Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  She glanced down at him, making him dizzy with the gaze of her pale eyes. “You are a great hero now, Aurelius. Your name is on the lips of every jihadi fighting for the cause of freedom. That is worth much to history.”

  Gazing across the speaking stage at the impressively dressed dignitaries, he said, “I never lived my life worrying overmuch about history, Zufa. I am pleased enough about how this will change my daily situation.” He straightened his ruffled collar and his overly formal ultrasuit. “You and Norma were right. I was being shortsighted and selfish. Devoting the lion’s share of our resources to military instead of commercial applications will be a setback— but ultimately VenKee Enterprises will grow stronger because of it.”

  She nodded. “There is always a price for patriotism, Aurelius. You are just beginning to understand that.”

  “So I am.” In fact, initially he had thought that receiving this medal was a mere consolation prize, a bauble to make him feel better about his sacrifices. He hadn’t realized it would increase his stature in the eyes of the people. In the future, few people would choose one of his competitors over VenKee for any item of merchandise.

  He found himself unexpectedly eager to return to the shipyards to begin implementing the new state of affairs, while making a full assessment of materials and products so that he could readily arrange for the most profitable cargo to be carried on military missions in the space-folding ships. His products would fly on a standby basis, depending upon available space. Yorek Thurr, pulling strings from the Jipol, had already arranged for Aurelius and Zufa to take a small space yacht back to Kolhar. They would depart almost immediately after the awards ceremony.

  He sat stiffly through the opening agenda and introductions. Presently, Grand Patriarch Iblis Ginjo made appropriate invocations in his impressively resonant voice, followed by Serena Butler. She stood at the speaking podium in her signature purple-trimmed white robes, a dazzling presence. Her hair had gone partially gray, as if lightly dusted with ash, and her face showed the weight of years and tragedies. But her voice was strong as she summoned Venport to the stage, along with the famed young battlefield surgeon Rajid Suk.

  To resounding applause, Venport walked to the podium. Surprisingly, Zufa Cenva showed considerable pride in him, and he wished only that Norma might have been there. For once in her life, Norma deserved the recognition and accolades, whether she wanted them or not.

  The lights excited him and blurred his vision, and he felt as if he were about to be swept away on a tidal wave of applause. Venport blinked, steadied himself. He avoided looking out into the sea of faces surrounding the central platform, and moved into position beside Doctor Suk.

  Serena said, “Each of you will receive the highest medal of commendation the Jihad can bestow. The Manion Cross is named after my baby, the first martyr of our holy war against the thinking machines. Very few have received it.”

  Turning to the other recipient, she said, “Doctor Rajid Suk is our greatest battlefield surgeon. Giving up his private practice, he has repeatedly accompanied our battle fleets, journeying to distant war zones and donating his time to our sacred mission, helping to save countless jihadis.” Suk stood with his shoulders squared and his chest thrust forward. The onlookers cheered as she presented him with his medal.

  “Next, I introduce to you our most astounding entrepreneur, a man who has fought the wars of interstellar commerce and created a supply and delivery network that spans star systems. Directeur Aurelius Venport has just turned over his entire shipyard operation to the Army of the Jihad. At long last, I believe we have the opportunity to crush Omnius for all time.” She was careful not to state any specifics about the space-folding technology; Jipol had proved time and again that machine spies could be everywhere.

  The audience cheered wildly, accepting her assertions without question. Venport, however, doubted that such a significant military strike could occur anytime soon, not even with the best efforts of Kolhar and massive funding. The Holtzman ships were simply too new and unproven.

  Nevertheless, Venport bowed formally as the Priestess draped the shimmering ribbon and gaudy medal over his neck.

  Then she stepped to one side, and gestured toward the men with an open hand, presenting them to the crowd. “Our newest Heroes of the Jihad! Because of them, we have taken great strides toward victory.”

