"Regroup and select new targets. Hit the machines while they're still reeling. This is a critical moment."
With his damaged flagship leading the way and his overheated shields useless, Xavier Harkonnen plunged headlong into the fray, into the midst of all the chaos and destruction. This presented a distinct danger: the mysterious attacker could just as easily turn on his forces next.
The neo-cymeks sent frantic calls to their Titan leader, but Xerxes was already accelerating out of the system, fleeing for his life.
Abruptly, the mysterious interstellar visitor, after destroying half of the machine fleet by itself, veered into space and vanished long before Xavier could either ask questions or express his gratitude. He was left to mop up, which he did with great flourishes of violence.
Leaving the tumult behind, Hecate's asteroid soared out of the Ixian system, its fusion engines drawing raw power and achieving incredible thrust. "There now, Grand Patriarch — I believe I've done my part and shown the capabilities I can offer. Good thing I arrived when I did."
"You didn't destroy them all," Yorek Thurr said, his voice thin and hard.
Hecate sounded petulant. "Oh, your Primero can finish off the damaged stragglers. I wouldn't want to deprive him entirely of the satisfaction of victory."
"You did a fine job, Hecate," Iblis said. He couldn't wait for a full intelligence assessment of everything the League could use on the captured Synchronized World. "Those industries on Ix will be a huge boon to our war effort."
Floriscia Xico could barely contain herself. "That was incredible! The people will rejoice when they learn of our new ally."
Iblis frowned as the consequences of her words raced through his mind. He attempted to sort out the best way to handle the situation, and how to properly integrate the turncoat cymek into Jihad strategies. The female sergeant's eyes shone with delight and fervor.
Never one to shrink from hard decisions, Yorek Thurr swiftly reached a conclusion. Without signaling his intentions to Iblis, he stepped close behind the enthusiastic Xico. "You have served the Jipol well, Floriscia," he said, his voice soft and quiet in her ear. "From this day forward you'll be on the list."
"The list?" Her brow wrinkled.
"Of martyrs."
Thurr thrust a short dagger into the back of the young sergeant's neck, sliding the point between two vertebrae to sever the spinal cord. She was paralyzed instantly and died with very little twitching or bleeding. In the low gravity of the asteroid, the smaller Thurr held her body up until her struggles faded, then let the dead woman slide to the polished floor. She lay supine, her eyes open wide in shock.
Iblis turned to him, astonished and angry. "What are you doing, man? She was one of ours —"
"She was obviously incapable of holding her silence. Couldn't you hear it in her voice? The moment we returned to Salusa, she would have jabbered to everyone within earshot." The small bald man looked up, seeing his reflection in the myriad facets of the walls. His ghastly gaze darted back and forth. "Hecate is our secret weapon. No one knows — and no one must know — that she is in alliance with us. Not yet. If she retains her covert nature, we keep the element of surprise. This Titan will be part of our coup de grace against the thinking machines."
Iblis looked at the Jipol commander and understood. He was absolutely correct. "Sometimes you terrify me, Yorek."
"But never will I disappoint you," he promised.
Plans, schemes, talk… It seems we spend all our lives in discussion and virtually no time in meaningful action. We must not fail to seize our opportunities.
—General Agamemnon, Battle Logs
MEMORIES. Seurat had a lot of them, neatly sorted and filed, available for instant inspection and reflection. It was completely unlike the internal recollections of human beings, with their random-recovery features and recall by-association techniques. If he wanted a supply of puns or riddles, Seurat had all of them at his mechanical fingertips. If he wanted to review the effect his jokes had on other machines or on humans, he had files for that as well. And a lot more.
But at the moment none of that gave him comfort. He felt oddly lonely as he traveled the long update route by himself.
In the library of his gelcircuitry brain, he had a personal journal of experiences compiled from his regular update runs between the various Synchronized Worlds. His information was broad-based but not particularly deep. He interacted with the Omnius worlds only at a surface level, within the parameters of his duties.
