Since there has been no upload linkage between me and the evermind for centuries, Omnius does not know my thoughts, some of which might be considered disloyal. But I do not mean them to be that way. I am just curious by nature.
— Erasmus Dialogues
Surrounded by festering death, moans of pain, and the full range of pleading expressions, Erasmus diligently recorded every test subject with equal care. Scientific accuracy required it. And the deadly RNA retrovirus was nearly ready to be launched.
He had just come from the last in a series of meetings with Rekur Van to discuss the best methods for plague dispersal, but the robot had been frustrated— as much as a thinking machine could be— when the Tlulaxa kept changing the subject, nagging about the progress of the reptilian regrowth experiment. Van was obsessed with the prospect of regrowing his limbs, but the robot had other priorities.
In order to calm him, Erasmus had adjusted the biological patches on the man’s shoulders and lied by overstating the results. Tiny bumps were indeed growing under the patches, with definite evidence of new bone growth, though at an almost negligible rate. Perhaps this was interesting in its own right, but it was only one of many important ongoing tests. He had found it necessary to increase the medications this morning, enough to focus the limbless human on what was most relevant, rather than on silly personal matters.
In one of his favorite plush robes, a rich blue this time, Erasmus strolled from chamber to chamber, maintaining a pleasant smile on his flowmetal face. The infection rate was nearly seventy percent, with an expected mortality of forty-three percent. Many of those who recovered, though, would be permanently crippled due to tendon ruptures, another result of the disease.
A few of the experimental victims shrank from him, cowering in corners of their filth-smeared cells. Others stretched out their hands beseechingly, their sickness-dulled eyes desperate; those prisoners, the robot decided, must be delirious or delusional. But of course paranoia and irrational behavior were expected symptoms of the virus.
Erasmus had installed and amplified a new set of olfactory sensors so that he could sample and compare the stenches wafting through his labs. He felt it was an important part of the experience. Over the years, tirelessly running tests and mutating batches of viruses, Erasmus felt proud of his accomplishments. It was easy to develop a sickness that killed these fragile biological beings. The trick was to find one that swept through their populations swiftly, killed a large percentage of the victims, and was nearly impossible to cure.
The robot and his Tlulaxa colleague had settled on a genetically modified airborne RNA retrovirus that, while somewhat fragile in the outside environment, was transmitted easily through mucus membranes and open wounds. Upon entering the human body, it unexpectedly infected the liver— unlike most similar diseases— and from there it replicated rapidly and produced an enzyme that converted various hormones into poisonous compounds that the liver could not process.
The initial indications of the disease were a breakdown of cognitive functions leading to irrational behavior and overt aggression. As if the hrethgir needed to be pushed into more erratic activities!
Since the first-stage symptoms were minor, infected victims functioned in society for days before realizing they were sick, thus spreading the disease to many others. But once the converted compounds began to build up in the body, and liver function was progressively destroyed, the second stage was rapid, unstoppable, and directly fatal in over forty percent of the test subjects. And once that percentage of a League World’s population dropped dead within the space of a few weeks, the rest of the society would crumble swiftly.
It would be marvelous to watch and document. As League Worlds fell one by one, Erasmus expected to gather enough information to study for centuries to come, while Omnius was rebuilding the Synchronized Worlds.
As he entered a different sector with airtight chambers that held another batch of fifty sample victims, the robot was satisfied to see that many of them either lay writhing in agony or were already curled up dead in stinking puddles of vomit and excrement.
Scrutinizing each victim, Erasmus noted and recorded the varying skin lesions, the open sores (self-inflicted?), the dramatic weight loss, and the dehydration. He studied the cadavers and their twisted positions in death, wishing he had a way to quantify the levels of agony each victim had endured. Erasmus was not vengeful; he simply wanted an efficient means of eradicating enough humans to mortally weaken their League Worlds. Both he and the computer evermind saw only benefits in imposing Synchronized order on human chaos.
Without a doubt, the plague was ready to be deployed.
Out of habit, he widened the grin on his shape-shifting silvery face. After much consultation with Rekur Van, Erasmus had applied his engineering knowledge to designing appropriate virus-dispersal canisters, torpedoes that would burn up in a planet’s atmosphere and deliver encapsulated plague organisms across a hrethgir-infested planet. The RNA retrovirus would be weak in the air, but strong enough. And once the population was exposed, it would spread rapidly.
Recording a final tally of the humans who had died, Erasmus directed his glittering optic threads toward an observation window. Beyond the window was a small chamber from which he sometimes spied through the mirrored glass. The window was coated with a film so that humans, with their frail eyesight, saw only reflections. He shifted wavelengths, peered through, and was astonished to find Gilbertus Albans there in the chamber observing him. How had he gotten inside, past all security? His faithful human ward smiled, knowing Erasmus could see him.
The robot reacted with surprise and urgency that bordered on horror. “Gilbertus, remain there. Do not move.” He activated controls to ensure that the observation chamber remained sealed and fully sterilized. “I told you never to come into these laboratories. They are too dangerous for you.”
