The thinking machines knew nothing about their imminent destruction.
Forced to attend the elaborate send-off ceremony when he could have been attending to more important details, Vorian Atreides remained at attention on the spaceport tarmac, watching the last ships being loaded. The League had become addicted to pomp and fanfare.
He turned as Viceroy Butler approached, carrying a small blue box draped in golden ribbons. The Viceroy wore his formal robe of office and a small but noticeable badge that signified his connection with the Cult of Serena. Vor couldn’t believe the son of Quentin Butler truly accepted the insistent antitechnology message promulgated by his niece and her Manifesto, but Rayna’s movement had achieved such power that the Viceroy could see which direction the political winds were blowing.
Faykan still had not permitted the appointment of a new Grand Patriarch, now claiming that the offensive against Omnius should take priority. Vor suspected that the man had another agenda, and was just stalling.
Pallid Rayna Butler sat at the front of the reviewing stand, her eyes intent. Sincere well wishers and bright-eyed fanatics thronged the tarmac, carrying white banners emblazoned with the bloodred silhouette of Serena Butler. The crowd cheered, and shouted Vor’s name along with curses directed at Omnius.
Like a man climbing a mountain, Vor fixed his attention on the single point ahead, the summit, the goal of destroying the last evermind. Though he didn’t like what the Cultists stood for, he would take advantage of every fighter, every resource. All that he had accomplished over a century of the Jihad would culminate in this last battle, and the thinking machines would never again be a threat to the human race. But from what he saw of the restless and angry crowd of Rayna’s followers, he had no doubt they would continue to find enemies and scapegoats to keep their adrenaline flowing.
His flagship ballista, the LS Serena Victory that he had flown during the Great Purge, towered off to one side of the landing field, along with several other key ships. Most of the main war vessels waited in orbit.
Through it all, as busy as he was, Vor had not forgotten his recent promise to Abulurd, that he would work to restore the good name of Xavier Harkonnen as soon as they returned.
The honor guard of the Army of Humanity performed an extravagant display for the crowd. Following their traditional lockstep maneuvers, the honor guard formed a firing squad line and pointed loud projectile rifles at facsimile thinking machines chained to posts. The robot simulacra blinked their sensors, as if pleading for their lives. One by one, the mock robots were destroyed to wild cheers, leaving little more than sparks and smoke. The dramatic staged event was transmitted all over Salusa Secundus and stored for delivery to other League Worlds, where large crowds could also participate in the festivities.
“Just a warm-up before sending off the new Vengeance Fleet,” Faykan Butler said in a voice that boomed across the spaceport. Rayna sat beside her uncle, as if her power was equivalent to the Viceroy’s.
Those two are a dangerous combination, Vor thought, glancing from Faykan to Rayna. The veteran officer wished he could just go and fight the thinking machines in a direct battle, but it wasn’t going to happen that way. The foolish Viceroy and his niece intended to accompany the fleet in their own diplomatic spacecraft, which would only complicate the critical battle. Now he not only had to worry about the thinking machines, he was also concerned about the Butlers taking some ill-advised action in the thick of battle.
Some of the Cultists wanted to use the Holtzman engines to launch the Vengeance Fleet immediately to Corrin. But even Vor’s impatience and determination had not rendered him foolhardy enough to risk losing a tenth of his force in the jump. Norma Cenva, always working on the problem, claimed to have discovered a safe method of navigating the ships, but apparently only she could do it. One vessel at a time.
It was not good enough. For twenty years, the watchdog fleet had kept Omnius imprisoned at Corrin. The last thinking machines would have no reason to think the situation was about to change. Vor would contain his own anger and impatience. Just a month more, and it would all be over….
Now, as the spectacular show ended with a flourish, Faykan peeled back the ribbons and opened the blue box, extending it to Vor, who saw sparkling golden insignia inside the container and suppressed a sigh. Another new military bauble to wear.
