Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (60 page)

As soon as Selim succeeded in his calling, whatever it was, he was sure he would have honey every day.

Although Selim needed some of the settlement’s supplies, he also wanted to make a statement here. Buddallah had shown him a new strength through independence and self-sufficiency, rather than blind adherence to ancient laws. He disliked the close-minded, rigid strictures of the Zensunnis. All Zensunnis. Selim might have been a contented, hardworking member of the community, if Naib Dhartha had not heeded Ebrahim’s false accusations and cast Selim out, supposedly to his death.

With an empty pack on his shoulders he crept forward; he had memorized the route and identified the cave in which the villagers kept their supplies, a place that was watched in the daylight, but poorly guarded at night. Confident in their isolation, the security of these villagers was lax. He would slip in, take what he needed and disappear, without hurting anyone. He would be a bandit. Selim Wormrider . . . Selim the outlaw.

Climbing silently up the steep slope, he found a rugged path that the people took whenever they went out to scavenge spice. Hand over hand, he ascended until he reached the balcony lip, then pulled himself up and squinted into the shadows.

As he had expected, the storage chamber was filled with packaged offworld food, no doubt purchased at a dear price back at the spaceport. Delicacies indeed, but why would true desert inhabitants need such things? Selim grinned. The villagers didn’t
need
everything here, so he was obliged to relieve them of certain extraneous luxuries. Selim would stuff his pack full of energy wafers, nutritional supplements.

Selim crammed food and spare power cells into his pack’s compartments. He also found seeds, vital botanical samples that he would use to set up a small greenhouse in one of the derelict testing stations. Fresh produce would be a marvelous addition to his diet.

From a workbench he grabbed a measuring tool and a sonic hammer designed for fracturing rock in specific patterns. This might be useful if he needed to make additional hideaways, perhaps by expanding natural caves in uninhabited outcroppings.

Poking into the soft compartments of his overburdened pack, Selim tried to find room for the two tools. He fumbled in the darkness and dropped the sonic hammer onto the stone floor. On impact, the device sent out a pulse that created a fracture in the floor of the cave, and reverberated like a cannon shot into the sleeping cliff village.

Startled, Selim gathered what he could, stuffing things into the pack with both hands. He swung it over his shoulder and lowered himself over the edge of the balcony. Already he heard suspicious shouts, curious questions. Glowsticks illuminated the cliff face, making the dark cave openings look like the eyes of a suddenly awakened demon.

Working his way down the rough path, he tried to move stealthily, but knocked small rocks loose. The stones pattered and ricocheted down the cliff.

Someone cast a beam of light in his direction, revealing the young man creeping down the path. Someone shouted. Soon the cave village was in an uproar. Men, women, and children rushed out, blinking sleep from their eyes, gesturing toward the thief, howling for him to stop.

Selim had no place to hide, and his heavy pack hindered him.

Zensunnis raced after him, climbing down ladders and stone steps cut into the rock. Terrified yet exhilarated, Selim put on a burst of speed and with a final leap reached the sand first and raced out onto the open plain. His heavy footsteps sank into the powdery surface, causing him to stumble along, with the desert nomads shouting after him. He kept running, hoping the men would hesitate if he went too far out onto the dunes. Yet they were bound to catch him soon, because of the weight he was carrying. It all depended on whether their righteous indignation would outweigh their fear of Shaitan.

Suddenly an idea dawned on him. Slowing his pace, Selim rummaged in his pack until he found the stolen sonic hammer. He knelt on the side of a dune, made sure the setting was at its maximum level, and raised the tool high. When he swung down, the explosion of sound reverberated like a depth charge, spraying sand upward in plumes.

The Zensunni villagers still came after him, yelling. Selim started running again and scrambled down a dune. He fell and tumbled, sliding with the sand, but he kept hold of the sonic hammer. Finally he came to halt between the dunes. Breathless, he rose to his knees and then to his feet, and slogged up to the next rounded crest. “Come, Old Crawler! I am calling you!”

