Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson - Dune 11 - The Machine _1

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Herbert, Brian & Anderson, Kevin - The Machine Crusade

LEGENDS OF DUNE

THE MACHINE CRUSADE

The Dune Novels by Frank Herbert

DUNE

dune MESSIAH

children of dune

god emperor of dune

heretics of dune

chapterhouse: dune

Prelude to Dune by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson

HOUSE ATREIDES

HOUSE HARKONNEN

HOUSE CORRINO

Legends of Dune

THE BUTIERIAN JIHAD THE MACHINE CRUSADE *THE BATTLE OF

CORRIN

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Herbert, Brian & Anderson, Kevin - The Machine Crusade

* forthcoming

Legends of DUNE

THE MACHINE CRUSADE

Brian Herbert & Kevin J. Anderson

First published in Great Britain in 2003 by Hodder and Stoughton

Published simultaneously in paperback in 2003 by Hodder and Stoughton

A division of Hodder Headline

The right of Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson to be identified as the Authors

of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs

and Patents Act 1988.

retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior

written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of

binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real

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persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

ISBN o 340 82333 X Hardback ISBN o 340 82334 8 Trade Paperback

Typeset in Scala by Hewer Text Ltd, Edinburgh

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham Ltd, Chatham, Kent

Hodder and Stoughton

A division of Hodder Headline

Euston Road

London NWi 3BH

To PENNY and RON MERRITT,

Fellow travelers in the DUNE universe, with love and appreciation for helping us

maintain the legacy of Frank Herbert.

Acknowledgments

When we finished the manuscript of this book, the work had only begun. Pat

LoBrutto and Carolyn Caughey showed their editorial genius, guiding us! through

numerous iterations and fine tuning to produce this final version. Our agents,

Robert Gottlieb and Matt Bialer of Trident Media Group, have been supportive

and excited about this project from the start. Tom Doherty, Linda Quinton,

Jennifer Marcus, Heather Drucker, and Paul Stevens at Tor Books, and Julie Crisp

at Hodder & Stoughton, helped keep all matters of production and promotion on

track without letting their enthusiasm flag for a moment.

As always, Catherine Sidor at WordFire, Inc., worked tirelessly to transcribe

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Herbert, Brian & Anderson, Kevin - The Machine Crusade

dozens of microcassettes, input corrections, and maintain consistency in the face

of a full-steam-ahead work pace. Diane E. Jones served as test reader and guinea

pig, giving us her honest reactions and suggested additional scenes that helped

make this a stronger book.

Rebecca Moesta Anderson devoted uncounted hours of energy, concentration,

advice and criticism (always tempered with love), never letting the phrase "good

enough" enter her vocabulary. Jan Herbert, as always, offered her support,

patience, and understanding in the face of the unpredictable needs of a writer.

Javier Barriopedro and Christian Gossett gave us "Swordmaster" inspiration. Dr.

Attila Torkos gave the final manuscript his fine-tooth-comb scrutiny, helping us to

avoid inconsistencies.

The Herbert Limited Partnership, including Penny and Ron Merritt, David Merritt,

Byron Merritt, Julie Herbert, Robert Merritt, Kimberly Herbert, Margaux Herbert,

and Theresa Shackelford gave us their enthusiastic support, entrusting us with the

care of Frank Herbert's vision.

Without Beverly Herbert's almost four decades of support and devotion to him,

Frank Herbert would not have created such a vast and fascinating universe for us

to explore. We are greatly indebted to them both.

Historians do not agree on the messages carried in detritus of the long-ago past.

As one delves into history — such ancient, chaotic time! — the more facts become

fluid, the stories contradictory. Across the ocean of time and fallible memory, true

heroes metamorphose into archetypes; battles grow more significant than they

actually were. Legends and truth are difficult to reconcile.

As the First Official Historian of the Jihad, I must set down this record as best I

can, relying upon oral traditions and fragmentary documents preserved for a

hundred centuries. Which is more accurate — a carefully documented history

such as mine, or an accumulation of myths and folktales?

I, Naam the Elder, must write honestly, even if it invites the wrath of my superiors.

Read this history carefully, as I begin with Rendik Tolu-Far's Manifesto of

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Protest, a document that was confiscated by the Jipol:

"We are weary of fighting — weary unto death! Billions upon billions have

already been slaughtered in this crusade against the thinking machines. The

casualties include not only uniformed soldiers of the Jihad and their hired

mercenaries, but also innocent colonists and human slaves on the Synchronized

Worlds. No one bothers to count the number of enemy machines that have been

destroyed."

