Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (13 page)

He gave a favorable assessment, accompanied by a warning. “This is undoubtedly a planet the thinking machines will want to conquer, Eminence.” He studied the city blueprints and the distribution of resources across the main continents. “Any cymek attack would most likely attempt to keep the industries intact so that robots could exploit them. Omnius preaches efficiency.”

Beside him, Magnus Sumi reacted with pride. He pointed out substations on the diagrams. “We intend to install secondary field-transmitting towers at several strategic points.” As he spoke, highlights appeared on the blueprint screen. “We have already built a completely redundant transmitting station on one of the uninhabited islands in the northern sea, which can provide full overlap from a polar projection. We hope to have it online within another month.”

Xavier nodded distractedly, his mind weary from months of such details. “I am glad to hear that, though I doubt a second transmitting complex is entirely necessary.”

“We want to feel safe, Tercero.”

When the two men stood under silvery parabolic towers that throbbed into the sky over Giedi City, Xavier paced around the plascrete embankments that blocked access to large vehicles. He had no doubt a cymek warrior could easily crash through.

“Eminence, I suggest you station more ground troops and obstacles here. Increase your planetside missile-defense batteries to protect against any intrusion from space. On Salusa, the cymek strategy was to focus their entire attack on the destruction of the towers, and they might try that again.” He rapped his knuckles against the tower’s heavy paristeel support pillar. “These shields are your first and last line of defense, your most effective blockade against thinking machines. Do not neglect them.”

“Indeed. Our munitions factories are building heavy artillery and armored ground vehicles. As soon as possible, we intend to surround this complex with a large concentration of military power.”

As for the uncompleted secondary generating station, it was too isolated to be protected from a massive assault. But its existence seemed to comfort the Magnus and his populace.

“Very good,” Xavier said, then glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. Everything was going so well, perhaps his survey ships could depart before sunset. . . .

The Magnus continued, his voice uncertain, “Tercero, are you concerned about Giedi Prime’s limited space military defenses? Our Home Guard has few large ships in orbit to drive back an approaching machine fleet, and our picket ships and scouts are minimal. I admit to feeling vulnerable in that area. What if Omnius attacks us directly from orbit?”

“You have ground-based missile defenses in place, and they have always proved reliable.” Impatient, Xavier looked up into the clear sky. “I believe your best hope is to protect your shield complex here on the ground. No quantity of Armada battleships can match the deterrent power of scrambler shields. When the robot fleet attacking Salusa realized they could not take down the scramblers, they retreated.”

“But what if they blockade Giedi Prime from orbit?”

“Your world is self-sufficient enough to wait out any siege until the arrival of a League rescue force.” Anxious to be back at the spaceport, Xavier decided to appease the governor. “Nevertheless, I will recommend that a javelin-class destroyer or two be stationed around Giedi Prime.”

THAT EVENING, THE Magnus threw a departure banquet for the Armada service performed on his behalf. “Someday,” he said, “we may all thank you for our lives.”

Xavier excused himself midway through the meal. The food and wine seemed to lack taste. “My apologies, Eminence, but my squadron must not miss the optimal departure window.” He bowed at the doorway, then hurried to his vessel. Some of his troops would have liked to remain longer, but most were also eager to get home. They had their own sweethearts and families, and these soldiers had more than earned furloughs.

With his inspection tour behind him, Xavier left lovely Giedi Prime, confident that he had seen and done everything necessary.

And completely unaware of the vulnerabilities he had not bothered to discover. . . .

T
he
Dream Voyager
neared Earth, humanity’s original home and now the central Synchronized World. Though he remained attentive, Seurat allowed Vorian Atreides to pilot the ship. “Such risks amuse me.”

Vor sniffed, looking at the unreadable expression on the copper skinfilm of the cognizant machine. “I’ve proved myself to be a perfectly competent pilot— probably the best of all the trustees.”

“For a human, I suppose, with sluggish reflexes and the frailties of a physical body prone to infirmities.”

