The Dream Voyager neared Earth, humanity’s original home and now the central Synchronized World. Though he remained attentive, Seurat allowed Vorian Atreides to pilot the ship. “Such risks amuse me.”

Vor sniffed, looking at the unreadable expression on the copper skinfilm of the cognizant machine. “I’ve proved myself to be a perfectly competent pilot— probably the best of all the trustees.”

“For a human, I suppose, with sluggish reflexes and the frailties of a physical body prone to infirmities.”

“At least my jokes are better than yours.” Vor took the controls of the black-and-silver ship. He showed off his skills, dodging asteroid rubble as he accelerated in a slingshot curve around the heavy gravity of Jupiter. Alarms lit on the diagnostic panels.

“Vorian, you are taking us beyond acceptable parameters. If we cannot break free of Jupiter’s gravity, we will burn up.” The robot reached forward to reassert control on the flight deck. “You must not endanger the Omnius updates we carry—”

Vorian laughed at the trick he had just played. “Got you, old Metalmind! When you weren’t looking I recalibrated the alarm-sensor setpoints. Check with objective instrumentation, and you’ll see we’ve still got plenty of wiggle room.”

They easily pulled away from the gas giant. “You are correct, Vorian, but why would you do such a brash thing?”

“To see if a robot is capable of wetting his pants.” Vor plotted a final approach vector through the machine-operated surveillance stations and satellites orbiting Earth. “You’ll never understand practical jokes.”

“Very well, Vorian. I will keep trying— and practicing.”

Vor realized that he might one day regret teaching Seurat that type of humor.

“Incidentally, I have more than metal in my brain, as do all thinking machines. Our neurelectronics are only the most exotic alloys, in a network of optic threads, complex polymers, gelcircuitry, and—”

“I’ll keep calling you old Metalmind anyway. Just because it bothers you.”

“I will never understand human foolishness.”

For the sake of appearances, Seurat maintained command as the Dream Voyager touched down at the bustling spaceport. “We have reached the end of another successful route, Vorian Atreides.”

Grinning, the young man ran his fingers through long black hair. “We travel a circular route, Seurat. A circle has no end.”

“Earth-Omnius is the beginning and the end.”

“You’re too literal. That’s why I beat you in so many strategy games.”

“Only forty-three percent of the time, young man,” Seurat corrected. He activated the exit ramp.

“Around half.” Vorian headed toward the hatch, anxious to get outside and breathe fresh air. “Not bad for someone susceptible to illnesses, distractions, physical weaknesses, and any number of other frailties. I’m gaining ground on you, too, if you care to examine trends.” He bounded down to the sprawling field of fused plascrete.

Loader robots scurried among larger pieces of AI equipment that moved about on glider fields. Small scouring drones climbed into engine tubes and exhaust cones; maintenance machines scanned large drive components for needed repairs. Tanker robots refueled parked starships, preparing each long-range vessel for any mission that Omnius decreed in his infinite intelligence.

As Vorian stood blinking in the sunlight, a giant cymek strode forward on jointed legs. The hybrid machine’s inner workings were clearly visible: hydraulics, sensor systems, blue-lightning nerve impulses transferred from electrafluid to thoughtrodes. At the core of its artificial body hung the protected brain jar that contained the mind of an ancient human general.

The cymek swiveled its turret sensors, as if targeting him, then altered its path toward Vor, raising its front grappling arms. Heavy pincers clacked.

Vorian waved and rushed forward. “Father!”

Since cymeks regularly exchanged temporary bodies in response to the physical requirements of various activities, they were difficult to distinguish from each other. However, Vor’s father came to see him whenever the Dream Voyager returned from its update-delivery missions.

Many enslaved humans lived on the Synchronized Worlds, serving the evermind. Omnius kept them on as token workers, though few had lives as important and comfortable as Vorian’s. Trustees like himself received special training, went through rigorous instruction at elite schools for crew bosses and other important positions under the machine domination.

Vor had read about the glories of the Titans and knew the stories of his father’s great conquests. Raised under the evermind’s wing and trained by his cymek father, the young man had never questioned the world order or his own loyalty to Omnius.

