Military victory should not be subject to interpretation or negotiation. It should be clear-cut and undisputed by all, without compromises.
— SUPREME BASHAR VORIAN ATREIDES,
from his guest lecture series
The Vengeance Fleet prepared to leave Salusa Secundus, bound for Corrin. The ships were crewed by veterans of the Jihad, regular soldiers in the Army of Humanity, and fiery members of the Cult of Serena.
Fast spacefolder scouts raced to the watchdog fleet that had maintained its position around the last Synchronized World, informing them that the immense battle group was coming. One final battle, and then their vigil could end.
The thinking machines knew nothing about their imminent destruction.
Forced to attend the elaborate send-off ceremony when he could have been attending to more important details, Vorian Atreides remained at attention on the spaceport tarmac, watching the last ships being loaded. The League had become addicted to pomp and fanfare.
He turned as Viceroy Butler approached, carrying a small blue box draped in golden ribbons. The Viceroy wore his formal robe of office and a small but noticeable badge that signified his connection with the Cult of Serena. Vor couldn’t believe the son of Quentin Butler truly accepted the insistent antitechnology message promulgated by his niece and her Manifesto, but Rayna’s movement had achieved such power that the Viceroy could see which direction the political winds were blowing.
Faykan still had not permitted the appointment of a new Grand Patriarch, now claiming that the offensive against Omnius should take priority. Vor suspected that the man had another agenda, and was just stalling.
Pallid Rayna Butler sat at the front of the reviewing stand, her eyes intent. Sincere well wishers and bright-eyed fanatics thronged the tarmac, carrying white banners emblazoned with the bloodred silhouette of Serena Butler. The crowd cheered, and shouted Vor’s name along with curses directed at Omnius.
Like a man climbing a mountain, Vor fixed his attention on the single point ahead, the summit, the goal of destroying the last evermind. Though he didn’t like what the Cultists stood for, he would take advantage of every fighter, every resource. All that he had accomplished over a century of the Jihad would culminate in this last battle, and the thinking machines would never again be a threat to the human race. But from what he saw of the restless and angry crowd of Rayna’s followers, he had no doubt they would continue to find enemies and scapegoats to keep their adrenaline flowing.
His flagship ballista, the LS Serena Victory that he had flown during the Great Purge, towered off to one side of the landing field, along with several other key ships. Most of the main war vessels waited in orbit.
Through it all, as busy as he was, Vor had not forgotten his recent promise to Abulurd, that he would work to restore the good name of Xavier Harkonnen as soon as they returned.
The honor guard of the Army of Humanity performed an extravagant display for the crowd. Following their traditional lockstep maneuvers, the honor guard formed a firing squad line and pointed loud projectile rifles at facsimile thinking machines chained to posts. The robot simulacra blinked their sensors, as if pleading for their lives. One by one, the mock robots were destroyed to wild cheers, leaving little more than sparks and smoke. The dramatic staged event was transmitted all over Salusa Secundus and stored for delivery to other League Worlds, where large crowds could also participate in the festivities.
“Just a warm-up before sending off the new Vengeance Fleet,” Faykan Butler said in a voice that boomed across the spaceport. Rayna sat beside her uncle, as if her power was equivalent to the Viceroy’s.
Those two are a dangerous combination, Vor thought, glancing from Faykan to Rayna. The veteran officer wished he could just go and fight the thinking machines in a direct battle, but it wasn’t going to happen that way. The foolish Viceroy and his niece intended to accompany the fleet in their own diplomatic spacecraft, which would only complicate the critical battle. Now he not only had to worry about the thinking machines, he was also concerned about the Butlers taking some ill-advised action in the thick of battle.
Some of the Cultists wanted to use the Holtzman engines to launch the Vengeance Fleet immediately to Corrin. But even Vor’s impatience and determination had not rendered him foolhardy enough to risk losing a tenth of his force in the jump. Norma Cenva, always working on the problem, claimed to have discovered a safe method of navigating the ships, but apparently only she could do it. One vessel at a time.
It was not good enough. For twenty years, the watchdog fleet had kept Omnius imprisoned at Corrin. The last thinking machines would have no reason to think the situation was about to change. Vor would contain his own anger and impatience. Just a month more, and it would all be over….
