The people welcome me as a conquering hero. I have battled cymeks and I have overthrown thinking machines. But I will not let my legacy stop there. My work is just beginning.
— PRIMERO QUENTIN BUTLER,
Memoirs on the Liberation of Parmentier
After recapturing Honru from the thinking machines, Quentin and his troops spent a month mopping up, helping to rebuild the machine cities and providing aid to the survivors. Half of the mercenaries from Ginaz would remain behind, assigned to oversee the transition and help to root out any remaining robotic infestations.
When those preparations were in place, Primero Butler and his two oldest sons flew to nearby Parmentier with the bulk of the Jihad warships. The fighters were ready for some well-deserved rest, and Rikov was anxious to get back to his wife and their only daughter.
Before the conquest of Honru drove their borders deeper into Omnius’s territory, Parmentier was the closest League World to Sychronized space. Over several decades, human settlers had made remarkable progress in reclaiming Parmentier after the devastating years of machine occupation. Now the rough Synchronized industries had been cleaned, toxic chemicals and wastes discarded, agriculture reestablished, forests planted, rivers dredged and rerouted.
Though Rikov Butler still spent much of his time serving in the Army of the Jihad, he was also a well-liked and effective governor of the human settlement. He waited with his father on the bridge of the flagship ballista, smiling as the serene planet— his home— came into view. “I can’t wait to see Kohe again,” he mused quietly next to the command chair. “And I just realized that Rayna has turned eleven years old. I’ve missed so much of her childhood.”
“You’ll make up for it,” Quentin said. “I want you to have more children, Rikov. One granddaughter is not enough for me.”
“And you can’t have any more children if you never spend time alone with your wife,” Faykan said, nudging his brother. “I’m certain there are lodgings in the city, if you’d rather have the privacy.”
Rikov laughed. “My father and brother are always welcome in our house. Kohe would have a cold bed for me indeed if I turned you away.”
“Do your duty, Rikov,” Quentin said with a mock growl. “Your older brother doesn’t show any inclination to find a wife.”
“Not yet anyway,” Faykan said. “I haven’t found the appropriate political connection yet. But I will.”
“Such a romantic.”
Over the years, Rikov and Kohe had established a fine estate on a hill overlooking Parmentier’s main city of Niubbe. Given time and Rikov’s efficient rule, Parmentier would no doubt become a powerful League World.
When the docked Jihad fleet sent its soldiers and mercenaries down for furlough, Quentin accompanied his sons to the governor’s mansion. Never one to show extraordinary affection in public, Kohe gave her husband a chaste kiss. Rayna, a wide-eyed and straw-haired girl who preferred the company of books to friends, came out to greet them. Their home contained an elaborate shrine to the Three Martyrs. Bright orange marigolds were set out in flower dishes in memory of Manion the Innocent.
But while Kohe Butler was a devout woman who insisted on daily prayers and the proper observances, she was not fanatical like the Martyrists, who had established a foothold here. Parmentier’s populace remembered the oppression the thinking machines had inflicted upon them, and they turned easily to the more militant religions against the machines.
Kohe also saw to it that her family and staff did not partake of the spice melange. “Serena Butler did not use it. Therefore we shall not, either.” Rikov occasionally indulged in the popular vice while out on military maneuvers, but he was on his best behavior at home with his wife.
Young Rayna sat at the table, quiet and polite, her manners impeccable.
“How long can you stay?” Kohe asked her husband.
Feeling magnanimous, Quentin drew himself up. “Faykan has nothing better to do than follow me around and defeat thinking machines, but Rikov has other obligations. I’ve kept him away from you for too long, Kohe. Governing Parmentier is at least as important as serving in the Army of the Jihad. Therefore, under the authority given to me as primero, I grant him an extended leave of absence— for at least a year— so that he may fulfill his duties as political leader, husband, and father.”
Seeing the delighted and surprised expressions on both Kohe’s and Rayna’s faces, Quentin felt warm inside. Taken completely by surprise, Rikov did not know how to react. “Thank you, sir.”
Quentin smiled. “Enough with the formality, Rikov. I think you can call me Father in your own home.” He pushed his plate away, feeling at peace and quite sleepy. Tonight he would rest in a soft bed instead of his bunk in the primero’s cabin. “Now, as for you, Faykan, we’ll take a week to rest and resupply here. The soldiers and mercenaries could use that much. Machines aren’t the only ones that need to recharge their power sources. Then we must be off.”
