Since the time of Aristotle of Old Earth, humankind has sought more and more knowledge, considering it a benefit to the species. But there are exceptions to this, things man should never learn to do.
— RAYNA BUTLER,
True Visions
It was her life’s work. Rayna Butler could not conceive of another passion, another driving goal to compare with this. The intense woman never allowed herself to believe that the challenge was too great. She had dedicated her every breath for twenty years to exterminating any remnant of the sophisticated machines.
Once the Synchronized Worlds had been beaten in the Great Purge, Rayna and her fanatical followers had decided to complete the exhausting job, from within the League of Nobles. Not a scrap would remain. Human beings would do their own work, solve their own problems.
Still pale-skinned and hairless, she walked at the head of an ever-growing crowd that marched along the tree-lined streets of Zimia. Tall buildings, soaring high over complex monuments, defiantly declared humanity’s victory after the century-long Jihad. But there was still much to do.
Rayna stepped forward, looking lean and waifish, yet filled with charisma. Crowds of Cultists pressed after her, their murmured determination growing louder as she approached the Hall of Parliament, her goal. Though she led all these people, she wore a plain robe without insignia or trappings. Rayna had no interest in gaudiness— unlike the Grand Patriarch. She was a simple and devout adherent to a holy cause. She had guided her followers and focused their passion to follow the shining white vision of Serena.
Behind her, people shouted and chanted, lifting banners and pennants that were embroidered or stained with images of Serena Butler and Manion the Innocent. For a long time, Rayna had discounted the icons and stylized images, preferring a more concrete expression of her mission for humanity. But she’d come to understand that the many brutally loyal followers of the Cult of Serena required their comforting paraphernalia. She finally accepted the standard bearers, so long as enough of her people also carried cudgels and weapons to do the necessary smashing.
Now she continued her march down the wide boulevard leading the throng. More streamed in from side streets, some merely curious, others sincerely wishing to join Rayna’s crusade. After years of planning, here at the heart of the League of Nobles on her family’s homeworld of Salusa Secundus, Rayna Butler could finally achieve her dream.
“We must continue to negate all machines that think,” she called. “Humans must set their own guidelines. This is not something machines can do. Reasoning depends upon programming, not upon hardware— and we are the ultimate program.”
But before she could get too close, a group of nervous-looking Zimia guards blocked the plaza in front of the Hall of Parliament. The security troops wore personal shields that hummed and shimmered in the sudden silence as Rayna paused in front of them. Her followers stumbled to a halt, catching their breath.
An angry grumble rose up from the Cultists. They held their cudgels and prybars, just as anxious to smash unbelievers as machines. The guards, milk-faced with dread and anxiety, were clearly not pleased with this assignment to stop Rayna’s march, but they followed orders.
If Rayna commanded her followers to sacrifice themselves to make the larger point, there were not enough soldiers to prevent the mob from charging recklessly forward. But the Zimia guards did have sophisticated weapons, and many of Rayna’s people would die— unless she could resolve this. She squared her shoulders and lifted her pallid chin.
In the center of the cordon of soldiers, a female burseg took one step closer to the pale-skinned young woman. “Rayna Butler, my soldiers and I have been instructed to block your passage. Please tell your followers to disperse.”
The Cultists muttered angrily, and the officer lowered her voice, speaking so only Rayna could hear. “I apologize. I understand what you’re doing— my parents and sister were killed by the Demon Scourge— but I have my orders.”
Rayna looked intently at her, saw that the burseg meant what she said, that the woman had a good heart but would not hesitate to tell her troops to open fire. Rayna did not answer at first, considering possibilities, then she said, “The machines have already killed enough people. There is no need for humans to kill other humans.”
The burseg did not order her soldiers to stand down. “Nevertheless, madam, I cannot allow you to pass.”
Rayna looked back at the crowds on the streets. She and her followers had been to many devastated League Worlds in the past year, and they had recently returned to the capital. She saw hundreds, even thousands of faces, all of them with a grudge against Omnius. Every person there needed to strike a blow against the demon machines. If she gave a signal, she could incite all of these fanatical followers to rip the guards limb from limb….
But she was not willing to do that.
“Wait here, my friends,” Rayna called to them. “Before we can proceed, there is something I must accomplish alone.” With a placid smile, she turned back to the burseg. “I can keep them at bay for now, but you must escort me into the Hall of Parliament. I request a private audience with my uncle, the Interim Viceroy.”
Taken aback, the burseg looked at her fellow soldiers and at the overwhelming crowd— still chanting, waving banners, and gripping crude weapons. Wisely, she took a step back and nodded. “I will arrange it. Follow me, please.”
* * *
RAYNA HAD LED her destructive marches against the thinking machines since she’d been a girl on Parmentier. She was thirty-one now, and for years the Cult of Serena had been solidifying around her, especially once they learned that the thin woman with ghostly features and haunted eyes was a blood relative of Saint Serena Butler. Her passionate movement had grown in strength and momentum, first across the plague-ravaged worlds and then everywhere.
