The Battle of Corrin

The greatest of mankind’s criminals are those who delude themselves into thinking they have done “the right thing.”
— RAYNA BUTLER,
sermons on Salusa Secundus
Though the Grand Patriarch had been a weak leader, lacking any true vision, Rayna took the opportunity to turn the murdered man into a hero, a figurehead for all to admire. Ironically, she would make sure that Xander Boro-Ginjo accomplished more after his death than he had during his long tenure in office.

The assassination could be a spark to ignite dissent against those who favored corrupt old ways, elevating the simmering Cultist movement to new heights here on Salusa Secundus. Rayna had purified many League Worlds, freeing them of any taint of computerized machinery, any vestige of devices that emulated the sacred human mind.

Though many days had passed, Viceroy Faykan Butler still avoided announcing a successor to the Grand Patriarch, and Rayna thought that perhaps the position should be hers after all. She could use the chain of office to expand the Cult of Serena, giving it the majority appeal that it deserved. It would be just as the vision of the white lady had shown her.

Word slipped quietly among all those who were loyal to her. Zimia and its modern conveniences made some of her followers uneasy, yet new converts kept coming to see Rayna, to hear her… and for the luckiest ones, to touch her.

Almost certainly, her uncle had spies among the Cultists. Some of her zealots had discovered the infiltrators and killed them quietly. Upon learning of it, Rayna had been appalled, since she had never advocated direct violence against human beings, only against mechanical monsters. She ordered that such activities must stop, and her lieutenants grudgingly agreed, though they didn’t look suitably chastened. Perhaps, Rayna thought, they simply no longer intended to tell her about their secret murders.

On this of all days, though, the Cult’s plans had to remain completely confidential. The scheduled march must be a genuine surprise so that the Zimia Guard would not have time to scramble in defense. This demonstration would be far more effective than a general strike.

The Cult of Serena had many more devotees than Faykan Butler suspected. Now, as Rayna in her pristine white robe marched at the head of a mob, the light of the rising sun bathed her pale face. She must look like the shining vision of Serena that Rayna had seen years ago, while suffering from the Scourge.

When it all began, the sounds of breaking glass, smashing metal, and shouts of triumph formed a symphony in her ears. The primal movement swept the half-empty boulevards and surged through the residential complexes. Some bleary-eyed men and women tried to defend their shops and homes. Though Rayna had issued explicit instructions not to harm any innocent people, the Cultists did not consider anyone who resisted to be innocent.

The mob killed recklessly as they grew in force. Some of the shocked populace fled, abandoning homes and businesses. Others, caught up in the fervor, swore sudden loyalty to the Cult of Serena. Rayna’s ranks swelled, and the destruction continued unabated.

The Zimia Guard raced out, trying to pull together an effective response, but many of them were also secret members of the Cult of Serena.

Rayna led her procession forward, advancing on the Hall of Parliament. She wore a beatific smile on her pale face. When they approached the large governmental structure, tramping down the flagstoned streets into a plaza filled with elegant fountains and statues, Rayna was disappointed that Faykan did not come out to face the charged situation. Apparently, the Viceroy had seen fit to be conveniently away on other business. Perhaps he had infiltrators among her people after all.

But even Faykan Butler could not have stopped this tidal wave.

The paltry line of guards wavered and broke when they saw the surge of angry people pounding toward them. Politicians and League representatives fled the assembly chamber through side wings and back exits.

Rayna was surprised to see five brave figures, men in yellow robes, emerge from the arched front entrance. They glided out, with one of them carrying a translucent brain canister as if it were a holy relic. Another two bore a pedestal.

Without pausing, Rayna looked up. The sun dazzled her eyes, but she recognized the last of the Ivory Tower Cogitors. Behind her, the momentum of the mob was too great to be stopped, and she did not slow her pace as she began to climb the long, shallow steps before the Hall of Parliament.

The secondaries erected the pedestal and placed the Cogitor’s canister on its flat surface. When his speakerpatch was connected, Vidad’s words boomed out, “I speak to your humanity! I beg for a moment of sanity. Consider what you are doing.”

Rayna shouted back in a clear voice, “I have spent years considering this, Cogitor Vidad. I have direct inspiration from God, a clear vision from Saint Serena herself. Who can question that?”

“I spoke to Serena long ago, in person,” Vidad said. “You are not wise to deify her. She was just a woman.”

The Cultists grumbled, not wishing to hear that their patron saint had been no more than human.

Rayna climbed another step higher. “You Ivory Tower Cogitors brokered a foolish peace with the thinking machines, with terms so appalling that Saint Serena went to her death so that all could see the true nature of the demon Omnius.” Her voice remained eerily calm. “You were the Judas, Vidad. We will not listen to you this time. We have learned from our mistake, and know how we must fight.”

“Apply your rational thought processes,” the Cogitor said. “Are you truly superior to Omnius if you commit violence against your fellow citizens in the name of purity? The machines you are destroying cannot harm you. Observe objectively. You must— “

“He defends the machines,” someone shouted from the crowd. “And he looks like a cymek! Cymeks, Cogitors— they’re all thinking machines!”

The shouts and roars grew louder. Rayna continued ascending the polished stone steps. “We have had enough of cool, rational thought, Vidad. That is the way of machines. But we are humans, with hearts and passions, and we must complete this painful purge that God and Saint Serena have set for us. You will not stand in our way.”

The rest of the mob swelled behind her, shouting, waving sticks and cudgels, rushing toward the Hall of Parliament.

Vidad’s secondaries tried to stand firm, but at the last moment, two of them faltered and ran off in a flurry of yellow robes, while the other three struggled in vain to protect the vulnerable Cogitor on his pedestal. In the furor, Vidad continued to beg for sanity, but the background noise quickly drowned out the voice from his speakerpatch.

Rayna stood in front of the Cogitor, but her fervid followers pushed forward. Someone jostled the column, and the brain canister wobbled. Then others, out of control now, shoved intentionally. The heavy container toppled and fell, striking the stone steps and cracking. It rolled and bounced, and the crowd cheered. They chased after the fallen canister, pounding it with their pipes and clubs until it shattered.

Rayna considered trying to stop them, but she understood all too well. The zealots saw the Cogitors as anathema, much like the evil Titans: brains without human bodies, kept alive by infernal technology. Thick blue electrafluid flowed on the ground, like blood.

Finally, Rayna turned and surged with her loyal followers into the Hall of Parliament.






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