Now, after a quarter century of unavoidable delay, his first stop would be Bela Tegeuse, a small and relatively unimportant planet in the Omnius network. The evermind incarnation there would be the first to receive a copy of the defunct Earth-Omnius's final thoughts. Though Seurat's "update" was long outdated, it nonetheless contained vital information, the true records of what had happened on the annihilated machine world, the last, failed decisions of the evermind incarnation.
After delivering his update to Bela Tegeuse, Seurat would hurry to the next machine planet, and the next. Soon, everything would be in order once again.
The robot stood on the bridge of his update ship, scanning the infinity of star systems. His past, present, and future lay out there, a sequence of events that was supposed to be entirely reliable, set up by the evermind's comprehensive downloads. But machines could only establish programs with probable outcomes, not certainties. Seurat's interactions with Vor-ian Atreides had added an unanticipated element.
Most disturbing.
Within his gelcircuitry brain, Seurat encountered a thought that was not his own: an Omnius implant, one of thousands in the independent robot's subset of databases that guided him along the proper paths, as constructed for him by the evermind.
But I have my own thoughts.
Seurat experienced a brief tug-of-war in his internal programming as he tried to assert himself. A defensive swarm of data inundated the robot captain… Omnius implants keeping him from slipping off-program.
Since he had worked closely with a trustee human, the robot had developed enhanced flexibilities in order to deal with the irrational creatures. He had a rudimentary emotional core that simulated certain basic feelings of humans, just enough to interact with them.
At least that was the way it was supposed to be. But Seurat missed the enjoyable times he had had with Vorian Atreides, the strategy games, the stimulating banter. How many humans does it take to come up with one good idea? The joke danced in his consciousness, and he brought up the punchline: No one can count that high, not even Omnius.
Vor had never objected to such machine sarcasm, had not shown any indications of rebelliousness. There had been no warning signs of mental disturbance whatsoever… until the violent slave uprising on Earth, when Vor had stunned the robot captain and stolen the Dream Voyager. Seurat wondered if he should have noticed some sort of aberration. He also wondered how Vor could have turned against the system that had nurtured him into adulthood.
A thought intruded: I hope he is safe and healthy.
The update ship entered a small solar system and sped toward the gray-blue planet of Bela Tegeuse, a gloomy world far from its sun, where twilight was as bright as any day became.
Having seen the radioactive wreckage of Earth, Seurat approached the planet with special caution. After making radio contact with Tegeusan ground stations, he used image enhancers to examine conditions below. Finally satisfied that all appeared normal, the robot pilot punched down through the atmosphere and landed at the central city of Comati, a glistening metal stronghold at the base of cold mountains.
Attendant robots rolled across the fused, glassy-smooth landing field to receive him. Because of the urgency of his restored mission, Seurat requested a rapid turnaround, so that he could embark on the next leg of his dissemination run.
With the machine equivalent of reverence, update robots received the silver gelsphere — long thought to be lost — and transferred its data into an Omnius node, which would then upload al
l of the previously unknown information into the planetary evermind network. The copy proceeded efficiently, and within moments the Bela Tegeuse-Omnius absorbed the lost information about the last moments on Earth.
"Seurat, you have performed a great service for the Synchronized Worlds," Omnius declared.
Thereupon, the planetary evermind dumped a copy of its own new thoughts since the last update. The entire process was like a conveyor belt, a continuous track in which Seurat and other update ship captains relayed information from one planet to the next, keeping the computer network as synchronized as possible.
Required to continue his route with all possible haste, the robot captain lifted off moments later, leaving Bela Tegeuse behind…
Within hours after passing beyond communication range, things began to happen behind him. A chain of breakdowns, failures, and cascading disasters occurred on Bela Tegeuse. Transposed landing codes, improperly adjusted reactor exhaust systems, harmful power surges, and logic conundrums paralyzed the network and infrastructure. The Synchronized World crippled itself.
