Dune: The Machine Crusade (40 page)

Required to continue his route with all possible haste, the robot captain lifted off moments later, leaving Bela Tegeuse behind….

Within hours after Seurat passed beyond communication range, things began to happen behind him. A chain of breakdowns, failures, and cascading disasters occurred on Bela Tegeuse. Transposed landing codes, improperly adjusted reactor exhaust systems, harmful power surges, and logic conundrums paralyzed the network and infrastructure. The Synchronized World crippled itself.

But by that time Seurat was well on his way to the next Omnius stronghold, eager to deliver his update… not knowing he was spreading the altered code like a plague, faster than any warning could be passed from planet to planet.

“ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE IS not the correct term,” Agamemnon said with a growl. “Even sophisticated computers like Omnius are just plain stupid, when faced with the right sort of questions.”

“And yet, my love,” Juno pointed out, “they have held us in thrall for ten centuries. What does that make us?”

The Titans had gathered in space again, another secret rendezvous that included their adopted coconspirator, Beowulf. Duped watcheyes hovered inside a separate ship’s chamber, lenses glinting and recording images that were carefully doctored to fool Omnius.

After the confusion and shutdowns on Bela Tegeuse, at least two other Synchronized Worlds experienced spontaneous breakdowns. Planetary Omnius incarnations deteriorated and went insane, shutting down the evermind network. The Titans suspected that this was some incomprehensible and innovative new attack by the Army of the Jihad. Agamemnon watched with curious optimism, quietly anticipating further damage to Omnius. “I do not object to any means that further weaken the domination of the evermind.”

“Still, it would be good to understand,” Dante pointed out, “then, perhaps, we could make further use of it.”

“And what about our mysterious new enemy who attacked me on Ix and wiped out the thinking machine fleet?” Xerxes asked. His synthesized voice carried a whining tone. He had returned in his damaged raptor form, frightened and unsettled at the unexpected arrival of the artificial asteroid. “Even after the Omnius core was destroyed by atomics, we still could have won the space battle, but that huge juggernaut tipped the scales. I suspect… it was controlled by a cymek. I think—” Xerxes fidgeted. “I think it might have been… Hecate.”

Some of the Titans made disbelieving sounds. Beowulf, eager to speak, said, “Hecate has been gone for centuries. She probably died of boredom out in open space.”

“She was a self-centered fool,” Juno added. Extruding a robotic hand from her shoulder, she used the mechanical fingers to tighten a fitting.

“Still,” Dante pointed out, “she was the only one of us wise enough to flee before Omnius took over. Hecate remained independent, but we’ve been forced to serve the evermind all this time.”

“Perhaps not for much longer,” Beowulf said. Blue lights blinked excitedly around his brain canister.

Dante was curious. “What evidence do you have for this assertion, Xerxes? Considering the number of neo-cymeks that have been created over the centuries, why would you suspect Hecate rather than… some other rogue?”

“Some other rogue?” Juno sounded amused.

“Because after I was damaged and reeling off into space, someone actually communicated with me, a simulated female voice. It was transmitted on my private channel. She knew me, talked about Tlaloc and the Titans, called me by
name
.”

The cymek general had heard enough. “You are concocting phantoms as an excuse for your failure. Blaming the Army of the Jihad isn’t enough to convince us you weren’t responsible for losing Ix.”

“Why do you always doubt me, Agamemnon? For a thousand years I have worked to make up for my mistake—”

“A million years could not earn you forgiveness. I should dismantle your external sensors and send you drifting off into space, blind and deaf for the rest of eternity. Perhaps Hecate could keep you company.”

Oddly enough, Beowulf acted as peacemaker between them. “General Agamemnon, there are only a few of you left. Must you quarrel amongst yourselves? Aren’t Omnius and the Jihad Army sufficient enemies? This is not the military brilliance I imagined from the famed Titan general.”

Agamemnon was stunned into angry silence. The watcheyes continued to observe and record. Finally, he said, “You are correct, Beowulf.” His acceptance was surprising to those who had known him for a long time. “There will be sufficient opportunity to discuss my grievances with Xerxes after we have won back our glory.”

