In a flurry of words, Iblis explained what he had in mind, how he wanted Serena to inspire an ever-widening revolt that would crush Omnius on Earth. “You can make our movement much stronger. Serena Butler and the memory of her slain child will rally others. Think of what you could accomplish!”
At any other time, Serena might have felt the calling and given herself over to the welfare of so many suffering people. It was part of her character, the core of her personality. But the murder of innocent Manion had doused her flames of justice and passion, killing not only her baby but a portion of her heart.
“Your cause is righteous, Iblis,” Serena said, “but I’m drained by all the horrors I have endured. Vorian is taking me back to Salusa. I must see my father…and tell Xavier what has happened to his son.”
Iblis’s gaze locked with hers as if they were connected by an electronic beam. He did not want to alienate her, not if she was to be of any use to him. His thoughts spun, looking for traction. For months he had been building a secret organization of rebels, but now he sensed that it could never attain its full potential without this remarkable young woman and all she represented. He could never achieve the necessary religious fervor.
Iblis’s dark eyes flashed, seizing upon the changed situation. “A League world? Tell me, Atreides, how can you ever escape Earth?”
“I believe I have a way—my ship, the Dream Voyager. But I cannot delay.”
Iblis made up his mind in an instant. He knew that this struggle could build and build, sweeping across Earth and beyond. But maybe it was best managed from a different locale. He could watch it spread from world to world. “We go together, then. I shall speak to the League, convincing the nobles to send reinforcements here. They must aid our cause!”
In adjacent rooms they heard destructive noises, shattering plaz, violent shouts. “I can escort you to safety through my followers. They won’t hinder us.” Iblis sounded very reasonable, utterly convincing. “You will not escape the compound unless I help you.”
Vor looked at him with hard gray eyes, longing to take Serena away—and wanting nothing to do with this firebrand. She rested her hand on his arm, seeming much stronger now. “Please, just let us go. I want to leave Earth and this nightmare.”
Two of Iblis’s men emerged from a corridor, followed by three more. They looked at him, awaiting orders. The rebel leader needed to leave someone behind who could keep fanning the flames on Earth while he tried to rally the rest of the free humans. Someone he trusted.
He thought of the burly secondary to Eklo, and the Cogitor’s network of contacts and information. “Bring Aquim to me. Immediately.”
AS HE STOOD on the plaza in front of the ruined villa, facing Iblis and pondering the other man’s request, Aquim was torn between his genetic heritage as a human and the obligations he had sworn to the Cogitors.
“You are no longer neutral,” Iblis said. “And neither is Eklo. You must help us see it through to the end. I need someone I can trust to keep the revolt burning here, while I go to the League and rally more support.”
Aquim looked overwhelmed. “That could take months.”
“That is as fast as a ship can carry us.” He warmly clasped the burly monk on both shoulders. “My friend, you once told me that you led a squad of men against the machines, and that you had some successes. Remember what your Cogitor told me: Nothing is impossible.”
The monk paused, rallying his courage. “There is a big difference between leading a squad and leading thousands of people.”
“In the days before you took a liking to semuta you would not have made the distinction.”
“The semuta does not dull me! It sharpens me!”
Iblis smiled. “I am good at picking people, and I recognize your talents. There are other men I could select, but none that I trust as much as you. In addition to your experience in battle, you have great wisdom, from your association with the Cogitor. You are the man for the job, Aquim.”
The big man nodded slowly, as acceptance seeped in. “Yes, Eklo would want me to do this.”
BEFORE DEPARTING, IBLIS took Serena to where he had hidden and protected the body of her slain son. He had placed the broken form of little Manion in one of Erasmus’s outbuildings even as the revolt spread.
Now, Serena stood like the statue of an angry goddess, cold and strong, as she reached forward and touched the transparent polymer covering that protected the waxy, cherubic face. A tough film engulfed the child—just as the consequences of this helpless innocent’s murder would engulf the thinking machines.
“You…you preserved him?”
