Dune: The Butlerian Jihad

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  He didn’t even know she was still alive.

  She stroked her curved belly. Serena felt the child growing within her and was filled with foreboding. Two more months and the baby was due— what did Erasmus mean to do, once the child was born? She had seen the locked doors to the ominous laboratories, had looked with revulsion and horror at the filthy slave pens.

  And yet, the robot kept her busy with flowers.

  Erasmus often stood motionless beside her as she worked, his oval face unreadable as he challenged her to debates. “Understanding starts at the beginning,” he had said. “I must build a foundation before I can comprehend everything.”

  “But how will you use that knowledge?” She yanked out a weed. “Will you think of more extravagant ways to inflict misery and pain?”

  The robot paused, his burnished face a mirror that reflected a distorted image of her own face. “That is . . . not my objective.”

  “Then why do you keep so many slaves in such terrible conditions? If you don’t intend to cause misery, why not give them a clean place to live? Why not provide them with better food, education, and care?”

  “It is not necessary.”

  “Maybe not to you,” she said, surprised at her boldness. “But they would be happier and able to do better work.”

  Serena had watched how Erasmus lived in magnificent luxury— an affectation, since no robot could require such things— yet the household slaves, especially those in the horrible communal pens, existed in filth and fear. Whether or not she remained a captive here, she might be able to improve their lot. If nothing else, she would consider it a victory against the machines.

  She continued, “It would take a truly . . . sophisticated thinking machine to understand that improving the slaves’ quality of life would improve their productivity, and thus benefit their master as well. The slaves could clean and maintain their own pens if they had the most minor supplies.”

  “I will consider it. Provide me with a detailed list.”

  Then, after giving him her suggestions, Serena had not seen the robot for two days. Machine sentinels tended the workers in the villa, while Erasmus himself vanished into his laboratories.

  She could hear nothing through the soundproofed barriers, though the foul odors and disappearing people left her wondering. Finally, another slave told her, “You don’t want to know what goes on in there. Just be thankful you aren’t required to clean up afterward.”

  Now, Serena worked her hands in the loamy earth while listening to the soothing classical music that Erasmus constantly played. Her back ached and her joints swelled from the advancing pregnancy, but she did not slacken her efforts.

  Erasmus approached so silently that she did not notice him until she looked up from her plants to see his mirror-smooth face nested in a frilly antique collar. She stood quickly to hide her startled reaction and wiped her hands on her coveralls. “Do you learn more by spying on me?”

  “I can spy on you anytime I like. I learn a great deal from the questions I ask.” His shifting metallic-polymer film changed his face into a frozen expression of dancing mirth. “Now, I would like you to select the flower you consider the most beautiful of all. I am curious to see your response.”

  Erasmus had played such games before. He seemed unable to understand subjective decisions, wishing to quantify matters of opinion and personal taste. “Each plant is beautiful in its own way,” she said.

  “Nevertheless, choose one. Then explain your choice to me.”

  She wandered down the dirt paths, looking from side to side. Erasmus followed her, recording every time she hesitated at a blossom.

  “There are observable characteristics, such as color, shape, and delicacy,” the robot said, “and more esoteric variables such as the perfume scent.”

  “Don’t overlook the emotional component.” Wistfulness tinged her voice. “Some of these plants remind me of my home on Salusa Secundus. Certain flowers might have a greater sentimental value for me, though not necessarily for anyone else. Maybe I remember a time when the man I love gave me a bouquet. You wouldn’t understand such associations, however.”

  “You are stalling. Make your selection.”

  She pointed to an immense elephant flower with bright streaks of shimmering orange and red, highlighted by a horn-shaped stigma at the center. “Right now, this one is the most beautiful.”

  “Why?”

  “My mother used to grow these at our home. As a child, I never thought them particularly pretty, but now they are a reminder of the happier days— before I met you.” She immediately regretted her honesty, because it revealed too much about her private thoughts.

  “Very good, very good.” The cognizant machine ignored her insult and stared at the elephant flower, as if analyzing all aspects with his full set of sensor capabilities. Like a wine connoisseur, he tried to describe the merits of its scent, but to Serena his analysis sounded clinical, lacking the subtleties and emotional layering that had prompted her own selection.

  Strangest of all, Erasmus seemed aware of his own failing. “I know that humans are in some ways more sensitive than machines—for now. However, machines have more potential to become superior in every area. This is why I wish to understand all aspects of sentient biological life.”

  With an involuntary shudder, Serena thought of his sealed laboratories, and knew from every indication that his secret activities went far beyond the study of beautiful flowers.

  Erasmus assumed she was interested in his observations. “If properly developed, a thinking machine could be more perfect intellectually, creatively, and spiritually than a human could ever hope to be, with unparalleled mental freedom and range. I am inspired by the marvels we could accomplish, if only Omnius did not exert such pressure on other machines to conform.”

  Serena listened, hoping he would let more information slip. Did she sense a potential conflict between Erasmus and the computer evermind?

