The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert

  Venport stood, eager to get out of the nobleman's tower residence. He knew, however, that the matter was just beginning.

  Upon arriving at Starda Spaceport on Poritrin, Tuk Keedair looked frustrated and stressed. Venport met him there, and listened as the Tlulaxa merchant described the constant sabotage and other difficulties caused by an outlaw group on Arrakis. "I understand there's another Tlulaxa flesh-merchant newly arrived here on Poritrin, trying to buy domesticated slaves? Maybe I can convince him to go back to that desert hellhole and round up all the bandits as slaves."

  "No one would complain," Venport said with a smile. Then he explained what Norma had developed, and why he had insisted that his business partner come hear it for himself.

  As they left the spaceport and rode a groundcar to Norma's riverside laboratory, Keedair was skeptical but intrigued. "A prototype spaceship will cost much more than a few sample glowglobes, Aurelius — but if this space-shortcut idea proves successful, the potential for profits is… staggering." The Tlulaxa man didn't want to know the fine details of the mathematics either, only that the concept could work, if properly developed. He stroked his long braid, as if anticipating the continued growth of his wealth.

  Venport took him by the arm. "If the system is possible — and practical — all goods could be delivered in a fraction of the time. Cargoes of spice can be shipped from Arrakis as fast as the Zensunni can harvest it. Perishable drugs could be whisked from Rossak to eager markets all across the League. No other merchant could possibly offer better service."

  They walked along a creaking dock, and presently stood inside the laboratory building with Norma. "I apologize for the informality," she said. If anything, her tables looked more cluttered to Venport than before. "Years from now we will think back on this day and remember the humble place where we first discussed the greatest concept in the history of space travel."

  Keedair seemed reserved, even suspicious. "You have told no one else about this concept of yours? Not Savant Holtzman? Not Lord Bludd?"

  Embarrassed, Norma shook her head. "Even Savant Holtzman does rot understand his own mathematics. 'The Holtzman Principle just works,' he says." Her voice bore a trace of sad scorn. "And I want to make certain this project is brought to fruition. The Savant does not always complete his large-scale undertakings. He sometimes… loses; his way in a jungle of equations." She went to the window and looked across at the shipyards and factories on the delta. "He has spent the past year building ship hulls in orbit. Some idea of Primero Atreides—"

  "Yes, we saw them when we arrived on Poritrin," Venport said. The orbital lanes had been so crowded with new warships that they had posed a genuine navigational hazard.

  Keedair looked aghast. "What is the purpose in building ship hulls? Just hulls? Someone else is doing the mechanical installations.?"

  Norma seemed suddenly uneasy. "This is supposed to be a secret, and only a few people know the full plan. The shipyard slaves and orbital construction workers each work on a small part. No one knows that it's all a giant bluff, a lot of foolery." She sighed. "The hulls will remain empty, just orbiting like a real armada. I acknowledge that the artifice may work, but why would a great man like Savant Holtzman waste his intellect on such a scheme? It requires no science, only window dressing."

  She lowered a suspensor chair, climbed onto it, then lifted herself up to an adequate height at the table. "That's I why I wrote to you, Aurelius. I have spent a good portion of my life working on these space-folding equations. They must be taken seriously. The project must become a reality, and I am the only one who can do it."

  Keedair splayed his hands on the tabletop, his dark eyes glistening. "Give us the broad strokes, please. Tell us what you envision?"

  Norma's hazel eyes narrowed. "In my mind I have seen immense space vessels that can travel in the blink of an eye. I see powerful armies delivered across incredible distances in a matter of moments, surprising the thinking machines."

  Venport saw the intensity of her expression, felt her conviction and sincerity. "I believe you, Norma. Enough to invest whatever money you need, even though it's something I don't understand." He smiled. "I'm investing in you."

  Earlier, she had provided rough estimates of the costs required to fund her project. Venport increased her figure by half, then decided to double it. Norma rarely allowed for unforeseen delays and peripheral, costly details.

  "Your service with Savant Holtzman is severed," Venport announced. "I made all the arrangements, and you no longer need to worry about him. You can leave Poritrin any time you desire… and work wherever you like."

