Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [113]
“Ah, yes—we do, Father,” Shaddam said. He cleared his throat. “An old affront, a stolen woman . . .”
Elrood’s rheumy eyes brightened. “It seems that our brash Dominic has been playing with fire, training his men with mobile fighting meks that scan opponents and process data, probably through a computer brain. He has also been selling these ‘intelligent machines’ on the black market.”
“Sacrilege, Sire,” Fenring murmured. “That clearly goes against the strictures of the Great Convention.”
“Quite so,” Elrood agreed, “and this isn’t the only infraction. House Vernius has been developing sophisticated cyborg enhancements as well. Mechanical body replacements. We can use that to our advantage.”
Shaddam frowned, leaning closer and smelling the sour spice beer on the old man’s breath. “Cyborgs? But they are human minds attached to robot bodies, and therefore not in violation of the Jihad.”
Elrood smiled. “But we understand there have been cer-tain . . . compromises. True or not, it’s exactly the sort of excuse our impostors need to finish the job—the time to act is now. House Vernius is poised on the brink of destruction, and a small nudge will topple them.”
“Hmm-m-ah, that is interesting,” Fenring said. “Then the Tleilaxu can take over the sophisticated Ixian facilities for their research.”
“This is very important, and you will watch how I handle this situation,” Elrood said with a sniff. “Watch, and learn. Already I have set my plan in motion. Ixian suboid workers are, shall we say, troubled by these developments, and we are . . .” the Emperor paused to finish his mug of spice beer with a smack of his lips, “. . . encouraging their discontent through our own representatives.”
Setting down the empty mug, Elrood grew suddenly lethargic. He adjusted his pillows, shifted onto his back, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Exchanging a knowing glance with Fenring, Shaddam thought of the conspiracy within the conspiracy—their own secret participation in the events on Ix, and how he and Fenring had put the Tleilaxu Master in contact with Elrood in the first place. Now the Bene Tleilax, employing their own genetically altered shape-shifters, were stirring up religious fervor and discontent among Ix’s lower classes. To the fanatical Tleilaxu, any hint of a thinking machine—and the Ixians who created them—was the work of Satan.
As the two young men left the Emperor’s chamber, Fenring smiled with similar thoughts. “Watch, and learn,” the old fool had said.
Elrood, you condescending bastard, you have much to learn yourself—and no time left in which to learn it.
The leaders of the Butlerian Jihad did not adequately define artificial intelligence, failing to foresee all possibilities of an imaginative society. Therefore, we have substantial gray areas in which to maneuver.
—Confidential Ixian Legal Opinion
Though the explosion was distant, the concussion rocked the table where Leto and Rhombur sat studying sample resource ledgers. Small chunks of decorative plascrete trickled from the ceiling above them, where a long crack had just appeared. A jagged lightning bolt zigzagged across one of the broad plaz observation windows, fracturing it.
“Vermilion hells! What was that?” Rhombur said.
Leto had already surged to his feet, knocking the ledgers aside and looking for the source of the explosion. He saw the farside of the underground grotto, where several badly damaged buildings crumbled into rubble. The two young men exchanged blank looks.
“Get ready,” Leto said, instantly on guard.
“Uh, ready for what?”
Leto didn’t know.
They had gone together into one of the tutorial rooms of the Grand Palais, first studying Calculus Philosophy and the underpinnings of the Holtz-man Effect, and then Ixian manufacturing and distribution systems. On the walls around them, ancient paintings hung