The Battle of Corrin - By Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,2

it?”

“No. I’ll wait until I can do it myself.”

“Don’t be rude. This is supposed to be a collaborative effort.” Though the results did look promising, this work wasn’t the robot’s priority. He had something more important in mind.

Erasmus made a minor adjustment to an intravenous connection that smoothed away the discontent in the man’s narrow face. Undoubtedly, Rekur Van was undergoing one of his periodic mood swings. Erasmus would observe him closely and administer medication to keep him operating efficiently. Perhaps he could prevent the Tlulaxa from having one of his full-fledged tantrums today. Some mornings, anything could set him off. Other times, Erasmus purposely provoked him just to observe the result.

Controlling humans— even such a disgusting example— was a science and an art. This degraded captive was as much a “subject” as any of the humans in the blood-spattered slave pens and chambers. Even when the Tlulaxa was driven to the extreme, when he struggled to rip away his life-support systems using nothing more than his teeth, Erasmus could always get him working on the plagues again. Fortunately, the man despised League humans even more than he hated his machine masters.

Decades ago, during a great political upheaval in the League of Nobles, the dark secret of the Tlulaxa organ farms had been revealed to the horror and disgust of free humanity. On the League Worlds, public opinion had been inflamed against the genetic researchers, and outraged mobs had destroyed the organ farms and driven most of the Tlulaxa into hiding, their reputations irreparably blackened.

On the run, Rekur Van had fled to Synchronized space, bearing what he thought was an irresistible gift— the cellular material to make a perfect clone of Serena Butler. Erasmus had been amazed, remembering his intriguing discussions with the captive woman. The desperate Van had been certain Erasmus would want her— but alas the clones that Van developed had none of Serena’s memories, none of her passion. They were merely shallow replicas.

Despite the clones’ blandness, however, Erasmus had found Rekur Van himself very interesting— much to the little man’s dismay. The independent robot enjoyed his company. Here at last was someone who spoke his scientific language, a researcher capable of helping him understand more about the countless ramifications and investigative pathways of complex human organisms.

Erasmus found the first few years to be a challenge, even after removing the Tlulaxa’s arms and legs. Eventually, with careful manipulations, a patiently administered system of rewards and punishments, he had converted Rekur Van into quite a fruitful experimental subject. The limbless man’s situation seemed rather like that of Van’s own slave subjects in the sham organ farms. Erasmus found it wonderfully ironic.

“Would you like a little treat now, to get us started on our work?” Erasmus suggested. “A flesh cookie, perhaps?”

Van’s eyes lit up, for this was one of the few pleasures remaining to him. Made from a variety of laboratory-bred organisms, including human “debris,” the flesh cookies were considered delicacies on the Tlulaxa homeworld. “Feed me, or I refuse to continue my work for you.”

“You use that threat too often, Stump. You are connected to tanks of nutrient solutions. Even if you refuse to eat, you will not starve.”

“You want my cooperation, not just my survival— and you have left me with too few bargaining chips.” The Tlulaxa’s face contorted in a grimace.

“Very well. Flesh cookies!” Erasmus shouted. “Four-Arms, see to it.”

One of the freakish human laboratory assistants walked in, his quartet of grafted arms balancing a platter mounded with sugary organic treats. The Tlulaxa shifted in his life-support socket to look at the gruesome food— and the extra set of arms that had once been his own.

With some knowledge of the grafting procedures used by the Tlulaxa race, Erasmus had transplanted the arms and legs of the former slaver onto two laboratory assistants, adding artificial flesh, sinews, and bone to adjust the limbs to the proper length. Although it was just a test case and a learning experience, it had been remarkably successful. Four-Arms was particularly efficient at carrying things; Erasmus hoped someday to teach him to juggle, which Gilbertus might find amusing. Alternatively, Four-Legs could run like an antelope on an open plain.

Whenever either assistant came into view, the Tlulaxa man was harshly reminded of his hopeless situation.

Since Rekur Van had no hands, Four-Arms used two of his own— the pair formerly belonging to the captive— to cram flesh cookies into the eager, open mouth. Van looked like a hungry chick demanding worms from a mother bird.