The Emperor is merciful and wise and just. He will surely act when he is aware of our plight!’

‘You seek to sabotage his lands!’

‘We meant no harm to the Emperor! You must believe me! We only harm the humans’ possessions.’

‘And risk the Emperor losing face in doing so?’

The saboteur looked at the floor in shame.

‘Honoured Commander!’

One of the soldiers was holding up a metal canister. There was something very peculiar about its shape.

‘Is that of human construction?’ asked Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

‘I think so. It’s what they were using to carry the petrol.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do turned back to the captive.

‘More dishonour! Where did you steal that from?’

‘Honoured Commander! I swear we did not! It was waiting for us at the edge of the fields, as we were told it would be.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do took hold of the can and felt the metal with his hand. It reminded him a little of the chain Rachael had worn: good quality metal but poorly constructed.

‘Who told you it would be there?’

‘We never got to see our intermediary.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was silent. He looked down at the woman before him. She had mentioned a husband and children. ‘You realize the penalty for your crime is death?’

The woman said nothing. She looked so pathetic, kneeling there, her arms removed, her tin body filled with dust and dirt.

‘Though it gives me no pleasure to carry out the execution, I have nothing but sympathy for you.’

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do was merciful indeed. His sword had struck as he spoke these last words. The saboteur was dead before she was even aware of it. Wa-Ka-Mo-Do gazed down at her.

‘Bring the metal back to the city,’ he said.

‘What about the petrol canister, Honoured Commander?’

‘Bring that too. But conceal it.’

He looked at it again, puzzled.

‘Someone is using these people. There is more to this than a few upset farmers, I am sure. Who is behind all this?’

‘Commander?’

‘Nothing.’

They waited at the edge of the fields for the rest of the soldiers to rejoin them.

‘All this way for a few peasants,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do as the captain took his place at his side.

‘It could have been serious had they caused any damage, Honoured Commander.’

‘Perhaps. I can’t help thinking that was not the primary reason I was brought here.’

He looked northwards, back to Sangrel. It looked so beautiful, a copper sculpture beneath the silver stars.

‘Why am I here?’

‘Commander?’

‘All that is happening in Sangrel at the moment. In Yukawa… What’s that?’

It took a moment longer for the captain and the rest of the army to hear it: a thrumming, drumming noise.

‘It sounds like an army attacking the sky with their swords,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

A low droning sounded, and then a pattern of lights awoke in the night.

‘Human machines,’ said the captain. ‘I’ve seen them before, in the distance.’

The noise grew louder, Wa-Ka-Mo-Do’s body reverberated to it.

‘They’re coming towards us.’

‘Not us,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘They’re heading for Sangrel.’

Now he could make out dark shapes against the bright stars. Lumpy objects that hung sullenly in the sky, bristling with spikes.

‘They’re carrying guns,’ he realized. ‘Have these craft ever been seen around Sangrel before?’

‘No,’ said the captain.

‘You know,’ mused Wa-Ka-Mo-Do out loud. ‘All is harmony in the Empire…’ He knew it was a lie, but he wanted to follow this thought to the end. ‘But there are other lands on Penrose. Primitive, backward lands. Each inhabited by their own race of robots.’

‘Yes, Honoured Commander?’

They watched as the craft droned slowly past. The cockpits were illuminated by faint light, and they could just make out the shape of the animals sitting in there.

‘Even in the Empire there are those robots who dissent,’ continued Wa-Ka-Mo-Do. ‘Look at the events this night. The humans arrived here and we naturally assumed they are all of one tribe. But why should they be any different to us?’

He almost had it. The answer was almost there. The thought of Ell sprang into his mind, of the train taken over by the Silent Wind. What did the Emperor know that he wasn’t telling? It was obvious now.

‘What if there are several tribes of humans here?’

As he spoke, five flares lit themselves at the same time, five streaks of flame leaped from the flying craft, streaking forward towards the illuminated city on the mound to the north.

‘What are they?’ asked the captain. But they both knew the answer. Five explosions rumbled in the distance.

‘They’re attacking Sangrel,’ said Wa-Ka-Mo-Do.

Artemis City sat in the middle of the wide plain of Artemis. The city was visible from miles away, its great bulk a brooding presence in the distance, a constant reminder of the ultimate power on the continent of Shull.

There was no avoiding the fact of its existence. By day, the sunlight reflected on the windows of the Centre City, black streamers of smoke pumped from the chimneys of the forges trailed across the sky. By night the lights of its streets sparkled like a diadem around the red and gold flames of the fires that burned hot in the brick foundries.

Artemis City, the biggest concentration of power and metal and force on the entire continent.

It seemed that most of the robots of Shull were converging on it, marching by day and night.

The city had become the target for every grievance, grudge and dream on the continent. Even the railway lines seemed affected: where once they had seemed to spread across the land, carrying Artemis across the continent, now they seemed to converge upon the city.

