“Now this is very important,” Erasmus said. “Salivation and ovulation. Remember those two concepts and you will have a basic grasp of the human reproductive process. After the kissing, intercourse begins immediately.” He began to speak more rapidly. “That is all you need to know about human copulation. Do you have any questions, Gilbertus?”
“No, Mr. Erasmus,” the boy said. “I believe you have explained everything quite clearly.”
Some miracles are only nightmares in disguise.
— SERENA BUTLER, Echoes of the Jihad
Serena invited Rajid Suk, a talented battlefield surgeon, and Primero Xavier Harkonnen as League military representative to accompany her on an inspection of the much-vaunted Tlulaxa organ farms. They were in space for a month, en route to the Thalim system. In spite of the potential significance of this mission, the decision to pull these important men away from their duties at the heart of the fight was difficult for Serena. After all, travel through star systems always took so infernally long… and people were dying every day.
Young Suk had made extensive, even miraculous, use of products from the organ farms, saving thousands of the veterans injured in combat against thinking machines. After the first Battle of Zimia, one of Suk’s predecessors had performed the medical procedure that gave Primero Harkonnen replacement lungs.
Serena considered both of her companions true heroes.
Her expedition moved with ceremonial ponderousness. Rekur Van’s merchant ship had already raced ahead of them to the Thalim system, carrying Iblis Ginjo— purportedly to prepare the way for their visit, though she suspected otherwise. Iblis still had his secrets.
Finally her spacecraft went into orbit over the planet Tlulax. Serena was anxious to reach the surface and stroll under the sun of Thalim. She had been too long in space. A dozen perfectly clean, white-robed Seraphim served as her attendants.
Smiling with pride, Serena waited in her shipboard quarters for the crew to get the shuttle ready. No official League representative had ever made a diplomatic visit to the shrouded, insular Tlulaxa worlds. If she could bring these biological wizards into the larger fold of the League, with full rights and privileges, everyone would benefit.
The Tlulaxa were said to be exceedingly religious people, though they kept their beliefs and practices as secret as their daily lives. What could they possibly have to hide? And how did Iblis get along so well with them? In any event, the Tlulaxa could contribute a great deal to the Jihad. Their genetic sophistication and medical breakthroughs had already been a boon to humanity.
Admittedly, too many of their race served as flesh merchants for those few League Worlds that still tolerated the enslavement of humans. In her youth, Serena had spoken out vehemently against slavery. Sadly, she later came to realize that the practice was so entrenched that it would take centuries to reverse the practice. As a leader, she still frowned on the practice of slavery, but her highest priority was to win the Jihad and save the human race from extermination.
The Tlulaxa organ-sellers had repeatedly expressed concern about divulging proprietary information, but Serena hoped to convince them to share their knowledge. She hoped that by granting patents or monopoly concessions she could assure the Tlulaxa that their business interests would be protected, and that many more people could be saved. Given their adaptability and intelligence, Serena was sure the Tlulaxa could maintain their commercial superiority.
With a firm expression, her chief Seraph Niriem announced, “The Grand Patriarch has sent word from the surface that preparations are ready for your arrival, Priestess Butler.” In her shipboard quarters the female guards worked together to robe Serena in her most dazzling public uniform, giving her the appearance of a goddess incarnate. Niriem looked at her with an appraisal as sharp as a scalpel, then nodded.
The intimidating and fanatically devoted Seraphim accompanied Serena to the shuttle deck, where she was met by Rajid Suk and a stone-faced Xavier Harkonnen. Xavier looked like the ideal military officer, but did not meet her gaze for very long. That had been his pattern since marrying Octa.
The neatly dressed surgeon had dark hair bound in a long ponytail behind his back, and eyes that seemed overlarge for his face. His nimble, long-fingered hands fidgeted impatiently.
Two of the white-robed women climbed aboard the shuttle; Niriem herself sat in the pilot’s seat. Serena walked gracefully up the ramp, followed by an eager Dr. Suk and a less enthusiastic Xavier. The two men sat separately.
