Its voice had startled Gwen: so few robots could speak, after all. What it had to say, though, was just as strange as the fact that it was able to say it.
"I accept your tribute," said the Myrmidon, "But I will have more! Continue to gather these treasures each day, and bring them to my treasure house each night. Bow then before your King and as you gather my tribute, spread the word among your kind that I have come to rule you!"
It was always hard to guess what a Lug was thinking. These Lugs, though, seemed to be thinking just what the Myrmidon wanted them to. Since when had the robots wanted a king? She looked at Rusty, but all he could do was shrug.
The Myrmidon started to pace back and forth, waving its arms. "Soon we will have filled this treasure house. Then we will post guards here, and move on to a greater palace. Glorious days lie ahead of us: times of greatness! A new age, an age of legend! The Age of the Kingdom of the Robots!"
The crowd of Lugs had brought their prairie dust in with them. It floated through the room: it drifted past the piles of machines. To her horror, Gwen felt a sneeze starting in the back of her nose.
"We will raise up monuments! We will rewrite histories! We will fortify our borders, and punish those who try to resist us! We will found a dynasty that will last ten thousand years!"
But what we will never, ever do, Gwen thought, is to sneeze.