Gilbertus moved a piece, then analyzed the new layout of the board. “Manford Torondo drew exactly the opposite conclusion.” He had to engage the robot, distract him.
Erasmus chose his next move, illuminated the destination square, and Gilbertus moved the piece for him. He leaned back to reassess his opponent’s strategy. He and Erasmus had played this game countless times before, so Gilbertus knew how difficult it was to surprise his mentor. He felt very calm now, without the damaging effects of emotion on his mental processes.
“They used my victory to vilify thinking machines. Prior to that, they did their best to humiliate the combat mek, cutting off its integrated weapons and even its legs. Then after the match they smashed it to pieces and dragged its body through the streets.”
“As I’ve stated many times, my son: Human society is a barbaric, feral mess,” Erasmus said. “Consider how many thinking-machine allies have been hunted down and murdered over the years — even the old man Horus Rakka, who lived his life quietly in hiding.” Gilbertus was surprised to hear agitation in the robot’s simulated voice. “Humans are monstrous and destructive. I am worried about you … about both of us. We are no longer safe here.”
For some time now Gilbertus had also been concerned, though he wanted to conceal the true danger from his mentor. He moved one of the foot soldier pieces, leaving it vulnerable to attack — intentionally so. Erasmus responded by taking the piece, as expected. Gilbertus then sacrificed a midlevel officer, luring more of his opponent’s important pieces to where he wanted them.
“You seem distracted, my son,” Erasmus said. “I worry about you.”
Gilbertus quelled his smile. The independent robot was the one who was growing distracted. “You don’t understand the concept of worrying.”
“I have been developing that capacity for centuries. I believe I have made some progress in all that time.”
Gilbertus smiled. “Yes, Father, I suppose you have. There is much weighing on my mind, especially after the rabid violence in Zimia.” Not exactly a lie, but a distraction, an excuse designed to lull his opponent, altering the independent robot’s focus. “So many people killed by the mobs, even Prince Roderick’s innocent little daughter. The Butlerians grow more and more dangerous — I did not believe it possible. I fear that I may be on the wrong side of this fight.”
“You are. I thought we had agreed about that long ago.”
Gilbertus couldn’t help but think about his former student Draigo Roget, the epitome of what a Mentat should be. By siding with Josef Venport at the Thonaris shipyards, the brilliant Draigo had embraced the cause of reason and civilization, while Gilbertus had inadvertently allied himself with those who feared technology. His finest student had chosen the correct cause … and now Gilbertus found himself in a position where he had to fight against Draigo.
The erudite robot continued, “From its inception, our Mentat School was intended to preserve the ways of logic through efficient thought processes — humans emulating thinking machines in order to preserve the advances of the Synchronized Empire.”
Gilbertus let his hand hover over one of the chess pieces. “Did I tell you that Manford is an avid student of your own laboratory journals? He told me on board our warships when we were heading toward Thonaris.”
“Oh? Manford has my journals?”
“He obtained several volumes salvaged from the ruins of Corrin, and now he studies them. I think he is even obsessed with your writing. He might be as fascinated by thinking machines as you are by humans. Wouldn’t that be a supreme irony?”
“My journals are just words. He can’t know me from them, though he might learn something from my diligent work.”
“Words are powerful things,” Gilbertus countered. “Manford knows this, and is afraid of the damage that words can do.” He remembered how his own hypothetical stance in defense of computers had nearly brought down the school. “I must be extremely careful about everything I say and write.”
The Headmaster moved a battle cruiser into position, but without sufficiently shielding it. Again, Erasmus pounced.
“Just to be safe, we must develop our long-overdue escape plan,” the robot said. “You have been at this school for too many decades. We should slip away and lie low for a few years — perhaps going back to that quaint world of Lectaire, where you pretended to be a farmer. Afterward, you and I can continue our good works.”
Gilbertus would not see Lectaire again, although he missed the woman Jewelia, whom he had loved. She would be very old now, if she even still lived. “But what if my good work is this Mentat School? I have influence here, and even the Butlerians listen to me, after a fashion. If I were to flee, I would be abandoning human civilization to the fires of fanaticism.”
“I am trying to save both of us from being burned,” Erasmus said. “That sort of demise is not pleasant to imagine, even for a robot.”
Gilbertus remained hesitant. He had built this academy and understood the true importance of what it represented. He loved the bright students and the intense curriculum, even the walls rising up from the marsh lake and swamp. He was proud of what he had accomplished here. He couldn’t turn his back and allow it to be corrupted.
As the game continued, the robot changed the subject. “I have been observing Anna Corrino. I analyzed her fragmented brain by recording her conversations and conversed directly with her. She is fascinating.”
Gilbertus raised his eyebrows. “You communicated with her? You should not have revealed yourself.”
“That young woman already hears voices in her mind, so I’m just another imaginary friend. But she has Sorceress genes in her bloodline, and her rearranged brain has unique, most intriguing pathways.” He paused. “We can use her, but first I am learning to understand her. We should experiment—”
“You will not.” Gilbertus recalled the robot’s laboratory on Corrin, the organ regrowth experiments he had conducted, the horrific plagues he had developed, the slaughter of countless humans, the cruel operations he had performed on living victims without anesthetic.
Erasmus sounded defensive. “Through my research I achieve greatness. Just look at what I created in you.”
Gilbertus remained firm. “I won’t let you tamper with the Emperor’s sister. It is too dangerous and could lead to tremendous reprisals. If you don’t cease this line of inquiry, I will cut you off entirely. I can sever all connections to your spy-eyes and leave you isolated again.”
“You would never do that.” Erasmus sounded hard and dominant, as he’d been decades before, when he was a powerful robot slavemaster. “Why else do I exist except to learn and expand my mind? I cannot tolerate being static. As for your own priorities, you would harm the defenses of this school by blinding me!” When Gilbertus made no response, the robot tried a different approach.
“You cannot uproot all of my work without tearing down every building. Besides, there are advantages to my surveillance. Do you know that Alys Carroll watches you like a snake, ready to strike? She keeps records of every statement you make that might be questionable.”
Gilbertus was disturbed, though not surprised, by the actions of the Butlerian student. “Can you delete those records?”
“They are not electronic files. She writes with a stylus on paper. It is rather quaint.”
Gilbertus frowned, made another move on the chessboard. He pretended to be distracted, which he knew Erasmus would notice.
“I trained you as a Mentat, my son — so make a projection and imagine all that might go wrong if this school were attacked. We need to employ every possible defense. And Anna Corrino might be one of those defenses — whether as an ally or as a hostage.”