“At least my jokes are better than yours.” Vor took the controls of the black-and-silver ship. He showed off his skills, dodging asteroid rubble as he accelerated in a slingshot curve around the heavy gravity of Jupiter. Alarms lit on the diagnostic panels.

“Vorian, you are taking us beyond acceptable parameters. If we cannot break free of Jupiter’s gravity, we will burn up.” The robot reached forward to reassert control on the flight deck. “You must not endanger the Omnius updates we carry—”

Vorian laughed at the trick he had just played. “Got you, old Metalmind! When you weren’t looking I recalibrated the alarm-sensor setpoints. Check with objective instrumentation, and you’ll see we’ve still got plenty of wiggle room.”

They easily pulled away from the gas giant. “You are correct, Vorian, but why would you do such a brash thing?”

“To see if a robot is capable of wetting his pants.” Vor plotted a final approach vector through the machine-operated surveillance stations and satellites orbiting Earth. “You’ll never understand practical jokes.”

“Very well, Vorian. I will keep trying— and practicing.”

Vor realized that he might one day regret teaching Seurat that type of humor.

“Incidentally, I have more than metal in my brain, as do all thinking machines. Our neurelectronics are only the most exotic alloys, in a network of optic threads, complex polymers, gelcircuitry, and—”

“I’ll keep calling you old Metalmind anyway. Just because it bothers you.”

“I will never understand human foolishness.”

For the sake of appearances, Seurat maintained command as the
Dream Voyager
touched down at the bustling spaceport. “We have reached the end of another successful route, Vorian Atreides.”

Grinning, the young man ran his fingers through long black hair. “We travel a circular route, Seurat. A circle has no end.”

“Earth-Omnius is the beginning and the end.”

“You’re too literal. That’s why I beat you in so many strategy games.”

“Only forty-three percent of the time, young man,” Seurat corrected. He activated the exit ramp.

“Around half.” Vorian headed toward the hatch, anxious to get outside and breathe fresh air. “Not bad for someone susceptible to illnesses, distractions, physical weaknesses, and any number of other frailties. I’m gaining ground on you, too, if you care to examine trends.” He bounded down to the sprawling field of fused plascrete.

Loader robots scurried among larger pieces of AI equipment that moved about on glider fields. Small scouring drones climbed into engine tubes and exhaust cones; maintenance machines scanned large drive components for needed repairs. Tanker robots refueled parked starships, preparing each long-range vessel for any mission that Omnius decreed in his infinite intelligence.

As Vorian stood blinking in the sunlight, a giant cymek strode forward on jointed legs. The hybrid machine’s inner workings were clearly visible: hydraulics, sensor systems, blue-lightning nerve impulses transferred from electrafluid to thoughtrodes. At the core of its artificial body hung the protected brain jar that contained the mind of an ancient human general.

The cymek swiveled its turret sensors, as if targeting him, then altered its path toward Vor, raising its front grappling arms. Heavy pincers clacked.

Vorian waved and rushed forward. “Father!”

Since cymeks regularly exchanged temporary bodies in response to the physical requirements of various activities, they were difficult to distinguish from each other. However, Vor’s father came to see him whenever the
Dream Voyager
returned from its update-delivery missions.

Many enslaved humans lived on the Synchronized Worlds, serving the evermind. Omnius kept them on as token workers, though few had lives as important and comfortable as Vorian’s. Trustees like himself received special training, went through rigorous instruction at elite schools for crew bosses and other important positions under the machine domination.

Vor had read about the glories of the Titans and knew the stories of his father’s great conquests. Raised under the evermind’s wing and trained by his cymek father, the young man had never questioned the world order or his own loyalty to Omnius.

Knowing the robot captain’s moderate temperament, Agamemnon had used considerable influence to obtain a spot for his son on Seurat’s update ship, an enviable assignment even among the chosen trustees. As an independent robot, Seurat did not mind the young man’s company, suggesting that Vor’s unpredictable personality was an asset to their missions. Occasionally, Omnius himself asked Vor to participate in role-playing simulations to better understand the capabilities of feral humans.

