The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert

  Omnius's voice sounded like thunder. "By destroying you, I terminate your Jihad. Humans will no longer have a leader to provoke further destruction. Your death is an efficient resolution to a long-standing problem."

  "You will… never… understand." Though her burned face was turned away from the images, her voice was accurate, cribbed from old speeches. "My people will keep fighting, in my name!"

  Her garment ignited with another gout of the robot's flames. Even when her skin melted like candle wax, Serena refused to cry out. She shouted something defiant at her tormentors that no one could understand. Her bravery was magnificent.

  In excruciatingly painful increments, the executioner roasted Serena Butler alive, setting her afire like a fleshy torch — arms and legs first, reserving the torso and head for last. Systems in the cross frame amplified her pain, keeping her awake even as her nerves and other bodily components tried to shut themselves down, tried to die.

  The Seraphim screamed in outrage, some tearing their own hair out, others staring with tear-bright eyes. Clearly, the spectacle would never inspire them to surrender. On the contrary, their anger was stronger than ever before.

  The demonic, red-skinned robot blasted out with his flames, immolating his victim at the stake. Even though the cross's life-support system kept her alive, still Serena Butler did not scream.

  Fire consumed the entire body of the Priestess of the Jihad, peeling away skin, exposing black bones — until there was nothing left, except for her legacy.

  Iblis considered it an excellent production. He could feel how much horror and disgust these images would incite, along with an abiding hatred for thinking machines — far greater than he could remember even during the most brutal oppression by the Titans. He looked up at Thurr, more vehemently passionate and vengeful than ever.

  "Make sure that the burned corpse is tested. The DNA samples will prove that Serena is truly dead. There will always be those who will claim it is some sort of trick." He already knew what the genetic tests would show; his Tlulaxa co-conspirators had made certain the cells were identical. He would not, however, wait for the results before making his appalling announcement.

  "We must present these images to everyone," Iblis said, realizing how astoundingly effective it was going to be. "Everyone. This is more powerful than Serena could have hoped for." With trembling hands he handed the image pack back to the Jipol Commander. "See that it is copied, and distributed all across the League of Nobles."

  In war, there are more ways to lose than there are to win.

  —Iblis Ginjo, The Landscape of Humanity

  Before long, every free human had seen the horrific images, the inhuman brutality. A mountain of reaction rose, as the people wondered how they could ever have considered peace with such monsters. There could never be an end to the Jihad, until Omnius was utterly destroyed.

  Once again asserting his power now that his rival was gone, Iblis Ginjo wore his most extravagant robes yet, as the Grand Patriarch. "I pledge this to each of you: Serena Butler shall never be forgotten, nor what the thinking machines did to her!"

  The Jipol prisons released a handful of men and women who hid previously been the most outspoken protesters against the Jihad. The prisoners, with no knowledge of Serena Butler's death, were turned loose with their own placards — "Peace At Any Cost!" — strapped to their backs.

  In short order, mobs formed and tore the hapless protesters to pieces.

  At an emergency session of the League Parliament, Iblis Ginjo grimly projected appalling new images from the colony world of Balut, which — like Chusuk and Rhisso several years before — had recently been burned and leveled by combat robots.

  "The thinking machines did this, even while Serena Butler journeyed to Corrin as our Ambassador of Peace. They always meant to betray us. There were no survivors on Balut." The Grand Patriarch's voice went throaty with sorrow. "True to form, the evil machines destroyed every person, every home."

  The scenes of burned buildings, explosion craters, and charred bodies struck hard, but even these horrors paled in comparison with the execution of their beloved Priestess, Everything added fuel to the flames, exactly as the Grand Patriarch had intended.

  The League representatives in the audience were surprisingly silent, staring at Iblis with stony faces. After finishing his speech, he remained standing. Many people were crying, and then a murmur passed among them. Gradually, everyone in the great auditorium stood, rising in waves to give the Grand Patriarch the most powerful, resounding ovation of his career.

