DUNE THE BUTLERIAN JIHAD Brian Herbert and Kevin J, Anderson Princess Irulan writes: Any true student must realize that History has no beginning. Regardless of where a story starts, there are always earlier heroes and earlier tragedies. Before one can understand Muad'Dib or the current jihad that followed the overthrow of my father, Emperor Shaddam IV, one must understand what we fight against. Therefore, look more than ten thousand years into our past, ten millennia before the birth of Paul Atreides. It is there that we see the founding of the Imperium, how an emperor rose from the ashes of the Battle of Corrin to unify the bruised remnants of humanity. We will delve into the most ancient records, into the very myths of Dune, into the time of the Great Revolt, more commonly known as the Butlerian Jihad. The terrible war against thinking machines was the genesis of our political- commercial universe. Hear now, as I tell the story of free humans rebelling against the domination of robots, computers, and cymeks. Observe the basis of the great betrayal that made mortal enemies of House Atreides and House Harkonnen, a violent feud that continues to this day. Learn the roots of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, the Spacing ana tneir JNavigators, the Swordmasters of Ginaz, the Suk Medical School, the Mentats, Witness the lives of oppressed Zensunni Wanderers who fled to the desert world of Arrakis, where they became our greatest soldiers, the Fremen. Such events led to the birth and life of Muad'Dib. LONG BEFORE MUAD'DIB, in the last days of the Old Empire, humanity lost its drive. Terran civilization had spread across the stars, but grew stagnant. With few ambitions, most people allowed efficient machines to perform everyday tasks for them. Gradually, humans ceased to think, or dream… or truly live. Then came a man from the distant Thalim system, a visionary who took the name of Tlaloc after an ancient god of rain. He spoke to languid crowds, attempting to revive their human spirit, to no apparent effect. But a few misfits heard Tlaloc's message. These new thinkers met in secret and discussed how they would change the Empire, if only they could overthrow the foolish rulers. Discarding their birth names, they assumed appellations associated with great gods and heroes. Foremost among them were General Agamemnon and his lover Juno, a tactical genius. These two recruited the programming expert Barbarossa, who devised a scheme to convert the Empire's ubiquitous servile machines into fearless aggressors by giving their AI brains certain human characteristics, including the ambition to conquer. Then several more humans joined the ambitious rebels. In all, twenty masterminds formed the core of a revolutionary movement that took over the Old Empire. Victorious, they called themselves Titans, after the most ancient of Greek gods. Led by the visionary Tlaloc, the twenty allocated the administration of planets and peoples among themselves, enforcing their edicts through Barbarossa's aggressive thinking machines. They conquered most of the known galaxy. Some resistance groups rallied their defenses on the fringes of the Old Empire. Forming their own confederation—the League of Nobles—they fought the Twenty Titans and, after many bloody battles, retained their freedom. They stopped the tide of the Titans and drove them back. Tlaloc vowed to dominate these outsiders one day, but after less than a decade in power, the visionary leader was killed in a tragic accident. General Agamemnon took Tlaloc's place as leader, but the death of his friend and mentor was a grim reminder of the Titans' own mortality. Wishing to rule for centuries, Agamemnon and his lover Juno undertook a risky course of action. They had their brains surgically removed and implanted in preservation canisters that could be installed into a variety of mechanical bodies. One by one—as the remaining Titans felt the specter of age and vulnerability—all of the others also converted themselves into "cymeks," machines with human minds. The Time of Titans lasted for a century. The cymek usurpers ruled their various planets, using increasingly sophisticated computers and robots to maintain order. But one fateful day the hedonistic Titan Xerxes, anxious to have more time for his pleasures, surrendered too much access to his pervasive AI network. The sentient computer network seized control of an entire planet, followed quickly by others. The breakdown spread like a virulent infestation from world to world, and the computer "evermind" grew in power and scope. Naming itself Omnius, the intelligent and adaptible network conquered all the Titan-controlled planets before the cymeks had time to warn each other of the danger. Omnius then set out to establish and maintain order in its own highly structured fashion, keeping the humiliated cymeks under