The Butlerian Jihad

by Brian Herbert

  Serena had been violated, a part of her ripped away, leaving her with a bitter emptiness inside. In committing the atrocity, Erasmus had dragged her to the brink of despair, assaulting the stubborn hope that had always anchored her.

  Upon first aspiring to the League Parliament, Serena had envisioned herself performing important work for the benefit of humanity. She had devoted her time, her sweat, and enthusiasm, without ever regretting a moment of it. When her own father had administered her oath as a League representative, she had been barely nineteen, with a bright future ahead of her.

  Dashing young Xavier Harkonnen had touched her heart, and together they had hoped for a large, happy family. They had planned their wedding, spoken of their future together. Even as a captive of Erasmus, she had held fast to her dreams of escape, and of a normal life afterward—back with Xavier.

  But just to suit his own convenience, the vicious robot had sterilized her like an animal, robbing her of the ability to bear more children. Now, whenever she saw the heartless machine, she wanted to scream at him. More than ever, she missed the company of educated human beings who might have helped her through this difficult time—even the misguided Vorian Atreides. Despite his supposed fascination for understanding humanity, Erasmus was incapable of comprehending why she should be upset about “a relatively minor surgical procedure.”

  Her fury and heartsickness smothered the cleverness she needed for bantering with him. She could muster no enthusiasm for the esoteric subjects that Erasmus blithely wanted to talk about. As a consequence, the robot grew disappointed in her.

  Worse, Serena didn’t even notice.

  By the time little Manion was eleven months old, he had become her only lifeline, a poignant reminder of all she had lost, both in the past and in the future. A toddler now, he was a bundle of pent-up energy who moved around with clumsy steps, intent on exploring every corner of the villa.

  The other slaves tried to help, seeing her pain and knowing the things she had quietly done to make their lives more tolerable. Serena didn’t want anything from them, though. She could barely hold herself together. Despite her hurt, though, Erasmus retained the changes and improvements he had agreed to make.

  Serena still worked in the garden and in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Manion while the boy examined utensils and played with gleaming pots. Knowing her unique relationship with Erasmus, the other household slaves viewed her with curious respect, wondering what she would do next. The cooks and assistants enjoyed the little boy, amused at his stumbling attempts at words.

  Manion had an insatiable hunger for seeing and touching everything from the flowers and plants in the villa gardens to the exotic fish in the ponds, to a feather he found outside in the plaza. He studied everything with his alert blue eyes.

  Serena renewed her determination to either escape or hurt Erasmus. To do that, she needed to understand everything possible about the independent robot. As a key to solving that enigma, she decided to find out exactly what took place in the ominous sealed laboratories. He had forbidden her from entering that place, warning her not to “interfere” with the experiments. He had ordered the other household servants not to tell her anything about them. What was the robot afraid of? Those sealed laboratories must be important.

  She had to get inside.

  An opportunity presented itself when Serena spoke to two kitchen helpers who prepared meals for human test subjects in the laboratory block. Erasmus insisted on high-energy meals so that his victims could survive as long as possible, but he preferred minimal bulk “to decrease the mess” when he inflicted too much pain.

  The kitchen staff accepted Erasmus’s bloody tastes with relief that they themselves hadn’t been selected for the experiments. Not yet, anyway.

  “What does the life of a slave matter?” asked one of the women, Amia Yo. She was the slave who had touched Serena’s sleeve during the robot’s “good deed” feast, and Serena had watched her working in the kitchens.

  “Every human life has value,” Serena said, looking at little Manion, “if only to dream. I need to see that place with my own eyes.” Then she revealed her impetuous plan in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Reluctant, but forming a brave face, Amia Yo agreed to help. “Because it is for you, Serena Butler.”

  Since the two women were approximately the same height and weight, Serena borrowed her white smock and apron, then covered her own hair with a dark scarf. She hoped the watcheyes would not notice subtle differences.

