On Corrin, one of the primary Synchronized Worlds, the robot Erasmus walked across the flagstone plaza that fronted his lavish villa. He moved with a well-practiced fluidity that he had learned to imitate after centuries of observing human grace. His flowmetal face was a burnished blank oval, like a mirror entirely devoid of expression until he decided to form the metallic polymer film into a range of mimicked emotions, like ancient theater masks.

Through optic threads implanted in his facial membrane, he admired the iridescent fountains around him, which so nicely complemented the villa’s stonework, gemstone statuary, intricate tapestries, and laser-etched alabaster columns. All plush and opulent, by his own design. After much study and analysis, he had learned to appreciate standards of classical beauty, and was proud of his evident taste.

His pet human slaves bustled about performing household chores— polishing trophies and art objects, dusting furniture, planting flowers, trimming topiary shrubs under the crimson afternoon light of the red-giant sun. Each tremulous slave bowed in respect as Erasmus passed. He recognized but did not bother to identify individuals, though he mentally filed every detail. One never knew when the tiniest scrap of data might help in overall understanding.

Erasmus had a skin of organic-plastic composites laced with neurelectronics. He pretended that the sophisticated sensor network allowed him to genuinely feel physical sensations. Under the glowing ember of Corrin’s huge sun, he detected light and warmth on his skin, presumably like real flesh. He wore a thick gold robe trimmed in carmine, part of a stylish personal wardrobe that separated him from Omnius’s lesser robots. Vanity was another thing Erasmus had learned from studying humans, and he rather enjoyed it.

Most robots were not as independent as Erasmus. They were little more than mobile thinking boxes, drone subsets of the evermind. Erasmus obeyed Omnius’s commands as well, but he had more freedom to interpret. Over the centuries, he had developed his own identity and semblance of an ego. Omnius considered him something of a curiosity.

As the robot continued to walk with perfect grace, he detected a buzzing sound. His optic threads picked up a small flying orb, one of Omnius’s many mobile watcheyes. Whenever Erasmus ventured away from the ubiquitous screens found throughout all buildings, the avid watcheyes followed him, recording his every move. The evermind’s actions spoke of either a deep-seated curiosity . . . or an oddly humanlike paranoia.

Long ago, while tinkering with the original AI computers of the Old Empire, the rebel Barbarossa had added approximations of certain personality traits and goals. Subsequently the machines had self-evolved into a single grand electronic mind that retained a few of the imposed human ambitions and characteristics.

As far as Omnius was concerned, biologicals, even bastardized cymeks with human brains and machine parts, could not see the epoch-spanning vistas that the gelcircuitry of a machine mind could encompass. When Omnius scanned the universe of possibilities it was like a vast screen. There were so many ways to win, and he was constantly on the alert for them.

Omnius’s core programming had been duplicated on all the machine-conquered planets and synchronized through the use of regular updates. Faceless, able to watch and communicate throughout the interstellar network, near-identical copies of Omnius were everywhere, vicariously present in innumerable watcheyes, appliances, and contact screens.

Now, apparently, the distributed computer mind had nothing better to do than snoop. “Where are you going, Erasmus?” Omnius demanded from a tiny speaker beneath the watcheye. “Why are you walking so fast?”

“You could walk, too, if you chose to do so. Why not give yourself legs for a while and wear an artificial body, just to see what it is like?” Erasmus’s metallic polymer mask reshaped itself into a smile. “We could go for a stroll together.”

The watcheye buzzed along beside Erasmus. Corrin had long seasons, because its orbit was so far around the giant sun. Winters and summers each lasted for thousands of days. The rugged landscape had no indigenous forests or wildernesses, only a handful of ancient orchards and agricultural fields that had gone to seed since the machine takeover, left to propogate untended.

Many human slaves went blind from exposure to the pounding solar flux. As a consequence, Erasmus fitted his outdoor workers with custom eye protection. He was a benevolent master, concerned for the well-being of his resources.

