The ornate pedestal for the statue of the Titan Ajax was nearly complete. Crew master Iblis Ginjo perused the daily tally and production requirements on his electronic notepad. He had made his slaves understand their very real danger, should the brutal cymek lose patience. They worked very hard, not just for fear of their lives, but because Iblis had inspired them.

Then, a disaster occurred on another part of the project.

With the heat of day rising around the observation scaffold where Iblis stood supervising the stabilization of the sturdy pedestal, in the distance he saw the top of the nearly completed Ajax statue begin to move. The iron, polymer, and stone colossus tottered one way and then the other, as if gravity itself were shaking the enormous work of art.

Suddenly the giant monument toppled with a crashing roar, accompanied by distant shouts and screams. As a cloud of dust climbed into the sky, Iblis knew that any slave who had been crushed under the massive statue should be considered lucky.

Once Ajax learned of the catastrophe, the real mayhem would begin.

EVEN BEFORE THE dust and rubble settled, Iblis rushed into the furious debate among neo-cymeks and his fellow trustee crew leaders. It hadn’t been his part of the monument project that had collapsed, but his teams would suffer in the inevitable delays caused by the accident. Still, Iblis hoped his charismatic mediation skills could help mitigate the disaster.

Enraged neo-cymeks saw the clumsy damage as a personal affront to their revered Titan predecessors. Ajax himself had already torn a work supervisor limb from limb, and gory body parts lay scattered and dripping in the dust.

With all the compelling passion he could summon, Iblis Ginjo made the angry neo-cymeks pause. “Wait, wait! This can be fixed, if you will allow me!”

Ajax rose taller, more threatening than any of the neo-cymeks, but Iblis continued, his words silky. “True, the enormous statue has suffered some harm, but nothing more than superficial blemishes. Lord Ajax, this monument was designed to endure throughout the ages! Certainly it can endure a few bumps and scratches. Your grand legacy is not so easily bruised.”

He paused as the cymeks were forced to admit the truth of this. Then he pointed toward his own work area and continued in a reasonable tone, “Look, my crews have nearly finished the sturdy pedestal designed to hold up the statue. Why don’t we erect it anyway, to show the universe that we can brush aside minor annoyances like this accident? My workers can perform all the necessary repairs in place.” Iblis’s eyes shone with artificial enthusiasm. “There is no reason for further delay.”

Pacing about the carnage and confusion in his menacing armored body, Ajax stomped on one of the crew leaders who was babbling his innocence, pulping him into the ground. Then the angry Titan towered over Iblis, optic threads glowing like white-hot stars. “You have now accepted responsibility to see that work continues according to schedule. If your teams fail, the blame will be yours.”

“Of course, Lord Ajax.” Iblis showed no alarm at all. He could convince the slaves to carry the burden. They would do it for him.

“Then get this mess cleaned up!” Ajax thundered in a voice that could be heard across the hilltop Forum.

Later, Iblis made promises to his already-exhausted, overtaxed slaves. They had been discontented and resistant for a while, but he won them over with a stirring account of the wondrous benefits they would receive: the finest sex slaves, incredible feasts, days of leisure to journey about the countryside. “I am not like other trustees. Have I ever let you down? Ever promised a reward that I failed to deliver?”

With such an incentive, not to mention a healthy dose of fear for the Titan Ajax, the laborers set to the task with redoubled energy. In the coolness of the evening, with hovering spotlights glaring like super-novas over the construction site, Iblis kept his crew working efficiently. From his high wooden platform, he watched as the slaves raised the immense statue on its sturdy reinforced pedestal and plasma-bolted it into place.

Artisans rushed forward and scaled the curved stone-and-iron surface with climbing equipment, and set up swaying temporary scaffolds to begin their restoration work. Ajax’s legendary face had a marred nose and one dented muscular arm, as well as deep gouges across the front of the Titan uniform. In his secret heart, Iblis suspected the real Ajax’s human form had been lumpish and ugly.

Throughout the long, tiresome night, Iblis struggled to stay awake, leaning against the rail and peering into the blurring abyss. He dozed off, then awoke, startled, as he heard the smooth hum of the lift platform rising to his level.

But he was mystified to see that the lift bore no one at all. Only a small sheet of rolled-up metal, a message cylinder. Iblis stared, his heart pounding, but the lift remained at his level, as if waiting. He looked over the edge, but could not determine who had left the message.

How could he ignore it?

Iblis stole forward and grabbed the scrap of scribed metal. He broke the seal, unrolled the thin sheet, and read with increasing astonishment.

“We represent an organized movement of dissatisfied humans. We are waiting for the right moment and the right leader to begin an open revolt against the oppressive machines. You must determine if you wish to join our worthy cause. We will contact you again.”

As Iblis stared in disbelief at the unsigned message, the lettering faded and disappeared, corroding into blobs of rust that ate through the metal itself and flaked away.

Was it authentic, or some sort of a cymek trap designed to lure him? Most humans hated their machine masters, but took pains to conceal it. What if there really is such a group? And if so, they would need talented leaders.

The thought exhilarated him. Iblis had never considered such an idea before, and he couldn’t imagine what he had said or done to reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings. Why did they suspect? He had always been respectful to his superiors, had always—

But have I been overly attentive? Have I tried too hard to appear loyal?

On the towering Ajax statue, just below his own level, the artisans remained hard at work like busy termites on a log. They repaired scrape marks, expertly patched and painted the marred exterior. Dawn broke across the monumental statue, and Iblis could see they would be finished soon. The machines would reward him for his labors.

How he hated them!

Iblis wrestled with his conscience. The thinking machines had treated him well in comparison with other slaves, but only a thin layer of protection kept him from the same fate. In his private moments Iblis often pondered the value of freedom, and what he could do if given the chance.

A rebel group? He could barely believe it. As days went by, Iblis found himself thinking about it more and more . . . and waiting to be contacted again.