  Leaving Manion in the care of the kitchen helpers, Serena accompanied a slender, dark-skinned slave. They eased a gliding food cart through a gated area into a compound of outbuildings that she had never entered before. The sterile entry corridor smelled of chemicals, drugs, and sickness. Serena dreaded what she might see. Her heart pounded, and perspiration prickled her skin, but she pressed on.

  Her companion seemed nervous, eyes flicking from side to side as they passed through the coded barricade. Together, they entered an inner chamber. A thick, moist stench made the air almost unbreathable. Nothing moved in the room, no stir of life. Serena reeled.

  Nothing could have prepared her for this.

  Human body parts lay in grisly piles on tables, in bubbling tanks, and on the floor, like toys scattered about by a bored child. Fresh blood had splashed in feathery patterns on the walls and ceiling, as if Erasmus had dabbled in abstract art. Everything looked fresh and wet, as if the horrendous slaughter had occurred within the past hour. Appalled, Serena felt only disgust and unbridled rage. Why had the robot done this? To satisfy some macabre curiosity? Had he found the answers he wanted? At such a cost!

  “Next room,” said her companion in a shaky voice, trying to look away from the worst of it. “Nobody left to feed in here.”

  Serena staggered beside the other woman who pushed the gliding cart into the adjacent compound, where gaunt-looking prisoners were sealed inside isolation cells. Somehow, the fact that these test subjects remained alive struck her as even worse. She fought the urge to vomit.

  She had long dreamed about fleeing her life of slavery on Earth. Now, seeing these horrors, she realized that escape would never be enough. She needed to stop Erasmus, to destroy him—not just for herself, but for all of his victims.

  But Serena had fallen into his trap.

  Using concealed surveillance units, Erasmus watched her. He found her revulsion gratifyingly predictable. For days he had been expecting her to sneak into his laboratory, despite his unequivocal proscription against going there. It was a temptation he had known she could not resist for much longer.

  Some aspects of human nature he did understand, and very well.

  Now that she and her companion had completed the assigned feeding chores, they would return to the safety of the villa, where Serena had left her unruly baby. Erasmus considered how best to handle her.

  Time for a change. Time to add stress to the experimental system and observe how the subjects changed. He knew Serena’s most vulnerable spot.

  As he prepared himself for a drama of his own creation, Erasmus shifted his face back to an emotionless oval. He marched through the corridors, echoes announcing his approach. Before Serena could rush back to her son, the robot found Amia Yo playing with the child on the kitchen floor.

  The master of the house didn’t speak a word as he entered the room. Startled, Amia Yo looked up at the ominous robot. Beside her, little Manion stared at the familiar mirror face and giggled.

  The boy’s reaction caused the robot to pause, but only for a moment. With a swift backhand of his synthetic arm, he broke Amia Yo’s neck and grabbed the toddler. The kitchen worker crumpled dead without so much as a gasp. Manion struggled and wailed.

  Just as Erasmus lifted the squirming child into the air, Serena rushed through the door, her face filled with horror. “Let him go!”

  Casually, Erasmus shoved her aside, and she stumbled backward over the body of the murdered woman. Without looking back, the robot quickly left
the kitchen area and climbed a stairway to the villa’s upper levels and balconies. Manion dangled in his grasp like a caught fish, crying and screaming.

  Serena scrambled to her feet and ran after them, begging Erasmus not to harm her son. “Punish me, if you must—but not him!”

  He turned an unreadable version of his face toward her. “Can I not do both?” Then he climbed to the second floor.

  On the landing of the third level, Serena tried to grab one of the robot’s metal legs through the ornate robe he wore. He had never seen her display such desperation, and wished he had applied monitoring probes so that he could hear her thrumming heartbeat and taste the panic of her sweat. Little Manion thrashed his arms and legs.

  Serena touched her son’s tiny fingers, managed to hold onto him for an instant. Then Erasmus kicked her, delivering a precise blow to her midsection, and she tumbled down half a flight of stairs.

  Staggering back to her feet, she ignored her bruises and resumed the chase. Interesting; either a sign of remarkable resilience or suicidal stubbornness. From his studies of Serena Butler, Erasmus decided it was probably a little of both.