“It’s a sealant bag used for processing slaves who die on the job.” Iblis pleaded with her to understand what he had done. “Others must know what happened here, Serena. They will remember your son and all he stood for. We shall build a magnificent memorial for him, preserving him in a plaz case for all free humans to see.” He looked at Vorian Atreides. “One must never underestimate the value of a symbol.”
“A shrine? Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Iblis?” Vor said, wrestling with his impatience. “The revolt is not yet won.”
Serena picked up the boy; he was very light. “If we are going back to Salusa Secundus, I must take him with me. His father…deserves to see him at least once.”
Before Vor could object, Iblis spoke up. “Everyone must see! This can help us rally the League. You must convince them to offer assistance to the slaves on Earth, before it is too late. If we don’t, there will be many more victims.”
Seeing how much it meant to Serena, Vor squared his shoulders and did not object. “If we don’t go quickly, it will be too late for all of us.”
Still holding Manion’s preserved form, Serena straightened. “I’m ready now. Let’s go find the Dream Voyager.”
There is an infinite variety of machine and biological relationships.
—Omnius databank entry
Vor, Serena, and the unwelcome Iblis found and commandeered a passenger shuttle at a landing port on Erasmus’s estate. They carried no supplies or possessions with them, except for the preserved body of little Manion. As the rebellious slaves continued to ransack the villa, Vor and his companions flew away from the hubbub. They saw no rallying robot sentries or marauding neo-cymeks. And no Titans at all. None showed themselves.
The small craft skimmed smoothly overland, keeping to the fringe of the city grid and away from the worst of the disturbance. In the days of the Old Empire, this hillside had been an exclusive neighborhood of terraced homes and gardens. The residences had been abandoned after the thinking machine conquest, falling into ruin. Only durable stone and alloy frameworks remained.
Agamemnon’s memoirs had scorned the mundane lives of people in the Old Empire, but now Vorian needed to question everything. Sadness crept over him, and a renewed feeling of shame. Thanks to Serena, he noticed things for the first time, experiencing disturbing thoughts. It was as if a new universe had opened up for him, and he was leaving the old one behind.
How had the machines concealed so much from him? Or had Vor done it to himself, blinded to the obvious? Extensive historical records had always been available on the Dream Voyager, but he had never bothered to look. He had taken his father’s accounts at face value.
When he told Serena what he had discovered, a bitter smile curled the edges of her mouth. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all, Vorian Atreides. You have a lot of catching up to do—as a human being.”
The white buildings of the spaceport came into view, machine military bunkers, sensors, and heavy guns. Vor transmitted the familiar access codes he had always used on the Dream Voyager, and the robot sentries allowed the passage of the small, fast vessel.
As rapidly as possible, Vor brought the shuttle into a drydock hangar and shut down all systems. Just ahead, amid cargo wharves, gantries, and refueling cisterns, a variety of spaceships were berthed. Machine crews worked the long-distance craft, preparing them for departure.
&nbs
p; The silver-and-black Dream Voyager was among them, as Vor had hoped.
“Hurry,” he said, taking Serena by the hand. Iblis ran close behind, wielding another large pistol he had retrieved—little enough protection if the robot soldiers decided to mount an attack.
Vor keytouched the access code on a panel and slipped through the Dream Voyager’s entry hatch. “Wait for me. If this works, I’ll be back before long.” He needed to take care of Seurat himself.
Inside, Vor heard the noise of maintenance drones installing a backup fuel cell. When he reached the command bridge, he didn’t bother to hide his footsteps. Seurat would detect him anyway.
“Did you damage your ship, Old Metalmind?” Vor asked. “Couldn’t fly without me?”
“Rebels fired at my vessel when I delivered combat robots for tactical redeployment. One engine suffered minimal harm. Superficial damage to our hull.”
The robot captain moved his resilient, fibrous body to adjust parameters on open systems. His optic threads focused on a viewer that enabled him to monitor the last-minute work belowdecks.
