Now little internal opposition remained, and thanks to the quiet efforts of the Jipol, Munoza Chen would no longer hinder his crusade against the machines…
Iblis separated from the Jipol Commandant and made his way back into the Assembly Hall. It would be good for him to be seen listening to Serena's speech. As he entered, her impassioned voice carried through the chamber like perfume on a breeze. She raised her arms in benediction and stood motionless for a long, poignant moment, as if gathering inspiration from above. Then she looked directly toward Iblis Ginjo and said, "There is no time to shirk the duties of humanity and no time to rest — only to fight!"
As she spoke, the doors of the hall burst open, and a throng of men and women marched in, wearing the bright green-and-crimson uniforms of the Jihad. While the audience cheered, every available space in the hall filled with thousands of new volunteers ready to sacrifice their lives for the Army of the Jihad.
Moving like an angel, Serena glided into their midst, weeping with gratitude. She blessed them all and kissed many, knowing she was dispatching many of them to their deaths. "My fighting jihadi's!"
Iblis nodded in satisfaction. It was choreographed with perfect timing, but Serena had pulled it off as if it were a spontaneous event. The concept had been her own, while Iblis had attended to the details of presentation.
We make a great team.
But as he watched the talented Priestess work the crowd, Iblis found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He wanted Serena to do well, had coached her carefully — and now she was giving the performance of her life.
The Grand Patriarch decided to watch her closer than ever, for his own sake. He didn't want her to think too much for herself… or too much of herself.
We are fools to think the battle is ever over. A defeated foe can delude us into letting down our guard… to our eternal sorrow.
—Primero Xavier Harkonnen, "On-Site Military Dispatches"
Lounging in the command chair on the bridge of the flagship ballista, Vor studied satellite images of water surging through the canyons of IV Anbus. He shook his head. Victory through total disaster. He gave a wry smile. What next?
After the ground operations, Tercero Vergyl Tantor and the other battleship captains had shuttled back to their ballistas and resumed their places on board, readying for the end-game that would occur in space. If all went according to Vor's plan, the Omnius fleet would be driven permanently from this bruised world.
Knowing that Primero Harkonnen's shuttle had already docked and his friend was on his way to the bridge to join him, Vor grinned with anticipation. My turn. He would show Xavier exactly how victory should be achieved — through wiles instead of destruction.
As soon as Xavier stepped out onto the bridge deck, panting and disheveled, Vor flashed him a challenging look with a glint of mischief in it. "Watch how I can neutralize the thinking machine fleet without such a large and embarrassing loss of human life." He gave the order, and the flagship pressed forward to assume the vanguard position in the Jihad fleet.
Xavier ran fingers like a comb through his rusty-brown hair, smoothing his gray-streaked temples. "There didn't need to be any loss of life down there, Vorian. Some people choose to become victims, even when they have other options." Clearly disturbed, he tried to compose himself as he watched. "But even if we'd managed it without anyone suffering so much as a scratch, the Zenshütes would still have complained about our efforts."
Vor emitted a brief laugh. "We don't do this for gratitude, my friend, but for the future of the human race." He turned at his station and spoke quickly; his voice carried across the comline to the bridges of all five ballistas. "Power up Holtzman shields to full intensity. Increase orbital velocity so that we encounter the robot warships an hour sooner than they expect us."
"That'll surprise them, Vor," Vergyl transmitted from his own bridge.
Xavier took a formal tone. "Thinking machines are more likely to be… unsettled and unable to recalculate their actions in an appropriate timeframe, Tercero Tantor. That's not the same thing as an emotional reaction."
"As your little brother said," Vor added, "they'll be surprised."
Judging by his image on the viewer, the young black officer seemed to be fighting the effects of a lingering illness. While waiting for the Jihad ships to get into position, Vor quipped, "Vergyl, you look like you could use a vacation after this mission."
"Just a little too much… hospitality from the Zenshüte natives down there. But if your sympathy makes you spot me a few points in our next game -"
"Gentlemen, let us concentrate on the battle at hand," Xavier said.
