Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (56 page)

She sighed. “First of all, those slaves have no knowledge of music, no basis of comparison. You could have stolen any symphony from a classical composer, note for note, and called it your own. They wouldn’t have known the difference.

“Second, sitting in a concert hall— comfortable, clean, and well-dressed— is probably the best work assignment you’ve ever given them. Why wouldn’t they clap for that reason alone?”

She looked at him. “Finally, and most important, you
told
them to applaud. How are they supposed to react, when they know you could have them killed at any moment? Under such circumstances, Erasmus, you will never get a fair and honest response.”

“I do not understand, cannot understand.” Erasmus repeated this several times. Abruptly, he whirled and swung a hardened fist into the face of a man who walked past. The unexpected blow sent the victim crashing over the chairs, bleeding.

“Why did you do that?” Serena demanded, rushing over to help the man.

“Artistic temperament,” Erasmus said calmly. “Is that not what humans call it? He tried to deceive me about how he really felt.”

She tried to soothe the man, but when he looked up to see the robot, the slave struggled away, holding a hand up to stop the blood dripping from his nose. Serena rounded on Erasmus. “True artists are sensitive and compassionate. They don’t need to
hurt
people to make them feel.”

“You are not afraid to voice your opinion, even when you believe it might displease me?”

Serena looked directly into his unnatural face. “You hold me prisoner, Erasmus. You claim to want my opinion, so I give it. You can hurt me, even murder me, but you have already taken me away from my life and the man I love. Any further pain pales in comparison.”

Erasmus stared at her, assessing what she had said. “Humans are perplexing to me— and you more than anyone, Serena Butler.” His flowmetal countenance took on a smiling expression. “But I will keep trying to understand. Thank you for your insights.”

As Serena left the hall, Erasmus returned to the piano and began practicing.

T
he time he had spent with Serena now seemed like an elusive dream.

Xavier could not recall the exact trails they had taken into the forests on the Butler estate, which was now his home with Octa.
His wife
. He could not remember his lost love any more clearly than he could taste the exotic spices of a well-prepared meal, or smell the delicate scents of meadow flowers. His replacement lungs had healed to the extent possible. Now it was time for his heart to do the same.

Many times he had told himself he would not do this, that he would devote himself to the new life he had promised Octa. But here he was anyway, trying to recapture the past, or bidding it farewell.

He chose the same chocolate brown Salusan stallion he’d ridden on the bristleback hunt, almost nine months ago. For hours he tried to locate the magical meadow where he and Serena had made love, but it seemed to have vanished . . . like Serena herself. Like his happiness . . . and his future.

Now, as he tried to bring back memories of the surrounding hills and forests, all he could recall about that afternoon was the beauty of Serena’s face and the sheer joy of being with her again. Everything else seemed a hazy fantasy, a mere backdrop.

The Butler estate was so sprawling that even the Viceroy had never surveyed all of it. After Xavier’s marriage to Octa, Manion had insisted that his new son-in-law take up residence in the Butler manor. With Fredo and Serena gone, and Livia elsewhere, the great house seemed too quiet and lonely. Xavier had always considered the Tantor place his home, but the sadness in Manion Butler’s eyes and the hope in Octa’s had convinced him to move his belongings in with the Butlers.

Someday, everything here would stop reminding him of Serena.

At a clearing on the trail, he dismounted and stared into the cool distance, where evergreen-covered hills poked through morning mists. He felt caught in a dreary nightmare, but knew full well that he had brought it on himself by coming out here in the first place.

Serena is dead
.

He had left sweet Octa back at the house, telling her he wanted to exercise the stallion. She often liked to ride with him, but had sensed that he wanted to be by himself. Though they had been married for less than two months, he could keep few secrets from her. Octa realized, without ever admitting as much, that she would never have all of her husband’s heart.

