The Rod of Light

9

By the next time he saw Gargan Jasperodus had made his decision.

The project director came to him next day, body bent forward with hands held behind his back, walking with short strutting steps. He seemed reluctant to speak, so deep was he in thought.

‘We have received a setback, Jasperodus,’ he said at last. ‘No further positive results can be elicited from the pile. We have used a new subject, thinking the former one might be partly depleted. We have added one or more of our number to the pile, we have shut it down and reactivated it many times… still nothing.’

‘So what do you infer?’ Jasperodus asked.

‘One cannot draw any definite conclusions. Still, I am inclined to view the earlier response as spurious. Transient events within the pile may have tricked the detector into giving false readings. I shall review its design.

‘In any case,’ he went on, ‘the pile was a diversionary essay from which, as I said earlier, no success was particularly expected. We were working on a different approach when the idea of the pile was mooted. We have lost only a short time from our main programme.’

Again Gargan launched into high-speed panlog, outlining the direction of the main research work. Jasperodus gained a vague impression of a system of retorts, but working according to a principle so abstract he could not fathom how it was to be translated into physical terms.

Gargan finished his speech in seconds. Then he stood staring at Jasperodus, with what thought or attitude the other could not tell.

‘Come, we will assess you,’ he said. ‘Then your usefulness can be decided upon.’

He turned and walked from the villa, leaving Jasperodus to follow with apprehension. They came not to the project shed but to another standing behind it, which on their entering presented a roughly-similar interior: hard white light, bare concrete, unnameable apparatus. It, too, was peopled by robots, but they were of fairly ordinary character, Jasperodus guessed, some of them samples of the standard silver-and-black-faced Gargan Cult servitors. All stood immobile as statues: waiting to be used. But now they stirred, looking expectantly to Gargan.

He ignored them. ‘Before we begin, you see before you our very first attack on the problem of extracting the superior light. Its crudity may surprise you. But it did yield valuable initial information.’

Gargan was pointing to a cube-shaped structure standing in the corner of the shed, reaching half the height of the roof. ‘Quite simply, it overloads the sense with input. We devised it on the erronious surmise that the stratagem might weaken the human brain’s hold on conscious substance. The valuable data I mentioned was negative in character. Just the same, human subjects invariably become insensible during the experience, while in general robots do not. Enter the enclosure, Jasperodus. See what you make of it.’

On Gargan’s insistent prompting, Jasperodus reluctantly allowed himself to be guided through a door panel that opened on his approach. He found himself in a bare, square chamber whose walls were lined with a milky micalike substance.

The panel closed and became invisible. As he placed himself in the centre of the chamber, Jasperodus became aware of a deep silence.

Then the assault began. There was gently-swelling music. Then, from another part of the room, a loud, raucous march broke in jarringly, followed by music of a different tempo from elsewhere, until as many as half a dozen orchestras were competing to be heard.

To them were added shouted messages and instructions: ‘ON LEAVING THIS BOOTH YOU WILL REMEMBER TO FACE NORTH… THE CHEMISTRY OF KURON COMPOUNDS DIFFERS FROM EARTH-TYPE IN THAT…’

Scents, ranging from the odious to the exquisite, wafted to him. And then came the visuals, a kaleidoscopic montage of moving full-colour full-parallax images, attracting his attention this way and that….

Inexorably the barrage of sense impressions built up. The cleverness of the programme was that it was not random. The sounds, voices and pictures—faces, landscapes, horrid images of large insects devouring one another—progressed in emotional content so that one’s attention never relapsed into accepting an homogenous blur. Further, the attention was never permitted to rest; it was constantly redirected, demanded, stretched thin by being forced to follow a dozen disparate themes at once.

Jasperodus, after a minute or so, began to feel dizzy. The human mind, when faced with this kind of overload, would respond by withdrawing into the enforced sleep that was called ‘unconsciousness’, but which was simply the refusal of the consciousness to admit any object whatever. This would not happen to the ordinary robot. Its mind would merely accommodate what it could, and shut out the rest.