Even though the robotic ground forces had been obliterated by the cataclysmic flood, Omnius's large space fleet remained intact. Mow the five Jihad ballistas, shielded but heavily outgunned, picked up speed like angry mice racing to do battle with Salusan bulls.
As they circled over the limb of the planet and saw the powerful thinking machine ships in night's shadow, Vor whistled in appreciation. Omnius looked more invincible than ever. But Vor spoke firmly to his bridge crew.
"Machines operate under a rigid perception of reality. So, with a little tweak here and there, we can rewrite that reality." He adjusted the comline to the full ship-to-ship channel. "Everybody, double-check shield integrities and increase your speed to ramming velocity!"
The crew seemed uneasy and grim, but committed to victory. "I'm sure the robots intercepted that transmission, Vor," Vergyl transmitted from his bridge, keeping the second ballista close behind the flagship. "Uh, I hope you've got a better plan than a simple suicide plunge."
"We do what we must, little brother," Xavier said.
As the opposing fleets careened toward each other, closer and closer each second, Vor adjusted the comcontrols and sent a brief coded transmission directly at the robotic command-and-control center. After the signal had been surreptitiously delivered, he added on the open channel, "Call in our hidden fleet and ram those ships!" He gripped the edge of his captain's chair, but the corners of his mouth turned upward in a confident smile. "Watch this, Xavier."
In cool disbelief, Xavier shook his head. "I thought I'd win any game of nerves against you, Vorian. But now I believe your spine is made of pure titanium."
"I'd love to teach you some new contests on the long flight back to Salusa. Spend time relaxing with your crew for a change, win some of their wages… or lose some of your own."
"For now, just command your ship, Primero Atreides," Xavier said, his voice a quick rush. He gripped a support rail as the Jihad vessels approached like cannonballs, unswerving.
At the last instant, the robot fleet suddenly broke from their orbits and scattered in frenzied flight. The five Holtzman-shielded ballistas hurtled through the empty space where the thinking machines had been only moments before. Omnius's warships streaked away from the planet, apparently abandoning IV Anbus entirely.
The human crew cheered with giddy hysteria, startled by their unexpected survival. Laughing deliriously, Vergyl transmitted, "I can't believe it. Xavier, what a sight!"
Vor turned to his bridge crew with a mockingly impatient expression. "So, we have Omnius on the run, people — why are you waiting? Do you want to sit here congratulating yourselves, or go slag some robots?"
The crew cheered again, confident and enthusiastic. Vor's ballista surged forward, and Vergyl drove his warship alongside. The remaining human vessels swooped in their wake, chasing and harassing the robot craft toward the fringes of the Anbus system, like barking guard dogs driving away intruders.
Xavier crossed his arms over his uniformed chest, waiting for the detailed explanation. Grinning, Vor finally turned to his friend. "My signal submitted false data to the machine fleet's sensor web. I simply altered a few readings to make them believe that our ballistas were heavily armed, indestructible… and accompanied by a much larger unseen contingent, which recently arrived from the Poritrin shipyards."
"You make it sound easy."
Xavier remained skeptical. "So what do the machines see now? Sounds like you hypnotized them."
"At present, the robots think we have dozens of battleships cloaked with invisibility fields. They can't see them, or defeat them, but they 'know' our ships are there, waiting to fire upon them. After calculating the odds, the enemy vessels had no choice but to flee."
"Brilliant tactical move," Xavier said. "But based on a flimsy assumption."
"Not flimsy, or brilliant — simply devious. As I've said many times, machines can be fooled. We're just lucky my father wasn't part of that fleet. Cymeks are much more suspicious. Agamemnon would know the difference, and he can certainly see through a bluff."
After half an hour of hot pursuit, a bridge technician asked to speak privately with the two Primeros and informed them that their Holtzman shields were in danger of overheating and failing. The protective systems were not meant to be used at such high intensity for long periods of time.
