No doubt the Omnius incursion had stripped the landscape over the past nine decades, turning Honru’s beautiful forests and meadows into an industrial nightmare. Enslaved survivors would have been forced to serve the evil thinking machines. Quentin clenched his fists, muttering another quiet prayer for strength. All that damage could be recovered, given time. The first step was to reassert benevolent human rule, to avenge the first Massacre….
Five years after Serena Butler launched her great Jihad, an armada of League warships had attempted to liberate the Synchronized World of Honru. The well-armed and enthusiastic armada had swept in, urged on by Grand Patriarch Ginjo. But corrupt thinking machine spies had misled them about the number of enemy forces waiting at Honru.
Ten thousand Omnius ships had lain in ambush and then engulfed the armada. The human fighters had responded with desperate combat measures, but self-destructive robot ships wiped out the Jihad battleships in orbit. Waves of combat robots on the surface exterminated entire villages of humans who had hoped to be rescued.
The intended liberation of Honru had turned into a rout, a slaughter that continued until all remaining human battleships were wiped out. In addition to uncounted casualties on the ground, over five hundred thousand free human soldiers had been massacred in a single engagement….
It is long past time to avenge that, Quentin thought.
“Kindjal squadrons are launched, Primero,” said his lieutenant.
“Ready our troops for the ground assault to secure our advances. I want this to go smoothly. Land all personnel transports while we maintain air cover with javelins.” He allowed himself a sober yet confident smile.
Five hundred kindjals flew from their ballista mother ships. Already, the Honru robot fleet was rallying, some launching vessels into orbit, others converging from picket lines at the edge of the system.
“Prepare for combat,” Quentin said. “All Holtzman shields engage as soon as the robot ships come into range, not a moment before.”
“Yes, Primero. We’ll hold fast.”
He was confident his fleet could shrug off the robotic battleships, so he focused instead on the activities of his sons. Faykan and Rikov divided the kindjal squadrons, and each followed an operational pattern pursuant to his own style; the mixture of strategies had proven quite effective in earlier engagements. Today, the famous Butler Brothers would add another victory to their résumés.
With an ache in his chest, he wished Wandra could have seen her boys now, but she was beyond knowing anything that happened around her….
Eighteen years ago, Quentin’s two oldest sons had seen tears streaming down his cheeks as they were leaving her in the City of Introspection. It was one of the first times the military hero had ever allowed himself to appear so vulnerable.
“Too much grief, Father,” Faykan had said. “Everywhere we turn.”
But Quentin had shaken his head. “These are not tears of anguish or grief, my son.” He reached out to embrace both young men. “They are tears of happiness for all that your mother has given me.”
Quentin had never abandoned Wandra. He visited her each time he returned to Salusa, certain in his heart that his wife still remembered him. When he felt her pulse and the beating of her heart, he sensed that their love was what kept her alive. He continued to fight for the Jihad, silently dedicating each victory to her.
Now he looked up as reports streamed in from Honru, excited transmissions from Faykan’s and Rikov’s kindjals. The warships swooped in over machine strongholds, dropping swarms of pulse explosives that emitted bursts of destructive Holtzman energy.
“All scramblers deployed, Primero,” Faykan transmitted. “The main city is ready for our second phase.”
Quentin smiled. In orbit, the first group of robotic warships ineffectually slammed into the Jihad ships, more of a nuisance than a threat, so long as the Holtzman shields did not overheat.
He redeployed his forces. “Javelins, descend into the atmosphere. All projectile batteries prepare for bombardment from above. Tell the Ginaz shock troops to gather their pulse-swords and get ready to scour the city. I expect them to remove all vestiges of machine resistance down there.”
His subcommanders acknowledged, and the primero sat back in his command seat as the huge battleships closed in to secure their conquest.
* * *
QUENTIN BUTLER’S ARMORED vehicle crunched through the debris in the main machine city, carrying the conquering commander forward. He surveyed the devastation, saddened by the waste of a beautiful planet. Factories and industrial lines spread out across a landscape that once had been agricultural fields.
