Following the robots, they emerged onto flowing roadways that carried them along like floating plates. Batlike fliers streaked high overhead, and mirrored watcheyes flitted about in the air, observing the group’s progress from all angles. Behind them, the huge no-ship had been incorporated into the machine metropolis. Sentient metal buildings of freeform architecture had grown around the Ithaca’s hull like coral swallowing up an old shipwreck beneath the seas of Caladan. The buildings seemed to alter whenever the evermind had a fleeting thought.
“This whole city is alive and thinking,” Paul said. “It’s all one changeable, adapting machine.”
Under her breath, his mother quoted, “ ‘Thou shalt not create a machine in the likeness of the human mind.’ ”
Speakers appeared in the solid silver walls of the looming buildings, and a simulated voice mockingly repeated Jessica’s words. “ ‘Thou shalt not create a machine in the likeness of the human mind.’ What a quaint superstition!” The laughter sounded as if it had been recorded from somewhere else, distorted freakishly, and then played back. “I look forward to our encounter.”
The escort robots brought them into an enormous structure with shimmering walls, curved arches, and enclosed parklike spaces. A spectacular lava fountain spouted plumes of hot, scarlet liquid into a tempered basin.
In the middle of the great cathedral hall, an elderly man and woman awaited them, dressed in loose, comfortable garments. Dwarfed by the enclosure, they certainly did not look menacing.
Paul decided not to wait for their captors to play control games. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”
“I want to help the universe.” The old man stepped down the polished stone stairs. “We are in the endgame of Kralizec, a watershed that will change the universe forever. Everything that came before will end, and everything that comes in the future will be under my guidance.”
The old woman explained. “Consider all the chaos that has existed over the millennia of your human civilization. Such messy creatures you are! We thinking machines could have done a much neater, more efficient job. We have learned of your God Emperor Leto II, and the Scattering, and the Famine Times.”
“At least he enforced peace for thirty-five hundred years,” the old man added. “He had the right idea.”
“My grandson,” Jessica said. “They called him Tyrant because of the difficult decisions he made. But even he did not do as much damage as your thinking machines did during the Butlerian Jihad.”
“You cast blame too loosely. Did we cause the damage and destruction, or did humans like Serena Butler? That is a matter for debate.” Abruptly the old woman cast off her disguise, like a reptile shedding its dry skin. The robot’s flowmetal face—male now—displayed a wide smile. “From the beginning, machines and humans have been at odds, but only we are able to observe the long span of history, and only we can understand what must be done and find a logical way to achieve it. Is that not a valid analysis of your legendary Kralizec?”
“Only an interpretation,” Jessica said.
“The correct one, though. Right now we are involved in the necessary business of uprooting weeds in a garden—an apt metaphor. The weeds themselves do not appreciate it, and the dirt may be disturbed for some time, but in the end the garden is vastly improved. Machines and humans are but manifestations of a long-standing conflict that your ancient philosophers recorded, the battle between heart and mind.”
Omnius retained his old man form, since he had no other familiar physical manifestation. “Back in the Old Empire, many of your people are trying to make their last stands against us. It is futile, for my Face Dancers have ensured that your weapons will not work. Even your navigation machines are under my control. Already my fleet approaches Chapterhouse.”
“Our ship has had no contact with either the Guild or Chapterhouse since before I was born,” Paul said in a dismissive tone. He pointed to Chani, Jessica, and Yueh, all of those gholas born on the ship in flight. “None of us has ever been in the Old Empire.”
“Then allow me to show you.” With a wave of his hand, the old man displayed a complex holo-image of stars, indicating how far his immense fleet had progressed. Paul was stunned by the scope of the conquest and devastation; he didn’t think the evermind would exaggerate what the machines had done. Omnius didn’t need to. Hundreds of planets had already been destroyed or enslaved.
In a soothing voice, Erasmus said, “Fortunately, the war will soon be over.”