Faykan gave a curt bow. “A week is most generous.”
* * *
DURING THE DAYS away from duty, Quentin entertained Rikov’s family by telling stories of military exploits during the defense of Ix and how he had been buried alive in a cave collapse. He confessed that dark and confined spaces still made him uneasy. Then he told how he had encountered— and escaped— the Titan Juno herself when he’d commanded a scouting foray to rescue people on the fallen planet of Bela Tegeuse.
His listeners shuddered. Cymeks were even more mysterious and frightening than traditional fighting robots. Thankfully, since turning against Omnius, the Titans had caused little trouble.
Sitting quietly at the end of the table, Rayna listened wide-eyed. Quentin smiled at his granddaughter. “Tell me, Rayna— what do you think of the machines?”
“I hate them! They are demons. If we can’t destroy them ourselves, then God will punish them. That’s what my mother says.”
“Unless they were sent against us because of our own sins,” Kohe said, a cautionary tone in her voice.
Quentin looked from mother to daughter, to Rikov. “Have you ever seen a thinking machine, Rayna?”
“Machines are all around us,” the girl said. “It’s hard to know which ones are evil.”
Raising his eyebrows, Quentin looked proudly at Rikov. “She’ll make a good crusader someday.”
“Or maybe a politician,” Rikov said.
“Ah, well, I suppose the League needs those too.”
* * *
WHEN HIS BATTALION departed, Quentin decided that he would return to Salusa Secundus. There was always business to be done with the League’s government and the Jihad Council, and it had been a year and a half since he’d visited silent Wandra at the City of Introspection.
Over the course of an afternoon, the mercenaries and jihadis shuttled back to the big ships waiting in orbit. Quentin embraced Rikov, Kohe, and Rayna. “I know you long for the old days when you and your brother were wild soldiers fighting the machines, my son. I did it myself as a young man. But consider your responsibilities to Parmentier, to your family.”
Rikov smiled. “I certainly won’t argue. Staying here, at peace, with Kohe and Rayna— it’s a thoroughly satisfactory assignment. This planet is under my stewardship. It’s time I settled down and truly made it my home.”
Donning his military cap, Quentin climbed aboard the captain’s shuttle and left for his flagship. The group of vessels ran through checklists preparatory to departure. Each ballista and javelin was fully supplied and fueled, ready to begin the long journey back to the League’s capital world. When they had pulled away from orbit and were preparing to leave the Parmentier system, his technicians spotted an incoming flurry of small projectiles like a meteor storm, flying a course that did not appear to be random. “We have to assume they’re enemy objects, sir!”
“Turn about and alert the planetary defenses!” Quentin shouted. “All vessels, reverse course— back to Parmentier!” Though his soldiers responded instantly, he saw that they could not arrive in time. The torpedoes, clearly artificial and almost certainly of machine origin, headed straight for Parmentier.
Down on the surface, Rikov sounded alarms, and sensors plotted the paths of the incoming projectiles. From a much greater distance, the Jihad ships streaked in, ready to destroy the machine intruders.
But the projectiles disintegrated in the atmosphere. They caused no destruction. Not a single one made it to the ground.
“What was all that?” Faykan asked, leaning over the shoulder of a sensor technician.
“I suggest we stay and run a full analysis,” Quentin said. “I’ll put these battleships at your disposal, Rikov.”
His son, though, turned him away. “No need, Primero. Whatever those were, they caused no damage. Even if the thinking machines created them, they were klanks, misfires— “
“You still better check it out,” Quentin said. “Omnius is up to something.”
“Parmentier has modern laboratories and inspection equipment, sir. We can do it here. And we have a fully staffed local defense force.” It seemed a matter of pride for Rikov.
Waiting in orbit, Quentin was still uneasy, especially since his own son had been the target. Obviously, the projectiles had been unmanned and unguided. For some reason, they had targeted Parmentier, the closest League planet to the Synchronized Worlds.
“Maybe it was simply a guidance experiment,” Faykan said.
During his career, Quentin had witnessed far, far worse actions committed by the thinking machines. He suspected there must be more than what he saw.
“Maintain high alert status down there,” Quentin transmitted to Rikov. “This could just be the prelude.”
For two days afterward, Quentin dispersed his fleet in a precautionary defensive line at the edge of the system, but no further machine torpedoes came from the gulfs of space. Finally mollified, he saw no reason to remain any longer. After saying another farewell to Rikov, he led his ships away from Parmentier and back to Salusa Secundus.