Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [149]
Inside her, the clamor of memories returned. “I am Serena Butler, and she is me. Though thousands of years have passed, the pain is as sharp as ever. We cannot forget what you destroyed, and what you started.”
“It was only one life—merely a baby. Logically, can’t you see how your race overreacted?” The robot sounded so reasonable.
Sheeana felt a change in the tenor and cadence of her own voice, as if her body were being taken over by a force within. “Only one life? Merely a baby?” Serena was speaking now, thrusting herself to the forefront of the innumerable lives. Sheeana let her talk. After such a great length of time, this was Serena’s confrontation with her greatest nemesis. “That one life led to the military defeat of your entire Synchronized Empire. The Butlerian Jihad was a Kralizec in its own right. The end of that war changed the course of the universe.”
Erasmus seemed delighted by the comparison. “Ah, interesting. And perhaps the end of this Kralizec will reverse that result and put thinking machines in charge again. If so, we will be much more efficient this time.”
“That is how you foresee the end of Kralizec?”
“That would be my preference. Something fundamental must change. Can I count on you to assist me?”
“Never.” Serena’s projected voice was cold and implacable.
Looking at the independent robot, Sheeana understood more than ever before that she was part of something far greater and more important than one life, that she was linked to a vast continuum of female ancestry stretching into the past and—hopefully—into the future. A remarkable assemblage, but would it survive?
“There is a familiar fire in your eyes. If any part of you is indeed Serena Butler, then we must catch up on old times.” Erasmus’s optic threads gleamed.
“She no longer wishes to converse with you,” Sheeana said in her own voice.
Erasmus ignored the rebuff. “Take me to your private quarters. A human’s den reveals much about the individual personality.”
“I will not.”
The robot’s voice hardened. “Be reasonable. Or should I decapitate a few of your fellow passengers to encourage your cooperation? Ask Serena Butler inside you—she knows I will do it.”
Sheeana glared at him.
The robot continued in a calm tone, “But a simple conversation with you in your quarters may slake my appetite for now. Wouldn’t you prefer that to carnage?”
Motioning for the others to remain behind, Sheeana turned her back on the robot and walked to one of the still-functional lifts. With gliding footsteps, Erasmus followed.
In her chamber, the robot was intrigued by the preserved Van Gogh painting. Cottages at Cordeville was one of the oldest artifacts of human civilization. Standing rigidly, Erasmus admired the artwork. “Ah, yes! I remember this clearly. I painted it myself.”
“It is the work of a nineteenth-century Terran artist, Vincent Van Gogh.”
“I have studied the Madman of France with great interest, but I assure you, this is actually one of the canvases I myself painted thousands of years ago. I copied the original with the utmost attention to detail.”
She wondered if he could possibly be telling the truth.
Erasmus removed the delicate painting from the wall and examined it closely, passing his metal fingertips over the thin plaz that protected the rough oil-paint surface. “Yes, well do I remember each stroke, each whorl, each point of color. Truly, this is a work of genius.”
Sheeana caught her breath, knowing how old and priceless it was. Unless it really was a forgery perpetrated long ago. “The original was a work of genius. If this is what you say, then all you did was copy someone else’s masterpiece. There can be only one original.”
His optic threads gleamed like a galaxy of stars. “If it is the same, exactly the same, then both are works of genius. If my copy is perfect down to every single brushstroke, does it not become a second original?”
“Van Gogh was a man of creativity and inspiration. You merely mimicked his work. You might as well call a Face Dancer