Liberated human slaves ran about in the streets, dazed, seeking shelter, breaking free of their holding pens, abandoning labor lines where guardian robots now hung stunned and useless after the pulse bombardment from the skies.
Quentin was reminded of the liberation of Parmentier, early in his career. On Parmentier, the stricken people had been unable to believe that the thinking machines were finally vanquished. Now, in the years of prosperity since he’d ceded temporary governorship of the reconquered planet to Rikov, the people worshipped Quentin and the Butler Brothers as saviors.
But these Honru survivors did not shout or cheer as Quentin had anticipated; they seemed too surprised to know how to react….
Groups of sharp-eyed mercenaries and swordmasters raced forward into the remaining battle zones. Too independent, they would never make a good organized combat unit, but the mercenaries were effective solo fighters and crack demolition troops. They sought out any robot that still functioned.
Unprotected work machines and sentinels, considered expendable by the evermind, had been destroyed during the first pulse bombardment. But now combat meks came out, still fighting though they were clearly damaged and disoriented. Wielding pulse-swords, the swift and deadly mercenaries eliminated their enemies one by one.
From his jouncing command vehicle, Quentin could see the armored citadel through which the Omnius evermind linked itself to the city. To reach this primary target, the Ginaz mercenaries fought like whirlwinds, pushing their way closer and closer, heedless of their own danger.
Quentin heaved a sigh. If only he’d had more men like that fifteen years ago for the second defense of Ix, he would not have lost so many fighters and civilians. Vowing that Omnius would not retake any world that the Army of the Jihad had freed, Quentin had driven back the machine incursion at great, but necessary, cost. He had been trapped in an underground cave-in himself, nearly buried alive before his rescue…. That battle had strengthened his reputation as a hero and earned him more accolades than he knew what to do with.
Now, as the mercenaries swept through the Honru city, another ragtag group of humans came forward, surprising him. These people carried hastily created banners, thrown together from rags, paint, and whatever they could scrounge from the city. Chanting and cheering, they cried out the name of martyred Serena Butler. Though they had few effective weapons, they threw themselves into the fight.
Quentin watched from his command vehicle. He had encountered Martyrists before.
Apparently, even here on oppressed Honru, captive humans talked quietly of the Priestess of the Jihad, her murdered baby, and the first Grand Patriarch. News had probably been carried to them by new prisoners from recently conquered League Worlds. In captivity, they had secretly prayed to the Three Martyrs, hoping their angels might come down from Heaven and strike Omnius dead. On Unallied Planets, free League Worlds, and even here under the oppression of Omnius rule, people swore to sacrifice themselves for the greater cause of mankind— just the way Serena, Manion the Innocent, and Iblis Ginjo had done.
Now the Martyrists surged forward, galvanized. They threw themselves upon the remaining machines, smashing stunned worker drones or hurling themselves upon armed combat meks. By Quentin’s estimation, five fanatics died for every robot they managed to deactivate, but this did not deter them. The only way the primero could save thes
e people would be to end the conflict quickly— and that meant annihilating Omnius in the central citadel.
If all else failed, Quentin had the option of dropping enhanced pulse-atomics on the city. The warheads would instantly vaporize Omnius and obliterate thinking-machine control from Honru… but that would kill all of these people as well. Quentin did not wish to win at such a cost. Not as long as he had other alternatives.
Finished with their kindjal raids, both Rikov and Faykan found their father’s command vehicle and reported directly to him. After seeing the Martyrists, the Butler Brothers had reached the same conclusion. “We need a commando raid, Father,” said Rikov. “Now.”
“Here on the battlefield I am your primero, not your father,” Quentin reminded him. “You will address me as such.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Still, he’s right,” Faykan added. “Let me lead a group of mercenaries directly into the citadel. We’ll plant explosives and destroy the evermind.”
