Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  With lithe movements, like a desert hare, Marha pushed herself close to one of the tense women whose hands and clothes were covered with fine brown powder. Smiling, she yanked a wire circlet from the woman’s neck, a jingling chain of spice chits. “Not married yet, Hierta? Perhaps you will resign yourself to being a withered old maid.” She tucked the melange tokens into a pocket of her distilling suit, then looked at Selim with giddy triumph.

  Hierta glared. “Marha? Traitor! We hoped you had died in the desert, but you have fallen under the sway of this desert demon, this crazed madman.”

  “Crazed?” she responded. “No, he is enlightened.”

  Selim said, “Selling spice to offworlders will bring ruin to this planet. The great worms will perish, and along with them our way of life.” Standing protectively beside Marha, he crossed his arms over his chest. “For now it is my sacred duty to return what you have taken from Shai-Hulud.”

  He withdrew his milky, crystalline knife and plunged it into a sack of melange, spilling the powder like dried blood onto the rocks and sand. A few pebbles continued to patter down from the rough gash of the avalanche.

  “We have it all, Selim,” said Jafar after his men had intercepted everyone trying to escape, and had carried off the packages into the rugged boulder field.

  They did not kill the spice gatherers, did not even steal their water or take their vehicles. Possessions meant nothing to Selim. The desert would always provide. “Remember what you have learned here,” he thundered. “How many times must I teach you the same lesson?”

  Then, following Marha, the desert vigilantes climbed high on the rugged cliffs and vanished….

  * * *

  WHILE THE REST of the scavenging party moaned and muttered in complaint, one youth stared after them in awe. Some of his companions raised fists and shouted curses after the outlaws.

  But the young man, Aziz, could not suppress a smile. He had never expected to gaze with his own eyes upon the Wormrider! The great man had looked directly at him.

  As the grandson of Naib Dhartha, Aziz had heard of Selim’s exploits, although the Zensunni portrayed the bandit leader as a villain. But Selim and his followers knew how to ride worms! And they had harmed no one. No matter what his grandfather said, Aziz thought they were a brave and magnificent band, truly blessed by Buddallah.

  Secretly, Aziz longed to know more about them.

  The coward will not fight.

  The fool refuses to see necessity.

  The scoundrel puts himself ahead of humanity.

  The Zenshiites are all these things.

  — PRIMERO XAVIER HARKONNEN, “On-Site Military Dispatches”

  Ignoring Rhengalid’s cold reception, Xavier Harkonnen set up his base of military operations in the grotto city of Darits. He had no other choice, if he was to accomplish his mission. The roar of the dam’s water-diversion chutes filled the cool air. Red algae stains dripped down the cliffs like dark blood.

  The Zenshiite elders had retreated into their cliff dwellings. The fanatics stubbornly refused to accept that they could be in any danger, even though Xavier showed them transmitted images of the robot army marching overland toward their holy city. “Look with your own eyes. The machines will destroy you.”

  Spiny robots strode through tilled lands alongside the river channel, accompanied by crunching, heavy-assault vehicles on tractor treads. Dressed as local farmers instead of in their uniforms, Ginaz mercenaries harried the robots, provoking them into launching explosive projectiles and then quickly taking shelter. The robot army never deviated from its objective and pressed on toward vulnerable Darits.

  Watching the images, Elder Rhengalid furrowed his shaved brow with concern, then thrust his bearded chin forward. “We have nothing here the machines could want. Soon they will recognize that and leave us alone.”

  But twice now Xavier had seen the utter devastation the thinking machines could wreak: on Zimia, and on Giedi Prime, where he had lost Serena. He had also been at the massacres on Ellram, Peridot Colony, and Bellos. He knew Omnius wanted to conquer IV Anbus because it was an important stepping-stone on the path to Salusa Secundus. The robots wouldn’t care whether the Zenshiite natives were alive or dead.

  Knowing he was about to snap with anger and frustration, Xavier sent the deluded leader away. “I have done everything in my power to accommodate you, Elder, but I no longer have time to discuss this. You are welcome to recite your sutras if you think they can save you from the enemy, but do not interfere with my work.”

