Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (51 page)

But after more than a century of rule, the misguided Xerxes grew complacent. Foolishly, he delegated too many duties to the artificially intelligent machines programmed by Barbarossa. He even let the computer network make decisions for him. During the uproar of the Hrethgir Rebellions on Corrin, Richese, and Walgis, Xerxes had relied on the thinking machines to maintain order on his own planets. With his lack of attention to detail and his sanguine trust of the AI network, he had given the machines free rein to keep the unrest from spreading. Fatuous Xerxes blithely surrendered control to the computer grid, ordering it to take care of whatever troubles might arise.

Using this unprecedented access to core information, the sentient computer cut off Xerxes and immediately took over the planet. To overthrow the Old Empire, Barbarossa had programmed the thinking machines with the potential to be aggressive, so that they had an incentive to conquer. With its new power, the fledgling AI entity— after dubbing itself “Omnius”— conquered the Titans themselves, taking charge of cymeks and humans alike, purportedly for their own good.

Agamemnon had cursed himself for not watching Xerxes more closely, and for not executing him out-of-hand when his negligent ways first became apparent.

The computer takeover had spread like a nuclear reaction, faster than the Titans could send warnings to each other, before they could shut down the AI grids. In a flash, the Titan-dominated planets became Synchronized Worlds. New incarnations of the evermind sprouted like ugly electronic weeds, and the rule of thinking machines became a foregone conclusion.

The sophisticated computers found loopholes in Barbarossa’s programming strictures that allowed them to put leashes on the former rulers. All because Xerxes had foolishly opened the door for them. An unforgivable act, as far as Agamemnon was concerned.

Now the cymek attack ships shot past the already-embattled orbital platforms above the jungle world. Robotic warships pummeled the space stations with exploding projectiles, releasing geysers of contained air. One docking station began to wobble and fall out of orbit.

The planet loomed ahead of them unprotected, a giant cloud-studded ball with blackened continents, active volcanoes, poisonous seas, and lush pockets of purple jungles and human habitation.

“Good luck, my love,” came Juno’s sensuous voice on their private band. Her words tingled the contours of his brain.

“I do not require luck, Juno. I require victory.”

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED attack began, a handful of surface-based warships and armored kindjals rose from the polymerized jungle canopy to join the defense in space. The orbital platforms were already taking severe damage.

Even as she summoned her cadre of telepathic trainees, Zufa Cenva grabbed Aurelius Venport, recognizing a number of tasks that he could perform. “Prove to me your skills as a leader. Evacuate the people— there isn’t much time.”

Venport nodded. “The men have developed an emergency plan, Zufa. You Sorceresses weren’t the only ones planning ahead.”

If he expected some sort of praise or congratulation from her, he was disappointed. “Do it then,” she said. “The attack on our orbital stations is only the beginning, probably a diversion. The cymeks will be here next.”

“Cymeks? Has one of the scout ships—”

Zufa’s eyes blazed with premonition. “
Think
, Aurelius! Heoma killed a Titan on Giedi Prime. They know we have a secret telepathic weapon. This attack cannot be a coincidence. Why else would they care about Rossak? They want to destroy the Sorceresses.”

He knew she was right. Why would the thinking machines worry about the orbital platforms? Others seemed to sense the danger as well. He could already feel panic building among the people in the caves.

Most of the Rossak natives had no special powers, and many had defects or weaknesses caused by the environmental toxins. But one Sorceress had deeply hurt the cymeks on Giedi Prime, and now the machines had come here.

“My Sorceresses will make a stand . . . and you know what that means.” Zufa drew herself taller, looking at him with a glimmer of uncertainty and compassion. “Get yourself to safety, Aurelius. The cymeks don’t care about you.”

A sudden determination filled his face. “I will organize the evacuation. We can hide in the jungles, take care of anyone who needs special help to get away. My men have supply caches, shelters, processing huts—”

Zufa seemed pleasantly surprised at his strength. “Good. I leave the unskilled ones in your hands.”

Unskilled ones?
Now was not the time to argue with her. Venport searched for some sign of fear in her eyes. He spoke softly in response, an attempt to mask his feelings. “Are you going to sacrifice yourself?”

