Dune: The Battle of Corrin

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  The League warships accelerated, their intentions clear. As they reached the deadly zone, they showed no hesitation. Nothing would turn them back now. Vorian Atreides, son of the Titan Agamemnon, was willing to sacrifice all of the prisoners. He would not stop.

  Gilbertus would die as soon as the human ships crossed the line.

  Outside the scope of the holo-model, the room was full of linked computer access nodes, with attendant robots performing sophisticated duties for the two everminds. Erasmus ignored them, speeding up his own mental processes.

  In all of his probability projections, he had never foreseen the events unfolding around him now. If Erasmus had been human, his current course of action would most certainly have been called suicidal, and traitorous. He was eliminating the last desperate defense the machines had, the only possibility of keeping the human military at bay… even though it did not appear to be working.

  But it was the only way to save Gilbertus right now. If this human died, Erasmus questioned the necessity of his own continued existence.

  Two seconds remaining.

  The robot studied the defense grid holo, saw more and more enemy ships approaching the detection radius of the system. Inside this chamber, they were no more than floating blips. But out there, the ships were real, capable of annihilating Corrin in yet another atomic attack, once they passed the Bridge and killed all the hostages aboard.

  And he calls us inhuman!

  Without further hesitation, Erasmus gained control over the defense system. Amber lights danced in front of his optic threads, and he deactivated the linkage between the scrambler-satellite network and the explosives.

  Then he watched as the blips indicating the enemy fleet surged through the disabled barricade, with nothing left to stop them.

  I do not fear death. I fear only failure.

  — SERENA BUTLER,

  Priestess of the Jihad

  Vor had a plan, or at least the pieces of one. He laced his fingers together, his thoughts racing. He considered all of the resources that remained to him.

  Abulurd might have cut off the weapons systems built into the Vengeance Fleet’s capital ships, but the launching bays of those ballistas and javelins were still filled with kindjal bombers, all of them loaded with pulse-atomics. Originally, he had intended to use the fleet’s weaponry to blast through the robotic barricade, and then saturate Corrin with nuclear detonations. Now, he would be forced to use some of his atomics against the barricade itself, thanks to the bashar’s treachery. He hoped he could save enough warheads to accomplish his mission against Omnius, by using precision strikes from his Ginaz mercenaries.

  Also, he figured that even without their on-board weapons systems, his shielded vessels would make decent battering rams. All he had to do was get enough of his battleships through the robotic barrier.

  In his mind, Vor had already chosen to pay the price of the innocent hostages on the Bridge of Hrethgir.

  With a horrified collective gasp from the crew, the LS Serena Victory arrived at the boundary in space. Vor kept his eyes fixed on the screen, his own guilt and determination forcing him to watch the last moments of the millions of hostages he had just doomed. They crossed the line.

  But there was no detonation, no flash of light, no destruction of two million victims.

  The Bridge of Hrethgir remained intact.

  Vor could not believe it. “The damned robot was bluffing after all!”

  “The people are safe!” his navigator cried.

  “Saint Serena has provided another miracle!” Rayna Butler’s voice came over the comline. “And she will lead us to final victory over the demon machines. Champion Atreides, push forward to the destruction of Omnius!”

  Vor growled, “Shut down her signal! I give the orders on this mission.”

  They still had no operational weapons, thanks to Abulurd’s treachery. Vor could not think of anything worse than betrayal— especially not from such a beloved comrade, a young man he had taken under his wing. It would have been kinder if Abulurd had simply stabbed Vor in the heart.

  I will never again think of him as a surrogate son, or even a friend.

  The Supreme Bashar swore he would succeed in spite of what Abulurd had done.

  “Let us not waste this opportunity.” He studied a scanner board, listing the offensive specifications of the nearest thinking machine vessels, including operational data. Then he whirled. “Get me Bashar Harkonnen! The threat of the Bridge is now moot— even he can’t refuse to reactivate the firing codes!”

