The Butlerian Jihad

by Brian Herbert

  Agamemnon knew precisely which parts of Juno’s brain to pulse in order to activate pleasure centers, and how long to maintain the stimulation. She responded in kind, bringing forth his stored memories of human lovemaking and then amplifying the remembered sensations, stunning him with new heights of euphoria. He struck back with a bolt of his own, causing her brain to quiver.

  Through it all, the information-gathering watcheyes of Omnius observed intently, like a mechanized voyeur. Even in a time such as this, Agamemnon and Juno were never alone.

  She pleasured him twice more, making his mind throb; he wanted her to stop so that he could rest, but also longed for her to continue. Agamemnon reciprocated, causing a thin, vibrating sound to pulse from the speakers attached to the canisters, an eerie warbling music that symbolized their merging orgasms. He could barely think through the haze of delight.

  But his brooding anger continued in the background. Though Omnius allowed him and Juno to have their ecstasy as often as they wished, Agamemnon would have derived even greater pleasure if they could permanently escape the domination of the damned thinking machines.

  I fear that Norma will never amount to anything. How does that reflect on me and my own legacy to humanity?

  —ZUFA CENVA

  During the tedious month-long journey across space to visit her daughter on Poritrin, Zufa Cenva had plenty of time to ponder what she would say when she arrived. She would rather have been spending so many days and weeks elsewhere on her more important work. The loss of dear Heoma weighed like a hot stone inside her chest. Ever since the first devastating attack against the cymeks on Giedi Prime, Zufa had been planning further strikes with her other Sorceress weapons.

  While most members of the League gave credit to Savant Holtzman for the portable scrambler projectors, she had heard whispers that Norma herself may have inspired the design. Could her oddball daughter have done something so remarkable? Not as great as a psychic storm obliterating cymeks, but still respectable. Perhaps I have been blind after all. Zufa had never wanted Norma to fail, but had given up hope by now. Maybe things could change in their relationship. Should I embrace her? Does she deserve my support and encouragement, or will she make me ashamed of her?

  These were uncertain times.

  As Zufa stepped off the transport in Starda, she encountered a delegation waiting to greet her, complete with ornately garbed Dragoon guards, their gold-scale armor immaculate. Ruddy-faced Lord Niko Bludd himself led the group, his beard intricately curled, his clothes perfumed and colorful.

  “Poritrin is honored by the visit of a Sorceress!” The noble stepped forward on the mosaic tile floor. Bludd wore a dashing ceremonial costume with broad carmine lapels, frilly white cuffs, and golden shoes. A ceremonial sword hung at his waist, though he had probably never used a blade for anything more dangerous than cutting cheese.

  She’d never had any use for frippery when there was work to be done, and Bludd’s arrival surprised her. She had hoped to conclude her business with Norma unobtrusively and then quickly return to Rossak. She and her dedicated psychic warriors must prepare another mental strike against the cymeks.

  “The shuttle captain transmitted a message that you were coming, Madame Cenva,” Bludd said, as he guided her through the terminal. “We barely had time to put together a reception for you. You are here to see your daughter, I presume?” Niko Bludd grinned above his curled reddish beard. “We are very proud of how much she is helping Savant Holtzman. He considers her quite indispensible.”

  “Indeed?” Zufa tried to control her skeptical frown.

  “We invited Norma to join us today, but she is deeply engrossed in important work for Savant Holtzman. She seemed to think that you would understand why she could not meet you herself.”

  Zufa felt as if she had been slapped. “I have been en route for a month. If I can make the time, then a mere…lab assistant can arrange to pick me up.”

  Outside the spaceport, a chauffeur guided her to a lavish airbarge, and the Dragoon guards took their places at the rails. “We will transport you directly to Holtzman’s laboratories.” When Bludd seated himself beside her, she wrinkled her nose at his strong body perfumes. He extended a small package to her, which she didn’t want.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Zufa sat rigidly in the comfortable seat as the aircraft proceeded away from the spaceport. Removing the package’s silver wrapping paper, Zufa found a bottle of river water and an exquisitely woven Poritrin towel.