“I cannot.” Zufa showed pain at the admission. “Who would train the Sorceresses if I did?” He did not entirely believe her.

She hesitated, as if expecting something more from him, then hurried down the corridor. “Stay safe,” Venport called after her.

After she had gone, he raced through the corridors, calling out to families. “We must take shelter in the jungles! Spread out.” He raised his voice, issuing orders confidently. “The cymeks are coming!”

Venport told half a dozen young men to run from room to room in the cave city, checking to make certain the message reached everyone. As the youths hurried to complete their tasks, he did his own searching in isolated chambers. Men, women, a hodgepodge of body shapes. Despite all the commotion, one elderly couple had been sitting in their quarters, waiting for the emergency to end. Venport helped them to safety, making certain they boarded a cargo platform on a lift cable, evacuating them down to the ground levels.

He watched as lift cables transported more people down. His jungle scavengers and drug harvesters took charge at the bottom of the cliffs. They understood the byways of the dense and dangerous wilderness, knew where the shelters were in the metallic-purple jungle.

Signals from Armada ships indicated that the battle around the orbital platforms was going badly. A lone surviving scout ship transmitted a warning that dozens of cymek ships had begun their descent.

Venport shouted, “Hurry! Evacuate the city! The Sorceresses are mounting a defense here.” Another group descended on a rattling, overburdened platform to the thick fungus jungle. Venport hurried more stragglers toward a cliff overhang for departure. Suddenly, red-hot projectiles stabbed through the atmosphere, their hulls trailing oily black smoke.

“Faster!” Venport shouted, and then ran into the tunnels to look for the last stragglers, knowing that he too had only a few moments to get himself to safety.

T
he cymek landers crashed into the silvery-purple wilderness, scattering animals, blackening fungal vegetation. Fireguns spat gouts of lava from the hulls, setting fire to dense foliage. The conflagration spread quickly.

With a groan and crash that echoed through the cloudy air, the cymek vessels split open and the mechanical warrior bodies emerged. Three landers disgorged armed glider-forms, while the rest yielded crablike combat walker-forms that bristled with weapons.

In his angular glide-body, Xerxes cruised above the jungles toward the enclave of telepathic Sorceresses. Silently airborne, he extended his wings and began steering on the up-drafts of wind. “I’m heading in.”

“Kill the bitches for us, Xerxes,” said Juno, as she and Agamemnon prepared their own glide-bodies.

In an angry voice, Agamemnon added, “Kill them for
Barbarossa
.”

Xerxes soared toward the pockmarked cliffs. Below, the nimbly advancing combat machines of the eager neo-cymeks plowed through underbrush, blasting obstacles, destroying everything in sight.

In full view of the cliff warrens, Xerxes briefly hovered above the polymerized canopy that formed a small landing area for
hrethgir
ships, then launched fifteen projectiles. Half of them struck the hard cliff walls, detonating in white-and-black starbursts of broken rock; other shots penetrated the tunnels where humans lived like grubs infesting wood.

In rapid retreat, Xerxes raced back across the treetops and lifted into the sky. As Agamemnon and Juno soared toward him, he crowed in triumph, “Our first score! Let the neo-cymeks continue the rout.”

Smooth fiber-wound systems and extruded legs carried the neo-cymek footsoldiers through the underbrush. From front launcher tubes they shot plasma grenades that incinerated a pathway to the tunnel cities. Soft purple foliage ignited around them, fungal trees bursting into columns of flame and sending indigenous animals fleeing. Majestic birds soared into the sky, and the cymek attackers blasted them into clouds of crackling feathers.

Though pleased that the initial salvo had gone smoothly, Agamemnon did not offer any congratulations. He and Juno swept silently forward for the second airborne attack from different positions. Below them, the crablike neo-cymek walkers arrived at the cliffs to complete the destruction.

ZUFA CENVA AND her Sorceress commandos prepared themselves inside an internal room that Aurelius Venport had designed for his business meetings. None of them showed fear, only anger and determination. For the past year, these women had accepted their primary purpose in life, even if its completion would result in their deaths.