  Seconds passed, and Vor raised his voice into the comline. “Where is Abulurd! I need— “

  “I’m sorry, Supreme Bashar, but the coward is… in the infirmary.” The guard’s voice on the comline sounded subdued. “On the way to his quarters, he… resisted slightly. He is not expected to regain consciousness soon.”

  Vor cursed, knowing he should have anticipated this. He turned to his tactical officer. “Get me any on-board weapons you can— missiles, artillery. Especially scrambler mines.”

  The ships continued to soar unaffected through the net of satellites and into a space brawl with the cornered forces of Omnius.

  He began to receive reports from his fleet that some weapons systems had been brought back online, though without the accuracy of the complex targeting algorithms Abulurd had disabled. Gunnery officers and Cultist volunteers disconnected and remounted some of the launchers so they could now aim and fire the weapons manually.

  The first line of Omnius’s ships moved forward to face them. Vor studied the defensive parameters of his opponents, saw more reinforcement vessels rising into higher orbit to join the fray. At the moment, even with its limited systems, the Vengeance Fleet had this first line of machine warships outgunned. And they were shielded.

  “We can take them out preemptively, Supreme Bashar,” reported his new second officer. “If we can shoot straight.”

  “Let’s do it.” Vor stared at the impenetrable blockade, then shouted into the comline, “To the Cult of Serena, to the jihadis, the mercenaries, and every other person fighting beside me in this great battle, I remind you what this Holy War is all about. It’s about avenging the deaths of our beloved Serena, of Manion the Innocent, and of billions of other martyrs. It’s about stopping the enemy in their tracks. It’s about taking the ‘think’ out of thinking machines!”

  Oddly, one of the first machine vessels to approach the flagship was not a battle unit at all, but an old update ship. Instead of opening fire, the vessel signaled him. “So, Vorian Atreides. This is more complex than the strategy games we used to play.” On the comscreen, coppery-faced Seurat looked at him, his robotic visage fixed and expressionless, as always. “Are you going to destroy me? I will be your first casualty for this attack.”

  “Old Metalmind! I didn’t even know you were still— “

  The achingly familiar image of Seurat filled the screen; Vor expected him to break into an inept attempt at humor, or to remind the commander of how many times he had saved the human’s life. “We were not always on opposite sides of this conflict, Vorian Atreides. I have made up a new joke about you: How many times is a human allowed to change his mind?”

  Vor had steeled himself to accept the massacre of more than two million human shields, but now, ironically, he hesitated upon seeing this robot, his former companion. Of all the family and close friends he had lost in his long life span— Serena, Xavier, Leronica, even Agamemnon— only Seurat remained.

  “What are you doing, Seurat? Stand down.”

  “You aren’t even going to try to guess the punch line?”

  Vor crossed his arms over his chest. “How can you be sure I ever changed my mind, instead of just hiding my true feelings from you?”

  The update ship kept coming closer. “Why don’t you let me aboard, and we can talk about old times? Am I not an acceptable emissary to discuss a resolution to this matter?”

  Vor froze, fighting down his initial impulse. Wasn’t t
hat exactly what Abulurd had wanted? He couldn’t possibly negotiate with the thinking machines. But Seurat…

  His second officer said in a low voice, “Sir, our weapons are still not at full capacity. Perhaps if we stall?”

  “Old Metalmind, is this a trick?”

  “You taught me about tricks, Vorian Atreides. What do you think?”

  Vor paced the bridge. Seurat’s vessel continued forward without pause. If it gave them a chance to get more of their weapons active again, wasn’t it worth the risk? “Drop shields,” Vor said. “Seurat, you may proceed. But you had better be prepared to offer Omnius’s complete surrender.”

  Seurat’s coppery face remained the same. “Now you are telling a joke, Vorian Atreides.” The robot ship accelerated toward the flagship.

  “Supreme Bashar, his gunports are active!”

