Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (20 page)

Glancing around, Norma realized that Holtzman had abandoned more concepts than she had ever created in her life. Even so, many of the cluttered papers and geometric drawings looked a bit old. Some of the ink had faded, and papers were curled around the edges.

With a swish of his wide sleeves, Holtzman gave the intriguing items a dismissive wave. “Just toys, useless gadgets that I keep for my amusement.” He poked a finger at one of the floating silver balls, which sent the other model planets into dangerous orbits, spinning about like heavenly bodies out of control. “Sometimes I dabble with them for inspiration, but usually they only make me think of other toys, not the weapons of mass destruction we need in order to save us from the tyranny of machines.”

With a distracted frown, Holtzman continued, “My work is constrained in that I cannot use sophisticated computers. In order to perform the enormous calculations required to test a theory, I have no recourse but to rely upon human mental abilities and hope for the best from the fallible calculational skills of trained people. Come, let me show you the solvers.”

He led her to a well-illuminated chamber with high windows. Inside, numerous identical benches and flat tabletops had been set up in a grid layout. Workers hunched over each writing surface using handheld calculation devices. From their drab garments and dull expressions, Norma judged that these men and women must be some of Poritrin’s numerous slaves.

“This is the only way we can imitate the abilities of a thinking machine,” Holtzman explained. “A computer can handle billions of iterations. We have a harder time of it, yet with enough people working in concert and as specialists, we accomplish billions of calculations on our own. It just takes longer.”

He walked down the narrow aisles between the solvers, who were furiously scribing numbers and mathematical symbols on flat slates, checking and double-checking answers before passing them on to the next person in line.

“Even the most complex math can be broken into a sequence of trivial steps. Each of these slaves has been trained to complete specific equations in an assembly-line fashion. When taken together, this collective human mind is capable of remarkable feats.” Holtzman surveyed the room as if he expected his solvers to give him a resounding cheer. Instead, they studied their work with heavy-lidded eyes, moving through equation after equation with no comprehension of reasons or larger pictures.

Norma felt sympathy for them, having been belittled and ignored for so long herself. She knew intellectually that human slavery was a way of life on many League Worlds, as it was throughout the machine-ruled planets. Nevertheless, she supposed that these workers would prefer doing mental work to heavy labor out in the agricultural fields.

With a magnanimous gesture, the scientist said, “Every solver is at your disposal, Norma, whenever you develop a theory that needs verification. The next stage, of course is to build prototypes for further testing and development. We have plenty of labs and test facilities, but the most important work comes first.” He tapped a fingertip on his own forehead.
“Up here.”

Holtzman gave her a cockeyed grin and lowered his voice. “Mistakes are possible, of course, even at our level. If that happens, we hope that Lord Niko Bludd is tolerant enough to keep us around.”

I
n the front parlor of the Butler manor house, Xavier Harkonnen shifted on a green brocaded settee. His duty uniform was not designed for lounging in fine furniture. Ornate gold-framed paintings of Butler ancestors adorned the walls, including one like a caricature of a gentleman with a waxed handlebar mustache and a tricorner hat.

Between tight duty shifts, he had rushed here to surprise Serena, and the servants had asked him to wait. Blushing, Octa came into the parlor, carrying a cool drink for him. Though he had always seen her as Serena’s little sister, Xavier realized with surprise that she was actually a lovely young woman. With Serena’s recent betrothal, Octa might be dreaming of her own marriage, if she could ever overcome her shy infatuation with him.

“Serena wasn’t expecting you, but she’ll be right out.” Octa looked away. “She’s in a meeting with official-looking men and women, assistants carrying electronic equipment, a few Militia uniforms. Something to do with her Parliament work, I think.”

Xavier gave a wan smile. “We both have so many projects, but such times demand it.”

