Dune: The Machine Crusade (78 page)

Agamemnon was gruff. “What is it you want, Hecate? Why have you chosen to come back now? Do you believe we need your help?”

“Or do you simply miss our fascinating company?” Juno inquired with an abrasive snort. “Perhaps you grew lonely after so much time by yourself.”

Hecate straightened the posture of her magnificent dragon-walker, moved closer to them. “Maybe I decided it’s time for a change.” She sounded sweet and reasonable. “We can either stand by and watch the war, or we can step in and make a difference.”

Agamemnon growled. “I believe I made that very statement many times over the past thousand years, Hecate, but you wouldn’t know that, since you weren’t here to listen.”

“But now your alliances have shifted. You Titans and neo-cymeks have turned against the thinking machines, as have the humans. Why not form an alliance with the League of Nobles, dear Agamemnon? It could be to your advantage.”

“With
hrethgir
? Are you mad?”

“I don’t like where this is heading,” Juno said.

Hecate made a sound like a chuckle. “For once in your life, think like a real general. You and the humans share a common, entrenched enemy that is too powerful for either of you to defeat individually. But working together, cymeks and
hrethgir
just might obliterate all incarnations of the evermind.” Her dragonlike forelimbs twitched. “After that, feel free to destroy each other if it amuses you.”

A rude noise came from Juno, while Agamemnon refused the suggestion outright. “We don’t need you in our fight, Hecate… or the humans. What you’re asking would give legitimacy to my insolent son Vorian. Here on Bela Tegeuse I have plenty of loyal neo-cymeks, and the populace continues to volunteer all the candidates we require for new converts. You are out of touch, Hecate. Too much has happened since you left us.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Hecate said, simulating a sigh. “Since I’ve been gone, the great General Agamemnon has turned into a stubborn bore, and two of the remaining Titans still follow him blindly, without an original thought in their fossilized brains.” Swiveling her segmented head, she strode back toward her ship. “Without Tlaloc, you were never able to see the big picture.”

The cymek general amplified his voice to shout after her, “I have begun an empire of my own here that has no need of humans, except for the raw materials they contribute to new cymeks! I shall restore the Time of Titans. League humans have their own agenda— they would turn against me the moment Omnius was destroyed.”

“But only because you deserve it.” Hecate climbed back on board her carrier transport for the return to her artificial asteroid, which hovered in orbit high above Bela Tegeuse. Defiantly, she shouted, “I see I will have to fight in my own manner, regardless of whether my fellow Titans accept me. You fail to see the potential, Agamemnon, but I will not be swayed from my mission.”

She sealed her transport, and lifted off from the scarred surface of Bela Tegeuse.

Now Hecate would do something without them, to make everyone take notice.

I
n the thirty-seventh year of Serena Butler’s Jihad, Aurelius Venport spent three weeks journeying from Kolhar to Salusa Secundus in a conventional spaceship. Though he owned and managed a merchant fleet of more than a hundred space-folding cargo vessels, the technology was still prohibitively risky. He preferred the safer, proven methods of space travel and had no particular desire to fly in one of the superfast ships himself.

He flew first to Rossak and from there caught a commercial passenger vessel departing for Salusa Secundus from one of the orbiting space hubs. The pace of both passages seemed plodding and tormentingly slow.

As he stepped out of the passenger liner into the heat of the Salusan summer, Venport felt the usual disorientation of adjusting to a new world. He conducted business across the League and on a handful of Unallied Planets. Sometimes it was spring at the place he needed to visit on one world, winter at another, and summer at yet another.

Zimia was surprisingly hot, and the surrounding hills were parched golden brown. During his wait for a VenKee groundcar to take him to his company’s regional headquarters, perspiration formed on his brow. He had not expected his hired driver to be late.

He was surprised when a long black state vehicle glided up to him and stopped. The rear door slid open. Serena Butler sat inside, her expression neutral. “Come with me, Directeur Venport. We have delayed your own car, so that you and I might have the opportunity to talk.”