If he did not behave like a normal robot, if he fainted like a human, Jasperodus would give himself away. He thought he could probably survive the barrage without losing himself… but he was not sure.

As it happened, he was not forced to take the risk. He could disconnect his conscious awareness for predetermined periods: he could ‘sleep’.

It involved suspending some of his higher brain functions. But he had also learned the trick of letting the rest of his brain run on automatic, and even carry out foreordained instructions. This converted him into a ‘normal’ robot. He could ‘sleep’ and to those around him still seem awake and active.

Obey Gargan, he ordered himself. Awaken in five minutes.

And went blank.

When he came to, he was walking deeper into the shed with Gargan. He consulted his memory and reviewed the past few minutes.

On his emerging from the session, Gargan had asked: ‘So what did you experience?’

Jasperodus had replied: ‘Nothing in particular. The speed of the show was somewhat confusing. Are you sure this has an effect on the psyche of humans?’

Gargan had assured him that it did, and had told him to accompany him to the mental testing machine.

Jasperodus wondered if consciousness was not after all no more than an epiphenomenon, as some human philosophers claimed, seeing that he could act normally when to all intents and purposes his mind was switched off… but now he felt nervous. His big fear was that the consciousness detector would at some stage be applied to him, perhaps inadvertently. His freedom of action would then be totally gone. Gargan and his cohorts would glean the whole story. And they would take him apart, dismantling his brain down to the last neuristor, to find out how consciousness had been infused into him.

It would do him no good to render himself asleep as he had just now. The cosmic fire, as Jasper Hobartus called it, the superior light, as Gargan called it, did not quit the brain until death.

Death. Had Gargan yet explored this possibility? Kill the subject and harvest the light as it was released….

They came to a standing console. Gargan placed a hand upon his shoulder.

‘This will not take long.’

He beckoned a servitor. On his orders the inspection plate at the back of Jasperodus’ cranium was opened. Pins, reeled out from spools on the back of the console, were inserted into the testing jacks there.

Jasperodus presumed that by some unknown means the machine was able to perform a more revealing scan than similar but smaller equipment a robotician might use. Gargan placed another pin into an orifice somewhere in his chest. Jasperodus fought to stifle his fear. How deeply was Gargan about to survey him? Would he acquaint himself with his thoughts? With the contents of his memory? That superbrain could no doubt absorb the totality of his memory data in seconds.

The panel of the machine was not in Jasperodus’ line of sight. Gargan made settings there. After only a brief pause, his fingers moved over the panel again. Another pause, and then a third reading.

Pulling the pin from his chest, he gestured to the servitor to disconnect Jasperodus. This done, and the inspection plate closed up, he turned formally to him.

‘Though fairly high, your abstract intelligence is not of the standard required for our research work,’ he told him in a neutral tone. ‘But you do have other qualities: namely, a robust approach to practical affairs and a capacity for planning successful actions; a degree of initiative and determination that, to be frank, is extremely rare in constructs of any kind, including those of us here. You would be wasted as a mere proselytizer. Yet with these qualities, you may find unusual opportunities to be of service to the Work.’

‘Perhaps I already have found one,’ Jasperodus said immediately.

He collected his thoughts, reflecting on how to make the story he had concocted believable. He was relieved that so far Gargan suspected nothing. But he felt he must leave the research station as soon as possible, before he was discovered.

‘Some years ago I was in a small easterly kingdom called Gordona,’ he continued. ‘Perhaps you know of it.’

‘I have seen its name on a map, that is all.’

‘The region is a patchwork of small states,’ Jasperodus conceded. ‘While there I learned of some experiments that now strike me as being germane to our purpose. The persons involved were desirous of immortality. On reaching old age, they planned to transfer their personalities—and consciousness—into the brains of children of tender years. In this way they could grow old, steal the bodies of children, grow old again, and repeat the process indefinitely.’

Briefly Gargan laughed. ‘And was this marvel to be accomplished by sorcery? I have read of the practice many times. It is a perennial legend among gullible humans. There is nothing in this nonsense to interest us.’

‘But these people were not using magic,’ Jasperodus insisted. They were using science. And they believed they were succeeding.’

