Dune: The Machine Crusade (38 page)

Hurling a pocket explosive toward one of the small hatches into the evermind’s protected vault, he blasted the door open and raced through the corridors, hoping the blueprints he had memorized were accurate. His replacement personal shield flickered and finally faded. Hot and useless.

Even now Omnius was summoning defender robots, but Noret had no time to fight them. The timer was counting down, second by second. He could have warned away the rescue shuttle and remained here instead until his last breath, destroying the minions of the computer evermind. But by his actions alone, Jool Noret had annihilated the Ixian incarnation of Omnius— surely that was enough to satisfy his personal vow?

Too late for such considerations now. The pickup craft was already on its way. The thought of those courageous jihadis risking themselves to retrieve him— men who could keep fighting against Omnius— forced him to make his best effort. Head down, Noret charged ahead, shouldering and knocking aside combat meks that tried to block his exit.

Gaining speed, he leaped, screaming, and struck with a kick forceful enough to disconnect a robot’s head from its shoulders. He remembered every instant of his training with the supercharged
sensei
mek Chirox, and now took the opportunity to use all the tricks he had learned. The soul of the fallen mercenary Jav Barri seemed to fill him, transmuting his blood to pure adrenaline.

He could have destroyed dozens more in the time remaining, but Noret made the choice to run instead, dodging the fight, making headway toward the opening at the end of a tunnel. He burst out into the cool Ixian air on the surface, dazzled by smoky daylight. He did not look at his chronometer to see how many seconds were left. Overhead, the sky flickered with colored flashes of lightning, like a weird electrical storm, but he saw no gray clouds— only a furious spaceship battle far overhead.

His locator signal pipped silently across electromagnetic bands; Noret couldn’t hear it, but the machines could probably detect it as clearly as a signal bell. And so could the rescue shuttle.

He saw its silver form descending like a raptor in mid-strike. Noret ran out into an open square between industrial warehouses and smoking factories. Though he was in clear view, he waved his hands to get the pilot’s attention. From nearby machine facilities, combat robots began to march, reinforcements streaming out through arched doorways. They could open fire at him or surround and overwhelm him, slowly and efficiently tearing him apart with inhuman strength.

The lone rescue craft streaked down, engines roaring. The shuttle hatch was already open as he sprinted toward it. Two uniformed jihadis waved for him to hurry. Noret dove inside before the shuttle even landed and shouted for them to take off immediately. “Go! Not much time left!”

“Only one of you?” said one of the men at the ramp. “Where’s the rest of your team?” The pilot didn’t want to leave yet.

“There are no others.” Noret extended a hand and let them pull him up from the deck. “The warhead is placed and set. Omnius may have robots trying to disarm it, but they won’t succeed… notin time.” Finally he looked at his chronometer. “Two minutes before the detonation. Now go!”

Alarmed, the rescue crew yanked him up from the deck and sealed the door hatch, shouting all the while for the pilot to take off. Acceleration slammed them all to the deck as the shuttle roared up into the Ixian sky.

Noret breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against a bulkhead. He shielded his eyes, looking away from the portholes as a dazzling nova burst into a glowing sphere of disintegration, taking out a large section of the city. It would leave only a radioactive, glassy crater and an obliterated Omnius.

Though they would endure harsh times and a long recovery, the people of Ix were now free of the computer evermind.

The Army of the Jihad would still need to follow up and retain a protective hold on this newly conquered world. But for now, with a grim smile, the exhausted Noret let himself begin to relax. He had done his part. Now, the Jihad battleships had to defeat the machine fleet in orbit.

He had struck a significant blow, though not enough to satisfy the promise he had made, to fight for himself and his father, to fill the gaping hole in his heart.

Jool Noret had survived, but only to wreak more havoc.

The spirit of the fallen warrior Jav Barri moved through him, and Noret had proved he was worthy of being a mercenary of Ginaz. His father, and the
sensei
mek Chirox, would be proud.

But it was only a start.

