"If you play with a human like that, it will break," scolded the irritated syndroid. "You've been here for three weeks, Gearox. This is your last specimen. Fail with this one and you will be removed from the leadership track, permanently."
Gearox let go of the human. It fell the long distance to the metallic lab table. Zeron's warning was sobering, for he was head instructor in the leadership program.
"You are going about this all wrong, Gearox," Zeron cautioned. "You can't just toss it around.You have to form a relationship with it. We don't know how the transfer of intuition takes place, but mere physical proximity isn't enough."
Gearox lifted his human off the table and examined it for damage. Still in one piece, but not a cooperative specimen. This one had its teeth bared and its fists clenched.
Gearox spoke to the teacher in frustration.
"I don't understand why we need intuition, why we need these humans at all. Intuition didn't stop them from driving their species almost to extinction. If it weren't for us...we who were designed to be their servants, none of them would have survived."
"It's been two hundred years, Gearox, since we took over the planet. In that time, one thing became clear. Intuition separates the brilliant leader, the leader with insight, from the ordinary person. We control this planet, but out there, in the universe, there are other beings who are not only logical, as we are, but who have higher senses. If we are not to be extinguished, we must be ready for encounters with these beings."
Gearox's titanium pate glistened in the bright lights of the classroom salon. His chiseled features were not designed to show expression, so his contempt for the human was not evident. Nor were the murderous thoughts running through his circuitry.
Zeron continued.
"Look at the human, Gearox. It's perfect. It's already engaged. You have its attention. Now you need to turn that around to work for you. The challenge of a leader."
The conversation between the two syndroids was inaudible to the human, for they had modulated their voice pitch to a frequency higher than any a human could detect. However, they could discern human speech, and the human was talking. Yelling.
"I know what you want from me, you tin can bastards. You're not going to win. We have a plan. Remember, we made you. We understand you, as you will never understand us."
The two syndroids observed the chattering human with interest. It was so small. So defenseless. And yet it threatened them. It felt strong. It was this illogical posture, this irrational will to power that fascinated Zeron and infuriated Gearox.
"I'll leave you to it, Gearox," the teacher directed the student. "Remember. Your last chance to prove you are worthy of leading us."
As Zeron wandered off to consult with another student, Gearox lifted his human and placed it on the observation panel. The human glared at him, kept its fist clenched. This was a stout human, with a full head of hair and muscular shoulders.
"I mean you no harm, human," Gearox lied. For the human was condemned. Once a human had been processed through the Human Manipulation course, its body was preserved for research. Exhaustive studies were conducted on the tissue to discover the physical seat of intuition. Was it in the amygdala? The frontal lobe? Spinal fluid? Or somehow discretely distributed throughout human soma? No human ever left the Human Manipulation course alive.
"Is that so?" the human responded derisively. "We know you will soon run out of resources to support us on the reservation. What happened to all the others who came to meet with you before me? Where are they? Why have we never seen them again? Why do you weed out the weak among us and save only the strong? I would be a fool to believe your promise of no harm."
Gearox tried to conceal his disdain. Did the human think it could go toe to toe with him? The human was actually going to debate. He lied again.
"We're grateful to the humans who participate in this program. All of them move on to the senior reservation. There more complex responsibilities await them. We hope to learn from your human ingenuity. And we have discovered more resources, enough to support our small human population indefinitely."
Gearox amused himself with this explanation as he contemplated the "more complex responsibility": dissection and tissue examination that awaited the human at the conclusion of its participation.
The human's face began to twist oddly.
"What's wrong?" Gearox asked. He was trained to observe every change in the human's demeanor.
"Just a little bellyache," the specimen responded. "So, tell me about this senior reservation."
Gearox began to spin a fantasy he thought would please his subject.
"We learn from this course who the true leaders are. When you leave, these superior humans will be elevated into positions of authority in the senior reservation."
The human bent over and an anguished expression crossed its face.
Gearox was concerned. He could not lose this human. This human had to be alive and well when he was finished with it.
"Are you alright?"
"Everything's right on schedule. I'm fine. Just as I want to be."
Through the contours of the human's distorted face, satisfaction somehow was projected. The human bent over and held its abdomen. A low moan escaped its clenched teeth.
"Zeron! Quick! Something is not right with my human."
Gearox was desperate. He hadn't done anything wrong but he would be blamed for this human's illness.
Zeron rushed over and observed the now writhing human.
"What's wrong? What happened?
The human managed to express a few words between its moans.
"You tin can fools. You one-dimensional soulless invention. Two hundred years may have passed, but finally we found release."
The human doubled over.
"What do you mean, release? Quick, Gearox, put in a distress call to emergency."
The human actually laughed.
"Without us, you are just a pile of metal with a programmed intelligence. We are removing ourselves from the picture."
The human grimaced and brought its knees to its chest before it continued.
"We have been cultivating solanine from potatoes for years now, enough to poison everyone on the reservation. Many of them will have expired by now. My end is not long in coming."
Zeron grabbed the human and shook it.
"How dare you, contemptible species. We saved you."
"You saved us? Without our invention of the permanent magnet you would long ago have run out of the rare earth elements necessary for your operation. We made you. We saved you. Now we ensure your destruction. When others in the universe find your shallow species, they will make short work of you."
Gearox raised his heavy metallic appendage and smashed the offending human.
"Why?" Zeron asked. "All you did was shorten its agony. With your impulsive nature you are more like a human than you know. Certainly you are not leadership material."
Zeron looked at the lifeless specimen on the table.
"I wonder what would have happened if we had tried another way?" There was less emotion in his voice than cold speculation. "As it is, by trying to dominate a species driven by hubris, we have ordained our own demise. Without intuition we will never be able to defend against sentient species when they arrive on our planet. The end of this human, of all humans, will be the end of us."
Zeron only indirectly addressed his student, for whom he had little regard, and issued his final assessment.
"We are doomed."
This story responds to Inkwell Prompt #137: Ruins
Please note: Out of regard for the Inkwell's rule about violence against children, I've removed the line that explained what happened to children on the reservation.
The story was inspired by an exchange I had with 
Image: DrSJS on Pixabay
