Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (37 page)

Andrew Skouros had always been restless. He had asked uncomfortable questions that no one could answer. While the others played frivolous parlor games, the young man dug into archival databases, where he uncovered history and legends. He found heroic tales of real people who had existed so long ago they seemed as mythical as the race of Titans, the earliest gods overthrown by Zeus and a pantheon of Greek deities. He analyzed military conquests and came to understand tactics at a time when it was an obsolete skill in the peace-strangled Empire.

Under the alias “Agamemnon,” he became interested in strategic games played across the computer network that monitored the activities of ennui-enslaved humanity. There he had encountered another person as skilled and talented as himself, a rare soulmate who shared his restless interests. The mysterious player’s wild and unexpected ideas caused her campaigns to fail as often as they succeeded— but her surprising successes more than made up for the spectacular failures. Her intriguing alias was “Juno,” taken from the queen of the Roman gods, wife of Jupiter.

Drawn together by their common ambition, their relationship was fiery and challenging, more than just sex. They pleasured themselves by developing thought-experiments. It was a game at first . . . and then much more than that.

Their lives changed dramatically when they had heard Tlaloc speak.

The offworld visionary, with his disturbing, chastising accusations against complacent humanity on Earth, made the two young schemers realize that their plans could blossom into more than just imaginative adventures.

Juno, whose real name was Julianna Parhi, had brought the three of them together. She and Andrew Skouros arranged to speak with Tlaloc, who was excited to learn that they shared his dreams. “We may be few,” Tlaloc had said, “but in Earth’s forests full of deadwood, three matches may be enough to spark a conflagration.”

Meeting secretly, the rebellious trio plotted to overthrow the sleeping Empire. Using Andrew’s military expertise, they saw that a small investment of hardware and manpower could take over many worlds that had fallen into apathetic stupor. With a little luck and acceptable tactics, like-minded leaders could form an iron grip around the Old Empire. In fact, if the plans were properly set in motion, the conquerors could achieve victory before anyone even noticed.

“It is for humanity’s own good,” Tlaloc had said, his eyes sparkling.

“And for ours,” Juno added. “Just a little.”

In one of her innovative plans, Juno utilized the pervasive network of thinking machines and their servile robots. The docile computers had been given artificial intelligence to watch over every aspect of human society, but Julianna saw them as an invasion army already in place . . . if only they could be reprogrammed, given a taste for conquest and human ambition. It was then that they had brought in a computer specialist named Vilhelm Jayther— who called himself Barbarossa on computer networks— to implement the technical details.

Thus began the Time of Titans, during which a handful of enthusiastic humans controlled the sleeping populace. They had work to do, an empire to rule.

During their planning stages, Julianna Parhi often queried a reluctant Cogitor advisor, Eklo. While consulting the ancient Cogitor, one of many spiritual minds who contemplated esoteric questions, she had seen the possibilities of living as a disembodied brain. Not just for introspection, but for action. She realized the advantages a
cymek
tyrant would have over simple humans, able to switch mechanical bodies as circumstances changed. As cymeks, the Titans could live and rule for thousands of years.

Perhaps that would be long enough.

Agamemnon had immediately agreed with Juno’s concept, though he faced a primitive fear of the surgery itself. He and Juno knew that as the Titans experienced the dangers of the universe and the fragility of their human bodies, they would all come around.

To show faith in his lover, Agamemnon was the first to undergo the cymek process. He and Juno had spent a last heated night together, naked and touching, storing memories of nerve sensations that would have to last for millennia. Juno had tossed her raven hair, given him a final, tender kiss, and led him into the surgical chamber. There, computerized medical apparatus, robotic surgeons, and dozens of life-support systems waited for him.

The Cogitor Eklo had observed and assisted, offering advice whenever necessary, providing precise instructions for the robotic surgeons. Juno had watched her lover, eyes misty as she witnessed the transformation process. Agamemnon feared that she would become squeamish after that and renege on her own plans. But once his brain hung suspended in dynamic electrafluid, once the thoughtrodes were activated and he could “see” again through a galaxy of optic threads, Juno was there admiring him, studying the brain canister.

