Dune: The Machine Crusade (91 page)

Curiously, even though she had not been eating regularly or taking adequate fluids, her body showed no signs of weight loss or fatigue. But still she had her limits.

After three days of working without even a brief rest, Norma finally went to the bedchambers she occasionally shared with her husband, whenever she didn’t spend the night in her labs and testing chambers. Within moments she sank into a sleep of complete exhaustion, and when she woke, she felt dull-witted and listless.

By accident while dressing, Norma found a supply of melange Aurelius kept for himself inside his bureau. Since VenKee Enterprises still maintained a booming business in shipping spice from Arrakis, he always had some on hand, which he consumed regularly. He claimed it kept his thoughts sharp, his body young, his imagination soaring.

Norma thought it might be exactly what she needed right now. She consumed one of the melange wafers without any inkling of the proper dosage, especially not for her metamorphosed body. By the time she reached the spaceflight testing chambers, Norma could feel the effects of the spice building inside of her, like the contents of a cauldron coming to a boil. Flashes of light appeared inside her skull, galaxy-scale ideas.

She activated the computerized navigation system and began to run test sequences, demonstrating what it would be like to fly from Kolhar to a distant simulated battle zone. Star systems appeared and shifted as a pulsating orange light flashed, representing the path of the spacefolder. Separate holoscreens showed essential information, including astronomical coordinates and the historical movements of cosmic bodies.

It looked different now that the melange coursed through her bloodstream. Her fingers moved faster, with greater precision. Alternately, Norma sped and slowed the systems, checking for problems, watching the hypnotic universal dance as nebulas folded into one another.

So beautiful out here.

Abruptly, Norma realized that she had lost perspective, that she had imagined herself on a spacefolder in actual flight, but in slow motion. She had been on countless simulated voyages, but had shied from the real thing because of the ever-present danger that she might not survive. The loss of Norma Cenva would have been devastating to the development program.

Now she felt as if she were floating, adrift in a sea. The solution to the difficulties had dissolved into the ethereal water, and she needed to distill it back out….

Serious navigation problems persisted. Just a week ago, a vessel had emerged into the wrong sector without colliding with anything, and had been salvaged with no loss of life. Another spacefolder had skimmed a meteor, causing superficial damage to the hull and a fire that was quickly extinguished. And a small scout ship on a mission to find Primero Atreides had vanished in flight.

She glanced at the shimmering holoscreens with their data displays, but her eyes slipped out of focus, then locked onto another vista. Again she seemed to be in deep space, with suns blinking all around her as she sped past them. An infinity of solar systems, one right after another. Galaxies spinning, nebulas glowing in every color, intense light, and the blackest black in creation.

Then, like her earlier tortured vision involving her maternal lineage, when all of the forms of her ancestors had merged into one she selected for her own likeness, the suns consolidated and burned with a fierce incandescence. She seemed to be heading toward all of them, into a brilliant light.

Then the melange hit her even harder.

Terrified and thrilled, Norma gazed ahead, and plunged through the cosmos. The image of a human being filled the foreground— Serena Butler in a white robe— but for only an instant. The Priestess of the Jihad glowed golden and then disappeared into the flames. But somehow the flames were not real. Norma could not comprehend what she was seeing.

Norma saw through the eyes of Serena, to a throng of thinking machines around the Jihad leader. Before Norma could react, the apparition of Serena diminished in a wink, leaving only an ember in her memory.

Then she saw her mother and Aurelius in terrible danger… surrounded by cymeks who wanted to steal the space-folding technology from them. A current of fear shot through Norma, and she struggled to control her vision. She saw the powerful Sorceress reveling in her last moments, just as she had taught so many apprentices, blazing as her own telepathic powers consumed her… and Norma’s husband, too, unable to withstand the supernova of energy.

Aurelius is dead,
Norma realized with gnawing dread, not sure if the vision foretold something, or if it reflected what had already happened… or if she could do anything to prevent it.
Serena Butler. My husband. My mother. All of them gone, or soon to be lost.