With clean, manicured fingers, the Viceroy removed the new insignia and proudly handed it to his Supreme Bashar. Faykan’s voice echoed from speakers around the tarmac. “Vorian Atreides, in honor of our new military mission to Corrin, I hereby grant you another title: Champion of Serena, a man who represents the interests of the League of Nobles, the Cult of Serena, and all of free humanity!”
The crowd cheered, as if the label made any difference. “Thank you, Viceroy.” Vor maintained a cool expression. “Now, enough of these frivolous ceremonies. It is time for our ships to depart. Omnius is waiting.” He tucked the insignia into an inside pocket, out of view.
The Viceroy raised his arms high. “To Corrin! To Victory!”
“To Corrin,” Rayna said.
All of Rayna’s followers stood from the reviewing stands like a flock of birds preparing to take wing. They echoed her shout with a roar. “To Corrin!”
Vor couldn’t wait to get on with it.
* * *
HIS FLAGSHIP LIFTED off first, followed by the other ceremonial ships, joining the mass of military equipment and personnel already assembled in orbit. With his eyes hard and his expression intent, Vor surveyed the command bridge while his executive officer, Bashar Abulurd Harkonnen, looked over at him. Vor was glad to have someone cool-headed, an officer he could rely on, at his side.
“We are ready to depart, Supreme Bashar— I mean, Champion Atreides.”
Vor scowled. “I prefer to use the rank I actually earned, Abulurd. Leave that ‘Champion’ nonsense for your brother and his glorious spectacles.” He still carried his new insignia in his uniform pocket and had no intention of putting it on.
“Yes, sir. This will be the end of an era.” Abulurd’s eyes became somewhat misty. “And afterward, we will restore Xavier to his rightful place in history— if you will still help me?”
“You have my word. I was there at the beginning of the Jihad, and I intend to see the last detail finished. Only then can I leave the future to you and your children, Abulurd.” Through the screen, Vor stared at the stars, focusing his mind on the last, far-off Synchronized World. “Order the Vengeance Fleet to set course.”
This entire new generation of fighters, while eager and instilled with religious fervor, had not seen direct combat in the twenty years the thinking machines had been trapped on Corrin. Even Abulurd was starry-eyed with tales of glory, in spite of— or perhaps because of— the grievous losses his family had already sustained.
Nearby, in orbit, the diplomatic craft carried the Viceroy and Rayna Butler. Though it was outfitted with the latest technology and weapons, Faykan’s ship was more for show than combat. The bulk of its crew and passengers were untrained noblemen and representatives with no battle experience, spectators who wanted to be at the Corrin battlefield without participating, so that they could tell later generations they had been there. Vor intended to ignore them entirely. He had made it abundantly clear that he was in command of this operation, not Faykan or Rayna.
For her part, young Rayna was a conundrum, a walking clash of ideologies and actions. She professed to loathe technology and went about eradicating even the most rudimentary machines, whether they had computer systems or not. Yet, despite her fervent beliefs, she grudgingly agreed to ride in spaceships, which were very advanced machines. After a moment’s hesitation, she had responded, “A spaceship is a necessary evil, which I shall use to spread my messages. I am certain God and Saint Serena will grant us dispensations. Ultimately, when the time is right, when such craft are no longer of use to me, I will have them destroyed as well.”
Such plans did not inspire Vorian with confid
ence.
Given the massive firepower of the Vengeance Fleet, along with the military vessels already stationed around Corrin, Vor was confident of victory. At this point, after so many years of service, he would hold nothing back and throw everything into this final strike. Everything.
The past two decades of the League’s hesitation and ineffectiveness had clearly demonstrated that he would never get another chance such as this.
In the final analysis, the battle would not be simple. Many of these ships and crews would be lost when they faced the extraordinary defenses of the machine fleet. The upcoming engagement would be an old-fashioned brawl… a bloodbath.
Privately, Vor said a prayer and steeled his jaw in determination. The Vengeance Fleet launched for Corrin.