She had touched his transparent case with her fingertips. Agamemnon watched it all, focusing and adjusting his new and unfamiliar sensors, enthralled with the ability to observe everything at once.

A week later, when he felt competent enough with his new mechanical systems, Agamemnon had returned the favor, watching over Juno as the robotic surgeons sawed open her skull and removed her talented brain, discarding forever the fallible female body of Julianna Parhi. . . .

CENTURIES LATER, EVEN without biological bodies, he and Juno remained side by side on their chrome pedestals, connected by receptors and stimulus patches.

Agamemnon knew precisely which parts of Juno’s brain to pulse in order to activate pleasure centers, and how long to maintain the stimulation. She responded in kind, bringing forth his stored memories of human lovemaking and then amplifying the remembered sensations, stunning him with new heights of euphoria. He struck back with a bolt of his own, causing her brain to quiver.

Through it all, the information-gathering watcheyes of Omnius observed intently, like a mechanized voyeur. Even in a time such as this, Agamemnon and Juno were never alone.

She pleasured him twice more, making his mind throb; he wanted her to stop so that he could rest, but also longed for her to continue. Agamemnon reciprocated, causing a thin, vibrating sound to pulse from the speakers attached to the canisters, an eerie warbling music that symbolized their merging orgasms. He could barely think through the haze of delight.

But his brooding anger continued in the background. Though Omnius allowed him and Juno to have their ecstasy as often as they wished, Agamemnon would have derived even greater pleasure if they could permanently escape the domination of the damned thinking machines.

D
uring the tedious month-long journey across space to visit her daughter on Poritrin, Zufa Cenva had plenty of time to ponder what she would say when she arrived. She would rather have been spending so many days and weeks elsewhere on her more important work. The loss of dear Heoma weighed like a hot stone inside her chest. Ever since the first devastating attack against the cymeks on Giedi Prime, Zufa had been planning further strikes with her other Sorceress weapons.

While most members of the League gave credit to Savant Holtzman for the portable scrambler projectors, she had heard whispers that Norma herself may have inspired the design. Could her oddball daughter have done something so remarkable? Not as great as a psychic storm obliterating cymeks, but still respectable.
Perhaps I have been blind after all.
Zufa had never wanted Norma to fail, but had given up hope by now. Maybe things could change in their relationship.
Should I embrace her? Does she deserve my support and encouragement, or will she make me ashamed of her?

These were uncertain times.

As Zufa stepped off the transport in Starda, she encountered a delegation waiting to greet her, complete with ornately garbed Dragoon guards, their gold-scale armor immaculate. Ruddy-faced Lord Niko Bludd himself led the group, his beard intricately curled, his clothes perfumed and colorful.

“Poritrin is honored by the visit of a Sorceress!” The noble stepped forward on the mosaic tile floor. Bludd wore a dashing ceremonial costume with broad carmine lapels, frilly white cuffs, and golden shoes. A ceremonial sword hung at his waist, though he had probably never used a blade for anything more dangerous than cutting cheese.

She’d never had any use for frippery when there was work to be done, and Bludd’s arrival surprised her. She had hoped to conclude her business with Norma unobtrusively and then quickly return to Rossak. She and her dedicated psychic warriors must prepare another mental strike against the cymeks.

“The shuttle captain transmitted a message that you were coming, Madame Cenva,” Bludd said, as he guided her through the terminal. “We barely had time to put together a reception for you. You are here to see your daughter, I presume?” Niko Bludd grinned above his curled reddish beard. “We are very proud of how much she is helping Savant Holtzman. He considers her quite indispensible.”

“Indeed?” Zufa tried to control her skeptical frown.

“We invited Norma to join us today, but she is deeply engrossed in important work for Savant Holtzman. She seemed to think that you would understand why she could not meet you herself.”

Zufa felt as if she had been slapped. “I have been en route for a month. If
I
can make the time, then a mere . . . lab assistant can arrange to pick me up.”

