Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (21 page)

“I can help with that,” Jibb insisted. “It’s our only chance.”

“I still think it’s foolhardy,” Wibsen said. “But what the hell. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to go.”

“Is the ship ready?” Serena asked, impatient.

“It is, but there’s a great deal lacking in this operation, if you ask me.”

Brigit Paterson said to Serena, “I have secured detailed maps, plans, and blueprints of all aspects of Giedi Prime and Giedi City, including full functional diagrams of the subsidiary scrambler-shield generators.” She extended a stack of thin film sheets densely packed with information. “Pinquer says they’re up to date.”

With boundless enthusiasm and passion, Serena had always demonstrated skill in putting things together. Two years ago, she had led a relief team to Caladan, an Unallied Planet where thousands of refugees from the Synchronized Worlds had fled. On her most recent crusade, a year ago, she had delivered three space transports full of medical supplies to closed-off Tlulax, where the inhabitants were suffering from mysterious diseases. Now that Tlulaxa flesh merchants had provided medical aid and replacement organs from their biological tanks— including saving her beloved Xavier— she felt that her investment in effort had paid off fully.

Now Serena had called in favors, resulting in a mission that bore some similiarities to her earlier successful efforts. She expected another clear success, despite the dangers.

With beatific confidence, Serena looked around the table again. She envisioned the mission succeeding. Eleven people willing to challenge a set of conquerors and overcome the odds. “We have no higher priorities.”

Ort Wibsen had worked between traditional channels to obtain a fast blockade runner. Paterson’s engineering crew had equipped the vessel with the best experimental materials she could scavenge from weapons manufactories. Using personal accounts and falsified documentation, Serena had funded whatever the old commander needed. She wanted the best possible chance for her impetuous mission to succeed.

Serena said, “Every person in the League has lost someone to the thinking-machine onslaught, and now we’re going to do something about it.”

“Let’s get busy then,” Pinquer Jibb said. “Time for payback.”

THAT EVENING, ALONE in the grand dining hall, Serena and Xavier sat across from each another. Servers bustled back and forth in red-and-gold jackets and black trousers.

As he sampled golden duckling fillets on his plate, Xavier talked excitedly about Armada mobilization plans and methods of protecting the League Worlds.

“Let’s not talk business tonight.” With a charming smile, Serena rose to her feet and glided around the table, taking a seat next to him, very close. “I savor each moment with you, Xavier,” she said, giving nothing away about her plan.

He smiled back at her. “After the poison gas, I can’t savor much else. But you, Serena, are better than the finest banquet or the sweetest perfume.”

Stroking his cheek, she said, “I think we should tell the servants to go to their quarters. My father is in the city and my sister is gone for the evening. Should we waste this time alone?”

He reached out to brush her arm, then drew her close and grinned. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“I am.” Passionately, she kissed his ear, then his cheek, finally finding his mouth. He ran his fingers through her hair, touching the back of her head and kissing her more deeply.

They left the remnants of the fine meal on the table. She took his hand and together they hurried to her chambers. The door was heavy, and locked easily. She already had a fire lit in the fireplace, giving the room an orange, cheery glow. They kissed again and again, trying to unfasten laces and buttons and clips without breaking apart from each other.

Serena could barely control her urgency, not just to feel his intimate touch, but to etch every sensation into her mind. He did not know that she intended to slip away afterward, and she needed something to remember about this night, to compensate for the time they would be apart.

His fingers were like fire as they traced down her naked back. She could think of nothing but the moment as she pulled off his shirt.

WITH THE MEMORY of her lover’s embrace still tingling along the nerves of her body, Serena left the sleeping manor. She set out into the quiet depths of night, bound to rendezvous with her team at a private field on the outskirts of the Zimia spaceport.

Anxious to be away, her optimism subduing her anxiety, Serena joined her ten commando volunteers. Within the hour they departed in a fast, cloud-gray blockade runner loaded with engineering tools, weapons, and hope.

T
he conquered planet Earth seemed to be a dumping ground for grandiose monuments that celebrated the fictitious glories of the Titans.