Norma saw through the flames ahead of her, into the heart of an immense, all-consuming sun. In her mental spacefolder, Norma Cenva passed through the light into a hidden realm, revealing a new universe.

She saw giant sandworms writhing on the desert world of Arrakis, and an eternal substance that the people called the Water of Life. Sustenance for the body, the mind, and the soul.

A pathway to infinity,
she thought.
And perhaps beyond.

She saw mankind’s future, with space-folding ships connecting a vast empire… a civilization that remained linked to the past through a long line of Sorceresses dressed in black, hooded robes.

And she heard a harmonious, hypnotic chant from the desert: “Muad’Dib… Muad’Dib… Muad’Dib…” Norma joined the ecstasy of voices, then swallowed the Water of Life, and screamed in rapture.

She awoke from her vision, hoping to see the face of Aurelius kneeling over her and stroking her blond hair.

But she was alone, nearly crushed by the astounding, shattering implications of all she had witnessed.

“I have seen into the heart of the universe.”

P
eople all across the League of Nobles simmered, and waited, and hoped for Serena Butler to return with a glorious announcement of everlasting peace. The Ivory Tower Cogitors remained in Zimia, studying documents at the great cultural libraries of Salusa Secundus. For the first time in decades, the future looked bright.

Weeks and months passed, without the arrival of any word, any hint. Some of her followers began to despair. Others held on to slender threads of hope— in spite of anxiety and concern, they reminded themselves that conventional space travel was maddeningly slow.

Iblis Ginjo continued to reassure the public, but he also prepared them. He had to wait for precisely the right moment. Everything had been put in place even before Serena’s departure.

Finally, a full month beyond her expected return date, he dispatched Yorek Thurr. If anyone investigated after the initial shock and dismay had passed, log entries would show that a beacon signal had been picked up from a small ship hurtling in from the edge of Synchronized territory.

Within days, the Jipol commandant and his group of scout ships intercepted a heavily accelerated drone pod that was soaring toward the Salusan system. The pod was not much more than a modified torpedo tube with substantial engines strapped to the end cap.

Inside, they found a message, a set of recorded images, along with a woman’s burned and horribly mangled body.

Thurr had no difficulty finding the drone pod, since it was exactly where he and Iblis had planted it….

The Jipol commandant returned to the Grand Patriarch’s tower bearing the terrible news. Word would leak out soon, and Iblis wanted to control its dissemination as much as possible, to achieve the greatest effect.

Thurr handed him a scuffed-looking image pack, a carefully sealed set of recorded events. Iblis held it with nervous care, as if he had been given a ticking bomb. He swallowed, feeling dread in his chest. “Do you suppose she is truly dead, then?”

The bald man stroked his long mustache. “Oh, she is dead— either by her own provocation of Omnius, or by Niriem’s hand. Either way, the people will believe the thinking machines responsible.”

Iblis unsealed the image pack. “Let us review again what crimes the vile computer evermind has allegedly committed.”

The Grand Patriarch activated the player. He and Thurr sat back to watch the horrific images, smiling to each other in grim satisfaction. “No one will ever doubt this is the truth.”

ON THE VISUAL recording, sentinel robots, combat meks, and cowed human slaves stood at attention in front of the Central Spire of Corrin.

The sentinels gleamed in perfect rows under the ruddy sunlight; the hollow-eyed slaves were hushed, but unruly. Held captive, Serena’s five Seraphim stood as helpless prisoners who would soon be forced to watch the execution of their Priestess.

The sociopathic robot Erasmus— whom all free humans hated as the murderer of Manion the Innocent— spoke to the recording, like a narrator. Iblis had never been certain that Erasmus still existed, but the people hated him enough that they would believe he continued to cause havoc.

The robot said, “The evermind has decreed that thinking machines can never peacefully coexist with free humans. You are too volatile, untrustworthy, and full of random destruction. You must be shown that you are weak, that Omnius is superior.” The metal face flowed into a demonic grin. “By destroying your leader Serena Butler, the evermind has calculated that humans will realize defeat and cease this Jihad.”