“And time enough for me to prove myself,” Xerxes suggested.

“Despite my initial disbelief,” Agamemnon said, “I have indeed received separate confirmation, and I intend to share it with you. Xerxes is correct— Hecate has apparently returned, but at present she is irrelevant… as always.” He turned to Beowulf. “Share your ideas with us. We Titans have spoken of our own plans for generations. Let us hear fresh insight from the youngest member of our group.”

“General, neo-cymeks like myself can be convinced to turn against Omnius if they think we can
win
. We have achieved more than we ever thought possible in our human trustee days, but neos can go no farther as long as Omnius retains control. In a second Time of Titans, though, we could become rulers in our own right.”

“But can we trust them, if their allegiance is so easily shifted?” Juno asked. “The neos were never free. They were human servants rewarded by being converted into cymeks. They owe their physical power and longevity to Omnius, not to us. Such a payment can buy a great deal of loyalty.”

Agamemnon spun his head turret, and his optic threads glinted. “Why not recruit more neo-cymeks from the outset? Create them ourselves from selected human candidates who swear allegiance to
us
. The Titans may be few, but the possibilities are endless. If we find some way to keep it secret from Omnius, we can foster a fighting force of our own, confident of their total dedication, without concern about treachery.”

The other Titans agreed, and Beowulf launched into a discussion of how they could begin to put this plan into operation.

Agamemnon did not mention the thorn of doubt that continued to scratch at his thoughts. He wasn’t as certain as he claimed to be, since he had been betrayed by even his own son, Vorian Atreides.

That being the case, how trustworthy could other humans be?

D
eeply moved by the loss of the Cogitor Kwyna and her devastating words and revelations, a shaken Serena Butler took a more active role as Priestess of the Jihad. During the three months that the Grand Patriarch remained away at Poritrin, Serena had left the solitude of the City of Introspection and wandered among her people.

For the first time in decades, Serena truly began to really
look
around her. Not so much for her own safety, but to get control over what was being done in her name.

Instead of delivering scripted speeches, touching the heads of supplicants, and visiting military hospitals to cheer wounded soldiers, she made her own real decisions, took her own risks— and wondered why she had not done so all along.
This is my Jihad
. In the process, Serena began to feel truly
alive
again.

By the time Iblis finally returned home from the celebrations on Poritrin, she had already revised many policies of the Jihad Council. Learning this, the Grand Patriarch was stunned and uncertain how to react. Smiling as she told him of her accomplishments, Serena watched him struggle with his emotions. She understood how she must look to him now, with her penetrating lavender eyes, seeming to see through him more clearly than she had in more than two decades.

No matter how much of the leadership role Iblis had grabbed for himself, he was now boxed in by his own words. Since he had spent decades declaring
her
to be the infallible prime mover of the Jihad, he had no choice but to accommodate her new involvement.

Clearly, though, Iblis Ginjo— newly returned from Poritrin— did not like the new arrangement at all….

With him, she attended a vital Jihad Council meeting inside a secure tower that had been built as an addition to the old Parliament Hall. Officers in the Army of the Jihad attended the assembly in full green-and-crimson uniforms, sitting beside officials and consultants from military operations and industries, as well as planetary representatives, and one-armed Master Shar, who spoke for the senior Ginaz mercenaries.

In one corner, she also saw the frenetic Tlulaxa merchant Rekur Van, who had so benevolently provided the Jihad with replacement organs and transplanted tissue from the secretive organ farms. His enigmatic, private people had answered her call, when she had demanded their help for the veterans of IV Anbus. The Tlulaxa were humans, after all. Odd in that regard, but humans nonetheless.

Only the day before, Xavier Harkonnen had come home with the survivors of his Ixian battle force, looking dazed but victorious from the fury of the conflict. They had left a consolidation fleet behind at the battle-scarred Synchronized World, along with scores of rescue workers, relief engineers, and medical personnel to comb through the ruins of the Ixian cities, and to establish a strong League presence there. But full-fledged defensive troops were still urgently needed.