Gazing from his vantage at yet another huge construction project designed by the prideful imaginations of the cymeks, the crew leader paced along a high wooden platform. His people were good workers, dedicated to him— but the work itself seemed pointless. When this ornate pedestal was completed and shored up with reinforced arcs, it would become the platform for a colossal statue representing the idealized, long-lost human form of the Titan Ajax.

As one of the most successful trustee humans on Earth, Iblis Ginjo took his job very seriously. He scrutinized the throng of slaves scurrying about below. He had convinced them to be enthusiastic, drumming up their attentiveness through well-chosen phrases and rewards . . . though Iblis hated to waste such loyalty and hard work on a brutal bully such as Ajax.

Still, every person had his part in the giant machine of civilization. Iblis had to make sure there were no malfunctions, not on his watch.

The crew leader was not required to be here; his subordinate trustees could just as easily stand under the hot sun and supervise. But Iblis preferred this to his other duties. Seeing him watch over them, the slaves seemed to add a bit more to the tasks. He took pride in what they could accomplish, if managed well, and they genuinely wanted to please him.

Otherwise, he would spend tedious hours involved in the processing of new slaves and assigning them to various work crews. Often the un-tamed ones needed special training, or resisted violently— problems that hindered the smooth flow of daily work.

Erasmus, the strangely independent and eccentric robot, had recently issued an order to inspect any
hrethgir
captives taken from newly conquered Giedi Prime, in particular any human who showed qualities of independence and leadership. Iblis would stay on the alert for a suitable candidate . . . without drawing attention to himself.

He didn’t care about Omnius’s goals for their own sake, but as a crew leader he received certain considerations based on performance. Though such perks made life tolerable, he distributed most of the rewards among his crews.

With a broad face and thick hair that fell across his brow, Iblis had a strong, virile appearance. Able to get more work out of the slaves than any other boss, he knew the best tools and incentives, the manipulation of gentle promises rather than harsh threats. Food, rest days, sexual services from the reproductive slaves— whatever it took to motivate them. He had even been asked to speak some of his thoughts at the school for trustees, but his techniques were not widely adopted among the other privileged humans.

Most crew bosses relied on deprivation and torture, but Iblis considered that a waste. He had risen to his position largely through the force of his personality and the allegiance he engendered in his slaves. Even difficult men invariably succumbed to his will. The machines sensed this innate ability, so Omnius gave him the freedom to do his work.

At a glance, Iblis counted half a dozen monoliths around the hilltop Forum, each pedestal containing the huge statue of one of the Twenty Titans, beginning with Tlaloc, then Agamemnon, then Juno, Barbarossa, Tamerlane, and Alexander. An immense likeness of Ajax would occupy the one here, not because Ajax was so important, but because he was violently impatient. Dante could wait, and Xerxes.

Iblis couldn’t remember the rest of the Titans off the top of his head, but he always learned more than he wanted to know as each statue was built. The work would never end. Iblis had been personally involved in every one of the ostentatious sculptures over the past five years, first as a construction slave and later as crew boss.

It was late in the summer season, warmer than usual. Heat devils danced off rooftops around the Forum. Directly under him on the dusty ground, his construction crew wore drab browns, grays, and blacks— durable clothing that required only occasional washing or repairs.

Below Iblis’s platform, a team boss bellowed out orders. Supervisory robots moved about, making no move to assist the straining laborers. Watcheyes floated overhead, recording everything for Omnius. Iblis hardly noticed them anymore. Humans were industrious, ingenious, and— unlike machines— flexible, as long as they were given incentives and rewards, encouraged in the proper ways, guided to the best behavior. The thinking machines could not understand the subtleties, but Iblis knew that each minor reward he gave his workers was an investment that paid off tenfold.

According to tradition, the slaves often sang work songs and engaged in boisterous team competitions; they were silent now, groaning as they hauled structural blocks into place though in their habitation hives, workers sometimes grumbled about the labor. The cymeks were anxious to see the pedestal completed so they could erect the statue of Ajax, which was being fabricated elsewhere by another crew. Each segment of the project followed a rigid schedule, with no excuses permitted for lateness or shoddy quality.

