The Butlerian Jihad

by Brian Herbert

  “Given the recent debacle with his own statue, Ajax is perfectly familiar with such problems,” Juno said. “Why not let him stay behind, instead of Xerxes?”

  Ajax roared, “I will not remain here while others get the glory!”

  But Agamemnon said, “Xerxes, you will come with us. Ajax, remain here to monitor the construction with Dante. Do it for the memory of Barbarossa.”

  Both Xerxes and Ajax railed on, but Agamemnon was their leader, and he imposed the control over them that he had exerted for centuries. From her tank, the once-lovely Juno said, “Can you convince Omnius to allow this, my love?”

  “The hrethgir on Giedi Prime not only killed our friend, but also obliterated the new Omnius incarnation before it could be updated. A long time ago, when Barbarossa altered the network’s original programming, he put something of himself into the computer mind, enough for it to understand the nature of conquest. I’m betting he will feel out need for revenge as well.”

  The Titans considered this comment in silence, then Agamemnon said, “We will go to Rossak and leave it in flames.”

  In warfare there are countless factors that cannot be predicted, and which do not depend upon the quality of military command. In the heat of battle, heroes emerge, sometimes from the most unlikely of sources.

  —VORIAN ATREIDES,

  Turning Points in History

  He was a soldier, not a politician. Xavier Harkonnen knew military tactics and strategies, had planned to devote his life to service in the Salusan Militia and the League Armada. But now he had no choice but to speak before the gathered League representatives in the Hall of Parliament.

  After the bittersweet victory on Giedi Prime, some things needed to be said.

  The old Parliament building had been shored up and repaired, while the remnants of scaffolding and temporary walls marked where reconstruction had not yet been completed. Plazstone, pillars, and mural walls were still marked with cracks and obvious patchwork. Battle scars, badges of honor.

  Shortly before the young officer’s scheduled address, Viceroy Butler had stood beside his stoic wife on the floor of Parliament as they participated in a memorial service for Serena and the fallen comrades in her Giedi Prime rescue mission.

  “She died doing exactly what she demanded of herself, and of us,” the Viceroy said. “A light has gone out in our lives.”

  In the year since the cymek attack on Salusa, the people had endured many funerals and too much grief. But Serena, the fiery young representative, had always insisted that the League serve the people and help those in need.

  Beside the Viceroy, Livia Butler wore her contemplation robes from the City of Introspection. She had already watched her only son Fredo waste away from his blood disease; now her eldest daughter had been killed by the thinking machines. She had only ethereal young Octa left of her children.

  Representatives of the League Worlds remained silent and respectful, sharing in the sadness. Despite her youth, Serena Butler had made a lasting impression with her idealism and exuberance. After the formal eulogy many speakers took turns at the podium to praise her acts of generosity.

  Xavier listened to the tributes. The representatives looked at him compassionately. He thought of the life he and Serena had meant to share.

  For her sake, though, Xavier had not, and would not, shed tears openly. If the human race wept for all those who had fallen, they would be paralyzed in an unending state of grief. His lips trembled, and his vision blurred, but he forced himself to be strong. It was his duty. Although his heart grieved, Xavier’s mind turned to furious thoughts of the enemy, and of traitorous human sympathizers who fought beside the robots.

  His memory of Serena would be his constant source of strength and inspiration. Even in death, she would drive him to achievements that he never could have attained without her. He still had the black diamond necklace that projected her last message to him, her brave call to arms to help Giedi Prime. Lovely Serena would watch over him always—as she did now, when he was about to rally the resources and military might of the angry masses.

  Shaken and grim, Xavier stepped into the projection dome, followed by a sallow-skinned Viceroy Butler. Both men wore silver-and-blue robes and capes, with black headbands in honor of their fallen loved one.

  It was time for the continuing business of humanity.

  After his recent military success, he needed little introduction. “We are human beings, and have always fought for our rights and our dignity. We formed the League of Nobles so that free men could resist the Titans, and after them the thinking machines. Only by standing united have we been able to stop the headlong conquests of our enemies.” He scanned the representatives seated in the crowded hall. “But at times the League is its own worst enemy.”