  Seizing the moment, he shouted into the din. "Now our Jihad must have a fresh resolve, a new and deadly purpose! No longer will we listen to overtures of peace from Omnius. I say this to you, my friends: Never falter in your resolve to eradicate the thinking machines completely. The Jihad lives until we obtain complete victory!"

  Though he was genuinely sorry for Serena's fate, Iblis saw her as a necessary sacrifice. She had accepted the price and gone into battle. Alone.

  As the applause continued, he decided to press his advantage, thinking of his other plans. This was part of his agreement, since the Tlulaxa had helped him with the image pack of Serena's torture and execution.

  "We must make progress, and we must fight. Most of you know that Priestess Butler has long wanted a better relationship with the Unallied Planets, to strengthen the League and all of free humanity. Now we require that strength, wherever we can find it."

  "As an important first step, in her honor, we should seek a closer alliance with the Tlulaxa. Though they have heretofore remained outside the League of Nobles, their organ farms have nonetheless served our cause." He took a deep breath and continued, "With your support, I intend to journey to Tlulax and finally convince them to join the League."

  As if on cue, a grand old hero of the early days of the Jihad, Primero Xavier Harkonnen, rose to his feet. "I agree. New lungs from Tlulaxa organ farms saved my life long ago, enabling me to continue our fight against the thinking machines. I know that Serena would have approved — she visited the organ farms herself and invited the Tlulaxa to join the League. Now we must press them for an answer."

  Surprised, Iblis smiled. Harkonnen was an unexpected ally indeed. "Thank you, Primero Harkonnen. Now, I —"

  Xavier did not sit down. "In fact, I volunteer my services to take the Grand Patriarch to Tlulax. I am too old to lead a new battle charge against the thinking machines, but I want to help out in any way I can. There are thousands of Unallied Planets. We need to reach out to as many people as possible, as fast as possible."

  With Primero Harkonnen's surprising support, the reeling audience of representatives voted in favor of Iblis's request by an even wider margin than he had anticipated. Afterward, he left the speaking chamber and went among the audience, shaking hands and patting the professional politicians on the back.

  Serena couldn't have asked for better results herself.

  The beginning of healing is to enlist the recuperative powers of the body — whether it is the body individually and physically, or its various social and political forms.

  —Dr. Rajid Suk, Battlefield Notebooks

  Understanding the importance of this meal, Octa used her best culinary skills to cook a luscious farewell feast before Xavier departed with the Grand Patriarch and his Jipol entourage. The servants and the manor chef insisted on helping, but Octa did most of the work herself; her way of showing devotion to her husband. She knew exactly what Xavier liked to eat, which dishes and desserts most delighted him.

  But it pleased Xavier more than anything to just spend an evening with her and their three daughters. His youngest, Wandra, was only ten and still lived at home, but the older two had already delivered fine grandchildren. Xavier's life seemed full and content, all he could ever have asked for.

  But he had lost Serena Butler — again. And this time she could never return.

  With mesmerized, helpless horror, Xavier had watched the unthink-ably violent images as the dem
onic executioner robot tortured and killed Serena. Her ghastly, pain-wracked death had sent everyone in the League Worlds into howling anger, screaming for revenge.

  Even before she left Salusa Secundus, Xavier had feared the worst, suspecting Serena had her mind made up. She'd been aware of what was likely to happen to her, and had likely even provoked it. He had trouble believing the evermind had been so foolish as to deliver the images and the body back to the League, where it was sure to incite a vengeful uproar.

  Then again, thinking machines had never understood humans. Om-nius clearly intended to send a brutal warning to the League of Nobles, but Serena's martyrdom had brought a completely unforeseen resolve to the population of free humanity.

  Serena must have considered it her Jihad's only chance. Without any doubt, the manipulative Iblis Ginjo had goaded her into the decision, convincing her to sacrifice herself. Xavier knew how she would have seen the opportunity. She had counted on it, as a way of serving the people she loved so deeply.

