Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  He calmed himself in a way that Norma had taught him, taking deep breaths and trying to visualize his way through the situation. “Priestess Butler, you are jumping to some rather unfair conclusions. It is true I have built an extensive shipyard complex on Kolhar. We have produced some ships and are experimenting with a new spaceflight system that allows VenKee vessels to… travel without the use of traditional propulsion.” He spread his hands. “I am ignorant of the nuances. My wife, Norma Cenva, developed the principle based on modifications to Holtzman’s equations.”

  “At my direction, Iblis Ginjo has examined VenKee records and traced your expenditures. It seems you have been building these shipyards and your vessels for a decade now. By now you should have had ample opportunity to inform the Jihad Council about your work. Did you not realize how critical this technology might be to our war efforts?”

  Venport began to feel warm. Serena shook her head, as if she could not understand him. “Directeur, can’t you see? Those ships would be a vital asset to the Army of the Jihad! With them we could strike a decisive blow against the Synchronized Worlds. We finally stand a chance of achieving victory before our people simply give up. The protesters have been demanding peace for years.”

  Venport frowned. “But the technology isn’t ready for widespread use yet, Priestess. Travel on these new ships is still extremely dangerous. The navigation systems are not reliable. Yes, the ships have an entirely innovative method of propulsion, but our loss rate is incredibly high. We have experienced a number of disasters due to inaccurate navigation. Incorrectly guided space-folding ships can strike suns, populated planets, moons— anything that gets in the way. Many of our test pilots refuse to board the vessels again after only one or two flights.” He went on to provide crash and damage statistics. “I choose not to ride in them myself.”

  “I am told that in spite of the dangers you began to use the new ships commercially more than a year ago. Is this true?”

  “Only provisionally, and we have lost a great many of them—”

  She cut him off. “If you can find captains willing to take the risk, Directeur Venport, do you have any doubt that I can find jihadi volunteers to fly our military missions? Is your loss rate any greater than the percentage of casualties we suffer in a Synchronized World offensive?”

  Hearing her, he began to feel shame that he had not considered this earlier. His attention had been focused more on profits than on winning the war.

  “Such vessels would give us a tremendous element of surprise against the enemy,” she continued with greater fervor. “They would enable us to deliver war messages and intelligence reports, to transport troops and provide materiel faster than ever before, thus gaining important tactical and strategic advantages over the thinking machines. Are those gains not more than enough to compensate for the cost in personnel, should we lose a few ships?”

  “It is… more than a few ships, Priestess.”

  Serena looked out the window of the vehicle at the tall buildings of Zimia. “We have been embroiled in outright war with Omnius for decades, Directeur, and many of our people have lost their resolve. Last year, I traveled to the isolated home of the Ivory Tower Cogitors, hoping they would assist us in our efforts against the thinking machines, but thus far we have heard no response. I fear they intend to let me down.” She turned to look at him, her eyes like lasers. “I trust you will not do the same, Directeur Venport.”

  He knew she would not be swayed. “Perhaps, Priestess, we could negotiate an exclusive confidentiality agreement, allowing our military access to the new Holtzman engine design, so long as it doesn’t fall into the hands of any other merchant or—”

  “Our engineers would like to study the design, of course, but it would take our army too much time to construct an entire fleet.” She smiled calmly at him. “How many vessels do you currently have, and when can we start refitting them as Jihad battleships?”

  Venport drew deep breaths, wondering if his business empire was about to crumble. “Our merchant vessels, Priestess Butler, are merely cargo ships, not combat craft.”

  She waved a hand casually, continued to smile. The Jihad had been her life for so long that she recognized nothing else as being more important— for herself, or for anyone else. “I’m sure our engineers can make appropriate modifications. Your facilities and shipyards are already in place on Kolhar— far from the main spaceways, easy to secure. A good choice, strategically.”

