Even after centuries of experimenting with various human subjects, Erasmus still had not run out of ideas. There were so many interesting ways to test the species. And now that he could also see the world through the eyes of his young ward, Gilbertus Albans, the possibilities seemed fresh and intriguing.

The robot stood in his fine crimson robes trimmed with gold fur. Very stylish and impressive, he thought. His flowmetal skin was polished so that it gleamed in Corrin’s ruddy sunlight.

Young Gilbertus was impeccably attired as well, having been scrubbed and groomed by valetbots. Despite two years of diligent training and preparation, the boy still had a feral streak, a wildness that manifested itself in small rebellious ways. Eventually, Erasmus was certain he could eradicate that flaw.

The two stood outside looking at the locked pen of slaves and test subjects. Many belonged to the animalistic lower social orders from which Gilbertus himself had been drawn. But others were better trained, educated servants, artisans, and chefs who worked inside Erasmus’s villa.

As he gazed into the boy’s open, innocent eyes, Erasmus wondered if Gilbertus even remembered his squalid and painful early life grubbing in the dirt of these awful pens… or if he had discarded those memories as he learned to organize his mental skills through the persistent instruction of his machine mentor.

Now, before the latest experiment could commence, the boy looked curiously at the chosen group; they stared back at Erasmus and the young boy with uneasy expressions. The independent robot’s sensor threads detected a heightened concentration of perspiration in the air, accelerated heartbeats, elevated body temperatures, and other clear indicators of increased stress. What did they have to be so nervous about? Erasmus would have preferred to begin the test on an even baseline, but his captives feared him too much. They were convinced the independent robot meant to do something unpleasant to them, and Erasmus couldn’t fault them for drawing such conclusions.

He didn’t bother to conceal a smile. They were correct, after all.

Beside him, the boy quelled his curiosity and simply observed. It had been one of the robot’s first lessons to him. Despite all of Erasmus’s efforts, Gilbertus Albans was still a child of scant education, with such a minimal database that it would be futile to simply Alaskan endless stream of random questions. Thus, the thinking machine instructed him in an orderly, logical fashion, building upon each fact that he learned.

So far, the results seemed satisfactory.

“Today, we begin an organized series of evoked reaction tests. The experiment you are about to witness is designed to demonstrate panic responses. Please observe the range of behavior in order to draw general conclusions based upon the relative status of the slaves.”

“Yes, Mr. Erasmus,” the boy said, gripping the bars of the fence.

These days, Gilbertus did as he was told— a great improvement from his previous untamed behavior. Back then, Omnius had frequently gloated, insisting that Erasmus would never civilize the brutish youth. Whenever simple logic and common sense failed, Erasmus used discipline and methodical training, along with rewards and punishments, augmented by the liberal use of proven behavior-altering drugs. Initially, the pharmaceuticals had left Gilbertus in an apathetic stupor. There was a decided decline in his manic, destructive behavior, tendencies that hampered his overall progress.

Gradually the robot had decreased the dosages, and now he rarely needed to drug the boy at all. Gilbertus had finally accepted his new situation. If he did remember his miserable previous life, the boy would surely look up on his new situation as an opportunity, an advantage. Before long, Erasmus was certain he would have a triumph to show Omnius, proving that his understanding of human potential exceeded that of even the supposedly omniscient computer.

But he had more in mind than just winning the challenge with Omnius. Erasmus actually enjoyed watching and recording the progress Gilbertus made, and wished to continue even after Omnius had conceded the point.

“Now watch carefully, Gilbertus.” Erasmus went to a gate, unscrambled the lock, and stepped inside.

After the gate to the pen closed safely behind him, Erasmus strode in among the crowded people, pushing, knocking them down. Frantic, they tried to get out of his way, averting their eyes as if that would make him fail to notice them. This amused Erasmus, since they were basing their avoidance on human standards of what attracted another person’s attention. As a sophisticated autonomous robot, he made his selections on a purely random, completely objective, basis.

Withdrawing a large projectile pistol from his robe, he pointed it at the first victim— who happened to be an elderly man— and opened fire.

The gun boomed like thunder, a reverberant echo that ripped through the old man’s body, followed instantly by a wave of screams in the crowd, building to outright panic. The test subjects scrambled about like stampeding cattle, both the feral slaves and the sophisticated assistants.

“See how they run,” Erasmus said. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The boy, who did not answer, had a somewhat horrified expression on his face.

Erasmus aimed at another random target— a pregnant woman— and shot again. Delightful! He was enjoying this immensely.

“Isn’t that enough?” the boy asked. “I understand the lesson.”

In his wisdom, Erasmus had selected a projectile weapon sure to generate a colossal blast, and the caliber of the bullet was large. Each time a victim was struck, blood, skin, and bits of bone flew in all directions. The sheer extravagant horror increased the panic even more, like a feedback loop.

“There is more to learn,” Erasmus said, noting that Gilbertus was shifting uneasily on his feet. He seemed nervous.

Interesting.

The prisoners were screaming and yelling, climbing on top of each other, stepping on fallen bodies as they tried to stay out of the robot’s way. But in the confined area they could not escape. Erasmus fired again and again.

A projectile struck one man in the head, and his skull and brains vaporized into an expanding cloud. Several slaves stood frozen, stunned into abject surrender. He killed half of these as well, not wanting to train them in any way or alter their responses. For the purity of the experiment, he had to be completely fair, playing no favorites for any reason.

After killing at least a dozen and maiming twice as many, he stopped and held the cooling projectile gun in his flowmetal hand. The frenzied tides of terror continued to swirl around him, with survivors running back and forth, searching for places to hide or any means of escape. Some of them rendered assistance to their fallen comrades. Finally the screaming stopped and the people huddled against the fences as far from Erasmus as they could get, as if such a small distance could make any difference.

Unfortunately, the ones who still lived were tainted for further experimentation, even if they were not injured physically. No matter. He could always find fresh subjects, drawing them from his vast renewable pool of captives.

Outside the enclosure, Gilbertus had stepped back to avoid being touched by the outstretched hands of the captives who begged him for assistance. The boy frowned at Erasmus in confusion, as if he could not understand which direction his emotions were supposed to flow.

Curious. Erasmus would have to analyze Gilbertus’s own responses to the experiment— an unexpected bonus.

Some of the slaves began weeping, moaning quietly to themselves as Erasmus opened the gate again and stepped confidently up to his young ward. But Gilbertus flinched away, instinctively shrinking from the dripping gore and bits of brain that spattered the robot’s shining skin and colorful robes.

This gave Erasmus pause. He did not mind being abhorred by his test subjects and captives, but did not want this particular young man to fear him. Erasmus was his mentor.

In spite of all the attention the independent robot had lavished upon Serena Butler, she had still turned on him. An old story in human history, and it had blindsided him. Perhaps she had been too mature, too set in her ways, when he had taken her under his wing. Erasmus had learned plenty about human nature in his many years of study; he would make certain that Gilbertus Albans remained absolutely loyal to him. He needed to be cautious and observant.

“Come with me, young human,” he said with simulated cheeriness. From now on he would have to be very careful so that the boy did not get the wrong idea about him. “Help me clean myself up, and then we’ll have a nice chat about what you’ve just seen.”