its thumb. Once masters of an empire, Agamemnon and his companions became reluctant servants to the widespread evermind. At the time of the Butlerian Jihad, Omnius and his thinking machines had held all of the "Synchronized Worlds" in an iron grip for a thousand years. Even so, clusters of free humans remained on the outskirts, bound together for mutual protection, thorns in the sides of the thinking machines. Whenever attacks came, the League of Nobles defended themselves effectively. But new machine plans were always being developed. When humans created a computer with the ability to collect information and learn from it, they signed the death warrant of mankind. —SISTER BECCA THE FINITE Salusa Secundus hung like a jeweled pendant in the desert of space, an oasis of resources and fertile fields, peaceful and pleasing to the optic sensors. Unfortunately, it was infested with feral humans. The robotic fleet approached the capital world of the League of Nobles. Armored warships bristled with weapons, weirdly beautiful with their reflective alloy coatings, their adornments of antennae and sensors. Aft engines blazed pure fire, pushing the vessels to accelerations that would have crushed mere biological passengers. Thinking machines required no life-support or physical comfort. Currently, they were focused on destroying the remnants of age-old human resistance on the wild outer fringes of the Synchronized Worlds. Inside his pyramid-shaped vessel, the cymek general Agamemnon led the attack. Logical thinking machines did not care about glory or revenge. But Agamemnon certainly did. Fully alert inside his preservation canister, his human brain watched the plans unfold. Ahead of him, the main fleet of robot warships swept into the human-infested system, overwhelming the crews of sur prised sentry vessels like an avalanche out of space. Human picket ships opened fire, defenders swept in to meet the oncoming machine force. Five League sentry vessels fired off heavy salvos, but most of their projectiles were too slow to hit the streaking inbound fleet. A handful of robotic vessels were damaged or destroyed by lucky shots, and just as many human ships exploded in flashes of incandescent vapor—not because they posed a particular threat, but because they were in the way. Only a few distant scouts managed to transmit a warning toward vulnerable Salusa Secundus. Robot battleships vaporized the diffuse inner perimeter of human defenses, without even slowing on their way to their real goal. Shuddering under extreme deceleration, the thinking-machine fleet would arrive not long after the warning signal reached the capital world. The humans would never have time enough to prepare. The robot fleet was ten times the size and power of any force Omnius had ever before sent against the League of Nobles. The humans had grown complacent, having faced no concentrated robotic aggression during the last century of uneasy cold war. But machines could wait a long time, and now Agamemnon and his surviving Titans would finally have their chance. Revealed by a flurry of tiny machine spy probes, the League had recently installed supposedly invincible defenses against gelcircuitry-based thinking machines. The massive robot fleet would wait at a safe distance while Agamemnon and his small vanguard of cymeks pressed forward on a mission, perhaps a suicidal one, to open the door. Agamemnon reveled in the anticipation. Already the hapless biologicals would be sounding alarms, preparing defenses… cowering in fear. Through flowing electrafluid that kept his disembodied brain alive, he transmitted an order to his cymek shock troops. "Let us destroy the heart of the human resistance. Forward!" For a thousand hellish years, Agamemnon and his Titans had been forced to serve the computer evermind, Omnius. Chafing under their bondage, the ambitious but defeated cymeks now turned their frustration against the League of Nobles. One day the once-defeated general hoped to turn against Omnius himself, but thus far had seen no opportunity. The League had erected new scrambler shields around Salusa Secundus. Such fields would destroy the sophisticated gelcircuitry of all AI computers—but human minds could survive the passage. And though they had mechanical systems and interchangeable robotic bodies, cy-meks still had human brains. Thus, they could pass through the defensive shields unscathed. Like a target behind crosshairs, Salusa Secundus filled Agamemnon's field of view. With great attention to detail the general had studied tactical projections, applying the military skills he'd developed over the centuries, along with an intuitive understanding of the art of conquest. His abilities had once allowed a mere twenty rebels to take over an empire… until they'd lost it all to Omnius. Prior to launching this important attack, the computer evermind had insisted on running simulation after simulation, trying to develop plans for every contingency. Agamemnon, though, knew it was futile to plan too precisely when it came to unruly humans. Now, while the immense robot war fleet engaged the expected League orbital defenses and perimeter ships, Agamemnon's mind probed outward from his sensor-connected container, and he felt his guideship as an extension of his long- lost human body. The integral weapons were part of himself. He saw with a thousand eyes, and the powerful engines made him feel as if he had muscular legs again and could run like the wind. 