“No, Faykan. You are a commanding officer now, not a wild soldier. Such adventures are for others to engage in.”
Rikov spoke again. “Then let me select mercenaries, sir. Within the hour, we will destroy Omnius— I’ll lead them myself.”
Quentin shook his head again. “The mercenaries already know their mission requirements.”
The words had barely left the primero’s lips when a huge explosion ripped through the distant city blocks. The Omnius citadel turned into a blinding flash of light, and an expanding shockwave vaporized the citadel and toppled buildings in an increasing radius. As the light dwindled, the dust seemed to implode. Not a scrap of the evermind’s fortress remained.
Moments later, the leader of the Ginaz mercenaries strode up to the command vehicle. “The problem has been taken care of, Primero.”
Quentin grinned. “So it has.” He clasped the hands of Faykan and Rikov and raised them in a triumphal salute. “A good day’s work. And another momentous conquest over Omnius.”
The path to victory is not always direct.
— TLALOC,
A Time for Titans
When yet another Omnius battle fleet arrived at the cymek stronghold on Richese, Agamemnon groaned at the evermind’s persistent foolishness. “If his gelcircuitry brain is supposed to be so sophisticated, why is it that Omnius never learns?” Through the speakerpatches of his intimidating walker-form, the general’s synthesized voice carried a clear undertone of annoyance.
He did not expect the hostage robot to answer him, but Seurat said, “Relentlessness is often an advantage of thinking machines. It has brought us many victories over the centuries— as you well know, General Agamemnon.”
Despite Seurat’s apparent lack of resistance— he was a damned robot after all, even if an autonomous one— his answers and advice had been singularly unhelpful. He seemed to be toying with his cymek captors, refusing to provide answers, withholding necessary information. After more than five decades, it was very frustrating. But Agamemnon couldn’t kill him yet.
The Titan general strode around the vast open room, angry at the robot fleet approaching the planet. His crablike walker was much larger than the bodies he’d worn as a lapdog of Omnius, before he and the surviving Titans had rebelled and broken free of the Synchronized Worlds. After the thinking machines were crippled on Bela Tegeuse by a computer virus— unwittingly delivered by Seurat himself— Agamemnon and his cymeks had conquered that world, and then they had seized Richese, which they now used as a base of operations.
The general grumbled. “This is the seventh time Omnius has sent a fleet either here or to Bela Tegeuse. Each time we’ve succeeded in driving him back, and he knows we have scrambler technology. He’s caught in a feedback loop, unable to move on and leave us alone.” He did not point out, though, that this group was noticeably larger than the previous cluster Omnius had sent against Richese. Perhaps he is learning after all….
Seurat’s smooth coppery face was always placid, expressionless. “Your cymeks have destroyed many of Omnius’s update spheres, thereby causing significant damage to the Synchronized Worlds. The evermind must respond until he achieves the desired result.”
“I wish he’d spend his time fighting the hrethgir instead. Maybe the human vermin and the Omnius forces will wipe each other out— and do us all a favor.”
“I would not consider that a favor,” Seurat said.
In disgust, Agamemnon clattered away on heavily reinforced piston legs. Automatic defensive alarms had begun to sound. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t just dismantle you.”
“Nor do I. Perhaps we should think of an answer together.”
The Titan general had never let Seurat know his true thoughts. He’d captured the independent robot because Seurat had spent a great deal of time with Agamemnon’s treacherous son, Vorian Atreides. Vorian had been a trustee, given advantages and a great deal of power. But for the love of a woman, Serena Butler, he had thrown everything away, turning against the thinking machines and defecting to the free humans.
For many years, the Titan general had been unable to explain why Vorian had betrayed his own father. Agamemnon had placed so much hope in him, had made so many plans. He had intended to convert Vor into a cymek himself, as a worthy successor to the Titans. Now the general had no options for continuing his own bloodline. There would be no more offspring….