'The computer evermind Omnius has dominated many planets for over a

millennium, but it was twenty-four years ago that the murder of Priestess Serena

Butler's innocent child triggered an all-out human revolt. She used this tragedy to

incite a fervor in the League of Nobles, precipitating the Armada's full-scale

attack and the atomic destruction of Earth.

'Yes, this was a blow to Omnius, but it killed every last human living on that

planet and left the birthplace of humanity a radioactive ruin, uninhabitable for

centuries to come. What a horrendous cost! — and that was not a victory, not an

end, but only the opening act in this long struggle.

"For more than two decades, Serena's holy war has raged against the thinking

machines. Our strikes against Synchronized Worlds ax countered by robotic

incursions against League colonies. Again and again."

"Priestess Serena appears to be a devout woman, and I would like to believe in

her purity and sanctity. She has spent years in the study of available writings and

doctrines from ancient human philosophers. No other person has spent so much

time talking with Kwyna, the Cogitor in residence at the City of Introspection.

Serena's passion is evident and her beliefs beyond reproach, but is she aware of

all of the things that are done in her name?"

"Serena Butler is little more than a figurehead, while Iblis Ginjo is her political

proxy. He styles himself the 'Grand Patriarch of the Jihad' and leads the Jihad

Council, an emergency governing body that rules outside the boundaries of the

League Parliament. And we allow this to happen!"

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"I have watched the Grand Patriarch—a former slave master on earth—use his

charismatic oratory skills to transform Serena's tragedy into a weapon. Is

everyone blind to how he builds his own political power? Why else would he have

married Camie Boro, who traces her bloodline back a thousand years to the last,

weak ruler of the Old Empire ? A man does not wed the only living descendant of

the last emperor merely for love!"

"To ferret out human traitors and clandestine saboteurs, Iblis Ginjo has

established his Jihad Police, the Jipol. Think of those thousands who have been

arrested in recent years — can they all be traitors working for the machines, as

Jipol claims? Is it not convenient that so many of them are the Grand Patriarch's

political enemies?"

"I do not criticize the military commanders, the brave soldiers, or even the

mercenaries, for all of them are fighting the Jihad to the best of their abilities.

Humans from every free planet have set out to destroy machine outposts and to

block robot depredations. But how can we ever hope to achieve victory? The

machines can always build more fighters… and they keep coming back."

"We are exhausted from this endless warfare. What hope do we have for peace?

What possibility exists for an accord with Omnius? Thinking machines never tire."

"And they never forget."

B.G.

(Before Guild)

JIHAD YEAR

The weakness of thinking machines is that they actually believe all the

information they receive, and react accordingly.

—Vorian Atreides, fourth debriefing interview with League Armada

Leading a group of five ballistas in orbit over the canyon-scarred planet, Primero

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Vorian Atreides studied the robotic enemy forces aligned against him: sleek and

silver, like predatory fish. Their efficient, functional design gave them the

unintentional grace of sharp knives.

Omnius's combat monstrosities outnumbered the human ships ten to one, but

because the Jihad battleships were equipped with overlapping layers of Holtzman

shields, the enemy fleet could bombard the human vessels without inflicting any

damage, and without advancing toward the surface of IV Anbus.

Although the human defenders did not have the necessary firepower to crush the

machine forces or even repel them, the jihadis would continue to fight anyway. It

was a standoff, humans and machines facing each other above the planet.

Omnius and his forces had secured many victories in the past seven years,

conquering small backwater colonies and establishing outposts from which they

launched relentless waves of attack. But now the Army of the Jihad had sworn to

defend this Unallied Planet against the thinking machines at all costs — whether

or not the native population wanted it.

Down on the planet's surface, his fellow Primero, Xavier Harkonnen, was

attempting yet another diplomatic foray with Zenshüte elders, the leaders of a

primitive Buddislamic sect. Vor doubted his friend would make much progress.

Xavier was too inflexible to be a good negotiator: h)is sense of duty and strict

adherence to the objectives of the mission were always paramount in his mind.

Besides that, Xavier was biased against these people… and they undoubtedly

realized it.

The thinking machines wanted IV Anbus. The Army of the Jihad had to stop

them. If the Zenshütes wished to isolate themselves from the galactic conflict and

not cooperate with the brave soldiers fighting to keep the human race free, then

they were worthless. One time, Vor had jokingly compared Xavier to a machine,

since he saw things in black-and-white terms, and the other man had scowled icily

in response.

According to reports from the surface, the Zenshüte religious leaders had shown

themselves to be just as stubborn as Primero Harkonnen. Both sides had dug in

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their heels.

