Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (76 page)

Vorian Atreides looked stern. “Nobody could have succeeded there, Viceroy. Not Iblis, not myself. It was only a matter of time.”

Segundo Harkonnen appeared angry. “You’re saying it’s pointless to fight against Omnius, and any revolt is doomed to failure? We proved that idea wrong at Giedi Prime—”

“I was at Giedi Prime as well, Segundo. Remember? You shot at me and severely damaged my ship.”

Xavier’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “Yes, I remember, son of Agamemnon.”

“The uprising on Earth was a grand example,” Vor said, “but the participants were only slaves, armed with little more than their hatred for the thinking machines. They never had a chance.” He turned to look at the members of the special committee. “The League Armada, on the other hand, is a different story altogether.”

Seeing the opportunity to press the point, Iblis said in a booming voice, “Yes, look what a mob of untrained slaves managed to achieve. Then imagine what a coordinated military response might accomplish.” Outside, the voices of the demonstrators grew louder. Iblis continued, “The losses on Earth must not go unavenged. The death of Viceroy Butler’s grandchild— your own son, Segundo Harkonnen— cannot go unpunished!”

Vor could not tear his gaze from Xavier, trying to see him as the brave man who had stolen Serena’s heart, and then had married her sister.
I would have waited forever for her
.

Finally, he focused on Iblis Ginjo. Vor did not particularly like the rebel leader, whose motivations were not clear to him. Iblis seemed obsessively fascinated with Serena, but it was not love. Nevertheless, Vor did agree with the man’s assessment.

Speaking loudly, Iblis continued, as if he had been brought here to address the tribunal members, and not to answer their questions. “The events on Earth are a setback, nothing more. We can rise above it, if we have the will to do so!”

Some of the representatives were caught up in his enthusiasm. Outside, the crowds grew more agitated, and security troops could be heard over a public address system, attempting to maintain order.

As Vor looked on, Iblis gazed from face to face and then into the distance, as if only he could see something there. The future? Iblis gestured with his hands as he spoke. “The people of Earth were slaughtered because I encouraged them to oppose their machine masters, but I feel no personal guilt over this. A war must begin somewhere. Their sacrifice has demonstrated the depth of the human spirit. Consider the example of Serena Butler and her innocent baby, what
she
endured and still survived.”

Vor saw agitation on Xavier Harkonnen’s face, but the officer said nothing.

Iblis smiled and stretched out his hands. “Serena could have an important role in the new force that will overwhelm the machines, if she only recognizes her potential.” He spoke directly to Manion Butler, in an increasingly fervent voice. “Others may try to take credit for it, but Serena was the true spark of the great revolt on Earth.
Her
child was slain, and she raised
her
hands against the thinking machines, for all to see. Think of it! What an example she is to the entire human race.”

Iblis stepped closer to the tribunal members. “All across the League Worlds, people will hear of her bravery and feel her pain. They will rally to her cause, in her
name
, if asked to do so. They will rise up in an epic struggle for freedom, a holy crusade . . . a
jihad
. Listen outside— do you hear them chanting for her?”

There it is
, Iblis thought. He had made the religious connection recommended by Cogitor Eklo. It didn’t matter what particular creed or theology they followed— of paramount importance was the
fervor
that only zealousness could provide. If the movement was going to be large, it needed to touch upon the emotions of people, needed to draw them into battle without any thought of failing, without concern for their own safety.

Following a long, poignant pause, he added, “I am already spreading the word. Ladies and gentlemen, we have the makings of much more than a revolt here, something that sets apart the soul of mankind from the soulless thinking machines. With your help, it could be a tremendous victory borne on the wings of human passion . . . and
hope
.”

I
n an uproar, red-faced League delegates argued over the consequences of the genocide on Earth. Serena sat stony-faced, the first time she had entered the Hall of Parliament in the weeks since returning home, but her presence did not quell the usual tedious discussions.