He and Serena had shared grand dreams. His unrealized life with her would have been complex and sometimes stormy, but always interesting. In contrast, Xavier’s rushed marriage to Octa was good, but simple. The matters that concerned her seemed so
small
in comparison with Serena’s magnificent humanitarian visions. It was hard to believe the two were sisters. He knew that making such comparisons was unfair to Octa— who treated him better than he deserved— and also to Serena’s memory. But he couldn’t help himself.

Standing just behind him, Xavier’s horse whinnied, and he tugged on the halter. He sniffed the breeze, searching with his deadened senses to find some lingering trace of Serena’s sweet perfume.

Gone. You are dead, my love, and I must let you go.

He remounted the stallion and continued down the path, but none of the trees or hills looked familiar. The meadow could be anywhere.

Xavier rubbed the corner of his eye. He envisioned the idealistic woman for one last time, and her image broke through like summer sunlight, smiling down upon him, telling him without words that he must go on with his life.

He said goodbye to her, though he had done this before, and always she remained nearby. He couldn’t discuss the hurt with anyone, for they would never understand. He had to suffer alone. He had always kept his feelings inside.

Xavier wore a distant expression as he peered off into the might-have-been. Moments later, when daylight broke through the morning fog and warmed his face, he began to feel better. The sun’s golden glow was like Serena herself, watching over him. Each time he felt its warmth he would think of her, and of the love they had shared.

Xavier turned the horse around and urged it into a trot, heading back to the Butler manor house . . . and Octa, his wife.

A
fter more than a month of major repairs, the
Dream Voyager
was finally ready to depart Earth on another update run. But Vorian Atreides had one important duty to complete before leaving, to visit Erasmus as the robot had requested.

Once again, the extravagant horse-drawn coach brought him to the towering seaside villa. The sunny weather was much more pleasant than the drizzling rain of his previous visit, with only a few thin clouds scudding over the ocean.

Immediately, as if his gaze was drawn to her, he saw Serena Butler standing at the main entrance. She wore a loose black servant’s dress, and her belly was so rounded that he couldn’t see how she continued her work. The baby must be due soon.

She waited for Vor as if merely performing another duty, arms folded, face neutral. He hadn’t known what to expect, but seeing her unreadable expression left him crestfallen. Given her tone at the end of his last visit, Vor had hoped she might actually be happy to see him.

Perhaps it had something to do with her baby and the hormonal storms swirling through her system. She might be worried about what would happen to the infant after its birth, what Erasmus would do with it.

Though Serena had been a daughter of some prominence in the League of Nobles, here she was a mere household slave, not even a trustee. Her baby might be tossed into the squalid pens with the lowest-caste humans . . . unless Vor used his influence to obtain concessions for the mother and child. And even if he succeeded, would she be grateful for his effort?

Leaving the coach horses stamping on the flagstones, Vor reached the covered entry between carved Grogyptian pillars. Before she could say anything, he blurted, “I apologize for offending you last time, Serena Butler. Whatever I did.” He had looked forward to this for a long time, had practiced what he would say.

“Your lineage offends me.” Her blunt response took him aback. As the son of Agamemnon, Vor had been given freedom to read his father’s memoirs and learn of all the glorious Titan conquests. He had been fortunate to experience many things in his travels, to see many interesting places. Being the son of a Titan had always seemed an advantage to him— until now.

Seeing his crestfallen expression, she remembered that she must keep him as an ally and decided to offer him a smile. “But that is as much my burden as yours.”

As they passed alcoved statues and tall, decorated urns, he said, as if she needed an explanation, “I leave soon on the
Dream Voyager
, and your master asked to speak with me first. That is why I’m here.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then I’m sure Erasmus will be glad to see you.”

They reached a door, and Vor asked, “Do you ever
accept
apologies? Or do you consider all affronts permanent?”

The remark seemed to surprise her. “But you aren’t really sorry, are you? You willingly serve the thinking machines, who have enslaved and tortured humanity. Surely you acknowledge that much? You also boast about your father, as if his work is something to be proud of. Do you know about the horrors during the Time of Titans? Or the Hrethgir Rebellions?”