  Intermittent reports sputtered in from the Ginaz mercenaries. Even though the fighters carried no weapons more sophisticated than primitive Zenshiites were likely to use, the mercenaries proved remarkably successful, taking out twice as many machines as expected. The wreckage of combat robots lay strewn along their path. Xavier feared the Ginaz commandos were causing so much harm that the thinking machines might grow wary and turn back.

  Nevertheless, the invading robots approached the first of the two settlements that had been set up as traps.

  The Primero turned back to receive updates from the independent guerrillas and jihadi forces in two occupied villages. “Tercero Tantor, give me a status check. The mercenaries report the machines are coming your way.” Xavier hoped Rhengalid’s objections would turn to ashes in his mouth when he saw the true threat of the monstrous machine army.

  From the first village, Vergyl responded with a strangled crack in his voice. “Primero Harkonnen, we have a crisis!”

  “What have the machines done?”

  “Not the machines, sir— the natives. Overnight, they poisoned us… sabotaged our weaponry, damaged the power cells. My men are incapacitated. None of our artillery works. The Zenshiites ruined everything!”

  Xavier felt a sinking dread. He wrestled with anger and disgust as the second contingent reported in. “This is Tercero Hondu Cregh, sir. The locals drugged us too, then slashed our power cables, stole batteries, twisted the targeting mechanisms. It’s my own fault, sir… but we—” He coughed. “We were here to protect these people. Now we can’t fire a single shot.”

  Vergyl broke in, voice strained and watery. “Xavier, the machines are moving toward us at a rapid pace. What are your orders? What should we do?”

  Storming with barely contained fury, Xavier paced back and forth, wanting to shout at Rhengalid. But that would do no good.

  He couldn’t let any harm come to his little brother, especially not while helping people like this. He barked back to the two village teams, “Tercero Tantor, Tercero Cregh, you have to withdraw immediately. You’ll be completely wiped out if you give yourselves away.”

  Ransacking his mind for another solution, Xavier clenched his jaw until his teeth hurt. Time was running out. The machine army was already sweeping inexorably along the path— and now his carefully orchestrated ambush, the one opportunity for a clean and decisive victory, had been foiled.

  Years ago, on Poritrin, the Buddislamic slaves sabotaged the newly installed shield generators of the League Armada so that League soldiers would have marched blindly to their deaths if Xavier himself hadn’t discovered the treachery.

  Now these Zenshiites of IV Anbus had added their own unnecessary suicide to treasonous acts against the Army of the Jihad.

  Taking deep breaths, remembering too clearly that these evil machines had murdered a son he had never met, Xavier spoke into the comline, telling all soldiers within range, “We shall achieve victory the hard way, if that’s how the Zenshiites want it.” Cold air whistled through his teeth. “I will never surrender this planet to Omnius… no matter the cost.”

  Vergyl sounded frightened, but optimistic. “Xavier, I think I might be able to reconfigure some of our weapons to get them working again. We can pursue the thinking machines, attack them.”

  Zon Noret broke in, speaking for the mercenaries. “Give us those weapons, Primero. You’ve seen how much we’ve already accomplished with what little we scraped up from local resources. We�
�ll make a go at it.”

  “That would be a wasted effort. You couldn’t accomplish what we need. Withdraw and salvage all the military equipment you can. We may need it someday— but not now. I have other plans.” He looked down the long canyon again; the machine army could not be far away. “All mercenaries, report back to Darits as fast as you can. Zon Noret, if I recall correctly, you have special demolitions training? I need your… particular skills.”

  He looked up at the immense dam built by the Zenshiites to hold back the water and control the floods. If these people could construct such an elaborate facility, why couldn’t they stand up to an obvious enemy?

  Tercero Cregh checked in from the second village. “Primero, the machine forces have just passed us by. No casualties.”

  “They don’t care about you at the moment. Once they take over the Darits network and infrastructure and lay down their own substations, they figure they’ll have plenty of time to come back and smash all outlying villages.” He worked hard to keep from cursing out loud. “Can you estimate how soon the machines will reach Darits?”