“The struggle against Omnius has gone on for centuries!” bellowed the Patriarch of Balut. “There is no need to do anything drastic which we will later regret. I grieve for the bloodshed, but we never had any realistic hope for saving the slaves of Earth anyway.”

“You mean slaves . . . like Serena Butler?” From his guest seat, Vorian Atreides interrupted with a glance in her direction, disregarding protocol or political traditions. “I’m glad we didn’t
all
give up so easily.”

Xavier frowned at him, though he had been thinking the same thing. He considered the son of Agamemnon a loose cannon, with no respect for order, but he himself was often frustrated by the ponderous pace of formal political debates. If Serena had been confident about the workings of Parliament, she would never have gone blundering off to Giedi Prime in the first place, thus forcing the League’s hand.

In an equally loud voice, the interim Magnus of restored Giedi Prime said, “Just because the situation has gone on for a thousand years, is that an excuse for us to become
accustomed
to it? The thinking machines have already escalated the war with their attack on Zimia and Rossak, their invasion of Giedi Prime. This Earth disaster is just another challenge.”

“It’s a challenge we cannot ignore,” Viceroy Butler said.

NOW, ACCORDING TO the agenda, Xavier stepped into the recording shell that surrounded the oratory podium. Projection screens enhanced his image and his speech; overblown determination formed deep creases on his face.

Out in the tiers of seats that rose above the speaking pit, Iblis Ginjo sat ensconced in a box reserved for distinguished visitors; he wore expensive finery provided by Salusan tailors.

Xavier’s voice boomed forth, the commanding tone he used when directing his Armada ships. “We can no longer content ourselves with a
reactive
war. We must take the battle to the thinking machines, for our very survival.”

“Are you suggesting we become as aggressive as Omnius?” shouted Lord Niko Bludd from the fourth tier of seats.

“No!” Xavier looked at the red-bearded noble and said in a calm, firm voice, “I’m saying we must be
more
aggressive than the machines,
more
destructive,
more
intent on victory!”

“That will only provoke them to do something even worse,” yelled the County General from Hagal, a barrel-chested man in a red tunic. “We can’t risk that. Many of the Synchronized Worlds have large human populations, even more numerous than the slaves killed on Earth, and I don’t think—”

Zufa Cenva, stern in her regal glory, cut him off, her voice icy with scorn. “Then why don’t you just surrender Hagal to the Synchronized Worlds, County General, if you tremble so much at the thought of combat? It would save Omnius the trouble.”

Serena Butler stood, and a sudden hush settled over the audience. She spoke in a firm, clear voice fueled by her own passion. “The thinking machines will never leave us alone. You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise.”

She swept her gaze along the rows of seats. “You have all seen the shrine to my son, who was murdered by the thinking machines. Perhaps it is easier to comprehend the tragedy of a single victim than of billions. But that child only symbolizes the horrors Omnius and the Synchronized Worlds wish to inflict upon us.” She raised a clenched fist. “We must declare a crusade against the machines, a holy war— a jihad, in the name of my murdered son Manion. It must be . . . Manion Butler’s Jihad.”

In the muttering and the hot emotions of the audience, Xavier said, “We will never be safe until we destroy them.”

“If we knew how to accomplish that,” complained Lord Bludd, “we would have won the war long ago.”

“But we do know how to accomplish it,” Xavier insisted from the lecture dome, with a nod to Serena. “We have known for a thousand years.”

He lowered his voice so that all the members of the great hall grew quiet to hear him. He glared from face to face, then said, “Blinded by Tio Holtzman’s new defenses, we have ignored the old-fashioned final solution that has been in front of us all along.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the Balut Patriarch.

Near him, Iblis Ginjo sat with his arms folded across his chest, nodding as if he knew what was coming.

“Atomics,”
Xavier said. The word fell hard and loud, like the detonation of a forbidden warhead. “A full and total bombardment with atomics. We can sterilize Earth, vaporizing every robot, every sentient machine, every gelcircuit.”

