“Descent approach in progress,” the battleship’s robot mind had reported, transmitting images to the waiting fighters. Ahead, thirty decoy vessels shot downward, also hoping to strike the target but designed to be targets for the ground-based missile defenses. The plan relied on brute force and overwhelming numbers, not finesse. Nevertheless, it would be effective.
With its engines at full speed, the sacrificial vessel had accelerated white-hot into Giedi Prime’s atmosphere, faster than any ground-based human missile defenses could target and respond. The other cruisers approached the invisible scrambler shield. Already, gray-white blossoms of smoke and explosions marked where the ground-launched missiles had found targets. The numbers dwindled, as did the distance. The humans could never stop all the invaders.
The doomed robot ship sent final images back to the watcheyes so Omnius would have a complete record of the conquest of Giedi Prime. Every nanosecond— until it passed through the scrambler net, which effectively erased the AI guidance brain. The transmissions became static, then an empty carrier wave.
Still, the juggernaut had continued to descend. Even with its gelcircuitry brain neutralized, the plummeting cruiser fell like an asteroidsized hammer.
Kindjal fighter craft directly engaged the last explosive-laden vessel, but the inbound ship was too big and too hot to be swerved. The defenders’ shots amounted to little more than pellets.
The giant dead vessel slammed into the field transmitters on the outskirts of Giedi City. A crater half a kilometer wide flashed into steam; the transmitters, the overwhelmed defenses, and the surrounding inhabited areas all vanished.
Shockwaves had toppled buildings for kilometers around and shattered windows. Holtzman’s scrambler shields were neutralized in the blink of an eye, and the Giedi Home Guard was crippled.
After that, the cymeks and robots had come down in full force.
• • •
“BARBAROSSA, MY FRIEND, shall we make our grand entrance?” Agamemnon said, arriving at the residence of the Magnus.
“Just like when we followed Tlaloc into the halls of the Old Empire,” his fellow Titan agreed. “It has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a victory so much.”
They led enthusiastic neo-cymeks easily through the reeling metropolis. The stunned human inhabitants could not even put up a fight. Behind the cymek conquerors marched robotic troops to help secure the territory.
Although part of Giedi Prime’s population might flee underground and hide, the citizenry would break, given time. It might take years to root out the last cells of feral resistance. No doubt the conquering machines would endure decades of guerrilla strikes by misguided vigilantes, survivors of the Giedi Home Guard who thought a few gnat-bites would make the invaders pack up and go away. Resistance groups would be a futile exercise, but he had no doubt the locals would try some such foolishness.
Agamemnon wondered if he should bring in Ajax to complete the cleanup. The brutal cymek warlord particularly enjoyed hunting humans, as he had proved so effectively during the Hrethgir Rebellions on Walgis. As soon as they installed a copy of the evermind in the ashes of Giedi City, Agamemnon would make appropriate recommendations to the new incarnation of Omnius.
Agamemnon and Barbarossa smashed open the front of the governor’s residence, clearing an area wide enough for their reinforced bodies. In their wake, soldier robots, much smaller than the cymeks’ warrior-forms, flooded into the building. Within moments, the robots brought blond-haired Magnus Sumi before the two Titans.
“We claim your planet in the name of Omnius,” Barbarossa declared. “Giedi Prime is now a Synchronized World. We require your cooperation to consolidate our victory.”
Magnus Sumi, trembling with fear, nevertheless spat on the broken floor where the weight of the cymek warrior-forms had crushed his carefully laid tiles.
“Bow to us,” Barbarossa said.
The Magnus laughed. “You’re mad. I would never—”
Agamemnon swung one of his sleek metal arms sideways. He had not fully tested this new body and was not aware of the magnitude of his strength. He had meant to strike the governor in the face, an instinctive angry slap. Instead, the arm delivered a blow so forceful that it ripped the man’s torso in half. The two parts of his body thudded against the far wall in a splatter of gore.
“Oh, well. My demand was a mere formality anyway.” Agamemnon turned optic threads toward his comrade. “Begin your work, Barbarossa. These robots will assist.”