But by that time Seurat was well on his way to the next Omnius stronghold, eager to deliver his update… not knowing he was spreading the altered code like a plague, faster than any warning could be passed from planet to planet.
"Artificial intelligence is not the correct term," Agamemnon said with a growl. "Even sophisticated computers like Omnius are just plain stupid, when faced with the right sort of questions."
"And yet, my love," Juno pointed out, "they have held us in thrall for ten centuries. What does that make us?"
The Titans had gathered in space again, another secret rendezvous that included their adopted co-conspirator, Beowulf. Duped watcheyes hovered inside a separate ship's chamber, lenses glinting and recording images that were carefully doctored to fool Omnius.
After the confusion and shutdowns on Bela Tegeuse, at least two other Synchronized Worlds experienced spontaneous breakdowns. Planetary Omnius incarnations deteriorated and went insane, shutting down the evermind network. The Titans suspected that this was some incomprehensible and innovative new attack by the Army of the Jihad. Agamemnon watched with curious optimism, quietly anticipating further damage to Omnius. "I do not object to any means that further weaken the domination of the evermind."
"Still, it would be good to understand," Dante pointed out, "then, perhaps, we could make further use of it."
"And what about our mysterious new enemy who attacked me on Ix and wiped out the thinking machine fleet?" Xerxes asked. His synthesized voice carried a whining tone. He had returned in his damaged raptor form, frightened and unsettled at the unexpected arrival of the artificial asteroid. "Even after the Omnius core was destroyed by atomics, we still could have won the space battle, but that huge juggernaut tipped the scales. I suspect… it was controlled by a cymek. I think—" Xerxes fidgeted. "I think it might have been… Hecate."
Some of the Titans made disbelieving sounds. Beowulf, eager to speak, said, "Hecate has been gone for centuries. She probably died of boredom out in open space."
"She was a self-centered fool," Juno added. Extruding a robotic hand from her shoulder, she used the mechanical fingers to tighten a fitting.
"Still," Dante pointed out, "she was the only one of us wise enough to flee before Omnius took over. Hecate remained independent, but we've been forced to serve the evermind all this time."
"Perhaps not for much longer," Beowulf said. Blue lights blinked excitedly around his brain canister.
Dante was curious. "What evidence do you have for this assertion, Xerxes? Considering the number of neo-cymeks that have been created over the centuries, why would you suspect Hecate rather than… some other rogue?"
"Some other rogue?" Juno sounded amused.
"Because after I was damaged and reeling off into space, someone actually communicated with me, a simulated female voice. It was transmitted on my private channel. She knew me, talked about Tlaloc and the Titans, called me by name."
The cymek general had heard enough. "You are concocting phantoms as an excuse for your failure. Blaming the Army of the Jihad isn't enough to convince us you weren't responsible for losing Ix."
"Why do you always doubt me, Agamemnon? For a thousand years I have worked to make up for my mistake—"
"A million years could not earn you forgiveness. I should dismantle your external sensors and send you drifting off into space, blind and deaf for the rest of eternity. Perhaps Hecate could keep you company."
Oddly enough, Beowulf acted as peacemaker between them. "General Agamemnon, there are only a few of you left. Must you quarrel amongst yourselves? Aren't Omnius and the Jihad Army sufficient enemies? This is not the military brilliance I imagined from the famed Titan general."
Agamemnon was stunned into angry silence. The watcheyes continued to observe and record. Finally, he said, "You are correct, Beowulf." His acceptance was surprising to those who had known him for a long time. "There will be sufficient opportunity to discuss my grievances with Xerxes after we have won back our glory."
"And time enough for me to prove myself," Xerxes suggested.
"Despite my initial disbelief," Agamemnon said, "I have indeed received separate confirmation, and I intend to share it with you. Xerxes is correct — Hecate has apparently returned, but at present she is irrelevant… as always." He turned to Beowulf. "Share your ideas with us. We Titans have spoken of our own plans for generations. Let us hear fresh insight from the youngest member of our group."