The uproar took only seconds to reach a crescendo, and Xavier shouted back into the clamor. “For more than a thousand years we have maintained our atomics. But they have always been meant as a last resort— doomsday weapons to destroy planets and obliterate life.” He jabbed a finger at the representatives. “We have sufficient warheads in our planetary stockpiles, but Omnius considers them an empty threat, because we’ve never dared to use them. It is time to surprise the thinking machines and make
them
regret their complacency.”

Using his priority as Viceroy, Manion Butler interjected, “The machines captured and tortured my daughter. They murdered a grandson who carried my own name, a boy neither I nor his own father ever got to meet.” The once-rotund man was much thinner now and stooped from weariness. His hair hung limp and unkempt, as if he usually slept badly. “The damned machines deserve the most terrible punishment we can mete out.”

The clamor continued, and finally, surprisingly, Serena Butler made her way to the speakers’ dome beside Xavier. “Earth is nothing more than a festering graveyard now, with evil thinking machines trampling through it. Every living human being there has already been slaughtered.” She drew a deep breath, her lavender eyes blazing. “What is left to preserve?
What have we got to lose?
”

Projected images flashed around the chamber as Serena continued. “The captive population of Earth rebelled, and they were killed for their effort.
All of them
!” Her voice thundered through every speaker in the hall. “Shall we allow that sacrifice to mean nothing? Should the thinking machines suffer no consequences?” She made a disgusted sound. “Or should
Omnius
pay?”

“But Earth is the birthplace of humanity!” gasped the acting Magnus of Giedi Prime. “How can we even contemplate such destruction?”

“And the rebellion on Earth has launched this Jihad,” Serena said. “We must spread news of this glorious uprising to other Synchronized Worlds, perhaps spark similar revolts on machine planets. But first we must eradicate the Omnius on Earth . . . no matter what it takes.”

“Can we afford to turn down such an opportunity?” Xavier Harkonnen said. “We have the atomics. We have Tio Holtzman’s new shields to protect our ships. We have the will of the people, who shout Serena Butler’s name in the streets. By God, we must do something
now
.”

“Yes,” Iblis said in an even voice that nevertheless cut across the murmurs. “It is
by God
that we must do this.”

The representatives were stunned and frightened, but no dissent rose. Finally, after a long, agitated silence, Viceroy Manion Butler demanded that the League of Nobles submit the question for a formal decision.

Somberly, the vote was taken . . . and passed by acclamation.

“It is decided, then. Earth, the ancient birthplace of humanity, will become the first tombstone of the thinking machines.”

I
n the laboratory tower overlooking the broad Isana, Norma Cenva stood at her cluttered workstation. New glowglobes bobbled in the air like ornaments over her head; she had not bothered to deactivate them, even though the dawn had grown bright. She didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought.

She pointed a pen-sized projection mechanism at a slanted table. Magnetically scribed sheets flipped silently through the air, blueprint films of a flagship-class ballista, the largest battleship in the League Armada.

Norma changed the setting on the handheld plan projector and swung the shimmering blueprint films out into the open room. She segregated one deck of the vessel and then walked into the enlarged holo-image, a stroll in which she made mental calculations for the shield-generator installation so that the small field radius would overlap for complete protection.

Savant Holtzman was off attending another public function, where he would no doubt celebrate his successes with false modesty. Of late, he had only worked with Norma for an hour or so in the mornings before flitting off to prepare for luncheon engagements, followed by evening banquets at Lord Bludd’s mansion. Eventually he would come to talk to her about the nobles and politicians he had met, as if he felt some need to impress her.

Norma actually didn’t mind the time alone and tried to do her work without complaint. Mostly Holtzman left her in peace to perform the calculations necessary to install overlapping shields on the largest Armada ships. The Savant claimed he did not have time to do it himself, and he no longer trusted his cadre of equation solvers.