Draigo and Elkora entered the echoing vessel, noting metal corridors and chambers and very few amenities. Aboard, they found hundreds of deactivated robots and combat meks. The ominous machines stood where they had frozen, burly and fearsome units. The Mentat stood in front of one motionless metal figure, examining its reinforced arms and legs, the integrated weaponry.
“These things are just junk,” said Elkora. “You always find them aboard abandoned robot ships. We can dump them out the airlocks — if you want us to bother with that.”
“Do what you feel is necessary.” Draigo continued to stare at the combat robot, as if challenging it. It was vastly different from Erasmus in his new biological body. “Cleaning out the garbage is not your priority. Remove the ones that get in the way, a minimum amount to save time. We can always dispose of the robots at Denali, where we have more manpower — pile them on the surface where the old cymek bodies rusted for decades.”
“Understood, sir. My team will take it from here.”
Feeling an odd compulsion, Draigo reached out to touch the exoskeleton of the combat mek. He thought of how much fear the thinking machines had pounded into the human psyche for so long.
He found it curious now, with the threat of the Butlerians and the repercussions from Emperor Roderick himself, that these thinking machines were no longer the greatest threat to civilization.
57
We may try to solve the problems of the Imperium, but to a large extent our future is in the uncaring hands of Fate. We must make our own way, constantly calculating and recalculating the odds of success.
The Butlerian mobs had left Zimia, racing off to what would likely be their bloody, suicidal annihilation at Kolhar, but the Emperor remained troubled. Would it really be so easy to get rid of them? And to get rid of Venport?
When Roderick opened his eyes, moonlight filtered through the merh-silk curtains of his bedchamber. A disturbing dream had awakened him, and he could not dismiss it from his thoughts. Next to him, Haditha slept soundly on the wide bed, and that gave him a measure of comfort.
He recalled seeing her for the first time at a grand ball in the Imperial Palace. He had been a young prince, while she was the younger sister of one of the ladies in waiting in his father’s court. He’d noticed her in the throng of nobles with her long auburn hair and classic patrician features, wearing a white gown with a ruby-pearl necklace. As if drawn by gravity, he had moved closer to listen as she talked with a young man in a formal suit. She seemed so very much alive in contrast with other people around her.
Haditha had glanced in his direction, flashing a smile meant just for him. Later that evening, after an embarrassing incident when Salvador got too drunk and slipped on the dance floor, Roderick approached her again, and they strolled arm in arm through the palace gardens. It had been magical.
At the time, although he was the second son of Emperor Jules, Roderick had not dreamed of taking the throne, but he had envisioned being with Haditha for the rest of his life. It had felt so right. They had seemed destined to be together.…
Now, as Roderick slipped out of bed in the moonlight, she opened her eyes and gave him that warm smile he’d first seen so long ago. He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. “It’s all right. I’m just thinking about what’s going to happen when the Butlerians arrive at Kolhar. Manford has no idea what he’ll face there, though I will not mourn much if Venport wipes them out.”
Haditha sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. “Manford is a hateful, obsessed man, but he is dangerous, and we can’t assess what his fanatical followers will do. Maybe Venport won’t know what hit him.” She saw his troubled expression. “Do you want someone to talk to?”
“You’re always my best adviser, but I need time to measure my own thoughts. Go back to sleep. I won’t be long.”
Leaving the bedchamber, Roderick Corrino walked down a short corridor to the sanctuary of his private office. Once inside, though, he felt a strange compulsion. He unlocked a side cabinet and brought out the eerie flowmetal cape that the scavenger had given him from Corrin. The garment was cool to his touch and shimmered with alien magic. As he held the cape up to a glowglobe and watched the hypnotic play of lights and colors on its faceted surface, he wondered if it had really once belonged to the evil robot Erasmus.
The metallic fabric shifted, seeming to move of its own volition. Taking a deep breath for courage, he wrapped it around his shoulders, feeling it flow and adjust itself to his upper body. He secured a clasp, then examined himself in a wall mirror. The cape looked rather elegant on him, but he felt oddly guilty, as if some taint in it might corrupt him, turning him into a twisted, demented creature like the notorious Erasmus. But for all its marvels, the thing was just a cape. It could do no harm now.
In the dream that had awakened him, Roderick had seen himself wearing the flowmetal cloak as he rode through the streets of Zimia at the head of an Imperial procession … with an army of thinking machines behind him. He had not been himself. He had been Erasmus.
Now, as the tattered details of the dream dissipated in his memory, he remained disturbed. The Butlerians decried all advanced technology and refused to consider any useful purpose that would outweigh the risk, but Roderick was not so adamant. There had to be situations in which computers and work-saving equipment could be used by people — and controlled by people, as Venport insisted.
He removed the unusual article of clothing, returned it to the cabinet, and locked it inside. It was only a harmless, inanimate thing, yet he felt strangely reluctant to admit to anyone that he had tried it on.
THE NEXT MORNING, he and the Empress traveled to the military base outside the city where Admiral Harte’s soldiers had been stationed. With the departure of the Butlerian fleet, Roderick had pounced on the opportunity, issuing new orders to Harte. He could permanently render the fanatics impotent.
The fleet of Imperial warships would undertake a slow, quiet mission — insurance against the out-of-control Butlerians, insurance against whatever happened at Kolhar. They would lock down Lampadas … maybe even without spilling a single drop of blood.
Standing together on a high walkway, Roderick and Haditha observed the hundred newly landed warships that Directeur Venport had held hostage aboard the carrier. The old vessels were spaceworthy and perfectly appropriate for this new, secret deployment. They possessed enough weaponry that they could be an intimidating force under the correct conditions, aided by the element of surprise. When the surviving Butlerians returned to Lampadas, they would not be in any condition to put up much resistance.
Ordinarily, Harte’s peacekeeping fleet would have been delivered to their destination by a large foldspace carrier — such as the VenHold vessel that had seized them. The ships could fly using standard faster-than-light engines, although that would take them weeks to reach a destination. On this occasion, for security, it was tactically worth taking this amount of time.
The landing field was abuzz with activity as Harte’s battle group made preparations for departure. Roderick paused on the walkway to point out to Haditha one of the vessels being prepared: a long, sleek warship with a wide forward viewing area. “That was my father’s flagship. When I was very young, Emperor Jules took my brother and me aboard to tell us of its glorious history. So many stories about it.”