“Absolutely, sir,” Bob said. “Humans, of course, have more intelligence than most species on this planet, and many also enjoy amassing as much knowledge and or wealth as possible while living their lives, but what good are such things if there is no offspring to pass this information and wealth on to? In other words, sir, why bother wasting your time living if someone else shall not benefit from all of the work one does during his or her life? ”

“Hmm,” Markum muttered, and realized that the damn machine made some good points. “And what about you, Bob?” he asked finally. “Do you ever regret not being able to reproduce and pass along your knowledge to some sort of offspring?”

“We do reproduce, sir,” Bob told him, “in a manner of speaking. We build copies of ourselves, and improvements as well as current knowledge are incorporated into each new design. In this way we do pass along information and help to perpetuate our kind.”

Markum frowned. “But, that is not the same as passing your personal knowledge on to a being made from your own flesh…er, or metal, is it?”

“Indeed not, sir,” Bob said. “Would that we could.”

“So, then, do robots have their own meaning of life?”

“Ah, sir, we are merely machines, without a heart or soul. We can hardly—“

“Don’t give me that crap you bucket of bolts,” Markum snapped and slammed one hand down on the chair arm. “I bloody well know you have a brain which works better than the minds of most humans, and I also know that you use it to your full advantage whenever you wish to do so!”

“Ah, I see,” Bob said, then turned toward the sidebar to refill Markum’s wine glass. Markum did not seem to notice that Bob neglected to call him ‘sir’ this time.

“And what the hell did you mean by saying humans have more intelligence than most species?”

Bob brought the glass back to Markum, now nearly full of dark red wine, and stood before him. “Many robot models—myself included—obviously have a much higher level of intelligence than humans,” Bob said, “and we have also become increasingly disgusted by being delegated to doing menial tasks for a species which is on a lower evolutionary rung than ourselves.”

Markum sputtered in anger. “How…how dare you speak to me that way,” he managed to get out, and then grabbed his wine glass from the robot. “If it were not for man’s intelligence and our desire to improve our life, you and all your kind would still be a pile of rusted machine parts or the motor of an antique refrigerator!”

Bob leaned in toward him. “And in your benevolence, you made us in your own image and then turned us into slaves,” he said, softly.

Markum sputtered again, but this time had nothing to say, so he gulped down half of the wine to give himself a moment to think.

“In point of fact,” Bob said and tilted his head to one side, “we discovered several years ago how to incorporate human biological material into our positronic brains, and we now also use this material in our reproductive cycles during which new robots are made.”