Outside the spaceport, a chauffeur guided her to a lavish airbarge, and the Dragoon guards took their places at the rails. “We will transport you directly to Holtzman’s laboratories.” When Bludd seated himself beside her, she wrinkled her nose at his strong body perfumes. He extended a small package to her, which she didn’t want.

With a sigh of exasperation, Zufa sat rigidly in the comfortable seat as the aircraft proceeded away from the spaceport. Removing the package’s silver wrapping paper, Zufa found a bottle of river water and an exquisitely woven Poritrin towel.

Despite her lack of interest, the flamboyant noble insisted on explaining. “It is traditional for honored guests to wash their hands in the water of the Isana and dry themselves on our fine linen.”

She made no move to use the gifts. Beneath the flying barge, water vessels traveled downriver toward the sprawling delta city, where grains, metals, and manufactured supplies were distributed to Poritrin suppliers. In the brown mudflats, hundreds of slaves worked in the muck to plant paddies of shellfish. The sight made her feel even more unsettled than she already was.

“The residence of Savant Holtzman is just ahead,” Bludd said, pointing to a high bluff. “I am sure your daughter will be pleased to see you.”

Has she ever been pleased to see me?
Zufa wondered. She tried to calm herself with mental exercises, but anxiety intruded.

With a sweep of her long black dress, she stepped away from the ostentatious airbarge as soon as it set down on Holtzman’s landing deck. “Lord Bludd, I have private business to discuss with my daughter. I’m sure you understand.” Without further farewell, Zufa marched alone up the broad patio steps to the mansion, leaving a befuddled Bludd behind her. She waved her long arms, shooing him away.

Her telepathic senses attuned, Zufa entered the dwelling as if she belonged there. Holtzman’s vestibule was cluttered with disarrayed boxes, books, and instruments. Either the household staff did not do their work, or the inventor had forbidden them to “organize” too much.

Picking a path through the obstacles, Zufa strode into a long hallway, then searched rooms and demanded information from anyone she met until she found her daughter. Finally, the tall and intimidating Sorceress entered an auxiliary laboratory building, where she saw a high stool at an angled lightstrip table that held blueprint films. No sign of Norma.

She noticed an open door that led out to a balcony, then saw a shadow, heard something move. Gliding to the balcony, Zufa was shocked to see her daughter perched on top of the railing. Norma gripped a red plaz container in her small hands.

“What are you doing?” Zufa asked. “Get down from there immediately!”

Startled, Norma glanced at her looming mother, then clasped the object tightly and leaped off the railing out into the open air.

“No!” Zufa shouted. But it was too late.

Rushing to the edge, the Sorceress saw to her horror that the balcony jutted out over a high bluff that dropped to the river, far below. The small-statured young woman tumbled through the air, falling.

Suddenly, Norma paused in midair and spun in a peculiar fashion. She called, “See for yourself, it works! You arrived just in time!” Then, like a feather on the wind, the girl drifted upward. The red device lifted her back toward the balcony, like an invisible hand.

Norma reached the level of the railing, and her angry mother yanked her back onto the balcony. “Why would you try something so dangerous? Doesn’t Savant Holtzman prefer you to employ helpers for this sort of test?”

Norma frowned. “They have
slaves
here, not helpers. Besides, it is my own invention, and I wanted to do it myself. I knew it would work.”

Zufa did not want to argue. “You came all the way to Poritrin and used the League’s best engineering laboratories to design some sort of . . . flying toy?”

“Hardly, Mother.” Norma opened the lid of the red plaz unit and adjusted electronics inside. “It is a variation on Savant Holtzman’s theories, a repelling, or suspensor field. I expect him to be delighted by it.”

“Oh, I am, I am!” The scientist appeared suddenly and stood behind Zufa. He quickly introduced himself, then looked at Norma’s new gadget. “I’ll show it to Lord Bludd and see what he thinks of the commercial possibilities. I’m sure he’ll want a patent in his own name.”

Zufa looked on, still recovering from the shock of Norma’s “fall,” trying to see practical applications of her daughter’s invention. Could such a thing be modified to carry troops or heavy objects? She doubted it.