Are Cogitors completely neutral, as they claim? Or is “neutral” merely a euphemism for one of the greatest acts of cowardice in the history of the human race?
— NAAM THE ELDER,
First Official Historian to the Jihad
After the scheduled departure of the extermination fleet, Erasmus and the evermind had little to do on Corrin. The immense and invincible armada of robotic battleships had been en route for six days, inexorably following their programmed path to Salusa Secundus. The vessels were slow, relentless, and unstoppable.
Omnius saw no need to hurry. The plan had been set in motion, and the results were inevitable.
Inside the robot’s grand villa, he and Omnius discussed a painting, an extravagantly imaginative mountain landscape. “It is an original creation, executed by one of the captive humans. I believe he has a great deal of talent.” Erasmus had been surprised at the slave’s skill, the way he mixed pigments and media. Now that the evermind had a copy of the robot’s independent persona inside him, perhaps he could begin to understand the nuances.
Looking at the painting through one of his flying watcheyes, Omnius could not see why the robot found so much merit in it. “The illustration is physically inaccurate in four hundred thirty-one details. The very act of painting is inferior to specific imaging processes in almost every respect. Why do you value this… art?”
“Because it is difficult to do,” Erasmus said. “The creative process is complex, and humans are masters of it.” He directed his optic threads at the masterpiece, analyzing every brushstroke in an instant and absorbing the interpretive nature of the work. “Each day I look at this painting and marvel. In order to better understand the creative process, I even dissected the brain of the artist, but I found no special differences.”
“Art is easily created,” Omnius said. “You exaggerate its importance.”
“Before making such a statement, I suggest you try the act of creation yourself. Make something pleasing and original, not a copy of any existing work in your database. You will see for yourself how difficult it is.”
Unfortunately, Omnius accepted the challenge.
Two days later, Erasmus stood inside an amazingly transformed incarnation of the mutable Central Spire, which now stood as an ostentatious golden-domed palace. To show off his newfound artistic flair, the evermind had filled the Spire with high-tech machine statuary and cultural pieces made entirely of gleaming metal, rainbow dazzleplaz, and teckite materials. There were no human images. Omnius had done it all quickly, as if to strengthen his assertion that creativity was a simple ability that could be processed and learned.
Noting the lack of innovation, however, and knowing that the evermind did not even see the difference between his work and a true masterpiece, Erasmus was not convinced. Gilbertus, who had never professed to be an artist, could have done better. Perhaps even the Serena Butler clone…
Feigning interest, the independent robot studied another interior wall of the domed palace. It contained an immense gold-framed video display of Omnius’s newly created machine art, a flowmetal kaleidoscope of modernistic shapes. From his own files and experience, Erasmus recognized that this particular art project was modeled after the wildly creative displays in human museums, galleries, and fine homes. I find this most unstimulating, however. Uninspired and imitative. Finally, the robot shook his head in disapproval, replicating a mannerism he had observed in human subjects.
“You do not appreciate my art?” Omnius surprised him by recognizing the implication of the gesture.
“I did not say that. I find it… interesting.” Erasmus should never have let down his guard, as the watcheyes were always there, always observing. “Art is subjective. I am just struggling, in my inadequate way, to understand your work.”
“And you shall continue to struggle. I must maintain some secrets from you.” The evermind emitted a boisterous but tinny laugh he had recorded from one of the human slaves. Erasmus joined in.
“I hear falseness in your cachination,” Omnius said.
The robot knew he was able to modulate every sound he made, every mannerism, to produce the exact effect he desired. Is Omnius attempting to trap me, or confuse me? If so, he is not doing particularly well at it.
“I meant it to be as genuine as your own,” Erasmus said, a sufficiently neutral comment.
Before the debate could continue, Omnius diverted his own attention. “An outside ship is approaching my Central Spire.”
The unannounced vessel had come into the system at extremely high acceleration, broadcasting neutrality despite its League configuration. “The Cogitor Vidad brings important information for Omnius. It is vital that you hear it.”
“I will hear what the Cogitor has to say before I make any extrapolations,” the evermind said. “I can always kill him later, if I so choose.”