  Delighted, Norma came over to hug him. He loved the way she smiled in appreciation and complete sincerity. There was nothing disingenuous about her. "That's very nice, but I like working here. On Poritrin. I have been here for twenty-seven years. I can't just pack up and go somewhere else."

  "Why not Rossak?" Keedair asked. "You come from there, don't you?"

  Thinking of Zufa Cenva and the palpable disappointment she expressed about her daughter, Venport shook his head even before Norma could answer. "No, I don't think that would be a good idea."

  "Our initial investment and startup expenses would be smaller if we didn't have to move everything offworld," the Tlulaxa merchant pointed out. "And you did receive guarantees and reassurances from Lord Bludd, correct?"

  Norma tapped her temple. "Everything is here." She turned to look wistfully up at Venport, making him feel warm and benevolent inside. "But I would rather not waste all that time and trouble. Isn't there someplace closer, where I can just keep working? This is my home, afterall."

  Venport smiled. "I expected as much, and have already been sniffing around for a new place where you can work—a suitable facility with plenty of space and light, everything you need. I have my eye on an abandoned set of mining warehouses and an ore-processing facility in a side canyon up the river. I think it can be modified into a full-scale test bed for a starship." He had known Norma would be too independent to just leave.

  Keedair's eyes flickered back and forth, as if he was doing calculations in his head. "VenKee Enterprises has an infrastructure to channel funds to you. We require a detailed schedule showing how much you expect to spend initially, and month by month."

  The small woman looked troubled, as if she would rather return to her formulas than engage in this conversation. "All right, I'll do the research and development budget projections once you tell me when we can start."

  "The other necessity," Keedair said, firmer now, "is that you must keep the operation absolutely secret. We already know Savant Holtzman is eager to steal your ideas and our patents. We will need an airtight security system for all workers on the project. I suggest we look into hiring a private mercenary force that has no allegiance to Lord Bludd?" He looked at Venport, who nodded.

  Norma seemed disturbed by the implications, having never dreamed in her esoteric mind of such problems. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Norma, you have already surrendered huge profits by letting Holtzman and Lord Bludd exploit the personal shields and portable scrambler generators. Those were at least partially your concepts. Holtzman would never have come up with them."

  She looked surprised. "But those were my contributions to the war effort."

  "And others have benefited from them. Lord Bludd is one of the richest nobles in the League, thanks to you. I don't want people to take advantage of you anymore, dear Norma… but if this project goes forward with VenKee's private investment, it must be our proprietary information. That's the way business works."

  "Whatever you say, Aurelius. I trust you. How soon can you arrange to let me begin construction of a prototype ship? And I want to set up my new laboratories — as soon and as close, as possible. The calculations are already finished in my head."

  Venport put his arm around her shoulders and offered the idea he and Keedair had already discussed. "I have a way to speed things up My partner and I recently purchased an old cargo ship to ex
pand our fleet of merchant vessels. It's in spacedock at Rossak, undergoing repairs. Instead of building a new vessel, could you refit an existing craft to hold your new engines? Keedair could bring it back here by the time your new facilities are ready."

  He and Keedair exchanged glances, then the Tlulaxa man nodded. Norma beamed, looking young, vibrant, and filled with wonder again.

  "The sooner the better," she said.

  Where one person sees cause for rejoicing, another sees only reason for despair. Pray that you are the former.

  —Buddislamic Sutra, Zensunni interpretation

  After a year of massive effort, a huge expenditure of funds and resources, and countless slaves dying in industrial accidents, the final components of the decoy spaceship fleet were assembled in orbit over Poritrin. With the work nearly finished, the foundries in the delta shipyards would be closed down.

  Late one afternoon, work supervisors summoned the slave crews from their stations. Squinting, dirty captives emerged from the smoke-filled hangars and stood outside on the paved landing ground from which the final shipments were launched into orbit. Hundreds of unfortunate souls milled about in disorganized ranks.