  Without warning, Seurat’s update ship opened fire, the blast ripping across the hull and tearing out the partially reactivated starboard weapons banks. With no shields to diminish the impacts, the explosions tore through the hull of the LS Serena Victory in two separate places. Atmosphere vented like rocket exhaust, sending the flagship ballista careening off course. The command deck rocked, alarms sounded. In unison now, the first line of robot ships launched their attacks.

  “Activate shields again! Give us full protection!”

  Amid the chaos, the robot captain transmitted a simulated laugh. “I am reminded of a phrase you taught me, Vorian Atreides: I caught you with your pants down. You have grown soft and slow after all those years living among the hrethgir.”

  “Open fire!” Vor choked, cursing himself for his paralysis and lack of resolve. I don’t care if he is Seurat…. “Get us back under control.”

  He closed his eyes as several of the manually operated weapons blasted. The flagship turned about to give the gunners a better shot, and the soldiers fired their makeshift artillery. The wave of targeted projectiles quickly overwhelmed the update ship.

  With no time for sadness or indecision, angry at himself for his foolish, inappropriate sentimentality, Vor readied himself for the continuing bloodbath. The second line of robotic defenders came into range.

  Over the course of many years and much intensive training, I have taught Gilbertus Albans how to organize his mind, how to prepare his thoughts in a systematic fashion so that his abilities approach even those of a thinking machine. Unfortunately, I was unable to teach him how to make correct choices.

  — Erasmus Dialogues

  Out in the main plaza above the shielded vault that held their main memory spheres, the twin everminds flickered with agitation atop their pedestals. Thousands of datastream reports flowed in from the battle lines above Corrin, transmitting updates and warnings.

  The human Vengeance Fleet spread out and struck the last Synchronized World in waves, from all sides. At the last moment, the enemy commander had not balked at crossing the deadly boundary and dooming all the innocent captives held aboard the Bridge of Hrethgir. And yet the Bridge had not exploded.

  SeurOm and ThurrOm could not understand it.

  The paired everminds sent flurries of instructions to the robot battleships, directing them individually with myriad plans, many of which were contradictory. As a result, the machine defenses in orbit responded with unpredictable chaos.

  Erasmus was perfectly satisfied with the confusion. He needed to achieve his aims without interference from the dual everminds.

  His uncertain contact with Gilbertus was broken as numerous explosions and energy surges from the battlefield corrupted the faulty systems aboard the orbiting cargo containers. Erasmus held the now-blank watcheye in his metal hand, then smashed it on the ground. Anger?

  The autonomous robot accessed a set of controls that flowed into some of the smaller defensive ships that had not yet been called to the front. Erasmus seized one of them, controlling the ship remotely from the surface of Corrin.

  As his direct linkage to the machine subsystems granted him access, he needed to move the vessel into place and issue orders to the combat meks aboard without either SeurOm or ThurrOm noticing. This task was going to be difficult enough without the everminds’ meddling.

  He found the single most important container, guided the small robot ship up against it. Gilbertus was inside there. The vessel docked.

  Even without anyone watching, Erasmus fashioned a smile on his face. By now it had become quite a habit for him.

  * * *

  THE STENCH WAS terrible, the air barely breathable, the oxygen depleted. The metal floor and the hull plates seemed to suck all warmth out of the air, and yet the crowded press of so many unwashed bodies generated a suffocating heat.

  Gilbertus sat next to the Serena clone. He held her hand, and she pressed herself against his muscular chest. He had come here of his own accord; perhaps it wasn’t the most logical choice under the circumstances, but he would abide by it. Either the ploy of using human shields would work— or it would not.

  In his heart he resented that Erasmus had tricked him by allowing Serena to be whisked away with all the other hostages. When the rest of the plan had become clear, when the images of Serena had been broadcast to the threatening Army of Humanity, Gilbertus understood— in his mind. It all made logical sense; in fact, the addition of this one particular hostage might prove the deciding factor.

  “If only it didn’t have to be you,” he whispered to her.