While Octa occupied herself straightening books and statuettes on a shelf, Xavier thought back to a Parliament session he had watched two days before. Upset over the tragic fall of Giedi Prime, Serena had tried to rally representatives from the strongest planets, hoping to mount a rescue operation. She always wanted to
do
something; it was one of the reasons Xavier loved her so much. While others accepted the defeat and cringed in fear that Omnius would push for more conquests, Serena wanted to charge in and save the world. Any world.

Dressed in a long gown, she had spoken passionately in the temporary Hall of Parliament. “We can’t just give up on Giedi Prime! The thinking machines have penetrated the scrambler shields, killed the Magnus, enslaved the people, and every day their presence grows stronger. There have to be Home Guard survivors fighting behind the machine lines, and we know that another shield-generator station was nearly completed. Perhaps that can be made functional! We must fight back before the thinking machines can establish their own infrastructure. If we wait, they will become unassailable!”

“As far as we know, they are already unassailable,” grumbled the representative from industrial Vertree Colony.

The Zanbar official added, “Bringing the Armada to Giedi Prime would be suicide. Without their scrambler shields, they have no defenses left, and the machines would slaughter us in a direct conflict.”

Serena had jabbed a finger at the nervous audience. “Not necessarily. If we could slip in and finish the work at the secondary shield-generating complex, then project a new blanket of disruptor fields, we could cut off—”

The League members had actually laughed at the suggestion. Seeing her heartbroken expression, Xavier felt stung on Serena’s behalf. But she had not understood the difficulty of her naïve suggestion, the impossibility of restoring Giedi Prime’s shields under the noses of the machine conquerors. During his planetary inspection tour, Xavier had learned that it could take days or weeks for engineers— working under the best of conditions— to make the backup shield system operational.

But Serena never stopped trying. The ache of imagining so many suffering humans drove her to it.

The vote had gone overwhelmingly against her. “We cannot spend the resources, firepower, or personnel on an ill-advised mission to a planet we have already lost. It is now a machine stronghold.” The nobles feared for their own local defenses.

Such work occupied most of Xavier’s time. As an Armada officer, he had gone to extended sessions with officers and Parliament representatives, including Viceroy Butler. Xavier was determined to learn what had gone wrong with Giedi Prime’s defenses— and whether he was to blame in some way.

Armada tacticians had studied the inspection records and assured him that he could have done nothing to prevent the takeover, short of stationing a full fleet of battleships at every League World. If Omnius was willing to sacrifice part of his robotic attack force to bring down Holtzman’s scrambler shields, no planet was safe. But the information didn’t make Xavier feel much better.

On Poritrin, Tio Holtzman was working hard to improve the scrambler system design. Lord Bludd expressed his optimism and confidence in the Savant, especially since the inventor had brought in another mathematician, the daughter of the Sorceress Zufa Cenva, to assist him. Xavier hoped something could be done quickly enough to make a difference. . . .

Lovely but harried, Serena entered the parlor and hugged him. “I had no idea you were coming.” Octa slipped out the side door.

Xavier looked at the ornate clock on the mantel. “I wanted to surprise you, but I have to get back to duty. I have a long meeting this afternoon.”

She nodded, preoccupied. “Since the attack on Giedi Prime, we’ve all been prisoners of our planning sessions. I think I’ve lost track of how many committees I serve.”

Teasingly, he said, “Should I have been invited to this mysterious gathering?”

Her chuckle sounded forced. “Oh? The League Armada doesn’t give you enough work, so you’d like to sit in on my tedious meetings as well? Perhaps I should speak to your new commander.”

“No thank you, my dear. I’d rather fight ten cymeks than try to dissuade you when you’ve set your mind to something.” Serena responded to his kiss with surprising passion. He stepped back, breathing hard, and straightened his uniform. “I need to go.”

“Can I make it up to you at dinner tonight? A little tête-à-tête, just the two of us?” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s important to me, especially now.”

“I’ll be there.”

WITH A SIGH of relief after quelling Xavier’s suspicions, Serena returned to the Winter Sun Room where her team had gathered. She wiped a sparkle of sweat from her forehead. Several faces turned toward her, and she raised a hand to allay concerns.