“The seals are intact, Father,” the man said. He was muscular from extensive exercise, his skin clear and smooth, his hair thick.
Nevertheless, Erasmus purged the air in the chamber and replaced it with clean filtered air. He couldn’t risk having Gilbertus infected. If the beloved human had become exposed to even one of the minor plague organisms, he might suffer terribly and die. An outcome the robot did not desire at all.
Ignoring his experiments for the moment, not caring if he destroyed a week’s worth of data, Erasmus hurried past sealed chambers piled high with bodies awaiting incineration. He paid no attention to their staring eyes and slack mouths, their limbs like tangled insects petrified with rigor mortis. Gilbertus was different from any human, his mind organized and efficient, as close to a computer’s as was biologically possible, because Erasmus himself had raised him.
Though he was now more than seventy years old, Gilbertus still looked in the prime of youth, thanks to the life-extension treatment Erasmus had given him. Special people such as Gilbertus did not need to degrade and age, and Erasmus had made sure the man had every possible advantage and protection.
Gilbertus should never have risked coming here to the plague laboratories. It was an unacceptable danger.
Reaching the sterilization chamber, Erasmus tore off his thick blue robe and placed it in the incineration chute; it could always be replaced. He sprayed his entire metal body with powerful disinfectant and antiviral chemicals, making certain to drench each joint and crease. Next he dried himself thoroughly, and reached for the door seal. He hesitated. Before emerging, Erasmus repeated the full decontamination process a second time, and then a third. Just to make sure. He could never take enough precautions to be sure Gilbertus remained safe.
When finally he stood relieved before his adopted son, the robot was strangely naked, without the usual plush attire. He had meant to lecture Gilbertus, to warn him again of the foolish danger he risked by coming here, but a strange emotion dampened Erasmus’s stern words. He had scolded the feral child enough decades ago whenever he misbehaved, but now Gilbertus was a fully programmed and cooperative human being. An example of what their species could achieve.
The man brightened so obviously upon seeing him that Erasmus felt a wave of… pride? “It is time for our chess match. Would you like to join me?”
The robot felt a need to get him away from the laboratory building. “I will play chess with you, but not here. We must go far from the plague chambers, where it is safe for you.”
“But, Father, haven’t you already endowed me with every possible immunity through the life-extension treatment? I should be safe enough here.”
” ‘Safe enough’ is not equivalent to completely safe,” Erasmus said, surprised by his own concern, which bordered on irrationality.
Gilbertus did not seem worried. “What is safety? Didn’t you teach me that it is an illusion?”
“Please do not argue unnecessarily with me. I have insufficient time for that now.”
“But you told me of the ancient philosophers who taught there is no such thing as security, not for a biological organism or a thinking machine. So what is the point of leaving? The plague might get me, or it might not. And your own mechanisms could stop at any moment, for reasons you haven’t yet contemplated. Or a meteor might fall from the sky and kill us both.”
“My son, my ward, my dear Gilbertus, will you not come with me now? Please? We can discuss such matters at length. Elsewhere.”
“Since you are so courteous, which is a manipulative human trait, I will do as you wish.”
He accompanied the independent robot out of the domed facility, passing through sealed airlocks and out under the red-tinged sky of Corrin. After they walked away, the man mulled over what he had seen inside the plague laboratories. “Father, does it ever trouble you to be killing so many people?”
“It is for the good of the Synchronized Worlds, Gilbertus.”
“But they are human… like me.”
Erasmus turned to him. “There are no humans like you.”
Many years ago, the robot had developed a special term in honor of Gilbertus’s burgeoning mental processes, his remarkable memory-organizational ability and capacity for logical thinking. “I am your mentor,” the robot had said. “You are my mentee. I am instructing you in mentation. Therefore, I will call you by a nickname I have derived from these terms. I will use the name whenever I am especially pleased with your performance. I hope you consider it a term of endearment.”
Gilbertus had grinned at his master’s praise. “A term of endearment? What is it, Father?”
“I will call you my Mentat.” And the name had stuck.
Now, Erasmus said, “You understand that the Synchronized Worlds will benefit the human race. Therefore, these test subjects are simply an… investment. And I will make sure you live long enough to reap the benefits of what we are planning, my Mentat.”
Gilbertus beamed. “I will wait and watch how events unfold, Father.”
Reaching Erasmus’s villa, they entered the peaceful botanical garden, a tiny universe of lush plants, tinkling fountains, and hummingbirds— their private sanctuary, a place where they could always share special time together. Impatient to begin, Gilbertus had already set up the chess set, while waiting for Erasmus to finish his work.
The man moved a pawn. Erasmus always let Gilbertus take the first move; it seemed only fair, a paternal indulgence. “Whenever my thoughts grow troubled, in order to keep my mind organized and operating efficiently, I have done as you taught me. I journey into my mind and perform complex mathematical calculations. The routine helps settle my doubts and worries.” He waited for the robot to move a pawn of his own.