  Ishmael knew that he and his fellow slaves could expect to be assigned to new tasks soon. As always, a time of changes made him uneasy, for fear that he would be separated from Ozza or his two daughters, as Alüd had been taken from his family. Nevertheless, he clung to the hope that Buddallah would keep his family together. The Poritrin slave masters had no reason to separate them.

  But every day at the factories, Alüd simmered with unhealed emotional wounds, always looking for his chance. "Long ago, they took from me my wife and newborn son. I no longer care what they do to me." Ishmael feared what his friend might do, given enough provocation.

  When Ishmael had been a boy, his grandfather always insisted that he have complete faith in God, that it was arrogance for any person to take matters out of Buddallah's hands and into his own. Still, uncertainty formed icicles within him… and Alüd showed no willingness to accept those terms.

  As the crew bosses bellowed orders, trying to arrange the slaves into assigned groups for the assembly, Ishmael slipped through the crowd toward a polishing and finishing crew where his wife was stationed. Presently he touched Ozza's arm, and she reached over to take his hand, sensing her husband's nearness without needing to look at him. With so many slaves all in one place, the workmasters would not bother to take attendance or herd the people into appropriate groups. That would take all cay.

  Through no choice of their own, Ishmael and Ozza were jostled toward the podium where two small men stood beside the main work supervisor. The sunlight was bright, and Ishmael still had trouble adjusting his eyes after the dim and cavernous foundry.

  "I wonder if they will announce another celebration of their great society," Ozza asked close to his ear, so that no one could hear her sarcasm.

  "I can think of worse reasons for this summons."

  He peered up at the two strangers, both of them obviously Tlulaxa… the hated slavers. The younger man had sharp features, including a narrow face and dark, close-set eyes. But Ishmael was more intent on the familiar features of the older man with a long, iron-gray braid that hung like a noose rope over one shoulder. In his opposite ear dangled a triangular bronze earring. More than two decades had passed, and Ishmael had been only a terrified boy at the time… but he would never forget the face of the man who had led the raid on Harmonthep.

  His heart pounded as fresh fear and righteous anger swelled within him. He had sworn vengeance against this man, vowing to crush him. Right now, Ishmael wished he could lunge to the podium and wrap his work-strengthened hands around the slaver's throat. It was what his friend Alüd would have done — Alüd, who had always scorned Ishmael's patience and blind faith.

  But vengeance was not what the Zensunni sutras taught. Ishmael's grandfather would have been deeply disappointed in him. It is in God's hands, not mine.

  But must I simply forgive and forget?

  Ozza looked at him, touched his face with gentle fingertips. He saw concern there. "What is it, Ishmael?"

  "That man… I -" He stopped himself, unable to tell her. His grandfather would have insisted on acceptance, even forgiveness. The old man would have demanded that Ishmael look for a deeper lesson from Buddallah, to grow from every trial and experience. God did not guarantee a soft and peaceful life to every member of the faithful — at least not in this world. The sutras instructed the Zensunni to accept, endure, and wait for Buddallah to choose the right moment.

  But it was so difficult.

  After nearly half an hour of passive chaos, the hundreds of slaves had finally arranged themselves and quieted down. At the front of the throng, Ishmael heard the work supervisor speaking to the younger Tlulaxa. "Rekur Van, these are all the members of our slave crew working today. They have been assigned to the ship construction project for months. We cannot spare them."

  "Nevertheless, I wish to see them." The leaner, rodentlike Tlulaxa scanned the faces and the bodies in the crowd. Tuk Keedair, the slaver who had hunted down Ishmael and so many innocent Zensunni on Harmonthep, stood beside him, looking bored. Keedair seemed to have no interest in acquiring new slaves, but had come to Poritrin for another reason entirely.

  As Ishmael watched, Rekur Van paced the podium, sweeping a small device across the crowd, with which he took images and analyzed the gathered slaves. "I am required to inventory your captive personnel. They are to be considered resources for the Army of the Jihad. We Tlulaxa desperately need a large number of healthy slaves from a wide range of body and tissue types. This is our highest priority." When the work-master showed his alarm, Rekur Van lowered his voice to a growl. "If you object, I can obtain a signed warrant from Grand Patriarch Ginjo himself."

