Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Was this particular Omnius— the evermind on the most strategically central machine world— developing emotions and eccentricities? Did the Corrin-Omnius believe himself superior to the others? In the past the curious robot had attempted to ask probing questions on the matter, but the evermind always refused to answer.

  The sophisticated computer had his own quirks, idiosyncrasies— even an ego, though Omnius would have denied the accusation. The independent robot found it interesting. Omnius seemed to have a program designed to make him more impulsive and unpredictable, like the humans whose erratic behavior had defeated machines on many battlefields.

  “Today, Erasmus, we shall discuss religion,” the evermind announced from unseen speakers that made it sound as if he was everywhere. “Hold out one hand, palm up.”

  When the robot did so, a metallic gelsphere copy of Omnius dropped into his grasp from a ceiling compartment. Such a wealth of information in a small, lightweight silvery globe. And so much more that was not there, especially the quality of “soul” that Erasmus pursued, along with other elusive aspects of the human condition.

  “Please supply me with all relevant data on the subject before we begin,” Omnius said.

  For centuries Erasmus had observed the human species and conducted experiments on them, adding massive amounts of information to his own already copious databanks. Though the independent robot had many times offered to upload all of it, Omnius had shown little interest in those studies. Until now. “Why do you wish to know about religion? It seems an unusual topic for you.”

  “To me, the so-called spiritual or religious beliefs are an incomprehensible human behavior pattern. Now, however, I realize that they use religion as a weapon against me. Therefore, I must analyze it.”

  For efficient data transfer, Erasmus placed the Omnius copy into an orbport on the side of his own body and transferred the information the evermind had requested. He removed the sphere again.

  Omnius took a moment to process the data and consider it. “Interesting. There are many forms of religion, yet the faiths with the strongest emotional component seem to center on the existence of a Supreme Being or guiding force. Is this the single most important belief of humans?”

  “I am still researching the matter, Omnius. In matters of faith, few things are ever certain. Humans put beliefs and wishful thinking ahead of logic and hard facts.”

  “What is the point of your experiments, if you cannot provide concrete answers?”

  “With human behavior it is difficult to formulate even concrete questions. However, my purpose is to establish certain guidelines and generalizations that may prove useful.”

  The silver sphere spun on Erasmus’s palm, generating heat. “And their religions? Is this upload all you know about them?”

  “I gave you a historical summary, consisting of what my captured humans told me about the churches, synagogues, mosques, and shrines of their people, and how the original faiths dissipated or metamorphosed into their present-day beliefs. If you wish, I can list all recorded planets for you, along with known religious affiliations.”

  “Unnecessary.” Omnius’s voice rose in volume. “Why do they call their movement against me a ‘jihad,’ a holy war? I am a computer. How can I be connected to their religions?”

  “As a matter of convenience, they have associated you with an evil force personified in many of their sacred texts. They label you a demon, which enables them to proclaim that you are the enemy of whichever Supreme Being they revere. Therefore, this changes the conflict from a political matter to a religious struggle.”

  “And what is the advantage of that?”

  “It enables emotions to rule, rather than the logic under which we operate. Humans are inclined to take irrational actions because their religions give them the righteous high ground. To them, our conflict becomes more than a war— it is a holy undertaking of the highest order.”

  Erasmus felt his hand tingle as the sphere processed information at high speed through its databanks. “Could their God be a higher form of organic life than themselves?” Omnius asked.

  “Which God do you mean? The God of Navachristianity? Of Buddislam? The Deislamic Force? The Pan-Hindu Overlords of the Seventh Circle? I do not comprehend the differences well enough. They may simply be skewed manifestations of the same deity, blurred by time and misinformation. Or they may be different gods entirely.”

  “Your answers are overly vague,” Omnius said.

  “Precisely. Believers think of God as an ethereal life-form, although most important religious sects have stories of their deities taking human incarnations.”

  “Preposterous.”

  Erasmus considered his words before replying. “You may be a God of Machines, Omnius.”