‘Describe your relationship with these people.’

‘I was in construct bondage to them. At the time I had been captured as a footloose construct and sold by the court. As regards sorcery, it is true they had borrowed the idea from these sources originally. But their method was science.’

‘And you know what this method was?’

‘No. They did not entrust me with any data. I was engaged on building a new workshop for them. That is, until I tired of servitude and escaped once more.’

Gargan was thoughtful. ‘Are you suggesting that your owners had also stumbled on the secret referred to in the notebook?’

‘It seems possible, though at that time I did not think of applying the idea to robots.’

‘Hmmm… you were probably right in that. The result desired by your owners might not have involved the transfer of the superior light. The consciousness already resident in the mind of the child would enlighten any personality read into it. The process applied to the robots of Count Viss, but applied to humans instead, may be the model here, with the immaturely-formed personality of the child being suppressed.

‘Just the same,’ Gargan mused, his voice deep and smooth, ‘the matter might be worth investigating….’

‘If that is your decision, I volunteer to do so.’

‘Come,’ Gargan said, holding forth an arm, ‘let us see how they are faring in the projects shed.’

Dreadfully aware that he was approaching the consciousness detector, Jasperodus allowed himself to be ushered into the other building. The scene was similar to yesterday’s, except that the subject had changed: instead of a young female, a male of late middle age, with straggling hair, a bushy beard, and a wild, desperate look on his face, his eyes rolling from side to side, his head being fixed. From time to time, he uttered cries of protest.

Conversing together in subdued bleeps and humming sounds, all the team save Gargan were gathered round him. From each, plugged into some part of a body casing, a wire ran to the logic junction.

‘Are they all connected to the pile?’ Jasperodus asked in a low voice as they approached.

‘Not in the same sense as being placed upon it. They are using one of the pile’s by-products. Through it, we are able to gain access to the minds of our human subjects. Studying the human mind from within is quite fascinating, though so far it offers no clues as to the light we seek. Further, a degree of control can be established. It is not difficult to stimulate various mental and biological functions. Wait—that is what they are doing now.’

The human strained at his bonds and yelled frantically.

‘GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY MIND!’

He subsided, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. Suddenly Jasperodus noticed that his penis was becoming engorged. To the accompaniment of his strangled groans it rose, to stand erect and distended, the foreskin withdrawing from a purple and swollen glans.

The scrotum shrank and became firm. Then, with a jerk, a gout of semen jetted from the urethra; followed by another and another, rhythmically, splashing over the man’s tautened body.

The robots had ceased their talk and were watching the spectacle with apparent absorption.

‘The feelings and sensations attendant upon this reaction are intriguing, to say the least,’ Gargan explained in a murmur. ‘They are peculiar to animal reproduction.’

Of the constructs present, only Jasperodus seemed aware of how great an indignity had been forced upon the prisoner. ‘Is this not foolishness?’ he said loudly, so that all could hear. ‘Self-indulgence? It has no relevance to the Work.’

‘How do you know that, Jasperodus?’ Gaumene turned his tall, pointed head towards him. ‘Is it certain that sexuality and human consciousness are unrelated? It is a total mystery to us how the superior light comes to be present in the organic brain. The mechanism that puts it there could, quite possibly, involve the reproductive function. After all, there is a basic dissimilarity between the sexual generation of organic individuals and the manufactured assembly of constructs, and that is a fact to be pondered.’

As the team members disconnected their cables, Gasha spoke up.

‘If the new recruit Jasperodus has completed his assessments, I recommend that he be placed forthwith upon the pile, so that the tests of the last few hours can be finalised.’

‘I had regarded the series as completed,’ Gaumene said equably.

‘Not so: one previously existing condition remains to be satisfied, namely the presence of Jasperodus himself upon the pile. We cannot discount the possiblity that he is a maverick factor.’

Knowing that anything he said could only add to his danger, Jasperodus was silent.

‘His brain shows no emphatically odd design features that might cause a misreading,’ Gargan said. ‘In fact, its capacity is small as compared with our own. Besides, I have other work for him. We shall abandon work on the pile and return to our former course.’

