Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [132]
As Leto stepped aboard, he felt an upward thrust. The three of them surged through the ceiling and beyond, up the side of a silver airship to a platform high on the craft’s fuselage.
The orship reminded Leto of a space lighter, a small craft with a narrow body and plaz windows. A combination ornithopter-spacecraft, the orship could operate either on-planet or in low orbit. In violation of the Guild’s monopoly on space travel, orships were among the most closely held Ixian secrets, to be employed only as a last resort.
A hatch slid open on the side of the craft, and Leto heard the ship’s systems surround him with a hum of machinery and electronics. Rhombur led the way into a compact command center with two high-backed chairs and glimmering finger-panel controls in front of each. He slid into one seat, and Leto into the other. The resilient sensiform material conformed to their bodies. Soft green lights glowed on the finger panels. Kailea stood behind her brother, her hands on the back of his chair.
With his fingers dancing over the glowing control panels, Rhombur said, “I’m setting yours on tutorial. The ship will teach you how to pilot it.”
Leto’s panel changed color to yellow. Wondering again about the machine-mind taboos of the Butlerian Jihad, he scrunched his face in confusion. How much could this craft think for itself? His mother had warned him about accepting too many things, especially Ixian things, at face value. Through the clear plaz windshield he saw only gray rock outside, the rough interior surface of the algae-chamber.
“So it thinks for itself? Like those new training meks you showed me?”
Rhombur paused. “Uh, I know what’s on your mind, Leto, but this machine does not emulate human thought processes. The suboids just don’t understand. Like our adaptive fighting mek, which scans an adversary to make combat decisions, it doesn’t think—it only reacts, at lightning speed. It reads your movements, anticipates, and responds.”
“That sounds like thinking to me.” In the finger-panel zone before Leto, lights danced within lights.
Kailea sighed with frustration. “The Butlerian Jihad has been over for thousands of years, and still humankind acts as if we’re terrified rodents hiding from shadows. There is an anti-Ixian prejudice throughout the Imperium because we make complex machines. People don’t understand what we do, and misunderstanding breeds suspicion.”
Leto nodded. “Then help me understand. Let’s get started.” He looked at the control panel and tried not to be too impatient. After the past few days, they were all feeling the effects of unrelenting stress.
“Place your fingers over the identity plates,” Rhombur said. “Don’t actually touch the panel. Stay a little above it.”
After doing so, Leto’s body was surrounded by a pale yellow glow that made his skin tingle.
“It’s absorbing the identity components of your body: the shape of your face, tiny scars, fingerprints, hair follicles, retina prints. I’ve instructed the machine to accept your inputs.” When the glow receded, Rhombur said, “You’re authorized now. Activate the tutorial by passing your right thumb over the second row of lights.”
Leto complied, and a synthetic-reality box appeared in front of his eyes depicting an aerial view that passed over craggy mountains and rocky gorges—the same scenery he had observed months ago, the day he’d been unceremoniously stranded outside by the Guild shuttle.
Suddenly sparks filled the air in the hiding chamber below. Explosions and static bursts inundated his ears. The synthetic landscape image went hazy, came into focus again, and faded. Leto’s head rang from the noise.
“Sit down,” Rhombur barked. “Uh—this isn’t a simulation anymore.”
“They’ve found us already!” Kailea tumbled into a low bulkhead seat behind Leto’s and was automatically surrounded by a personal safety field. Leto felt the warmth of another PSF cocooning him as Rhombur tried to lock himself into the piloting seat.
On the orship’s surveillance