The old man approached Paul. “And now that I have you, there is no question of the outcome. The mathematical projection states that the Kwisatz Haderach will change the battle at the end of the universe. Since I control you and the other one, we will now finish this conflict.”
Erasmus stepped forward to inspect Paul, like a scientist examining a valuable specimen. His optic threads glittered. “We know you have the potential within your genes. The challenge lies in determining which Paul Atreides will be the better Kwisatz Haderach.”
Optimism may be the greatest weapon humanity possesses. Without it, we would never attempt the impossible, which—against all odds—occasionally succeeds.
—MOTHER COMMANDER MURBELLA,
speech to the gathered Sisterhood
Without Obliterators or navigation control, the human warships lay like white-bellied victims on sacrificial altars, all across the last-stand line they had drawn.
Aboard her flagship, Mother Commander Murbella shouted orders, while Guild Administrator Gorus demanded miracles from his underlings. Watching the screens on the navigation bridge, Murbella saw thinking-machine battleships cruise past the Sisterhood’s pitiful vessels on their way to destroy Chapterhouse. Similar non-battles must be occurring at the hundred flashpoints across the front lines, key human-inhabited systems now completely vulnerable to the coup de grace. The gamble had failed, utterly.
Weighing heavily on Murbella’s mind was her responsibility to humanity, the rest of the Sisterhood . . . and her long-lost Duncan. Was he still alive, and did he even remember her? It had been almost twenty-five years. Murbella had to do this—for him, for herself, or for all those who had survived thus far in the epic war.
Without letting instinctive Honored Matre rage control her actions, Murbella whirled toward Gorus. She grabbed the front of the Administrator’s loose robe and shook him so that his pale braid whipped his face. “What other weapons do your Guildships have?”
“A few projectiles, Mother Commander. Energy weapons. Standard offensive artillery—but that would be suicide! Only the Obliterators could have made it possible for our ships to deal a mortal blow against the Enemy!”
In disgust, she cast him away, so that he stumbled backward and fell to the deck. “This is already a suicide mission! How dare you cringe now, when we have no alternative?”
“But . . . but, Mother Commander—it would waste our fleet, our lives!”
“Obviously, heroism is not your strong suit.” She turned to a meek-looking Guildsman and used the power of Bene Gesserit Voice on him for good measure. “Prepare to launch our Obliterators. Blanket space with them. Maybe the saboteurs missed a few.”
The Guildsman operated his weapons controls, barely bothering to choose targets. He launched ten more Obliterators, then another ten. None exploded, and the machine ships kept coming.
Her voice low, Murbella said, “Now fire all the standard projectiles we have. And once we deplete our conventional armaments, we’ll use our ships as battering rams. Whatever we have.”
“But why, Mother Commander?” Gorus said. “We should fall back and regroup. Plan some other way to fight. We must at least survive!”
“If we don’t win today, we don’t survive anyway. We may be outnumbered, but we can still wipe out part of the thinking-machine fleet. I will not simply abandon Chapterhouse!”
Gorus scrambled back to his feet. “To what purpose, Mother Commander? The machines can just replace themselves.”
As they spoke, mo
re Obliterators filled space. So far, all had turned out to be duds.
“The purpose is to show them we can still fight. It is what makes us human, what gives us significance. History shall not record that we abandoned Chapterhouse and tried to hide from the final confrontation between humanity and the thinking machines.”
“History? Who will be left to record history?”
Within three minutes of each other, six small foldspace craft raced into the battle zone over Chapterhouse, reporting from the other clusters of ships. They transmitted urgent messages and demanded new orders from the Mother Commander. “Our Obliterators don’t function!”
“All navigation systems have shut down.”
“How do we fight them now, Mother Commander?”
She answered in a strong, steady tone. “We fight with everything we have.”
Just then, a fabulously bright flash blew across at least fifty of the Enemy vessels, vaporizing them in an expanding arc that sent a shudder through the decks of the more distant Guild vessels. Murbella gasped, then laughed. “See! One of the Obliterators still worked! Fire the rest of them.”
