Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (29 page)

“Robotic warships are falling out of the skies! They were trying to launch and got caught in the scrambler backwash!”

“Good, but ground-based thinking machines will try to zero in on those secondary transmitting towers. We’ve got to finish this while the robot fleet is trapped up here and the rest of the thinking machines are stranded in the cities.” Xavier would not let Serena’s work be in vain. “Let’s take back the planet.”

Dropping out of the lead ballista’s launch hatches, eight escort kindjals flanked Heoma’s single transport, all of them fully armed and ready to engage the enemy. The mission of the kindjals was to cause confusion and chaos, to distract the unimaginative robotic defenders so that the Sorceress volunteer could land safely and carry out her essential work.

Seeing the robotic battleships zeroing in, Xavier urged the troop transports to hurry. Swarms of smaller Armada ships streaked into the turbulent atmosphere and headed toward Giedi City.

Closing his eyes, Xavier sent his hopes with them, then concentrated on the machine threat approaching in orbit.

S
urrounded by six silent Rossak men, Heoma piloted the troop transport. All of her guards wore padded uniforms and helmets that provided some protection against projectile fire. Eyeing the altimeter as their ship descended, the men swallowed cocktails of Rossak drugs. The intense stimulants blazed like lava through veins and muscle fibers, deadening pain and fear.

With her telepathic abilities, Heoma saw the drugged men becoming thunderstorms in human form, ready to unleash lightning upon their foes. Individually they met her gaze, exchanging unspoken knowledge, fully aware that they were about to die.

The transport bounced and shuddered as it tore through perilous shear winds. Heoma was no expert pilot, but she had enough training to land the ship. It would not require a delicate touchdown— only one they could walk away from.

She had expected robotic defender ships to intercept them, but Heoma watched thinking-machine flyers crash to the ground, dropping like stones into buildings and parks. Other machine flyers that managed to swoop low enough to avoid the worst effect of the scrambler shields struggled to land with damaged systems.

“They’re not in any shape to worry about us,” a man transmitted from one of the flanking kindjals. The fast Armada ships opened fire with artillery rounds, blasting some of the fleeing robotic flyers.

In orbit, the Armada battleships exchanged furious fire with larger, space-borne AI vessels that were now precluded from descending to the surface and defending Omnius. Tercero Harkonnen had also dispatched a full-scale ground assault force after Heoma and her small team had started on their way. Each prong of the attack had its specific mission, requiring pinpoint attention to detail.

Heoma watched the ship’s controls, counting down the seconds. Hers was to be a desperate single thrust; she would have no other opportunity. And she had to be finished before any League soldiers got into position.

As the low clouds tore away, she could see the city below, grid streets and tall buildings built by proud humans who had envisioned a prosperous future. Entire city blocks were blackened, especially the habitation complexes, which were apparently worthless to the inhuman conquerors.

Recalling her briefing, during which she had memorized the only available maps of Giedi City, the Sorceress volunteer located the citadel that had once been the governor’s residence. There, the cymeks had installed a new Omnius evermind, according to the ragged messenger, Pinquer Jibb. Magnus Sumi’s mansion had become a thinking-machine stronghold.

Cymeks there.

Her kindjal escorts spread clouds of masking smoke. Launched canisters dispersed sparkling electromagnetic chaff, flecks of active metal that disrupted the robots’sensor capabilities. Heoma’s craft followed the dispersing cloud down to the ground. She hoped to remain hidden as they approached the undamaged robotic flyers.

Aware that ships were approaching, thinking-machine fighters launched blind salvos. Explosions rocked Heoma’s craft, and she saw that the landing gear had been damaged. She brought the heavy ship down anyway, braking as sharply as she could. On impact, the vessel careened along a wide flagstone street, scraping and skidding, spraying fire, sparks, and shrapnel. They finally crashed to a halt against the side of a gray stone building.

At once, Heoma and her men were up, unfastening restraints, gathering weapons. She opened the side hatch and ordered her pumped-up bodyguards to clear the way. Dutifully, she transmitted an all-clear signal to her escort kindjals. One pilot responded as he streaked upward, “Melt the bastards.” The fighters zoomed into the sky toward the second wave of troop transports dropping ground assault teams into the robot-infested city.

