Dune: The Machine Crusade (86 page)

“Believe what you wish,” she said with a bittersweet smile. “You used to be able to see into my heart. Come, follow me.” She led him along a gem-gravel path toward a sheltered, private area.

As he walked beside her, Xavier said, “I wish things had been different, Serena. I mourn not only my lost son, but the love you and I should have had, the years of contentment together.” He sighed. “Not that I would ever change a moment of my life with Octa.”

“I love you both, Xavier. We must accept the present no matter how we wish we might have changed the past. I am glad you and my sister found a measure of happiness in the midst of this tempest.” Serena stroked his clean-shaven cheek, gazing at him with a determined expression. “We are defined by our tragedies and our martyrs. Without little Manion, humans never would have had the incentive to rise up and fight Omnius in the first place.”

His heart skipped a beat when he realized where she was leading him. He had not visited the primary shrine for many years, but now saw the crystalline coffin, the plaz-walled crypt that contained the remains of their dead son. He remembered taking the child’s preserved body from the
Dream Voyager,
after Vorian Atreides had escaped from Earth with Serena and Iblis.

When she sensed him drawing back, Serena urged him forward. “This Jihad is for our son. Everything I’ve done for decades has been to avenge him— and all the other sons and daughters of captive humans on every Synchronized World. You heard the shouting in the Hall of Parliament. The League wants to accept the ridiculous peace proposal. If I don’t go to Corrin, someone else will— and that will lead to an even greater disaster.”

She and Xavier stood close together, looking down silently at the innocent boy who had been murdered by the robot Erasmus. On various League planets, Xavier had seen hundreds of shrines and memorials to this revered child, bedecked with orange marigolds and loving paintings. At the recollection, his throat felt as dry as tinder, and his sense of personal outrage and deep loss increased with each passing moment.

He grumbled. “But if we give up without a resolution, it will be like our first strike on Bela Tegeuse. Before long, the machines will come back stronger than before, and all of our battles, the sacrifices of our fallen heroes, will have been for naught.”

Serena’s shoulders drooped. “Unless I can inspire them to a greater fervor, the Jihad will fall into the gutter of history.” Her lips turned down in a frown, and her haunted eyes showed depths of unspeakable disappointment— an expression she never revealed to her cheering public. “What else can I do, Xavier? The Cogitors offer an easy way out, and everyone wants to leap at the chance. My Jihad has failed through the lack of human will.” Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear her. “At times my shame is so great I can barely hold my head up and look at the sky.”

The sun reflected like a flare off the crystal coffin’s polished surface. Amazed at the high quality of facial and bodily reconstruction, Xavier bent to look closely at the peaceful face of the little boy, the son he wished he had known. Manion looked so peaceful.

Then, at the base of the boy’s chin, he saw a fold of what looked like flesh-toned polymer, a tiny glint of metal wire, and lines of adhesive that seemed to be sagging after decades of Salusan sunlight magnified by the prismatic chamber. He realized that this could not be the mangled child who had been brought back from the riots on Earth. It was a facsimile, a sham!

Serena looked into his face, noted Xavier’s questions and doubts, and spoke before he could say anything. “Yes, I discovered the ruse years ago. No one else comes here and looks as closely as I do… or as you just did. Iblis created what was necessary at the time. His intentions were noble.”

He responded in a hushed voice so the Seraphim would not overhear. “But this is a fraud!”

“It is a
symbol
. I did not notice the fake until the people had already rallied around Manion the Innocent and sworn to fight the Jihad. After that, what would I gain if I exposed the ruse?” She arched her eyebrows. “Surely, you don’t believe that all the artifacts in all the shrines and reliquaries across the League Worlds are real?”

He frowned. “I… never gave it much consideration.”

“This is a shrine to our fallen son, who was slain by the evil Erasmus. That is real enough and cannot be denied.” She traced her fingertips on the slick crystal, her face distant and wistful. Then she rallied her determination and looked directly at him. “It doesn’t make any difference, Xavier. What I
believe
— what the people believe— is the only thing that matters. A symbol always has more power than reality.”

