The Battle of Corrin

If thinking machines have no imaginations, how is it that they continue to conceive such horrors to unleash against us?
— BATOR ABULURD HARKONNEN,
“Zimia Incident Report”
All of the Zimia security inspectors and curious bystanders who ran to the pod crash sites were killed. Even remote images went blank within seconds as the deadly flying machines devoured everything in their path. All contact was cut off.

Suspecting the worst from Omnius, Vor rallied the home guard regiments, ordering weaponry and fighters to surround the pod landing sites. Standing at his side, Abulurd Harkonnen helped implement his commander’s every instruction. The Supreme Bashar was like an angry Salusan bull, and no one dared stand in his way.

“I told them we had to remain vigilant,” Vor grumbled to Abulurd. “I told them not to let their guard down. You even brought us a direct warning, and still they wouldn’t listen!”

“Given a few years of peace, people quickly forget what urgency feels like,” Abulurd agreed.

“And now that we’re faced with some new attack from Omnius, we respond like scuttling rodents!” Vor made a disgusted sound.

Even before they knew details of the threat, Abulurd coordinated detachments of soldiers stationed in the city districts nearest the crash sites. Using emergency powers, he activated and dispatched any mercenaries who remained under contract with the Army of Humanity.

The coffin-sized projectiles had crash-landed in a broad zone. Elemental resources churned through fabricators in a widening factory maw, and swarms of insatiable devices— each the size of a ball bearing— spewed forth from the automated factories. Each one had a power source, simple programming, and very sharp jaws. Like piranhas, they sought out any human form, then attacked and devoured.

As people fled, the mechanical mites buzzed about on a mission of unrelenting destruction, swarming to strip their victims down to shreds of dripping flesh and splinters of gnawed bone. Soldiers in uniform, as well as citizens in tight-fitting slacks and shirts, seemed to be particular targets. Women and priests in flowing robes, and old men in tall retromodern hats, avoided notice for a time, but the voracious flying mites swarmed back around to take a second look— and then attacked.

People ran screaming through the streets, dropped in their tracks before they could find shelter. Like relentless sausage grinders, the piranha mites burrowed through bodies in random courses, disgorging mangled meat. As soon as each victim dropped, the tiny machines buzzed upward again and sought new targets.

The first wave of responding soldiers was cut down quickly. Piranha mites slammed into them like killer bees, but some of the fighters switched on their personal shields to block the onslaught. Others were not so quick to activate their shields, and when the mites hit them, they fell as if sprayed with toxic gas. Their hand weapons were useless against the sheer numbers of mechanical attackers.

Even shielded people succumbed eventually as the mites battered against the Holtzman barriers, probing, exploring, until they stumbled on the trick of slow penetration. Blood and cellular tissue splashed inside the shimmering force walls. Within moments, the trapped mites destroyed the generator apparatus, the shield bubbles faded, and the bloody mites rocketed outward.

More and more of the attackers swarmed through the air. Families ran into buildings and vehicles, sealing themselves inside, but the mites followed and always found ways to get through. There were no hiding places.

In a widening radius, collector devices scoured for available metals and added them to the voracious processors to create more and more flying hunters. The crashed machine cylinders opened wider, dug deeper, and mites continued to fly outward like a cloud of buckshot. The mobile factories sent out brute-force gatherers that demolished Zimia structures for their resources, stripping the buildings down to remove metals and other necessary elements.

The perimeter of destruction widened.

* * *
ABULURD FOLLOWED SUPREME Bashar Atreides as they rushed to the scene of the nearest infestation. When Vor bellowed orders, the inexperienced Zimia soldiers were too frightened to hesitate. He and Abulurd established a temporary sealed command center not far from the first impact point. Pandemonium ruled in the streets. Citizens locked themselves in sheltered rooms and closets, trying to hide from the self-propelled bullets with sharp teeth.

Less than an hour had passed since the first landing, and already thousands had died.

Finally, the League’s artillery came within firing range. Abulurd checked the manifests. “The shells are loaded with high explosives. Our gunnery officers say they’re ready to fire. One direct hit should take out that factory, and then we can clean up the mess.”

Vor’s brow furrowed. “Give the order to fire, but don’t expect it to be that easy. Omnius undoubtedly built in numerous protective systems.” He gestured with one hand. “However, the sooner we know what those defenses are, the faster we can find ways to circumvent them.”

A barrage of artillery shells pounded outward in short arcs, flying point-blank toward the nearest factory pit. As the explosives dropped toward the target, clouds of piranha mites swirled like smoke around the open production mouth. The voracious devices clustered together, as if they could form a barricade against the infalling projectiles. Hordes of mites connected to each other with sticky interfaces, clustering into various shapes, setting up large obstructions.

Then the mite clusters homed in on each incoming shell, like mechanical leeches. They dismantled the shells in midair, ripping them to tiny scraps of metal, which they delivered into the factory maw, where the raw materials were broken down and converted into more of the killer units.

Without direct orders, one foolhardy mercenary swooped over the vicinity in a small armored flyer, and the machine mites targeted him. Thousands of the flying devices clumped along his flyer’s hull, where they began stripping away the metal, the seals, the electronic systems.

As a last gesture, the mercenary managed to drop only one of his explosives. The projectile tumbled down and detonated in the air before the mites could dismantle it entirely. The shockwave merely stirred up the furious mites and caused little damage.

The mercenary’s fighter broke apart. For a moment, the doomed man fell free, flailing in the air, and then the piranha machines zeroed in and ripped him to shreds. He was dead before the tattered remnants of his body struck the ground.

Faced with such a horrific threat, some of the younger soldiers failed to respond to the Supreme Bashar’s orders; dozens had fled their posts. Vorian looked angry, but Abulurd said, “They are inexperienced and unaccustomed to all the awful things the machines can do.”

For a moment, Vor gave the other man a faint smile. “Others might have grown lax, Abulurd, but you have never slackened in your training. We need to find a solution, you and I. Something effective that we can implement immediately.”

“I won’t let you down, Supreme Bashar.”

Vorian looked at him with warm, deep pride. “I know, Abulurd. It’s up to the two of us to save all of these people.”






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