  The attendees respected this hero too much to argue, and Xavier continued quickly and concisely. “While we pay lip service to our alliance, the League Worlds remain self-centered and independent. When a beleaguered planet calls for help, the League debates and agonizes for months before we decide on our response—until it is too late! We saw that on Giedi Prime. Only Serena’s folly forced us to act swiftly enough to make a difference. She knew exactly what she was doing, and paid for it with her life.”

  When a few of the representatives began to mutter, Xavier’s skin grew hot and he silenced them with a booming voice. “The League of Nobles must form a stronger coalition under streamlined leadership. To be effective against a highly organized computer evermind, we need a closely knit government of humans, better than this loose structure.” He waved his hands as he spoke.

  “As Serena Butler advocated, we must make every effort to secure the cooperation of the Unallied Planets, thus strengthening our defensive framework and adding a buffer zone to our protected territory.”

  Viceroy Butler stepped close beside him and added in a voice cracking with emotion, “That was always my daughter’s dream. Now we must make it ours.”

  Several uncertain nobles rose in respectful dissent. A lean, hard-looking woman from Kirana III said, “Bringing so many worlds together under tight rule, especially in a military guise, reminds me of the Time of Titans.”

  A small-statured nobleman from Hagal shouted, “No more empires!”

  Xavier raised his own voice. “Isn’t an empire better than extinction? While you worry about political nuances, Omnius is conquering star systems!”

  But another said, “For centuries the League of Nobles and Synchronized Worlds have held each other at bay, in an uneasy equilibrium. Omnius has never pressed beyond the boundaries of the Old Empire. We always assumed the thinking machines didn’t consider it efficient or worthwhile. Why should that change now?”

  “For whatever reason, it has changed! The thinking machines seem intent on genocide.” Xavier clenched his fists; he had not expected to argue over this, when the evidence was so obvious. “Must we cower behind our paper-thin defense and simply react whenever Omnius chooses to test us? As we did here on Salusa a year ago, as we did on Giedi Prime?”

  In a dramatic outburst, he hefted the podium and sent it crashing through one side of the dome enclosure. The front row of nobles scrambled away from the shower of broken prismatic glass. Shocked representatives yelled that Xavier’s behavior was uncalled-for; others summoned security guards to remove the distraught officer from the hall.

  Stepping through the broken enclosure, Xavier shouted without the benefit of a voice amplifier, “Good! That’s the kind of spirit I want to see! The League has been cringing for too long. I have spoken with other Armada commanders, and most of us agree: We need to change our tactics and surprise the machines. We should spend whatever money is necessary, recruit the imagination of all our scientists, and develop new weapons—weapons suitable for destroying Omnius, not just to protect us here at home. One day, I believe we must go on the offensive! It is the only way we can win this conflict.”

  Gradually, the assemblage understood that Xavier had intentionally provoked
a reaction. With a polished boot, he kicked broken debris off the stage. “Experience is our best teacher. The machines could attack Salusa again at any moment, or Poritrin, or Rossak, or Hagal, Ginaz, Kirana III, Seneca, Vertree Colony, Relicon—need I go on? None of our worlds are safe.” He raised a scolding finger. “But if we turn the tables, we can drive the aggressors back with bold, unforeseen moves.” He paused. “Do we have the nerve to do it? Can we develop the weapons to succeed? The time for complacency is past.”

  In the ensuing discussion, Zufa Cenva offered more telepathy raids against cymeks. Many more prime Sorceress candidates had already volunteered, she said. Lord Niko Bludd bragged of the continuing work of Tio Holtzman, who planned to test a new “alloy resonator” soon. Other League representatives offered suggestions, targets, ways to strengthen their position.

  Relieved and inspired, Xavier gazed around the assemblage. He had shamed them into a show of boisterous support, and the voices of dissent—for now—remained subdued.

  Unbidden tears ran down his face, and he tasted salt on his lips. Drained of emotion and energy, he noticed Viceroy Butler looking proudly at him, as if the young man were his son.