  Reaching the highest level, Erasmus crossed to the broad balcony that was open to the flagstone plaza four stories below. One of the villa’s sentinel robots stood on the balcony, observing the teams of slave workers installing new fountains and erecting recently commissioned statues in the alcoves. The sounds of their equipment and voices drifted upward in the calm air. The sentinel robot swiveled to look at the sudden disturbance.

  “Stop!” Serena shouted with a sharpness that reminded him of her old defiant self. “Erasmus, that is enough! You’ve won. Whatever it is you want, I’ll do it.”

  The robot stopped at the balcony railing and, clamping his artificial grip on Manion’s left ankle, lifted the little boy over the edge. Serena screamed.

  Erasmus issued a curt order to the sentinel robot. “Prevent her from interfering.” He dangled the child headfirst over the stone-paved plaza far below, like a playful cat toying with a helpless mouse.

  Serena threw herself forward, but the sentinel robot blocked her. She rammed against it so hard that the sentinel staggered against the rail before reasserting its balance and taking hold of Serena’s arm.

  Far below, the human slaves looked up at the open balcony and pointed. A collective gasp rippled through the work crews, followed by a hush.

  “Don’t!” Serena shouted frantically as she tried to tear herself free of the sentinel’s grasp. “Please!”

  “I must continue my important work. This child is a disruptive factor.” With long arms, Erasmus dangled the child over the precipitous drop. A breeze stirred his formal robes. Manion writhed and squirmed, crying loudly for his mother.

  Serena looked up at the imploringly mirrored face, but detected no hint of compassion there, no concern whatsoever. My precious baby! “No, please! I’ll do anything—”

  Below, the gaping workers were unable to believe what they were seeing.

  “Serena…your own name is a derivation of ‘serenity.’” Erasmus raised his voice over the child’s wailing. “Surely you understand?”

  She threw herself against the sentinel robot, nearly pulling herself free, and reached out, desperate to snatch her son.

  Abruptly, Erasmus’s fingers released their grip on the baby’s ankle. Manion dropped, tumbling into oblivion, to the stone plaza far below. “There. Now we can get back to work.”

  Serena howled so loudly that she did not hear the terrible sound of the small body striking the pavement moments later.

  Heedless of her own danger, Serena ripped her arms free at the cost of torn skin and hurled herself against the sentinel robot, shoving the machine into the high balcony rail. When the sentinel righted itself, she pushed again, harder this time. The robot struck the low barrier, broke through the balustrade, and tumbled into open air.

  Paying no attention to the falling machine, Serena lunged at Erasmus and pounded him with her fists. She tried to dent or claw his smooth flowmetal face, but succeeded only in bloodying her fingers and breaking her nails. In her mindless frenzy, Serena tore his lovely new robe. Then she grabbed a small terra-cotta urn from the balcony edge and smashed it against Erasmus’s body.

  “Stop behaving like an animal,” Erasmus said. With a casual blow, the robot knocked her aside, sending her sobbing and crumbling to the tile floor.

  SUPERVISING THE WORK crew in Erasmus’s plaza, Iblis Ginjo watched the scene in utter disbelief. “It is Serena!” one of the villa workers cried, recognizing her on the high balcony. Her name was taken up by the other workers, as if they revered her. Iblis remembered Serena Butler from when he had processed her with new slaves arriving from Giedi Prime.

  Then the robot dropped the baby.

  Unconcerned with consequences, Iblis rushed across the plaza in a desperate but fruitless attempt to catch the child. Seeing the trustee’s brave reaction, many of the slaves also surged forward.

  Standing over the broken, bloodied child on the pavement, Iblis knew he could not help in any way. Even after all the atrocities he had seen cymeks and thinking machines commit, this one outrage seemed inconceivable. He gathered the broken little body in his arms and looked up.