The Titan programming genius began dismantling the household systems in the governor’s residence and setting up power conduits and machinery. He added linkages and installed a blank, resilient gelsphere mainframe into which he uploaded the newest version of Omnius’s mind.
The process took several hours, during which the thinking machine invasion force moved through the city, putting out fires and shoring up damaged industrial buildings that Agamemnon considered important for the planet’s continued utility.
The habitation complexes of the surviving humans, though, were left to burn. The suffering people could fend for themselves. Misery would help them understand the hopelessness of their position.
Floating overhead, the annoying watcheyes recorded everything. At least it was a victory this time. Agamemnon revealed no sign of his impatience or displeasure, knowing that resistance against the computer evermind would be fruitless. For now. Instead, he must select the proper place and time.
Once installed and activated, the new incarnation of Omnius would show no appreciation toward the two seemingly loyal Titans for their victory, nor would the evermind begrudge the loss of his machine juggernaut. It was a military operation well executed, and the Synchronized Worlds had now added one of humanity’s jewels to its empire. A psychological and strategic success.
When the immense download was finally complete, Agamemnon activated the new copy of the distributed evermind. Systems surged alive, and the omniscient computer began to survey its new domain.
“Welcome, Lord Omnius,” Agamemnon said to the wallspeakers. “I present to you the gift of another world.”
We are happiest when planning our futures, letting our optimism and imagination run unrestrained. Unfortunately, the universe does not always heed such plans.
— ABBESS LIVIA BUTLER,
private journals
Although their marriage was a foregone conclusion, Serena and Xavier happily endured the extravagant betrothal banquet thrown by Viceroy Manion Butler at his hilltop estate.
Emil and Lucille Tantor had brought baskets of apples and pears from their orchards and huge jars of herbed olive oil for dipping the fresh-baked engagement rolls. Manion Butler served up exquisite roasts of beef, spice-crusted fowl, and stuffed fishes. Serena provided colorful flowers from her extensive gardens, which she had faithfully tended since she was a child.
Famous Salusan performers tied ribbons on shrubs in the courtyard, and presented folk dances there. The women secured their dark hair with jeweled combs and wore white dresses adorned with embroidered patterns. The flowing skirts flew like whirlwinds about their waists, while dapper gentlemen strutted around them like peacocks in a mating challenge. Brassy music offset by soulful balisets drifted through the afternoon.
Xavier and Serena wore impressive outfits befitting a proud military officer and the talented daughter of the League Viceroy. They strolled among the assembled guests, careful to address each family representative by name. The couple sampled prized wines from dusty bottles brought in by the scions of every household. Xavier, who could taste none of the subtleties in the vintages, took care not to get too drunk; he was already giddy at the prospect of his upcoming marriage.
Serena’s sister Octa, two years younger, seemed equally excited. With her long chestnut hair adorned by fresh cornflowers, Octa’s eyes were wide with amazement, enchanted by her sister’s beau and fantasizing about a handsome young officer who might be her own husband one day.
Amazingly, Serena’s recl
usive mother Livia came to spend the celebratory weekend at the Butler manor. Manion’s wife rarely left the City of Introspection, a retreat where she kept herself from the cares and nightmares of the world. The enlightened philosophical preserve, owned by a Butler trust, had originally been established to study and ponder the Zen Hekiganshu of III Delta Pavonis, the Tawrah and Talmudic Zabur, even the Obeah Ritual. But under Butler patronage, the City had gradually blossomed into something the likes of which had not been seen for millennia.
Xavier had not seen Serena’s mother often, especially in recent years. With her tanned skin and lean features, Livia Butler was a handsome beauty. She rejoiced in the betrothal of her daughter and seemed to enjoy herself as she danced with her jovial husband or sat beside him at the banquet table. She looked not at all like a woman who had fled from the world.
Years ago, Livia and Manion’s strong marriage had been envied by many noble families. Serena was their eldest child, but they also had twins two years younger: the calm and shy Octa and a sensitive, intelligent boy, Fredo. While Serena underwent political schooling, the twins were raised as close companions, though neither had the far-ranging aspirations of their older sister.
