Dichotomy

“Robot City”, announced the skipper, completely unnecessarily because they were in the middle of it, so everyone knew where they were. But it was an official stop and had to be officiously announced! They’d be there for several hours to load goods on board. A line of humanoids stood on the dockside, ready to do the loading. It meant there was time to disembark and visit the extraordinary place. Alastair and Alfred had been many times before by pod, both to Robot City North and Robot City South. and it was always especially exciting to boys as well as girls. Alfred’s sister, Moira, and her friends, were frequent visitors. “Stupid girls”, Alfred would think to himself, “prancing around trying on silly dresses and make-up, and giggling all the time”.

One would be mistaken to imagine this place represented the Future. That isn’t how it was perceived at all. Rather, it was the Alternative Present. Sunk into a vast, twelve miles’ square recess in the ground, to avoid visually polluting the exterior landscape, was a vibrant city of concrete, steel and glass. Here there were roadways and hover traffic. Here was a mixture of humans and robots, some in humanoid form. Here were scientists, researchers, physicists, large-scale entertainers, night clubs and tourists. Here was the nuclear source of electric power, piped underground to the rest of the country. Here was where Alfred wanted to work when he was older. But for now, they were here for fun. “Can I assist you, young gentlemen”, said a humanoid with a rather cheesy smile, “my name is Claudius, what is your pleasure?” The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Down through the ages, hustlers were always at every port waiting to greet the tourists. “Well”, said Alastair, “we want to race some cars, and is there anything special happening today?” “Cross my palm with silver”, Claudius replied, and the boys touched his hand with their phones. “I’ll call you a cab for the racing cars”, the humanoid continued, “and as for special events, you might be interested in the Gladiators this afternoon, fighting to the death in the Colosseum, but don’t tell your mothers”. “Yeah!”, chimed the boys excitedly, and Alastair added “But please don’t call me a cab, Claudius, I’m not a cab”. “Oh, very funny, Master Alastair, I’ve never heard that one before”, retorted Claudius with a sardonic chuckle. “How did he know my name?” thought Alastair for a split second, before remembering he’d just swiped his phone. The hover-taxi drew up silently, and Claudius saw them in. “Have a nice day”, he said as he waved them off.

The racing was fantastic. The track rose and fell, with blind corners, to really challenge the intrepid driver. There were two options for adults – with or without safety control. Safety control meant that however fast you drove, at whatever angle, you couldn’t have an accident or get hurt, and nobody else could drive into you – sensors were in play to monitor and protect you with evasive action override. Unsurprisingly, children automatically had to have safety control. This indulged their fantasies to the full, because they could put their foot to the floor as fearless racing drivers. Perhaps more surprisingly, most adults opted for this option as well, for the same reasons.

As if by magic, Cheesy Claudius, for such was his nickname already, appeared as they stepped out of their vehicles. “Ready for the Games, young gentlemen?”, he asked while summoning their hover-taxi. They arrived at the Colosseum, an exact replica of the original. They took their seats among the crowd. There was the ‘Emperor’ in his box, a humanoid dressed resplendently in purple, with a crown of golden leaves upon his head, and an exaggeratedly large, right thumb. Five humanoids in togas stood and sounded the trumpets for the Games to begin, and there was a huge roar from the crowd. Two ‘Gladiators’ appeared from the tunnel and saluted the Emperor and the crowd, to cries of adulation and the throwing of flowers into the arena. The battle began. These were robots programmed to fight to the death. They could react and move at lightning speed. They were superhumanly strong and suffered no pain. So it was impossible to calculate how long the fight would last, or who would win. Many spectators had placed their bets.

It was a violent and bloody affair, with limbs being hacked and eyes gouged. The crowd was up on its feet as a defeated Gladiator was finally pinned to the ground by the other’s trident. There was a hush as the Emperor stood to consider the matter, before the great thumb pointed down, the trident was rammed into the throat, the victim’s legs writhed in agony and then lay quite still. The victor picked up the victim’s sword and removed his head with a single swipe. Blood spurted copiously from the exposed neck. “Cor”, yelled the boys, who couldn’t wait to get back home and tell their mates in gory detail all that they had seen. Photography was not permitted. The grand finale was the Champion of Champions, a veritable Goliath who took on three others and demolished them all in a bloodbath. He ran a victory lap to the wild enthusiasm of the crowd. Clearly, he was yet to meet his little David. The arena was bestrewed with limbs, lumps of flesh and red-stained sawdust. It is no wonder that the Robot Cities’ detractors nicknamed them Sodom and Gomorrah. Cheesy sidled in beside them with the news that it was time to go or they’d miss the boat.