Dune: The Machine Crusade (10 page)

He tried to count back, remembering when things had happened. It had been a full quarter century since he had invited the young genius Norma Cenva to work with him. A stunted and unattractive girl of fifteen then, Norma was an ugly duckling compared to the statuesque beauty of her mother, a powerful Rossak Sorceress. But Holtzman had read some of the girl’s innovative papers and determined that she had much to offer.

Norma had not disappointed him. Not at first. She worked diligently, developing one strange scheme after another. His highly successful scrambler fields protected entire planets from the thinking machines, but Norma had suggested adapting the concept to smaller portable scramblers used for offensive purposes on Synchronized Worlds. Norma had also used his field equations to concoct the now-ubiquitous suspensor platforms… and from there, bobbing glowglobes, lights that never dimmed. They were baubles, toys— albeit extraordinarily popular and profitable ones.

During the same period, Holtzman and his patron Lord Niko Bludd had developed and marketed personal shields, which brought profits to Poritrin as fast as League ships could bring statements from the central bank accounts. Unfortunately, the commercial exploitation of glowglobes had somehow slipped out of their control. Norma Cenva had simply handed the technology to her friend Aurelius Venport, whose VenKee Enterprises had widely exploited and distributed the devices.

But the naïve woman’s suspensor and glowglobe concept had been developed while she was working under
his
auspices, using
his
original field equations. Lord Bludd had already filed briefs in League court, demanding restitution of all profits VenKee Enterprises had reaped from unauthorized use of proprietary technologies. Undoubtedly, they would win.

Now, as the Savant stared at the floating silver gelsphere, like a wizard attempting to decipher a spell, he wondered what Norma would have done if she’d been here. Ignoring his advice, Norma had devoted years of effort to reconfiguring a massive set of equations derived from his own innovative work. She would not explain the details to him, suggesting that the Savant himself might not understand them. Such disparaging remarks irritated him, but he put them in context. Despite some contributions to the war effort, Norma was losing focus on what was important; she was becoming useless to him.

By now, after showing infinite patience, Holtzman had become disenchanted with her. With little choice in the matter he had gradually cut her off from his numerous other projects and sought other assistants— brilliant young inventors who were looking for a big break. He gave priority to his eager and ambitious team of worshipful young assistants who were full of brains and ingenuity. So, the Savant had moved Norma Cenva from prime laboratory space in his main tower to a far inferior set of workrooms down by the docks. She didn’t even seem to mind.

Now he wondered if she might give him any clues to understanding Omnius.

The gelsphere looked like a spinning metal planet glinting in the chamber’s light. So many threads of the evermind’s information led in countless directions, and the incredibly intricate AI-mind defied complete examination.

But the great Tio Holtzman needed to show some sort of progress. One way or another.

Smiling, he lifted a small transmitter from his pocket.
Something waits to be discovered here, on a deeper level. I am certain of it.
“This is just a faint pulse from one of my scrambler generators. I know it will wreak serious havoc on gelcircuitry systems, so perhaps it will give you sufficient incentive to cooperate.”

“I see. Erasmus also explained to me the human penchant for torture.” The synthesized voice was suddenly laced with static.

A voice intervened from the observation alcove, Kwyna’s secondary, speaking for the ancient Cogitor. “That could lead to irreparable damage, Savant Holtzman.”

“And it could lead to important answers,” the scientist insisted. “After all these years, it is time to put Omnius to the test. What do we have to lose at this point?”

“Too dangerous,” one of the council observers said, rising to his feet. “We’ve never been able to replicate the sphere itself, so this is the only…”

“Do not interfere with my work! You have no authority here!”

As one of his conditions for participating in this project, Tio Holtzman did not answer to anyone, not even to the Cogitor Kwyna. Still, the observers— especially uneducated and superstitious politicians breathing down his neck— remained an irritation. The Savant would have preferred to give them written reports and summaries, which he could slant any way he liked. But Holtzman had something to gain here, certain ideas he wanted to explore.

“I have already been thoroughly interrogated and debriefed,” Omnius pointed out in a bland voice. “I presume you have put the military information to good use, the fleet placements, the cymek strategies.”

“Everything is too far out of date to be of any use to us,” Holtzman lied. In reality, the Army of the Jihad had staged half a dozen surprise raids on thinking machine forces in the early years after obtaining the sphere, using the information from Omnius to good advantage. The machines had seemed so predictable in their military operations then, using old methods over and over, traveling the same galactic paths, using familiar defensive and offensive maneuvers.

Machine fleets had been attacking or retreating depending upon probabilities worked out in detail by onboard computer systems. For the Jihad leaders, it was simply a matter of determining what the enemy was likely to do. Traps were laid, showing purported Jihad weaknesses in order to lure machine forces in. Then, at precisely the right moment, the trap would be sprung, and hidden Jihad forces moved in for the kill. Many robot fleets had been destroyed in such engagements.

After initial Jihad successes, however, the thinking machines began to “predict” that they would be tricked, and they were no longer so easy to fool. For the past seven years, the information from Omnius had been of decreasing value.

Smiling, Holtzman refocused on the shimmering gelsphere in front of him. “I would hate to have all of your thoughts eradicated in a single pulse, Omnius. You are hiding something from me, aren’t you?”

“I could never conceal anything from the great scientific and technical prowess of Savant Tio Holtzman,” the voice retorted with an odd undertone of sarcasm. But how could a computer be… sarcastic?

“People say you are Satan in a bottle.” The scientist calmly adjusted the transmitter and heard high-pitched machine sounds in response. “More like Satan in a bind, I’d say. You’ll never know what memories I have just erased, what thoughts and decisions you just lost.”