Now, as the spectacular show ended with a flourish, Faykan peeled back the ribbons and opened the blue box, extending it to Vor, who saw sparkling golden insignia inside the container and suppressed a sigh. Another new military bauble to wear.
With clean, manicured fingers, the Viceroy removed the new insignia and proudly handed it to his Supreme Bashar. Faykan’s voice echoed from speakers around the tarmac. “Vorian Atreides, in honor of our new military mission to Corrin, I hereby grant you another title: Champion of Serena, a man who represents the interests of the League of Nobles, the Cult of Serena, and all of free humanity!”
The crowd cheered, as if the label made any difference. “Thank you, Viceroy.” Vor maintained a cool expression. “Now, enough of these frivolous ceremonies. It is time for our ships to depart. Omnius is waiting.” He tucked the insignia into an inside pocket, out of view.
The Viceroy raised his arms high. “To Corrin! To Victory!”
“To Corrin,” Rayna said.
All of Rayna’s followers stood from the reviewing stands like a flock of birds preparing to take wing. They echoed her shout with a roar. “To Corrin!”
Vor couldn’t wait to get on with it.
* * *
HIS FLAGSHIP LIFTED off first, followed by the other ceremonial ships, joining the mass of military equipment and personnel already assembled in orbit. With his eyes hard and his expression intent, Vor surveyed the command bridge while his executive officer, Bashar Abulurd Harkonnen, looked over at him. Vor was glad to have someone cool-headed, an officer he could rely on, at his side.
“We are ready to depart, Supreme Bashar— I mean, Champion Atreides.”
Vor scowled. “I prefer to use the rank I actually earned, Abulurd. Leave that ‘Champion’ nonsense for your brother and his glorious spectacles.” He still carried his new insignia in his uniform pocket and had no intention of putting it on.
“Yes, sir. This will be the end of an era.” Abulurd’s eyes became somewhat misty. “And afterward, we will restore Xavier to his rightful place in history— if you will still help me?”
“You have my word. I was there at the beginning of the Jihad, and I intend to see the last detail finished. Only then can I leave the future to you and your children, Abulurd.” Through the screen, Vor stared at the stars, focusing his mind on the last, far-off Synchronized World. “Order the Vengeance Fleet to set course.”
This entire new generation of fighters, while eager and instilled with religious fervor, had not seen direct combat in the twenty years the thinking machines had been trapped on Corrin. Even Abulurd was starry-eyed with tales of glory, in spite of— or perhaps because of— the grievous losses his family had already sustained.
Nearby, in orbit, the diplomatic craft carried the Viceroy and Rayna Butler. Though it was outfitted with the latest technology and weapons, Faykan’s ship was more for show than combat. The bulk of its crew and passengers were untrained noblemen and representatives with no battle experience, spectators who wanted to be at the Corrin battlefield without participating, so that they could tell later generations they had been there. Vor intended to ignore them entirely. He had made it abundantly clear that he was in command of this operation, not Faykan or Rayna.
For her part, young Rayna was a conundrum, a walking clash of ideologies and actions. She professed to loathe technology and went about eradicating even the most rudimentary machines, whether they had computer systems or not. Yet, despite her fervent beliefs, she grudgingly agreed to ride in spaceships, which were very advanced machines. After a moment’s hesitation, she had responded, “A spaceship is a necessary evil, which I shall use to spread my messages. I am certain God and Saint Serena will grant us dispensations. Ultimately, when the time is right, when such craft are no longer of use to me, I will have them destroyed as well.”
Such plans did not inspire Vorian with confidence.
Given the massive firepower of the Vengeance Fleet, along with the military vessels already stationed around Corrin, Vor was confident of victory. At this point, after so many years of service, he would hold nothing back and throw everything into this final strike. Everything.
The past two decades of the League’s hesitation and ineffectiveness had clearly demonstrated that he would never get another chance such as this.
In the final analysis, the battle would not be simple. Many of these ships and crews would be lost when they faced the extraordinary defenses of the machine fleet. The upcoming engagement would be an old-fashioned brawl… a bloodbath.
Privately, Vor said a prayer and steeled his jaw in determination. The Vengeance Fleet launched for Corrin.