During the shuttle’s descent toward its assigned landing point on the planet below, they passed over the sparkling new city of Bandalong, which was still being built under a breathtaking master plan financed with profits generated by the organ farms and slave marketing. Far outside the formal boundaries of Bandalong— a city off-limits to outsiders, even to the Priestess of the Jihad— they landed in an open, efficient spaceport with clean lines and colorless architecture.
As Serena and her Seraphim emerged, both Iblis Ginjo and Rekur Van came forward to meet them. The flesh merchant’s political importance and clout had apparently been substantially boosted because of his connection with the Grand Patriarch. The little man bowed to Serena.
She blinked in yellow sunlight, surprised to see that local business continued as usual. She saw no cheering crowds or groups of curious spectators, as she would have expected on any League World. Only a few dozen businessmen and governmental representatives formed the receiving party. It was disappointing, for she knew that her very presence could inflame enthusiasm and swell hearts.
Serena’s ego did not require her to be treated to a spectacular reception, but she was puzzled. If the Tlulaxa had intended no extravagant greeting ceremony, why had they insisted on so many delays for “preparations”?
One of the representatives separated himself from the group and came forward. He bowed slightly. “Priestess Serena Butler, we are honored that you choose to spend your valuable time traveling to see us. We have made a portion of our organ farms presentable for your inspection, but you will forgive us for not shutting down our complicated work processes.”
Iblis interrupted, his voice rich and confident. “The demand for Tlulaxa product increases with every battle against the evil machines, and we would not want a single injured veteran to go without eyes or a new heart because these hardworking people were too busy hosting a diplomatic reception.”
Serena smiled. “The Grand Patriarch knows that I intend no disruption, I simply wish to recognize and honor everything you Tlulaxa have done. “
Dr. Sukstood next to Serena and acknowledged the bureaucrats. “In my work as a military surgeon, I have relied upon Tlulaxa products to save countless lives. Long ago, Primero Harkonnen himself received a new set of lungs, thanks to the flesh merchant Tuk Keedair. If the Primero had not been saved that day, he would never have lived to become the father of Manion the Innocent.”
Serena saw Iblis nodding with reverent satisfaction. She had heard her baby called a saint by the street rabble in Zimia and among the crowds on other Jihad-frenzied worlds. But Xavier stood by, looking somber, as if disturbed by his thoughts. After a long life of unprecedented service and effort, was that to be remembered as his greatest achievement? To be the father of a murdered child?
She stepped away from the shuttle, walking toward the rest of the receiving party. Serena wondered if this civilization was a rigidly patriarchal society, a throwback to primitive times. Extraordinary technical breakthroughs and scientific sophistication, such as the Tlulaxa had managed with their programmable organ farms, usually required an exchange of information and an open encouragement of innovation and genius. Such advances were not usually in keeping with a repressive, bigoted society.
Were they giving her such a cool reception because of her gender?
Showing no hint of her thoughts, Serena smiled at them and raised her hands in benediction. “Let us go now to admire your wondrous organ farms.”
Rekur Van led the way, directing Serena
and her companions to a small airvan used for public transportation. Behind her, with the sun glinting on the new structures of distant Bandalong, she noted that the buildings, though of different sizes, were all similarly squarish and serviceable, like geometric anthills.
On the hills outside the city, low grasses and a network of paved roads made labyrinthine designs, like the patterns on an ancient computer chip. “We have thousands of organ-growing installations across the planet,” said Rekur Van, “all situated in the open where they can draw photosynthetic energy from unobstructed sunlight.”
Within half an hour, Serena saw the organ farms. She disembarked from the airvan and went forward with tentative steps, faster than the Tlulaxa could accompany her. Niriem and the other Seraph followed closely. But when the guard women looked to Iblis, he shook his head faintly, and they eased back.