He swung the hammer again like a wizened Buddislamic priest pounding a gong; on the next dune he struck a third time, sending out insistent signals. The men from the cliff city were close now, but he kept running farther into the open desert. They seemed to hesitate, and he distinguished fewer voices behind him.

Finally, Selim heard the hissing noise, the distant approach of a gigantic sandworm. His pursuers noticed it at the same time and shouted to each other, stumbling to an uncertain halt. All of them stared at the rippling wormsign in the moonlight, then raced at great speed back toward their cliff dwellings, as if the sight of the desert monster had put jets on their backs.

Grinning, knowing Buddallah would not let him be harmed, Selim squatted on the dunetop, frozen in place as he watched his pursuers disappear. The worm was approaching fast and would no doubt go after the tribal men, drawn to their panicked footfalls. If he remained perfectly still, the worm should pass him by.

But the thought of the monster devouring the men troubled him. They had chased him only to defend their dwellings. Selim didn’t want them to die because of him. That could not be part of Buddallah’s plan, but the moral challenge was.

As the worm neared, he dialed down the sonic hammer’s setting and pounded lightly, thump, thump, thump. Predictably, the worm turned toward him. Selim withdrew his equipment and crouched, in readiness.

Far off, only halfway to the refuge of their cave city, the Zensunni men turned to gape at him, and saw his figure profiled against moonlight. Selim stood tall as he faced the oncoming worm. . . .

MOUNTED HIGH ATOP the beast, Selim held his guiding staff and ropes, content that he had lost none of his booty and no one had been killed. He turned to see the amazed men out on the moonlit sands. They had seen him mount the sandworm demon, and now he rode off into the deep desert, controlling it.

“As further payment for what I have taken, I give you a story you can tell for years around evening campfires!” he called back at them. “I am Selim Wormrider!”

He was too far away for them to hear, but Selim didn’t care. This was only a time to plant seeds, not the time to reveal his identity. Hereafter, instead of reciting poetry and melancholy laments of ancestral wanderings, the villagers would talk about the lone man who could command sandworms.

Selim’s legend would continue to grow . . . like a verdant green tree sprouting in the middle of the barren sands, where it should not have been able to survive.

L
ittle Manion became a bright spot in Serena’s captive life, like a candle flickering in a pit of darkness.

“Your infant is an extraordinarily time-intensive and distracting creature,” Erasmus said. “I do not understand why it requires so much attention.”

Serena had been gazing into Manion’s large, inquisitive eyes, but turned her head toward the robot’s polished mirror face. “He will be only three months old tomorrow. At this age, he can’t do anything for himself yet. He has to grow and learn. Human babies need to be nurtured.”

“Machines are fully functional from the day of their programming.” Erasmus sounded smug.

“That explains a lot. For us, life is a gradual developmental process. Without nurturing, we can’t survive,” she said. “You have never been nurtured. I think you should make improvements to the way you raise the slave children in your pens. Show them more kindness, encourage their curiosity.”

“Another one of your suggested improvements? How many disruptive changes do you expect me to make?”

“As many as I can think of. You must have seen a change in the people. They seem more alive now, after experiencing just a bit of compassion.”

“Your compassion, not mine. And the slaves know it.” The sentient robot flowed his pliable face into a now-familiar perplexed expression. “Your mind is such a mass of contradictions, it is amazing you manage to survive each day without undergoing a mental meltdown. Especially with that child.”

“The human mind is more resilient than you imagine, Erasmus.” Serena held the baby close. Each time the robot complained about how much disruption Manion caused, she feared he would take the infant away. She had seen the crowded, inhuman creches filled with wailing, low-caste youths. Although she had managed to improve the living conditions among these bestial slaves, she could not bear to have her own baby placed in their care.

Now Erasmus stood beside a gaudy swordfish statue, watching Serena play with the baby on a sunny afternoon. The two of them splashed in one of the villa’s shallow aquamarine pools on a high terrace that offered spectacular views of the frothing ocean. Serena heard the pounding of surf, and the honking of geese that approached overhead.

