Loyalty is a clear-cut matter only for those with simple minds and no imagination.
— GENERAL AGAMEMNON,
New Memoirs
In spite of eleven centuries of camaraderie, Juno and Dante didn’t always agree with Agamemnon. Frustrated, the restless cymek general paced in his walker-form, looking for something to smash. His heavy metal footpads scraped the floor of the chamber.
“No, I don’t trust him entirely, even if he is my son,” he said defensively. “But then, I didn’t trust most of the Twenty Titans, either. Remember Xerxes.”
“Don’t you see? It’s too convenient for Vorian to simply strut in here and claim he’s changed his loyalties again, after a hundred years of serving the Jihad.” Juno’s voice normally soothed him, but now it had an abrasive edge.
Agamemnon simmered. “Wouldn’t you go insane living among those people for so long? Vorian was raised and trained in the Synchronized Worlds. He memorized my memoirs and admired my accomplishments, until he was distracted by a woman— call it a youthful rebellion if you like. I believe his reasons are good and sufficient. It is certainly what I would have done.”
Juno twittered with simulated laughter. “So your son is very much like you after all, Agamemnon?”
“Never underestimate the power of blood ties.”
“Never overestimate them either,” Juno said.
* * *
VOR LOOKED SMALL and vulnerable as he stood in the central chamber once inhabited by the Ivory Tower Cogitors, gazing at the intimidating form of his father.
Agamemnon said, “What makes you think you can convince Quentin Butler to ally himself with us, when all our techniques of coercion and brainwashing have failed?”
“That is precisely why, Father,” Vor said. “If you want a military genius to turn his talents toward cymek ends— toward our ends— you can’t simply torture him. You tricked him once, but he is a highly trained military commander. Your methods were all wrong, considering the results you want.”
Vor studied the shielded translucent brain canister holding his father’s age-old brain, as well as the numerous showy compartments where Agamemnon displayed his odd collection of antique weapons.
The general lurched upward like a tarantula ready to spring. “I still don’t believe you or trust you, Vorian.”
“With good reason. You haven’t given me much cause to trust you either.” He gazed calmly at the monstrous walker-form as Agamemnon strode back and forth. This mechanical body was swift and powerful and could tear a mere human limb from limb. Not today, though. “Still, I’m willing to take the gamble. Or are you afraid of me?”
“I have lived long enough to be afraid of nothing!”
“Good, then that’s settled.” Vor never allowed his bluster or his confidence to fade.
The Titan shifted in his walker-form, clearly angry with his son’s boldness, but he restrained himself. “And you think you can do better with Quentin Butler?”
Vor crossed his arms over his chest. He was careful not to flinch in front of the Titan. “Yes, I do, Father. Quentin and I were comrades. I was his superior officer. He respects me, and knows how hard I fought for the Jihad. Even if Quentin disagrees with my choice, at least he will listen to me. That’s more than you’ve achieved so far.”
The cymek’s speakerpatch rasped and vibrated as if Agamemnon were grumbling unspoken complaints. “You may make the attempt,” he finally said. “But bear in mind that this is as much a test of you, Vorian, as it is of him.”
“Everything in life is a test, Father. The moment I fail you again, you won’t hesitate to discipline me.”
“Your next discipline will be your last. Don’t forget that.” But Agamemnon’s words lacked conviction. With so many squandered hopes, the general would not be so quick to dispose of Vorian Atreides.
After all these centuries, Agamemnon thought, I did not expect to have any human emotions left. He hoped none of them showed.
* * *
THE AIR WAS so chilly deep under the glacial layers that Vor could see his own breath wafting upward in steam. One of the neo-cymeks brought him into a cold side chamber where Quentin’s preservation canister had been stored since his rebellion during the cymek attack against Faykan’s group of League ships.
The once magnificent primero, liberator of Parmentier and Honru, commander of Jihad forces, was now nothing more than an inert mass of rippled brain tissue suspended in sparkling blue electrafluid. His canister sat on a shelf like a piece of discarded equipment. After his stunt warning Faykan, he had been taken back to Hessra and dismantled, his brain canister denied access to any cymek body. He was trapped here.
When Vor saw him, words caught in his throat. “Quentin? Quentin Butler!” Appalled, he stepped closer to the preservation container and was about to ask questions of his neo-cymek escort, when he saw the clanking walker back out of the room and scuttle away down a hall. Vor hoped Quentin’s sensors were connected to his thoughtrodes so they could communicate.
“I don’t know how well you can see or recognize me, Quentin. I am Supreme Bashar Vorian Atreides.”