  Despite her lack of interest, the flamboyant noble insisted on explaining. “It is traditional for honored guests to wash their hands in the water of the Isana and dry themselves on our fine linen.”

  She made no move to use the gifts. Beneath the flying barge, water vessels traveled downriver toward the sprawling delta city, where grains, metals, and manufactured supplies were distributed to Poritrin suppliers. In the brown mudflats, hundreds of slaves worked in the muck to plant paddies of shellfish. The sight made her feel even more unsettled than she already was.

  “The residence of Savant Holtzman is just ahead,” Bludd said, pointing to a high bluff. “I am sure your daughter will be pleased to see you.”

  Has she ever been pleased to see me? Zufa wondered. She tried to calm herself with mental exercises, but anxiety intruded.

  With a sweep of her long black dress, she stepped away from the ostentatious airbarge as soon as it set down on Holtzman’s landing deck. “Lord Bludd, I have private business to discuss with my daughter. I’m sure you understand.” Without further farewell, Zufa marched alone up the broad patio steps to the mansion, leaving a befuddled Bludd behind her. She waved her long arms, shooing him away.

  Her telepathic senses attuned, Zufa entered the dwelling as if she belonged there. Holtzman’s vestibule was cluttered with disarrayed boxes, books, and instruments. Either the household staff did not do their work, or the inventor had forbidden them to “organize” too much.

  Picking a path through the obstacles, Zufa strode into a long hallway, then searched rooms and demanded information from anyone she met until she found her daughter. Finally, the tall and intimidating Sorceress entered an auxiliary laboratory building, where she saw a high stool at an angled lightstrip table that held blueprint films. No sign of Norma.

  She noticed an open door that led out to a balcony, then saw a shadow, heard something move. Gliding to the balcony, Zufa was shocked to see her daughter perched on top of the railing. Norma gripped a red plaz container in her small hands.

  “What are you doing?” Zufa asked. “Get down from there immediately!”

  Startled, Norma glanced at her looming mother, then clasped the object tightly and leaped off the railing out into the open air.

  “No!” Zufa shouted. But it was too late.

  Rushing to the edge, the Sorceress saw to her horror that the balcony jutted out over a high bluff that dropped to the river, far below. The small-statured young woman tumbled through the air, falling.

  Suddenly, Norma paused in midair and spun in a peculiar fashion. She called, “See for yourself, it works! You arrived just in time!” Then, like a feather on the wind, the girl drifted upward. The red device lifted her back toward the balcony, like an invisible hand.

  Norma reached the level of the railing, and her angry mother yanked her back onto the balcony. “Why would you try something so dangerous? Doesn’t Savant Holtzman prefer you to employ helpers for this sort of test?”

  Norma frowned. “They have slaves here, not helpers. Besides, it is my own invention, and I wanted to do it myself. I knew it would work.”

  Zufa did not want to argue. “You came all the way to Poritrin and used the League’s best engineering laboratories to design some sort of…flying toy?”

  “Hardly, Mother.” Norma opened the lid of the red plaz unit and adjusted electronics inside. “It is a variation on Savant Holtzman’s theories, a repelling, or suspensor field. I expect him to be delighted by it.”

  “Oh, I am, I am!”
The scientist appeared suddenly and stood behind Zufa. He quickly introduced himself, then looked at Norma’s new gadget. “I’ll show it to Lord Bludd and see what he thinks of the commercial possibilities. I’m sure he’ll want a patent in his own name.”

  Zufa looked on, still recovering from the shock of Norma’s “fall,” trying to see practical applications of her daughter’s invention. Could such a thing be modified to carry troops or heavy objects? She doubted it.

  Norma set down the red-plaz generator and crossed the room with her awkward, waddling gait. She climbed her high stool to reach the blueprint films on the slanted light table, where she sifted through pages. “I’ve figured out how this principle can also be used on illumination devices. The suspensor field can float lights and power them with residual energy. I have all the calculations…somewhere.”