He accepted only reluctantly. “I don’t like this deceit… but you’re right: it doesn’t change what truly happened to our child. It makes no difference to our reasons for hating Omnius.”

She put her arms around him, and as he embraced her, he longed for the decades they had lost. “If all my devotees were like you, Xavier, we would have defeated Omnius in a year.”

He hung his head. “I’m just an old battle-scarred soldier now. The other commanders are much younger. They’ve forgotten the determination that made the Jihad such a fierce struggle. They’ve known nothing else, and they see me as just a grandfatherly figure who tells old war stories.”

Serena smoothed her silk-trimmed robes. “And now I need you to look to the future, Xavier. I intend to go to Corrin and face Omnius, but you must stay here and continue my fight. Iblis has already promised me that. You, too, must do whatever is necessary to guarantee that we will not lose everything we have fought for.”

“There’s nothing I could say to stop you from going, is there?”

Her smile was distant. “I must do what I can.”

Xavier left the City of Introspection, feeling a leaden sense of foreboding. Something in Serena’s eyes, in her tone of voice, told him she intended to do a terrible, irrevocable thing, and he would not be able to stop her.

I
t was meant only as a test-run for the streamlined space-folding ships newly constructed for the Army of the Jihad. The Holtzman Effect engines developed by Norma Cenva made it possible to journey from the shipyards on Kolhar to any other place he wished, in a negligible travel time.

Vorian Atreides knew exactly where he intended to go: Caladan. At last!

Unaware of the turmoil in the League or of the unsatisfying accords the Ivory Tower Cogitors had negotiated with Omnius, Vor insisted on taking this test-run by himself. Though he was fifty-nine years old, he still felt young and enthusiastic.

Working under the intense supervision of Norma Cenva, the Jihad engineers had constructed several experimental military vessels smaller than the VenKee cargo ships and far better suited for reconnaissance.

Naturally, such new vessels needed to be taken on thorough shakedown cruises. Vor knew how to fly virtually any ship, and was ready to do this test personally. His fellow officers objected that a key military leader should never tackle a mission so fraught with risks and uncertainties, but Vor had never stood on ceremony— often to the frustration and dismay of his friend Xavier.

Despite the navigational uncertainties involved in his headlong rush across the folded fabric of space, Vor took no one with him. He knew the risks were real after having seen records of VenKee’s merchant flights, and did not want to endanger anyone else.

“You all look so serious, so tragic! I’ve made up my mind, and none of you have the rank to countermand my order.” He smiled. “Does anyone want to take bets on how soon I return?”

THE SPACE-FOLDING ENGINES worked perfectly.

From the cockpit of the scout ship, surrounded by gleaming instruments and blinking lights, the brief journey felt to Vor like a fantastic dream, not a real experience. He didn’t seem to move at all. At first, his recon craft was near the bleak world of Kolhar. Then the cosmos bent and twisted around him, flooding with colors and images that he never imagined existed. Before he knew it, he had arrived at the ocean world that he remembered so clearly from his time here almost ten years ago. The whole journey took only a few seconds.

He landed at the primitive military facilities erected on the Caladan coast to maintain and monitor surveillance satellites. The engineers and mechanics stationed at the outpost had never seen a ship like this, and the soldiers were astonished at the unannounced arrival of such an important officer.

“We’ve been stuck here a long time, Primero,” one of the soldiers said. “Are you on a morale-boosting mission?”

Vor smiled at him. “In part, Quinto. But truly I have another purpose on Caladan. There is someone I must see.”

This time he would not bother to conceal his name or rank insignia. He had decided that he no longer needed to pretend for Leronica. He just wanted to see her and make sure that her life had gone well, that she had moved on. There was no reason to hide his identity.

