Dune: The Machine Crusade (28 page)

B
eatific, proud, and confident before her loyal Seraphim in their goldmesh caps and flowing gowns, Serena Butler finished rehearsing. With fire and drive, she must keep the Jihad burning. Niriem nodded after listening to a playback of part of her speech, indicating that she approved. But Serena doubted if her stonily loyal chief Seraph would ever express disappointment in any aspect of the great holy war, as long as machines were being destroyed.

Now that Iblis Ginjo had departed for Poritrin, Serena intended to record a series of inspirational speeches from the City of Introspection. By nature, humans had a tendency to lose focus on long-term goals, unless they were constantly reminded of the big picture. Their determination must constantly be nurtured and massaged.

Over the next few months, her pronouncements would be distributed among the League Worlds; VenKee Enterprises had already signed an agreement with the Jihad Council to deliver the recorded rallies free of charge via their merchant ships.

Inside a fortified compound, Serena’s attentive female guards stood on either side of her. Following the assassination attempt over a year ago, all of the fanatical Seraphim had been tested and investigated; several were then removed from service, their loyalty suspect. Niriem now served Serena more closely than ever. These women made her feel strong and protected, confident that the human spirit would ultimately triumph over cold machine brutality.

“Machines can falter and disintegrate. Programming breaks down,” Serena finished her lecture into the recorders. “But the human heart will never stop beating.”

In spite of the new push that Iblis had instigated with her blessing, she knew that thinking machines would not be defeated overnight. The downtrodden people on Ix had been fighting for their lives for years, and with the imminent launch of a full Army offensive, to be led by Xavier, many more of her followers would die. A necessary sacrifice, Iblis had assured her.

She lowered her gaze and closed her eyes in benedictory contemplation. Jihad Council officers switched off the imagers and rushed to take the Priestess’s new message to be played for all the recent jihadi volunteers who were about to be dispatched to Ix. Many of them would never come home again.

She noticed her mother standing at the doorway. “Bravo, Serena. I am certain the slave rebels of Ix will hold your words close to their bosoms, even as the assassin robots slaughter them.”

Startled by her cold attitude, Serena responded, “This struggle will not be won unless each fighter commits his full capabilities and strength, Mother. I mean to inspire them.”

Livia Butler frowned. “The Grand Patriarch has not told you everything that is happening on Ix.” She gestured to the glowering Seraphim who stood nearby, said, “Leave us. I wish to speak with my daughter in private.”

“We have been ordered to protect the Priestess,” said the chief Seraph, not moving.

Serena turned to the young woman. “I need no protection from my own mother, Niriem.”

“We must also protect you from your own doubts, Priestess,” the Seraph leader warned. “Your Jihad cannot suffer weakness from within.”

“Do you obey me or make up your own orders? Now go.”

Sullenly, the devoted women departed. Livia Butler had not moved, and said, “Just before leaving for Poritrin, the Grand Patriarch announced his intentions on Ix, but he has actually been plotting there for a long time, coveting the industries and manufacturing centers. You cannot imagine the slaughter he has already triggered
in your name
. Many, many lives have already been expended on Ix— and it is going to get much worse.”

Serena blinked her lavender eyes. “How do you know this? Iblis has made no such report to me.”

In response, Livia handed over an image pack. A broken seal bore the insignia of Jipol, marked with the highest security classification. “These clips were smuggled out by a mercenary sent in to foment turmoil. The images were compiled by a native Ixian named Handon, one of the rebels and saboteurs.”

“How did you get it?”

“The image pack was intended for Yorek Thurr, but was misdelivered in the League Assembly to an old representative who was once very loyal to your father. You know the bureaucracy there— it’s as bad as in the fallen Empire. He thought the retired Viceroy should see it, and I think that you should also view the images, Serena. You must see what is happening out in the Jihad. The protesters have good reason for questioning the tactics in this war.”

“The protesters are cowards who do not understand the deadly purposes of the thinking machines.”

Livia pressed Serena’s fingers against the image pack. “Just view this.”