'Prepare for ground assault. Once our dropcarriages penetrate the Salusan defenses, we must strike fast and hard." Recalling that watcheyes would record every moment of the battle for the evermind's later scrutiny once the fleet returned, he added, "We will sterilize this filthy planet for the glory of Omnius." Agamemnon slowed his descent, and the others followed suit. "Xerxes, take the lead. Send in your neo-cymeks to draw their fire and flush them out." Hesitant as usual, Xerxes complained. "Will I have your full support as I go in? This is the most dangerous part of— Agamemnon silenced him. "Be grateful for this opportunity to prove yourself. Now go! Every second you delay gives more time to the hrethgir." This was the derogatory term that intelligent machines and their cymek lackeys used for human vermin. Another voice crackled across the comlink: the robot operator of the machine fleet battling the human protective force orbiting Salusa. "We await your signal, General Agamemnon. Human resistance is intensifying." 'We're on our way," Agamemnon said. "Xerxes, do as I instructed!" Xerxes, who always fell short of complete defiance, stifled further comment and summoned three neo-cymeks, later-generation machines with human minds. The quartet of pyramidal ships shut down their subsidiary systems, and their armored dropcarriages fell unguided into the atmosphere. For a few dangerous moments they would be easy targets, and the League's missile-and-aerial defenses might hit a few of the cluster. But the dropcarriages' dense material shielding would protect them against the brunt of the bombardment, keeping them intact even through a wild crash-landing on the outskirts of the prime city of Zimia, where the main shield-generating towers were located. Thus far the League of Nobles had preserved unruly humanity against the organized efficiency of Omnius, but the feral biologicals governed themselves ineffectively and often disagreed over major decisions. As soon as Salusa Secundus was crushed, the unstable alliance would disintegrate in a panic; resistance would crumble. But first Agamemnon's cymeks had to shut down the scrambler shields. Then Salusa would be defenseless and quivering, ready for the main robot fleet to deal the lethal blow, like a huge mechanical boot squashing an insect. The cymek leader jockeyed his dropcarriage into position, ready to lead the second wave with the rest of the extermination fleet. Agamemnon switched off all computerized systems and followed Xerxes down. His brain floated in limbo inside its preservation canister. Blind and deaf, the general did not feel the heat or violent vibrations as his armored craft roared toward the unsuspecting target. The intelligent machine is an evil genie, escaped from its bottle. —BARBAROSSA, Anatomy of a Rebellion When Salusa's sensor network detected the arrival of the robotic war fleet, Xavier Harkonnen took action immediately. Once again, the thinking machines meant to test the defenses of free humanity. Though he bore the rank of tercero in the Salusan Militia—the local, autonomous branch of the overall League Armada—Xavier had not yet been born during the last real skirmishes against League worlds. The most recent major battle had been nearly a hundred years ago. After all these years, the aggressive machines might be counting on soft human defenses, but Xavier swore they would fail. 'Primero Meach, we've received an urgent warning and a vidstream clip from one of our peripheral scouts," he said to his commander. "But the transmission cut off." 