  Now, remarkably, Serena was fighting her masters. The workers gasped and drew back as she pushed a sentinel robot off the balcony. In a flash of metal, the thinking machine plummeted four stories to slam into the hard flagstones, not far from the bloodstain left by the dead child. With a sound like a sledge hitting an anvil, the sentinel robot smashed, bent, and crumpled. It lay in a motionless heap on the ground, its fibrous and metallic components broken, gelcircuitry fluid oozing out into the cracks….

  Mortified and appalled, the slaves stared at what had happened. Like tinder ready for a spark, Iblis thought. A human captive had fought the machines! She had destroyed a robot with her own hands! Amazed, they called out her name.

  Above on the balcony, a defiant Serena continued to shriek at Erasmus, while he shoved her back with his superior strength. The woman’s passionate courage astounded all of them. Could the message be any clearer?

  An ugly shout of anger rose from the captive workers. They had already been primed by months of Iblis’s instructions and subtle manipulations. Now it was time.

  With a smile of grim satisfaction, he bellowed his call. And the rebels surged forward in an act that would be remembered for ten thousand years.

  Monoliths are vulnerable. To endure, one must remain mobile, resilient, and diversified.

  —BOVKO MANRESA,

  First Viceroy of the League of Nobles

  When the Armada battle group left Poritrin, the crowds in Starda were much diminished, the cheering more subdued. Word had circulated quickly about the slaves who had bungled a vital job. It was a shame upon the entire world.

  Deeply disappointed, Niko Bludd watched the ion trails of the departing battle group. Then, focusing his wrath, he floated his ceremonial platform over the gathered slave crews. He had commanded their chastised overseers to muster all workers for inspection.

  Lord Bludd spoke into a voice projector that thundered down upon the grumbling slaves. “You have let Poritrin down! You all have disgraced humanity. Your sabotage has hindered the war effort against our enemies. This is treason!”

  He glared at them, hoping for some sign of remorse, abject pleas for forgiveness, even heads bowed in guilt. Instead, the captives seemed defiant, as if proud of what they had done. Since slaves were not citizens of the League, they could not technically be guilty of treason, but he liked the weighty, ominous sound of the word. These ignorant people would not understand the subtle difference.

  He sniffed, recalling an old Navachristian punishment, intended as a nonviolent psychological blow. “I declare a Day of Shame upon all of you. Be thankful that Segundo Harkonnen detected your incompetence before brave lives were lost. But your actions will hurt our continuing struggle against Omnius. Blood cannot be cleanse
d from your hands.”

  Knowing they were a superstitious lot, he shouted a curse at them. “May this shame fall upon all your descendants! May Buddislamic cowards never be free of their debt to humanity!”

  Raging and shouting, he ordered the Dragoon guards to steer the platform away from the spaceport.

  BEL MOULAY HAD been hoping for a volatile situation such as this. Never again would there be so many slaves massed together at one time. The Zenshiite leader called his brothers to action.

  The overseers and Dragoon guards had orders to break up the reassigned crews and return the slave laborers to their original masters. Much of Poritrin’s routine work had gone undone while the Armada ships were in drydock at the spaceport, and a number of lords had expressed their impatience for life to return to normal.

  But now the captives refused to move, refused to work.

  Bel Moulay shouted to those close enough to hear his words, awakening seeds he had planted during secret talks, month after month. He spoke in Galach so that all of the nobles could understand him. “We do not toil for slavers! What difference is it to us if the thinking machines oppress us, or you?” He raised a fist. “God knows we are justified! We will never give up the fight!”

  A howl rose in vibrating unison. The pent-up rage spread like fire over oil, faster than the Dragoon guards or the Poritrin nobles could react.

  Moulay shouted toward the nobleman’s departing platform. “Niko Bludd, you are worse than the thinking machines because you enslave your own kind!”

  A throng of Zenshiites and Zensunnis suddenly surrounded the astonished supervisors and disarmed them. One overseer with a black bandanna around his slick scalp held up his fists and gruffly shouted commands, but didn’t know what to do when the slaves ignored his orders. The insurgent workers clutched the man’s sleeves, tugged at his gray work gown, and dragged him back to his own holding pens, where so many of their unfortunate companions had been held after the deadly fever.