Steeling herself, Serena called to mind various debating techniques she had learned from Kwyna and Iblis Ginjo. In this encounter she would need all the skills she could muster. She hoped Keats and his ambitious fellow secondaries had been skillful in laying the groundwork for her plea.
“You seek advice?” Vidad inquired.
His voice emanated from a speaker patch implanted in the bottom of his preservation canister, much like a cymek’s. The system looked new, and Serena realized it was an innovation that Keats’s secondaries had incorporated to allow the caretakers to converse with more than one Cogitor at once. Before this modification, Vidad and the others must have sat through centuries of placid silence tended by meek secondaries; now, with Iblis’s people constantly engaging the reclusive geniuses in debates, Vidad’s life must have changed greatly.
“I require your help,” Serena said, selecting her words and tone of voice carefully, to show civility and respect, as well as strength. “Our Jihad has dragged on for many years at the cost of billions of human lives. Our determination has gradually turned to stagnation. I am willing to do whatever is necessary to achieve a swift and decisive victory.”
Vidad did not reply, but one of the other Cogitors said, “According to our current secondaries, your Jihad was launched only a few decades ago.”
“And you’re wondering why I sound impatient?”
“Just an observation.”
“Unlike you, I am limited to a few decades of existence. It is natural for me to seek success in my own lifetime.”
“Yes, I can see that. Yet the overall human battle against Omnius has lasted barely more than a millennium, which is not really that long, when one considers the larger picture. The Cogitors in our small group have memories extending back twice as long, you know.”
Vidad added, “As a transient human, your perception of time is skewed and limited, Serena Butler, and not relevant to the canvas upon which history is painted.”
“Since human beings record their own history, the human lifespan is the only meaningful measure of time,” she countered with a slight edge to her tone. “You Cogitors were once human.”
Pausing, Serena took a deep, agitated breath, and attempted to remove the stridency from her speech. In a calmer voice, she said, “Think of the human victims of thinking machines. Each person who died had a brain— which means each one of them had the potential to become a Cogitor like yourselves. Think of the revelations and insights we might have gained, had those lives not been prematurely snuffed out by Omnius.”
The Cogitors remained silent, absorbing her words. Keats and the other secondaries stood unobtrusively near the walls of the room, their eager eyes regarding Serena with obvious admiration.
“We agree it is a tragedy,” Vidad finally answered.
Serena’s voice rose again. “For thirty-four years, human warriors have fought hard and endured much suffering. An entire generation has been decimated, and my people are beginning to lose hope. They fear that our Jihad is not winnable, that war will continue for centuries without victory. They despair of seeing any imminent resolution.”
“A valid concern,” one Cogitor said.
“But I don’t want it to be! We cannot lose momentum now. It took the murder of my son and an extraordinary rallying effort to make people fight back against the thinking machines, after so many centuries of apathy and lack of initiative.”
“This is a human problem, and of no concern to the Cogitors.”
“With all due respect, Cogitor— in times of crisis cowards often justify inaction with such comments. Review your own historical memories.” The Jipol secondaries grinned, looking sidelong at her. Perhaps they had made similar comments to Vidad themselves. “You have great wisdom, and I cannot believe that you have lost all of your humanity. What a terrible, terrible loss that would be.”
Revealing a hint of exasperation in his simulated voice, Vidad said, “And what do you expect of us, Serena Butler? We are aware of your passionate convictions, but we are Cogitors, neutral thinkers. Therefore, Omnius leaves us alone. Long ago, some of the Twenty Titans used our expertise, as did some League humans. We maintain a quintessentially fair and balanced position.”
“Your position is quintessentially flawed,” Serena retorted. “You may believe yourselves neutral, but in no way are you independent. Without your human secondaries you would perish. It is only because we humans value your minds that these secondaries donate their time and faithful service— their very lives— so that you may enjoy your ‘neutrality’ and contemplation. At no time do thinking machines or cymeks assist you. Humans need your help. You have an opportunity that is not available to my jihadi soldiers. Your supposed neutrality gives you access to Omnius and the thinking machines. As Cogitors, you could speak to them, observe them. Even tell us how to overthrow them.”
“Cogitors do not act as spies,” Vidad said.
Serena lifted her chin. “Perhaps not. Yet you owe your continued existence to humans. I am a short-lived human, Vidad, while you have two thousand years of experience on which to draw. If you do not approve of my suggestion, I ask that you use your superior intellect to find another way to assist us.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I do not believe for a moment that this challenge is beyond your capabilities.”
“Serena Butler, you have given us much to ponder,” Vidad said. The light glowed brighter inside his preservation canister, and inside those of his companions too, as if all the disembodied brains were thinking furiously. “We shall consider your request and take whatever action we deem appropriate.”
Serena waited, hoping he would say more, but the Cogitor held his silence. “Do not ponder overly long, Vidad. Human beings die every day from the cruelties of thinking machines. If you see a way to end this nightmare, you must act as soon as possible.”
“We will act when the time is right. We do not surrender our neutrality easily, but you make compelling arguments that echo the statements of our loyal secondaries.” Nearby, Keats bowed his head with reverence, in an apparent attempt to hide a smile.