  “Two hours at the most, Primero.”

  “We’ll be ready.” Xavier switched off the comline and turned to one of the soldiers beside him. He had no choice but to take drastic action. The Zenshiites had made certain of that. “Go find Elder Rhengalid. Tell him his people have less than two hours to evacuate the city. Make sure he knows that I won’t issue another warning.”

  * * *

  STANDING IN THE mist-slick breezeway along the cliffside, the Zenshiite elders demanded to know what Xavier intended to do.

  “This was not the way I wanted to fight the thinking machines, but you brought this upon yourselves. I could have accomplished my mission and still saved your city and your people. You have left me no alternative.”

  At that, Rhengalid raised a sinewy fist to the sky. “Darits is a sacred city, the heart of the Zenshiite religion. We have holy texts here, a wealth of relics, irreplaceable artifacts.”

  “Then you should have moved them to safety as soon as you heard my warning an hour ago.” Xavier ordered him forcibly removed. “Encourage your people to move quickly. There is no need for them to die.”

  While water jets roared from the dam’s diversion channels and outflow chutes, he explained remorselessly. He told of the time, decades earlier, when Omnius had launched a major assault on the Salusan capital city of Zimia, and Xavier had pulled together his military forces, making a grim decision to protect Holtzman’s shield generators by any means. He had saved the entire world, though it had cost thousands of lives and large sections of the beautiful metropolis. Now Xavier had made a similar choice for Darits— on a much greater scale.

  In a rushed consultation, he had met with his structural engineers and demolitions experts to discuss the placement of explosives. The dam was well built, but his commandos could still identify structural weak points.

  Zon Noret stood before them, dripping blood from wounds he had received in direct combat with the fighter robots; he ignored the injuries, applying his own emergency field dressings to keep himself going for a little while longer. “It’ll take at least ten charges, perfectly positioned.”

  One of the engineers said, “We could just use atomics, Primero. It would be much easier.”

  Xavier shook his head. He had seen enough atomic destruction when the League Armada sterilized Earth. “No matter what these people have done, I still want to give them a chance.”

  Following Noret’s plan, the wiry, fearless men and women from Ginaz scrambled up cracks in the great stone blocks that formed the dam’s ornate surface. They planted detonators and high-energy chemical foams behind the colossal paired sculptures of Mohammed and Buddha.

  The machine army marched onward, ignoring the distractions of other villages that they would occupy after the Omnius update was installed within the Darits network. But Xavier meant to take that prize from them, destroying the massed robot troops in the process.

  Some Zenshiites took the warning seriously and fled the city, while others refused to listen to anything the infidels said. Torn by the tremendous decision he had been forced to make, Xavier watched the stream of refugees. He had already seen so much death in his lifetime.

  I cannot rescue those who insist on martyring themselves.

  But he scowled as tears stung his eyes. It is such a waste. For whom are they sacrificing themselves? Omnius will not be impressed, and neither am I.

  Vorian Atreides transmitted from his flagship in orbit, sounding cocky. “Good news, Xavier. I’m nearly finished up here. Ready to take on the space fleet.”

  “Excellent— because the thinking machines are almost upon us.” He cut off the comline transmission, leaving his fellow primero to prepare the second phase that would, theoretically, drive the rest of the machine fleet far from IV Anbus.

  Moments later the fearsome robotic army arrived at the far end of the canyon, an ominous assemblage of implacable, mechanical might. In his heart Xavier wanted nothing more than to destroy them.

  Even the seasoned warriors cried out in dismay, but Xavier waved them to silence. “We fight for honor and a just cause! We are soldiers in the Army of the Jihad.” He ordered his mercenaries and jihadis to get to safety. Zon Noret stumbled away, nearly collapsing; more blood had seeped from his deep wounds, but he shook off the assistance one of Xavier’s soldiers offered him.

  The machine invaders plunged onward, apparently convinced they had overrun the final human defenses. Xavier waited… and waited. Sweat trickled down his temples into the corners of his eyes.

  We have the force of nature on our side, a powerful ally. The water will do the rest of the work for us.