  The other hostages aboard the container muttered, shifted, complained. None of them knew what was happening. Some had whispered rumors that the free humans were coming as their saviors; others feared this was another horrific crowd psychology experiment designed by Erasmus. Gilbertus had tried to explain the detailed situation to two men who huddled next to him and Serena, but they didn’t believe his analysis any more than the dozens of alternative stories.

  Rekur Van had also been hauled up here, encased in his life-support socket. SeurOm and ThurrOm had apparently seized upon the concept of putting their human captives in harm’s way. The limbless Tlulaxa squirmed and complained and ranted so much that Gilbertus had taken Serena into a different segment of the cargo container. Together, they waited for it to end.

  He was sure the crisis should have been decided by now. The delay was a good sign: almost certainly, the League commander had hesitated and drawn back. Otherwise Gilbertus and all of his fellow hostages would be dead by now.

  Why, then, did he see so much combat occurring through the tiny window ports? So many bright explosion flashes, a panoply of space vessels flying in all directions? He didn’t recognize several of the major emblems— human battleships? But they were past the scrambler line, and the Bridge of Hrethgir should have detonated.

  Gilbertus turned away from the view outside. At least he was with Serena.

  “It won’t be much longer,” he said soothingly to her. “They will have to resolve the matter soon.” He knew, too, that the millions of humans aboard the components of the Bridge did not have enough food, water, or air to last more than a few days— and the sheer administrative problem of evacuating all of them back to the surface would require almost as much time as that.

  They felt the shuddering vibration as another ship came alongside the crowded cargo container and docked. The maneuver sounded clumsy, as if an inexperienced hand guided it. Gilbertus raced through the possibilities, wondered if perhaps humans had arrived to rescue them. It wasn’t what he wanted, though.

  When the crude hatch opened, seven burly combat robots marched in. Their heavy footfalls struck the deck, sending resounding vibrations through the different rooms and holds of the cargo container. Hostages shrank out of the way, trying to avoid notice. The robots, though, were intent.

  Gilbertus climbed to his feet. Now he understood. Erasmus had given him just enough information before the watcheye communications link failed.

  The robots stopped in front of him, an implacable force, like prison guards ready to usher a prisoner to his execution. “You’ve c
ome to save me,” he said.

  “Erasmus commands it.”

  The people who were packed around him clamored for rescue as well. They could all feel the air running out, and many had not been fed for almost two days. Gilbertus flicked his gaze back and forth. He reached down and drew Serena to her feet next to him. “I will not resist.”

  “You cannot resist.”

  “But I must take Serena with me.”

  The robots hesitated. “No. Only one of us may return with you to Corrin.”

  Gilbertus frowned, trying to assess why Erasmus would do that. Then he realized that the independent robot had probably tricked the two Omnius incarnations; it would be easier for him to muddy the programming of a single combat robot than all seven of them simultaneously. Erasmus needed to buy enough time to get Gilbertus back to the dubious safety of the surface.

  “I will not leave without Serena.” Gilbertus crossed his muscular arms over his chest in a defiant gesture. She looked up at him with her trusting lavender eyes.

  Six of the robots stepped back. “We will remain aboard this container to stand guard over the Serena Butler clone.”

  “Guard her against what?”

  The robots paused, receiving new instructions. The lead mek said, “Erasmus asks you to trust him.”

  The man’s shoulders sagged, and he let go of Serena’s hand.

  To accept new information and use it to modify our behavior— this we recognize as the human quality to think. And by thinking, to survive, not just as individuals, but as a species. In surviving, though, shall our humanity endure? Will we keep our hold on those things that make life sweet for the living, warm and filled with what we call beauty?

  We shall not gain this enduring humanity if we deny our whole being— if we deny emotion, thought, or flesh. There we have the tripod upon which all of eternity balances. If we deny emotion, we lose all touch with our universe. By denying the realm of thought, we cannot reflect upon what we touch. And if we dare deny the flesh, we unwheel the vehicle which bears us all.