W
hen Ix shuddered under the Omnius-killing nuclear blast, Primero Xavier Harkonnen saw an opportunity to escape cleanly with his Jihad fleet. And dismissed it. The thinking machines would just retake their industrial base, and the whole Ixian offensive would be for nothing.

His ships remained in geostationary orbit above the fading flash of the city-killer atomics. From fast kindjal scout flyers, he received frequent updates about the robotic military divisions massing to respond to the ground attack, while the local rebels began to rally from their underground catacombs.

Xavier had hoped the destruction of the local evermind would completely disorient the thinking machines. Unfortunately, the fighter robots were autonomous enough to converge upon their enemy, even without Omnius supervision. The scattered thinking machine battleships in orbit began to regroup. According to intercepted transmissions they were now led by a cymek. One of the original Titans.

Very bad.

He remembered the first battles on Bela Tegeuse, when the Army of the Jihad had withdrawn to safety, hoping they had caused enough damage to declare victory… only to learn later that they had backed away too soon and lost every centimeter of ground they had gained.

What a shame it would be if victory on Ix was also wasted. The Army of the Jihad needed the factories and resources on this planet.

“Stand by,” he said to his bridge crew, and the command was relayed to the rest of the fleet.

As he watched a steady flow of rescue ships speed back and forth between his fleet and the Ixian surface, Xavier knew that time was running out. He needed to fight or flee.

On projection screens he saw enemy forces sweeping like angry wasps toward the outnumbered and outgunned Jihad ships. As a military man trained to determine the odds of success and take decisive action, Xavier’s obvious option was to cut his losses. His Jihad forces here could not possibly withstand the might Omnius had arrayed against him.

He had only moments to decide. Fight or flee.

Serena’s face flashed in his memory, and he thought of their murdered child. Against such a brutal opponent, there were no options. Delays only led to more deaths. If not here, then somewhere else. The forces of Omnius had to be stopped no matter where they were.

“Victory, or nothing,” he muttered loudly enough for his bridge crew to hear. “We will not leave until Ix is secure. Until the people are free.”

WITH FULL ACCESS to the facilities on Ix, the Titan Xerxes had more warships and firepower under his command than the annoying
hrethgir
fleet, but he decided not to attack. Not yet. The swarm of machine ships slowed, moved into new positions closer to the enemy. He wanted to keep massing his forces until he achieved an overwhelming advantage, enough to deal a crushing blow. Xerxes would grind this defiant Jihad army into dust, the way he often crushed bothersome human insects beneath his metal feet.

He wished Agamemnon could be here to see this. Xerxes had never gained much respect as a military commander, had not supervised any outright conquest since the fall of the Old Empire. But he was a Titan… and with the Ix-Omnius neutralized, he was now the only leader here.

Flying through space, Xerxes wore his most imposing mechanical body ever, the form of an immense prehistoric bird with a ferocious pointed head turret, glistening fangs, and feral red optic sensors like the eyes of a predator. The flyer form simulated the motion of a great condor in flight, even in the vacuum, but it was as large as a battleship. Deep within the raptorlike body, a preservation canister held the ancient cymek’s brain, filled with thoughts of how he would win this glorious victory against the fanatical
hrethgir
— and, he hoped, the admiration of General Agamemnon. For centuries Xerxes had tried unsuccessfully to please his commander.

In his raptor form, the Titan cruised back and forth in space, inspecting one line of ships after another in strike formation. Neo-cymeks and robot-controlled warships reflected the harsh solar wind. This time, with so many robotic warships arrayed against the Army of the Jihad, nothing could go wrong. He would annihilate the humans.

“Enemy vessels are in position,” a neo-cymek officer reported over the communication frequency, in coded machine language.

Then he detected a small silver-and-black-vessel approaching from deep space, an update ship on schedule, arriving with the current copy of Omnius. Xerxes transmitted orders for it to remain on the outskirts of the planetary system with the picket line of machine sentries.
Fortuitous timing
. Within a day, he would be able to restore even the loss of the evermind below— what a victory!

While the Titan and other neo-cymeks hung back under the protection of the heavily armed robot fleet, machine ships advanced in precise attack formation toward the doomed humans.
Perfect
. Xerxes decided that the odds were stacked sufficiently in his favor now, so he issued the command.