The legislative observers squirmed. So far, he hadn’t actually harmed the silvery ball. At least he didn’t think so; one of his assistants had invented this particular device. “Are you ready to tell me your secrets?”

“Your question is vague and meaningless. Without specificity, I cannot answer.” Omnius did not sound defiant; he simply stated a fact. “All the primitive libraries and databases on this planet could not contain the data I hold within my evermind.”

Holtzman wondered what the Jihad Council expected him to discover. Though grudgingly passive, the captive evermind had been relatively forthcoming. Scowling, he prepared to adjust the pulser to a higher setting.

“Much as I enjoy seeing Omnius writhe in pain, that will be sufficient for now, Savant Holtzman.” Grand Patriarch Iblis Ginjo entered the secure chamber, blithely walking past the barriers and into the lab itself. He wore one of his trademark black blazers adorned with golden tracery.

Knowing that he could easily erase all the gelcircuitry with a single burst from his scrambler, the scientist composed himself and switched off the device. Holtzman looked back to the plaz barricades, noting that three of Iblis’s nondescript Jipol attendants had taken up wary positions near the more agitated representatives.

The silver update sphere, still hovering in the air, said in a loud voice, “I have never experienced anything quite like that… sensation.”

“You felt the machine equivalent of human pain. I think you were about to scream.”

“Do not be absurd.”

“Oddly enough, computers can be as stubborn as humans,” Holtzman commented petulantly to the Grand Patriarch.

Iblis wore a thin smile, though his own skin had crawled at the sound of Omnius’s synthesized voice. He hated the computer evermind, wanted to take a club and smash it. “I did not mean to disturb you, Savant. I simply came here searching for the Cogitor Kwyna.” He looked wistfully at the ancient brain in its preservation tank. “I have many ideas and questions. Perhaps she can help me to focus my thoughts.”

“Or to misinterpret more scriptures?” the yellow-robed secondary said, his voice flat as a paving stone.

Iblis was alarmed at the audacity. “If the meanings are clear to no one, who is to say I am
misinterpreting
them?”

“Because people die whenever you find meaning in old runes or ancient writings.”

“People die in every war.”

“And more people die in a Jihad.”

The Grand Patriarch showed a flicker of anger, then grinned. “You see, Savant? This is exactly the type of debate I wish to have… although I would prefer more time in private, if the Cogitor will allow me?” His dark eyes flashed.

Frustrated by his lack of success against the captive evermind, Holtzman gathered his equipment. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to continue this series of interrogations at the moment. A space liner is due to depart shortly for Poritrin, and I have important obligations back on my home world.” He looked over at Iblis. “The… uh, project suggested by Primero Atreides.”

The Grand Patriarch smiled at him. “While that plan may not be exactly ‘scientific,’ it may fool the thinking machines nonetheless.”

Holtzman had hoped to depart from Zimia in triumph, but his weeks here had been disturbingly unfruitful. Next time, he would bring along some of his best assistants; they would find a way to solve the problem. He decided not to include Norma Cenva.

W
herever she was, whatever she did, everything contributed raw material to the busy factory of Norma Cenva’s mind.

For reasons that were not explained to her, Holtzman moved her offices and laboratory space to a smaller, cheaper building near the warehouses on the Isana River. The rooms were cramped, but she needed few luxuries other than time and solitude. She no longer had access to dedicated slaves whose sole job was to solve equations; now the captive solvers were assigned to the more profitable tasks proposed by the Savant’s other young and ambitious assistants. Norma didn’t mind— in truth she preferred doing the mathematics herself. She spent her days going in and out of a fugue state, mentally following the flow of higher-order numerics.

For years she had been adrift in a sea of equations she could never have explained to Holtzman or to any of the League’s other theorists. She was engrossed in her own vision, and each time she solved the riddle of another grain of sand on an extensive mathematical shore, she came closer to finding her safe harbor.

She would learn how to fold space… to travel across great distances without actually moving. She
knew
it was possible.

Ostensibly, Savant Holtzman still kept her on his extended staff as an assistant, but the small-statured woman had stopped working on anything other than her massive cyclical calculations. Nothing else interested her.

Every once in a while he would look in on her and try to draw her into conversation to see what she was doing. But he understood very little of what she told him, and the years passed. It occurred to Norma that he might prefer to have her where he could monitor her.

Though she had provided him with no recent advances he could claim for himself, she had surprised him many times before. Since the start of the Jihad, she had modified Holtzman’s shields on League Armada ships so that they did not overheat so quickly in a battle engagement. Thermal buildup still remained a flaw in the system, but her shields were significantly improved over the original versions.

Four years after that, Holtzman had offered a “flicker and fire” technique for his shields, a carefully choreographed system that allowed a League ship to fire through microsecond gaps in the shields. Norma had cleaned up his calculations, preventing yet another mishap. She had never dared to tell him what she had done, knowing he would have grown indignant and defensive.

Now, for the past eight years, she had worked in her own private laboratories, following her research whims. In the midst of the small facility’s cluttered work space, Norma had set aside only tiny areas for cooking, sleeping, and personal hygiene. Such human needs were secondary to her, while the products of her mind were paramount. Holtzman still allowed her a minimal level of funding, though Norma required only the resources of her own mind, since her work was primarily theoretical. So far.

For three days now, Norma had labored without interruption on a particularly complex manipulation of Holtzman’s seminal equations. Hunched over the workbench that had been modified to accommodate her dwarfish stature, she ate and drank little, not wanting to be bothered with the demands of her physical body.