Kavan had divided the Uncertain Army into two wide columns. It had been his original intention to plunge the army straight into the heart of the city, but, in consultation with Ada, that plan had changed. Calor and the other Scouts had brought him word of other troops, also marching. There were robots heading towards the city from all directions. The remnants of Stark, armoured divisions who had long waged guerrilla war against Artemis from the central mountain range, were approaching the city from the west. A company had emerged from the sea near Turing City State and were marching north. And then there was Goeppert and the robots who had joined them from Raman and Born. ..

Kavan spoke a lot with Goeppert and Ada as they marched south, the Uncertain Army raising trails of dust into the bright sky. They were discussing tactics, constantly updating their plans on the basis of information brought to them by Calor and the rest.

It looked like it was going to be a siege, not that Kavan should have expected anything else from Spoole and the Generals. Actually, it was a sensible tactic on their part. They held the advantage. This land had long been stripped almost bare by Artemis. The little metal that remained was now being removed too. Kavan saw the last trains retreating ahead of them, loaded up with coal and ore and the disassembled parts of the few scattered forges and factories that had lain on this plain. After they had passed by, the railway lines themselves were taken up and pulled back into the city.

‘How much further?’ Kavan asked Calor.

‘One day’s travel. You’ll be there tonight.’

‘What will I find?’

‘There are three huge moats dug around the city, one inside the other. They have left troops marooned on the banks of the trenches, conscripts mostly.’

‘Good. If we lay bridges to them, then they will join us.’

‘There are Storm Troopers amongst them, Kavan. They will make them fight to the death, one way or another.’

‘Is there no way around the moats?’

‘None. The city is completely isolated. Beyond the trenches, they have built a wall of iron. One hundred feet high and twenty feet thick.’

‘It won’t be solid iron,’ laughed Ada. ‘That would be ten and a half million cubic feet of iron per mile!’

Calor glanced at Ada and buzzed in frustration.

‘Go on, Calor,’ said Kavan.

She turned back to Kavan. ‘Every three hundred feet there is a guard tower, and on each tower there are cannons.’

‘I wonder how the people within the city feel about that? They will know that hiding behind walls is not Nyro’s way.’

The morning was bright and still cold from the night. It felt good to march across the flat plain, electromuscles pleasantly cool, the ground firm beneath his feet. Despite the fact he had rarely been there, Kavan felt as if he was coming home. The other robots felt it too, he was sure. There were so many of them, they were marching with a purpose towards Artemis City. They could see it in the distance, like a ship sailing across a calm sea, trailing smoke behind it.

‘There are already soldiers taking up positions around the city,’ said Calor.

‘Where have they come from?’

‘Some of them are your own troops, Kavan. Scouts and infantry-robots who have gone ahead of the pack. Some of them have just turned up on their own.’

‘And what have the people in the city done?’

‘Nothing, as yet. A few stray shots, the odd canon shell.’

‘Then they’ve lost already,’ said Kavan. ‘If I were in that city I would have sent out a party of soldiers to wipe out small concentrations of the enemy before they had a chance to set up their positions. Why make things easy for them?’

‘They can’t come out,’ said Calor. ‘They are trapped behind their own moats.’

‘There are no drawbridges?’

‘There isn’t even a gate in their iron wall.’

‘Then they’ve not only locked us out, they’ve locked their own robots in.’

‘They’re not true Artemisians.’ said Calor.

‘No,’ said Kavan, but he was experiencing something very rare. Doubt. Spoole wasn’t a fool. Why would he trap himself like that? What were they planning in there?

Kavan had travelled a long way. Starting alone on the northern coast of Shull, he had walked over a thousand miles, through hills and valleys, over the mountains, and finally over this vast plain, all the while picking up an army as he went.

Well, an army of sorts.

It lacked discipline and organization, but to Kavan it was just another tool to Nyro’s purpose. All that metal would end up in the forges and furnaces of Artemis City one way or other. Even himself.

And now he was finally arriving at his destination, just as night approached. He walked near the centre of the army, as he had done all the way here, not quite a leader, not quite a prisoner.

Ahead of him two streams of metal were flowing around the city. The sparks and flames from the distant chimneys danced, half seen, against the darkening sky. The tiny figures of robots could be seen on the top of the iron wall, rushing this way and that, getting themselves into position. Kavan thought he could hear sirens sounding from inside the city.

Closer and closer, he became aware of something that had been a growing presence in his life these past few weeks, something he had put from his mind: the sound of marching feet. The hum and spark and crash of so much metal, striking the ground as one. He realized something else: that over time these robots, this ramshackle array of men and women, had gradually begun to march in time with each other. Order had arisen from the chaos, and Kavan felt an incredible sense of inevitability as to what was to follow. He looked at Goeppert, marching nearby, strange elongated body keeping perfect time, and he was struck by a sudden insight. He, Kavan, was in the middle of a story, a story that would maybe one day find itself written in the Book of Robots – if indeed such a thing existed.