The next part of the mission was in her hands.

Heoma stepped away from the smoking craft, then gestured for her glassy-eyed defenders to hurry toward the governor’s citadel. She loped after them, the target clear in her mind.

Behind her, the battered transport craft exploded in its programmed self-destruct sequence. Heoma didn’t flinch. She had never intended to leave herself any option of retreat.

The bodyguards carried projectile launchers and disrupter guns. Such artillery would have been too bulky for a normal man to carry, but with their chemically enhanced muscles the men had superhuman strength . . . at least until the drugs burned their bodies from the inside out.

Standing three meters tall, powerful combat robots guarded the approach to the Omnius citadel. Though alert, the thinking machines were more concerned with the Armada ballistas and javelins and the restored scrambler shields than with a few humans running through the streets. What could a handful of trivial
hrethgir
accomplish against the invincible thinking machines?

When the robot sentinels moved to block their approach, Heoma’s bodyguards opened fire. Without a word, they launched projectiles, blowing the steel robots to debris.

Overhead, buzzing watcheyes skimmed building tops and swooped down as the squad ran toward the arched entrance to the Magnus’s mansion. The watcheyes kept track of Heoma’s movements, reporting everything to the Giedi Prime– Omnius. But the Sorceress did not slow. Her bodyguards blasted any machine target, holding nothing in reserve.

Behind them in the streets, the first Armada troop transports had landed, teams scrambling out and opening fire with handheld weapons. They established a guarded perimeter so that their technicians could set up the first of Holtzman’s two prototype field-portable scramblers.

The device looked crude and bulky, erected on a sturdy tripod. Cables connected it to the power source of the large troop transport. A single blast from the pulse projector would drain the spacecraft’s engine— and would also disable all unshielded robots for half a kilometer.

“Clear!” the technician shouted. Many of the soldiers covered their ears as if expecting a thunderous artillery burst.

Heoma heard only a thin, high whine, then a faint popping in the fabric of the air. Sparks and smoke showered out of Holtzman’s prototype, and all the glimmering lights on the transport vehicle went dead.

Then, with a clatter like a metal hailstorm, hundreds of dead watcheyes tumbled out of the air, striking the paved streets. Lumbering machine warriors ground to a halt. More robot-driven aircraft wavered in the sky, out of control, and tumbled to the ground.

A ragged cheer went up from the Armada soldiers still emerging from their transports, building in enthusiasm as they saw that they had established a foothold, a zone where most of the enemy robots had been eliminated.

Heoma had to complete her mission before she endangered any of the other brave human soldiers. “Inside! Hurry.”

She and her bodyguards rushed into the corridors of the government citadel. As Zufa Cenva had taught her, she concentrated on building up her telepathic powers until her mind ached with a surging power.

Deep in the citadel, Heoma’s squad encountered two interlocked robots, still functional but disoriented. Apparently the thick walls of the building had protected them from the brunt of the scrambler pulse. The robots stood in front of them, cannon-arms raised, but Heoma discharged a blast of telekinesis that knocked them sideways, helpless against an offensive they could not see or comprehend. Before the staggering robots could regain their feet, Heoma’s bodyguards destroyed them with heavy projectile fire.

Almost there.

Running at full tilt, she led the way toward the nexus of the thinking-machine citadel, triggering alarms all the way. Many robots had fallen inactive in rooms or halls, but others converged upon her. Armored doors slammed shut in the corridors, as if to seal off vital chambers, but Heoma could see they were not important. She saw exactly where to go.

Soon the cymeks would arrive and surround her. Exactly according to plan.

The tingle of mental electricity mounted in her brain like a power transformer. Her skull felt ready to burst, but she did not unleash her energy yet. She must retain all of her strength for one final moment.

She heard their crablike warrior-forms skittering down the corridor, ominous sounds of sophisticated machine bodies guided by the brains of human traitors, different from the regimented lockstep of the robotic guards.