  The merchant raised his head, astonished to feel stinging tears in his eyes. His heart seemed to swell in his chest. As the representatives in the great hall surged to their feet, clapping and cheering, he shook hands with Serena and Dr. Suk.

  Afterward, the honorees said a few words to the assemblage. When Venport’s turn came, he said, “Though I have spent most of my years as a businessman and an entrepreneur, I am learning that there are things far more important than great riches. I thank all of you, for the happiest moment of my life.”

  Oddly, though Venport had never expected to feel this way, he honestly meant what he said.

  Once I thought we should end this Jihad at all costs— but some costs are simply too high.

  — SERENA BUTLER, draft proclamation, unreleased

  Shortly after Venport and Zufa departed on the long journey back to the Kolhar shipyards, the Ivory Tower Cogitors made a procession to Salusa Secundus with great fanfare. Carried by the secondaries, including a giddy, self-satisfied Keats, Vidad demanded an urgent session of the League Parliament.

  Planetary delegates hurried from their residences, appointments, and social events to gather in the Assembly Hall. The representatives were curious, though put out by the rushed and unscheduled event. The meeting was called to order quickly, and Keats placed Vidad’s ancient brain on a pedestal at the center of the oratory stage; the five other Ivory Tower Cogitors rested on lower pillars surrounding their spokesman.

  Still hurrying to straighten his formal robes, Grand Patriarch Ginjo rushed into the hall, harried and unprepared. He’d had no time to contact Serena, who was sequestered in the City of Introspection developing her own secret battle plans for the spacefolder ships, which should be available in less than a year.

  Actually, Iblis preferred to handle Cogitor matter himself. Keats, after all, was one of his handpicked men.

  He entered the crowded and unruly hall just as the ancient philosopher spoke in a booming voice amplified by his modified speaker patch. Iblis was delighted to see the Cogitors return.

  “As Cogitors, we chose to isolate ourselves where we could ponder great questions, taking as long as necessary. Your Priestess of the Jihad came to Hessra two standard years ago and made us understand how the centuries of machine domination and the recent decades of terrible bloodshed have taken their toll upon the human race.

  “We do not normally advocate swift, impetuous action, but the Priestess is a compelling woman. She enabled us to see our duty, not only to the free human race but to the efficient Omnius network. Having considered the matter carefully, we now bring you the solution to the problem, a formula for immediate peace among the combatants.”

  The audience muttered, curious about what Vidad would say. Over the years, as the death toll continued to rise and human colonies fell, as the Jihad drained the resources of the League, the people became ripe for any escape from the endless cycle of warfare. Even now, three dozen years after the beginning of the holy war against machines, free humans seemed no closer to victory.

  Uneasy at what they might suggest, Iblis gazed down on the preserved brains in their translucent cylinders. As ordered, Keats and the other secondaries had opened the minds of the ancient, reclusive philosophers. But now Iblis wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

  “We have taken it upon ourselves to act as mediators between the League and the Synchronized Worlds. The years of bloodshed and conflict are now at an end.” Vidad paused, as if to heighten dramatic effect. “We have successfully brokered a genuine peace with the thinking machines. Omnius has agreed to a complete cessation of hostilities. Machines will no longer target League Worlds,
and humans will no longer target Synchronized Worlds. A simple, clearcut Pax Galacticus. Neither side has cause for continued hostilities. Once the League agrees, the bloodshed simply stops.” He fell silent, allowing the audience time to draw a deep, collective breath.

  Keats looked over at Iblis and announced with great pride, “We have done it! This Jihad is over!”

  * * *

  THE WHITE-ROBED SERAPHIM hurried to interrupt Serena Butler’s meditations. Beneath her gold-mesh skullcap, Niriem’s expression looked distressed— the first time Serena had ever seen such alarm on the loyal woman’s face.

  “Something terrible is happening,” she said, handing Serena a recording cube. “The messenger told me that Iblis Ginjo is calling for you to come immediately to the Hall of Parliament.”

  “Immediately?”

