Vor, Serena, and the unwelcome Iblis found and commandeered a passenger shuttle at a landing port on Erasmus’s estate. They carried no supplies or possessions with them, except for the preserved body of little Manion. As the rebellious slaves continued to ransack the villa, Vor and his companions flew away from the hubbub. They saw no rallying robot sentries or marauding neo-cymeks. And no Titans at all. None showed themselves.

The small craft skimmed smoothly overland, keeping to the fringe of the city grid and away from the worst of the disturbance. In the days of the Old Empire, this hillside had been an exclusive neighborhood of terraced homes and gardens. The residences had been abandoned after the thinking machine conquest, falling into ruin. Only durable stone and alloy frameworks remained.

Agamemnon’s memoirs had scorned the mundane lives of people in the Old Empire, but now Vorian needed to question everything. Sadness crept over him, and a renewed feeling of shame. Thanks to Serena, he noticed things for the first time, experiencing disturbing thoughts. It was as if a new universe had opened up for him, and he was leaving the old one behind.

How had the machines concealed so much from him? Or had Vor done it to himself, blinded to the obvious? Extensive historical records had always been available on the Dream Voyager, but he had never bothered to look. He had taken his father’s accounts at face value.

When he told Serena what he had discovered, a bitter smile curled the edges of her mouth. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all, Vorian Atreides. You have a lot of catching up to do— as a human being.”

The white buildings of the spaceport came into view, machine military bunkers, sensors, and heavy guns. Vor transmitted the familiar access codes he had always used on the Dream Voyager, and the robot sentries allowed the passage of the small, fast vessel.

As rapidly as possible, Vor brought the shuttle into a drydock hangar and shut down all systems. Just ahead, amid cargo wharves, gantries, and refueling cisterns, a variety of spaceships were berthed. Machine crews worked the long-distance craft, preparing them for departure.

The silver-and-black Dream Voyager was among them, as Vor had hoped.

“Hurry,” he said, taking Serena by the hand. Iblis ran close behind, wielding another large pistol he had retrieved— little enough protection if the robot soldiers decided to mount an attack.

Vor keytouched the access code on a panel and slipped through the Dream Voyager‘s entry hatch. “Wait for me. If this works, I’ll be back before long.” He needed to take care of Seurat himself.

Inside, Vor heard the noise of maintenance drones installing a backup fuel cell. When he reached the command bridge, he didn’t bother to hide his footsteps. Seurat would detect him anyway.

“Did you damage your ship, Old Metalmind?” Vor asked. “Couldn’t fly without me?”

“Rebels fired at my vessel when I delivered combat robots for tactical redeployment. One engine suffered minimal harm. Superficial damage to our hull.”

The robot captain moved his resilient, fibrous body to adjust parameters on open systems. His optic threads focused on a viewer that enabled him to monitor the last-minute work belowdecks.

Finally he said, “I can use your assistance, Vorian Atreides. One of the drones appears to be malfunctioning. All the good ones are doing emergency repairs on combat robots.”

Vor knew he must move quickly. “Let me take a look.”

“I notice you have changed your wardrobe,” Seurat said. “With rebellious slaves running through the streets, was your Omnius uniform no longer the height of fashion?”

Vor couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the tension. “Humans are better at fashion than machines.” He stepped close to his mechanical friend, and his gaze fixed on the tiny access shunt on a protected underpanel of the robot’s body. Although it was covered with flowmetal and protected by interlinked fibers, Vor knew it would be simple enough to jam the energy driver access, short-circuit the power converter, and effectively stun the robot captain.

He fumbled in one of his pockets, as if looking for something, and brought out a utility tool. “I’ll run a diagnostic on that maintenance drone.” Feigning clumsiness, he fumbled, bent over— and with a quick upward movement, jammed the tool into the access shunt on the side of Seurat’s body. A pulse from the probe blew out the robot’s energy driver.

The mechanical captain jerked, then stopped altogether. Though he knew that he hadn’t damaged Seurat irreparably, Vor felt a jolt of personal guilt and pain. “Sorry about that, old Metalmind.” He heard noises behind him and, whirling, saw Iblis and Serena step onto the bridge. “I told you to wait for me.”

Iblis strode forward, his confidence restored, as if he were in command again. “Finish the job. Destroy the thinking machine.” He approached the motionless captain, hefting a heavy tool.

“No.” Angrily, Vor interposed himself between the crew boss and the prone robot. “I said no. Not Seurat. If you want me to fly us out of here, help me get him off the ship. He won’t cause any more trouble for anyone.”

“Stop wasting time, both of you,” Serena said.

Reluctantly, Iblis assisted Vor in hauling the bulky robot to a side hatch, which opened onto an unoccupied dock beside a fuel-pellet dispenser. They left the captain alone among debris and equipment.

Vor stared for a moment at his own reflection in the familiar mirrored face, remembering some of the stupid jokes his friend had told and the innovative military games they had played together. Seurat had never harmed him in any way.

But Vorian Atreides, reborn, would rather be with Serena Butler among the free humans, no matter what he was forced to leave behind.

“Someday I will return,” he whispered, “but I cannot know the circumstances, old Metalmind.”

AS VOR PILOTED the update ship away from Earth, Iblis gazed out a porthole at the planet, watching it grow smaller with distance. He considered the worldwide revolt he had sparked, hoped Aquim would do well, and that the rebellion would succeed. Maybe with the wisdom of the Cogitor Eklo, the monk could bring order to the madness and make an effective stand against Omnius.

But Iblis didn’t think so. The machines were too powerful, the Synchronized Worlds too numerous. Despite all of his work, he suspected this initial revolt was doomed to failure, unless he could get the League of Nobles to help immediately.