  “Then why am I asking questions?” The evermind actually sounded frustrated. “If I were God, would I not know everything?”

  The comment ran parallel with Erasmus’s own observation, since the machine knowledge contained in Omnius’s databanks was not complete. He paused to consider. Had the evermind been playing with him all along? Had Omnius absorbed all the study data on his investigations into human beings?

  Is Omnius reading my mind at this very moment?

  “For decades you have raised a subgroup of humans like animals in pens, none of whom have any formal religious indoctrination.” The silver sphere rose into the air, reached the chamber ceiling, then rolled around on the featureless white surface, as if gravity had turned upside down. “What do the people in your pens believe about God?”

  “Naturally, they hold a more primitive set of beliefs. Some have concocted stories about a Supreme Being, but most are convinced that such a deity has given up on them. The very concept of religion may be no more than a social aspect of humanity, and when social fabrics are destroyed, such belief systems fade.”

  The gelsphere sped over one ceiling surface, then streaked down a wall, across the floor and between Erasmus’s legs, then back up again. “Is it possible that you have avoided the subject of religion in your investigations because it is too complex and illogical?”

  “I have not studied the matter in detail, Omnius. Many other avenues of human behavior have occupied me. Religious belief is only a minor aspect of human character. From what I have observed, I would conclude that humans are either agnostics or outright atheists, unless they are exposed to extreme pain or stress. Such attitudes go in cycles throughout their history, ebbing and flowing like a great tide of human affairs. Religious belief is on the upswing now, with the Jihad as a catalyst.”

  “Is the need for religion an innate human characteristic? Perhaps by ignoring their spirituality, you have been blind to their very essence.”

  “I have tortured them by the thousands, and very few say anything about God— except to ask why He has forsaken them. I have no doubt, however, that even now as Xerxes and his crew are decimating the rebel population on Ix, the mewling victims are uttering prayers with their last breaths, even though they see its ultimate futility.”

  They had received no direct news from Ix, but the Titan’s orders had been clear enough. Xerxes was perfectly capable of performing brutal, straightforward butchery. The few survivors on Ix would never consider foolish rebellion again.

  Omnius said, “I still do not grasp the very concept of religion. What purpose does it serve? It seems an imaginary incentive designed to control societal-scale behavior.”

  Erasmus replied slowly, “Understanding basic faith is like trying to hold a wet, moss-covered rock. It is a solid, substantial object, yet slippery and very difficult to grasp.”

  “Explain.”

  “The religious experience is different for all humans, even when they claim to belong to one belief system. Each individual seems to focus on a different aspect of it. There are nuances, subtle variations— like the human emotion of love, religion is never the same for two different people.”

  “But why?”

  As Erasmus stood there, the Omnius
sphere streaked around the room faster and faster, up the walls, over the ceiling, down the walls, across the floor. Presently, duplicate gelspheres appeared, dozens of copies of Omnius, like projectiles spinning in all directions at high speed, narrowly missing Erasmus, spouting voices that overlapped with a single word: “Why? Why? Why?”

  Abruptly, the spheres shot away, and silence returned to the sealed room high up in the Central Spire. The door irised open behind Erasmus. Dutifully, he entered the lift and departed.

  * * *

  BACK AT HIS Corrin villa, Erasmus admitted the possibility that he had not paid sufficient attention to the subject of religion, as Omnius suggested. If so, he could avoid it no longer. He had been obsessed with human creativity and its expression in various art forms. But where did they get their inspiration? From some higher source? Maybe Erasmus’s slave humans had successfully concealed their spirituality from him— perhaps even subconsciously. If so, that suggested they were hiding it from themselves as well.

  Erasmus stood on a porch overlooking the pens, watching the filthy humans mill about in their crowded, squalid enclosures. If Iblis Ginjo or Serena Butler had discovered how to unleash that engine deep within the human psyche, it might explain the religious fervor that translated into war fever.