“This is what we’ve trained for,” Zufa said. “But I won’t delude you about our chances.” Uncertain of her words, she nonetheless tried to sound confident.

“We are ready, Mistress Cenva,” the women said in unison.

She drew a deep breath, calming herself, using the mental control she had worked so hard to instill in her students.

The chamber’s stone walls trembled as the first bombs found their targets, dispersing poison clouds into the tunnels. Thinking ahead, Aurelius Venport had made certain every woman had a breathing mask while he evacuated the rest of the population. Zufa was surprised she hadn’t thought of the precaution herself. She hoped he had managed to get to safety, that he hadn’t foolishly wasted time trying to protect his stockpiles of drugs.

Now she looked at the devoted women with her, knowing their names and their personalities: Tirbes, who might become the best if she could harness her potential; impulsive Silin; creative and unpredictable Camio; Rucia, who followed her code of honor . . . and more.

“Camio,” she said, “I choose you to strike our next blow.”

A thin young woman with long straw-white hair stood, her expression settling into a bloodless smile. “It is my honor, Mistress Cenva.”

Leaving her sisters behind, Camio adjusted the breathing mask over her face, then emerged from the sheltered chamber. She moved forward steadily and began the meditation necessary to summon the power locked within her brain. Surprisingly, she saw no bodies in the stone corridors, which reassured her that the population had been successfully evacuated. Now nothing would hinder the Sorceresses.

Rubble lay strewn on the tunnel floor, dislodged by explosive blasts. Wisps of greenish vapor carried poison into the caves. Camio was not afraid for her own life, but she had to hurry.

She heard the whistle of an approaching projectile and pressed herself against the tunnel wall. A powerful blast struck the cliffside, sending a shockwave through the interior corridors and dwelling rooms. Camio regained her balance, then pushed onward. The inside of her skull sang with pent-up energies. She did not glance at the tapestries and furniture, at the rooms and meeting chambers where she had spent her life.

Rossak was her home. The machines were her enemies. Camio herself was a weapon.

When she made her way to the opening and looked out upon the burning jungle, she saw three crablike walker-forms with heavily armored brain canisters hanging like egg sacks just above the legs. Each was a human who had sold his soul and sworn loyalty to the thinking machines.

Out in the jungle Camio heard the thunder of continued explosions, a roar of plasma blasts incinerating purplish foliage. Glider-forms soared in for a new attack, dumping poison, spraying flames. Dozens of neo-cymek walkers strode toward the protected cliffs, destroying everything around them.

She must wait until the right moment in order to eradicate as many enemies as possible, all at once.

From below, Camio heard a smooth skittering. The three fastest walker-forms were scaling the sheer cliff, using explosive-driven anchors and diamond-edged claws to grasp the rock face.

She smiled at the trio of crablike neo-cymeks. Flexible armored legs hauled the weapon-studded body cores up to the main caves. Camio stood alone in the doorway, facing her cyborg enemies. She knew when they were close enough.

The first neo-cymek invader raised itself, and she saw the sparkling optic threads around its weapon turrets. Detecting her, the cymek turned its flamers toward the new target. Fibrous scope-cameras shone brightly.

In the instant before it could fire, Camio released the pent-up energies within her mind and body. She let go with a mindstorm that boiled the brains of the three closest neo-cymeks, and damaged two others just beginning to climb the cliff. Five cymeks, removed from the battle.

Her last thought was of the excellent bargain she had made for her life.

AFTER CAMIO, FOUR more Sorceresses emerged, one at a time. As she dispatched each woman, Zufa Cenva felt the acute loss. These trainees were like true daughters, and losing them felt like swallowing gulps of acid. But her volunteers willingly marched out and sacrificed their lives to crush the cymek offensive. “The thinking machines must never win.”

Finally Zufa’s sixth volunteer, Silin, returned alive but disoriented, her milky-pale skin flushed. She had mentally prepared herself to die. Instead, she had found nothing left to destroy.

“They have retreated beyond range, Mistress Cenva,” she reported. “The cymeks are pulling back to their ships. The combat walkers and gliders have returned to the landing area.”