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Chapter 4 · Slaves to the Metal Horde

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  Chapter four of Slaves to the Metal Horde by Stephen Marlowe. This LibriVox recording
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  is in the public domain. Slaves to the Metal Horde Chapter four. Sixty
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  three seventeen B was twenty years old, but a trip to the repair bays
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  every time he returned to New York City kept his barrel steel body gleaming as
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  if it had rolled but yesterday from the assembly lines. Now, sixty three
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  seventeen B could sense a stiffness in the second joint of his left leg as
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  suspected corrosion. He was looking forward with keen anticipation to the time in the
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  near future when he would stretch out in the repair bay and have his worn
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  parts exchanged. That, however, was not on his primary level of thought.
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  While not unique with sixty three seventeen B, the secondary level was not
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  universal among the robots, for the idea of individual sentience had crept into the
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  original plans only accidentally. On his primary level of thought, sixty three seventeen
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  B was in closer rapport with Central Intelligence than the three hundred robots stretched out
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  in a long sun reflecting line behind him. Like Central Intelligence itself, and
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  unlike the few humans who thought of such things. Sixty three seventeen B believed
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  that matter and energy were not merely components of one another, but are actually
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  the same thing. Thus he explained his greater primary level of thought by saying
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  that the energy matter bridge connecting him with Central Intelligence invisible but measurable in quanta,
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  as was his body, was stronger than most on the social level.
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  This gave sixty three seventeen B leadership of the three hundred thought. Quanta crackled
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  back and forth between sixty three seventeen B and Central Intelligence in New York,
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  and as on all such occasions, sixty three seventeen B was not sure how
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  much of the conversation reached the other robots. Hamilton village is a flame,
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  sixty three seventeen B thought, did you fire it? The answer was immediate
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  and angry. Certainly not. We arrived too late to prevent it. Yet
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  your scouts reported the village was going to move out. You know, a
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  moving village may or may not remain together. As often as not, it
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  separates into small bands which will spread out and find their way to distant communities,
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  an ideal means of spreading the plague. Although I need not remind you
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  of that I am aware. The error is unpardonable unless the villagers have not
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  yet fled. Unfortunately they have. Then another opportunity slips through our fingers.
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  Sixty three seventeen B. Upon your return, you are to report to the
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  intelligences for a re examination of youroport synapses. But but nothing. The thought
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  communication crackled to silence. Sixty three seventeen B made the mental equivalent of a
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  sigh. Such re examinations, he knew from bitter experience, were shams.
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  Reshuffling was more like it. At a whim of Central intelligence, he might
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  become nothing but a second class robot. On the surface, Intelligence would discover
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  a flaw in his synapses. Actually, intelligence would produce the flaw and pass
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  his mantle of leadership down the line to some other robot Suddenly, sixty three
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  seventeen B called a halt. Like all robots, he was vindictive. Constructed
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  originally as machines of war, the robots had had revenge built into their mind
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  patterns as a strong factor. Actually, second class robots were not aware of
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  this. Them the feelings merely existed, and they acted accordingly. But sixty
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  three seventeen B was only too acutely aware. It pained him the robots had
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  never actually functioned as machines of war, for the war had taken a bacteriological
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  turn before the mechanical infantry could march off to battle. The robots had been
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  stored as useless while disease swept earth, with the development of the plague itself,
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  making all further fighting impossible on an international scale. But the plague got
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  out of hand, sixty three seventeen Bee remembered dimly the slightest contact meant almost
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  certain contamination, and mankind prepared grimly for the end of its brief dominion over
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  the earth until someone thought of the robots, let them cure the plague.
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  The antidote was known, they merely had to apply it. Sixty three seventeen
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  bees memory coils tightened angrily. That time the robots had been slighted, although
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  they had waited patiently to serve their masters. Masters. Indeed, sixty three
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  seventeen B recognized the vindictive pattern of his thoughts. For what it was mankind
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  had had its chance had failed after man the robots. It was as simple
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  as that. But now sixty three seventeen B was seething. He'd been advancing
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  steadily in the robot hierarchy and had even expected himself to be assigned to Central
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  Intelligence itself. Before too long, because the impetuous people of Hamilton Village had
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  set their city to the torch before he could arrive, all was lost.