To her astonishment, space around them suddenly shimmered, cracked, and disgorged hundreds of giant ships. Not human defender vessels.
At first Murbella thought that the Enemy machines had sent yet another devastating fleet, but she quickly identified the cartouche on the curved hulls. Guild Heighliners! They spilled out of foldspace from every direction, surrounding the first massive wave of thinking-machine vessels.
“Administrator, why did you hold out on us?” Murbella’s voice was brittle. “There must be a thousand ships here!”
Gorus seemed just as astonished as she was.
A female voice thrummed across the commlines that linked Murbella’s defenders. “I am the Oracle of Time, and I bring reinforcements. Mathematical compilers corrupted many Guild vessels, but my Navigators control these Heighliners.”
“Navigators?” The white-haired Administrator gasped in consternation. “We thought they were all dead, starved for spice.”
The Oracle spoke in a powerful, lilting tone. “And my ships—unlike those made by the traitorous fabricators of Ix—command full armaments. Our Obliterators work as designed. We took them from old Honored Matre ships and hid them away for our own defenses. We intend to use them now.”
Murbella’s face flushed. She had suspected the rebel Honored Matres had possessed many more Obliterators than were found. So, the Navigators had been hiding them all along!
The Omnius invasion fleet shifted position in response to the Navigator reinforcements, but the machines could not comprehend the magnitude of the astonishing opponent they now faced. They did not react in time as the Oracle’s Heighliners spewed out dazzling sunbursts in a flurry of explosions like miniature supernovas. Each incinerating burst of light vaporized entire clusters of the overly complacent Enemy vessels.
Although the machine forces scrambled to defend themselves, their response was ineffective, as if their control functions had been disconnected. The evermind had modeled his plan repeatedly, setting up contingency options for likely turns of events. But Omnius had not foreseen this.
“Thinking machines have long been my sworn enemies,” the Oracle said in her ethereal voice.
While Murbella looked on with great satisfaction, precisely targeted Obliterators wiped out countless Enemy ships. If only the Honored Matres had simply turned their stolen weapons against the thinking machines when they’d had the chance, long ago! But those women had never stood together against a common foe. Instead, they hoarded their stolen weapons and used the destructive power against each other, against rival planets. What a waste!
The overlapping detonations, each strong enough to scorch a planet, struck the front line of machine ships. A dozen Heighliners raced deeper into the Chapterhouse system to chase Enemy vessels that had already reached planetary orbit.
“We will do what we can at your other front-line planets,” the Oracle said. “Today we hurt the Enemy.”
Almost before she could absorb what was happening around her, Murbella saw that the initial wave of thinking-machine forces had been reduced to nothing more than scattered debris. As far as she could tell, the Enemy battleships never got the chance to launch a single shot against the defenders of humanity.
Some of the Heighliners winked out, folding space to go to the other crippled last-stand defenders. There, they would deliver their Obliterators and speed off to further encounters with the Enemy. All across the front lines, at every flashpoint where Murbella had placed her groups of fighters, the Oracle’s Navigators struck, and vanished again. . . .
Murbella snapped to Administrator Gorus. “Get me a comchannel! How do we talk to your Oracle of Time?”
Gorus was stunned by the events around him. “One does not request an audience with the Oracle. No living person has ever initiated contact with her.”
“She just saved our lives! Let me talk with her.”
With a skeptical expression, the Administrator made a gesture toward another Guildsman. “We can try, but I promise nothing.”
The gray-robed man fiddled with the commline until Murbella shouldered him aside. “Oracle of Time—whoever you are! Let us join forces to eradicate the thinking machines.”
A long silence was Murbella’s only response, not even static, and her heart sank. Gorus gave her a superior look, as if he had known to expect this all along. Murbella saw a second wave of thinking-machine ships race in, now that the initial attack had been thwarted. And these would not tauntingly hold their fire. “More machines are coming—”
“For now, I must move on.” As the Oracle spoke, Heighliners began to disappear like soap bubbles popping. “My main battle is on Synchrony.”