Behind him, the needle-shaped flowmetal building shifted and crouched like a giant serpent, then formed a large black mouthlike opening. Like a magician’s trick on a large scale, it disgorged a battered Serena Butler.

The surviving Seraphim shouted in dismay, and the native human slaves muttered uneasily.

Two large combat meks marched to the prisoner and forcibly strapped her onto a cross-shaped frame. Beneath her, a section of the pavement began to rotate slowly. Serena hung struggling, but did not cry out. Then her eyes turned to the side of the open square toward the sounds of hissing and heavy shuffling.

An immense thinking machine, a veritable monster, lumbered out into the square. It had coal-red synthetic skin, large curved horns, and spat flames from all over its body. Serena looked at it with brief horror, then firm resolve.

Like a Greek chorus, Erasmus spoke into the recording. “Omnius has studied historical archives to determine what humans consider the most unpleasant ways to perish. After tapping into religious imagery, the evermind has selected an exhibition that will crush the human resistance movement forever. Serena Butler’s extravagant death will prove that humans can never successfully challenge us.”

The satanic machine halted in front of Serena as she lay stretched out and bound to the cross. Precise, intense flames shot from one of the demon robot’s claws into her matching finger. She grimaced as the cross-frame continued to rotate, but did not cry out, not even when all of the fingers on one of her hands crisped and blackened, leaving her knuckles cauterized.

It was just the beginning.

The captive Seraphim howled and shouted curses, but Serena made no sound of her own as she hung on the crossbar.

Next, the devil machine shot flames that burned out both of Serena’s eyes, leaving crackled sockets above her grimace while barely charring the skin of her face.

Erasmus explained, “The careful application of pain is designed not to cause damage that would be too quickly fatal. Serena will suffer for a long time.”

Life-support spikes extruded from the crossbar to keep her alive and conscious. The executioner robot continued his sadistic torture, burning parts of Serena’s body, then uprooting and rotating the cross so that his victim hung upside down. Every moment was recorded.

Omnius’s voice sounded like thunder. “By destroying you, I terminate your Jihad. Humans will no longer have a leader to provoke further destruction. Your death is an efficient resolution to a long-standing problem.”

“You will… never… understand.” Though her burned face was turned away from the images, her voice was accurate, cribbed from old speeches. “My people will keep fighting, in my name!”

Her garment ignited with another gout of the robot’s flames. Even when her skin melted like candle wax, Serena refused to cry out. She shouted something defiant at her tormentors that no one could understand. Her bravery was magnificent.

In excruciatingly painful increments, the executioner roasted Serena Butler alive, setting her afire like a fleshy torch— arms and legs first, reserving the torso and head for last. Systems in the cross frame amplified her pain, keeping her awake even as her nerves and other bodily components tried to shut themselves down, tried to die.

The Seraphim screamed in outrage, some tearing their own hair out, others staring with tear-bright eyes. Clearly, the spectacle would never inspire them to surrender. On the contrary, their anger was stronger than ever before.

The demonic, red-skinned robot blasted out with his flames, immolating his victim at the stake. Even though the cross’s life-support system kept her alive, still Serena Butler did not scream.

Fire consumed the entire body of the Priestess of the Jihad, peeling away skin, exposing black bones— until there was nothing left, except for her legacy.

IBLIS CONSIDERED IT an excellent production. He could feel how much horror and disgust these images would incite, along with an abiding hatred for thinking machines— far greater than he could remember even during the most brutal oppression by the Titans. He looked up at Thurr, more vehemently passionate and vengeful than ever.

“Make sure that the burned corpse is tested. The DNA samples will prove that Serena is truly dead. There will always be those who will claim it is some sort of trick.” He already knew what the genetic tests would show; his Tlulaxa coconspirators had made certain the cells were identical. He would not, however, wait for the results before making his appalling announcement.