And then he recognized the robot.
She had spoken at the parliament, where she had preached calm. She had promised to increase the guard at the railway station…
Noatak.
‘What now, Kavan?’
Eleanor was frustrated at the previous night’s events, the way she had been sent off on a seemingly meaningless errand when she should have been helping organize the sacking of the city. When Eleanor felt like this she would snipe at him, cast doubt on Kavan’s decisions.
‘Where do you go now?’ she asked. ‘Back to Artemis to strip away your standard-issue body? Will you dress up in gold leaf and take your place in the conquerors’ gallery?’
Kavan stood at the head of the central platform, gazing along the tracks fanning out across Copper Valley. Diesel engines roared constantly, moving the trains that fed the Artemis war machine. Wheels bumped across joints; he heard the high-pitched hum of reaction engines in the background, saw the sparks and flash of metal being cut and soldered. Eleanor’s voice was just another part of the machine.
Somewhere out there along that line lies Artemis City, he thought. Where now, Kavan? What would Nyro do? Where does your path lie now?
It was almost as if Eleanor could read his thoughts. She taunted him with them, venting her frustration on him.
‘Where now, Kavan? Do you head north, beyond the mountains? Go to northern Shull to conquer the ghosts and vampires?’
There was a cold wind blowing from the north; it blew the black smoke of the burning city out to sea; it left the view along the railway line crisp and clear.
‘Or do you continue to ride the moment, Kavan? No one expected you to come this far this fast. First Wien, then Turing City. Spoole will be frightened, and you know it. You worried him when you deposed General Fallan, and so he sent you here, hoping, at the back of his mind at least, that you would be wiped out. What will he think now that you have taken Turing City? What will he be planning now, Kavan? What’s waiting for you up those tracks? That’s what you’re thinking about, isn’t it? Because you know the truth, don’t you, Kavan? You know that Spoole can’t afford to leave you as you are. You’re too powerful now. You’ve become a threat. It’s either you or him. Shull can’t contain you both.’
She was right, of course, and it came as no surprise. This was what his mother had woven him for. The path that he had followed across the continent was curved and intricate, but it was as definite as the shape of the twisted metal that made up his mind. And just as his thoughts had a definite beginning and end, so did his path. It was now leading him north, back to Artemis City.
‘… because you know it, Kavan. You can’t fight it. It’s twisted into you. You are Artemis, and Spoole is not.’
‘How do you know that, Eleanor?’
His question startled her, he could see. She hadn’t been expecting the mildness of his tone, this sudden interruption of her flow. Still, she collected herself, answered smoothly.
‘Because Spoole is not out in the field. He is not fighting. He is not contributing to Artemis: he’s only taking. Think of the Basilica, the fine metals, the service…’
‘Sometimes a leader needs to stand back. Sometimes a good leader sends other robots to die, simply because it is right for Artemis. I have done the same myself.’
‘Spoole clothes himself in gold leaf and whale metal. You wear an infantryrobot’s body. So which of you is closer to the ideals of Artemis?’
Kavan turned to gaze back at the shell of Turing City. Truth be told, he felt cheated by this easy victory. There was still energy within his electromuscles ready to be spent.
‘I have decided,’ he said. ‘Raise a battalion. We ride to Artemis.’
There was a change in the air. Every robot assembled in the square could feel it. The Turing Citizens that were huddled up around Karel; the Artemisian troops; the cutters and the lifters and the folders; all the robots who worked to disassemble the city and to turn it into folded metal to be transported across the plain to be eaten by the forges of Artemis, they felt it too.
The soldiers, the Storm Troopers, the commanders.
And Noatak, the traitor. Especially Noatak, the traitor. She felt it more than anyone.
There had been a shift in the engine, the sound of a changing of gear in the Artemis machine. Karel gazed at Noatak, watching how the robot shifted nervously, how she jumped and turned at the slightest sound, her newly bare metal panelling glinting in the weak sun.
Something was happening. Identical grey soldiers, the lapping waters of the Artemisian army, were receding into the station. What was happening?
The Artemisian engine had changed gear, but still it worked with relentless efficiency. The buildings of the city were still being stripped of their metal, the spoils of war taken away to be processed. Only now it was the turn of another sort of metal.
On command, Karel’s line of robots stepped forward. He found himself standing in the front row. A grey Artemisian infantry-robot walked the length of the line, inspecting them. And there was Noatak with them, speaking to the Artemisian commander, telling her the names of the assembled citizens, informing her of their jobs and their family details, yet jerking nervously at the sound of the troops marching into the station.
Karel felt hollow, like a northern ghost. There was nothing inside him but the emptiness of his dead son, the emptiness of his lost wife. A single raindrop fell on his metal shell, and his body rang like a bell. Another raindrop fell, and another. Karel heard the ringing as if from a great distance away.
‘And this one?’
The Artemis commander wore a silver flash on her shoulder. Apart from that, she was identical to the other infantryrobots that she commanded. But she could not compare with Noatak the traitor, who hovered at her shoulder in her bare metal body still stained with paint stripper; Noatak whose body panelling was hammered so smooth that the seams barely showed – how that contrasted with the cheap tin solder of the commander.
More rain drops fell on them all. Plink plink plink. Plink plink on Karel’s head.
‘This is Karel, ma’am,’ said Noatak.
‘Karel?’ The commander’s voice was strange. Or maybe it was just the rain, dripping down onto their bodies.
‘That’s right. Karel worked in Immigration. He controlled who entered our state…’
Once. Yesterday. Was it only yesterday?
‘So this is Karel,’ said the commander, thoughtfully.
‘Yes, ma’am. Do you know of him?’ Noatak looked uncertain, nervous.
As well she should. What was she doing, standing here, when Axel was lying dead, back in their flat? If their flat was still even there
…
‘He is unusual within this city,’ continued Noatak. ‘His mother was…’
‘No matter,’ said the commander, turning to watch the soldiers still marching into the station. ‘We need transport.’
Axel dead on the floor.
‘Noatak,’ said Karel, quietly, his voice almost unheard below the pattering of the raindrops.
‘Now this is Beryl,’ said Noatak, anxious to move on. Karel moved as fast as a spring snapping back. He shoved the traitor, tripped her, seized her head and smashed it onto the wet slippery ground, badly denting the skull. Noatak made to get up, but Karel kicked her feet away, slammed her head on the ground again. That was it: he felt himself being pulled away, hauled up by two infantry-robots.
The commander was standing before him again.
‘I had heard that he had a temper,’ she was saying. ‘Better not let him give vent to it. Take him into the station now.’
Karel heard Noatak emitting an electronic whine.
‘Turn it off,’ ordered the commander. ‘Or, if it’s a fault in your voicebox, get it fixed. Swap it for the voicebox from one of these Tokvah. Now get back up. We have to get all these processed.’