  Full of renewed determination, the robot set out on a revised intellectual quest. What was the power behind religion? Was it a weapon that machines truly could not wield? While Erasmus cared little about the details of the galactic Jihad, he had to undertake this project for his own growth….

  Omnius made available to Erasmus piles of printed and electronic books that had been confiscated from ancient human libraries and settlements on conquered Synchronized Worlds. The independent robot began to load them into his own databanks.

  As he did so, Erasmus thought of the Cogitors and all the information in their ancient brains. If a Cogitor had existed on Corrin, such an ancient brain might provide him with interesting revelations. On Earth, Erasmus had occasionally spoken with the Cogitor Eklo, but Eklo had been annihilated in the human revolt there.

  With machine precision, the robot consciously recalled every word Eklo had communicated to him, going over the conversations in detail, and came to a disturbing conclusion: the supposedly neutral Cogitor had been concealing something from him— and protecting humans all along.

  Unfortunately, some wars are won by the side that is the most fanatical in a religious sense. The victorious leaders harness the holy energy of collective insanity.

  — COGITOR KWYNA, The Art of Aggression

  A light afternoon rain pelted the government plaza as Iblis Ginjo hurried toward the Hall of Parliament. Half a dozen Jipol aides followed, not bothering to shelter themselves from the weather. On various corners, statues and shrines to the martyrs of the Jihad glistened in the drizzle and glowing yellow lights.

  As he climbed the broad steps, the Grand Patriarch feigned surprise when he encountered four saffron-robed monks walking gingerly downward. The tallest one carried a large cylinder wrapped in cloth to shield it from the rain: the Cogitor Kwyna being transported like a bird in a cage. Iblis had known they would be here and had arranged to “accidentally” encounter them.

  Iblis signaled to his entourage, and all of them moved to block the secondaries’ path. “Ah! How wonderful!” Iblis exclaimed. “I have been asking to see the Cogitor. I’m sure we have many ideas to exchange.” He grinned, secretly longing for the kind of contact he’d had with the great, brilliant Cogitor Eklo before the terrible rebellion on Earth.

  But Iblis’s present work was far more sophisticated than his earlier, clumsy efforts to stir the slaves into revolt against their masters. He couldn’t accomplish it by himself, but was sure the Cogitor could help— if only he could convince Kwyna to share her vast intellect with him. So far, though, the ancient philosopher-brain had been reticent and aloof, as if unwilling to see the justifications for Iblis’s actions.

  “Kwyna has been busy,” replied the secondary who held the preservation canister. A keloidal scar ran down the side of his face from temple to chin. Trickles of rain spotted his robe.

  “Of course, just as the Jihad also keeps me busy. But we are on the same side, are we not? Allies… perhaps even colleagues?”

  Reaching forward with bold anticipation, Iblis opened a flap on the cloth covering to reveal the sealed jar that held a pink brain immersed in blue electrafluid. The monk’s braided scar twitched as he grimaced, and his dark eyes became steely. But he did not resist the Grand Patriarch.

  “Cogitor Kwyna?” Iblis spoke directly to Kwyna’s lidded canister. “Why don’t we move out of this miserable rain where we can talk? I need you to enlighten me.”

  Kwyna’s disembodied mind was a vast reservoir of knowledge and insight, just as Eklo’s had been. Perhaps she would agree to instruct him, if he used the information in the right way. Iblis had read some of the Cogitor’s earlier esoteric pronouncements, and now he needed to be certain that his interpretations of her thoughts were correct.

  Though he could sense Kwyna’s discomfort in reaction to his intense interest, he longed to be intellectually closer to the female Cogitor, to all the wonderful information and philosophy. His voice became thin, eager. “Please?”

  “Wait, Grand Patriarch.” The scarred monk’s eyes glazed over as he communicated with the ancient brain.

  Ignoring the cold rain that fell harder, the secondary spoke in a rough, throaty voice as the Cogitor communicated directly through him. “Grand Patriarch, you wish to ask me about scriptures and ancient texts. It is in your voice, in your actions, in every breath you take.”

