Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Weeks and months passed, without the arrival of any word, any hint. Some of her followers began to despair. Others held on to slender threads of hope— in spite of anxiety and concern, they reminded themselves that conventional space travel was maddeningly slow.

  Iblis Ginjo continued to reassure the public, but he also prepared them. He had to wait for precisely the right moment. Everything had been put in place even before Serena’s departure.

  Finally, a full month beyond her expected return date, he dispatched Yorek Thurr. If anyone investigated after the initial shock and dismay had passed, log entries would show that a beacon signal had been picked up from a small ship hurtling in from the edge of Synchronized territory.

  Within days, the Jipol commandant and his group of scout ships intercepted a heavily accelerated drone pod that was soaring toward the Salusan system. The pod was not much more than a modified torpedo tube with substantial engines strapped to the end cap.

  Inside, they found a message, a set of recorded images, along with a woman’s burned and horribly mangled body.

  Thurr had no difficulty finding the drone pod, since it was exactly where he and Iblis had planted it….

  The Jipol commandant returned to the Grand Patriarch’s tower bearing the terrible news. Word would leak out soon, and Iblis wanted to control its dissemination as much as possible, to achieve the greatest effect.

  Thurr handed him a scuffed-looking image pack, a carefully sealed set of recorded events. Iblis held it with nervous care, as if he had been given a ticking bomb. He swallowed, feeling dread in his chest. “Do you suppose she is truly dead, then?”

  The bald man stroked his long mustache. “Oh, she is dead— either by her own provocation of Omnius, or by Niriem’s hand. Either way, the people will believe the thinking machines responsible.”

  Iblis unsealed the image pack. “Let us review again what crimes the vile computer evermind has allegedly committed.”

  The Grand Patriarch activated the player. He and Thurr sat back to watch the horrific images, smiling to each other in grim satisfaction. “No one will ever doubt this is the truth.”

  * * *

  ON THE VISUAL recording, sentinel robots, combat meks, and cowed human slaves stood at attention in front of the Central Spire of Corrin.

  The sentinels gleamed in perfect rows under the ruddy sunlight; the hollow-eyed slaves were hushed, but unruly. Held captive, Serena’s five Seraphim stood as helpless prisoners who would soon be forced to watch the execution of their Priestess.

  The sociopathic robot Erasmus— whom all free humans hated as the murderer of Manion the Innocent— spoke to the recording, like a narrator. Iblis had never been certain that Erasmus still existed, but the people hated him enough that they would believe he continued to cause havoc.

  The robot said, “The evermind has decreed that thinking machines can never peacefully coexist with free humans. You are too volatile, untrustworthy, and full of random destruction. You must be shown that you are weak, that Omnius is superior.” The metal face flowed into a demonic grin. “By destroying your leader Serena Butler, the evermind has calculated that humans will realize defeat and cease this Jihad.”

  Behind him, the needle-shaped flowmetal building shifted and crouched like a giant serpent, then formed a large black mouthlike opening. Like a magician’s trick on a large scale, it disgorged a battered Serena Butler.

  The surviving Seraphim shouted in dismay, and the native human slaves muttered uneasily.

  Two large combat meks marched to the prisoner and forcibly strapped her onto a cross-shaped frame. Beneath her, a section of the pavement began to rotate slowly. Serena hung struggling, but did not cry out. Then her eyes turned to the side of the open square toward the sounds of hissing and heavy shuffling.

  An immense thinking machine, a veritable monster, lumbered out into the square. It had coal-red synthetic skin, large curved horns, and spat flames from all over its body. Serena looked at it with brief horror, then firm resolve.

  Like a Greek chorus, Erasmus spoke into the recording. “Omnius has studied historical archives to determine what humans consider the most unpleasant ways to perish. After tapping into religious imagery, the evermind has selected an exhibition that will crush the human resistance movement forever. Serena Butler’s extravagant death will prove that humans can never successfully challenge us.”

