Barrington J. Bayley - The Rod of Light

The Rod of Light

by Barrington J Bayley

Reddened and magnified, the sun had descended through a clear sky and was nearly touching the edge of the hilly landscape, when its outpouring radiance fell on a burnished metallic figure that appeared on the summit of a turfed ridge. The figure paused, and for a considerable while stared at the mellowed orb as if seeking to return its eternal state; for its eyes, too, were red and glowing.

The traveller was a bronze-black robot, man-shaped and handsome, the body decoratedall over with scroll-like engravings which extended also to an enigmatic face: an immobile machine-visage whose expression combined sternness and tenderness. Suddenly the robots concentration was interrupted. The face tilted upward, attracted by a glint of golden light where the sun had caught the underside of a planes wing that was poised on the end of a newly appeared contrail.

The robot stepped back, down into the shadow of the ridge. One arm resting on a bended knee, he waited and hoped that the pilot of the plane had not spotted him in turn.

When Jasperodus next emerged the plane had gone. For the frist time he directed his attention to the sunlit slope on the other side.

A compact, cirque-like valley lay below him. On a lower slope there stood a building shaped like a ziggurat or step pyramid. It was about the size of a three-storey villa, and appeared to be constructed of well-fitting stone blocks, with a stone porch projecting from one side. Before this porch, an oddly-shaped stone cowl acted as windshield for an elegant bowl mounted on a pedestal. In the bowl, a pale flame burned.

The place resembled a temple. Jasperodus thought it curious to find an intact, and apparently inhabited, building in this wilderness. He estimated its age at no more than a hundred years, placing it long after the collapse of the Old Empire.

Since it was therefore of no interest archaeologically he would have passed it by, but the appearance of the aircraft had disconcerted him slightly. These bare hillsides offered little scope for concealment, and he feared that a photo-reconnaissance with robots as its object might be in progress. It occurred to him to take shelter in the building until dark.

He made his way down the slope and, reaching the porch, lingered to inspect the fire in the bowl. The wick was a fleecy wad floating in perfumed oil. Sparkling flecks swarmed up the flame, vanished at its fringe, and released a powerful scent of roses. Enchanting.

Cautiously Jasperodus entered the limestone porch. The passage was blocked, at a depth of ten feet, by a blank wall of reddish stone, perhaps porphyry. He pounded on it, producing hollow-sounding thuds. He called out, and tuned up his hearing to detect a response, but there was no sound from within. He began to think the building unoccupied after all, but then there came the hiss of a pneumatic mechanism, and the porphyry block slid aside.

In its place a silvery panel, or screen, was revealed. On it here slowly formed an image, which Jasperodus stepped back to examine. It was of a tall, slender man in a light blue gown. He would be aged about sixty, and had flaxen hair falling to his shoulders. His eyes matched the gown: pale blue. They were almost hypnotically steady.

What brings a servant of Ahriman to the Temple of Light? asked the image in a resonant, though rather high-pitched voice.

Jasperodus pondered before answering. I am no-ones servant, he said evenly. I am a free construct. May I shelter under your roof for a while?

The figure looked him up and down, though Jasperodus had seen no camera or sensor to convey his own image. You ask for shelter. Do you feel the cold, robot?

No, I do not. Jasperodus became impatient, and reached out to claw down the silver screen with a steel hand. As he had guessed, it was made of some silky stuff and ripped easily. Behind it extended another short passage, but this again was blocked by porphyry.

Jasperodus spoke in a disgruntled tone. It is understandable that you should fear me, though I intend you no harm. Very well, then, I shall bother you no further.

It would soon be dark. He decided to remain in the porch for a short time, and then be on his way. But the mans voice came again, slightly slurred.

I do not fear you, robot. Come, enter the Temple of Light. After all, you are a creature.

The second block of porphry hissed aside. Jasperodus entered a chamber painted sky-blue, and heard the barrier close again behind him.

Standing beside a low table was the man who had appeared on the screen. On the table was a half-filled glass wine decanter and a goblet.

The room was plainly a living chamber, but was furnished simply. An ottoman, long enough to double as a couch, lay against one wall. A number of domestic articles silver cups and platters, bottles, wooden caskets, combs and brushes occupied a shelf running the length of the opposite wall. Otherwise the furniture consisted only of the table and two stout timber chairs.

Lighting was by means of a large, bright oil-lamp suspended close under the ceiling. There was a small flue to carry away fumes, and grills for ventilation were set high in the walls.

The blue-eyed man was regarding Jasperodus with a peculiarly intense expression whose import he could not read. Now he poured a measure of wine and sat down, hand resting on the table and grasping the wine cup. He gestured.

Be seated, Ahriman.

Jasperodus was equally comfortable standing, but he gingerly settled his weight on the remaining chair. It creaked, but held.

My name is not Ahriman.

All robots should be called Ahriman. Jasperodus began to suspect that the temple-keeper, as he presumed him to be, was drunk. But never mind. What is your business in this region?

Jasperodus curiosity concerning the temple made him more ready to divulge his own circumstances. I am an archaeologist, he explained. I am on my way to join my assistants who are carrying out a dig to the north-west of here. For cautions sake I decided to travel on foot, though an aircraft would have been quicker. As you may know, the Borgor Alliance has been making incursions into the area, and Borgors destroy robots out of hand.

The templar gave an understanding nod. You are an archaeologist, you say? Yet you also claim to be a free construct. What interest could archaeology possibly have for you?

I study the past to seek the causes of historical change, the robot said. We emerge from a turbulent dark age. Why did the splendid Rule of Tergov that preceded it collapse like a house of cards? Is there a law of history that brings on calamity just when civilisation seems about to fulfill itself? This is what I aim to find out.

I repeat, why should you?

Jasperodus paused. Did he speak too freely, he wondered? I owe it to those who made me, he said.

You have an instruction? You are not so free after all?

It is my own choosing. There is no instruction.

The man grunted. What is the advance of human civilisation to you? This is an unusual sentiment. You are a robot. Not a man.

And the difference?

Making a dismissive face, the templar gulped wine, spilling it from the corners of his mouth and dribbling it down his gown. Then, with an air of self-possession, he brushed away the drops.

Can you tell me something about this place? Jasperodus asked. The Temple of Light, you called it. Also you insisted on forcing an identification with someone called Ahriman upon me. This is a mythic projection, perhaps? Is Ahriman one of the robotic gods?

It could be said that in a sense he is, the templar agreed, apparently struck by the thought. By your very nature you cannot help but serve him. Even if you imagine you serve the light, you cannot help but serve the darkness.