Even with flawless memories based on the most reliable computer principles, sentient machines had limitations. Accuracy depended upon the method of information collection as well as upon the gelcircuitry, neurelectronics, and fiber binaries of construction.
Thus, Erasmus preferred to watch everything firsthand, rather than relying on mechanical observers or recorded events in the computer evermind’s data banks. The robot wanted to be present himself. He wanted to experience.
Especially when it came to the momentous occasion of Serena giving birth.
Erasmus augmented his observations by erecting a detailed web of optic threads to record permanent records of every instant, from every perspective. Clinically, he had observed other births from reproductive slaves and considered them nothing more than a normal biological function. But Serena had made him think he might be missing something. Anticipating the pleasure of surprise, Erasmus intended to observe very carefully.
It was too bad she wouldn’t give birth to twins. . . .
Serena lay on the sterile table, twisting with labor spasms, occasionally remembering to hurl curses at him, other times concentrating on her biological processes or calling out for Xavier. Full medical details streamed in from implanted diagnostics and monitoring devices that skittered over her skin, cataloguing the chemicals in her sweat, analyzing her pulse, respiration and other bodily rhythms.
As the robot prodded and studied, fascinated by both Serena’s pain and her wildly varying reactions, she screamed at him. He took no offense at the insults. It was interesting, even amusing, that she could expel such imaginative anger when she should have been concentrating on the birth.
Out of consideration for her, and to minimize variables in the observational medium, he maintained the room’s temperature at an optimal level. Household slaves had removed Serena’s clothes, leaving her exposed on the table.
Through his ubiquitous wall scanners and hidden watcheyes, Erasmus had seen Serena naked many times before. The robot had no prurient interest in her unadorned form; he wanted only the clinical minutiae from which he would draw broader conclusions.
He passed his personal probe over her entire body, absorbing the musky scent she gave off, the intriguing chemical interplays. He found it all very stimulating.
SERENA LAY ON the birthing bed, terrified for her child and for herself. She was tended by six human midwives drawn from the breeding pens.
Erasmus leaned close. His intense scrutiny frightened Serena, especially the way his probe kept darting in and out of the compartment in his body. She knew he could not be genuinely concerned for the welfare of a mere slave and her child.
Sudden lances of abdominal pain pushed aside such thoughts, and she could only focus on the most basic effort for any woman. In a giddy, euphoric instant Serena marveled at the biology that made this possible, the creation of life, the sharing of genetics between man and woman. Oh, how she wished Xavier could be with her now.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached; tears streamed down her cheeks. Xavier’s face floated before her, an hallucination born of wishful thinking. Then a harder spasm hit, and she could concentrate on nothing else.
She had been in labor for ten hours now, while the midwives performed various procedures that softened the pain, inserting thin needles into pressure points, massaging nerve centers, injecting drugs. Erasmus provided the midwives with whatever they needed.
Even inside the sterile birthing room, the robot wore a shimmering golden robe trimmed in royal blue. “Describe your feelings to me. What are the sensations of giving birth? I am very curious.”
“Bastard!” Serena gasped. “Voyeur! Leave me in peace!”
The midwives talked with each other as if their patient wasn’t even present.
“Fully dilated . . .”
“Contractions coming more frequently . . .”
“Almost time . . .”
In the background, beyond the center of her existence and the pulse of her child, Serena heard the female voices, this time directed toward her. “Push.”
She did so, but eased back when the pain became unbearable and she didn’t think she could go on.
“A little harder.”
Through sheer force of will, she overcame the pain, increased her effort, and felt the baby coming. Her body knew what it was supposed to do.
“Push again. You can do it.”
“That’s it. Good, good. I see the head!”
As if a dam had broken, Serena felt a release of pressure in her birth canal. She nearly passed out from the exertion.
When she lifted her head moments later, she saw the midwives washing the afterbirth from her baby. A son! They turned the child toward her, and the face was exactly as she had envisioned it.
Erasmus stood watching. The image of the infant reflected in his distorted-mirror face.
Serena had already decided she would name a son after her own father. “Hello, Manion. Dear, sweet Manion.”
The baby cried forcefully, taking healthy gulps of air. She held the infant against her chest, but he continued to squirm. Erasmus stared at the child, showing no reaction.
Serena refused to acknowledge the robot’s presence, hoping he would just go away and leave her with a special memory. Unable to take her eyes off the baby, she thought of Xavier, of her father, of Salusa Secundus . . . and all the things this child would never have in his life. Yes, the infant had good reason to cry.
Abruptly, Erasmus intruded on her field of vision. With strong synthetic hands made from organic-plastic composites, the robot lifted the newborn into the air and studied him from all angles.
Though utterly weary, drenched with sweat, Serena yelled, “Leave him alone! Give me my baby.”
Erasmus turned the infant over. The robot’s shimmering facefilm shifted to form a curious expression. The child began to cry and squirm, but Erasmus simply tightened his grip, unconcerned. He held the naked baby so that he could study its face, its fingers, its penis. With an involuntary squirt, little Manion urinated on the robot’s robes.
One of the alarmed midwives tried to wipe the robot’s face and the wet collar with a cloth, but Erasmus brushed her aside. He wanted to gather as much data as he could about the experience so that he could file it all away for contemplation at his leisure.
The newborn kept crying.
Serena struggled off the birthing bed, disregarding her pain and exhaustion. “Give him to me.”
Surprised at the vehemence in her voice, Erasmus turned toward her. “All in all, this biological reproduction process seems overly messy and inefficient.” With something akin to distaste, he passed the baby back to the mother.
Little Manion eventually stopped crying, and one of the midwives wrapped him in a blue blanket. The baby snuggled into his mother’s arms. Despite the power Erasmus held over her life, Serena did her best to ignore him. She showed no fear.
“I have decided to let you keep the baby with you, instead of processing it through my slave pens,” the robot said in a flat tone. “The interaction of mother and child intrigues me. For now.”