Knowing the meeting was concluded, Serena departed through the frigid, winding corridors. The secondaries could barely contain their exuberance as they escorted her to the ship.
“We knew the Priestess of the Jihad could accomplish what we could not,” Keats exclaimed. “The Grand Patriarch is correct to honor you. You are the mother and savior of all humanity.”
Serena frowned, uncomfortable to be the object of such blatant admiration. “I am no more than a woman with a mission. That is all I have ever been.” Then she murmured, “That is all I ever need to be.”
The military commander who fails to seize an opportunity is guilty of a crime equal to outright cowardice.
— GENERAL AGAMEMNON, New Memoirs
After the Titans consolidated the dim, cloudy world of Bela Tegeuse as the cornerstone of their new cymek empire, they spent years reshaping the cities and the population into the format they desired. The trio of remaining Titans, along with Beowulf and several of the highest-ranked neos used the planet as a base from which they launched forays against Omnius update ships, finding weaknesses in other Synchronized Worlds, preparing for their ultimate expansion. Meanwhile, Bela Tegeuse remained secure and well defended against the evermind and against the hrethgir.
The arrival of another cymek ship surprised them. It dropped beneath the clouds and landed near their headquarters, an oval, gray structure with large doors and few windows.
Agamemnon and Juno, wearing stupendous walker forms designed to impress the already cowed populace, marched out to face the intruder, accompanied by a swarm of newly made Tegeusan neos.
The powerful machine walkers converged around the unidentified ship only moments after it set down on the flat, newly paved spaceport field. The vessel’s hull cracked open and an unusual, exotic machine form strutted forth. The cymek body glittered with diamond plates, and angular wings spread out like the plumage of a lacy cond
or. A galaxy of optic threads glittered atop a tall segmented neck.
As soon as Agamemnon observed the preening, extravagant shell that this cymek had fashioned for itself, he knew that Xerxes— for all his foolish flaws— had been correct in his suspicions. He recognized Hecate by the characteristic electrical discharges inside her brain canister.
He raised himself to tower over the flashy dragon form. “By the gods, look what crawled out of the dustbin of history. It has been a millennium since you dared show yourself, Hecate.”
Juno added snidely, “If only it could have been a bit longer.”
Hecate made a discordant laugh, a rasping noise from her dragon throat. “Old friends, is it the best use of your skill and longevity to nurse a grudge for ten centuries? I’ve changed, and I promise not to disappoint you.”
“You were nothing to start with, Hecate. How could we possibly be disappointed?” Juno sidled closer to her lover. “You stepped off the tread-mill of history long ago, and you cannot conceive of how much has changed since the Time of Titans.”
“Oh, but I did manage to avoid many ugly and unpleasant events,” Hecate said. “And I never had to serve in the thrall of Omnius. Can any of you say the same? Maybe the rest of you should have gone with me.”
Some of the Bela Tegeusan people milled around at a relatively safe distance, amazed by this confrontation of godlike machines, unable to understand the mental and historical grappling that was so far beyond their experience.
“We have secured our freedom now,” Agamemnon pointed out.
“That was thanks to my assistance. You would not be on Bela Tegeuse if I had not delivered my atomic ‘gift’ to the computer evermind, and if the human League had not been so slow and inept in responding to this opportunity.” She didn’t mention the deadly asteroid that she kept hidden away and her other, lesser known interventions over the years. Since her reemergence she had been keeping her hand in the war, secretly helping Iblis Ginjo in many small ways, but there was more to accomplish. To do this, she needed to let the other Titans know some of what she had done. She had a long-range vision, and the proposal she was about to make might change everything and finally resolve the struggle against Omnius.
Agamemnon was gruff. “What is it you want, Hecate? Why have you chosen to come back now? Do you believe we need your help?”
“Or do you simply miss our fascinating company?” Juno inquired with an abrasive snort. “Perhaps you grew lonely after so much time by yourself.”
Hecate straightened the posture of her magnificent dragon-walker, moved closer to them. “Maybe I decided it’s time for a change.” She sounded sweet and reasonable. “We can either stand by and watch the war, or we can step in and make a difference.”
Agamemnon growled. “I believe I made that very statement many times over the past thousand years, Hecate, but you wouldn’t know that, since you weren’t here to listen.”
“But now your alliances have shifted. You Titans and neo-cymeks have turned against the thinking machines, as have the humans. Why not form an alliance with the League of Nobles, dear Agamemnon? It could be to your advantage.”
“With hrethgir? Are you mad?”
“I don’t like where this is heading,” Juno said.
Hecate made a sound like a chuckle. “For once in your life, think like a real general. You and the humans share a common, entrenched enemy that is too powerful for either of you to defeat individually. But working together, cymeks and hrethgir just might obliterate all incarnations of the evermind.” Her dragonlike forelimbs twitched. “After that, feel free to destroy each other if it amuses you.”