  Her followers had been weary, willing to agree to unacceptable terms to end the constant fighting. But witnessing the utter inhumanity of thinking machines against their revered Priestess had unified them into an enraged fighting force far stronger and more determined than the thinking machines had ever faced before. Tens of millions were demanding the right to become jihadis. At least Serena had not died in vain.

  At the head of the dinner table, Xavier smiled grimly to himself as he thought of his upcoming mission that could elevate the war to new heights of success. Prior to her capture at Giedi Prime, Serena had wanted to bring the Unallied Planets into the League, but had achieved little success.

  Now, he was taking Iblis Ginjo to encourage the Tlulaxa to join the greater alliance of humanity. This had been a priority with Serena, since she believed that more extensive organ farms were essential to help Jihad fighters injured in battle. In her name, the fight would continue.

  Octa, still willowy and graceful at the age of fifty-five, entered the dining room bearing a platter of smoked bristleback loinchops from (one of the hunting parties on the estate grounds. She smiled at her husband, knowing what had happened during that bristleback hunt long ago, when Xavier and Serena had made love for the first time. Octa did this is a gesture to him and her dead sister, serving the tasty meat glazed with a tart currant sauce. Her three daughters expressed their delight at the presentation, and Xavier could barely control the tears in his eyes.

  "What's wrong, Father?" Wandra asked with a child's naivete.

  Octa stroked his shoulder, leaned over to kiss Xavier's gray head. He slipped an arm around her waist. "Nothing, Wandra. I love you all so much, I'm just overwhelmed." He looked up at Octa, his brown eyes glistening.

  "I know," she said. "You show me in so many ways."

  He listened as his older daughters spoke of their own homes and families, of their husbands' work and their personal ambitions. Roella, the eldest daughter at thirty-seven, seemed to be following in Serena's footsteps, already selected as a representative in the League Parliament on Salusa Secundus, riding on the fame of the Butler and Harkonnen names. Omilia continued to play baliset concerts to large crowds, while also working double-duty to learn the ropes of her husband's merchant business.

  With the finesse of a politician, Roella said, "Father, we're proud of you for accompanying the Grand Patriarch on this mission. There are important political repercussions, and you'll be a powerful stabilizing influence."

  Xavier nodded noncommittally, not wishing to express the real reason he was; willing to go along to a place he did not want to go, with a man he did not trust. Serena asked me to help her Jihad in any way possible. And someone must keep an eye on Iblis Ginjo.

  Xavier realized that he hadn't paid enough attention to the food, so he fell to his serving with enthusiasm, complimenting his wife repeatedly. "This is absolutely delicious. You have outdone yourself, my dear."

  Octa was the opposite of her older sister, content with quiet personal activities rather than grandiose aspirations to save the entire human race. Octa didn't need such activities in order to have fulfillment in her life. She was just as strong as Serena in her own way, trying to hold their lives together and providing an anchor for Xavier when the Galaxy was tossed on stormy seas.

  "We hear that there have been other thinking machine attacks on League Worlds," said Roella. "Another colony completely wiped out. Terrible. Was it called… Balut?"

  His face dark, Xavier took a sip of chiantini, but hardly noticed the full-bodied taste of the wine. "Yes, a small settlement on Balut, obliterated. Everything annihilated, leaving only a few charred bodies in the streets. Most of the humans were taken away, undoubtedly into forced labor camps. Just like on Chusuk nine years ago. And Rhisso."

  Roella shook her head. "Omnius didn't stay to establish his computer network on those worlds? The thinking machines simply came in to destroy and to take slaves?"

  "It appears that way," her father said. "And to think we were ready to accept their overtures of peace."

  Omilia shuddered. "Peace at any cost!" She said it like a curse. Wandra looked on with her huge dark eyes.

  Xavier continued. "The thinking machines will find our every weakness and keep attacking. We must do the same. All victims of machine aggression demand it."