Knowing the robot captain’s moderate temperament, Agamemnon had used considerable influence to obtain a spot for his son on Seurat’s update ship, an enviable assignment even among the chosen trustees. As an independent robot, Seurat did not mind the young man’s company, suggesting that Vor’s unpredictable personality was an asset to their missions. Occasionally, Omnius himself asked Vor to participate in role-playing simulations to better understand the capabilities of feral humans.

Without fear, Vorian now raced across the landing field to stand beside the weapon-studded cymek, who towered over him. The young man stared fondly at the suspended brain case of his ancient father, with its strange mechanical face now on the underside.

“Welcome back.” Agamemnon’s vocal patches made his voice deep and paternal. “Seurat has already uploaded his report. Once again, you have made me proud. You are one step closer to meeting our goals.” He swiveled his turret around, reversing the direction of progress, and Vorian trotted beside the armored legs as Agamemnon strode away from the ship.

“If only my fragile body survives long enough to accomplish everything,” Vor said wistfully. “I can’t wait to be selected as a neo-cymek.”

“You are only twenty, Vorian. Too young to be morbidly concerned about your mortality.”

Overhead, resource haulers dropped from orbit, balanced atop yellow-white flames that slowed their descent. Loadcars manned by human workers trundled up to where ships had landed, preparing to distribute cargoes according to rigid instructions. Vor glanced at the slaves but did not ponder their situation. Each person had his own duties, every human and machine a cog in the Synchronized Worlds. But Vor was superior to the others, since he had a chance to become like his father one day. A cymek.

They passed unmarked warehouses with computerized monitoring and inventory systems where fuel and supplies were stored. Human clerical personnel dispersed food and materials from storehouses to slaves inside the city. Inspectors— some robotic, some human— performed quality control and quantity assessments for the larger-scale plans of Omnius.

Vor could not comprehend the lives of the uneducated workers who unloaded heavy crates at the space dock. The slave laborers performed duties that a simple loading machine could have done faster and more efficiently. But he was pleased that even these lesser people had tasks they could perform in order to earn their subsistence.

“Seurat told me about Salusa Secundus, Father.” He maintained a quick pace to match the cymek’s huge strides. “I’m sorry your assault was unsuccessful.”

“Just a test case,” Agamemnon said. “The feral humans have a new defensive system, and now we have probed it.”

Vor beamed. “I’m sure you’ll discover a way to bring all hrethgir under the efficient rule of Omnius. Like the times described in your memoirs, when Titans were in complete control.”

Inwardly, the cymek general frowned at the comments. Agamemnon’s optic threads detected numerous watcheyes floating around them as the two walked. “I do not wish for the old days, of course,” he said, presently. “You have been reading my memoirs again?”

“I never tire of your stories, Father. The Time of Titans, the great Tlaloc, the First Hrethgir Rebellions . . . everything is so fascinating.” Accompanying the magnificent cymek made Vor feel special. He always remained alert, within the limitations of his position, for ways to better himself. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the opportunities he’d been given . . . and of more. “I would be happy to learn of this new hrethgir defensive system, Father. Perhaps I can assist you in finding a way to defeat it?”

“Omnius is analyzing the data and will decide what to do. I have only recently arrived back on Earth.”

With human ambitions still a fundamental part of their psyches, the Titans always had monumental construction projects under way: megalithic buildings and monuments to themselves that celebrated the lost age of humanity and glorified the Time of Titans. Captive human artists and architects were ordered to develop original designs and sketches that the cymeks modified or approved.

Nearby, machinery lifted the components of skyscraper buildings into place, adding upper floors to existing complexes, though the thinking machines had little need for further expansion. At times, the extravagant construction seemed to Vor like mere busy-work for the slaves. . . .

He had never known his mother, and understood only that ages ago, before the Titans had surgically converted themselves into cymeks, Agamemnon had created his own sperm bank, from which he had germinated Vorian. Over the centuries, the general could create any number of offspring using acceptable surrogate mothers.

Though he had never learned about any siblings, Vorian suspected they were out there somewhere. He wondered what it would be like to meet them, but in machine society, emotional attachments were not practical. He only hoped that his siblings had not proven to be disappointments to Agamemnon.