  The robot continued, “Capacity for information is the key. Machines will absorb not only more raw data, but more feelings, as soon as we understand them. When that happens we will be able to love and hate far more passionately than humans. Our music will be greater, our paintings more magnificent. Once we achieve complete self-awareness, thinking machines will create the greatest renaissance in history.”

  Serena frowned at his assertions. “You can keep improving yourself, Erasmus, but we human beings use only small portions of our brains. We have an enormous potential to develop new abilities. Your capacity for learning is no greater than ours.”

  The robot froze in place, as if startled. “Quite right. How could I have missed that important detail?” His face shifted, becoming passive and contemplative, then metamorphosed into a broad smile. “The road to improvement will be a long one. This will require more investigation.”

  Abruptly he changed the subject, as if to emphasize her vulnerability. “What about your baby? Tell me the emotions you feel toward its father and describe the physical act of copulation.”

  Trying to stop the flood of painful recollections, Serena remained silent. Erasmus found her reluctance fascinating. “And are you physically attracted to Vorian Atreides? I have run tests on the handsome young man— he is fine breeding stock. After your pregnancy is finished, would you like to mate with him?”

  Serena took an agitated breath, fixing her mind on memories of Xavier. “Mate? Regardless of how much you study us, there are many things your machine brain will never understand about human nature.”

  “We shall see about that,” he said, calmly.

  Consciousness and logic are not reliable standards.

  — COGITORS,

  Fundamental Postulate

  Alinked cluster of robot drones scuttled over the Dream Voyager‘s hull as the craft sat in a drydock structure that spanned an artificial crater on the spaceport grounds. Tiny machines crawled into exhaust ports and scoured the reactor chambers, a coordinated army of maintenance units repairing the damage
inflicted by the League Armada.

  Vor and Seurat stood on a platform looking at the drones, confident that the repairs would be completed according to programmed specifications. “Soon, we will be able to depart,” the robot captain said. “You must be anxious for me to defeat you again in our war games.”

  “And you must be anxious to tell more jokes that I will not find amusing,” Vor countered.

  He did feel restless to be back aboard the Dream Voyager, but Vor also had a different sort of impatience, an ache in his chest that grew worse every time he thought of Erasmus’s beautiful house slave. Despite Serena Butler’s complete dismissal of him, he could not stop thinking about her.

  Worst of all, he did not understand why. Because of his paternal ties, Vor Atreides had enjoyed numerous pleasure slaves, some as lovely as this one. They had been bred and trained for their duties, and lived in captivity among the thinking machines. But the female house slave of Erasmus, despite having been brought to the robot’s villa against her will, gave no impression that she was defeated.

  Vor could see her face, the fullness of her lips, the penetrating gaze of her lavender eyes as she looked at him with displeasure. Even though her pregnancy showed, he was still drawn to her, and felt a strange simmering jealousy. Where was her lover? Who was he?

  When Vor returned to Erasmus’s villa, she would undoubtedly ignore or insult him again. Nonetheless, he looked forward to seeing her before he and Seurat departed on another long update run. He practiced what he might say to her, but even in his imagination she could dance circles around him with her wit.

  Vor climbed a ladder on the drydock framework and crawled into a narrow interior wall space, where he watched a maintenance drone lay down new webs of liquid circuitry for the main navigation panel. The scarlet drone worked efficiently with its built-in tools. Vor inched deeper into the confined area and peered at the open panel, noting the dizzying pattern of colored components.

  “You will be disappointed if you expect to catch it making a mistake,” Seurat said from behind him. “Or are you attempting your frequently threatened sabotage again?”

  “I am a dirty hrethgir. You can never tell what I might do, old Metalmind.”

  “The fact that you do not laugh at my jokes indicates that you have insufficient intelligence to institute such a devious plan, Vorian Atreides.”

  “Maybe you’re just not funny.”

  Unfortunately, banter and repair activities did not distract Vor from thoughts of Serena. He felt like a giddy boy, exhilarated and confused at the same time. He wanted to talk to someone about his feelings, but not his robot friend, who had even less understanding of women than Vor did.

  Rather, he needed to talk with Serena. Perhaps with her insight and intelligence, she had seen through him and didn’t like what she saw. She had called him “a kept slave who cannot see his chains.” A baffling insult, considering all the privilege in his life. He had no idea what she meant.

  The repair drone finished tracing the high-flux paths of an electronic module, then switched tools to tune a data-collection port. The machine’s slender arm extruded farther out so it could interface with an adjustment pad deep inside the panel.

  Standing inside the Dream Voyager‘s cockpit, Seurat powered up the ship’s primary controls, using built-in diagnostics to verify the navsystems. “I have discovered an interesting shortcut to our second stop on the update route. Unfortunately, it entails flying directly through a blue-giant star.”

  “In that case, I’d advise a different route,” Vor said.

  “I concur, though I dislike wasting time.”

  He wondered what would happen to Serena when the baby was born. Would Erasmus assign it to the slave pens to keep it from interfering with Serena’s duties? For the first time in his life, Vor found himself empathizing with a captive human.