Seurat, in theory, could provide insights into how Vorian thought and behaved. “Would you like to hear a joke, General Agamemnon? Your son told it to me, long ago. How many hrethgir are required to fill one brain canister?”
The Titan paused as he strode through the exit arch. Was that why he kept this robot around, just to hear stories about bygone times with Vorian as his copilot aboard the Dream Voyager? That nonsense was a softness Agamemnon could not afford to show.
“I’m in no mood for it, Seurat. I have a battle to attend.” The cymeks would be rallying their forces, launching attack ships. He made up his mind that once he drove off this annoying Omnius fleet, he would destroy the independent robot and start fresh.
Inside the control center, Dante, one of the three remaining Titans, operated the inventory and communications systems for the Richese installation. “They have repeated their decree five times now, verbatim. It is the same one they issued during their previous attempt. They await our surrender.”
“Let me hear it,” Agamemnon said.
A flat voice poured from the speakers. “To the Titans Agamemnon, Juno, and Dante, your cymek rebellion has caused harm to the Synchronized Worlds, so your threat must be eradicated. Omnius has issued instructions for your immediate capture and the destruction of your followers.”
“Do they expect us to feel guilty about it?” Agamemnon said. “Juno isn’t even here.” His beloved mate had spent the past several years as a queen on Bela Tegeuse.
Dante moved his walker-body in a strangely human gesture as if he meant to shrug his shoulders. “For a thousand years Omnius allowed us to serve the thinking machines. According to his calculations, we should be grateful.”
“I think you’re learning humor from Seurat. Is Beowulf ready? I want him to take the brunt of it, if anything goes wrong.”
“His fleet is prepared.”
“All of them expendable and armed with scrambler mines?”
“Yes, all neos, with clear instructions.”
Neo-cymeks had been created from the enslaved populace on Richese and Bela Tegeuse. Precise surgery detached volunteer brains from frail human forms and installed them in mechanical walkers. Ever wary and vigilant, the Titans ensured their converts’ loyalty by installing “dead man” switches into all their life-support systems that would cause them to break down if the Titans died. Even the neos on other cymek planets, far from here, had to receive a “reset” signal at least once every two years, or else they would perish. If the general and his two companions were assassinated, all of the neo-cymeks would eventually succumb. It not only prevented betrayal, but also foster
ed in them a fanatical desire to protect Agamemnon, Juno, and Dante.
The general grumbled. “I don’t know whether to hope for Beowulf’s survival or his destruction. I simply don’t know what to do with him.” He paced with metal legs, waiting for events to unfold as he thumped along.
Beowulf had been the first neo-cymek to join the Titans’ rebellion against Omnius. When he had attacked the Rossak Sorceress Zufa Cenva and the businessman Aurelius Venport, based on information delivered by a human spy for the thinking machines, Beowulf had suffered severe damage. Though a mechanical body could easily be replaced or rebuilt, the neo-cymek’s brain had been injured. The Titans kept him around, but the clumsy and erratic Beowulf was now more of a liability than an asset.
“I think I’ll go up there myself. Is there a military ship available for my preservation canister?”
“Always, General Agamemnon. Shall I reply to the machines?”
“We’ll give them a clear enough answer when we hit them with scrambler mines.”
Agamemnon stalked out to the launching pad. Machine arms detached his protected canister and moved his brain from the walker-body and into a nest of control systems that connected thoughtrodes to his brain-output sensors. When the general launched his razor-edged combat ship to orbit, it felt like an athletic, soaring body streaming raw power behind it.
The clustered thinking-machine fleet followed predictable tactics, and Agamemnon was tired of hearing the combat robots’ dire pronouncements. True, the evermind was prevented from killing the Titans, but his robot fleets could cause significant damage and destroy everything else. Did Omnius expect the cymeks to simply surrender and metaphorically cut their own throats?
But the general was not as confident as he let on. This attack group was significantly larger than the previous ones, and defeating it would deplete many of the cymeks’ defenses.
Dune: The Battle of Corrin Page 3
