I am the real Emperor of the Known Universe, and Salvador Corrino is my puppet.

—MANFORD TORONDO, remarks to Anari Idaho

Roderick Corrino experienced feelings of unease whenever he watched combat robots in the private exhibition fights sponsored by his brother. Elegantly dressed noblemen and their ladies watched from behind safety barriers, cheering for their favorites and booing opponents. It was evening in a small private arena on the grounds of the Imperial Palace, following a sumptuous feast. Many of the nobles wore veils and domino masks to disguise their identities and protect them; the Butlerian influence on Salusa remained strong.

According to the tight legal strictures set out at the end of the Jihad, these reactivated robots had no artificial intelligence whatsoever and were instead programmed to run through a series of fighting maneuvers, which were salted with chance variables—flaws that would cause an unexpected deficiency, or surprise enhancements. Spectators did not know in advance which type of fighter they were getting when they placed their wagers, and the outcome was never predetermined.

Roderick had to admit that it made for interesting, stimulating entertainment, watching these vanquished machine demons duel in the arena, knowing that they would destroy one another. Because it danced so close to the cliff edge of forbidden technology, the carefully selected nobles were titillated by the spectacle. Such events were, of course, kept secret from Butlerian observers.

When his brother first suggested the idea, Roderick had cringed. If Manford Torondo ever found out what the Emperor and his inner circle of nobles did behind the high gates and walls of the private estate … But Salvador brushed aside his concerns. “Nobles must have their diversions. It’s harmless entertainment, and the end result is to destroy robots, so what is the harm?”

Roderick could imagine a great deal of harm, so without his brother’s knowledge, he had doubled security surrounding each private combat exhibition, and made certain that only the most trusted nobles were invited, each of whom was sworn to secrecy—a pledge that the powerful Corrino family could enforce.

Now he watched as two combat robots—one with a deep copper alloy skin and the other shimmering chrome—circled one another, probing with built-in (though limited) weapons that battered each other, knocking their armored bodies to the ground. A small army of palace guards surrounded the ring, bearing heavy weapons and ready to destroy any combat mek that might get out of hand.

Sitting in his private, shaded box beside Roderick, the Emperor spoke with Alfonso Nitta, a wheedling nobleman in search of a favor to curtail the operations of a business adversary. Nitta manufactured expensive ladies’ dresses, and an upstart commoner had opened a large rival business on Hagal, after paying bribes to the planetary leader.

“It’s dirty business,” Nitta insisted. “The Hagals have a grudge against House Nitta because my grandfather reported their grandfather’s illegal war-profiteering operations during the Jihad.”

Salvador kept his eyes on the clashing robots. “I’ll see what I can do.” He didn’t seem interested, and Nitta was particularly inept in making his request.

Roderick helped the nobleman with a nudge, because he didn’t seem to understand how business was conducted at this level. “Investigating the matter will take time and resources, Lord Nitta. The Emperor has to worry about his discretionary budget.”

Finally, Nitta’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Ah, perhaps as a demonstration of the quality of my product. I’ll provide a large sampling of my finest dresses for the Empress Tabrina—lovely gowns, the most lavish wardrobe to make her breathtakingly beautiful for you, Sire. Perhaps even some stylish unmentionables could be arranged.”

Roderick sighed. Considering the state of his brother’s relationship with Tabrina, it was precisely the wrong thing to say.

Salvador responded coolly. “I said I’ll look into the matter.”

The nobleman bowed and turned his attention back to the combat event.

After a while, the Emperor leaned closer to Roderick, smiling as one of the combat meks tore a cylindrical arm from its opponent. “This is so appropriate. First we lobotomized the robots, and now we make them destroy each other. I could watch this all day.”

Roderick nodded. “It’s preferable to having the machines compel humans to do what they command.”

In the stands, a rotund new invitee squealed, afraid of the ferocious metallic monsters, then laughed when he realized there was no actual danger.

“I can’t remember,” Salvador said. “What did we wager today?”

Roderick knew his brother remembered precisely what they had bet against each other. “Our summer villas on Kaitain, of course. Whoever wins gets both.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve always preferred yours.”