  He fought to control his helplessness. “Priestess, please understand that in order to finance the shipyards and the whole operation, I was forced to mortgage virtually all of VenKee’s holdings. This is the most expensive undertaking in the history of my company. We barely manage to pay our creditors, as it is. Your proposal would completely ruin us.”

  Serena was clearly disappointed by his inability to see the larger picture. “Aurelius Venport, we have all made extreme sacrifices for the Jihad… some of us more than others. Every human being will be ruined if we lose this war.” She sighed. “If you wish to propose a system under which we can begin making use of your fleet immediately, we might find some means to compensate you down the road and reduce the impact of your accumulated debt— but that isn’t important right now, is it?”

  To him, it was extremely important, but the Priestess continued to sweep along with her ideas. Venport did not see any way to stop her politely. If she chose to use it, Serena had the power to raise her hands and summon soldiers to take over the shipyards. Or, if the rumors were true, she could have her Jipol simply take care of him quietly.

  In the past, whenever he had been backed into a corner in business negotiations, Venport had found that the best response was to sound reasonable but make no binding decisions and let the problem cool for a while. “I need some time to discuss this with my associates and put together a proposal. There are many considerations. I have numerous investors and financial responsibilities to—”

  Serena’s gaze was icy. The vehicle stopped and the door slid open with a blast of hot, humid air. “We have the ability to change laws, if need be, to give you full power to make the correct decision, Directeur Venport.”

  “Even so… please allow me to return to Kolhar and consider a solution to this matter that will satisfy everyone involved.”

  “Then by all means do so, Directeur. But I will have no patience for any negotiation whose only goal is to preserve your profit margins. Do not keep me waiting.”

  “I understand. I will make it my highest priority.”

  “I’ll inform the Jihad Council, then, that we will soon have the new technology at our disposal.”

  Serena’s white-robed Seraph driver, her face unreadable, looked straight ahead, as if sculpted of stone. The Priestess of the Jihad signaled for the woman to turn the vehicle around and head back to Zimia Spaceport. Venport had not even been on Salusa Secundus for an hour.

  “In the meantime,” Serena said, “I will send a delegation of officers and military advisors to look over the shipyards.”

  Human societies thrive on warfare. Take that element away, and civilizations stagnate.

  —Erasmus Dialogues

  Wet from summer rain outside, Vorian Atreides marched down the central aisle of the Hall of Parliament and saw Xavier already standing with Serena Butler near the speaking pit, in close conversation with her. Aside from these three, the vast chamber was empty. Vor grinned as he approached. These two were his closest friends and around his age, though he looked much younger than they did.

  Truly, are we nearly sixty years old?

  Catching sight of Vor, Serena beckoned him over. It was good to see her by herself, when she was not surrounded— stifled— by all those clinging female guards.

  Vor drew a deep breath, still remembering the fresh, warm rain. The immense hall echoed, and his dripping shoes squeaked on the floor. It seemed like an odd place for the trio to meet.

  As usual, Xavier looked concerned, though his military discipline learned in deca
des of service helped him keep his emotions under control. Such a serious, serious man. As Vor shook his friend’s hand firmly and clapped him on the back, Xavier flashed a disturbed glance at the most famous woman in the known universe.

  She stepped back into the geodesic speaking chamber and activated the apparatus. Moments later her image was projected on the exterior walls of the enclosure, an image of the beloved Priestess gazing down on them beatifically like a goddess.

  Xavier took a seat at front row, center, and Vor slipped in beside him, casually tossing his wet cape over another chair. “What’s the matter? What is she doing?”

  With a sigh, Xavier merely shook his head. “Another idea.” Sitting straight-backed, he looked up at Serena’s image. Vor pursed his lips, nodding appreciatively, thinking of all she had accomplished. She carried herself like a queen, an elegant woman with a touch of the hauteur so common among noble ladies. At the lectern her image seemed to look directly at the two Armada officers as if it were a large version of her, alive itself.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” she said through the speaker system. Her words echoed around the cavernous hall. “This makes me feel like I’m nineteen again addressing Parliament. It’s hard to believe so much time has elapsed, that so much has happened.”