  “Floating lights?” Zufa said, in scornful tone. “For what, a picnic? Tens of thousands died in the cymek attack on Zimia, millions were enslaved on Giedi Prime, and you live in secluded comfort—making floating lights?”

  Norma gave her mother a condescending look, as if Zufa was the foolish one. “Think beyond the obvious, Mother. A war needs more than just weapons. Robots can alter their optic sensors to see in the dark, but humans must have light to see. Hundreds of these suspensor lights could be dispersed in a nighttime combat zone, negating any advantage the machines might have. Savant Holtzman and I think along those lines every day.”

  The scientist nodded, quick to concur with her. “Or, for commercial uses, they could be designed in a number of styles, even tuned to any color or shade.”

  Norma sat on her stool like a gnome perched on a throne. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m sure Lord Bludd will be most pleased.”

  Zufa frowned. There were more important issues at stake in this war than pleasing a foppish nobleman. Impatient, she said, “I came a great distance to see you.”

  Norma raised her eyebrows skeptically. “If you had bothered to see me before I departed from Rossak, Mother, you wouldn’t have needed to make such a long voyage to soothe your guilt. But you were too busy to notice.”

  Uneasy in the midst of a family argument, Tio Holtzman excused himself. The combatants hardly noticed his departure.

  Zufa had not intended to pick a fight, but now she felt defensive. “My Sorceresses have proved their abilities in battle. We can exert tremendous power with our minds to eradicate the cymeks. A number of candidates are preparing themselves to offer the ultimate sacrifice if we are called upon to free another machine-dominated world.” Her pale eyes flashed, and she shook her head. “But you don’t worry about that, do you, Norma—since you have no telepathic abilities.”

  “I have other skills, Mother. I am making a valuable contribution, too.”

  “Yes, your incomprehensible equations.” Zufa nodded toward the suspensor field generator on the floor. “Your life is not at stake. Safe and pampered, you spend your days playing with these toys. You have let yourself be blinded by imaginary success.” But her daughter wasn’t the only one. Many people lived in comfort and security while Zufa and her Sorceresses performed dangerous tasks. How could Norma compare her work to that? “When you heard I was coming, Norma, could you not have found time to meet me at the spaceport?”

  Norma’s tone was deceptively mild as she crossed her arms over her small chest. “I did not ask you to come here, Mother, because I know you have many important things to do. And I have more urgent duties than ferrying unexpected guests around. Besides, I knew Lord Bludd was going to meet you.”

  “Are League nobles your errand boys now?” Now that she had opened the floodgates of her anger, Zufa couldn’t stop the words that came next. “I only wanted you to make me proud, Norma, despite your deformities. But nothing you do will ever amount to anything. Living here in luxury, what sacrifices do you make? Your vision is too small to be of any real use to humanity.”

  Previously, Norma would have crumbled under such an onslaught, her confidence crushed. But her work here with Holtzman, her obvious successes in the technical arena, had given her a new view of herself. Now she looked coolly at her mother. “Just because I don’t fit the image of what you wanted me to be doesn’t mean I’m not contributing something essential. Savant Holtzman sees it, and so does Aurelius. You’re my own mother—why can’t you?”

  With a snort at the mention of Venport’s name, Zufa began pacing. “Aurelius is just a man with hallucinations from the drugs he takes.”

  “I had forgotten how narrow-minded you truly are, Mother,” Norma said in a level tone. “Thank you for coming all this way to refresh my memory.” The girl turned on her stool and resumed her plans and equations. “I am tempted to summon one of the slaves to escort you out, but I wouldn’t want to remove them from their more important work.”

  FURIOUS AT HERSELF and her daughter—and at the wasted time—Zufa returned to the spaceport. She would stay on Poritrin no longer. To get her mind off her concerns, she concentrated on mental exercises and thought of how her beloved trainees in the jungles were ready to give their utmost to their tasks, without personal considerations.

  Zufa waited a full day for a military transport that would take her back to Rossak. As she surrounded herself with waves of her own clairvoyant powers, she discovered a rotten weakness on Poritrin, and it had nothing to do with Norma. It was so obvious, she could not avoid it.