  Impressed, Iblis nodded. “I am fascinated by ancient Muadru prophecies and how they apply to our turbulent times. Based upon my readings, I have found countless justifications for the Holy Jihad against the thinking machines. Your own writings and speeches have inspired me to send many brave fighters to our battlegrounds.”

  The Cogitor seemed distressed. “Those ideas were never relevant to your Jihad.”

  “Are not certain ideas timeless? Especially yours, Kwyna.” By now, the drumming rain had soaked everyone. One of the Jipol sergeants handed the Grand Patriarch a dry cloth, and he dried his face as he continued. “In one of your manifestos you wrote about the collective insanity of war, that winners invoke forceful delusions to achieve victory. I have been trying to achieve this lofty goal that you espoused, with some success, I am pleased to say. But now I wish to take it to a higher level.”

  “I never advocated such a practice. It was merely one of many ideas I offered as examples,” Kwyna responded. “You have taken my words out of context. Have you read the entire scroll, Iblis Ginjo? I believe it is several million words long, and it took me centuries to compile.”

  “I scanned it for ideas. You inspired me.”

  “Important concepts must be absorbed in their totality. Do not attempt to interpret scriptures while wearing blinders in order to suit your own purposes.”

  Iblis knew full well that he had extracted selectively from her writings, and then manipulated the information. But he enjoyed this dialogue with Kwyna, saw it as an intellectual game, a challenge to see how well he could match wits with one of the greatest minds in history. It filled his need for the kind of tutelage he had enjoyed under the Cogitor Eklo, until his destruction in the terrible Earth revolts.

  The Grand Patriarch quoted rapidly from several “end times” scriptures, ancient Muadru runestones and other testaments, which— if interpreted loosely enough— proclaimed that humanity could find its paradise only after enduring a thousand years of suffering… and then only if they made sufficient sacrifices.

  “I believe Ix is an opportunity for us to make those sacrifices. My jihadis and mercenaries are willing to pay the price. So are the people of lx.”

  “The blood of innocents has always been the currency of charismatic leaders,” Kwyna said through the secondary’s voice. “You are reading from fragments and artifac
ts known to be incomplete. Thus, there are gaps in your knowledge, and your conclusions may be faulty.”

  Suddenly intense and eager, Iblis raised his eyebrows. “Then do you know what the rest of the message is? What is on the other fragments?” He wanted as much scriptural ammunition as he could get. He needed to stir a frenzy on newly awakening planets, to galvanize the oppressed people with promises that their time of tribulation was over.

  After a moment of intense silence, Kwyna said, “Are you in truth a religious man, Iblis Ginjo?”

  He knew he could not lie to the ancient philosopher. “Religion suits my holy purpose, which is to help humanity rise up against its oppressors.”

  In her eerie secondhand voice spoken through the monk, Kwyna said, “And have you listened to any of the numerous protests against the Jihad? Are you doing this for humankind, Grand Patriarch… or just for yourself?”

  Iblis responded deftly, “For just one person, perhaps, but not for myself. No, it is for the innocent child of Serena Butler, whom I saw murdered by an uncaring thinking machine. The protesters are shortsighted and irrelevant, while I myself am merely an instrument of victory. When success is achieved, I will gladly step aside.”

  Through her link with the secondary, Kwyna made a peculiar sound. “Then you are a most admirable— and atypical— man, Iblis Ginjo.”

  Forcibly ending the audience, the monk closed the wet cloth flap that covered the preservation canister. He said in his own voice, “We must return to the City of Introspection, Grand Patriarch. The Ancient One must not be disturbed further.”

  As if coming out of a trance, Iblis grew aware of people who moved past him up the rain-slickened steps into the Hall of Parliament. He wanted to spend more time with the superannuated brain, to receive advice and instruction, to share brilliant inspiration— but the saffron-robed secondaries hurried away.