Vor crossed his arms over his chest. "I believe we can safely shut off the shields now. We won't need them anyway." He sent the same order to the other ballistas, then made an aside, "So why don't we just open fire?"
With apparent glee, the ballistas fell upon the robotic stragglers, shooting heavy armaments against the much larger machine ships, destroying two of them quickly. But the machines tolerated much higher acceleration than fragile human bodies could endure, and soon the balance of the robot fleet stretched out across an increasing distance. The pursuing Jihad forces had to break off the chase.
Vergyl transmitted, "I'd say that's the best antidote to Zenshüte poisons."
Then, as the five ballistas circled back toward IV Anbus for a final mop-up, they suddenly encountered a new group of enemy ships that streaked in under heavy acceleration. These vessels had a different design, and came in without stealth or defenses, as if they expected a limiting machine fleet already there.
Heady with confidence, Vergyl Tantor transmitted over the secure, scrambled command channel, "Ha, a second chance! Looks like we can teach more of those damn machines a lesson. Anybody taking odds on which one I'll hit first?"
"Tercero Tantor, hold back and wait for reinforcements," Xavier cautioned, though he had little outright concern after seeing the first robotic battlegroup's ignominious defeat.
But Vergyl was giddy with confidence. "I want to flush the rest of these contraptions away from IV Anbus."
Vergyl took his battleship in a downward sweep, firing potshots at the newcomers. He radioed back to the flagship. "Xavier, remember when I was just a boy and you told me I needed to be a hero and save a whole planet to be worthy of a woman like Serena Butler. Well, now I've got Sheel back home — do you think this'll impress her?"
Vor suddenly spun in his chair, shouting into the comline. "Wait — look at the designs. Those are cymek ships, not computers. I can't use my programming on them."
"Vergyl, break off!" Xavier shouted. "Primero Atreides informs me that his ruse will not work—"
The newcomer cymeks had come into the system armed for heavy combat against the Army of the Jihad. Now they opened fire on Vergyl's oncoming battleship.
Reacting quickly, the young tercero tried to bring his overheated shields back online, but some of the overlapping fields flickered and failed under the first cymek onslaught. Six explosive projectiles broke through and hit the ballista's hull and engines.
Vor had already accelerated the flagship toward the battle zone. He saw Xavier leaning over the comstation. "Any capable ships, converge and defend—"
A second volley tore open the underbelly of Vergyl's ballista, and one of the large exhaust cones broke apart, ripping the entire engine free. It exploded as it tumbled away. Striking the intermittent shield, gouts of trapped flame reflected back onto the ship, causing additional ricochet damage.
"Requesting assistance!" Vergyl cried.
The remaining four Jihad warships flew downward at high speed, but their shields were also spotty and ineffectual, overheated from the initial battle. Sickened, Xavier gripped the control railing. He knew Vor was doing his best, that he couldn't issue more effective commands himself.
Frantic now, Vergyl transmitted, "Emergency! Emergency! Launching evacuation pods. Xavier, you can lecture me later—"
The cymek vessels, knowing their time was short as the Jihad warships rallied, launched a third bombardment against the mortally wounded ballista, tearing the big battleship to shreds. Explosions ripped bulkheads up and down the decks. Plumes of escaping atmosphere jetted into space like white mist, a snowy contrast with the bright yellow flames of ignited propellant.
Like seeds sprayed from a cracklepod, evacuation modules shot out, including three from the now ruined bridge deck.
"Secure those lifepods," Xavier said. "Highest priority."
"We need covering fire." Vor knew the anguish Xavier must feel for the danger to his devoted brother, but he had spent a lot of time with the young tercero himself, laughing and playing games, listening to the homesick man talking about his wife and children on Giedi Prime. "Damn it, pull together!"
The remaining Jihad battleships finally came in range to fire their weapons. The cymek vessels suffered some damage, but they refused to disengage. Rather, the ruthless human minds risked much to secure prisoners — going after the lifepods launched from Vergyl's command deck.
