Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [151]
“Interesting. New enemies make unexpected alliances.”
The Tleilaxu didn’t move. “In the final assessment, we’re all humans—and you are not.”
Erasmus chuckled. “And what about Face Dancers? They fall between, don’t they? These aren’t the shape-shifters you produced long ago, but are instead far superior biological machines that I helped create. And because of them, Omnius and I are, in effect, the greatest of all Face Dancers—among many other things.”
Scytale didn’t move. “Haven’t you noticed the Face Dancers are no longer reliable?”
“Ah, but they are reliable to me.”
“Are you sure?”
The robot took a tentative step forward, testing. Scytale tensed his fingers on the handle of the sample cabinet. Erasmus amplified his voice. “Stop!” He eased himself backward, giving the Tleilaxu Master more room. There would be plenty of time to return and test Scytale’s loyalties. “I leave you to this facility and your cellular samples.”
Erasmus had waited more than fifteen thousand years for Serena, and could continue to do so. For now, the robot had to return to the machine cathedral and prepare for the final show. The evermind was not quite so patient to achieve his ultimate goals as Erasmus was.
Come, let us eat and sing together. We will share a drink and laugh at our enemies.
—from an ancient ballad by
GURNEY HALLECK
The computer evermind sent his troops to bring Paul from the Ithaca to the machines’ cathedral-like nexus. New-model robotic guards swarmed down the corridors like quicksilver insects. Approaching Paul, one of them said, “Come with us to the primary cathedral.”
Chani grabbed his arm and held on, as if she too had sprouted metal hands. “I will not let you go, Usul.”
Looking at the inhuman escorts, he said to her, “We can’t keep them from taking me.”
“Then I shall come with you.” He tried to argue with her, but she cut him off. “I am a Fremen woman. Would you try to stop me? You might just as easily fight these machines.”
Concealing a small smile, he faced the sleek machines that clicked and flittered in front of him. “I will accompany you without resistance, but only if Chani comes with me.”
Emerging from her quarters where Alia’s body now lay on the narrow bed, Jessica placed herself between Paul and the robots. Bloodstains still marked her shipsuit. “He is my son. I have already lost a daughter today, and cannot bear to lose him as well. I’m going with you.”
“We are here to escort Paul Atreides to the primary cathedral,” one of the robots said, its freeform face flowing like heavy rain on a Caladan window. “There are no other restrictions.”
Paul took that as agreement. For some reason, Omnius wanted him, even though he did not have his memories back. All other passengers and crew were apparently extraneous baggage. Had he been the subject of the hunt from the beginning? How could that be? Had the thinking machines somehow known he would be aboard? Paul gripped Chani’s hand and said to her, “It will be over soon, in whatever manner fate decides. All along, our destinies have hurtled us toward this point, like levitating trains out of control.”
“We will face it together, my love,” Chani said. He only wished that he could recall all his years with her . . . and that she could do the same.
“What about Duncan?” he asked. “And Sheeana?”
“We must depart now,” the robots said in unison. “Omnius waits.”
“Duncan and Sheeana will know soon enough,” Jessica said.
Before they left, Paul made a point of taking the crysknife Chani had made for him. Like a Fremen warrior, he wore it proudly at his waist. Although the worm-tooth blade would do nothing against the thinking machines, it made him feel more like the legendary Muad’Dib—the man who defeated powerful empires. But in his mind he again saw the horrible recurring vision, the flicker of memory or prescience in which he lay on the floor in a strange place,