Naked in his mother’s arms, Manion splashed and squealed, patting his hands awkwardly on the water. The robot had suggested that Serena swim naked as well, but she insisted on wearing a simple white swimming garment.

As always, Erasmus stared at her and the baby. She tried to ignore the robot’s scrutiny, as long as she had a peaceful hour to spend with Manion. Already, she could see how much her son would resemble Xavier. But would the boy ever have the freedom, the forceful personality, and the dedication to fight the thinking machines?

Where once she had thought in terms of large-scale League political and military matters, Serena Butler now concerned herself only with the safety of her child. Her worries were personal now, specific instead of grandiose. With renewed energy, she worked hard on her household duties in order to earn time with Manion, giving Erasmus no excuse to punish her.

The robot must realize that he now had a stronger hold over her than ever. He seemed to enjoy it when she verbally sparred with him, but she also grudgingly showed her appreciation for the minor freedoms Erasmus granted. Though she had never stopped hating her captor, Serena knew that he held her fate— and Manion’s— in a delicate balance.

When she looked at her son’s jutting chin and the determined set of his little mouth, she thought of Xavier and his stubborn devotion to duty.
Why didn’t I just stay with him? Why did I have to save Giedi Prime? Couldn’t I have been an ordinary woman for once?

The honking geese grew louder as they flew directly over the villa, not caring whether humans or machines ruled the Earth. Whitish gray splatters of excrement struck the patio, one hitting the swordfish statue near the robot. Erasmus did not seem disturbed. It was all part of the natural order, as far as he was concerned.

In the shallow pool, Manion made a cooing giggle as he looked in the direction of the flying geese. Even at three months, he showed a curiosity about everything. Sometimes he tried to tug at the golden barrette in Serena’s hair with his pudgy fingers, or at the sparkling jewelry Erasmus liked her to wear; the robot seemed to be grooming her as a hostess for his villa, an ornate decoration in his household.

Erasmus stepped closer to the pool and looked down at the baby who splashed happily in the water while his mother held him. “I never comprehended how much distraction and chaos an infant could cause in an orderly and calm household. I find it most . . . unsettling.”

“Humans thrive on distraction and chaos,” she said, trying to sound upbeat, though she felt a chill. “It is how we learn to innovate, to be flexible, and to survive.” She climbed out of the pool with the baby and wrapped him in a soft white towel. “Think of all the times human ingenuity has thwarted Omnius’s schemes.”

“And yet, the thinking machines have conquered you.”

“Are we really conquered, Erasmus, in any real sense?” She raised her eyebrows, one of her mannerisms that he found maddeningly enigmatic. “Many planets remain free of thinking machines. If you are superior, then why do you struggle so hard to emulate us?”

The inquisitive robot did not understand the emotional bonding between mother and son. Despite her firm tone, he was most surprised to see the mellow changes in this woman who had previously been so fierce and independent. She seemed a different person after becoming a mother. She had never served him with half the attention she gave to that messy, noisy,
useless
infant.

While this investigation into human relationships had provided interesting data, Erasmus could not permit such a disturbance to his household in the future. The baby was disrupting his efficient daily life, and he wanted Serena’s undivided attention. Together, they had important work to do; caring for the infant had made her lose focus.

As Erasmus stared at little Manion, the robot’s thin flowmetal mask shifted to a ferocious scowl— which he quickly changed to a benign smile before Serena looked in his direction.

Soon, this phase of the experiment must end. He considered how best to accomplish that.

F
or eight nerve-wracking months, Iblis Ginjo had operated on his own, making decisions and letting his imagination judge the extent of unrest among the slaves. As a trustee, he received certain privileges, but he had never truly
seen
how awful their lives were, foolishly thinking that his minimal rewards and praise made their days tolerable. How had they endured for so many centuries?

Iblis was convinced there must be other secret ringleaders and resistance fighters. Cogitor Eklo and his secondary Aquim had promised to help, and he could only guess at what resources or means they might have. However, apart from Ajax’s constant suspicions and the execution of Ohan Freer, the thinking machines seemed to have no inkling of the incredible uprising they were about to face.