As he reached the entry gate of his villa, the robot adjusted the new sensory-enhancement module grafted by neurelectronic ports onto his body core and hidden beneath his robe. A unit of his own design, the module allowed Erasmus to simulate the senses of humanity, but with certain unavoidable limitations. He wanted to know more than the module could provide, wanted to feel more. In this respect, the cymeks might have an advantage over Erasmus, but he would never know for certain.

Cymeks— especially the original Titans— were a narrow-minded, brutal bunch, with no appreciation for the more refined senses and sensibilities that Erasmus worked so hard to attain. Brutality had its place, of course, but the sophisticated robot considered it only one of many behaviorial aspects worthy of study, both positive and negative. Still, violence was interesting and often pleasurable to employ. . . .

He was intensely curious about what made cognizant biologicals human. He was intelligent and self-aware, but he also wanted to understand emotions, human sensibilities, and motivations— the essential details that machines never managed to reproduce very well.

During his centuries-long quest, Erasmus had absorbed human artwork, music, philosophy, and literature. Ultimately, he wanted to discover the sum and substance of humanity, the magic spark that made these creatures, these creators, different. What gave them . . . souls?

He marched into his banquet hall, and the flying eye buzzed away toward the ceiling, where it could observe everything. On the walls, six Omnius screens glowed milky gray.

His villa was modeled after the opulent Greco-Roman estates in which the Twenty Titans had lived before forsaking their human bodies. Erasmus owned similar villas on five planets, including Corrin and Earth. He maintained additional facilities— holding pens, customized vivisection rooms, medical laboratories, as well as greenhouses, art galleries, sculptures, and fountains. All of which enabled him to study human behavior and physiology.

Erasmus sat his robed body at the head of a long table lined with silver goblets and candleholders, but with only one place setting. For him. The antique wooden chair had once belonged to a human nobleman, Nivny O’Mura, a founder of the League of Nobles. Erasmus had studied how the rebellious humans had organized themselves and established strongholds against the early cymek and machine assaults. The resourceful hrethgir had ways of adapting and improvising, of confounding their enemies in unexpected ways. Fascinating.

Abruptly, the evermind’s voice echoed from all around, sounding bored. “When will your experiment be concluded, Erasmus? You come in here day after day, doing the same thing. I expect to see results.”

“I am intrigued by questions. Why do wealthy humans eat with such ceremony? Why do they consider certain foods and beverages superior to others, when the nutritional value is the same?” The robot’s voice became more erudite. “The answer, Omnius, has to do with their brutally short lives. They compensate with efficient sensory mechanisms capable of imparting intense feelings. Humans have five basic senses, with countless gradations. The taste of Yondair beer versus Ularda wine, for example. Or the feel of Ecaz burlap compared with parasilk, or the music of Brahms versus—”

“I suppose that is all very interesting in some esoteric way.”

“Of course, Omnius. You continue to study me while I study humans.” Erasmus signaled the slaves who peered nervously through a porthole in the door to the villa’s kitchen. A probe snaked out of a module at Erasmus’s hip and emerged from underneath his robe, waving delicate neurelectronic sensor threads like expectant cobras.

“By tolerating your investigations, Erasmus, I expect that you will develop a detailed model that can reliably predict human behavior. I must know how to make these creatures usable.”

White-clad slaves brought trays of food from the kitchen— Corrin game hen, Walgis beef almondine, even rare Platinum River salmon harvested from Parmentier. Erasmus dipped the weblike ends of his probe into each dish and “tasted” it, sometimes using a cutter to penetrate the meat and sample the internal juices. Erasmus documented each flavor for his growing repertoire.

All the while, he carried on a dialogue with Omnius. The evermind seemed to be doling out bits of data and watching how Erasmus reacted. “I have been building up my military forces. After many years, it is time to move again.”

“Indeed? Or are the Titans pressuring you into a more aggressive stance? For centuries, Agamemnon has been impatient with what he perceives as your lack of ambition.” Erasmus was more interested in the bitter berry tart in front of him. Analyzing the ingredients, he was puzzled to detect a strong trace of human saliva and wondered if that had been part of the original recipe. Or had one of the slaves simply expectorated into it?