A shiver of foreboding ran down his spine. “Of course, Priestess.” He had never spoken directly with this eminent woman before, but decided instantly that this must take priority over all other obligations. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“A matter of vital interest to the Jihad.” She smiled, gesturing for him to take the seat across from her. “And possible treason.”

He hesitated, then climbed inside, wiping his brow. “Treason?” The door slid shut, and he felt a soothing rush of cool air. He began to feel even more surprised and uneasy. “I’ll need to postpone another business meeting with a pharmaceutical competitor. May I have the liberty of contacting my associate?”

Serena shook her head and fixed him with a hard look, her lavender eyes full of questions. “We have already canceled that meeting— and you should thank us. According to Yorek Thurr, your competitor intended to blackmail you in order to obtain financial concessions. He never had any interest in selling his drug operations.”

“Blackmail?” Venport shrugged dismissively, knowing he had not left himself open to such vulnerabilities. “Your spies must be mistaken.”

“They are not.” She leaned toward him as the vehicle glided forward. “We are aware of the activities of VenKee Enterprises on Kolhar. We know you have built a fleet of new ships— vessels which, according to reliable reports, use a remarkably fast method of space travel, far swifter than anything available even to the Army of the Jihad. Is this true?”

“Yes…”Venport tried not to show alarm. He wondered exactly how much Serena Butler knew about the space-folding engines and the shipyards. Remembering how many people had been accused of ties to the thinking machines during the great purges over the past few decades, he knew it would be unwise to earn the distrust of either Serena Butler or the Jipol. “I am a businessman, Madame. I make investments, develop proprietary technologies. It is necessary to protect such information—”

Serena’s face was cold, and he detected hints of how deep her anger ran. His words stumbled to a halt.

“We are at war with the greatest enemy the human race has ever faced, Directeur! If you have developed a militarily viable technology, how can you withhold it from our brave fighters? The Jihad Council takes the position that hiding any potentially vital breakthrough— such as these vessels seem to be— constitutes treason.”

As the private groundcar continued to move alone, Venport tried to understand what was going on. “Treason? That’s ridiculous. No one is more loyal to the cause of humanity than I am. I have already donated vast sums—”

Serena arched her eyebrows. “Yet you have kept a promising technology to yourself. Not a very convincing demonstration of your loyalty.”

He calmed himself in a way that Norma had taught him, taking deep breaths and trying to visualize his way through the situation. “Priestess Butler, you are jumping to some rather unfair conclusions. It is true I have built an extensive shipyard complex on Kolhar. We have produced some ships and are experimenting with a new spaceflight system that allows VenKee vessels to… travel without the use of traditional propulsion.” He spread his hands. “I am ignorant of the nuances. My wife, Norma Cenva, developed the principle based on modifications to Holtzman’s equations.”

“At my direction, Iblis Ginjo has examined VenKee records and traced your expenditures. It seems you have been building these shipyards and your vessels for a decade now. By now you should have had ample opportunity to inform the Jihad Council about your work. Did you not realize how critical this technology might be to our war efforts?”

Venport began to feel warm. Serena shook her head, as if she could not understand him. “Directeur, can’t you see? Those ships would be a vital asset to the Army of the Jihad! With them we could strike a decisive blow against the Synchronized Worlds. We finally stand a chance of achieving victory before our people simply give up. The protesters have been demanding peace for years.”

Venport frowned. “But the technology isn’t ready for widespread use yet, Priestess. Travel on these new ships is still extremely dangerous. The navigation systems are not reliable. Yes, the ships have an entirely innovative method of propulsion, but our loss rate is incredibly high. We have experienced a number of disasters due to inaccurate navigation. Incorrectly guided space-folding ships can strike suns, populated planets, moons— anything that gets in the way. Many of our test pilots refuse to board the vessels again after only one or two flights.” He went on to provide crash and damage statistics. “I choose not to ride in them myself.”

