Blood and Iron (22 page)

‘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.

Karel

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.

Wa-Ka-Mo-Do

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?