For now, Iblis was glad his people could work in peace, without the intimidating scrutiny of Ajax. Iblis did not know where the Titan might be at the moment, but could only hope he would prey on other hapless individuals today. Iblis had work to do and a schedule to keep.

In his opinion, the monoliths were useless— huge obelisks, pillars, statues, and Grogyptian facades for empty, unnecessary buildings. But it was not his position to question such time-consuming projects. Iblis knew full well that the monuments fulfilled an important psychological need for the usurped tyrants. Besides, such work kept slaves busy and gave them visible results of their labor.

Following their humiliating overthrow by Omnius centuries ago, the Titans had constantly scrambled to recover lost status. Iblis thought the cymeks went overboard, building cyclopean statues and pyramids just to make themselves feel more important. They strutted around in showy but old-fashioned machine bodies, bragging about military conquests.

Iblis wondered how much of it was really true. After all, how could anyone question those who controlled history? The wild humans in the unruly League worlds probably had a different view of the conquests.

He wiped sweat from his brow and smelled the gritty dust that rose from the work below. He looked at the electronic notepad in his hand, checking the progress against the schedule tally. Everything was proceeding well, as expected.

With his sharp eyes, he spotted a man leaning against a shaded wall, taking an unauthorized rest. With a smile, Iblis pointed an “encourager” pulse weapon at him and skimmed the man’s left leg with a beam of energy. The slave slapped the hot spot on his skin and whirled to look up at Iblis.

“Are you trying to make me look bad?” Iblis yelled. “What if Ajax came around and saw you falling asleep there? Would he kill you first, or me?”

Abashed, the man shouldered his way into the crowd of sweating laborers, where he resumed his work with renewed vigor.

Some work bosses found it necessary to kill slaves as examples to the others, but Iblis had never resorted to that tactic and vowed that he never would. He was certain it would break the inexplicable spell he had over the men. Instead, he only had to show disappointment in them, and they worked harder.

Every few days he delivered stirring, impromptu speeches. On such occasions the slaves received water and rest breaks, giving them renewed energy that more than made up for the time spent. The way he strung phrases together often brought cheers and enthusiasm, and only a few questions from bold slaves who wondered why they should be excited about yet another monument. The work leader’s talent lay in being utterly
convincing
.

Iblis hated the machine overlords, but concealed his feelings so effectively that his superiors actually trusted him. Now, in a fanciful moment, he envisioned destroying the computer evermind and installing himself in its place. Much more than a mere trustee. Think of it— Iblis Ginjo, ruler of all, knower of all!

He caught himself and dispelled the foolish daydream. Reality was a harsh teacher, like the sight of a cymek on a beautiful day. If Iblis didn’t complete the obelisk pedestal in time, Ajax would devise an extravagant punishment for them all.

The work leader didn’t dare fall behind schedule.

F
or days, Tercero Xavier Harkonnen stayed up late working on defensive plans for the League. Since his sweet night with Serena— a sparkling promise of their future— he had devoted himself to the protection of free humanity.

On Salusa he flew practice missions, drilled new fighters, increased the number of picket ships on the system’s perimeter for a stronger first defense, and extended the scanning network to provide a better early-warning capability from deep space. Engineers and scientists dismantled and studied the warrior-forms abandoned by the cymeks and left behind in the ruins of Zimia, hoping to find flaws or weaknesses. With each breath in his replacement lungs, he felt outrage against the thinking machines.

He wanted to spend more time with Serena, dreaming of where they would go after the wedding, but driven by anger and private guilt about Giedi Prime, Xavier buried himself in work. If he had concentrated on the primary mission there, rather than mooning like a lovesick schoolboy, he might have noticed the defensive flaw and helped the Magnus to prepare. Even encouraging the immediate completion of the secondary shield generator would have made all the difference. But it was too late now.