Without fear, Vorian now raced across the landing field to stand beside the weapon-studded cymek, who towered over him. The young man stared fondly at the suspended brain case of his ancient father, with its strange mechanical face now on the underside.

“Welcome back.” Agamemnon’s vocal patches made his voice deep and paternal. “Seurat has already uploaded his report. Once again, you have made me proud. You are one step closer to meeting our goals.” He swiveled his turret around, reversing the direction of progress, and Vorian trotted beside the armored legs as Agamemnon strode away from the ship.

“If only my fragile body survives long enough to accomplish everything,” Vor said wistfully. “I can’t wait to be selected as a neo-cymek.”

“You are only twenty, Vorian. Too young to be morbidly concerned about your mortality.”

Overhead, resource haulers dropped from orbit, balanced atop yellow-white flames that slowed their descent. Loadcars manned by human workers trundled up to where ships had landed, preparing to distribute cargoes according to rigid instructions. Vor glanced at the slaves but did not ponder their situation. Each person had his own duties, every human and machine a cog in the Synchronized Worlds. But Vor was superior to the others, since he had a chance to become like his father one day. A cymek.

They passed unmarked warehouses with computerized monitoring and inventory systems where fuel and supplies were stored. Human clerical personnel dispersed food and materials from storehouses to slaves inside the city. Inspectors— some robotic, some human— performed quality control and quantity assessments for the larger-scale plans of Omnius.

Vor could not comprehend the lives of the uneducated workers who unloaded heavy crates at the space dock. The slave laborers performed duties that a simple loading machine could have done faster and more efficiently. But he was pleased that even these lesser people had tasks they could perform in order to earn their subsistence.

“Seurat told me about Salusa Secundus, Father.” He maintained a quick pace to match the cymek’s huge strides. “I’m sorry your assault was unsuccessful.”

“Just a test case,” Agamemnon said. “The feral humans have a new defensive system, and now we have probed it.”

Vor beamed. “I’m sure you’ll discover a way to bring all
hrethgir
under the efficient rule of Omnius. Like the times described in your memoirs, when Titans were in complete control.”

Inwardly, the cymek general frowned at the comments. Agamemnon’s optic threads detected numerous watcheyes floating around them as the two walked. “I do not wish for the old days, of course,” he said, presently. “You have been reading my memoirs again?”

“I never tire of your stories, Father. The Time of Titans, the great Tlaloc, the First Hrethgir Rebellions . . . everything is so fascinating.” Accompanying the magnificent cymek made Vor feel special. He always remained alert, within the limitations of his position, for ways to better himself. He wanted to prove himself worthy of the opportunities he’d been given . . . and of more. “I would be happy to learn of this new
hrethgir
defensive system, Father. Perhaps I can assist you in finding a way to defeat it?”

“Omnius is analyzing the data and will decide what to do. I have only recently arrived back on Earth.”

With human ambitions still a fundamental part of their psyches, the Titans always had monumental construction projects under way: megalithic buildings and monuments to themselves that celebrated the lost age of humanity and glorified the Time of Titans. Captive human artists and architects were ordered to develop original designs and sketches that the cymeks modified or approved.

Nearby, machinery lifted the components of skyscraper buildings into place, adding upper floors to existing complexes, though the thinking machines had little need for further expansion. At times, the extravagant construction seemed to Vor like mere busy-work for the slaves. . . .

He had never known his mother, and understood only that ages ago, before the Titans had surgically converted themselves into cymeks, Agamemnon had created his own sperm bank, from which he had germinated Vorian. Over the centuries, the general could create any number of offspring using acceptable surrogate mothers.

Though he had never learned about any siblings, Vorian suspected they were out there somewhere. He wondered what it would be like to meet them, but in machine society, emotional attachments were not practical. He only hoped that his siblings had not proven to be disappointments to Agamemnon.