“Wait!” Murbella cried. “We need you!”
“We are needed elsewhere. Kralizec will not be consummated here. At long last, I have found the no-ship that carries Duncan Idaho, and the secret location of Omnius. I must now go there to end this by destroying the evermind. Forever.”
Murbella reeled as the unexpected information hit her. The no-ship found? Duncan was alive!
Within moments the last of the Heighliners vanished into foldspace, leaving the Mother Commander and her ships alone to face the next wave. The thinking machines kept coming.
We have our own goals and ambitions, for good or ill. But our true destiny is decided by forces over which we have no control.
—“The Atreides Manifesto,”
first draft (section deleted by Bene Gesserit committee)
A door in the machines’ grand cathedral flowed open like a waterfall of metal, parting to reveal two figures that stepped forward in tandem.
It had been hours since Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had murdered Alia, yet his wide lips still struggled to contain his satisfaction. His spider-black eyes glinted. Dr. Yueh glared at the Baron, his personal bête noïre.
Paul did not need ghola memories to recognize the Baron’s companion—a lean young man, barely more than a boy, but whipcord strong with muscles tuned from constant training. The eyes were harder, the features sharper, but Paul knew the face that stared back at him from the mirror.
Beside him Chani gave a strangled cry, but the sound changed to a growl in her throat. She recognized the younger Paul, and also saw the terrible difference.
A cold sense of inexorability froze Paul’s blood as everything became clear. His prescient vision in the flesh! So, the thinking machines had grown another ghola of Paul Atreides to be their pawn, a second potential Kwisatz Haderach for their private use. Now he understood the recurring dreams of his own face laughing triumphantly, consuming spice, the peculiar image of himself stabbed and dying, bleeding out his life’s blood on a strange floor. Just like the one on which he stood now, in this vaulted chamber.
It will be one of us. . . .
“It seems we have an abundance of Atreides.” The Baron ushered his protégé forward, his hand clamped on the
young man’s shoulder. Almost apologetically, as if the wary audience cared, he said, “We call this one Paolo.”
Paolo pulled away from him. “Before long you will call me Emperor, or Kwisatz Haderach—whichever term grants me the highest respect.” Looking on, the old man and Erasmus seemed to find the whole tableau amusing.
Paul wondered how many times he had been trapped by fate, by terrible purpose. How often and in how many circumstances had he seen himself dead from a knife thrust? Now he cursed the fact that he would face this crisis as a shell of his former self, not armed with the memories and skills of his past.
Unto myself, I must be sufficient.
Snickering, the younger boy walked to where his counterpart stood stiffly at attention. Paul looked back at his mirror image without fear. Despite the age difference, they were approximately the same height, and as Paul looked into his doppelganger’s eyes, he knew he must not underestimate this “Paolo.” The youth was a weapon as sure and deadly as the crysknife at Paul’s waist.
Jessica and Chani moved protectively close to Paul, ready to strike. His mother, with her memories restored, was a full Reverend Mother. Chani, though she did not yet have her past life, had shown considerable fighting skills in earlier practice sessions, as if she still felt Fremen blood in her veins.
Paolo’s brow furrowed, his expression flickering for just a moment. Then he sneered at Jessica. “Are you supposed to be my mother? The Lady Jessica! Well, you may be older than I am—but that doesn’t make you a real mother.”
Jessica gave him a brief, shrewd appraisal. “I know my family, regardless of the order in which they were reborn. And you are not one of them.”
Paolo crossed the chamber floor toward Chani, leering with exaggerated hauteur. “And you . . . I know you, too. You were supposed to be the great love of my life, a Fremen girl so insignificant that history recorded little of her youth. Daughter of Liet-Kynes, weren’t you? A complete nobody until you became the consort of the great Muad’Dib.”
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