“I see.” The voice came from a speakerpatch on the wall not far from the brain canister. “I see another cheap trick.”
“I am no illusion.” Vor knew that the Titans would be eavesdropping on every word he spoke, so he had to be careful. Every nuance and phrase would be suspect. Somehow, he had to emphasize the truth to Quentin, while not revealing his own secret plans.
“The Titans have manipulated and tormented you, but I am real. I fought beside your sons. I am the one who went to Parmentier and came back with the news that Rikov and his wife were dead from the Scourge. Once, I accompanied you to visit Wandra in the City of Introspection— it was spring, and the blossoms were full on the trees. I told you I always had a soft spot for Wandra because she was Xavier’s youngest daughter. You got angry with me, because I brought the Harkonnen name into our discussion. Do you remember that day, Quentin?”
The retired war hero’s brain remained silent in the canister, then he finally said, “The cymeks know about the laser-shield interaction. I… I told them. They almost destroyed Faykan.”
Knowing that this subject could prove dangerous, Vor introduced a new topic. “Faykan is now the full Viceroy of the League. Did you know that? It happened while you were away with Porce Bludd. You would be very proud of him.”
“I… always was.”
“And your youngest son, Abulurd.” Vor pressed closer to the canister. “I saw to it that he was promoted to bashar, fourth grade. I pinned the insignia on him myself. It was the happiest day of his life, I think, but he was deeply disappointed that you could not be there to see it.”
“Abulurd…” Quentin said, as if the name raised uncertainties in his mind.
Vor knew the veteran warrior had always given his youngest son a cold shoulder. “You have been unfair to him, Quentin.” Vor felt that a stern tone might be most effective. “He is a talented, intelligent young man— and he’s right about the Harkonnen name. I can tell you that the legends you’ve heard about Xavier were mostly lies. He was made into a scapegoat to strengthen the Jihad. I launched a task force to rectify the situation. It is time for those wounds to heal. And Abulurd… Abulurd has never done anything in his service to warrant your disappointment.”
“I have been unfair to my son,” Quentin agreed, “but now it is too late. I can never see him again. I’ve had nothing to do for the past three eternities here but think… and regret all my past mistakes. I hate what I have become. If you are truly loyal to us, if you have any love or respect for me, Vorian Atreides, you will smash my preservation canister on the floor now. I tried to resist, but they have stripped all chance of that from me. I want to die. Perhaps that is the last way I can complicate their plans.”
“That would be far too easy, Quentin.” Vor’s voice took on a sharp edge. He used the commanding tone he had developed over more than a century in the Army of the Jihad. “You are a cymek now. You have an opportunity to fight alongside General Agamemnon. Without you, without me, the cymeks would probably go on a rampage against helpless humans, becoming a new threat as terrible as the thinking machines. You have often told me that Butlers are servants unto no one. True enough. We are leaders, you and I. If we choose to cooperate, we can help shape the interaction between humans and cymeks for the better.”
Vor sounded convincing, even to his own ears. “But the Titans won’t be willing to negotiate until they’ve secured a position of strength. Many times, I myself advocated destroying them. They have good reason to be concerned about the League.
“But our insight could be the key. If you help them with what you know, humanity will have the greatest chance for peace and prosperity. In the long run, if you aid the cymeks, you’ll be saving human lives. Do you see that?” Vor’s vehemence was sufficient that he was sure the eavesdropping Agamemnon and Juno would be convinced. “You have to stop clinging to your prejudices, Quentin. The Jihad is over. A new universe awaits us.”
As he raised his hands, gesturing for emphasis, Vor made certain he was facing the optic sensors connected to Quentin’s thoughtrodes. He made quick, deft gestures with his fingers, the command-level military signals that he and Quentin had used for decades in the Army of the Jihad. The cymeks, long separate from free humanity, were unlikely to practice or be familiar with such a curious means of communication, but Quentin would certainly recognize it. Vor hoped it was enough to prove that he had not in fact switched loyalties, that he had something else in mind. Vor would find a way to spark continued rebellion from a place deep within a brain that thought it was beaten, outmaneuvered, and trapped into compliance. He would show Quentin that there was another way— if they could coordinate a plan.
Quentin remained silent for so long that Vor began to think he hadn’t seen the gestures. Finally, the disembodied brain spoke through the voice amplifier. “You have given me much to consider, Supreme Bashar. I cannot say I agree… but I will think about it.”
Vor nodded. “Excellent.” He departed from the cold chamber, sure now that the two of them would set up Agamemnon for his fall.