'Look at them all!" squawked Quinto Wilby as he scanned images from the outlying sensor network. The low-ranking officer stood with other soldiers at banks of instrument panels inside a domed building. "Omnius never sent anything like this before." Vannibal Meach, the short but loud-voiced primero of the Salusan Militia, stood in the control center of the planet's defenses, coolly absorbing the flow of information. "Our last report from the perimeter is hours old due to signal lag. By now they've engaged our pickets, and they'll try to get closer. They'll fail, of course." Though this was his first warning of the impending invasion, he reacted as if he had expected the machines to arrive any day. In the control room's illumination, Xavier's dark brown hair glinted with reddish cinnamon highlights. He was a serious young man, prone to honesty and with a tendency to see things in black and white. As a member of the third military ranking tier, Tercero Harkonnen was Meach's backup commander of the local defense outposts. Much admired by his superiors, Xavier had been promoted quickly; equally respected by his soldiers, he was the sort of trusted man they would follow into battle. Despite the sheer size and firepower of the robotic force, he willed himself to calmness, then signaled for reports from the nearest picket ships and put the spaceguard defense fleet on highest alert in close orbit. The warship commanders had already called their crews to battle-ready status as soon as they'd heard the urgent transmission from the now-destroyed scout ships. Around Xavier, automated systems hummed with activity. Listening to the oscillating sirens, the chatter of orders and status reports in the control room, he drew a slow breath, prioritizing tasks. "We can stop them," he said. "We will stop them." His voice carried a tone of firm command, as if he were much older than his years and accustomed to battling Omnius every day. In reality, this would be his first engagement with the thinking machines. Years ago, his parents and older brother had been killed in a mar-rauding cymek attack while en route from an inspection of family holdings on Hagal. The soulless machine forces had always been a threat to the League Worlds, but the humans and Omnius had maintained an uneasy peace for decades. On a wall grid, a map of the Gamma Waiping system showed the orbital locations of Salusa Secundus and six other planets, along with the deployment of sixteen patrol battle groups and the vigilant picket ships that were scattered at random. Cuarto Steff Young hurried to update the tactical projection, plotting her best guess of the location of the approaching robot battle group. 'Contact Segundo Lauderdale, and call in all perimeter warships. Tell them to engage and destroy any enemy they encounter," said Primero Meach, then he sighed. "It'll take half a day at maximum acceleration to retrieve our heavy battle groups from the fringe, but the machines might still be trying to get through by then. Could be a field day for our guys." Cuarto Young followed the order with easy efficiency, dispatching a message that would take hours to reach the outskirts of the system. Meach nodded to himself, going through the much-drilled sequence. Always living under the specter of the machines, the Salusan Militia trained regularly for every scenario, as did Armada detachments for every major League system. "Activate the Holtzman scrambler shields around the planet and issue warnings to all commercial air and space traffic. I want the city's shield transmitter output up to full within ten minutes." 'That should be enough to brain-fry any thinking machine gelcircuitry," Xavier said with forced confidence. "We've all seen the tests." This, however, is not just a test. Once the enemy encountered the defenses the Salusans had installed, he hoped they would calculate their losses to be too heavy, and retreat. Thinking machines didn't like to take risks. He stared at a panel. But there are so many of them. Then he straightened from his summary screens, full of bad news. "Primero Meach, if our velocity data for the machine fleet is correct, even at deceleration speed, they are traveling almost as fast as the warning signal we received from our scouts." 'Then they could already be here!" said Quinto Wilby. Now Meach reacted with sharp alarm, triggering a full emergency alert. "Sound evacuation orders! Open the underground shelters." 'Evacuation under way, sir," reported Cuarto Young moments later, her fingers working the update panels as she spoke. The intent young woman touched a communication wire at her temple. "We're sending Viceroy Butler all the information we have." Serena is with him at the Hall of Parliament, Xavier realized, thinking of the Viceroy's nineteen-year-old daughter. His heart clenched with concern for her, yet he did not dare reveal his fear to his compatriots. Everything in its time and place. In his mind he could see the many threads he needed to weave, doing his part while Primero Meach directed the overall defense. 'Cuarto Chiry, take a squadron and escort Viceroy Butler, his daughter, and all of the League representatives deep into the subterranean s ters. 