Only thinking machines see decisions in absolute black and white terms. Anyone with a heart has doubts. It comes with being human.
— BASHAR ABULURD HARKONNEN,
private journals
Reports streamed in from the watchdog vessels and from the decks of the flagship. The Army of Humanity soldiers were profoundly uneasy.
And then the human race would lose the war.
Beside him on the bridge and totally focused on the task at hand, Vor said, “If Omnius believes we will back down now, he is sorely mistaken! This tactic is yet another demonstration of how badly the thinking machines underestimate human determination.”
Across a high-security channel to the LS Serena Victory, the Viceroy spoke again, sounding conciliatory. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty, Champion Atreides. You were quite correct. Although you and I fought side by side in many engagements during the Jihad, I am now the League Viceroy. I’m no longer a military man, so I wash my hands of the decisions here. You alone are in charge of this operation. The military authority, and the responsibility, are yours, with my blessing.”
After separating himself from the impending tragedy, the Viceroy ordered his diplomatic vessel to drop well away from the battlefield over Corrin, taking his niece Rayna and the contingent of noble representatives with him to a safe distance.
“He’s just positioning himself,” Abulurd muttered, in disgust. “Everything my brother does is political, even out here.”
Vorian fixed his stony gaze forward; Abulurd knew his commander was setting an example for the uneasy but dutiful crew members on the bridge. The Supreme Bashar’s comline was linked to all the numerous ships that had come to make their last stand. “We will advance, regardless of the threats made by the thinking machines. I have no intention of stopping now. Damn the machines and their treachery.”
“But, sir, the cost!” Abulurd cried. “So many innocent lives. Now that the circumstances are changed, we have to reconsider— think of another way.”
“There is no other viable way. The risk of waiting is too high.”
Abulurd drew a sharp breath. He had never seen his mentor so determined and implacable. “Omnius is logical. He will not do this if he knows he will be exterminated.”
“His extermination is nonnegotiable,” Vorian said. “We have shed so much blood already, I am willing to spend a few drops more to ensure our victory.”
“A few drops!”
“It is necessary. They were already doomed when we came here.”
“I disagree, sir. The other victims of the Jihad might have been necessary casualties, but not these. The situation is stable enough that we can take a little time to reconsider our options. We should meet with the other officers, see if anyone has— “
Vor turned to the younger officer. “More talk? I have heard interminable, useless discussions in the League for the past twenty years! Oh, it’ll start out as a brief delay, and then the Viceroy will reconsider and ask us to send messengers back to Salusa. Then the nobles will weigh in.” He balled his fists at his side. “We have made too many mistakes in the past, Abulurd, and paid a terrible price for our lack of resolve. That changes today, and forever.”
The commander fixed his gaze on the screen, on the cancerous tumor of Corrin that needed to be excised from the universe. “All weapons active, all ships full forward.”
“But, Supreme Bashar!” Abulurd stood insistently on the bridge. “You know Omnius is not bluffing. If you pass beyond the boundary, the automated destruct sequences will be activated. You’ll be dooming all those people— including Serena and her baby.”
Vor seemed distant. “I’ve done it before. If a handful of victims must become sacrificial lambs here for the future freedom of the human race, so be it.”
“A handful? Sir, there are more than two million— “
“And think of the billions of soldiers who have already died. Serena herself understood that sometimes innocent bystanders become casualties of war.” Now his gray eyes focused on Abulurd, and the younger man thought he saw a stranger there. “Make no mistake— Omnius is executing them, not me. I did not create this situation, and I refuse to accept this as my responsibility. I have enough blood on my hands.”
Abulurd’s heart pounded, and his breaths came quick. He didn’t care how many crew members were listening. “We can take the time we need to consider this carefully, sir. The thinking machines have been imprisoned on Corrin for two decades. Why must you attack now— with more than two million people at risk? Just because our forces are here? Omnius poses no greater threat today than he did yesterday, or the day before.”
Vor’s youthful face went stony and cold, the only way he allowed his displeasure to show. “I allowed Omnius to live at the end of the Great Purge. We suffered from a fatal lack of resolve, even though our jihadis were ready to commit the final effort and pay the ultimate price. We never should have faltered then, and I do not intend to do so again.”
“But why not at least try to mediate a solution, find a way to save some of those people? We can make a calculated strike the way my father and brothers did when they liberated Honru. Our ships are full of fast kindjals and bombers loaded with pulse warheads, and we have a great many Ginaz mercenaries on board. Maybe enough of our mercenaries can slip through and deliver targeted warheads to annihilate Omnius.”
“They will still have to cross the line in space to do that.” The Supreme Bashar’s gaze turned stony. “There will be no further discussion, Bashar. We will proceed and use every weapon at our disposal. History will mark this as the last day of the thinking machines.” Vor leaned forward in his command chair, intent on the tactical screens again.
Abulurd wanted to scream. This is not necessary! His heart felt as if it were being ripped out of his chest. He kept his voice even. “I can’t let you throw away your own humanity like this, Supreme Bashar. We can hold the line here. We have our Vengeance Fleet in place. We can keep the machines bottled up on Corrin for another twenty years until we think of something else. Please, sir, work with me to find an alternative.”
Vorian rose from his command chair, turning with cold fury on his executive officer. The bridge crew was clearly uneasy about the prospects of so much unnecessary slaughter, and Abulurd’s argument was only deepening their doubts.
Vor squared his shoulders and glared. “Bashar Harkonnen, I have made my decision and given my orders. This is not a discussion group.” Raising his voice, he barked at the rest of his bridge crew. “Power up your weapons and prepare for the final plunge.”
“If you do this, Vorian,” Abulurd said, not caring about the consequences, “then you are no better than your father. This is the sort of thing the Titan Agamemnon would have done.”
Like a glowglobe being extinguished, all emotion left Vor’s face. A rigid mask froze on his handsome features, and his voice came out as level and frigid as the ice plains of Hessra. “Bashar Harkonnen, I hereby relieve you of duty. You are confined to your quarters aboard this ship until the culmination of the Battle of Corrin.”
Astonished, Abulurd stared at him, feeling misery well up inside, his eyes filling with a burning sheen of tears. He couldn’t believe it.
Vor turned his back on him and spoke again. “Do you require an armed escort?”
“That will not be necessary, sir.” Abulurd left the bridge— along with his hopes and his career— behind.