If Gasha felt any disappointment, he did not show it. He gave the prisoner an injection, rendering him unconscious. Then he and Cygnus began unfastening the clips on the probes inserted in his skull. They drew off the straps, lifted the body onto a trolley, and trundled it away.

Meantime Gargan took Jasperodus to one side. ‘I agree to your venture,’ he said. ‘But it is a fair way from here to Gordona. What do you require for the journey?’

‘Transport would be useful. I am an experienced air pilot.’

‘We have a number of aircraft. I shall select one for you. Apart from that, do you need servicing? How is your battery?’

‘It was replaced quite recently. I am in good condition.’

‘A companion, perhaps? You will face the usual hazards of a construct in human society.’

Jasperodus hesitated. It occurred to him that this was an opportunity to rescue Cricus from the pile. Although the pile was now to be abandoned, his guess was that robots would be pulled from it only as they were needed. The rest would be left to rust.

But it was not practicable. He could not allow Cricus, or anyone else, to learn of his true purpose.

‘I prefer to act alone,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a weapon that I can carry without its being visible.’

Gargan nodded in his clumsy manner. ‘That is easily arranged. I will take you now to the armourer.’

Their steps echoed round the big hangar as Jasperodus followed his putative master.

The new bulge in his abdomen, which merged imperceptibly with the outline of his body shell, hid a thousand-shot cone-beam pistol. Developed in the Gargan Cult, it was the best hand weapon Jasperodus had yet seen.

He stood with Gargan beneath the brief wing of the aircraft in which he was supposed to fly to Gordona. Gargan himself had shown him over the plane: it was ground-hugging, even on automatic, and non-reflective to radar—invaluable qualities in present times.

Before embarking, he decided to satisfy himself on one point. ‘You told me yesterday that consciousness cannot be destroyed, just as it cannot be created,’ he said. ‘It occurs to me that in that case it must be released from the brain on the death of the human. Have you explored this approach to the problem?’

Yes, we have,’ Gargan answered. ‘We killed a number of subjects and attempted to trace the departure of the superior light. It is impossible to do so. Though we are apt to speak of the light as though it were a material substance, we must remember that it is not. When the vessel containing it is broken, it disappears irrecoverably. Paradoxically, it can be said not even to exist without a suitable material construction to carry it, or rather, it diffuses to such an extreme tenuity that it ceases to exist in any one place. Therefore milking a human brain at the point of death is more difficult than at any other time, not less.’

He tapped the hull of the plane, eliciting a dull clink from the alloy. ‘This craft may well take you all the way to Gordona, but you may not be able to retain possession of it once in human-occupied territory. Your return journey could be more arduous. I shall not expect to see you for some time, perhaps not for years.’

Reaching out, he placed both hands on Jasperodus shoulders. ‘We are brothers in the Work, Jasperodus. The bond between us is stronger than any other bond can be between individuals. When we both have the superior light, we shall know one another in a way that is presently impossible to us.’

Without another word, Jasperodus mounted the steps to the cockpit, closed the canopy and fastened the mesh retainer round his torso. He waited until Gargan had crossed the concrete to the nearest shed, then brought the instrument panel to life.

The plane was a nuclear-powered fast thruster. As he introduced the heating element to the take-off propellant there came a sound like an explosive shot, and the craft leaped almost immediately from the concrete, spearing upwards and levelling out as air began flowing through the thrust cone.

He flew a hundred miles west, until out of range, he judged, of any watchers the cult might have on the ground. Then he altered course and turned the nose of the plane north-north-east, towards the most dangerous place there was for him to enter: the robot-hating state of Borgor.

It was hard to put Gargan’s last words out of his mind. The desperate aspirations of this acme of robotkind aroused nothing but sympathy in him.

And Gargan had welcomed him as a brother.

Yet now he had only one aim. To destroy the Gargan Work before it could succeed.

To do that, he would need Borgor’s help. His mind thick with treachery, he guided the construct-built aircraft over hill and dale at twice the speed of sound, probing northwards.