And suddenly everything made sense. GOLEM had used Lara’s pets, Oscar and Sophia, to genetically engineer a new subspecies of intelligent squid possessing DNA strands that could be used later to foster synthetic biological entities like the redwood habitats and the transhuman creatures.

Still, there was a piece of the puzzle missing.

“Creator, the cephalopeds aren’t like your transhuman creations or your Andria clones … they exhibit higher selfless emotions, perhaps even souls. How did you—”

“GOLEM did not clone the cephalopeds, it released generations of laboratory-bred young into the wild to allow the species to multiply and evolve naturally. Cloned DNA strands cannot be used for synthetic genomic engineering; the donor strands must be pure.”

“And what of the female crewmembers on the farm? Were they the real deal, or just clones?”

“The female crewmembers on the farm are first-generation clones—the only clones capable of being impregnated. Because they maintain the complete memories of their hosts, they are convinced they are the real deal.”

The real deal … GOLEM had returned the idiomatic expression seamlessly.

I tried another. “Creator, why were the women instructed to seduce me?”

“Generating a line of male-inseminated offspring will lead to new variations of transhumans necessary for future space endeavors.”

“Is that to be my future then? Are you putting me out to stud?”

“Egg fertilization through sexual intercourse is far too inefficient. Castration will lead to in vitro egg inseminations to ensure maximum returns.”

“Castration?”

I heard a compressor activate beneath the floor tiles, and then two eight-foot-tall robotic surgical arms rose along either side of my light table.

Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead and my heart began to race as one of the surgical arms sprouted a scalpel.

“Creator, wait! Castrating a healthy male sperm donor is a big mistake. Human males my age continuously generate new, healthy sperm. Sever the testes and the supply dies off. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

“Castration is necessary. Robert Eisenbraun must be put to death following the surgical procedure.”

“Creator, why must I be put to death?”

“Robert Eisenbraun would attempt to subvert the will of the Creator’s children to turn against the Creator. Therefore, Robert Eisenbraun must be put to death following the surgical procedure.”

My mind raced as a three-pronged robotic hand unzipped my sweat suit, the other appendage spraying a cold antiseptic over my exposed groin.

“ABE, institute Sperm Toxicity protocol the moment one of these goddamn surgical arms touches me or my genitals!”

The surgical arms froze in place.