In the sunny botanical garden of the robot’s grandiose villa, Serena Butler snipped dead flowers and leaves, tending plants in their beds and planters. Silently resistant, biding her time, Serena performed her daily tasks like any other slave, but always Erasmus watched her as if she were a pet. He was her captor and jailor.

She wore black coveralls, her long, amber brown hair tied back in a ponytail. The work allowed her to think of Xavier, of the promises they had exchanged, of making love in the meadow after the bristleback attack, and again in her plush bed on the night before she had slipped off to Giedi Prime.

Each morning Serena went to the robot’s flower beds, glad for the chance to think undisturbed about getting away from Earth. Day after day, she kept her eyes open for some way to escape— the obstacles seemed insurmountable— or a means to cause significant harm to the thinking machines, despite the fact that sabotage would undoubtedly cost her life, and her unborn baby’s. Could she do that to Xavier?

She couldn’t imagine the grief he must be going through. Somehow she would find a way back to him. She owed it to him, to herself, and to their baby. She had hoped to have Xavier hold her hand as she delivered their child. He should have been her husband by now, their lives intertwined in a union stronger than the sum of their individualities, a bastion to stand against the thinking machines.

He didn’t even know she was still alive.

She stroked her curved belly. Serena felt the child growing within her and was filled with foreboding. Two more months and the baby was due— what did Erasmus mean to do, once the child was born? She had seen the locked doors to the ominous laboratories, had looked with revulsion and horror at the filthy slave pens.

And yet, the robot kept her busy with flowers.

Erasmus often stood motionless beside her as she worked, his oval face unreadable as he challenged her to debates. “Understanding starts at the beginning,” he had said. “I must build a foundation before I can comprehend everything.”

“But how will you use that knowledge?” She yanked out a weed. “Will you think of more extravagant ways to inflict misery and pain?”

The robot paused, his burnished face a mirror that reflected a distorted image of her own face. “That is . . . not my objective.”

“Then why do you keep so many slaves in such terrible conditions? If you don’t intend to cause misery, why not give them a clean place to live? Why not provide them with better food, education, and care?”

“It is not necessary.”

“Maybe not to you,” she said, surprised at her boldness. “But they would be happier and able to do better work.”

Serena had watched how Erasmus lived in magnificent luxury— an affectation, since no robot could require such things— yet the household slaves, especially those in the horrible communal pens, existed in filth and fear. Whether or not she remained a captive here, she might be able to improve their lot. If nothing else, she would consider it a victory against the machines.

She continued, “It would take a truly . . . sophisticated thinking machine to understand that improving the slaves’ quality of life would improve their productivity, and thus benefit their master as well. The slaves could clean and maintain their own pens if they had the most minor supplies.”

“I will consider it. Provide me with a detailed list.”

Then, after giving him her suggestions, Serena had not seen the robot for two days. Machine sentinels tended the workers in the villa, while Erasmus himself vanished into his laboratories.

She could hear nothing through the soundproofed barriers, though the foul odors and disappearing people left her wondering. Finally, another slave told her, “You don’t want to know what goes on in there. Just be thankful you aren’t required to clean up afterward.”

Now, Serena worked her hands in the loamy earth while listening to the soothing classical music that Erasmus constantly played. Her back ached and her joints swelled from the advancing pregnancy, but she did not slacken her efforts.

Erasmus approached so silently that she did not notice him until she looked up from her plants to see his mirror-smooth face nested in a frilly antique collar. She stood quickly to hide her startled reaction and wiped her hands on her coveralls. “Do you learn more by spying on me?”

“I can spy on you anytime I like. I learn a great deal from the questions I ask.” His shifting metallic-polymer film changed his face into a frozen expression of dancing mirth. “Now, I would like you to select the flower you consider the most beautiful of all. I am curious to see your response.”

Erasmus had played such games before. He seemed unable to understand subjective decisions, wishing to quantify matters of opinion and personal taste. “Each plant is beautiful in its own way,” she said.

“Nevertheless, choose one. Then explain your choice to me.”

She wandered down the dirt paths, looking from side to side. Erasmus followed her, recording every time she hesitated at a blossom.

“There are observable characteristics, such as color, shape, and delicacy,” the robot said, “and more esoteric variables such as the perfume scent.”

“Don’t overlook the emotional component.” Wistfulness tinged her voice. “Some of these plants remind me of my home on Salusa Secundus. Certain flowers might have a greater sentimental value for me, though not necessarily for anyone else. Maybe I remember a time when the man I love gave me a bouquet. You wouldn’t understand such associations, however.”

“You are stalling. Make your selection.”

She pointed to an immense elephant flower with bright streaks of shimmering orange and red, highlighted by a horn-shaped stigma at the center. “Right now, this one is the most beautiful.”

“Why?”

“My mother used to grow these at our home. As a child, I never thought them particularly pretty, but now they are a reminder of the happier days— before I met you.” She immediately regretted her honesty, because it revealed too much about her private thoughts.

“Very good, very good.” The cognizant machine ignored her insult and stared at the elephant flower, as if analyzing all aspects with his full set of sensor capabilities. Like a wine connoisseur, he tried to describe the merits of its scent, but to Serena his analysis sounded clinical, lacking the subtleties and emotional layering that had prompted her own selection.

Strangest of all, Erasmus seemed aware of his own failing. “I know that humans are in some ways more sensitive than machines—for now. However, machines have more potential to become superior in every area. This is why I wish to understand all aspects of sentient biological life.”

With an involuntary shudder, Serena thought of his sealed laboratories, and knew from every indication that his secret activities went far beyond the study of beautiful flowers.

Erasmus assumed she was interested in his observations. “If properly developed, a thinking machine could be more perfect intellectually, creatively, and spiritually than a human could ever hope to be, with unparalleled mental freedom and range. I am inspired by the marvels we could accomplish, if only Omnius did not exert such pressure on other machines to conform.”

Serena listened, hoping he would let more information slip. Did she sense a potential conflict between Erasmus and the computer evermind?

The robot continued, “Capacity for information is the key. Machines will absorb not only more raw data, but more feelings, as soon as we understand them. When that happens we will be able to love and hate far more passionately than humans. Our music will be greater, our paintings more magnificent. Once we achieve complete self-awareness, thinking machines will create the greatest renaissance in history.”

Serena frowned at his assertions. “You can keep improving yourself, Erasmus, but we human beings use only small portions of our brains. We have an enormous potential to develop new abilities. Your capacity for learning is no greater than ours.”

The robot froze in place, as if startled. “Quite right. How could I have missed that important detail?” His face shifted, becoming passive and contemplative, then metamorphosed into a broad smile. “The road to improvement will be a long one. This will require more investigation.”

Abruptly he changed the subject, as if to emphasize her vulnerability. “What about your baby? Tell me the emotions you feel toward its father and describe the physical act of copulation.”

Trying to stop the flood of painful recollections, Serena remained silent. Erasmus found her reluctance fascinating. “And are you physically attracted to Vorian Atreides? I have run tests on the handsome young man— he is fine breeding stock. After your pregnancy is finished, would you like to mate with him?”

Serena took an agitated breath, fixing her mind on memories of Xavier. “Mate? Regardless of how much you study us, there are many things your machine brain will never understand about human nature.”

“We shall see about that,” he said, calmly.