The copper-skinned robot launched a spiked spear from under its forearm, knocking the other machine down, where it lay on the ground, twitching and sparking. The first mek moved in for the kill.

“It looks as if my robot is winning,” Roderick said, “but you know you’re always welcome to use my villa if you like.”

His elder brother’s forehead wrinkled like a folded piece of paper. “What’s that? The copper mek is mine. Do you really believe that damaged hulk can fight back?”

“You chose the chrome one, dear brother. Remember, you picked first.”

Salvador’s blue eyes flashed. He liked to act absentminded when it suited him, but Roderick knew his mind was sharp. The Corrino Emperor was far more intelligent than most people realized. Crafty smart. He knew full well that he had chosen the chrome mek. “Very well, but you should feel guilty the way you always get the better of me.”

“It was pure luck this time. We had no way of knowing which robot would win.”

The Emperor ran a finger along his lips. “I suppose we could cheat.”

“Against each other? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“As I am so often reminded, you are a better man than I.”

Roderick disagreed, as he was expected to, but both men knew it was true.

The chrome robot did rally and lurched to its feet to continue the fight, accompanied by a round of delighted cheers. Another “disguised” nobleman came and whispered a request into Salvador’s ear. The thin domino mask did not hide the identity of elderly Tibbar Warik, a prominent real-estate broker who needed a favor. Throughout these gladiatorial combats, inner-circle invitees would make such requests, and Roderick would have to implement them, according to his brother’s decisions.

When the copper-skinned mek finally defeated its opponent, battering it into twitching shrapnel, the palace guards stepped forward and blasted the winner down.

Tibbar Warik complained about deferred or defaulted payments from the new Suk Medical School, an extravagant complex under construction on Parmentier. Roderick thought the elite doctors had pretensions of grandeur. However, because Salvador had received a great many expensive (and questionable, in Roderick’s opinion) medical treatments from the former head of the Suk School, he often turned a blind eye toward the excesses. Warik was quite upset by the losses, and the Emperor dismissed him with a promise.

When the nobleman was gone, and as staff members dragged the robot debris off the fighting field, Salvador turned to Roderick. “Warik says there’s a scandal brewing, involving a Suk doctor who duped a patient. You heard that Lars Ibson of Caladan died recently?” Roderick remembered the wealthy commoner who had built a fishing empire and lived like an emperor himself. “According to Warik, Ibson relied on a Suk doctor and paid a king’s ransom for bone-cancer treatments—treatments that turned out to be bogus. Complete placebos. Ibson didn’t live any longer, and certainly died poorer.”

Roderick didn’t comment that he thought many of Elo Bando’s prescribed treatments for the Emperor fell into the same category; after Bando’s highly suspicious “suicide” on Parmentier, investigations had been closed, but Roderick suspected a more widespread problem among the Suks. “Do you think the Medical School would agree to a detailed audit of their operations? We’ve heard of investors loaning money to the school, and we know the Suks take in substantial revenues for their services, but it still doesn’t seem to add up.” Much of the funding for their extravagant expansion had come from the exorbitant sums Salvador himself had paid to the former head of the school.

“A scandal could hamstring their good work,” Salvador said. “The Butlerians object to advanced medical treatment, and I wouldn’t want to give them the wedge.” He rubbed his temples. “Besides, I need another personal physician, and the Suks haven’t sent me an acceptable one yet. I miss poor Dr. Bando. The school isn’t the same without him.”

Despite the corrupt medical practices of some doctors, Roderick knew the Suk School still produced better physicians than any other academy in the Imperium, and he remembered the remarkable good that Mohandas Suk had done during the machine plagues. Unlike Salvador, though, he believed the loss of Elo Bando improved their respectability rather than worsened it. “Let me look into it, Sire. If they’re evading Salusan taxes, or defaulting on payments, they will be held to account.”

“The school is becoming problematic, too full of its own importance.” Salvador was troubled. “I don’t want them shut down. At least not yet … not before I get my own personal physician.”

“At the very least, they should have closer monitoring.”

The Emperor nodded, then leaned forward as the next combat meks shambled into the fighting area. “You’re right, as usual, little brother. Let’s deepen our normal financial investigations of them, and see what we turn up.”