Fredo had been fascinated by musical instruments and folk songs, traditions from the grandest planets of the former Empire. He learned to be a musician and poet, while Octa was intrigued with painting and sculpture. In Salusan society, artisans and creative people were highly respected, as admirable as any politician.
But at the age of fourteen, honey-voiced Fredo died of a wasting disease, his skin splotched with purplish discolorations. For months, he’d grown thinner and thinner, his muscles atrophying. His blood would not clot, and he could not keep even the thinnest of broths in his stomach. The Salusan doctors had never seen anything like it. Frantic, Viceroy Butler begged the League for help.
The men of Rossak offered a number of experimental drugs from their fungoid jungles to treat Fredo’s undiagnosed malady. Livia insisted on trying everything. Unfortunately, the young man reacted poorly to the third Rossak drug, an allergic response that caused his throat to swell. Fredo went into convulsions and stopped breathing.
Octa had mourned the loss of her brother and came to fear for her own life as well. Fredo’s disease was eventually determined to be genetically based, meaning that she and her older sister were at risk of contracting the fatal malady themselves. Octa took care with her health and lived each day dreading that her life would come to a slow, painful end like that of her brother.
Fiercely confident and optimistic, Serena always tried to console her sister, giving her a shoulder to cry on, offering encouragement. Though neither sister had shown signs of the strange disease, Octa’s dreams had lost all momentum, and she gave up her artwork, becoming a quieter, more pensive soul. She was a frail teenager now, hoping for a spark of wonder to bring her back to the fullness of life.
Though her husband had a brilliant political career and his importance grew with each season, formerly vivacious Livia had withdrawn from public life to her spiritual retreat, where she focused on philosophical and religious pursuits. She donated large sums to the imposing fortress to build additional meditation chambers, temples, and libraries. After devoting many sleepless nights to frank discussions with the Cogitor Kwyna, Livia became the Abbess of the facility.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, Manion Butler had immersed himself in League work, while Serena felt a heavier burden and set higher goals. Though she could do nothing to help her brother, she wanted to stop the suffering of other people whenever she could. She plunged into politics, working to stop the practice of human slavery still common on some League Worlds, and pledging herself to finding a way to overthrow the thinking machines. No one had ever accused her of lacking in vision or energy. . . .
Living separate lives now, Manion and Livia Butler remained pillars of Salusan society, proud of each other’s accomplishments— not divorced, not even emotionally separated . . . just following different paths. Xavier knew that Serena’s mother occasionally came back to spend nights with her husband and enjoy weekends with her daughters. But she always returned to the City of Introspection.
Serena’s betrothal had been important enough to bring her mother into the public eye again. After Xavier danced with his future bride four times in a row, Abbess Livia insisted on having a dance with her future son-in-law.
Later, during a long acoustic set of the Long March Ballads played by native Salusan minstrels, Xavier and Serena slipped into the manor house, leaving Livia to weep unabashedly as she watched the musicians and remembered how Fredo had wanted to become a player himself. Manion sat beside his wife, rocking her gently.
At the event in their honor, Xavier and Serena had by now experienced their fill of company and revelry, of greeting guests and sampling food and wine. They laughed at every witticism, whether subtle or crude, so as not to offend the grand families. By now, the two were desperate for just a few moments alone.
Finally they slipped away and hurried through the corridors of the manor house, past hot kitchens and musty storerooms, to a small alcove outside the Winter Sun room. In winter, slanted sunshine lit this room with bronze rainbows. The Butler family traditionally took their breakfasts here during the cold season, enjoying family conversation while they watched the rising sun. It was a place of fond memories for Serena.
She crowded with Xavier into the alcove just outside the room; glow-panels shone in the hall, but still allowed a few rich shadows. Serena pulled him close and kissed him. He placed a hand behind her neck and stroked her hair as he pulled her face close to his and kissed more deeply, hungry for her.