“I am told that in spite of the dangers you began to use the new ships commercially more than a year ago. Is this true?”

“Only provisionally, and we have lost a great many of them—”

She cut him off. “If you can find captains willing to take the risk, Directeur Venport, do you have any doubt that I can find jihadi volunteers to fly our military missions? Is your loss rate any greater than the percentage of casualties we suffer in a Synchronized World offensive?”

Hearing her, he began to feel shame that he had not considered this earlier. His attention had been focused more on profits than on winning the war.

“Such vessels would give us a tremendous element of surprise against the enemy,” she continued with greater fervor. “They would enable us to deliver war messages and intelligence reports, to transport troops and provide materiel faster than ever before, thus gaining important tactical and strategic advantages over the thinking machines. Are those gains not more than enough to compensate for the cost in personnel, should we lose a few ships?”

“It is… more than a few ships, Priestess.”

Serena looked out the window of the vehicle at the tall buildings of Zimia. “We have been embroiled in outright war with Omnius for decades, Directeur, and many of our people have lost their resolve. Last year, I traveled to the isolated home of the Ivory Tower Cogitors, hoping they would assist us in our efforts against the thinking machines, but thus far we have heard no response. I fear they intend to let me down.” She turned to look at him, her eyes like lasers. “I trust you will not do the same, Directeur Venport.”

He knew she would not be swayed. “Perhaps, Priestess, we could negotiate an exclusive confidentiality agreement, allowing our military access to the new Holtzman engine design, so long as it doesn’t fall into the hands of any other merchant or—”

“Our engineers would like to study the design, of course, but it would take our army too much time to construct an entire fleet.” She smiled calmly at him. “How many vessels do you currently have, and when can we start refitting them as Jihad battleships?”

Venport drew deep breaths, wondering if his business empire was about to crumble. “Our merchant vessels, Priestess Butler, are merely cargo ships, not combat craft.”

She waved a hand casually, continued to smile. The Jihad had been her life for so long that she recognized nothing else as being more important— for herself, or for anyone else. “I’m sure our engineers can make appropriate modifications. Your facilities and shipyards are already in place on Kolhar— far from the main spaceways, easy to secure. A good choice, strategically.”

He fought to control his helplessness. “Priestess, please understand that in order to finance the shipyards and the whole operation, I was forced to mortgage virtually all of VenKee’s holdings. This is the most expensive undertaking in the history of my company. We barely manage to pay our creditors, as it is. Your proposal would completely ruin us.”

Serena was clearly disappointed by his inability to see the larger picture. “Aurelius Venport, we have all made extreme sacrifices for the Jihad… some of us more than others.
Every
human being will be ruined if we lose this war.” She sighed. “If you wish to propose a system under which we can begin making use of your fleet immediately, we might find some means to compensate you down the road and reduce the impact of your accumulated debt— but that isn’t important right now, is it?”

To him, it was extremely important, but the Priestess continued to sweep along with her ideas. Venport did not see any way to stop her politely. If she chose to use it, Serena had the power to raise her hands and summon soldiers to take over the shipyards. Or, if the rumors were true, she could have her Jipol simply take care of him quietly.

In the past, whenever he had been backed into a corner in business negotiations, Venport had found that the best response was to sound reasonable but make no binding decisions and let the problem cool for a while. “I need some time to discuss this with my associates and put together a proposal. There are many considerations. I have numerous investors and financial responsibilities to—”

Serena’s gaze was icy. The vehicle stopped and the door slid open with a blast of hot, humid air. “We have the ability to change laws, if need be, to give you full power to make the correct decision, Directeur Venport.”

“Even so… please allow me to return to Kolhar and consider a solution to this matter that will satisfy everyone involved.”

“Then by all means do so, Directeur. But I will have no patience for any negotiation whose only goal is to preserve your profit margins. Do not keep me waiting.”

“I understand. I will make it my highest priority.”