“I make my own decisions,” the evermind said. “It seemed appropriate to launch a new offensive at this time.”

The head chef rolled a cart to the table and used a carving knife to cut a slab of Filet Salusa. The chef, a toady little man who stuttered, placed the dripping slice on a clean plate, added a dollop of savory brown sauce, and extended it toward Erasmus. Clumsily, the chef bumped the knife off the serving tray and it clattered against one of Erasmus’s smooth feet, leaving a nick and a stain.

Terrified, the man bent to retrieve the knife, but Erasmus flashed a mechanical hand down and grabbed the handle. Sitting straight, the elegant robot continued to talk to Omnius. “A new offensive? And is it a mere coincidence that the Titan Barbarossa requested exactly that as a reward when he defeated your fighting machine in the gladiator arena?”

“Irrelevant.”

Staring at the blade, the chef stammered, “I will p-personally p-polish it and m-m-make it good as n-n-new, Lord Erasmus.”

“Humans are such fools, Erasmus,” Omnius said from speakers on the wall.

“Some of them are,” Erasmus agreed, waving the carving knife with graceful movements. The little chef mouthed a silent prayer, unable to move. “I wonder what should I do?” Erasmus wiped the knife clean on the trembling man’s smock, then stared at the fellow’s distorted reflection in the metal blade.

“Human death is different from machine death,” Omnius said dispassionately. “A machine can be duplicated, backed-up. When humans die, they are gone permanently.”

Erasmus simulated a boisterous laugh. “Omnius, though you always talk about the superiority of machines, you fail to recognize what humans do better than we.”

“Do not give me another of your lists,” the evermind said. “I recall our last debate on this subject with perfect accuracy.”

“Superiority is in the eye of the beholder and invariably involves filtering out details that do not conform to a particular preconceived notion.” With his sensory detectors waving like cilia in the air, Erasmus smelled the odor of foul sweat from the chef.

“Are you going to kill this one?” Omnius asked.

Erasmus placed the knife on the table and heard the toady man emit a sigh. “Individually, humans are easy to kill. But as a species, the challenge is far greater. When threatened, they draw together and become more powerful, more dangerous. Sometimes it is best to surprise them.”

Without warning, he grabbed the knife and plunged it into the chef’s chest with enough force to drive it through the sternum and into the heart. “Like so.” Blood spurted down the white uniform, onto the table and the robot’s plate.

The hapless human slid off the blade, gurgling. As Erasmus held the bloody knife he considered attempting to duplicate his victim’s look of disbelief and betrayal with his own pliable mask, but decided not to bother. His robot face remained a flat, mirrored oval. Erasmus would never be required to display such an expression anyway.

Curious, he tossed the blade aside with a clatter, then dipped sensitive probe threads into the blood on his plate. The taste was quite interesting and complex. He wondered if the blood of various victims would taste any different.

Robot guards dragged the chef’s body away, while other terrified slaves huddled by the doorway, knowing they should clean up the mess. Erasmus studied their fear.

Omnius said, “Now I wish to tell you something important that I have decided to do. My attack plans are already set in motion.”

Erasmus feigned interest, as he often did. He activated a cleaning mechanism that sterilized the tip of his probe, which then snaked back into its hiding place beneath the robe. “I defer to your judgment, Omnius. I have no expertise in military matters.”

“That is exactly why you should heed my words. You always say you want to learn. When Barbarossa defeated my gladiator robot in exhibition combat, he requested the chance to strike against the League Worlds, as a boon from me. The remaining Titans are convinced that without these hrethgir, the universe would be infinitely more efficient and tidy.”

“How medieval,” Erasmus said. “The great Omnius would follow the military suggestions of a cymek?”

“Barbarossa amused me, and there is always the chance that some of the Titans might be killed. That is not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Of course,” Erasmus said, “since programming restrictions prevent you from harming your creators outright.”

“Accidents happen. Regardless, our offensive will either subsume the League Worlds or exterminate the fragments of humanity there. I do not care which. Very few humans are worth keeping around . . . perhaps none at all.”

Erasmus did not like the sound of that.