Frowning to conceal her nervousness, Serena activated the system and scrolled slowly from one nightmarish scene to another. She saw mass slaughter in full color: machine extermination squads attacked humans, and families huddled underground, hiding in tunnels, while a cymek— identified as the Titan Xerxes— strode about in a warrior-form, killing any human he encountered.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to say, “I realize this war is painful, Mother, but we must fight and we must win.”

“Yes, and you need to understand, child: Ix is a slaughterhouse— unnecessarily so. Iblis has deluded the Ixian rebels into throwing themselves at the ferocious assassin robots, with no hope of survival and no chance of making the slightest progress against the enemy. We give them a few weapons, but they are not nearly enough. Iblis has recognized the futility of the campaign for more than a year, and yet he keeps egging them on, sending them
your
messages.”

“My words are meant to inspire them.”

“Hundreds of thousands of fighters have died there, all in your name. They call out for you and your martyred son as if you are deities who can protect them, then hurl themselves upon the thinking machines. You were never meant to see these horrific images, but you must know how much blood is on your hands.”

Serena shot her mother a hard glance, then continued to watch the images. She absorbed the brutal fighting taking place in blood-spattered cave warrens in the industrial complexes and cities beneath the surface of the planet. Flames raged around the desperate fighters. Smashed machines and dead human bodies lay everywhere.

“What would you have me do, Mother?” she asked at last, unable to tear her gaze away from the carnage. “Should we just surrender Ix?”

Livia’s expression melted. “No, but even if we conquer Ix by sending an army in, is it all just for another excuse to cheer? This is a poorly chosen battlefield. For such an extravagant effort and expenditure of lives, we might as well attack the machine capital on Corrin!”

Serena was troubled. “I will have to discuss this with Iblis, when he returns from Poritrin. He will explain himself. Perhaps the Grand Patriarch has reasons we don’t immediately see. I’m sure he has good justification for—”

Livia interrupted. “He has made these decisions
without you,
Serena. As he often does. Are you the Priestess of the Jihad… or a mere figurehead?”

Her mother’s words stung. After a long moment Serena said, “Iblis is my advisor and mentor, and he has always been a great source of strength to me. But you are right… I should not be in the dark concerning major decisions.”

“The Grand Patriarch will not come home for nearly two months.” Livia leaned forward, pressing. “You cannot wait that long. Decide how you will act before then.” The old Abbess took her daughter by the arm. “Come with me. After learning of this report herself, the Cogitor Kwyna wishes to speak with you. It is most urgent.”

ONCE A HUMAN female in times forgotten by history, long before the Titans overthrew the Old Empire, the great philosopher Kwyna had pondered all the thoughts and philosophies collected by the human race. After expending a millennium of effort, Kwyna taught that even common human brains could achieve a glimmer of wisdom.

Serena and her mother climbed the steps of the stone tower that had been built to accommodate the great thinker. The tower windows were open, and cool breezes swept through the room. The Cogitor’s ornate preservation canister rested on a pedestal at the center of the round room, and her chosen human attendants stood nearby, awaiting her instructions.

Kwyna gave her excellent advice and many important questions to consider. Kwyna’s philosophical conundrums had occupied Serena during her darkest times of grief and despair over the loss of her baby and the crumbling of her expected life with Xavier Harkonnen.

Now her mother remained at the door, while Serena stepped forward to stand before the preservation canister. “You asked to speak with me, Kwyna? I anticipate much enlightenment from every conversation with you.”

Two secondaries marched forward with shaven heads and immaculately clean hands. The monks removed the canister lid and motioned for Serena to reach out. “Kwyna wishes to connect with you directly.”

Floating in its electrafluid bath, the disembodied brain was wrinkled and intricately patterned by centuries of deep thought. With a mounting sense of curiosity mixed with apprehension, Serena let her eyes fall half closed and dipped her slender fingertips into the warm preservation fluid.

“I am here,” she murmured.