“It is almost our time,” she announced to the fiery-eyed Rossak men, her voice filled with excitement and barely suppressed fear.

Skidding to a halt, she arrived within the main chamber where the shielded core of the Omnius manifestation dwelled. Inside the armored room, numerous watcheyes glared at her through glowing optic threads.

A voice boomed out from myriad sources. “Human— are you wearing a bomb, a pitifully weak explosive that you think can harm me? Did you bring one of your atomics, or is victory not worth such a price to you?”

“I am not so naïve, Omnius.” Heoma tossed her sweaty white hair over her shoulder. “One person cannot possibly harm the great computer evermind. That requires a much more extensive military strike. I’m no more than one woman.”

As the giant cymeks approached from adjoining corridors, Omnius simulated a laugh. “Humans rarely admit the folly of their own actions.”

“I admitted no such thing.” Heoma’s skin was glowing red now, heated with unnatural energy. Static electricity made her pale hair wave like angry serpents. “You have merely misjudged my purpose.”

The doors opened and three monstrous cymeks glided in with graceful metal footsteps, as if savoring the capture of these humans. Heoma’s bodyguards turned and opened fire, using the last of their ammunition to cripple one of the neo-cymeks in a single concerted attack.

The second neo-cymek raised his integral weapons and vaporized the fearless Rossak men into clouds of bloody pulp. The damaged neo-cymek lay on the floor, its arms and legs twitching like a poisoned insect not yet ready to succumb to death. The larger Titan cymek strode forward.

Now Heoma stood alone against the machines. Without moving, she focused her mental powers, building to the point where she could barely maintain even a shred of control.

“I am Barbarossa,” said the cymek. “I have squashed so many
hrethgir
that it would take a computer to count them all.” He and his companion cymek came closer. “Rarely have I witnessed such arrogance.”

“Arrogance? Or confidence?” Heoma smiled. “Removing a Titan from the equation is a worthy exchange for my life.”

The Sorceress’s mental energy could do no damage to the hardened gelcircuits of Omnius itself. Human minds, however, were more vulnerable to her telepathic onslaught. She felt the flames of vengeful energy cresting within her mind— and released them in a white-hot firestorm.

The shockwave of psychic annihilation boiled the brains of Barbarossa and his companion, as well as all other cymeks and hapless biologicals crowded inside the citadel complex. Omnius let out a wordless bellow of static and outrage. Heoma saw only white as her mental energy vaporized the organic brains of the cymek generals.

Leaving the newly installed evermind vulnerable.

Outside, League ground troops waited for the telepathic firestorm to fade, then surged forward to attack the now-defenseless stronghold of Omnius.

The work of recapturing Giedi Prime had begun.

W
ithin an hour of the transmitting facility’s activation, the cymeks and surface-confined robots had pinpointed its location. While the battle raged in Giedi City, even after Barbarossa had been annihilated, a kill squadron of neo-cymeks and robots was dispatched to the northern sea. They surrounded the rocky, ice-covered island to penetrate the compound and destroy the parabolic transmitting towers.

With few weapons, Brigit Paterson’s remaining engineers could not possibly defend against such an onslaught, but they had no intention of surrendering, either. Inside the main control center, she scanned the skies and sea. “The longer we hold out here, the more lives we’ll save.”

Pasty-faced and drawn with terror, the desperate engineers armed themselves with grenades, pulse-projectile rifles, and a portable artillery launcher and went to guard the quays and aerial approaches to the island.

The machine kill squadron did not issue ultimatums; they began their attack as soon as they were in range. Brigit’s engineers were ready and fired back immediately. They reloaded, making their dwindling ammunition count.

The cymeks and robots were more intent on obliterating the towers than on killing the few defenders. Most of their attack was directed at the frosty structures that pumped a lifeblood of scrambler energy into the sky. When a cymek shot knocked one transmitter offline, the shields began to fade, but Brigit finessed the controls. Her cold fingers flew, rerouting to more stable sections of the tower, and soon she had a functional shield in place again. She didn’t know how long it would last.