Finally he said, “I can use your assistance, Vorian Atreides. One of the drones appears to be malfunctioning. All the good ones are doing emergency repairs on combat robots.”
Vor knew he must move quickly. “Let me take a look.”
“I notice you have changed your wardrobe,” Seurat said. “With rebellious slaves running through the streets, was your Omnius uniform no longer the height of fashion?”
Vor couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the tension. “Humans are better at fashion than machines.” He stepped close to his mechanical friend, and his gaze fixed on the tiny access shunt on a protected underpanel of the robot’s body. Although it was covered with flowmetal and protected by interlinked fibers, Vor knew it would be simple enough to jam the energy driver access, short-circuit the power converter, and effectively stun the robot captain.
He fumbled in one of his pockets, as if looking for something, and brought out a utility tool. “I’ll run a diagnostic on that maintenance drone.” Feigning clumsiness, he fumbled, bent over—and with a quick upward movement, jammed the tool into the access shunt on the side of Seurat’s body. A pulse from the probe blew out the robot’s energy driver.
The mechanical captain jerked, then stopped altogether. Though he knew that he hadn’t damaged Seurat irreparably, Vor felt a jolt of personal guilt and pain. “Sorry about that, old Metalmind.” He heard noises behind him and, whirling, saw Iblis and Serena step onto the bridge. “I told you to wait for me.”
Iblis strode forward, his confidence restored, as if he were in command again. “Finish the job. Destroy the thinking machine.” He approached the motionless captain, hefting a heavy tool.
“No.” Angrily, Vor interposed himself between the crew boss and the prone robot. “I said no. Not Seurat. If you want me to fly us out of here, help me get him off the ship. He won’t cause any more trouble for anyone.”
“Stop wasting time, both of you,” Serena said.
Reluctantly, Iblis assisted Vor in hauling the bulky robot to a side hatch, which opened onto an unoccupied dock beside a fuel-pellet dispenser. They left the captain alone among debris and equipment.
Vor stared for a moment at his own reflection in the familiar mirrored face, remembering some of the stupid jokes his friend had told and the innovative military games they had played together. Seurat had never harmed him in any way.
But Vorian Atreides, reborn, would rather be with Serena Butler among the free humans, no matter what he was forced to leave behind.
“Someday I will return,” he whispered, “but I cannot know the circumstances, old Metalmind.”
AS VOR PILOTED the update ship away from Earth, Iblis gazed out a porthole at the planet, watching it grow smaller with distance. He considered the worldwide revolt he had sparked, hoped Aquim would do well, and that the rebellion would succeed. Maybe with the wisdom of the Cogitor Eklo, the monk could bring order to the madness and make an effective stand against Omnius.
But Iblis didn’t think so. The machines were too powerful, the Synchronized Worlds too numerous. Despite all of his work, he suspected this initial revolt was doomed to failure, unless he could get the League of Nobles to help immediately.
Humans were foolish to build their own competitors with an intelligence equivalent to their own. But they couldn’t help themselves.
—BARBAROSSA,
Anatomy of a Rebellion
Flames curled up from the glorious, empty buildings—an affront to the golden age of the Titans. Human riffraff, delirious with their mad liberation, ran screaming through the streets, throwing broken rocks and makeshift explosives.
Agamemnon seethed at the horrendous damage the rebels had already inflicted upon the monuments and magnificent plazas. The rebels had even killed Ajax, though the callous Titan had probably invited retribution upon himself. Yet another serious loss, like Barbarossa.
Vermin! The barbarians didn’t understand freedom or free will; they had no sense of civilization or restraint, and deserved to be nothing more than slaves. Even that might be too much of a kindness.
The cymek general strode through the streets in his hulking warrior-form. He scattered humans, flung them into the air, splattered them against walls. Some of the bravest hurled sharp objects at him, which bounced off of his armored body. Unfortunately, he couldn’t spare the time to squash them all.