  The last Ginaz commandos scrambled to the top of the canyon and away from the shockpath of the planted explosives. Noret kept up despite the injuries, following his mercenaries. Sunlight glinted on the metal shells of the hideous combat robots.

  “This is one world Omnius will not conquer,” Xavier said, his voice low and threatening. Then he lifted his chin and opened his mouth in a shout. “You cannot have this place.”

  He detonated the explosives himself.

  Sequential blasts rippled like thunder as the sound waves were trapped and focused by the confining canyon walls. The detonations struck vulnerable points, pummeling and resonating through the mighty dam.

  With the structure fatally wounded, the immense force of chained water pushed through growing fractures, gained strength, and caused exponential levels of damage. Sprays of water and chunks of debris shot out like high-pressure jets.

  Water hammered through the cracks like a cosmic stampede. The huge statues of Buddha and Mohammed wavered, breaking at unlikely joints, as if the monuments were weaving about in a drunken dance. At last, with a roar, the entire dam split. The barrier wall, the cyclopean sculptures, and house-sized debris tumbled forward with the titanic force of an unleashed river.

  It was a weapon much too powerful for even the thinking machines to oppose.

  The robotic invaders hesitated as their sensors showed them the oncoming wall of water. They analyzed the information and much too slowly attempted to retreat. But the tumbling liquid sledgehammer smashed them away, swatting aside even the most massive armored bodies like sticks in a hurricane.

  Freed water also ripped out the buildings and structures embedded in the sheltered cave hollows. The sacred city of Darits washed away, along with the unretrieved relics and any Zenshiite inhabitants who had refused to evacuate.

  From atop the canyon wall, safe above the surging outburst of water, Xavier Harkonnen watched grimly. He could smell the fresh wet earth and churning water as the reservoir emptied in a great, silt-laden gush. Downstream, the flood would wipe out crops and settlements.

  I would have preferred any other way. But they left me no choice.

  * * *

  AFTER THE MACHINES had been swept away and the wall of water continued to rush down the canyon, Jihad shuttles cam
e to pick up the regrouped forces. While Xavier gathered the Ginaz mercenaries and his remaining soldiers on top of the canyon wall, thousands of fighters shouted and cheered, celebrating their great victory.

  In contrast, the surviving Zenshiites looked appalled, their eyes wide and disbelieving. Rhengalid, his face smeared with mud, his gray beard tangled, pointed an accusing finger at Xavier.

  “I curse you! You destroyed our holy city, our sacred relics, and thousands of our people. May the wrath of Buddallah fall upon you and your descendants for a million years!”

  The water roared onward through the canyon below, spreading out as the terrain leveled. The last chunks of the crumbling dam fell away from cliffside anchor points, and the huge reservoir continued to drain. Some Zenshiite fishing boats were swept into the rapids, where the torrent crushed them.

  “You will have to rebuild an entire city.” Xavier looked at Rhengalid with little sympathy. “But you can do that only because you are alive and free.”

  Secrets give birth to more secrets.

  — A Saying of Arrakis

  Now that Agamemnon and his Titans had been sent off on their separate missions, Corrin seemed peaceful and efficient.

  Though thinking machines might have communicated through any node of the sprawling evermind network, Omnius ordered Erasmus to go to the Central Spire of Corrin for a meeting.

  Each time Erasmus viewed the tall, needle-shaped structure, the flowmetal tower adjusted its appearance, at the whim of Omnius. The mechanical Central Spire itself seemed to be alive with sliding walls, plaz windows, and adjustable floors. The evermind core moved throughout the labyrinth, from the tip of the tower to the underground chambers.

  Erasmus could change the expressions on his flexible metal face, but the Corrin-Omnius could— and did— morph entire building structures. As far as the autonomous robot knew, none of the other Omnius copies followed such whims. It made the pervasive computer seem almost… eccentric.

  When he arrived, Erasmus dutifully rode a rapid lift to the seventh level of the flowmetal tower, where he stepped off into a small, windowless room. After the metal doors irised seamlessly shut behind him, his optic threads could detect no openings in the walls or ceiling. He wondered if the evermind was trying to intimidate him.