“I’ve read my father’s memoirs in great detail—”

“I don’t mean Agamemnon’s propaganda. Have you learned the real
history
?”

He frowned. “The truth is the truth, is it not? How can there be different versions of the same event?”

Serena sighed as if he were a small child and she found it hard to explain. “In some ways, you are less aware than a machine, Vorian Atreides, because you don’t realize that you have a choice— and you
think
you’re doing nothing wrong.” He caught the hint of a resigned smile on her lips. “Yet what is the point of maintaining anger against someone who is so deluded?” She became brusque again. “Perhaps Agamemnon is too ashamed to let you learn real history. Have you ever bothered to check the facts, or do you just accept your father’s war stories?”

Vor raised his chin, not sure how to interpret her mood. “I am a trustee. I can access any historical files I choose.” His mind spun.

“Then do some investigating on your own. You’ll have plenty of time to think about things while you’re off cruising in your ship.”

Inside the austere sitting room, translucent plaz walls cast a bright yellow lambence. The reflective surfaces shifted moment by moment, passing through gradients of color, becoming softer. She directed him to a metallic-brown divan. “Erasmus instructed us to wait here.” With some difficulty, she took a seat beside him. “Both of us.”

He felt her nearness, very aware of the curve of her belly beneath the dress. There wasn’t enough space between them— as Erasmus had no doubt intended. The room had no other furnishings. Vor’s pulse raced as he sat in awkward silence, awaiting the robot. It seemed pointless for him to be so attracted to her.

OBSERVING THE TWO humans through swirling wallscreens, Erasmus was intrigued by their body language, the way they glanced at each other and then away. Despite Serena’s obvious conflicting attitudes, she must have some attraction for this handsome young man. Without a doubt, Vorian Atreides was smitten with her.

Erasmus had watched breeding behavior among humans, but this was not the typical interplay. No, this was more complex than anything he had observed among the slaves raised in captivity.

As the tedious silence extended, Serena said, “You would think a robot could keep better track of time.”

Vor smiled at her. “I don’t mind waiting.”

Serena looked uncomfortable, but remembered to smile back.

Fascinating
. In classic poems and literature, Erasmus had read about the mysteries of romantic love, but had never seen it blossom. Once, seventy-three years ago, he had found a pair of young lovers who had slipped away from their assigned duties so they could spend time alone in secret trysts. He had caught them, of course— humans were so clumsy when they tried to sneak around— and had punished them with permanent separation. It had seemed the obvious response. If he had allowed them to get away with such independence, it might have spread to the other slaves.

Afterward, however, he had regretted taking such action, and wished he’d continued to observe the human courtship.

He had a more well-developed plan for these two. Their interplay was yet another laboratory, another experiment— so different from the imaginary “rebel cells” he had begun to foster, thanks to Omnius’s challenge. It was important to observe humans in their natural states of behavior.

And sometimes it is necessary to deceive them
.

As the human pair waited and fidgeted, Erasmus noted every gesture, every flicker of the eyes, every movement of the lips, every word and tone. The male and female were uneasy, discomfited by the unnatural situation, not certain how to occupy themselves.

Vorian Atreides seemed to enjoy the circumstances more than Serena. “Erasmus treats you well,” he said, as if trying to convince her. “You’re lucky he takes such an interest in you.”

Even with her ungainly belly, Serena rose quickly from the divan as if burned by his suggestion. She turned on him, and the spying robot savored the expression of indignation on her face and Vorian’s look of astonishment.

“I am a human being,” she said. “I have lost my freedom, my home, my life— and you believe I should be
grateful
to my captor? Perhaps you should spend some time during your travels rethinking that opinion.” He seemed stunned by her outburst, and Serena continued, “I pity you for your ignorance, Vorian Atreides.”