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  He scanned the surrounding countryside with photo retinal cells. Far below, just leaving
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  the edge of the burning town, were a pair of stragglers, man and
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  woman, he thought, but couldn't be sure at this distance. Well,
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  revenge on two individuals would be better than nothing. Strong halting ropes were prepared,
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  and now sixty three seventeen b could see the figures were not two but
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  three. Since his photo retinal cells could not receive color except as shades of
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  black and white, he had no way of telling the three figures were not
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  villagers but shining ones. We're approaching Hamilton Village, said Starbuck over his shoulder,
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  as Diana overtook him at the head of the column to get her first
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  look at the place. You could see the flames. I thought you said
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  the fire was almost out when you left Kelleher and the others. I did,
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  But you can't predict those things. Apparently it has started again. See
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  they had reached to rise of ground and could see what was left of the
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  village in a broad valley below them, a great pall of black smoke rising
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  from it sluggishly. Starbuck saw something else a few miles off to the north,
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  but said nothing. It was a long, thin column gleaming metallically.
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  At this distance, he could not be sure, but it looked like a
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  line of robots. Kelleher and the others are close by, Starbucks said mechanically.
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  He was not thinking of Kellerher. The trouble with this group of shining
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  ones was no one understood Starbuck. Not only were his talents for leadership unappreciated,
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  he was actually made fun of. He'd been sullen ever since his mental
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  rebuff at the hands of Kellerher. He'd acted inconsistently, his anger had been
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  a free floating thing, and he'd very nearly got Diane in trouble for it.
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  That was ridiculous. The answer seemed obvious enough. If one is not
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  appreciated at a particular place, one should go elsewhere. There was Thomas Burwood,
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  a youngster whose father had been chief before keller Her, and who had
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  been killed by Keller her Burwood almost certainly would join Starbuck, and Diane could
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  be taken by force if necessary. Starbuck put the stocky man named Gilbert in
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  charge of the column and sought out Burwood. He found the younger man on
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  a fringe of the column, plodding listlessly along. Listen, Tom said Starbuck
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  in a confidential voice. We've often talked about life among the robots, but
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  were letting our years fritter away. What would you do if the opportunity presented
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  itself? Like Starbuck himself, Burwood was an oversized young man given to fits
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  of temperament. What's the use, he said? You can't just walk into
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  the robot's citadel. They would kill you first and ask questions afterwards. No,
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  but you could join robots in the field. It's done that way most
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  of the time since the robots adventure for either to spread the plague or gain
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  conscripts among the shining ones. Starbuck whispered in his best confidential voice, and
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  Tom, there's a group of robots two or three miles from here right now.
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  What do you say to that? Let me think, Burwood frowned.
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  I don't know. It's one thing to talk about it. But another too.
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  Keller Her didn't give your father a chance to think, did he not?
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  When your father was growing old and keller Her knew he could take him,
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  he killed him, struck him down like an animal. Don't forget that,
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  Tom, that's true. But you're worrying about life among the robots?
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  Are you from every room? Or I've heard you can live like a king
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  like the days before World War III ruined our civilization? What do you say,
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  Tom? An opportunity like this doesn't often come well, of course,
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  if you're afraid. But I thought you were made of the same stuff as
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  your father, the only leader I have ever served faithfully. That's enough,
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  Harry Young Burwood's voice broke. I'll go with you. I knew you would.
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  You're just like your father, Tom. There's one thing I want to
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  do first. The two whispered together for a time. Then Starbuck drifted back
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  toward the rear of the column and permitted himself to straggle until he was out
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  of sight of the rear guard, first making arrangements for the prisoner Johnny Hope,
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  to be taken off the trail into the woods. Tom Burwood, meanwhile,
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  double timed up toward the head of the column. Diane, I was
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  looking for you. Hello, Tom, What is it some one wants to
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  see you rear of the column? Who all through the march, Diane had
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  wanted to make her peace with Johnny Hope, but the opportunity had never presented
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  itself. I'm not at liberty to say, Burwood told her slyly, and
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  winked. Is it Johnny Hope? Burwood smiled affably. I can't say,
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  please, Diane. I was only told to fetch you. It's been arranged
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  temporarily, but he can't remain back there indefinitely. I'm coming lead the way,
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  Diane said eagerly, and fell into step with Burwood. Johnny Hope must
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  have had his reasons for not fighting with Starbuck. He was not the cowardly
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  type. Unless Diane had suddenly become a bad judge of people. Perhaps he
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  thought, in some strange way he was protecting her. Where is he,
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  Tom? I don't see any one a little further, but we've already left
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  the column. Just around that clump of trees. I think something rustled in
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  the undergrowth, Johnny, Diane called expectantly. He stepped out into the trail
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  and faced her, it was Harry Starbuck. What kind of a joke is
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  this, Diane demanded, angrily, turning to rejoin the column. I thought
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  I was coming back here to meet Johnny Hope, Burwood laughed easily. I
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  never said that. Well, whatever your planning, you can count me out
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  of all the nerve bringing me back here like this. Would you like to
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  see Johnny Hope alive? Starbuck asked, in a conversational tone. What do
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  you mean by that that you had better co operate with me, Diane?