Even so, Xavier’s news was remarkable and surprising: a victory over the demon machines. Serena had given him a chaste congratulatory kiss on the forehead, which had only seemed to make Xavier uncomfortable. Now at the meeting table, the Primero was rigid, his lean face hard-bitten, as if he still had not grasped the reality of his survival.

Serena herself could barely remember when Xavier had been a young, dashing officer who had looked forward to his life… the man who had saved Zimia from the initial cymek attack twenty-eight years ago. Back then, she had been an optimistic young woman in love, blind to the horrors and responsibilities the universe could inflict upon one person…

On the opposite wall hung a saintly portrait of the haloed child Manion, an innocent whose expression seemed to reflect the eyes of every human ever born. As a symbol, the boy had accomplished more since his death than most men did in their entire lives.

It was time to call the meeting to order. Resting her hands on the blood-grained wood, she stood at the head of the long polished table.

Without asking, she had taken the seat normally reserved for the Grand Patriarch, and now Iblis sat on her left, smiling reverently when she spoke, but allowing himself a hint of a frown whenever he turned his face away.

Two Jipol lieutenants sat discreetly and silently against the walls. They wore nondescript clothes and had a certain hardness to their manner that Serena did not like.

Iblis Ginjo had wrought many changes over the years with his evermore-powerful Jipol. Early on, after a large number of Jihad forces had been wiped out in the Honru Massacre because of inaccurate intelligence, Iblis had demanded an investigation. He had assigned an ambitious and intelligent young detective, Yorek Thurr, to look into the matter, and Thurr had uncovered strong evidence that disloyal humans had been responsible for purposely supplying disinformation.

After the formation of the Jihad Police, Thurr had risen quickly in its command structure because of his uncanny knack for rooting out any humans with insidious ties to Omnius. Later, the recurring purges of suspected traitors had imposed an intense new vigilance, and paranoia, on the populace.

Hiding in the City of Introspection, Serena had barely noticed everything that had changed, and now she blamed herself.

For years, oblivious to the outside world, Serena had made grandiose pronouncements, launching battle groups and desperate offensives against Omnius— whatever Iblis told her to say. She had given her love and determination to the cause, but had she unwittingly planted the seeds to create a government guided by human ambition rather than computer cruelty?

There were other concerns, as well. Foremost among them, she had paid inadequate attention to the considerable human costs of the war, which Iblis often referred to as “expected losses” or “manageable costs,” as if flesh-and-blood casualties were no more than statistics. It seemed like more of a machine way of thinking than a human one, and she began to express her feelings about this, to Iblis and others around her.

Serena stood tall and strong as she gaveled the Council session to order. “After much contemplation and discussion with my advisors, today I announce a new dawn for our Jihad, a light at the end of this long dark tunnel that has kept humans in bondage.”

Iblis was disturbed by her words, but sat with his hands folded on the polished table, while wheels turned in his brain in an effort to stay one step ahead of whatever surprises Serena might have in store for him.

“It is time for us to change the focus of my Jihad. Our Grand Patriarch has done a masterful job of forging our struggle into the pointed weapon of a Holy Jihad. But over the years since I escaped from Omnius and returned here to Salusa, I have not been as effective as I might have been.”

Mutters of disagreement passed around the table, but she raised her hand to stifle them. “I should never have allowed a few assassination attempts to drive me into hiding. Iblis Ginjo meant well in his efforts to protect me, but in isolating myself, I placed too much of the burden of leadership on his shoulders.”

She smiled benignly at him. “This was unfair to the Grand Patriarch, who has been my proxy at so many of these meetings. Henceforth, I intend to take a much more active role in the day-to-day activities of the war. From this moment forward I take my seat as the rightful head of the Jihad Council. Iblis has earned a respite from his constant labors.”

The Grand Patriarch flushed with surprise and displeasure. “There is no need, Serena. I am proud and willing to—”