Late morning sunlight splashed across the chairs, the tile counters and a breakfast table now strewn with plans, maps, and resource charts. “We’ve got to get back to work,” said the grizzled veteran Ort Wibsen. “Don’t have much time if you want to put this in motion.”

“That is absolutely my intention, Commander Wibsen. Anybody with doubts should have left us days ago.”

Serena’s father believed that she spent her mornings in the bright, cheery room just reading, but for weeks she had been exploring schemes . . . gathering volunteers, expert personnel, and raw materials. No one could stop Serena Butler from devoting her energies to humanitarian work.

“I tried to follow proper channels and make the League take action,” she said, “but sometimes people must be coerced into making the right decision. They must be led to it, like a stubborn Salusan stallion.”

After the Parliament laughed at her “naïve foolishness,” Serena had marched out of the temporary meeting hall but did not accept defeat. She decided to change tactics, even if she had to organize and finance a mission herself.

When Xavier learned of her plan, after it was too late to stop her, she hoped he would be proud of her.

Now she studied the team she had gathered from the Armada’s most overlooked experts in commando operations: captains, supply runners, even infiltration specialists. Ten men and women turned to look at her. She clicked a remote control switch to close the overhead louvers. The brightness of the room diminished, though muted sunlight continued to filter in.

“If we can reclaim Giedi Prime, it will be twice the moral victory that the machines had,” Serena said. “We will show that they cannot hold us.”

Wibsen looked as if he had never ceased fighting, though he had been off active duty for over a decade. “All of us are more than happy to tackle a task that will have tangible results. I’ve been itching to strike a blow against the damned machines.”

Ort Wibsen was an old space commander who had been forced to retire— ostensibly because of his age. More likely it had to do with his coarse personality, a penchant for arguing with superiors, and history of ignoring the details of orders. In spite of his surliness he was exactly the man Serena needed to lead a mission that other League members would have declared insane, or at least unwise.

“Then this is your chance, Commander,” she said.

Pinquer Jibb, the curly-haired and still-haggard-looking messenger who had fled the conquest of Giedi Prime to deliver his terrible news, sat stiff-backed, looking around the room. “I’ve provided you with all the background material you need. I’ve compiled detailed reports. The subsidiary shield-generator station was nearly finished when the machines attacked the planet. We merely need to slip in and get it running.” His haunted eyes grew fiery. “Plenty members of the Giedi Home Guard must have survived. They’ll be doing everything they can behind enemy lines, but that won’t be enough unless we help them.”

“If we can get the secondary shield generators functional, the cymeks and robots on the surface will fall to a concerted defense from the Armada.” She scanned the others in the room. “Do you think we’ll be able to do that?”

Brigit Paterson, a masculine-looking woman, frowned. “What makes you think the Armada will join the fight? After my engineers get the job done, how will we make sure the military comes in to save our butts?”

Serena gave her a grim smile. “You leave that to me.”

Serena had been raised with the best schools and tutors, groomed to become a leader. With so much that needed to be done, she could not sit in a comfortable manor house and fail to use the Butler wealth and power.

Now she was about to put that determination to the test.

“Commander Wibsen, do you have the information I requested?”

With his deeply creased face and rough voice, the veteran seemed more like a man of the outdoors than an intricate strategist. But no one in Zimia knew more about military operations than he did.

“Some of it’s good, some of it’s bad. After crushing the government in Giedi City, the machines kept a robot fleet in orbit. Mop-up work on the ground is being led by one Titan and a lot of neo-cymeks.” He coughed, scowled, and adjusted a medication dispenser implanted in his sternum.

“Omnius can keep sending in more machines, or even manufacture reinforcements using the captured industries of Giedi Prime,” said Pinquer Jibb, his voice urgent. “Unless we get the secondary shield complex working.”

“Then that’s what we have to do,” Serena said. “The Home Guard was dispersed across the settled continent, and many of the outlying regiments seem to have gone underground to form a fifth column. If we can contact them, organize them, we might be able to damage the machine conquerors.”