When his father was off on his frequent missions, Vor often tried to talk with the remaining Titans, curious about the events recorded in Agamemnon’s celebrated and voluminous memoirs. He used his responsible position to better himself. Some of the original cymeks— especially Ajax— were arrogant and treated Vor as a nuisance. Others, like Juno or Barbarossa, found him amusing. All of them spoke with utmost passion about Tlaloc, the first of the great Titans, who had sparked the revolution.

“I wish I’d been able to meet Tlaloc,” Vor said, trying to keep the conversation going. Agamemnon loved to speak of his glory days.

“Yes, Tlaloc was a dreamer with ideas I had never heard before,” the cymek mused as he strode down the boulevards. “At times he was a bit naïve, not always understanding the practical repercussions of his ideas. But I pointed them out to him. That was why we made such a great team.”

Agamemnon seemed to pick up speed when he spoke of the Titans. Weary from trying to keep up the rapid pace, Vorian gasped for breath.

“Tlaloc took his name from an ancient rain god. Among the Titans, Tlaloc was our visionary, while I was the military commander. Juno was our tactician and manipulator. Dante watched over statistics, bureaucracy, and population-accounting. Barbarossa saw to the reprogramming of the thinking machines, making certain they had the same goals as we did. He gave them ambition.”

“And a good thing, too,” Vorian said.

Agamemnon hesitated, but did not voice any objections, wary of the watcheyes. “When he visited Earth, Tlaloc realized how the human race had gone stagnant, how people had become so dependent on machines that they had nothing left but apathy. Their goals were gone, their drive, their passion. When they should have had nothing to do but unleash their creative impulses, they were too lazy to perform even the work of the imagination.” His vocal speakers made a disgusted sound.

“But Tlaloc was different,” Vor said, on cue.

The cymek’s voice took on more emotion. “Tlaloc grew up in the Thalim system, on an outer colony world where life was difficult, where labor was not accomplished without sweat, blood, and blisters. He had to fight his way and earn his position. On Earth, he saw that the human spirit had all but died—and the people hadn’t even noticed!

“He gave speeches attempting to rally the humans, to make them see what was happening. A few watched him with interest, considering him a novelty.” Agamemnon raised one of his powerful metal arms. “But they heard his words only as a diversion. Soon the bored audiences returned to their slothful, hedonistic pursuits.”

“But not you, Father.”

“I was dissatisfied with my uneventful life. I had already met Juno, and the two of us had dreams. Tlaloc crystallized them for us. After Juno and I joined him, we set in motion the events that led to the downfall of the Old Empire.”

Father and son arrived at the central complex where the Earth-Omnius resided, although redundant nodes of the evermind were distributed around the planet in a network of armored vaults and high towers. Vorian followed the cymek into the main structure, eager to do his part. This was a ritual they had completed many times.

The walker body strode through wide halls and entered a maintenance facility filled with lubricant tubes, bubbling nutrient cylinders, polished tabletops, and flickering analysis systems. Vor retrieved a tool kit, then turned on vacuum hoses and high-pressure water jets, found soft rags and polishing lotions. He considered it his most important task as a trustee.

In the center of the sterile room, Agamemnon halted beneath a lifting apparatus. A magnetic claw-hand came down and attached itself to the preservation canister that held his ancient brain. Neural connection ports popped open, and thoughtrode cables spiraled away. The lifting arm raised the canister, still attached to temporary batteries and life-support systems.

Vorian came forward with an armload of equipment. “I know you can’t feel this, Father, but I like to think it makes you more comfortable and efficient.” He blasted the connection ports with high-pressure air and streams of warm water, using a wadded cloth to polish every surface. The cymek general transmitted wordless gratified murmurings.

Vor completed the cleaning and polishing, then adjusted wires and cables and hooked up diagnostics. “All functions optimal, Father.”

“With your attentive maintenance, it is no wonder. Thank you, my son. You take such good care of me.”

“It is my honor to do so.”

His synthesized voice purring, Agamemnon said, “One day, Vorian, if you continue serving me so well, I will recommend you for the greatest reward. I will ask Omnius to surgically convert you into a cymek, like me.”

At the mention of this wonderful prospect, Vorian again polished the canister, then looked lovingly at the creamy contours of the brain inside. He tried to hide his flush of eager embarrassment, but tears came to his eyes. “That is the best a human can hope for.”