Vorian Atreides, the son of General Agamemnon, knew all too well what the machine enemy would do to their captives. Before rescuers could arrive, the cymek ships closed in, scooping up a dozen of the foundering evacuation pods like hyenas stealing morsels of meal;. Then, seeing the combined firepower of Jihad warships focused on them, the cymeks turned tail and raced away with their doomed prisoners.
In a final desperate ploy, not knowing who had actually been in side the seized escape pods, Vor broadcast, "Now cymeks are cowards who flee from battle? This is Primero Vorian Atreides, and I scoff at you! My father — General Agamemnon — taught me that humans were inferior, that cymeks could always win a fight. If so, then why are you running?"
Startling him, Agamemnon's deep voice came back, sounding like slowly boiling oil. "I also taught you, Vorian, that hurting an enemy is more satisfying than a straightforward victory. We shall see how much pain we can inflict upon our guests before we kill them. I presume they are friends of yours? I'll enjoy playing with them all."
As the outgunned cymek ships raced away, Xavier Harkonnen howled in dismay, knowing that he would never see his beloved foster brother again.
Vor screamed into the comline, "Come back and face me, Father! We can end this now. Are you afraid of me?"
"Not at all, Vorian. I'm just… enjoying myself at your expense."
The faster machine ships roared away from IV Anbus with the cymeks at the controls, ignoring Vor's further taunts. Soon, the vessels vanished into the distance.
There are a million ways to ask the same question, and a million ways to answer it.
—Cogitors: Fundamental Postulate
Trapped within a bubble of air at the center of the four linked Titan ships, Vergyl Tantor floated in zero-G. Even nightmares had never been as awful as this, and now the young man was helpless. His dark skin was slick with perspiration, his brown eyes round in an attempt at defiance. He covered his terrified expression with a flimsy veneer of bravado.
As bad as it looked for him, he still held onto a desperate hope that Xavier would come to rescue him. But in his heart Vergyl knew it was impossible. He would never see Sheel again, his sons, or his little girl…
Outside the bubble, the disembodied brains of four cymeks glowed as thoughtrode sensors scanned visuals and transmitted the processed data between them. Agamemnon, Juno, and Dante, as well as their newly accepted companion
Beowulf, scanned the current amusing victim through all portions of the spectrum. The rest of the prisoners had already been murdered.
The cymeks had been interrogating their captive, and enjoying themselves immensely. Recently, Juno had developed interesting and highly effective pain amplifiers, which she had thoroughly tested on human slaves. The cymek general had made sure: to bring the pain amplifiers to IV Anbus, where they could be put to proper use. Agamemnon had hoped to capture his son Vorian, who deserved the highest level of punishment possible for any human to endure… and beyond.
But he would have to make do with these captives.
By virtue of Vergyl Tantor's status as an officer serving under Agamemnon's turncoat son, the young man could provide information about the Army of the Jihad. So far, he had refused to talk, but it was only a matter of time… and pain.
Agamemnon was pleased to see rivulets of anxious perspiration running down Vergyl's dark skin. Scanners showed the victim's body temperature rising, his heart rate increasing. Good.
During his long-ago glory days as a Titan, he and Juno had perfected the nuances of successful interrogation. He understood the fanatical motivation of the hrethgir, knew their covert activities on some of the weaker Synchronized Worlds such as Ix… where Xerxes should be leading an acceptable slaughter at this very moment. He also recognized, even before Omnius did, that the fundamental nature of the galactic conflict had shifted to a new level. No longer were the feral humans content with the defensive posture of self-protection. They had moved to outright aggression.
Even if the prisoner knew nothing of consequences, he still deserved to be tortured… an excellent, instructive test of Juno's new pain-amplifying devices.
If only it could have been Vorian…
"Now, Vergyl Tantor — what should we do with you?" Agamemnon's words filled the survival bubble with such a thunderous noise that the young man tried to cover his ears. "Should we let you go?"
The captive scowled, did not respond.
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