Vor did not question his friend's command style, though it was quite different

from his own. Having grown up among the thinking machines and trained as a

trustee for them, Vor now embraced "humanness" in all of its facets, and was

giddy with newfound freedom. He felt liberated when he played sports and

gambled, or socialized and joked with other officers. It was so different from the

way Agamemnon had taught him…

Out here in orbit, Vor knew the robot battleships would never retreat unless they

were convinced, statistically, that they could not possibly win. In recent weeks he

had been working on a complicated scheme to cause the Omnius fleet to break

down, but wasn't ready to implement it yet. Soon, though.

This orbital stalemate was completely unlike the war games Vor enjoyed playing

with the jihadi crewmen on patrol, or the amusing challenges he and the robot

Seurat had set for each other years ago, during long voyages between stars. This

tedious impasse offered little opportunity for fun.

He had been noticing patterns.

Soon the robotic fleet would cruise toward them like a cluster of piranhas in a

retrograde orbit. Standing proud in his crisp dark-green military uniform flashed

with crimson — the Jihad colors symbolizing life and spilled blood — Vor would

give orders directing all the battleships in his sentry fleet to activate Holtzman

shields and monitor them for overheating.

The robot warships — bristling with weapons — were woefully predictable, and

his men often placed bets on exactly how many shots the enemy would fire.

He watched his forces shift, as he had commanded them to do. Xavier's adopted

brother, Vergyl Tantor, captained the vanguard ballista and moved it into position.

Vergyl had served the Army of the Jihad for the past seventeen years, always

watched closely by Xavier.

Nothing had changed here in over a week, and the fighters were growing

impatient, passing the enemy repeatedly but unable to do anything more than puff

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up their chests and display combat plumage like exotic birds.

"You'd think the machines would learn by now," Vergyl grumbled over the

comline. "Do they keep hoping that we'll slip up?"

"They're just testing us, Vergyl." Vor avoided the formality of ranks and the chain

of command because it reminded him too much of machine rigidity.

Earlier in the day, when the paths of the two fleets briefly intersected, tie robot

warships had launched a volley of explosive projectiles that hammered at the

impregnable Holtzman shields. Vor had not flinched as he watched the fruitless

explosions. For a few moments, the opposing ships had mingled head-on in a

crowded, chaotic flurry, then moved past each other.

"All right, give me a total," he called.

"Twenty-eight shots, Primero," reported one of the bridge officers.

Vor had nodded. Always between twenty and thirty incoming shells, but his own

guess had been twenty-two. He and the officers of his other ships had transmitted

congratulations and good-natured laments about missing by only one or two shots,

and had made arrangements to pay or collect on the bets they made. Duty hours

would be shifted among the losers and winners, luxury rations transferred back

and forth among the ships.

The same thing had happened almost thirty times already. But now, as the two

battle groups predictably approached one another, Vor had a surprise up his

sleeve.

The Jihad fleet remained in perfect formation, as disciplined as machines.

"Here we go again." Vor turned to his bridge crew. "Prepare for encounter.

Increase shields to full power. You know what to do. We've had enough practice

at this."

A skin-tingling humming noise vibrated through the deck, layers of shimmering

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protective force powered by huge generators tied to the engines. The individual

commanders would watch carefully for overheating in the shields, the system's

fatal flaw, which — so far, at least — the machines did not suspect.

He watched the vanguard ballista cruise ahead along the orbital path. "Vergyl, are

you ready?"

"I have been for days, sir. Let's get on with it!"

Vor checked with his demolitions and tactical specialists, led by one of the Ginaz

mercenaries, Zon Noret. "Mr. Noret, I presume that you deployed all of our…

mouse traps?"

The signal came back. "Every one in perfect position, Primero. I sent each of our

ships the precise coordinates, so that we can avoid them ourselves. The question

is, will the machines notice?"

"I'll keep them busy, Vor!" Vergyl said.

The machine warships loomed closer, approaching the intercept point. Although

the thinking machines had no sense of aesthetics, their calculations and efficient

engineering designs still resulted in ships with precise curves and flawlessly

smooth hulls.

Vor smiled. "Go!"

As the Omnius battlegroup advanced like a school of imperturbable, menacing

fish, Vergyl's ballista suddenly lunged ahead at high acceleration, launching

missiles in a new "flicker-and-fire" system that switched the bow shields on and

off on a millisecond time scale, precisely coordinated to allow outgoing kinetic

projectiles to pass through.

High-intensity rockets bombarded the nearest machine ship, and then Vergyl was

off again, changing course and ramming down through the clustered robot vessels

like a stampeding Salusan bull.

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