The disheartened people listened to her message, saw the fire in her eyes— and they believed. With their civilizations already wrecked and their populations decimated, Rayna demanded that they destroy all appliances and conveniences that would have helped them to rebuild their lives. But those who survived were the strongest the human race had to offer, and under her potent leadership they picked up the pieces with their own hands and reassembled their societies. Rayna’s ardent message convinced them. Though they faced difficulties, the crowds shouted and prayed, calling out the revered name of Serena.
When her followers chanted her name along with those of the Three Martyrs, Rayna stood fast and tried to stop them. She did not want to be seen as a prophet or pretender to any throne. She protested when the Cult elevated her and declared her the greatest human since Serena Butler. Once, when Rayna noticed to her shame that such worship gave her an unexpected thrill of pleasure, she had stripped herself and sat naked all night on a cold rooftop, crouched against the biting wind, praying for forgiveness and guidance. There was a clear danger in letting herself become a powerful figurehead, followed by too many people without question.
She was finally ushered into the offices of Interim Viceroy Faykan Butler. Rayna knew that her uncle was a skilled politician, and somehow the two of them would have to negotiate an appropriate solution. The young woman was not na?ve enough to think that she could simply make her demands, nor did she want to force Faykan into ordering a regrettable massacre. Rayna feared what might happen to her holy legacy if she were made into another martyr like Serena.
Behind the closed door of his private office, Faykan embraced his niece, then held her at arm’s length to look at her. “Rayna, you are my brother’s daughter. I love you dearly, but you certainly cause a great deal of trouble.”
“And I intend to continue causing trouble. My message is important.”
“Your message?” Faykan smiled and went back to his desk, offering her a cool beverage, which she declined. “That may be so, but who can hear your message above screams and shouts, and the wild smashing of plaz and metal?”
“It must be done, Uncle.” Rayna remained standing, though Faykan sat back in his plush Viceroy’s chair. “You have seen what the thinking machines can do. Do you intend to have your troops stop me? I would rather not have you for my enemy.”
“Oh, I don’t object to the results you desire. I simply have problems with your methods. We have a civilization to think about.”
“My methods have been successful so far.”
The Interim Viceroy sighed and took a long sip of his drink. “Allow me to make you a proposal. I hope you’ll grant me that much?”
Rayna remained silent, skeptical but willing to consider her uncle’s words.
“Though your main goal is to obliterate thinking machines, you must admit that your followers often… get out of hand. They cause massive amounts of collateral damage. Look around you at Zimia, see how much we have rebuilt after cymek and robot attacks, after the piranha mites. This place is the capital of all League Worlds, and I simply cannot let your unruly mob run rampant through the streets, smashing and burning.” He folded his fingers together, still smiling. “So please don’t force me to do something that will harm everyone. I don’t wish to have my guards open fire on your followers. Even if I attempted to minimize the casualties, it would still be a bloody massacre.”
Rayna stiffened, but she knew that Faykan’s words were true. “Neither of us wants that.”
“Then may I suggest a more lasting solution? I will let you make your announcements across Salusa. You can ask people to surrender their supposedly corrupt machines and appliances. I’ll even let you hold a great rally to destroy them. Have as large a crowd as you wish! But when you march through the streets of Zimia, you must do it in an orderly fashion.”
“Not all people will voluntarily surrender their conveniences. They have been too seduced and corrupted by the machines.”
“Yes, but a great many of them will be swept up in the emotional fervor you incite, young woman. I can introduce appropriate legislation that will forbid the development of any devices or circuits that even remotely resemble gelcircuitry computers.”
Rayna clenched her jaw and leaned over the table. “I have heard the commandment directly from God: Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of the human mind.”
Faykan smiled. “Good, good. We can use that wording in the laws that I propose.”
“There will be exceptions, people will refuse— “
“Then we will punish them,” Faykan promised. “Believe me, Rayna, I will make this happen.” His eyes narrowed as his face took on a calculating expression. “However, there is one thing you can do for me to ensure that I have sufficient power to help you.”
Rayna remained silent, while Faykan continued. “At the start of this Jihad, Serena Butler took only the title of Interim Viceroy, claiming she did not deserve the formal title ‘until such time as the thinking machines were destroyed.’ Yes, the thinking machines remain a thorn in our side at Corrin, but the real Jihad is over. The enemy is defeated.” He pointed at Rayna. “Now, young woman, if you will stand beside me, as my niece and the leader of the Cult of Serena, I will take on the title of full Viceroy. It will be a great day for humanity.”
“And this will allow you to pass laws forbidding all thinking machines throughout the League? You will enforce these laws?”
“Absolutely, especially here on Salusa Secundus,” Faykan pledged. “On the more primitive frontier League Worlds, though, you and your Cult may have to continue your work, however you see fit.”
“I accept your terms, Uncle,” Rayna said. “But with this warning— if you do not achieve what you have promised, then I will return… with my army.”