Thinking machines are not capable of comprehending the concepts of evil, ethics, or love. They see things only in terms of their own survival. Nothing else matters to them.
— SERENA BUTLER,
Priestess of the Jihad
For two decades, the standoff had remained complete. Omnius couldn’t escape, and the Army of Humanity could not get closer. Wall after wall of machine forces formed a protective shell around Corrin just inside the impenetrable Holtzman scrambler net, while the watchdog fleet maintained their airtight perimeter with heavily armed battleships.
At Corrin, robot ships circling the inner fringe of the scrambler web deployed long-distance scanners to monitor the outskirts of the system. The two surviving evermind incarnations had ordered increased surveillance because, even after twenty years, SeurOm had calculated the possibility that another Omnius might have survived and could come to rescue them. Like a densely packed school of sharks, circling and circling, the machine battleships cruised along in overlapping concentric orbits.
The sides exchanged potshots, launched explosive projectiles into the opposing force’s cruising ships. The League guardians responded quickly, with the precision of frequently orchestrated drills. One hrethgir javelin was severely damaged; two robot warships were destroyed. Then the watchdog fleet tightened their own positions, increasing the frequency of practice maneuvers, releasing more scouts. They were waiting for something.
Then, with the League’s final and unexpected gambit, everything changed.
From inside the perimeter, thinking machines spotted the sudden arrival of a huge new force of ballistas and javelins. In a single maneuver, the humans had tripled the size of the force already stationed there.
Machine scouts, held at bay by the intricate satellite cage designed to destroy gelcircuitry minds, transmitted their data back to the central complex on Corrin. The numbers were alarming and indisputable. The humans intended to change the equilibrium of the situation.
After statistical analysis, the pair of surviving everminds concluded that they were faced with enough firepower to pose a serious threat to their existence. The probability of destruction was high.
Erasmus stood out in the plaza with his dutiful Gilbertus Albans, quietly listening as the two everminds discussed their options in the suddenly changed scenario. Since deposing Omnius Prime, the two divergent copies of the evermind had rarely sought the advice of the independent robot, but now they realized the severity of their situation.
“This is a very difficult predicament, my Mentat,” Erasmus said quietly.
Gilbertus looked anxious. “I should be with Serena, then. She is still back at the villa.”
Erasmus looked at him. “You should be with me, developing a solution to the crisis. The flawed Serena Butler clone is not likely to offer any valuable ideas.” They both listened to the rapid-fire dialog between the paired everminds.
Unlike the fallen Corrin-Omnius, SeurOm and ThurrOm, mercifully, had no artistic pretensions. One of the most obvious changes the new everminds had instituted concerned the gaudily ornate Central Spire. Stripping away the pretentious decorations and attempts at artwork, they had simply downshaped the entire Spire and tucked it into a giant protected vault beneath the main plaza. On top of the vault, out in the center of the city, stood two rather utilitarian-looking pedestals, each topped by a clear, spherical covering. Here, the two everminds manifested themselves.
Previously, the thoughts of ThurrOm and SeurOm had diverged widely, growing even farther from their deposed comrade. But the arrival of the huge Vengeance Fleet had focused the two everminds on a common problem.
“According to available data, the human warships could overwhelm us now,” SeurOm said. “If their weaponry follows our established models, even our guardian fleet cannot withstand a full-fledged assault from the human battleships— if they are willing to commit all their resources and sacrifice themselves.”
“They are not likely to make such a sacrifice,” ThurrOm countered. “It does not support the data we have compiled over twenty years.”
Erasmus was compelled to speak up. “We are isolated here, and we do not know the impetus behind this change in hrethgir attitudes. I must assume that they are fervently devoted to yet another new incarnation of their religious insanity. Do not expect them to behave according to your accepted principles.”
“Launch more battleships. Increase our defenses.”
“We can create no more gelcircuitry command minds. Our resources are stripped, though our mining robots and mineral scanners are scouring the crust for additional veins of the necessary rare elements. However, we have reached our limits. Corrin is wrung dry. We have already put every available vessel into place. There are no more replacements.”