"General, neo-cymeks like myself can be convinced to turn against Omnius if they think we can win. We have achieved more than we ever thought possible in our human trustee days, but neos can go no farther as long as Omnius retains control. In a second Time of Titans, though, we could become rulers in our own right."
"But can we trust them, if their allegiance is so easily shifted?" Juno asked. "The neos were never free. They were human servants rewarded by being converted into cymeks. They owe their physical power and longevity to Omnius, not to us. Such a payment can buy a great deal of loyalty."
Agamemnon spun his head turret, and his optic threads glinted. "Why not recruit more neo-cymeks from the outset? Create them ourselves from selected human candidates who swear allegiance to us. The Titans may be few, but the possibilities are endless. If we find some way to keep it secret from Omnius, we can foster a fighting force of our own, confident of their total dedication, without concern about treachery."
The other Titans agreed, and Beowulf launched into a discussion of how they could begin to put this plan into operation.
Agamemnon did not mention the thorn of doubt that continued to scratch at his thoughts. He wasn't as certain as he claimed to be, since he had been betrayed by even his own son, Vorian Atreides.
That being the case, how trustworthy could other humans be?
With the diversification of mankind, one might think religion would have proliferated. Not so. There are not nearly as many gods as there once were—-just more ways to worship.
—Iblis Ginjo, private analyses
Deeply moved by the loss of the Cogitor Kwyna and her devastating words and revelations, a shaken Serena Butler took a more active role as Priestess of the Jihad. During the three months that the Grand Patriarch remained away at Poritrin, Serena had left the solitude of the City of Introspection and wandered among her people.
For the first time in decades, Serena truly began to really look around her. Not so much for her own safety, but to get control over what was being done in her name.
Instead of delivering scripted speeches, touching the heads of supplicants, and visiting military hospitals to cheer wounded soldiers, she made her own real decisions, took her own risks — and wondered why she had not done so all along. This is my Jihad. In the process, Serena began to feel truly alive again.
By the time Iblis finally returned home from the celebrations on Poritrin, she had already revised many policies of the Jihad Council. Learning this, the Grand Pat
riarch was stunned and uncertain how to react. Smiling as she told him of her accomplishments, Serena watched him struggle with his emotions. She understood how she must look to him now, with her penetrating lavender eyes, seeming to see through him more clearly than she had in more than two decades.
No matter how much of the leadership role Iblis had grabbed for himself, he was now boxed in by his own words. Since he had spent decades declaring her to be the infallible prime mover of the Jihad, he had no choice but to accommodate her new involvement.
Clearly, though, Iblis Ginjo did not like the new arrangement at all…
With him, she attended a vital Jihad Council meeting inside a secure tower that had been built as an addition to the old Parliament Hall. Officers in the Army of the Jihad attended the assembly in full green-and-crimson uniforms, sitting beside officials and consultants from military operations and industries, as well as planetary representatives, and one-armed Master Shar, who spoke for the senior Ginaz mercenaries.
In one corner, she also saw the frenetic Tlulaxa merchant Rekur Van, who had so benevolently provided the Jihad with replacement organs and transplanted tissue from the secretive organ farms. His enigmatic, private people had answered her call when she had demanded their help for the veterans of IV Anbus. The Tlulaxa were humans, after all. Odd in that regard, but humans nonetheless.
Only the day before, Xavier Harkonnen had come home with the survivors of his Man battle force, looking dazed but victorious from the fury of the conflict. They had left a consolidation fleet behind at the battle-scarred Synchronized World, along with scores of rescue workers, relief engineers and medical personnel to comb through the ruins of the Man cities, and to establish a strong League presence there. But full-fledged defensive troops were still urgently needed.
Even so, Xavier's news was remarkable and surprising: a victory over the demon machines. Serena had given him a chaste congratulatory kiss on the forehead, which had only seemed to make Xavier uncomfortable. Now at the meeting table, the Primero was rigid, his lean face hard-bitten, as if he still had not grasped the reality of his survival.
The Machine Crusade Page 30