  As a valued trustee, he had always considered himself part of the Synchronized Worlds, and he looked forward to becoming a neo-cymek someday. He believed that Omnius ruled humans for their own good; otherwise, the galaxy would crumble into unguided chaos.

  He was accustomed to situations where one party was dominant and the other submissive. For the first time he wondered if there could be other types of relationships, on an equal, cooperative basis. The robot captain of the Dream Voyager was clearly Vorian’s master, but they had a productive partnership.

  Vor wondered if he and Serena could go a step further and form a relationship in which the two of them treated each other with complete equality. It was a radical concept, one that jarred his sensibilities. And yet, he didn’t think she would accept anything less.

  Wedged into a narrow space behind the bulkhead and the navigation panel, the maintenance drone made odd sounds, signaling to itself in staticky gibberish, repeating test connections over and over.

  With a sigh, Vor said to the drone, “Here, let me try that tool.”

  The drone spun toward him and surrendered the diagnostic probe, but part of its metal-film extensions crossed a connection in the exposed circuit field, and a hot jolt of electricity struck like a hammer. It squealed. The stench of melted circuits and fused hydraulics curled up from the now-ruined system panel.

  Vorian scrambled out of the confined space, then wiped a hand across his forehead. Seurat scanned the damaged drone and the blackened components of the ship’s navsystem. “It is my expert assessment that we need to perform a bit more maintenance here.”

  When Vor laughed at the comment, Seurat was surprised. “Why do you find that funny?”

  “Never ask someone to explain humor, Seurat. Just accept the laughter.”

  After shutting down the power supply, Vor removed the blistered, malfunctioning drone and dropped it with a clatter onto the deck. These units were expendable. Seurat transmitted a request for a new drone.

  While they waited for the repairs to continue, Vor shored up his resolve. Collecting his questions, he mentioned the quandary of his feelings. Perhaps something in the robot’s database would be useful.

  Embedded in his smooth face, the robot’s optic threads twinkled like tiny suns. “I do not understand your problem,” Seurat said while he uploaded a diagnostic summary from one of the ship’s databanks. “You have appropriate standing among the thinking machines. Submit a request to Erasmus.”

  Vor was exasperated. “It’s not like that, Seurat. Even if Erasmus transfers Serena to me . . . what if she refuses me?”

  “Then widen your search. You make this unnecessarily difficult. Among the human candidates on Earth, you will easily find a compatible female, even one with features similar to this particular slave, if you value her physical attributes so much.”

  Vor wished he had never brought up the subject. “Thinking machines can be utterly stupid at times.”

  “You have never expressed such emotions to me before.”

  “That’s because I never felt this way before.”

  Seurat froze in place. “I am intellectually aware of the human biological imperative to mate and reproduce. I am familiar with the physical differences between men and women, and of the hormonal urges you have. Given acceptable genetics, most female reproductive systems are essentially the same. Why should this Serena be more desirable than any other?”

  “I could never explain it to you, old Metalmind,” Vor said, as he looked through a porthole and watched another drone marching across the drydock platform toward the ship. “I can’t even explain it to myself.”

  “I hope you figure it out soon. I cannot afford to keep replacing maintenance drones.”

  Often people die because they are too cowardly to live.

  — TLALOC,

  A Time for Titans

  The blistering sun of Arrakis shone overhead, creating few shadows around the monster and its confident rider. For this day’s antics, Selim was delighted that he had called up his largest sandworm yet.

  Naib Dhartha would be terrified— or at the very least impressed. Perhaps Buddallah would smite
the treacherous naib as punishment for what he had done to innocent Selim. Or perhaps the young man would be given the chance to take his own revenge, in his own way. In fact, Selim would have found that preferable. . . .

  After more than a year of living by his own wiles, he was well-fed, healthy, and happy. God continued to smile on him. The rugged teenager consumed more melange than ever before.

  Selim had established six additional supply outposts around the desert, making eight in all, including another abandoned botanical testing station he had discovered even farther from the settled mountains. He’d scavenged more material than he had ever dreamed possible, making him wealthy by the standards of his people.

  At night he laughed alone at how Naib Dhartha and the other cliff-dwellers had thought they were punishing him with exile. Instead, Selim had been reborn out here in the desert. Buddallah had kept him safe, protected him. The sands had scoured him clean, making him a new person. Bold, resourceful, and defiant, he would become a legend among the desert nomads. Selim Wormrider!

  But that could happen only if the Zensunni knew about him. Only then could he achieve the destiny he had in mind for himself, a man revered by his people. He would show them what he had become.

  Selim goaded the mammoth worm back toward the old familiar mountains. After so much time alone, with no one to talk to but himself, he was returning to the only place he could truly call home, despite its deficiencies and challenges.

  He made out cliffs ahead, lines of vertical rock like a fortress wall that blocked worms from the sheltered valleys beyond. The Zensunni Wanderers had built their homes in those caves, keeping the entrances secret from outside eyes. Selim knew the way.

  Beneath the young man’s aching legs, the worm thrashed, reluctant to go closer to the rocks. Selim obliged by turning the beast, making it pass in front of the high cliffs.