  The satanic machine halted in front of Serena as she lay stretched out and bound to the cross. Precise, intense flames shot from one of the demon robot’s claws into her matching finger. She grimaced as the cross-frame continued to rotate, but did not cry out, not even when all of the fingers on one of her hands crisped and blackened, leaving her knuckles cauterized.

  It was just the beginning.

  The captive Seraphim howled and shouted curses, but Serena made no sound of her own as she hung on the crossbar.

  Next, the devil machine shot flames that burned out both of Serena’s eyes, leaving crackled sockets above her grimace while barely charring the skin of her face.

  Erasmus explained, “The careful application of pain is designed not to cause damage that would be too quickly fatal. Serena will suffer for a long time.”

  Life-support spikes extruded from the crossbar to keep her alive and conscious. The executioner robot continued his sadistic torture, burning parts of Serena’s body, then uprooting and rotating the cross so that his victim hung upside down. Every moment was recorded.

  Omnius’s voice sounded like thunder. “By destroying you, I terminate your Jihad. Humans will no longer have a leader to provoke further destruction. Your death is an efficient resolution to a long-standing problem.”

  “You will… never… understand.” Though her burned face was turned away from the images, her voice was accurate, cribbed from old speeches. “My people will keep fighting, in my name!”

  Her garment ignited with another gout of the robot’s flames. Even when her skin melted like candle wax, Serena refused to cry out. She shouted something defiant at her tormentors that no one could understand. Her bravery was magnificent.

  In excruciatingly painful increments, the executioner roasted Serena Butler alive, setting her afire like a fleshy torch— arms and legs first, reserving the torso and head for last. Systems in the cross frame amplified her pain, keeping her awake even as her nerves and other bodily components tried to shut themselves down, tried to die.

  The Seraphim screamed in outrage, some tearing their own hair out, others staring with tear-bright eyes. Clearly, the spectacle would never inspire them to surrender. On the contrary, their anger was stronger than ever before.

  The demonic, red-skinned robot blasted out with his flames, immolating his victim at the stake. Even though the cross’s life-support system kept her alive, still Serena Butler did not scream.

  Fire consumed the entire body of the Priestess of the Jihad, peeling away skin, exposing black bones— until there was nothing left, except for her legacy.

  * * *

  IBLIS CONSIDERED IT an excellent production. He could feel how much horror and disgust these images would incite, along with an abiding hatred for thinking machines— far greater than he could remember even during the most brutal oppression by the Titans. He looked up at Thurr, more vehemently passionate and vengeful than ever.

  “Make sure that the burned corpse is tested. The DNA samples will prove that Serena is truly dead. There will always be those who will claim it is some sort of trick.” He already knew what the genetic tests would show; his Tlulaxa coconspirators had made certain the cells were identical. He would not, however, wait for the results before making his appalling announcement.

  “We must present these images to everyone,” Iblis said, realizing how astoundingly effective it was going to be.”Everyone. This is more powerful than Serena could have hoped for.” With trembling hands he handed the image pack back to the Jipol Commander. “See that it is copied, and distributed all across the League of Nobles.”

&n
bsp; In war, there are more ways to lose than there are to win.

  — IBLIS GINJO, The Landscape of Humanity

  Before long, every free human had seen the horrific images, the inhuman brutality. A mountain of reaction rose, as the people wondered how they could ever have considered peace with such monsters. There could never be an end to the Jihad, until Omnius was utterly destroyed.

  Once again asserting his power now that his rival was gone, Iblis Ginjo wore his most extravagant robes yet, as the Grand Patriarch. “I pledge this to each of you: Serena Butler shall never be forgotten, nor what the thinking machines did to her!”

  The Jipol prisons released a handful of men and women who had previously been the most outspoken protesters against the Jihad. The prisoners, with no knowledge of Serena Butler’s death, were turned loose with their own placards— “Peace At Any Cost!”— strapped to their backs.

  In short order, mobs formed and tore the hapless protesters to pieces.