A rude noise came from Juno, while Agamemnon refused the suggestion outright. “We don’t need you in our fight, Hecate… or the humans. What you’re asking would give legitimacy to my insolent son Vorian. Here on Bela Tegeuse I have plenty of loyal neo-cymeks, and the populace continues to volunteer all the candidates we require for new converts. You are out of touch, Hecate. Too much has happened since you left us.”
“I’m beginning to realize that,” Hecate said, simulating a sigh. “Since I’ve been gone, the great General Agamemnon has turned into a stubborn bore, and two of the remaining Titans still follow him blindly, without an original thought in their fossilized brains.” Swiveling her segmented head, she strode back toward her ship. “Without Tlaloc, you were never able to see the big picture.”
The cymek general amplified his voice to shout after her, “I have begun an empire of my own here that has no need of humans, except for the raw materials they contribute to new cymeks! I shall restore the Time of Titans. League humans have their own agenda— they would turn against me the moment Omnius was destroyed.”
“But only because you deserve it.” Hecate climbed back on board her carrier transport for the return to her artificial asteroid, which hovered in orbit high above Bela Tegeuse. Defiantly, she shouted, “I see I will have to fight in my own manner, regardless of whether my fellow Titans accept me. You fail to see the potential, Agamemnon, but I will not be swayed from my mission.”
She sealed her transport, and lifted off from the scarred surface of Bela Tegeuse.
Now Hecate would do something without them, to make everyone take notice.
165 B.G.
JIHAD YEAR 37
One Year After Serena’s Hessra Expedition
In wartime we are often asked to give more than we possess.
— SERENA BUTLER, Zimia Rallies
In the thirty-seventh year of Serena Butler’s Jihad, Aurelius Venport spent three weeks journeying from Kolhar to Salusa Secundus in a conventional spaceship. Though he owned and managed a merchant fleet of more than a hundred space-folding cargo vessels, the technology was still prohibitively risky. He preferred the safer, proven methods of space travel and had no particular desire to fly in one of the superfast ships himself.
He flew first to Rossak and from there caught a commercial passenger vessel departing for Salusa Secundus from one of the orbiting space hubs. The pace of both passages seemed plodding and tormentingly slow.
As he stepped out of the passenger liner into the heat of the Salusan summer, Venport felt the usual disorientation of adjusting to a new world. He conducted business across the League and on a handful of Unallied Planets. Sometimes it was spring at the place he needed to visit on one world, winter at another, and summer at yet another.
Zimia was surprisingly hot, and the surrounding hills were parched golden brown. During his wait for a VenKee groundcar to take him to his company’s regional headquarters, perspiration formed on his brow. He had not expected his hired driver to be late.
He was surprised when a long black state vehicle glided up to him and stopped. The rear door slid open. Serena Butler sat inside, her expression neutral. “Come with me, Directeur Venport. We have delayed your own car, so that you and I might have the opportunity to talk.”
A shiver of foreboding ran down his spine. “Of course, Priestess.” He had never spoken directly with this eminent woman before, but decided instantly that this must take priority over all other obligations. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“A matter of vital interest to the Jihad.” She smiled, gesturing for him to take the seat across from her. “And possible treason.”
He hesitated, then climbed inside, wiping his brow. “Treason?” The door slid shut, and he felt a soothing rush of cool air. He began to feel even more surprised and uneasy. “I’ll need to postpone another business meeting with a pharmaceutical competitor. May I have the liberty of contacting my associate?”
Serena shook her head and fixed him with a hard look, her lavender eyes full of questions. “We have already canceled that meeting— and you should thank us. According to Yorek Thurr, your competitor intended to blackmail you in order to obtain financial concessions. He never had any interest in selling his drug operations.”
“Blackmail?” Venport shrugged dismissively, knowing he had not left himself open to such vulnerabilities
. “Your spies must be mistaken.”
“They are not.” She leaned toward him as the vehicle glided forward. “We are aware of the activities of VenKee Enterprises on Kolhar. We know you have built a fleet of new ships— vessels which, according to reliable reports, use a remarkably fast method of space travel, far swifter than anything available even to the Army of the Jihad. Is this true?”
“Yes…”Venport tried not to show alarm. He wondered exactly how much Serena Butler knew about the space-folding engines and the shipyards. Remembering how many people had been accused of ties to the thinking machines during the great purges over the past few decades, he knew it would be unwise to earn the distrust of either Serena Butler or the Jipol. “I am a businessman, Madame. I make investments, develop proprietary technologies. It is necessary to protect such information—”
Serena’s face was cold, and he detected hints of how deep her anger ran. His words stumbled to a halt.
“We are at war with the greatest enemy the human race has ever faced, Directeur! If you have developed a militarily viable technology, how can you withhold it from our brave fighters? The Jihad Council takes the position that hiding any potentially vital breakthrough— such as these vessels seem to be— constitutes treason.”
As the private groundcar continued to move alone, Venport tried to understand what was going on. “Treason? That’s ridiculous. No one is more loyal to the cause of humanity than I am. I have already donated vast sums—”
Serena arched her eyebrows. “Yet you have kept a promising technology to yourself. Not a very convincing demonstration of your loyalty.”
Dune: The Machine Crusade Page 60