  “A crisis involving the Cogitors. You are to listen to this recording.”

  “What has the Grand Patriarch done?” Serena took a deep exasperated breath. “We’ll listen to this on the way.”

  While Iblis, Serena, and other leaders among the League of Nobles had access to military communication systems, there had been security problems recently, messages intercepted by clever agents of Omnius. It was a matter of such concern that comsystems— which utilized encrypted feedback signals— were now only being used for battle fleets in space, and not on the surfaces of planets. This required an increase in the use of couriers.

  Niriem rushed her into a groundcar that raced down the wide roads to Zimia. Inside the passenger compartment, Serena listened in shocked dismay to a recording of Vidad’s surprise announcement. “This is not what we want at all!”

  “Nevertheless, Priestess, they are so desperate for peace I fear they will agree to anything.”

  Knowing Niriem was right, she played the Cogitor’s brief statement three times, as if hoping the implications or words would change, but the horror and disbelief churned and bubbled in the pit of her stomach like a boiling cauldron.

  “This is impossible. We gain nothing from such terms!”

  She hoped she would arrive before word got out. Such remarkable news could not be kept quiet, and the people would overreact. The ever-growing numbers of protesters would riot in the streets. The League representatives themselves would be blinded by euphoria, completely unreasonable. Serena had to get there without delay.

  Arriving in Zimia, a squad of female guards flanked her as she strode up the veined stone steps into the imposing government building. Like a battering ram, Niriem cleared the way, not afraid to show her full strength. Though she was older now, Priestess Serena still carried a fierce exuberance.

  At the center of the Hall, yellow-robed secondaries stood beside the Ivory Tower Cogitors on their pedestals. The atmosphere inside the echoing chamber was raucous and festive. Iblis Ginjo stood on the edge of the stage, trying to reassert order to the proceedings. He did not appear to be doing very well.

  Her head held high, Serena marched to the center of the speaking floor. The representatives were in a hubbub over the unexpected news, a few shouting against the Cogitor’s new peace plan, but most were cheering and clapping.

  “Let us not be hasty!” Serena shouted without introduction, for she required none. “Dire consequences often come in the guise of good news.”

  The din in the great hall dwindled to a murmur; Iblis looked pleased and relieved that she had finally arrived.

  “Serena Butler,” Vidad said through his speaker patch, “we will delineate the details of our delicate negotiations with Omnius. We have arranged safe passage for a League representative to travel to Corrin and formally accept the peace terms.”

  Serena could barely contain her incredulity. “We do not accept these terms. Peace at any cost? Then what have all these decades of fighting been for? I will tell you our terms: the destruction of all thinking machines!” She looked around the Hall, which grew more crowded moment by moment as people rushed in after hearing the news.

  Only a smattering of applause could be heard, supporting her remarks. Gradually the noise dissipated, and a heavy silence seeped into the chamber.

  Serena took several steps across the stage, closer to Vidad. “Because of my imprisonment and torment under Omnius, I know far more about the suffering of humans on Synchronized Worlds than you have considered in two thousand years of isolation. You understand little if you believe that free humanity is interested in a rapprochement with Omnius.”

  “Our range of knowledge is greater than you presume. Listen to your own people, Serena Butler. They wish an end to the bloodshed.”

  Fury darkened her face. “Your meddling plan may indeed stop the war temporarily, but provides us with no resolution. No victory! Have billions of people died in vain? Did my child die in vain? Omnius will still dominate the Synchronized Worlds, enslaving humanity there. Is all our work for nothing? Zimia? Earth?” She rattled off a list of highlights, raising her voice with the name of each wounded world. “Or Bela Tegeuse? Honru? Tyndall? Bellos? Rhisso? Chusuk? IV Anbus? Peridot Colony? Ellram? Giedi Prime?”

  She turned to stare at the unsettled, subdued audience. “Shall I continue to remind you of all the sacrifices we have made? I am appalled to hear such suggestions after all my work.”