  At an emergency session of the League Parliament, Iblis Ginjo grimly projected appalling new images from the colony world of Balut, which— like Chusuk and Rhisso several years before— had recently been burned and leveled by combat robots.

  “The thinking machines did this, even while Serena Butler journeyed to Corrin as our Ambassador of Peace. They always meant to betray us. There were no survivors on Balut.” The Grand Patriarch’s voice went throaty with sorrow. “True to form, the evil machines destroyed every person, every home.”

  The scenes of burned buildings, explosion craters, and charred bodies struck hard, but even these horrors paled in comparison with the execution of their beloved Priestess. Everything added fuel to the flames, exactly as the Grand Patriarch had intended.

  The League representatives in the audience were surprisingly silent, staring at Iblis with stony faces. After finishing his speech, he remained standing. Many people were crying, and then a murmur passed among them. Gradually, everyone in the great auditorium stood, rising in waves to give the Grand Patriarch the most powerful, resounding ovation of his career.

  Seizing the moment, he shouted into the din. “Now our Jihad must have a fresh resolve, a new and deadly purpose! No longer will we listen to overtures of peace from Omnius. I say this to you, my friends: Never falter in your resolve to eradicate the thinking machines completely. The Jihad lives until we obtain complete victory!”

  Though he was genuinely sorry for Serena’s fate, Iblis saw her as a necessary sacrifice. She had accepted the price and gone into battle. Alone.

  As the applause continued, he decided to press his advantage, thinking of his other plans. This was part of his agreement, since the Tlulaxa had helped him with the image pack of Serena’s torture and execution.

  “We must make progress, and we must fight. Most of you know that Priestess Butler has long wanted a better relationship with the Unallied Planets, to strengthen the League and all of free humanity. Now we require that strength, wherever we can find it.

  “As an important first step, in her honor, we should seek a closer alliance with the Tlulaxa. Though they have heretofore remained outside the League of Nobles, their organ farms have nonetheless served our cause.” He took a deep breath and continued, “With your support, I intend to journey to Tlulax and finally convince them to join the League.”

  As if on cue, a grand old hero of the early days of the Jihad, Primero Xavier Harkonnen, rose to his feet. “I agree. New lungs from Tlulaxa organ farms saved my life long ago, enabling me to continue our fight against the thinking machines. I know that Serena would have approved— she visited the organ farms herself and invited the Tlulaxa to join the League. Now we must press them for an answer.”

  Surprised, Iblis smiled. Harkonnen was an unexpected ally indeed. “Thank you, Primero Harkonnen. Now, I—”

  Xavier did not sit down. “In fact, I volunteer my services to take the Grand Patriarch to Tlulax. I am too old to lead a new battle charge against the thinking machines, but I want to help out in any way I can. There are thousands of Unallied Planets. We need to reach out to as many people as possible, as fast as possible.”

  With Primero Harkonnen’s surprising support, the reeling audience of representatives voted in favor of Iblis’s request by an even wider margin than he had anticipated. Afterward, he left the speaking chamber and went among the audience, shaking hands and patting the professional politicians on the back.

  Serena couldn’t have asked for better results herself.

  The beginning of healing is to enlist the recuperative powers of the body— whether it is the body individually and physically, or its various social and political forms.

  — DR. RAJID SUK, Battlefield Notebooks

  Understanding the importance of this meal, Octa used her best culinary skills to cook a luscious farewell feast before Xavier departed with the Grand Patriarch and his Jipol entourage. The servants and the manor chef insisted on helping, but Octa did most of the work herself; her way of showing devotion to her husband. She knew exactly what Xavier liked to eat, which dishes and desserts most delighted him.

  But it pleased Xavier more than anything to just spend an evening with her and their three daughters. His youngest, Wandra, was only ten and still lived at home, but the older two had already delivered fine grandchildren. Xavier’s life seemed full and content, all he could ever have asked for.

  But he had lost Serena Butler— again. And this time she could never return.