  "No doubt you can, Rekur," said Keedair, in a patient, reasonable tone, "but it is not necessary to insist on the first and most inconvenient alternative."

  With a flurry and bustle, a boatcar skimmed over the shallow water of the delta, then drove up on the ground to reach the staging area. Flustered, Tio Holtzman strode imperiously up to the podium. His eyes were narrow, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. "Why do you interrupt my slaves in this important project? Their work is vital, and delay is inexcusable."

  "We have a suitable excuse, Savant Holtzman," said Rekur Van, just as imperiously. "The Jihad has an immediate need for slaves, and Poritrin is the nearest world on my route. The Tlulaxa require many new candidates."

  Ishmael swallowed hard, then clutched his wife's arm. Both of them looked around for their daughters, but Chamal and Falina had been assigned to different support teams and were nowhere in sight.

  "Not from my workers," Holtzman said in a huff. "All of these workers are dedicated to a project vital to the protection of Poritrin and our weapons factories. You'll have to get your slaves someplace else."

  "But I am here, Savant Holtzman, and I need slaves now."

  "So do I." The scientist made a rude snorting noise. "Why didn't you just capture some of those cowards on IV Anbus? It is my understanding they refused to fight even against the thinking machines that were attacking them… and they actually sabotaged the brave jihadis. Could there be any people more worthy of serving the human race?"

  "Perhaps that is an indication of their inferiority," Rekur Van suggested. "Besides, they were scattered, and their numbers were… insufficient to meet our needs."

  Through rumors and slow news, the Poritrin captives had only just learned of the battle on IV Anbus, the Jihad's pyrrhic victory at the cost of so many lives and holy relics. All Buddislamics, including Zensunnis and Zenshütes, revered the sacred city of Darits, storehouse of the original manuscripts of the Koran Sutras. The Poritrin slaves were dismayed to hear of the ruin caused not only by the robot army, but by the forces of the Jihad.

  Looking around, Ishmael noted that the humans in control here didn't seem to care. Why is their religious fervor accept
able, while ours is a matter of scorn?

  He watched the older slaver step between the indignant inventor and the eager flesh merchant. Though he despised the man, Ishmael had to concede that Tuk Keedair seemed wiser and better-versed in the ways of interaction.

  "Slaves are available in many places, Rekur. There are plenty of Buddislamic backwaters for the harvesting of flesh. Since these captives are already serving a useful purpose for humanity, I see no need to remove them from the custody of Savant Holtzman."

  Rekur Van scowled at his fellow Tlulaxa, as if they were rivals. "And why are you here, Tuk Keedair? You are no longer a flesh merchant, but prefer to sell spice and glowglobes with that alien Venport. Why should you meddle in my important assignment?"

  "My partner and I are here on another business venture. Your task is not the only legitimate job in the Army of the Jihad." In a paternalistic manner, Keedair placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Listen, I know where you could raid for more slaves, a large group that is a nuisance to me and, by extension, to the: League of Nobles. Come, I will tell you where to hunt them, and everyone will be happy. Are you familiar with the desert world of Arrakis?"

  Still frowning but somewhat mollified, Rekur Van accompanied the veteran slaver off the podium.

  Ishmael put his arm around Ozza's waist, drawing her close. His pulse continued to race, and he sensed that they had narrowly dodged disaster. He and his family could remain here, together. And, as much as he resented his captivity on Poritrin, he felt in his heart that serving the Tlulaxa would have been far worse.

  Holtzman looked satisfied and stared down at the gathered workers. Finally, the inventor waved his hands imperiously. "Why are you just standing there? We must finish this project on schedule! Get to work."

  For all their computerized precision, thinking machines can be confused in many different ways.

  — Primero Vorian Atreides, Evermind Nevermore

  The extravagant "hollow ship" bluff at Poritrin was the brainchild of Primero Atreides, who claimed to understand the way machines thought. But Tio Holtzman was implementing the scheme in the absence of the Primero… which put him in position to take most of the credit.