  I am assuming the mantle of Serena, Xavier realized, doing what she would have done.

  As if to balance the pain and suffering, War has also been the breeding ground for some of our greatest dreams and accomplishments.

  —HOLTZMAN,

  acceptance speech, Poritrin Medal of Valor

  Blindly confident, Tio Holtzman plunged ahead with his new idea, making Norma Cenva feel like chaff in a gusting wind. With his alloy-resonance generator, the inventor insisted on proving himself to her.

  Though she remained doubtful that his concept would work, Norma could not demonstrate her reason for uncertainty with straightforward mathematical proofs. Instinct spoke to her like a nagging voice, but she kept her worries to herself. After Holtzman’s sour reaction to her initial reservations, he had not asked for her opinion again.

  Norma hoped that she was mistaken. She was human, after all, and far from perfect.

  While the Savant busied himself inside the domed demonstration laboratory—a theater-sized structure atop an adjoining bluff—Norma kept to the sidelines. Even her most innocent participation made him nervous, as if he put more stock in her doubts than he admitted aloud.

  Now she stood on the span of the bridge between bluff sections and reached up to grab the rail. Listening to breezes hum through the cables, she peered through safety netting at the river traffic far below.

  She heard Holtzman inside the domed demo-lab, shouting to slaves as they erected a bulky generator that produced a resonating field intended to shake apart and melt a metal form. An imperious presence in a white-and-purple robe, he wore chains of office about his neck, baubles that signified his scientific awards and achievements. Holtzman glared at his workers, then paced around, double-checking, watching every detail.

  Lord Bludd and a handful of Poritrin nobles would join them to watch the day’s test, so Norma understood Holtzman’s anxiety. She herself would never have made such an extravagant presentation of an untried device, but the scientist did not show even a glimmer of doubt.

  “Norma, please assist me in here,” Holtzman called in an exasperated tone. On short legs she ran from the bridge into the enclosure. He gestured disgustedly toward the slaves. “They don’t understand a thing I’ve told them to do. Supervise them, so I can test the calibration.”

  At the center of the reinforced chamber, Holtzman’s crew had erected a metal mannequin that had the vague features of a combat robot. Norma had never seen a real thinking machine, but had scrutinized many stored images. She stared at the mockup. This was the enemy, the true foe against which all of her work must be directed.

  She looked at her mentor with more compassion, understanding his desperation. Holtzman was morally obligated to pursue any idea, to find any way to continue this noble fight. He had a good feel for projected energies, distortion fields, and nonprojectile weaponry. She hoped his alloy-resonance generator would work after all.

  Before the slaves had finished rigging the test apparatus, a commotion occurred outside the main house. Ribbon-festooned ceremonial barges came into view above the cliffs, where Holtzman’s balconies overlooked the river. Scale-armored Dragoon guards stood on the flying craft with Lord Bludd, along with five senators and a black-robed court historian.

  Holtzman dropped what he was doing. “Norma, finish this. Please!” Without looking back at her, he rushed across the connecting bridge to greet his prestigious visitors.

  Norma urged the slaves to hurry, as she personally adjusted the calibrations and attuned the apparatus to the inventor’s specifications. Light shone through high skylights to illuminate the robot facsimile. Reinforced metal ceiling beams crisscrossed the overhead vault, supporting pulleys and winches that had been used to haul the blockish resonance generator into place.

  Moody Zenshiite slaves milled about, wearing traditional clothing, red-and-white stripes wrapped around serviceable gray jumpsuits. Many slave owners didn’t allow their captives to show signs of individuality, but Holtzman didn’t care one way or the other. He only wanted the captive people to perform their tasks without complaint.

  As they completed their work the slaves backed close to the plated wall, their dark gazes averted. One black-bearded, shadowy-eyed man spoke to them in a language unfamiliar to Norma. Moments later a grinning Holtzman ushered his impressive guests into the demonstration area.

