Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [152]
He blinked and sought to focus on reality, not possibilities or destiny. Following the insectile robots down the corridors, he tried to tell himself he was prepared to face whatever lay in store for him.
Before the gholas could emerge from the ship through the ragged hole the machines had made, Wellington Yueh tried to push his way past the ranks of escort robots. “Wait! I want . . . I need to go with you.” He fumbled for excuses. “If someone gets hurt, I’m the best Suk doctor available. I can help.” He lowered his voice and pleaded, “The Baron will be there, and he’ll want to see me.”
Still wrestling with her reinjured feelings toward him, Jessica sounded harsh and bitter. “Help? Did you help Alia?” Hearing this, Yueh looked as if she had slapped him.
“Let him come, Mother.” Paul felt resigned. “Dr. Yueh was a staunch childhood supporter and mentor to the original Paul. I won’t turn down any ally or witness to whatever is about to occur.”
Following the robots, they emerged onto flowing roadways that carried them along like floating plates. Batlike fliers streaked high overhead, and mirrored watcheyes flitted about in the air, observing the group’s progress from all angles. Behind them, the huge no-ship had been incorporated into the machine metropolis. Sentient metal buildings of freeform architecture had grown around the Ithaca’s hull like coral swallowing up an old shipwreck beneath the seas of Caladan. The buildings seemed to alter whenever the evermind had a fleeting thought.
“This whole city is alive and thinking,” Paul said. “It’s all one changeable, adapting machine.”
Under her breath, his mother quoted, “ ‘Thou shalt not create a machine in the likeness of the human mind.’ ”
Speakers appeared in the solid silver walls of the looming buildings, and a simulated voice mockingly repeated Jessica’s words. “ ‘Thou shalt not create a machine in the likeness of the human mind.’ What a quaint superstition!” The laughter sounded as if it had been recorded from somewhere else, distorted freakishly, and then played back. “I look forward to our encounter.”
The escort robots brought them into an enormous structure with shimmering walls, curved arches, and enclosed parklike spaces. A spectacular lava fountain spouted plumes of hot, scarlet liquid into a tempered basin.
In the middle of the great cathedral hall, an elderly man and woman awaited them, dressed in loose, comfortable garments. Dwarfed by the enclosure, they certainly did not look menacing.
Paul decided not to wait for their captors to play control games. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”
“I want to help the universe.” The old man stepped down the polished stone stairs. “We are in the endgame of Kralizec, a watershed that will change the universe forever. Everything that came before will end, and everything that comes in the future will be under my guidance.”
The old woman explained. “Consider all the chaos that has existed over the millennia of your human civilization. Such messy creatures you are! We thinking machines could have done a much neater, more efficient job. We have learned of your God Emperor Leto II, and the Scattering, and the Famine Times.”
“At least he enforced peace for thirty-five hundred years,” the old man added. “He had the right idea.”
“My grandson,” Jessica said. “They called him Tyrant because of the difficult decisions he made. But even he did not do as much damage as your thinking machines did during the Butlerian Jihad.”
“You cast blame too loosely. Did we cause the damage and destruction, or did humans like Serena Butler? That is a matter for debate.” Abruptly the old woman cast off her disguise, like a reptile shedding its dry skin. The robot’s flowmetal face—male now—displayed a wide smile. “From the beginning, machines and humans have been at odds, but only we are able to observe the long span of history, and only we can understand what must be done and find a logical way to achieve it. Is that not a valid analysis of your