When they heard hurried footsteps in the hall, the lovers hid in silence, quietly chuckling at their secret rendezvous. But fresh-faced Octa easily found them. Flushed with embarrassment, Octa averted her gaze. “You must come back to the banquet hall. Father is ready to serve dessert. And an offworld messenger is coming.”
“A messenger?” Xavier suddenly sounded military and formal. “From whom?”
“He went to Zimia demanding an audience with the League Parliament, but since most of the nobles are here for the banquet, he’s on his way up the hill.”
Bending his elbows outward, Xavier offered an arm to each sister. “Let us go together so we can hear what this messenger has to say.” Forcing a lighthearted tone, he said, “After all, I haven’t eaten enough today. I could use a bowl of roast custard and a whole plateful of candied eggs.”
Octa giggled, but Serena gave him a mock stern frown. “I suppose I must resign myself to life with a fat husband.”
They entered the large hall, where the guests gathered around a long table, complimenting the array of extraordinarily beautiful desserts that looked too precious to be eaten. Manion and Livia Butler stood side by side, raising a toast to the couple.
Sipping politely from his wine, Xavier detected an undercurrent of worry in the Viceroy’s manner. Everyone pretended to be unconcerned about what news the messenger might bring, but the moment a pounding sounded on the door, all activity stopped. Manion Butler himself opened the wooden portal, gesturing for the man to enter.
He wasn’t a formal courier. His eyes were haunted and his officer’s uniform unkempt, as if he no longer cared about protocol or appearances. Xavier recognized the insignia of the Giedi Prime Home Guard. Like other League uniforms, it bore the gold sigil of free humanity on the lapel.
“I have grave news, Viceroy Butler. The fastest ships have brought me directly here.”
“What is it, young man?” Manion’s voice was filled with dread.
“Giedi Prime has fallen to the thinking machines!” The officer raised his voice against the guests’ disbelieving outcries. “The robots and cymeks found a flaw in our defenses and destroyed our scrambler-field transmitters. Much of our population has been slaughtered and the survivors enslaved. A new Omnius evermind has already been activated.”
The people in the hall wailed at
hearing of the devastating defeat. Xavier clutched Serena’s hand so tightly he feared he might hurt her. Inside, he had turned to stone, his stomach filled with a cold heaviness.
He had just been to Giedi Prime, had inspected the defenses himself. Xavier had been terribly anxious to finish his inspection tour so that he could return to Serena. Could he possibly have missed something? He squeezed his eyes shut as the questions and disbelieving comments turned to a buzz around him. Was he to blame? Had a simple mistake, a bit of impatience from a young man in love, caused an entire planet to fall?
Manion Butler placed both palms on the table to steady himself. Livia reached over to touch her husband’s shoulder, adding silent support. She closed her eyes, and her lips moved as if in prayer.
The Viceroy spoke. “Another free planet lost to the Synchronized Worlds, and one of our strongholds, too.” He straightened, took a shuddering breath. “We must call an immediate war council, summon all representatives.” With a meaningful glance at Serena, he added, “Let us also include anyone who speaks for the Unallied Planets and wishes to join us in this fight.”
Everything in the universe contains flaws, ourselves included. Even God does not attempt perfection in His creations. Only mankind has such foolish arrogance.
— COGITOR KWYNA,
City of Introspection archives
Her screams rang through the quiet cliff cities above the silvery-purple jungle. Inside her private chamber, Zufa Cenva lay sweat-streaked on a pallet. She shrieked in pain, clenching her teeth, her eyes glassy.
Alone. No one dared come near a delirious Sorceress of Rossak.
A metallic doorway curtain rattled with an invisible tele-kinetic force. Wall shelves buckled in the aftershocks of Zufa’s psychic explosions, scattering pots and keepsakes all over the floor.
Her long white hair was wild, quivering with internal energy. Her pale hands gripped the sides of the pallet like scraping claws. If any woman had come close enough to try to soothe her, Zufa would have scratched her face and mentally hurled her against the whitewashed walls.
Dune: The Butlerian Jihad Page 14