Before long, the massive entrance doors of the golden Spire slid open, and a trembling human in a yellow robe walked in flanked by an escort of sentinel robots. The young man was bruised and weary after spending more than a week suffering under the highest acceleration his fragile body could tolerate. Now he struggled to carry an electrafluid-filled container that held the ancient philosopher’s brain, though one of the robots could easily have held it. The yellow-robed man seemed weak and exhausted, barely able to stand.
“It has been many years since you last spoke with us, Cogitor Vidad,” Erasmus said, stepping forward like an ambassador. “And the results of those interactions were not beneficial to us.”
“Not beneficial to any of us. We Ivory Tower Cogitors made a significant miscalculation,” the voice spoke directly from a speakerpatch on the side of the container.
“Why should I listen to you again?” Omnius modulated the volume of his voice so that the booming words made the walls vibrate.
“Because I bring relevant data that you lack. I recently returned to Hessra only to discover that the Titan Agamemnon and his cymek followers have established their new base there. They killed my five fellow Cogitors, took over our electrafluid production laboratories, and enslaved our secondaries.”
“So, that is where the Titans went to hide after abandoning Richese,” Erasmus said to Omnius. “Valuable intelligence indeed.”
“Why do you come here to reveal this information?” the evermind demanded. “It is not logical to involve yourself in our conflict.”
“I want the cymeks destroyed,” Vidad said. “You can do it.”
Erasmus was surprised. “Thus speaks an enlightened Cogitor?”
“I was human once. The other five Cogitors were my philosophical companions for much more than a millennium. The Titans murdered them. Is it surprising that I would desire vengeance?”
The weary secondary struggled to keep hold of the heavy preservation canister.
Omnius pondered the information. “Currently my machine battle fleet is occupied on another mission. After we succeed, the robot commanders will return here for further programming. I will then instruct them to go to Hessra. They have standing instructions to destroy any neo-cymeks and to capture the remaining rebellious Titans.” The evermind seemed to be enjoying the new situation. “Very soon, with the hrethgir and the cymeks defeated, the universe can continue on a rational and efficient path, under my astute guidance.”
Without changing the tone of his simulated voice, Vidad continued. “The situation is more complex than that. The League discovered your huge fleet many weeks ago. When I departed from Zimia, they were already monitoring your progress. They also know that your other Synchronized Worlds are undefended.” In a brisk cadence he summarized the Jihad Council’s plan to launch a series of blitzkrieg nuclear massacres, using the exceptional speed of the space-folding engines. “In fact, the first pulse-atomic strikes on your fringe worlds probably took place shortly after I left, and I have been more than a month in transit from Salusa, to Hessra, to Corrin. Certainly, the Great Purge is proceeding even as we speak. Therefore, you must be prepared for a pulse-atomic attack at any moment, at any place.”
With mounting alarm, Erasmus extrapolated scenarios and consequences. They had long suspected that the hrethgir had access to some sort of instantaneous space travel. And an atomic-armed human fleet could well have already obliterated many Synchronized Worlds. With the extermination fleet gone, even Corrin was vulnerable to such an attack.
“Interesting,” the evermind said, processing the details. “Why would you reveal such plans? Cogitors claim to be neutral, but now you seem to be siding with us— unless this is a trick.”
“I have no hidden agenda,” Vidad said. “As neutrals, the Cogitors have never wished to see either thinking machines or humans wiped out. My decision is entirely consistent with this philosophy.”
Erasmus watched the artistic lights flashing all around him inside the Spire, and knew that Omnius was already transmitting instructions to his machine underlings, making defensive preparations and sending out the fastest vessels available. “I am the primary Omnius. For my self-preservation I must recall my war fleet to defend Corrin. The entire fleet. If the other Synchronized Worlds put up enough resistance to delay the humans’ progress, there is a nonzero probability that some of my fastest battleships will return before it is too late. I can take no chances against these irrational hrethgir. With all of my ships back here to defend Corrin, the humans would not dare to strike against me.”
Erasmus knew that it would take time to send a message to the enormous fleet, which was already eight days out, and even longer to turn the lumbering ships around and bring them racing back to Corrin, limited as they were by their traditional stardrive engines.
There will not be enough time.