Serena, Xavier, and Dr. Suk looked at the glistening tanks as if they were witnessing a miracle. Chrome pipes, glass tubes, and blackmetal supports held egg-shaped translucent tanks. Each one was large and curved, containing a bubbling yellowish liquid like amniotic fluid. The tanks hung like swollen fruit, connected by flashing diagnostic systems and status screens that monitored the perfectly cloned organs. Iblis explained that different types of tanks produced different body parts, and none of them would ever be rejected by transplant recipients.
Through the curved walls of each enclosure, Serena made out murky but recognizable shapes, flaccid sacs of lungs, artery-embroidered hearts, curtains of ridged muscle fiber like swatches of corduroy. Lifting her head, she gazed across the hillsides, where thousands upon thousands of drooping spheres glinted in the sunlight, absorbing energy from the clear Tlulaxan sky.
The battlefield surgeon peered into one of the nearest tanks that contained a dozen eyeballs floating together like a cluster of grapes, each one staring out at him. Optic nerves and blood vessels were connected to a central nutrient bulb. “This is extraordinary. You grow organs to order? Is each one of these eyes designated for a particular victim?”
“No,” Rekur Van said with a glance at the other Tlulaxa. “We make them blood-type neutral, so that they are compatible to a variety of victims. We have spleens, livers, kidneys, everything vital. Our larger tanks can even grow sheets of fresh skin.”
“I know,” Rajid Suk said. “I’ve used much of that material myself, especially in treating burn victims. It has improved the quality of thousands of lives.”
Organ trees rotated to align themselves with the direct sunlight. The surgeon seemed awestruck. “For centuries, our best medical technicians have attempted to achieve such precise levels of cloning. What the Tlulaxa have accomplished is nothing short of breathtaking. If I were not looking upon this with my own eyes, I would not believe it could be true. No other League scientist has come close to this, not even in the glory days of the Old Empire.”
He grinned at Serena, then at the Tlulaxa representatives. “For the benefit of all humanity, you must share this technology with the League. We could erect similar organ farms. Medical victims would no longer need to endure months on life-support machines waiting to receive replacement organs.”
Seeing alarm on the faces of the Tlulaxa hosts, Iblis Ginjo raised his hands. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Doctor Suk. This is the very livelihood of the Tlulaxa civilization.” The small group walked among the unsettling yet incredible tanks, each of which held one or more organs that would someday help the war victims. “They could easily impose higher prices and reap huge profits, but they are doing their part in the fight against Omnius. No war profiteering here, eh, Rekur?”
“None at all.”
Energized, Iblis added, “Eventually Tlulaxa organ farms may surpass the profits they generate from slave activities.”
“I would like to see that happen,” Serena said. “Of course, there is a higher demand for these products during wartime.” She frowned and looked around. “Where are all of the slaves here? I expected to see them working your farms.”
Rekur Van said, “Selling slaves is our primary business, Priestess Butler. Trained, intelligent humans are a valuable commodity, and we do not keep them for ourselves. Besides, we could not entrust the care and upkeep of these delicate farms to unruly laborers who might have foolish dreams of vengeance.”
Xavier nodded stiffly, as if barely controlling his anger. “As the recent revolt on Poritrin demonstrated.”
“We have no intention of exposing our organ farms to such a threat.”
Serena accepted the explanation and recalled all too well the horrors Buddislamics had wrought on Poritrin. The casualties around Starda were still not accurately tallied; the true number would likely never be known because, at its center, the radioactive wasteland was little more than glassy rubble and the stains of bodies. The surviving population had hunted down the rebellious slaves and slaughtered many of them in a vindictive pogrom. That world would never be the same again.
The Tlulaxa escorts continued the tour for the rest of that day, showing the visitors all types of biological samples dangling in tanks. Always alert, Niriem never left Serena’s side.
After dinner, they attended a formal reception, where discussions continued. The following day, Iblis seemed quite pleased when he came to Serena with an offer from the Tlulaxa council. “Our friends have made a most generous suggestion, Serena. They wish to take formal samples of your cells and DNA. This will allow them to grow specifically tailored replacement organs for you, should… should you ever suffer injury in another assassination attempt.”