  Octa pushed her plate away, clearly upset by such talk during what she had hoped would be a pleasant banquet. But Xavier knew she understood the necessity. "No one can understand Omnius," she said. "Serena was right. We've got to destroy the thinking machines, no matter what." She swallowed hard and looked over at Xavier. "Even if it continues to tear any family apart."

  Xavier looked down at his plate, and his eyes stung. He loathed Omnius, but had grown more and more convinced that the manipulative Iblis Ginjo was the one truly responsible for Serena's final folly. Without the Grand Patriarch's forceful personality, she would never have been pressured into such a foolhardy suicide mission.

  "Our crusade has to continue even if it risks our family and a trillion others. We seek more than victory in battle. Our goal is to secure the future of the human race, for our grandchildren, and our grandchildren's grandchildren."

  "Then I hope your mission to Tlulax achieves what you wish." She seemed doubtful, but Xavier patted her hand. He looked at Octa tenderly, and then at his daughters, one by one, his eyes misting over.

  "I'll do whatever needs to be done," he vowed, "for the Jihad and the memory of Serena."

  The mind is a crazy thing.

  —Graffiti outside the Central Spire of Corrin

  Erasmus stood atop a black mountain peak under the dull ember of the giant sun, staring back across the foothills at Corrin's gleaming city. Since revisiting the crevasse where he had once been trapped, the robot had wanted to explore more of this planet's wilderness.

  Human explorers had the same drive, to go where no one had gone before, to see things no other person had seen, to plant flags and mark new territories. How could an independent robot do any less?

  Below, in a sheltered bowl of snow-specked boulders at the edge of the treeline, his ward Gilbertus Albans slept in a tent, again exhausted from the strenuous hike.

  Erasmus realized another positive aspect of escaping the activity of the machine city. Humans had long understood the benefits of solitude and contemplation in untamed, aesthetically pleasing environments. Some old journals even referred to the process as "recharging the mental battery." He suspected that humans were more like machines man they liked to admit.

  Far away, visible under the highest resolution of his optic threads, the robot saw something flash in the machine city atop the Central Spire. Moments later a swarm of tiny silvery watcheyes came into focus around him, hovering at various vantages, observing him from every angle.

  "You were trying to flee from me?" Omnius said through the watch-eyes, so that the sound came from all around. "That is quite irrational."

  Imperturbable, Erasmus replied, "No matter how f
ar I go, I know you are always monitoring my movements. I am simply on a training exercise for Gilbertus Albans. It is necessary for him to contemplate without interruptions or distractions."

  The watcheyes hovered. "I postulate that the human war effort will; be much diminished, now that Serena Butler no longer goads them on. It is time for you agree with me."

  "I fear the incident will result in repercussions you do not foresee. You simplify the humans too much, Omnius, and you haven fallen directly into Serena Butler's trap. We will regret allowing her to become a martyr. The humans will draw their own conclusions about what happened with or without accurate data."

  "Ridiculous. She is dead. This will crush the morale of the Jihad fighters."

  "No, Omnius. It is clear to me that her death will only make things worse."

  "You claim to be more intelligent and insightful than I am?"

  "Do not confuse the accumulation of data with intelligence, Omnius. They are not equivalent." Behind them, overhearing the conversation, young Gilbertus emerged from his tent, looking refreshed and eager to continue his studies.

  As the watcheyes hummed, Omnius paused, ran through cycles, and added, "I do not wish our discussion to be tarnished with acrimony. I have determined that this is our three hundred thousandth conversation. Quite a momentous occasion, according to the human model of marking milestones, though I do not understand why one number should be more significant than another."

  Erasmus's flowmetal face, already frosted over from the mountain's icy wind, formed into a scowl. Quickly, he checked his own data, and discovered that Omnius was wrong. "I show a slightly higher number. You have an error in your databanks."

  "That is not possible. Each of us makes simple tallies in the same manner. Remember, you were originally a spinoff of my own mind."

  "Nevertheless, you are in error. You have not accurately accounted for all of my conversations with the Earth-Omnius, since you received an incomplete, faulty update."