  The Savant made a grand entrance. At his side, Niko Bludd wore a billowing azure tunic and a scarlet doublet fastened across his barrel chest. His reddish beard had been curled in neat ringlets. Small tattooed circles looked like bubbles at the far points of each eyelid.

  Walking past the slaves, Bludd noticed Norma and gave the diminutive woman a smile that was both condescending and paternal. Norma bent in a formal bow and politely grasped his slick, lotioned hand.

  “We know your time is valuable, Lord Bludd. Therefore, everything has been prepared.” Holtzman folded his hands. “This new device has never been tested, and in today’s presentation you will be the first to witness its potential.”

  Bludd’s voice was deep, but musical. “We always expect the best from you, Tio. If thinking machines have nightmares, no doubt you are in them.”

  The entourage chuckled, and Holtzman did his best to blush. He turned toward the slaves and began issuing orders. A half dozen workers held data-recording devices, positioned at important points around the robot mockup.

  Plush chairs from the main residence had been arranged as seats of honor. Holtzman sat beside Lord Bludd, and Norma was forced to stand by the door. Her mentor appeared confident and intense, but she knew how worried he really was. A failure today might dim his glory in the eyes of the politically powerful nobles on Poritrin.

  The esteemed observers sat in their cumbersome chairs. Holtzman stared at the generator setup, glancing around as if offering a quiet prayer. He smiled reassuringly at Norma, then ordered the activation of the prototype.

  A slave flipped a switch, as he had been taught to do. The bulky generator began to hum, directing its invisible beam toward the robot construction.

  “If put to practical use,” Holtzman said with the faintest of quavers, “we will find ways to make the generator more compact, more easily installed on small ships.”

  “Or we can just build bigger ships,” Bludd said, with a deep chortle.

  The hum grew louder, a vibrating rattle that made Norma’s teeth chatter. She noticed a thin sheen of perspiration on Holtzman’s brow.

  “Look, you can see it already.” The scientist pointed. The targeted robot began to shake, its metal limbs jostling and torso vibrating. “The effect will continue to build.”

  Bludd was delighted. “That robot is regretting he ever turned against the human race, isn’t he!”

  The facsimile robot began to shimmer cherry red, its metal heating up
as the alloys were attuned to the destructive field projected upon it. Glowing brighter, it shifted to yellow mixed with patches of blinding white.

  “By now, a real robot would have been destroyed internally,” Holtzman said, finally looking content.

  Abruptly the laboratory’s heavy ceiling girders started to rattle, a secondary resonance fed from the targeted robot into the dome’s structural framework. The thick walls rumbled and shuddered. A high-pitched hum shrieked through the structure.

  Norma cried, “The resonance field is bleeding over.”

  Ceiling girders clenched like angry snakes. A crack opened in the dome.

  “Shut it off!” Holtzman shouted, but the terrified slaves scrambled to a corner of the room, as far from the generator as they could get.

  The robot mockup undulated and twisted, its body core melting. Support struts that held it inside the targeting zone buckled. The ominous-looking combat machine lurched forward then abruptly fell and shattered into blackened metal.

  Holtzman grabbed Niko Bludd’s sleeve. “My Lord, please hurry across the bridge to my main quarters. We seem to have a…slight problem.”

  The other nobles were already pelting across the high-tension bridge. Norma was swept along with them. She took one look behind her and saw that the Zenshiite slaves were uncertain what to do. Tio Holtzman gave them no guidance as he retreated over the walkway right behind Bludd.

  From safety, Norma watched six panicked slaves stumble onto the bridge. Remaining behind, the dark-haired leader pushed them forward, shouting in their odd language. The walkway began to whip up and down as resonance from the projector coupled to the bridge’s connecting metal.

  The bearded Zenshiite leader howled at them again. Norma wished she could rescue those unfortunate, confused people. Couldn’t the Dragoon guards do anything? Holtzman remained speechless on this side of the bluff, paralyzed with shock.

  Before the first batch of slaves could cross, the suspension walkway snapped in the middle, dropping open in a screeching groan of agonized metal. The hapless victims plummeted two hundred meters to the base of the bluff and into the river.