  “You’re still beautiful.” Vor raised his voice so that it would carry to her.

  Xavier, despite his unexplained disapproval, seemed to be thinking the same thing, though he was not a man to speak such thoughts casually. Long ago, Serena had turned from the affections of both men, and all of them had moved on, in different directions. The Jihad had gotten in their way. Vor frowned wistfully, thinking about Leronica Tergiet on Caladan and knowing that he should send her another letter, though by now she might have forgotten about him. Perhaps if he sent her an extravagant package, next time… He was sure he could have enjoyed a good life with her, but he had lost that woman for the same reason: the Jihad.

  Now the three of them were together again, each so different from before, but still unchanged, in their core beings. When Vor looked at Serena, he still saw her the way she had been when they’d met at the villa of Erasmus. She had been so defiant at the time and disrespectful to him despite his position as a trustee. He chuckled at the recollection of a mere house slave speaking to him in that manner! Even back then he had admired the strength in Serena Butler… and she had needed all of it in order to survive the terrible events that were to befall her in that place.

  “I have summoned you here to discuss a most important development,” she said. But as she peered over the lectern at the two men, Vor detected a hardness to her, a stubborn rigidity to her chin.

  “Here it comes,” he muttered to Xavier.

  Abruptly, Serena shut down the apparatus and walked down a set of stairs toward the primeros. “They have installed a new speaker system. I wanted to come here and try it before tomorrow’s session. Iblis has been helping me with voice control for maximum effect on an audience. How was my intonation?”

  Vor gave her teasing applause, but saw peripherally that his fellow officer remained upset. “Good enough for your announcement,” Xavier said.

  “I really do have something important to ask both of you,” she said. “VenKee Enterprises has developed a fleet of spaceships that can travel across space in an instant.” She snapped her fingers. “Imagine! In one breath a ship is over Salusa Secundus and in the next is disgorging a Jihad attack force at Corrin. We can hit Omnius hard, pack up, and hit him immediately afterward in another star system. Think of it: the Jihad could be over in a matter of weeks!”

  Vor sucked in a quick breath as the import of the announcement sank in. He whistled in appreciation. “Why were we never told about this?”

  “Aurelius Venport has kept the technology a closely held secret, supposedly until he could finish refining the navigation systems. However, commercial records indicate he has been using his new ships to make merchant runs for more than a year.” Serena sat on a step in front of the two men. “We need to figure out how to place these vessels into the service of the Army of the Jihad.”

  “Cargo haulers are different from battleships. I’m always leery of new technology until it’s been battle tested,” Xavier said.

  Vor was optimistic. “So we test it, my good friend.”

  Serena nodded, her expression somber. “Directeur Venport has warned me of a rather significant percentage of catastrophic failures, but I’m sure we can improve on that. Most of the flights are successful. If we have the fortitude to endure the necessary casualties, it will be enough to defeat the machines, once and for all. Our victory at Ix ultimately cost a great deal, but look at how much we have benefited from that industrial complex. With the new spaceships the risks will not be as great as those we took to win Ix.”

  Scratching his head, Xavier reconsidered. “We always lose a percentage of the forces we commit. In the long run, the new ships’ speed and efficiency may reduce casualties… by putting an end to the war more quickly.”

  “In the short term, there are likely to be more losses, causing the families of the dead soldiers to question our decision.” Vor ran fingers through his damp hair. “Still, I think you’re right, Serena. It’s a tough decision, but it sounds like the best one.”

  Xavier cautioned, “Calculated projections don’t always reflect the realities of battle situations.”

  “You have never been so concerned about risk-taking,” Vor pointed out.

  “There are risks, and then again there are risks. I made decisions that cost a lot of lives when our backs were to the wall, with few options available. This seems different to me.” He sighed. “I want to see these space-folding vessels with my own eyes.”