ThurrOm shot back a response. “Then we must attack first in order to alter the odds. Even without replacement gelcircuitry minds, we have superior weapons.”
“We have attempted that before. Our reinforcements have been depleted over time and we cannot sustain dramatic attrition. Their ships are protected by shields, which gives them a significant ability to withstand our attacks. The scrambler satellites will destroy too many of our ships. The Holtzman web is easily repaired.”
Robot scouts in orbit transmitted detailed estimates of the firepower capabilities of the expanded human fleet. Erasmus accessed the scans and shared summaries with his human ward. More accurate data provided better estimates— and the situation only grew worse.
SeurOm continued. “We must be more concerned with the survival of any Omnius than with our individual preservation. A massive effort on our part will create some gaps in the scrambler net. Several machine ships could get through to escape. Each of these must be loaded with a copy of the evermind. Some simulations suggest this is a possible outcome.”
“An unconvincing argument, based on minimal data,” ThurrOm said. “The majority of simulations produce a different result. More importantly, which of us will become the baseline evermind?” The twin spheres were so agitated that the coded electrical impulses increased in intensity, like lightning bolts, and their electronic vocal sounds boomed across the plaza.
“We can send copies of both.”
“That will do nothing to protect us here on Corrin,” Erasmus said. He had to find a way to save his ward, and himself. Though ensuring the survival of the evermind should have been the priority for any thinking machine, it was not enough for Erasmus. “Humans are unpredictable, Omnius. If you form your strategy based on a straightforward numerical analysis, then you will fail. The enemy will surprise you.”
“Repeated attacks sometimes expose unforeseen flaws. There is a small but nonzero probability we will succeed even against these new human reinforcements. We have no other viable option than to make the attempt.”
Erasmus formed a smiling expression on his flowmetal face. “Yes we do, if one understands how the hrethgir think. We have a weapon that may prove effective against the Army of Humanity— one they will never expect us to use.” He turned his optic threads toward his ward. “One that will infuriate them.”
“Explain, Erasmus,” both everminds demanded in unison.
“In my slave pens and in cities all around Corrin, we have num
erous captives and test subjects. According to the latest inventory, the hrethgir population here approaches three million. The League may have placed a large Holtzman shield against us— but we can use human shields. Put them all in harm’s way, guarantee that any action by the Army of Humanity will result in millions of unnecessary deaths. That will make the enemy think twice before they launch their offensive.”
Gilbertus looked at him in alarm, but did not speak out. Using a calming technique out of habit, he distracted himself by focusing on other things, concentrating on practice calculations in his head.
“Such a conclusion is flawed,” SeurOm said. “The humans were willing to obliterate innocent slaves during the Great Purge. Your suggestion makes no sense.”
“Humans themselves often make no sense. The situation is different,” Erasmus pointed out. “We will make them look their innocent victims in the face. It will give them pause.”
“Precisely what alternative do you suggest?”
“We place the human slaves in orbit in cargo containers, even crowd them aboard our weaker battleships. Then we threaten to slaughter them all if the Army of Humanity makes a move against us.” Erasmus tugged the fabric to remove a wrinkle from his plush robe, proud of his plan and his careful insight into human nature.
“Such a plan does not make strategic sense,” ThurrOm said. “If the Army of Humanity already intends to invade Corrin, they will expect human casualties. Why should this deter them?”
Erasmus widened his grin. He turned to Gilbertus. “Explain why it will be effective, my Mentat.”
The man swallowed hard, as if he didn’t want to face the reality of the threat. He seemed to go into a sort of trance, diving far down inside himself to find a calm core where he could organize all his thoughts, and he emerged a moment later with his answer. “Causing collateral casualties is different from being directly responsible for the slaughter of millions of the very human beings they are intending to free.” He paused. “The difference is perhaps too subtle for a machine to understand, but it is significant.”
Dune: The Battle of Corrin Page 58