She pushed her hand deeper until she touched the rubbery contours of Kwyna’s brain. As the thick fluid swirled around the Cogitor’s sensitive flesh, ionic pathways connected through the pores of her skin, linking with Serena’s neurons, connecting the mental passages of the distinct, but related, life-forms.

“You know the facts and the words,” the wise Cogitor said in her mind. “You understand Iblis Ginjo’s justifications… but do you believe them?”

“What do you mean, Kwyna?” Serena said out loud.

“I have avoided giving Iblis new straws of philosophy to clutch, but still he twists my words, corrupts the ancient scriptures. Instead of drawing enlightenment from my treatises, he makes up his own mind and then takes passages out of context in order to justify his decisions.”

The Cogitor’s thoughts seemed to thrum with deep weariness. Serena wanted to retreat from the accusations, but respect for the Cogitor trapped her hand in the living fluid. “Kwyna, I’m sure the Grand Patriarch holds only the best interests of humanity in his heart. I will speak to him, of course, and am certain he will explain everything.”

“One who will manipulate the truth to prove his enlightenment will do much worse. Serena Butler, are you not struck by the fact that
his
decisions cause martyrs to march to their deaths with
your
name on their lips?”

Serena bridled. “They are fighters for the Jihad. Even if they were slaughtered to the last, they would insist it was worth the cost. And so would I.”

Behind her, Livia expressed disappointment. “Oh, Serena. Is human life so valueless to you?”

Kwyna continued, her thoughts damning. “The Grand Patriarch incites violence by whatever means he considers necessary, because he believes that his goal validates his methods. Ix is another prize to him, but not part of any plan to win the war. He is in no hurry for the fighting to end, and knows that tragedies can be as inspirational as victories. You, Serena, may want Omnius destroyed as soon as possible, but Iblis Ginjo sees the Jihad as his source of power.”

This news was painful, almost too much to bear. Serena did not want to hear any more but was still unable to withdraw her hand.

“I have lived and pondered for more than twenty centuries, and dispensed my knowledge to those who deserved it. Now, my conclusions are being used in a manner that I never intended. I myself feel responsible for countless unnecessary human deaths.”

Serena let her fingertips brush over the vermiform contours of the Cogitor’s mind. “Those who would carry an important role must bear immense burdens. I am all too familiar with this sad fact.”

“But I did not
choose
the role,” Kwyna retorted. “Just as you have been manipulated by Iblis, so have I. Willingly, I gave my thoughts for the betterment of humanity, but my writings have been corrupted. I now understand why some of my fellow Cogitors chose to withdraw forever from interacting with the rise and fall of civilizations. Perhaps I should have gone with Vidad and the others long ago.”

Serena was surprised. “There are other Cogitors still alive? What do you mean they have withdrawn forever?”

“Vidad was once my friend, a mental sparring partner, a mind worthy of infinite debate. But he and five other Cogitors chose to sever all contact with humans and machines, preferring the eternal serenity and purity of their own thoughts. At the time we scorned them for fleeing the obligations that stemmed from their revelations. We accused them of hiding, living in ivory towers. Vidad accepted the label, but did not change his decision. No one has heard from them in many centuries.”

Serena sensed a sullen exhaustion in Kwyna’s mind as the ancient brain said, “Perhaps I should have joined the Ivory Tower Cogitors, but now I must find another option. I have summoned you here to tell you this, Serena Butler, so that you may understand.”

“And you think understanding is so simple?” Serena asked.

“Reality is what it is,” said Kwyna. “And I have had enough of life. I will share no more thoughts, allow no more wisdom to be twisted. When I am gone, Iblis may still find ways to use the lost doctrines, but I do not intend to give him further weapons that he can corrupt.”

Dreading what the ancient mind might do next, Serena said, “You have served me well here. I have learned much from you, and relied on your advice.”

Now the Cogitor’s voice became gentler in Serena’s mind. “I know your heart is true, but I am weary from the deep ponderings of two millennia. From now on, I cast you free of my protection. Think your own thoughts and fly from the nest to your destiny.”

“What are you saying? Wait!”