  All around Starda, at loading sites near the spaceport, at the warehouses and mudflats, Zufa detected the individual and collective auras of the downtrodden laborers. She sensed a collective psychological wound, a deep and simmering discontent to which the free Poritrin citizens seemed completely oblivious.

  The backwash of brooding resentment gave her one more reason to want to get away from this place.

  Intuition is a function by which humans see around corners. It is useful for persons who live exposed to dangerous natural conditions.

  —ERASMUS

  Erasmus Dialogues

  Raised as the daughter of the League Viceroy, Serena Butler was accustomed to working hard to serve humanity, looking toward a bright future even against the backdrop of constant war. She had never imagined laboring as a slave inside the household of an enemy robot.

  From her first glance at Erasmus in the broad entry plaza of the villa, Serena disliked him intensely. Conversely, the thinking machine was intrigued by her. She suspected that his interest was probably a dangerous thing.

  He chose to wear fine clothes, loose robes and fluffy, ornate furs that made his robot body look absurd. His mirrored face made him appear alien, and his demeanor made her flesh crawl. His relentless curiosity about mankind seemed perverse and unnatural. When he strutted across the plaza toward Serena, his pliable metal mask shifted into a delighted grin.

  “You are Serena Butler,” he said. “Have you been informed that Giedi Prime was recaptured by the feral humans? Such a disappointment. Why are humans willing to sacrifice so much to maintain their inefficient chaos?”

  Serena’s heart lifted at news of the liberation, in part because of her own efforts. Xavier had brought the Armada after all, and Brigit Paterson’s engineers must have succeeded in activating the secondary shield transmitters. Serena, however, remained enslaved—and pregnant with Xavier’s child. No one even knew where she was or what had happened to her. Xavier and her father must be insane with grief, convinced that the machines had killed her.

  “Perhaps it’s not surprising that you don’t comprehend or value the human concept of freedom,” she replied. “For all your convoluted gelcircuitry, you’re still just a machine. The understanding wasn’t programmed into you.”

  Her eyes stung at the thought of how much more she wanted to achieve to help other people. On Salusa, she had never taken her family’s wealth for granted, feeling a need to earn the blessings bestowed upon her.

  She asked, “So, are you inquisitive, or inquisitor?”

  “Perhaps both.” The robot leaned clo
se to examine her, noting the proud lift of her chin. “I expect you to offer me many insights.” He touched her cheek with a cool, flexible finger. “Lovely skin.”

  She forced herself not to pull away. Resistance must count for something more than a captive’s pride, her mother had once told her. If Serena struggled, Erasmus could hold her with his powerful robotic grasp, or summon mechanized torturing devices. “My skin is no more lovely than yours,” she said, “except mine is not synthetic. My skin was designed by nature, not by the mind of a machine.”

  The robot chuckled, a tinny cachination. “You see, I expect to learn much from you.” He led her into his lush greenhouses, which she observed with reluctant delight.

  At the age of ten she had become fascinated with gardening, and had delivered plants, herbs, and sweet exotic fruits to medical centers, refugee complexes, and veteran homes, where she also volunteered her services. Around Zimia, Serena had been renowned for her ability to cultivate beautiful flowers. Under her loving attention, exquisite little Immian roses bloomed, as did Poritrin hibiscus and even the delicate morning violets of distant Kaitain.

  “I will have you tend my prized plaza gardens,” Erasmus said.

  “Why can’t machines perform such tasks? I’m sure they’d be much more efficient—or do you just revel in making your ‘creators’ do the work?”

  “Do you not feel up to the task?”

  “I will do as you command—for the sake of the plants.” Pointedly ignoring him, she touched a strangely shaped red and orange flower. “This looks like a bird of paradise, a pure strain from an ancient stock. According to legend, these plants were favored by the sea kings of Old Earth.” With a look of defiance, Serena turned back to the robot. “There, now I have taught you something.”

  Erasmus chuckled again, as if replaying a recording. “Excellent. Now tell me what you were truly thinking.”