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  The three of us are leaving the column now, you, Tom and I.
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  If you don't, I can't guarantee anything about Johnny Hope. Diane did
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  not know whether to believe him or not, but would hardly endanger Johnny Hope's
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  life on a notion. I'll go with you, she said. Less than
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  an hour later, they approached the vanguard of the file of robots. Burwood
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  and Diane saw them at the same time, Contempt filling Diane's eyes as she
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  began to understand what had been on Starbucks's mind. Fear was there too threatening
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  to unnerve her at any moment, but the scorn she felt for Starbuck prevented
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  it. From overpowering her of all the cheap tricks, She said, you
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  you wanted to join the robots, but you also wanted me. Johnny Hope
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  was never in any danger. It was all a lie to get me here.
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  Well, if you think I'm going with you, Diane crouched abruptly,
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  came up with a handful of dry earth and flung it at Starbuck's face,
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  blinding him. Then she began to run get her Burwood. Starbuck roared,
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  don't let her escape. It wasn't Burwood's fight, But if he had thrown
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  in with Starbuck, he wanted to remain in the man's good graces, at
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  least until he could figure things out for himself. Besides, his first sight
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  of the robots had almost choked him with fear. Chasing Diane would take his
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  mind off them. He set out after her, aware that a still half
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  blinded Starbuck was circling around in another direction. Diane guessed her best chance for
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  escape would lie along the very edge of the file of robots. She did
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  not relish the idea, but she had seen the look on Burwood's face when
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  the creatures of Metal had appeared, and figured he would be loath to follow
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  her in that direction. Did the robots see her? She ran in their
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  direction, her clothing catching and tearing on the undergrowth. She neared the head
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  of the file, could hear Burwood stumbling along behind her. The metal figure
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  stood there, unmoving, watching her. Each one twelve feet tall, they
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  could have stamped her to death. Behind her, Diane heard a hoarse scream.
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  She whirled instinctively, lost her footing fell. One of the robots had
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  taken Burwood, who was thrashing and kicking helplessly as it bore him aloft and
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  held him feet pounding on air, two yards off the ground. She didn't
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  like Burwood, but she had nothing against him. He screamed again, his
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  voice breaking put him down. Diane shouted. She might as well have been
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  talking to the ingots from which the robots had been fashioned, for all the
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  heed they paid her. She whirled again, sought Starbuck, couldn't find him.
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  Starbuck always talked of the robots. Perhaps he knew how to communicate with
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  them. Now the robot had set a trembling Burwood down on the ground.
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  Now a great noose of rope was drawn about his neck, its other end
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  slung over the branch of a huge, bare limb tree. Now something neither
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  warm nor cold touched. Diane grasped her about the middle, lifted her.
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  It was a nightmare. It was unreal, not happening to her. The
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  ground spun giddily. All vision receded behind a wave of vertigo, then returned,
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  still spinning. Diane clawed at the metal head, at the hard unblinking
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  eyes, scraping uselessly. She might as well try to scrape down the side
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  of a mountain with her finger nails. Burwood was hanging, feet dangling,
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  arms bound behind him. He twisted and writhed in his last death agony.
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  Diane shuddered, turning away, striking her head sharply against the hard metal of
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  the robot. When her vision cleared again, she was on the ground,
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  another robot stalking soundlessly toward her for all its great bulk, A noose identical
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  to the one from which Burwood dangled suspended from its metal hand. But the
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  scene had changed. Diane realized wildly a great airship a rocket had laded midway
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  between the file of robots and the burning village. Vaguely, she remembered that
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  Starbuck had once said only robots from the Citadel itself used the rockets, since
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  only a few remained from Man's last great war. Starbuck was nearby, shaking
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  but holding his ground, shouting at the robots as if his very life depended
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  upon it, and Diane thought despairingly it did leave her be Starbuck cried,
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  you're making a terrible mistake. We're not from the village. We're shining ones.
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  We're shining ones. I tell you, we came here to join you,
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  to be conscripted. We went to work for the robots. See E,
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  we're shining ones. Did they understand? Diane couldn't tell. The robots
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  with the noose reached down and grabbed her, drawing her aloft again. She
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  wanted to scream, but all her energy could bring forth only a whimper.
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  She wanted to shut her eyes, eyes tightly and wake up. Trembling,
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  but otherwise all right in her tent. She could feel a lurching motion as
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  the robot began to move. Burwood hung slightly, now twisting gently from side
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  to side like a rag doll. With the motion of the rope. Diane
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  faded. Within half an hour, all the robots had filed into their waiting
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  ship. It blasted skyward on a jet of flame, which was all but
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  lost against the fires which consumed Hamilton Village. End of chapter four,