Serena frowned. “Would I not be able to use the standard organs from the farms, like all of our jihadi soldiers?”
Rekur Van hurried up to her in the small banquet room. “Of course, Priestess, but there is always a slight chance of rejection. It’s biologically impossible to guarantee a perfect match— unless we use your own DNA. It seems a worthwhile safeguard, and the Grand Patriarch agrees.”
Xavier Harkonnen looked skeptically from Iblis to the Tlulaxa flesh merchant. “I’m not convinced this is necessary—”
Serena brightened. “No, it’s all right. I think it’s a good idea. I would also like the Tlulaxa to maintain a library of cells from Primero Harkonnen, Grand Patriarch Ginjo— and even Doctor Suk.”
Xavier appeared alarmed, touching his chest. “The replacement lungs I received many years ago have functioned perfectly well, Serena. I see no need for—”
“But I do.” And that was the end of the discussion.
The following morning, after carefully tagged samples had been taken from the group, Iblis urged them to return to the spaceport. “Come, Serena. The Tlulaxa have been more than generous with their time. You’ve seen everything you need to. Besides, our business is concluded here.”
Finally, after a breakfast that seemed oddly rushed, she smiled at her Tlulaxa hosts. She needed to make certain they understood how much she appreciated their efforts. “I am greatly impressed, and I commend you for your accomplishments. It is my dream for you to join us as full-fledged League members. All of humanity would benefit from your contributions.”
“Perhaps that can be discussed in the future,” Iblis said. “In any case, the most important thing is for the Tlulaxa to continue their gallant efforts on our behalf.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Iblis quickly ushered Serena and her entourage back to the shuttle as if he didn’t want Serena to probe any deeper. Dr. Suklooked completely awed by all that he had seen. Iblis said, “You are Priestess of the Jihad, the unifier of humanity against Omnius. With you, nothing is impossible.” He shot meaningful glances at Rekur Van and the other Tlulaxa.
Leaving the Grand Patriarch behind, Serena thought he seemed entirely pleased with how the visit had turned out. But in her heart she could not shake the nagging sense that something was not right….
173 B.G.
JIHAD YEAR 29
One Year After the Return of the Ivory Tower Cogitors
Op
portunities may arise in an instant, or they may develop for a thousand years. We must always be prepared to seize what is ours.
— GENERAL AGAMEMNON, New Memoirs
If Agamemnon had still possessed a physical body, his face would have displayed a triumphant grin as he watched the machine fleet converging on Bela Tegeuse. With his organic brain bathed in the electrafluid of his preservation canister, the cymek general felt a tingle of anticipation and victory.
Omnius would never suspect a thing.
The two Titans with Agamemnon felt the same, along with the neocymek Beowulf and the one hundred seventeen ambitious neos they had recruited into their revolt against the Synchronized Worlds.
“Once again, it will be the Time of Titans!” Agamemnon’s secret transmission was distributed throughout the swarm of cymek ships that traveled like unobtrusive remoras amid a school of deadly sharks. “We will restore our original rule, granting rewards and power to those visionaries who wish to destroy the computer evermind.”
The Corrin-Omnius had dispatched this large fleet along with numerous “loyal” cymek assistants to impose machine control before the feral jihadi humans could take over. The evermind had given his cymek general clear orders not to allow the wounded Synchronized World to fall to the hrethgir.
Agamemnon intended to follow those orders… in his own fashion.
Beowulf, the most talented programming genius since the Titan Barbarossa, had designed customized instructions and programming loops for all thinking machine warships, supposedly to prepare them for the chaos and disruption they would find on Bela Tegeuse. The machine warships would protect against any foolish incursions by human marauders.
The robot fleet carried a new and complete update of Omnius, with all of the instructions and information necessary to restore Bela Tegeuse to its synchronized status.
All of those massive, technologically beautiful ships would be a good start for Agamemnon’s own imperial cymek fleet.
Dune: The Machine Crusade Page 53