“Nothing is impossible,” the disembodied brain had said to him.

In the gray stillness before dawn, Iblis Ginjo turned over restlessly in his makeshift bed, on the perimeter of the work encampment and its habitation hives of human slaves. Since the weather had been unseasonably warm, he had hauled his pliable bedstrip onto the porch of the simple bungalow the neo-cymeks had provided for him. He had lain awake, staring up at the distant stars and wondering which ones were still under the control of free humans.

Far away, the League had managed to keep Omnius at bay for a thousand years. Listening closely, but afraid to ask questions or call attention to himself, Iblis had heard accounts of how the machines first conquered, and then lost, Giedi Prime. The resilient humans had driven the machines out, killing the Titan Barbarossa and destroying a new Omnius.

An incredible achievement. But how? What had they done to attain such a victory? What sort of leaders did they have? And how could he do the same here?

Groggy and tired, Iblis stirred. Again, he would spend the day convincing lower-level slaves to complete pointless labors for machine masters. Every day was the same, and the thinking machines could live for thousands of years. How much could he accomplish in only a meager human lifespan?

But Iblis took heart from the words of the Cogitor:Nothingis impossible.

He flicked open his eyes, intending to gauge the impending sunrise. Instead, he saw a distorted reflection, a curved plexiplaz wall, pinkish organic contours suspended in a container of energy-charged fluid.

He sat up abruptly. The Cogitor Eklo rested on the floorboards of his veranda. Beside the canister sat the big monk, Aquim, rocking back and forth, eyes closed, meditating in a semuta trance.

“What are you doing here?” Iblis demanded in a hushed voice. Fear clenched his throat. “If the cymeks find you in the camp, they—”

Aquim opened his bleary eyes. “Trustee humans are not the only ones who have an understanding with the Titans, and with Omnius. Eklo wishes to speak with you directly.”

Swallowing hard, Iblis looked from the enlarged brain suspended in its electrafluid to the haggard-looking monk. “What does he want?”

“Eklo wishes to tell you of earlier abortive human revolts.” Holding a hand against the preservation canister, he stroked the smooth surface, as if picking up vibrations. “Have you ever heard of the Hrethgir Rebellions?”

Iblis looked around furtively. He saw none of Omnius’s watcheyes. “That isn’t the sort of history slaves are allowed to know, even a crew boss at my level.”

The secondary leaned forward, his brows hooded. He spoke of things he had learned, without connecting directly through the electrafluid to the Cogitor’s thoughts. “Bloody rebellions occurred after the Titans had converted themselves to cymeks, but before Omnius awakened. Feeling themselves immortal, the cymeks became exceedingly brutal. Especially the one called Ajax, who was so vicious in his torment of the surviving humans that his mate Hecate left him and disappeared.”

Iblis said, “Ajax hasn’t changed much over the centuries.”

Aquim’s red-rimmed eyes glowed. Eklo’s brain trembled inside its nutrient solution. “Because of the excessive brutality of Ajax, oppressed humans began a rebellion, mainly on Walgis but spreading to Corrin and Richese. The slaves rose up and destroyed two of the original Titans, Alexander and Tamerlane.

“The cymeks responded with a swift and decisive crackdown. Ajax took great delight in closing off Walgis and then methodically exterminating every living human there. Billions were slaughtered.”

Iblis struggled to think. This Cogitor had come all the way from his high tower to see him. The magnitude of such a gesture stunned him. “Are you telling me that a revolt against the machines is possible, or that it is doomed to failure?”

The big monk extended a rough hand to grab Iblis’s wrist. “Eklo will tell you himself.”

Iblis felt a rush of anxiety, but before he could resist, Aquim pressed the work leader’s fingertips into the viscous electrafluid surrounding the Cogitor’s ancient brain. The slick solution felt icy cold to Iblis, then hot. The skin on his hand tingled, as if a thousand tiny spiders ran along his flesh.

Suddenly he could sense thoughts, words, and impressions flowing directly into his mind from Eklo. “The revolt failed, but oh what a glorious attempt!”

Iblis received another message, this one wordless, but it conveyed meaning nonetheless, like an epiphany. It was as if the majesty of the universe had opened to him, so many things he had not previously understood . . . so many things Omnius kept the slaves from knowing. Feeling great calm, he immersed his hand deeper into the liquid. His fingertips touched the Cogitor’s tissue, ever so gently.

“You are not alone.” Eklo’s words reverberated to his very soul. “I can help. Aquim can help.”

For several moments, Iblis gazed toward the horizon as the golden sun rose, casting light on enslaved Earth. Now he did not view this story of a failed rebellion as a warning, but as a sign of hope. A better-organized revolt might succeed, given proper guidance and proper planning. And the proper leader.

Iblis, who had once felt no purpose or direction in his life other than to enjoy the comfort of his position as a trustee of the machines, now sensed a brooding anger within. The revelation brought a fervor to his heart. The monk Aquim seemed to share the same passion behind his semuta-dazed expression.

“Nothing is impossible,” Eklo repeated.

Amazed, Iblis removed his hand from the charged fluid and stared at his fingers. The big monk picked up the Cogitor’s brain canister and sealed it. Cradling the cylinder against his chest, he set off on foot toward the mountains, leaving Iblis to reel with the visions that had flooded into his soul.