Successful creative energy involves the harnessing of controlled madness. I am convinced of this.
— ERASMUS,
The Mutability of Organic Forms
After a full day of training his loyal human ward, Erasmus stood alone in the Corridor of Mirrors on the main floor of his mansion. Even trapped on Corrin, with the fate of Omnius and all thinking machines in grave doubt, he still had a great deal of curiosity about esoteric matters.
With rapt attention, he studied the reflection of his flowmetal face, how he could make it change to mimic a variety of human facial expressions. Happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, and many more. Gilbertus had coached him well through his entire repertoire. He especially liked to play at making scary faces to engender fear, an emotion that stemmed from the humans’ own physical weakness and mortality.
If only Erasmus could better understand the subtle ways in which humans were superior, then he could incorporate all the best aspects of human and machine into his own body, which would in turn become a template for an advanced series of thinking machines.
Under one scenario, he might be treated as a godlike figure. An intriguing possibility, but it did not particularly appeal to him, after all his studies. He had no great patience or empathy for the irrationality of religions. Erasmus sought only personal power in order to complete his fascinating experiments with hrethgir test subjects. The independent robot did not intend to end his machine existence anytime soon, did not envision himself becoming obsolete and discarded for a better model. He would keep improving himself, and that would take him in directions he did not presently foresee. He would evolve. Such an organic concept. Such a human concept.
Standing before the mirror, the robot tried out more expressions, particularly enjoying one in which he looked like a ferocious monster, copied from an ancient human text describing imaginary demons. Though he considered this one of his best faces, all of his expressions were too simple and basic. His flowmetal countenance was not capable of more subtle, sophisticated emotions.
Then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps Rekur Van could use his biological expertise to come up with an improvement, now that the reptilian limb-regeneration experiments had all failed. It would give the limbless Tlulaxa captive something to do.
As he walked through his ornate mansion toward the outbuildings, inquisitive watcheyes flew everywhere, surrounding him, like eager spectators. The independent robot found himself distracted by holo-art and music— shimmering flowmetal-like images of stylized machine warships going through battle maneuvers in space. In the background, a harmony of Claude Jozziny’s “Metallic Symphony” played, one of the greatest pieces of synthesized classical music, performed entirely by machines. With complete satisfaction, Erasmus watched the dance of simulated warships around him, projected from lenses in the various rooms of his villa, the blasts of their weapons as they annihilated enemy vessels and planets. If only real war were so easy.
Omnius continued to dabble in his own embarrassing artwork, imitating Erasmus’s efforts or those of historical human masters. Thus far, the evermind didn’t comprehend the concept of nuance. Perhaps Erasmus himself had once been inept, before Serena Butler helped to teach him the subtleties.
With a mental command, the robot switched off the cultural exhibition, then entered the large central chamber of his adjacent laboratory complex, where the Tlulaxa’s limbless torso was connected to its life-support socket, as always.
Beside the stump of a man, the robot was surprised to see swarthy little Yorek Thurr. “What are you doing here?” Erasmus demanded.
Thurr sniffed in indignation. “I was not aware that I needed permission to enter the laboratories. No one has denied me access before.”
Even after twenty years, Thurr still preferred the elegant trappings he had chosen for himself when he’d been the despotic ruler of Wallach IX. He wasn’t as gaudy or ostentatious as Erasmus himself, but he still chose fine fabrics, bright colors, and impressive accessories. He wore a jewel-studded belt, a gold circlet settled upon his bald scalp, and a long ceremonial dagger at his hip with which he had slain many hapless subjects whenever they’d displeased him. Here on Corrin there were still millions of human captives to choose from.
“We thought you would be busy in your surgical experimentation rooms,” Rekur Van said in a mocking tone. “Eviscerating a live human or reconstructing his body.” As if stung, the Tlulaxa frowned in the direction of Four-Legs and Four-Arms, who were both puttering around in the side chambers, monitoring long-term investigation equipment.
“My behavior is as predictable as that?” Erasmus said. Then he realized that Thurr had successfully diverted the robot’s original question. “You did not answer me. What is your purpose in my laboratory complex?”
The man gave a conciliatory smile. “I want to get away from Corrin as much as you do. I want to crush the League and take away their seeming victory. Years ago we were quite successful with our retrovirus epidemic, and recently our mechanical devourers escaped through the barricade. By now they should have struck some of the human worlds.” He rubbed his hands together. “Rekur Van and I are impatient to begin something new.”
“And so am I, gentlemen. Yes, that is why I am here.” Erasmus stepped forward. Thurr could quite likely be of assistance, though his mind had not been entirely stable since his corrupted life-extension treatment.
“You have an idea?” Rekur Van began to drool in anticipation and could not wipe his mouth.
“I have many ideas,” the robot said with considerable simulated pride. He found human impatience intriguing and wondered if it had something to do with the finite nature of their lives, the innate knowledge that they must accomplish things in only the time allotted to them.
“Observe.” Erasmus demonstrated a variety of flowmetal facial expressions, scowling at the two men, displaying an artificial mouth filled with sharp metallic teeth.
The Tlulaxa looked entirely befuddled with what he was doing, while Thurr merely seemed annoyed.
Finally, Erasmus explained. “I find these faces, in fact my entire appearance, unsatisfactory. Do you think you can create a more lifelike flowmetal process? Develop a ‘biological machine’ that can mold itself to different appearances at will? I want to be able to pass as human, fool humans, look like any one of them, whenever I choose. Then I can observe them without being noticed.”
“Mmmm,” the former flesh merchant said. He might have scratched his head if he’d had arms to do so. Erasmus made a conscious effort not to count the time of the delay, as an impatient human would have. “I should be able to do that. Yes, it might be amusing to spend my time on that. Yorek Thurr can provide me with genetic material for experimentation….” He smiled. “He has access to many sources.”