  With mesmerized, helpless horror, Xavier had watched the unthinkably violent images as the demonic executioner robot tortured and killed Serena. Her ghastly, pain-wracked death had sent everyone in the League Worlds into howling anger, screaming for revenge.

  Even before she left Salusa Secundus, Xavier had feared the worst, suspecting Serena had her mind made up. She’d been aware of what was likely to happen to her, and had likely even provoked it. He had trouble believing the evermind had been so foolish as to deliver the images and the body back to the League, where it was sure to incite a vengeful uproar.

  Then again, thinking machines had never understood humans. Omnius clearly intended to send a brutal warning to the League of Nobles, but Serena’s martyrdom had brought a completely unforeseen resolve to the population of free humanity.

  Serena must have considered it her Jihad’s only chance. Without any doubt, the manipulative Iblis Ginjo had goaded her into the decision, convincing her to sacrifice herself. Xavier knew how she would have seen the opportunity. She had counted on it, as a way of serving the people she loved so deeply.

  Her followers had been weary, willing to agree to unacceptable terms to end the constant fighting. But witnessing the utter in humanity of thinking machines against their revered Priestess had unified them into an enraged fighting force far stronger and more determined than the thinking machines had ever faced before. Tens of millions were demanding the right to become jihadis. At least Serena had not died in vain.

  At the head of the dinner table, Xavier smiled grimly to himself as he thought of his upcoming mission that could elevate the war to new heights of success. Prior to her capture at Giedi Prime, Serena had wanted to bring the Unallied Planets into the League, but had achieved little success.

  Now, he was taking Iblis Ginjo to encourage the Tlulaxa to join the greater alliance of humanity. This had been a priority with Serena, since she believed that more extensive organ farms were essential to help Jihad fighters injured in battle. In her name, the fight would continue.

  Octa, still willowy and graceful at the age of fifty-five, entered the dining room bearing a platter of smoked bristle back loin chops from one of the hunting parties on the estate grounds. She smiled at her husband, knowing what had happened during that bristle back hunt long ago, when Xavier and Serena had made love for the first time. Octa did this as a gesture to him and her dead sister, serving the tasty meat glazed with a tart currant sauce. Her three daughters expressed their delight at the presentation, and Xavier could barely control the tears
in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Father?” Wandra asked with a child’s naïveté.

  Octa stroked his shoulder, leaned over to kiss Xavier’s gray head. He slipped an arm around her waist. “Nothing, Wandra. I love you all so much, I’m just overwhelmed.” He looked up at Octa, his brown eyes glistening.

  “I know,” she said. “You show me in so many ways.”

  He listened as his older daughters spoke of their own homes and families, of their husbands’ work and their personal ambitions. Roella, the eldest daughter at thirty-seven, seemed to be following in Serena’s footsteps, already selected as a representative in the League Parliament on Salusa Secundus, riding on the fame of the Butler and Harkonnen names. Omilia continued to play baliset concerts to large crowds, while also working double duty to learn the ropes of her husband’s merchant business.

  With the finesse of a politician, Roella said, “Father, we’re proud of you for accompanying the Grand Patriarch on this mission. There are important political repercussions, and you’ll be a powerful stabilizing influence.”

  Xavier nodded noncommittally, not wishing to express the real reason he was willing to go along to a place he did not want to go, with a man he did not trust. Serena asked me to help her Jihad in any way possible. And someone must keep an eye on Iblis Ginjo.

  Xavier realized that he hadn’t paid enough attention to the food, so he fell to his serving with enthusiasm, complimenting his wife repeatedly. “This is absolutely delicious. You have outdone yourself, My dear.”

  Octa was the opposite of her older sister, content with quiet personal activities rather than grandiose aspirations to save the entire human race. Octa didn’t need such activities in order to have fulfillment in her life. She was just as strong as Serena in her own way, trying to hold their lives together and providing an anchor for Xavier when the Galaxy was tossed on stormy seas.

  “We hear that there have been other thinking machine attacks on League Worlds,” said Roella. “Another colony completely wiped out. Terrible. Was it called… Balut?”