'They should be heading there already, sir," the officer said. Xavier gave him a stiff smile. "Do you trust politicians to do the smart thing first?" The cuarto ran to do as he was told. Most histories are written by the winners of conflicts, but those written by the losers—if they survive—are often more interesting. —IBLIS GINJO, The Landscape of Humanity Secundus was a green world of temperate climate, W»«,'home to hundreds of millions of free humans in the League of Nobles. Abundant water flowed through open aqueducts. Around the cultural and governmental center of Zimia, rolling hills were embroidered with vineyards and olive groves. Moments before the machine attack, Serena Butler stepped onto the oratory stage in the great Hall of Parliament. Thanks to her dedicated public service, as well as special arrangements made by her father, she had been granted this opportunity to address the representatives. Viceroy Manion Butler had privately counseled her to be subtle, to keep her points simple. "One step at a time, dear one. Our League is held together only by the threat of a common enemy, not by a set of shared values or beliefs. Never attack the lifestyles of the nobles." This was only the third speech of her brief political career. In her earlier addresses, she had been overly strident—not yet understanding the ballet of politics—and her ideas had been met with a mixture of yawns and good-natured chuckles at her naivete. She wanted to end the practice of human slavery that had been adopted sporadically by some League worlds; she wanted to make every human equal, to ensure that all were fed and protected. 'Perhaps the truth hurts. I was trying to make them feel guilty." 'You only made them deaf to your words." Serena had refined her speech to incorporate his advice, while still sticking to her principles. One step at a time. And she, too, would learn with each step. On the advice of her father, she had also spoken to like-minded representatives in private, rallying some support and gaining a few allies ahead of time. Lifting her chin, adjusting her expression to look authoritative rather than eager, Serena positioned herself inside the recording shell that surrounded the podium like a geodesic dome. Her heart swelled with all the good she might be able to do. She felt warm light as the projection mechanism transmitted oversized images of her outside the dome enclosure. A small screen atop the podium allowed her to see herself as they did: a soft face of classical beauty, with hypnotic lavender eyes and amber-brown hair highlighted by natural golden strands. On her left lapel she wore a white rose floweret from her own meticulously tended gardens. The projector made Serena look even more youthful, as the mechanism had been adjusted by nobles to mask the effect of years on their own features. From his gilded box at the front of the audience, round-faced Viceroy Butler, in his finest robes of gold and black, smiled proudly at his daughter. The sigil of the League of Nobles adorned his lapel, an open human hand in gold outline, representing freedom. He understood Serena's optimism, remembering similar ambitions in himself. He had always been patient with her crusades, helping the young woman to rally disaster relief for refugees of machine attacks, letting her journey to other planets to tend to the injured, or dig through rubble and help rebuild burned buildings. Serena had never been afraid to get her hands dirty. 'The narrow mind erects stubborn barriers," her mother had once told her. "But against those barriers, words are formidable weapons." On the floor of the great hall, dignitaries chatted in low tones. Several sipped drinks or munched on snacks that had been delivered to their seats. Just another day in Parliament. Comfortable in their villas and mansions, they would not welcome change. But the possibility of bruised egos did not prevent Serena from saying what needed to be said. She activated the oratory projection system. "Many of you think I have foolish notions because I am young, but perhaps the young have sharper eyesight, while the old grow slowly blind. Am I foolish and naive—or have some of you, in pampered complacency, distanced yourselves from humanity? Where do you fall on the spectrum of what is right and wrong?" Out in the assemblage she saw a flurry of indignation mixed with expressions of rude dismissal. Viceroy Butler shot her a sharp glance of disapproval but transmitted a quick reminder throughout the hall, asking for respectful attention, as would be accorded any speaker. She pretended not to notice. Couldn't they all see the larger picture? "We must each look beyond ourselves if we are to survive as a species. Now is not the time for personal selfishness. For centuries we have confined our defenses to a handful of key planets. Though Omnius has launched no full-scale attack in decades, we live in the constant shadow of the machine threat." Touching pressure pads on the podium, Serena displayed a projection of the stellar neighborhood, like a cluster of gems on the high ceiling. With a wand of light, she pointed out the free League Worlds and the Synchronized Worlds ruled by thinking machines. Then she brought her pointer to more extensive regions of the Galaxy where neither organized humans nor machines held sway. 