  “But consider the lives it will save, Serena,” shouted a male representative from the crowd above. She could not identify his voice.

  “In the short run— or in the long run? Imagine the future that awaits us once we begin making bargains with Omnius! And why now?” She raised a fist. She had to prevent these representatives from making the most costly mistake in human history.

  Oh, how she wished the new space-folding battleships were ready. But the Parliament knew nothing about the secret work on Kolhar. Once the Army of the Jihad acquired a new fleet that could cross interstellar distances in less time than it took to say it, they could strike the Synchronized Worlds faster than the thinking machine network learned of their defeats. Humans had never before had such an advantage. Once Omnius understood the massive swift force arrayed against him, he would cower on his remaining Synchronized Worlds, never daring to launch any further aggression. He would go into a defensive mode, retracting with each human victory. His once grand empire would get smaller and smaller, and then disappear entirely.

  She slammed her fist into the palm of her hand. “Now— especially now!— we must press on to complete victory. We cannot turn our backs and walk away from the challenge.”

  “But we are tired of this fighting,” said the interim ambassador from Poritrin, who had replaced Lord Niko Bludd. After the ruinous slave uprising there, the people had no heart or resources left to continue major offensives. “These Cogitors offer us a chance to stop the endless warfare. We must consider it, must heed their wisdom.”

  “Not if it means accepting a spineless peace.” Serena swept her robes in a flash of purple and white. “Machines will never respect humans, nor honor an agreement with us. Omnius sees our lives as inefficient and disposable.”

  She paused, feeling her stomach burn and her legs tremble. The audience looked at her as if she was going too far, and that only made her angrier. “Right now the thinking machines are weak and reeling. We have an opportunity to finish them off— down to the last circuit panel.” She lowered her voice to a growl. “If we do not, if we weaken in our resolve, they will rise again and oppose us with greater strength than before.”

  “It is a gamble either way,” said the representative from Giedi Prime. “More than anyone else in this Assembly Hall, I owe you a great debt, Serena Butler. My world is free today because of the brave actions you took to defend us. But our population remains frail, unrecovered from all the damage Omnius did during his brief conquest decades ago. If there is a chance we can reach a truce, one that does not require a terrible capitulation, then we should take it.”

  Another prominent representative stood. “Consider the advantages. Since humans have won back a number of planets and we’ve reached mili
tary parity with the thinking machines, we are indeed in a strong bargaining position to enforce the terms the Cogitors have negotiated.”

  “Hear this!” said a stern woman who remained seated, but whose voice bellowed out across the hall. “With the cymek revolt tearing at the machine resources as much as our human rebellions, Omnius has to be sincere in his cease-fire. He can’t fight us all at once.”

  The debate began anew, and escalated quickly into a shouting match, a din of angry voices. Serena felt growing despair. Too many representatives were anxious for peace, some breathing space for humanity to recover, to rebuild its fleet and heal its population.

  But Serena feared the cost of such a decision. She knew in her soul that this was a terrible, terrible capitulation. So wrong, she thought. How could they be such fools? Serena saw clearly that if she continued to insist on aggression, she would lose the majority of her support in the Parliament.

  She had to find some other way to change their minds. The Grand Patriarch looked at her with wide, imploring eyes. He had done so much to rally the Jihad in her name, and now he must be experiencing the bitter taste of failure in his mouth, just as Serena was.

  The Cogitors had won. Vidad had single-handedly brokered a peace that would cripple humanity and lead to a slow death of League civilization.

  Omnius would never forget this Holy Jihad. He would get stronger and stronger, with only one goal in mind: the complete eradication of humanity in every star system. By then, Serena would no longer be around to say that she had warned them.

  Turning her back on the assemblage, she marched out of the chamber in disgust, refusing to listen to any more. Despair weighed heavily on her shoulders. For more than three decades she had rallied her people, but had not inspired them enough to win.