“That is perfect, Gilbertus.” Erasmus favored him with as genuine a smile as he could manage. “In fact, you are perfect.”
* * *
DAYS LATER, THE evermind summoned Erasmus to the Central Spire. A small ship had just arrived bearing one of the few humans who could travel with impunity to the primary Synchronized World. A leathery-looking man emerged from his vessel and stood by the pavilion in front of the mechanically animate spire. Like a living organism, the flowmetal structure that housed Omnius could change shape, first towering tall and sinister, then bending lower.
Erasmus recognized the swarthy, olive-skinned man. With close-set eyes and a bald head, he was larger than a Tlulaxa and less furtive-looking. Even now, many decades after his disappearance and supposed death, Yorek Thurr continued to work at destroying the human race. Surreptitiously allied with the thinking machines, he had already caused incalculable damage to the League of Nobles and Serena Butler’s precious, foolish Jihad.
Long ago, Thurr had been Iblis Ginjo’s handpicked commander of his Jihad Police. Thurr had demonstrated an uncommon knack for rooting out minor traitors, people who had cooperated with the thinking machines. Of course, the man’s remarkable abilities stemmed from the fact that he had given his loyalty to Omnius in exchange for the life-extension treatment, though at the time Thurr’s body had already been long past its prime.
For all the years that he ran Jipol, Thurr had continued to send careful reports to Corrin. His work was impeccable, and the scapegoats he’d killed were irrelevant, unimportant spies sacrificed for the greater good of increasing Thurr’s importance to the League.
After the death of Iblis Ginjo, he had worked for decades to rewrite history and vilify Xavier Harkonnen while making a martyr of the Grand Patriarch. Alongside Ginjo’s widow, Thurr had run the Jihad Council, but when it came time for him to take his seat as the new Grand Patriarch, the widow had outmaneuvered him politically, placing her own son, and then grandson, in the position. Feeling utterly betrayed by the humans he had served, Thurr faked his own death and went to take his due among the thinking machines, where he was given a Synchronized World, Wallach IX, to rule as he saw fit.
Now, seeing Erasmus, Thurr turned and straightened. “I have come for a report on our plan to destroy the League. I know thinking machines are ponderous and relentless, but it has been over ten years since I came up with the idea to develop plagues. What is taking so long? I want the viruses released soon, to see what will happen.”
“You merely provided the idea, Yorek Thurr. Rekur Van and I have done all of the actual work,” Erasmus said. The bald man scowled and made a dismissive gesture.
Omnius’s voice boomed. “I will proceed at my own pace, and will execute the plan when I feel the time is correct.”
“Of course, Lord Omnius. But since I take a certain pride in this scheme that I suggested, I am naturally curious to watch its progress.”
“You will be content with the progress, Yorek Thurr. Erasmus has convinced me that the current strain of the retrovirus is sufficiently deadly for our purposes, though it kills only forty-three percent of the humans who are exposed.”
Thurr gave a surprised exclamation. “So many! There’s never been a plague so deadly.”
“The disease still sounds inefficient to me, since it will not kill even half of our enemy.”
Thurr’s dark eyes twinkled. “But, Lord Omnius, you must not forget that there will be many unpredictable secondary casualties from infections, lack of care, starvation, accidents. With two out of every five people dying from the plague, and many more weakened and struggling to recover, there won’t be enough doctors available to tend all the people infected by the plague— much less any other injuries or illnesses. And think of the turmoil it will inflict on governments, societies, the military!” He seemed close to choking on his glee. “The League will be utterly incapable of mounting any offensives against the Synchronized Worlds, nor will they be able to defend themselves— or call for help— should a thinking-machine army strike them. Forty-three percent! Ha, this is effectively a death blow to the rest of the human race!”
Erasmus said, “Yorek Thurr’s extrapolations have merit, Omnius. In this case the very unpredictability of human society will cause far more severe damage than the retrovirus mortality numbers might indicate.”
“We will have empirical evidence soon enough,” Omnius said. “Our initial volley of plague capsules is prepared for immediate launch, and the second wave is already in production.”
Thurr brightened. “Excellent. I wish to see the launch.”
Erasmus wondered if something had gone wrong during the life-extension treatment that had twisted Thurr’s mind, or if he had simply been devious and treacherous from the outset.
“Come with me,” the robot said, finally. “We will find you a place from which to observe the launch in comfort.”
Later, they watched as fiery projectiles shot into the crimson sky under the simmering light of Corrin’s red giant. “It is a human habit to rejoice when watching fireworks,” Thurr said. “To me, it’s a glorious spectacle indeed. From now on the outcome is as inexorable as gravity. Nothing can stop us.”
Us— an interesting choice of words, Erasmus thought. But I do not entirely trust him. His mind is filled with dark schemes.
The robot turned his smiling flowmetal face up into the sky to watch another shower of plague torpedoes shoot away toward League space.