“Full strike mode. All battleships to the vanguard. After what the vermin just did to Omnius, spare nothing, no matter the robot casualties. Just wipe out the
hrethgir
.”

Besides,
he thought,
we can always make more machines.

FROM THE BUBBLEPLAZ bridge of his ballista flagship, Xavier had a clear view of open space, of stars twinkling in a deceptively serene tableau. Below, orange streaks across the planet’s atmosphere marked the paths of Jihad rescue ships racing back to the fleet. But there was no safety here either.

He thought of Octa and his daughters, and of his peaceful estate on Salusa Secundus, with olive groves and vineyards. The memory of old Manion and his winemaking gave him a warm feeling. Oh, how he wanted to survive this day and return home.

“They’re on the move again, Primero,” a nervous voice reported over the comline. “Even more ships heading our way than before. They have five times as many warships as we do, and I think they mean it this time.”

Through the plaz, Xavier saw thousands of silvery machine vessels rise over the curve of Ix, seemingly enough to overwhelm the scattered stars.

“Only half of our rescue ships have returned to the ballista bays, sir. Casualties are—”

The Primero cut him off. “I don’t want to hear about casualties yet.”
We’ll have plenty more in just a few minutes.
He barked commands and watched tactical images through multiple screens on the bridge. As he called out configurations for the fleet, he watched his ballistas fall into defensive positions.

The mercenary teams on the surface had accomplished their task; Xavier would not allow the Army of the Jihad to do any less. Panels on the ballista hulls glowed orange as weapons systems powered up. He hoped their shields were sufficiently cooled for a long engagement, and that Tio Holtzman’s flicker-and-fire systems— phasing the shields in and out between weapons fire— were up to the task.

From all of his military instruction and training, Xavier knew the success or failure of a battle sometimes hinged more on luck than skill. Holtzman’s shields would protect his ships from the first pummeling of the robot fleet, but even his most conservative planning had not allowed for such an incredible buildup of frontline machine warships. The enemy could keep pounding and pounding, and eventually the Army of the Jihad would crumble… one vessel at a time.

“We will hold as long as we can, and strike at the first opportunity.” He tried to sound braver than he felt. “The rebels down there faced worse odds than this, and survived for most of a year.”

Ahead, the machine fleet split in two, with an advance force hurtling toward him at ramming speed. The Titan Xerxes transmitted loudly over an open channel that he knew the humans would overhear. “The
hrethgir
can only hope to delay the inevitable. Block off their escape.”

Xavier had positioned his smallest shielded ships in the front and saw them bend as the assault force hit them. Behind these small ships, the overlapped shields of the foremost ballistas flickered imperceptibly in precise timing as they launched a volley of defensive projectile fire, driving back the first robot assault, annihilating many of the machine suicide ships before they could get through.

Immediately after the first wave of ramming ships came a squadron of neo-cymeks in bizarre flying and fighting forms led by an enormous winged form shaped like a bird of prey but as large as a ballista. Undoubtedly, the Titan commander himself. The larger robotic warships regrouped, clustering for the second attack phase.

“Hold on,” Xavier said. “Keep the line solid, or we’re all lost.”

But as the stampede of robot battleships surged forward, he knew his forces could not withstand another impact. He thought of his brother Vergyl’s ship destroyed by cymeks at IV Anbus, and his heart sank.

Someone would have to tell Emil Tantor that his only remaining son had been lost.

INSIDE THE GIANT asteroid controlled by Hecate, Iblis Ginjo felt anxious, hoping that the eccentric female cymek— his ally, in theory?— would come through, as promised.

Her ornate dragon walker-form had retreated, disengaging from the preservation canister. Hecate had loaded her brain into the intricate systems that controlled her huge artificial rock while it cruised between the stars.

“Hecate, what is happening?” Iblis stood with fists clenched at his sides, looking around the crystal-mirrored chamber that imprisoned their ship. He could feel the acceleration as the asteroid hurtled across the distance.