'Look at these poor Unallied Planets: scattered worlds like Harmonthep, Tlulax, Arrakis, IV Anbus, and Caladan. Because their sparse, insular human settlements are not members of our League, they do not warrant our full military protection should they ever be threatened—by machines or by other humans." Serena paused, letting the audience absorb her words. "Many of our own people wrongly prey on those planets, raiding them for slaves to be supplied to some League Worlds." She caught the eye of the Poritrin representative, who scowled, knowing she was talking about him. He responded loudly, interrupting her. "Slavery is an accepted practice in the League. Lacking complex machines, we have no other choice to augment our workforce." He looked smug. "Besides, Salusa Secundus itself kept a population of Zensunni slaves for almost two centuries." 'We put a stop to that practice," Serena replied with considerable heat. "It took some imagination and a willingness to change, but—" Trying to head off a shouting match, the Viceroy stood. "Each League planet makes its own determination of local customs, technology, and laws. We have a fearsome enough enemy in the thinking machines without starting a civil war among our own planets." His voice sounded paternal, just slightly chiding her to get back to her main point. Sighing but not surrendering, Serena adjusted the pointer so that the Unallied Planets glowed on the ceiling. "Still, we can't ignore all these worlds—ripe resource-filled targets, planets just waiting to be conquered by Omnius." The Sergeant at Arms, on a tall chair off to one side, rapped his staff on the floor. "Time." Easily bored, he rarely listened to speeches. Serena continued in a rush, trying to finish her point without sounding strident. "We know the thinking machines want to control the Galaxy, even though they have been essentially quiescent for almost a hundred years. They have systematically taken over every world in the Synchronized star systems. Do not be lulled by their seeming lack of interest in us. We know they will strike again—but how, and where? Should we not move before Omnius does?" 'What is it you want, Madame Butler?" one of the dignitaries inquired impatiently, raising his voice, but not standing, as was customary. "Are you advocating some sort of preemptive strike against the thinking machines?" 'We must seek to incorporate the Unallied Planets into the League, and stop harvesting them for slaves." She jabbed her illuminated wand at the overhead projection. "Bring them under our wing to increase our own strength, and theirs. We would all benefit! I propose that we dispatch ambassadors and cultural attaches with the express intent of forming new military and political alliances. As many as we can." 'And who will pay for all that diplomacy?" 'Time," the Sergeant at Arms repeated. 'She is allotted three extra minutes for rebuttal, since the representative from Hagal has posed a question," Viceroy Butler said in an authoritative tone. Serena grew angry. How could that representative worry about petty price tags, when the ultimate cost was so much higher? "We will all pay—in blood—if we do not do this. We must strengthen the League and the human species." Some of the nobles began to clap—the allies she had courted before her speech. Suddenly, screeching alarms echoed through the building and in the streets. Droning sirens wavered in a chillingly familiar tone—usually heard only during planned drills—summoning all reserve members of the Salusan Militia. 'Thinking machines have entered the Salusan system," a voice said through built-in speakers. Similar announcements would be ringing all across Zimia. "We have an alert from perimeter scouts and the sentry battle group." Standing next to her father, Serena read details as the Viceroy was handed a brief and urgent summary. "We've never seen a robot war fleet that size!" he said. "How long ago did the first scouts sound the warning? How much time do we have?" 'We are under attack!" a man shouted. The delegates were on their feet, scattering like stirred ants. 'Prepare to evacuate the Hall of Parliament." The Sergeant at Arms became a flurry of movement. "All armored shelters are open. Representatives, report to your designated areas." Viceroy Butler shouted into the chaos, trying to sound confident. "The Holtzman shields will protect us!" Serena could read her father's anxiety, though he covered it well. Amid shouts and cries of panic, the League representatives scrambled for the exits. The merciless enemies of humanity had arrived. Any man who asks for greater authority does not deserve to have it. — TERCERO XAVIER HARKONNEN, address to Salusan Militia The robot fleet has just engaged our spaceguard," Xavier Harkonnen called from his station. "Heavy fire exchanged." 