Even so, as he approached the town, smelling the sea and hearing the boats, he felt as anxious as if he were going to face an entire robot army. He found his optimism dragged down by an anchor of doubt. Of course a woman like Leronica would have married and raised a family, spending a happy, settled life here on Caladan. He had known from the beginning that he couldn’t just remain here and pretend to be a fisherman, and that he couldn’t uproot her from this quiet planet and take her into the middle of the Jihad.

Vor had lost his chance for either course of action almost a decade ago. He should have forgotten about her, but he had tried to keep in touch despite the enormous distances. He had written many letters, sent her packages and gifts… and had never received a reply. Perhaps he should have stopped thinking about her long before this. Maybe it was not a good idea for him to come back here, now or ever. It might disrupt her life, and reawaken too many feelings in him. It was his own fault he had waited so long.

But his feet kept walking, and his heart drew him forward.

The coastal village had not changed much; it still welcomed him like a surrogate home. Leronica’s tavern seemed to have prospered over the years. He longed to see the lovely woman again, but was not foolish enough to believe he could simply walk back into her arms after so long.

No, he would just visit as a friend, perhaps reminisce for a while, and leave it at that. He cared for Leronica, remembering her far above other romances, and was anxious to learn what she had been doing in the intervening years.

When he stepped through the door, Vor stood silhouetted, looking into the dim light of the common room, inhaling the rich smells of smoke, fish, and sweet pastries Leronica had probably baked. Vivid memories flooded back. His smile was certain, and his confidence rose.

He heard her sharp indrawn breath before his eyes adjusted. “Virk?” she said. “Vorian?” And then she caught herself, unable to believe. “Vorian Atreides, it can’t be you. You haven’t aged a day since you left.”

Grinning broadly he stepped into the room. “My memories of you keep me young.” With a roguish smile, he came close and saw that she looked a decade older. Her face was more mature, her features filled out, and her curly hair longer, but she still looked just as attractive to him.

Leronica came around the bar and threw herself into his arms. Before he knew it, they were kissing, laughing, and staring deep into each other’s eyes. Finally, he managed to catch his breath, stepped back, and held her at arm’s length. He shook his head in disbelief, but Leronica’s dark pecan eyes were sparkling and wide. “You took your sweet time getting here, Mister. Ten long years!”

Suddenly he felt uncertain again. “You didn’t wait for me, did you? I never expected you to sit alone and stare up into the skies.” He didn’t want that kind of guilt.

She made a scoffing noise and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You think I had nothing better to do? Hardly. I made a very fine life for myself, thank you very much.” Then she smiled up at him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you, though. I appreciated every letter, every gift.”

“So, you have a husband? A family?” He kept a chaste distance, convincing himself that he wanted to know the answers. “I’m not here to intrude or disrupt your life.” He pulled up a chair and sat down.

Her face saddened. “I’m a widow. My husband was killed.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want someone to talk to? Over a pitcher of kelp beer.”

“That’ll take more than one pitcher.”

He gave her a boyish grin, knowing how young he must look to her. “I am in no hurry.”

They exchanged stories, a bit at a time. Each of Leronica’s revelations riveted his attention. She had two sons, twins. She had married a fisherman, but her husband of more than eight years had been killed by a strange sea monster. She’d been a widow for more than a year already.

“I’d like to see the boys,” he said. “I’ll bet they’re fine young men.”

She gave him a strange look. “Just like their father.”

HE STAYED FOR several weeks, making excuses and finding work that ostensibly needed to be done on Caladan, but each day went by too quickly. He met the boys Estes and Kagin, and marveled at the echoes of his own features. The twins were nine years old, and he could do the math himself. He decided Leronica would tell him in her own time, if she told him at all.

Even if he had gotten her pregnant so long ago, Vor had never acted the part of a father to these boys. If Kalem Vazz was as good a man as Leronica said, let the twins have their memories untainted. Leronica seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

They spent a lot of close time together, rediscovering friendship. Leronica never suggested that they rekindle their romance— not rebuffing him, but not inviting him to be her lover either. He could tell that she still loved Kalem and remained loyal to his memory. She had settled into her role as a widow, though she did not wallow in grief.