“It takes a powerful weapon to pierce the armor of ignorance,” Ptolemy muttered.
“What did you say?” Directeur Venport turned from talking with his Mentat, Draigo Roget, who had accompanied them at the last minute. Venport had been preoccupied with business since his recent address to the Landsraad, but he was eager to witness the new cymek demonstration.
Ptolemy gave him a stiff smile. “Sorry, sir. I was distracted by minutiae. This is an important day for me.” He struggled to subdue another fit of coughing. This arid air exacerbated the pain in his damaged lungs.
“An important day for all of us,” said Draigo Roget.
Ptolemy paid little attention to broader politics in the Imperium; he focused only on his part of the game. He had been involved with the design of the new cymeks, modifying the mobility systems, neural linkages, and thoughtrode controls, including sensors implanted in his own body. With this enhanced connectivity, the new Titans were much improved from the old enemies of humanity. These cymeks with proto-Navigator brains could have torn General Agamemnon to shreds!
For much too long, Ptolemy had felt small and insignificant, powerless in the face of difficult events. With his new cymeks, he had changed. He felt mighty just thinking about his army. Technically, it was Directeur Venport’s army, but Ptolemy knew these cymeks better than anyone else did; no other person had his love for each mechanical walker, and for the disembodied, mutated brains that operated them.
Directeur Venport waited while a team of workers emerged from the shuttle to set up observation chairs so that he, Ptolemy, and the Mentat could watch the show.
Before the test began, Ptolemy explained, “Denali is a harsh place for humans, but cymek systems can withstand the poisonous air. Here on Arrakis, the extreme environment poses different challenges — the aridity, sand, static electricity, and uncertain ground.”
“And the sandworms,” Draigo added.
“We agree it’s a good place to test,” Venport said. “Now launch your cymeks. I want to see them in action. Give me your commentary as we watch.”
An armored cubical chamber gently dropped onto the sands at the base of the rocky ridge. Ptolemy had not wanted the cargo pod to land in the middle of the dunes, because the thump of its impact might attract a sandworm before he was ready. When he sent a signal from his remote, the pod walls separated and folded down like the petals of a flower.
Seven of the numerous new cymeks rose into ready positions on mechanical legs. These were the best and brightest, the ones selected for this demonstration. Standing high off the ground, all had high-powered engines, impenetrable armor film, and a suite of devastating weapons.
“These walker bodies comprise speed and agility as well as brute force.” Ptolemy lowered his voice, suddenly shy. “I’ve done my best to make them indestructible.”
“We’ll see about that,” Directeur Venport said.
The big machines marched away from the open cargo pod, testing the viscosity of the sand, analyzing the slope of the dunes. Ptolemy knew what the encased brains were thinking, since he had programmed the sensors himself. He had provided the proto-Navigators with all known data about Arrakis, including questionable accounts of the huge sandworms.
The black-garbed Mentat stood beside his observation seat, unable to relax. Draigo stared out at the sands where the heavy cymek walkers trudged along. “The vibrations of their feet could draw a worm. Are they ready for it?”
“The brains have been briefed, and the walkers are fully armed.”
Venport sat back in his chair, shading his eyes, watching the heavy machines tread across the dunes. After they assessed the terrain, they moved with greater agility. Demonstrating their systems, the two foremost walkers bounded to another dune, then another, in what looked like a graceful insect mating dance.
The Directeur remarked, “Our spice operations have been plagued by bandits and saboteurs. I could station a cymek guardian near each spice factory. That would be enough to thwart the desert people — and the giant sandworms. That should keep our equipment safe.”
“We don’t know yet if these new Titans are a match for the sandworms,” Draigo said.
Venport leaned forward. “We’ll see soon enough.”
The cymeks lined up along a sinuous whaleback dune and directed their weapon arms out into the deep golden sea. Sand crystals sparkled in the sunlight, as if the planet itself were awake. One after another, the cymeks fired their integrated weapons. Explosive artillery shells blasted from segmented arms, streams of acid shot out in thin jets that turned the sand into bubbling glass, a lasbeam carved a smoking hole into a distant dune, and a jet of flame arced out like a solar flare.
Ptolemy’s eyes shone, and he almost forgot about the searing pain in his lungs. “These Titans will eradicate Manford Torondo and his Butlerians.” He spoke into the comm circuit. “Phase Two — it’s time to be more aggressive.”
The seven cymeks scuttled down to a packed basin where their vibrations would penetrate deeper beneath the surface. Raising their thick piston legs, they stomped down like pile drivers, hammering in an irresistible summons.
“According to unverified reports,” Draigo said, as if lecturing trainees back at Kolhar, “the Freemen use clockwork syncopated thumping devices, even simple percussion instruments, to summon a worm. They claim it always works, but I doubt they’d report any failures.”
“I doubt everything about their superstitious stories,” Venport said, “but I’ll try to keep an open mind.”
Ptolemy watched his awesome walkers, recalling the ancient archival images he had seen of old battles, particularly the ones of Ajax, the most brutal of the original cymeks. As Ptolemy thought of the malicious destruction the Titans had caused in comparison with the ignorant destruction of the Butlerians, his own anger — perhaps leaking through the thoughtrodes in his brain — seemed to agitate the Navigator cymeks. One of them, Hok Evander, launched a wild artillery projectile up into the air, and it came down not far away, creating a smoking crater.
When no worm responded, Draigo said, “It is rumored that the creatures are highly territorial, and it’s possible we are in a contested zone among the sandworms, a neutral area. The nearest creature may be far away.”
Venport frowned, and Ptolemy felt impatience as well. He said, “According to reports, the activation of a shield is a certain way to draw a monster worm, though it’s dangerous and drives the beast into a frenzy.”
“Bring on the frenzy, then,” the Directeur said, “if you’re confident these cymeks can handle it.”
Ptolemy looked at the seven machines and sent another signal. “Phase Three.”
The Titans stood at high alert, and then each of the large machines switched on a Holtzman shield.
Chapter 35 (Every memory has a trigger)
Every memory has a trigger.
— Mentat observation
Vorian was invisible, just an average person on Lankiveil — and he liked being treated that way. When he worked with the Harkonnen patriarch, he kept his eyes open, understanding this man, knowing how much his past actions had harmed the family. Yes, Abulurd had earned his own disgrace eighty years ago, but not for all future generations.
Vor could help, if he found the right way. He didn’t want to be applauded, welcomed, or even forgiven. He just wanted to repair some of the damage he had left in his wake. For now, the Harkonnens accepted him, made him feel welcome, but they had no idea who he really was.…