'Primero Meach!" Cuarto Steff Young shouted from the orbital grid screens. Xavier could smell the salty metallic tang of Young's nervous sweat. "Sir, a small detachment of machine ships has broken from the main robotic fleet in orbit. Configuration unknown, but they're preparing for an atmospheric descent." She pointed to the images, picking out brilliant lights that signified a cluster of inert projectiles. Xavier glanced at the perimeter scanners, real-time intelligence transmitted from the defensive satellites high above Tio Holtzman's gelcircuitry-scrambling fields. On the highest resolution he saw an assault squadron of pyramidal ships roaring headlong into the atmosphere, straight toward the sizzling shields. 'They're in for an unpleasant surprise," Young said with a grim smile. "No thinking machine can survive that ride." 'Our biggest worry will be dodging the debris from their crashing ships," Primero Meach quipped. "Maintain surveillance." But the dropcarriages slipped past the scrambler shields—and kept coming. They showed no electronic signatures at all as they penetrated the boundary. 'How are they getting through?" Quinto Wilby mopped his brow, brushing dishwater-brown hair out of his eyes. 'No computers could." In a flash, Xavier understood what was happening. "They're blind dropcarriages, sir!" Young looked up from her screens, breathing hard. "Impact in less than a minute, Primero. Second wave is coming in behind them. I count twenty-eight projectiles." She shook her head. "No computer signatures on any of them." Xavier called out, thinking ahead, "Rico, Powder, work with med-response teams and fire-suppression squads. Everything up to speed and ready. Come on people, we've drilled for this a hundred times! I want all vehicles and rescue equipment mobile and in the air, prepared to move before the first ship hits." 'Divert defenses to pound the invaders as soon as they crash." Primero Meach lowered his voice, swept his flinty gaze across his comrades. "Tercero Harkonnen, take a portable comstation and get out there—be my eyes on the scene. My guess is those dropcarriages will hatch into something unpleasant." OUTSIDE, THE CITY streets were chaotic under a cloud-dappled sky. Rushing into the confusion, Xavier heard the hot metallic scream of agonized atmosphere as the inert armored projectiles shot downward like bullets from space. An asteroid-rain of pyramidal dropcarriages slammed into the ground, one after another. With deafening thunder, the first four blind vessels punched into buildings, leveling city blocks with the explosive dispersion of kinetic energy. But sophisticated shock-displacement systems protected the deadly cargo inside. Xavier ran down the street, his uniform rumpled, his sweaty hair clinging to his head. He stopped in front of the giant edifice of the Hall of Parliament. Although second in command of Salusa's defenses, here he was in an unsecured position, ready to issue orders at ground zero. Not exactly the way he had been taught in his Armada Academy courses. But Primero Meach was relying on his assessment, recommendations, and ability to act independently. He touched the comline on his chin. "I'm in position, sir." Five more unguided projectiles thumped into the outskirts of the city, leaving smoldering craters. Explosions. Smoke. Fireballs. From the impact points, the inert crashdown pods cracked open to reveal a huge object stirring in each one. Reactivated mechanical units peeled off charred ablation shielding. With dread, Xavier knew what he was about to see, understood how the enemy machines had managed to pass through the scrambler shields. They were not computer minds at all… Cymeks. Fearsome mechanical monstrosities emerged from the broken pyramids, driven by surgically detached human brains. Mobility systems restarted; articulated legs and augmented weapons clicked into place. The cymek bodies lurched out of the smoking craters, crablike gladiators half as tall as the damaged buildings. Their alloy legs were as thick as support girders, bristling with flamer cannons, artillery launchers, poison gas jets. Xavier shouted into his comline. "Cymek warrior-forms, Primero Meach! They figured out how to get through our orbital defenses!" All across Salusa, from the outskirts of Zimia to the farthest continent, the local planetary militia was dispatched. Low-atmospheric defense craft—kindjals —had already launched in defensive overflights, their weaponry magazines loaded with armor-piercing projectile shells. People in the streets fled in terror; others stood frozen, staring. Xavier shouted descriptions of what he was seeing. He heard Vannibal Meach add, "Cuarto Young, issue orders for all stations to break out the breathing apparatus. See that filter masks are distributed to the populace. Every person not inside an approved shelter must wear a breather."