Instead, Agamemnon made his way toward the nearby spaceport, hoping to find his son among all this chaos. If the violent rebels had harmed Vorian—the best of the general’s thirteen sons so far—then he would cause some real mayhem. He had checked records, learned that the Dream Voyager had docked at the spaceport and that Vor’s access codes had been used, but the reports were confusing.
The Titan still couldn’t comprehend the scale of the conflagration around him. For centuries, the rule of thinking machines had gone unchallenged. How could the docile humans have become so explosive? No matter. He would let Omnius and his robot guards take care of the unpleasantness.
For now, Agamemnon would find his own son. He had his priorities. He hoped Vor hadn’t made a mess of things.
When the cymek rushed across the spaceport, he saw three cargo ships ablaze, their fuel cells and drive compartments blown up by saboteurs. Fire-suppressant machinery attempted to extinguish the flames before more damage could be done.
The furious Titan stalked across the fused pavement, searching for the drydock that had held the repaired Dream Voyager. He was dismayed to find the update ship gone, the landing grid still glowing in the infrared from exhaust flames. Using thermal thoughtrode sensors, he saw the dissipating contrail where the vessel had torn a path through the atmosphere.
With mounting frustration and surprise, he found the deactivated Seurat on a dock outside the cordoned-off danger radius around the blast jets. The robot lay immobile, a supine statue of metallic polymers and neurelectric circuitry. The rebels had attacked Seurat, shut him down…but had not destroyed him.
Impatient, concerned about Vorian, Agamemnon rebooted the robotic systems with a flurry of his manipulator arms. When Seurat snapped back to consciousness, he scanned the spaceport with his array of optic threads, orienting himself.
“Where is the Dream Voyager?” Agamemnon demanded. “Where is my son? Is he alive?”
“In his typical impetuous fashion, your son surprised me. He deactivated me.” Seurat scanned the launch zone and instantly drew conclusions. “Vorian must have taken the ship. He knows how to fly it.”
“Is he a coward? My son?”
“No, Agamemnon. I believe he has joined the rebels and is escaping with other humans.” He saw the cymek shuddering with angry betrayal. “It is a very poor joke,” Seurat added.
Infuriated, Agamemnon swiveled the axis of his body core and marched away. An empty warship lay docked nearby, loaded with weaponry and perfect for pursuit. Already, wild humans were racing toward the craft, eager to
commandeer it for themselves—as if any of the ignorant hrethgir could fly such a sophisticated vessel.
Raising his cannon arms, the cymek let loose with integral flamers, igniting the human criminals into flailing candles of burning flesh. Moments later he trod past the blackened corpses and linked up to the automated ship. At Agamemnon’s transmitted command, the warship’s grappling arms extended forward, swiveling outward to disengage his preservation canister and jettison the warrior-form. The ship’s systems raised the cymek’s canister and installed Agamemnon’s brain within the control nest.
The sleek craft was fast, its weapons loaded and ready for battle. Vorian might have a headstart, but the Dream Voyager was a slower vessel, designed for long hauls. Agamemnon should be able to close the distance.
Inside his warm electrafluid, his brain adjusted to the ship’s sensors, linking the thoughtrodes until he felt the spacecraft become his new body. Springing into the air on imaginary legs, Agamemnon launched away from the spaceport.
Hyperaccelerating, he gained on his quarry.
VOR ATREIDES KNEW the tactics of space combat and evasive maneuvers, for Seurat had allowed him to take the update ship’s controls many times. But as he left the boiling rebellion on Earth, he flew the Dream Voyager all alone for the first time, leaving Seurat, his long-time companion, behind.
He departed from Earth on a straight-line vector that would take them out of the solar system. He hoped that the update ship’s supplies and life-support systems would be sufficient to keep him and his passengers alive for the month it would take to reach Salusa Secundus. During the frantic escape, he had never thought to consider how many humans the Dream Voyager could sustain, but now he had no choice.
Nervously, Iblis Ginjo peered through the ports, studying the vastness of space. He had never seen such sights before. He gaped at the pockmarked immensity of the Moon as they shot past it and continued outward.
The Butlerian Jihad Page 54