  “When do we inspect these super ships?” Vor asked, rising to his feet.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “I want both of you to go to Kolhar immediately with a large contingent of Jihad engineers. Under my orders, you will assume command of Venport’s shipyards and work to convert all of his space-folding ships into military vessels. He has over a hundred of them available. Take two divisions with you, enough to implement and enforce the new priorities, and to protect Kolhar from any potential machine attacks.”

  “And you’re sure Venport will cooperate?” Xavier remained skeptical.

  Serena looked determined. “We can no longer afford to offer him the choice. This is for the benefit of the Jihad. Would he rather do business with Omnius?”

  “There are no guarantees in wartime,” Xavier said. “Only death and destruction followed by more death and destruction.”

  Vor knew he looked more like a youthful junior officer than a battle-seasoned Primero. “Now don’t get bitter on us, Xavier. You’re starting to sound like a grumpy old man.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he said with a tight smile. Together, the men departed from the hall to begin military preparations.

  What makes a great hero? Selfless action, you say. Yes, but that is only one dimension, the one seen by most people and chronicled in the history crystals. Circumstances must be right for a hero to operate; he must be swept up in an epic tide of events that enables him to ride the crest of a human wave. The hero, especially the one who survives, is an opportunist. Seeing a need, he fills it and receives a substantial benefit. Even dead heroes receive a benefit.

  — ZUFA CENVA, Recollections of the Jihad

  Inside a spaceport tower on the plains of Kolhar, Aurelius Venport paced back and forth, watching the controllers at their instruments and scanning the banks of displays himself, looking for any sign of the incoming vessel. One of the swift space-folding cargo ships was due to return momentarily. Each time the mercenary pilots used their Holtzman engines, there was a significant chance that the craft would be lost.

  Outside, the sky gleamed like a pale blue, translucent light, yet storm clouds loomed inside his mind. Briefly, on the return journey from Salusa Secundus, he had considered shutting down and uprooting his Kolhar operations an
d moving them wholesale to some unknown, uninhabited planet.

  But a nagging internal voice warned him that Serena Butler would get her way in the end no matter what he did, that she would catch up with him and ruin him if he opposed her. His life, his livelihood, his success… everything he had worked for would be gone, if she simply commandeered his facility. He would probably also face treason charges, in spite of his logical answer when the Priestess of the Jihad asked him why he had not revealed the existence of his space-folding technology sooner. Venport sighed. While he could accept the concept of making reasonable contributions to the war effort, the Priestess blithely assumed that each person should sacrifice everything for her cause. He had to reach some sort of compromise with her. This would be his most difficult negotiation yet.

  He also knew that Serena would waste no time. Her armed force would arrive on Kolhar. Soon.

  Searching for an appropriate solution, he brought the problem to both Norma and Zufa Cenva the moment he returned to cold, bleak Kolhar. After hearing him out, the Supreme Sorceress had not been as sympathetic as he’d hoped. “Aurelius, you never did have the selflessness to help us win the Jihad. If each person were willing to offer his life, his full capabilities, we would have crushed Omnius long ago.”

  “Is your entire universe black and white?” he asked her with a sigh. “I thought that was a Buddislamic view.”

  Zufa’s expression remained brittle. “Sarcasm duly noted. But is the Jihad not more important than a merchant’s profits? Your ships can turn the tide of war, saving billions of lives by cutting off the conflict like a malignant tumor. You will be seen as a great hero for your generous contribution, a beloved patriot.”

  “A penniless one, though.”

  Placing a slender, warm hand on his bare arm, Norma said, “Aurelius, from the very start, I always envisioned my space-folding engines used against Omnius. When I began working for Savant Holtzman, my mission was to help develop weapons of war.” Her face radiated beauty and excitement, her eyes were intense, and he felt his defensive turmoil begin to melt. “If the Army of the Jihad can use our engines to lift them to victory, how can we possibly refuse?”