In an uproar, red-faced League delegates argued over the consequences of the genocide on Earth. Serena sat stony-faced, the first time she had entered the Hall of Parliament in the weeks since returning home, but her presence did not quell the usual tedious discussions.

“The struggle against Omnius has gone on for centuries!” bellowed the Patriarch of Balut. “There is no need to do anything drastic which we will later regret. I grieve for the bloodshed, but we never had any realistic hope for saving the slaves of Earth anyway.”

“You mean slaves . . . like Serena Butler?” From his guest seat, Vorian Atreides interrupted with a glance in her direction, disregarding protocol or political traditions. “I’m glad we didn’t all give up so easily.”

Xavier frowned at him, though he had been thinking the same thing. He considered the son of Agamemnon a loose cannon, with no respect for order, but he himself was often frustrated by the ponderous pace of formal political debates. If Serena had been confident about the workings of Parliament, she would never have gone blundering off to Giedi Prime in the first place, thus forcing the League’s hand.

In an equally loud voice, the interim Magnus of restored Giedi Prime said, “Just because the situation has gone on for a thousand years, is that an excuse for us to become accustomed to it? The thinking machines have already escalated the war with their attack on Zimia and Rossak, their invasion of Giedi Prime. This Earth disaster is just another challenge.”

“It’s a challenge we cannot ignore,” Viceroy Butler said.

NOW, ACCORDING TO the agenda, Xavier stepped into the recording shell that surrounded the oratory podium. Projection screens enhanced his image and his speech; overblown determination formed deep creases on his face.

Out in the tiers of seats that rose above the speaking pit, Iblis Ginjo sat ensconced in a box reserved for distinguished visitors; he wore expensive finery provided by Salusan tailors.

Xavier’s voice boomed forth, the commanding tone he used when directing his Armada ships. “We can no longer content ourselves with a reactive war. We must take the battle to the thinking machines, for our very survival.”

“Are you suggesting we become as aggressive as Omnius?” shouted Lord Niko Bludd from the fourth tier of seats.

“No!” Xavier looked at the red-bearded noble and said in a calm, firm voice, “I’m saying we must be more aggressive than the machines, more destructive, more intent on victory!”

“That will only provoke them to do something even worse,” yelled the County General from Hagal, a barrel-chested man in a red tunic. “We can’t risk that. Many of the Synchronized Worlds have large human populations, even more numerous than the slaves killed on Earth, and I don’t think—”

Zufa Cenva, stern in her regal glory, cut him off, her voice icy with scorn. “Then why don’t you just surrender Hagal to the Synchronized Worlds, County General, if you tremble so much at the thought of combat? It would save Omnius the trouble.”

Serena Butler stood, and a sudden hush settled over the audience. She spoke in a firm, clear voice fueled by her own passion. “The thinking machines will never leave us alone. You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise.”

She swept her gaze along the rows of seats. “You have all seen the shrine to my son, who was murdered by the thinking machines. Perhaps it is easier to comprehend the tragedy of a single victim than of billions. But that child only symbolizes the horrors Omnius and the Synchronized Worlds wish to inflict upon us.” She raised a clenched fist. “We must declare a crusade against the machines, a holy war— a jihad, in the name of my murdered son Manion. It must be . . . Manion Butler’s Jihad.”

In the muttering and the hot emotions of the audience, Xavier said, “We will never be safe until we destroy them.”

“If we knew how to accomplish that,” complained Lord Bludd, “we would have won the war long ago.”

“But we do know how to accomplish it,” Xavier insisted from the lecture dome, with a nod to Serena. “We have known for a thousand years.”

He lowered his voice so that all the members of the great hall grew quiet to hear him. He glared from face to face, then said, “Blinded by Tio Holtzman’s new defenses, we have ignored the old-fashioned final solution that has been in front of us all along.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the Balut Patriarch.

Near him, Iblis Ginjo sat with his arms folded across his chest, nodding as if he knew what was coming.

“Atomics,” Xavier said. The word fell hard and loud, like the detonation of a forbidden warhead. “A full and total bombardment with atomics. We can sterilize Earth, vaporizing every robot, every sentient machine, every gelcircuit.”

The uproar took only seconds to reach a crescendo, and Xavier shouted back into the clamor. “For more than a thousand years we have maintained our atomics. But they have always been meant as a last resort— doomsday weapons to destroy planets and obliterate life.” He jabbed a finger at the representatives. “We have sufficient warheads in our planetary stockpiles, but Omnius considers them an empty threat, because we’ve never dared to use them. It is time to surprise the thinking machines and make them regret their complacency.”

Using his priority as Viceroy, Manion Butler interjected, “The machines captured and tortured my daughter. They murdered a grandson who carried my own name, a boy neither I nor his own father ever got to meet.” The once-rotund man was much thinner now and stooped from weariness. His hair hung limp and unkempt, as if he usually slept badly. “The damned machines deserve the most terrible punishment we can mete out.”

The clamor continued, and finally, surprisingly, Serena Butler made her way to the speakers’ dome beside Xavier. “Earth is nothing more than a festering graveyard now, with evil thinking machines trampling through it. Every living human being there has already been slaughtered.” She drew a deep breath, her lavender eyes blazing. “What is left to preserve?What have we got to lose?”

Projected images flashed around the chamber as Serena continued. “The captive population of Earth rebelled, and they were killed for their effort. All of them!” Her voice thundered through every speaker in the hall. “Shall we allow that sacrifice to mean nothing? Should the thinking machines suffer no consequences?” She made a disgusted sound. “Or should Omnius pay?”

“But Earth is the birthplace of humanity!” gasped the acting Magnus of Giedi Prime. “How can we even contemplate such destruction?”

“And the rebellion on Earth has launched this Jihad,” Serena said. “We must spread news of this glorious uprising to other Synchronized Worlds, perhaps spark similar revolts on machine planets. But first we must eradicate the Omnius on Earth . . . no matter what it takes.”

“Can we afford to turn down such an opportunity?” Xavier Harkonnen said. “We have the atomics. We have Tio Holtzman’s new shields to protect our ships. We have the will of the people, who shout Serena Butler’s name in the streets. By God, we must do something now.”

“Yes,” Iblis said in an even voice that nevertheless cut across the murmurs. “It is by God that we must do this.”

The representatives were stunned and frightened, but no dissent rose. Finally, after a long, agitated silence, Viceroy Manion Butler demanded that the League of Nobles submit the question for a formal decision.

Somberly, the vote was taken . . . and passed by acclamation.

“It is decided, then. Earth, the ancient birthplace of humanity, will become the first tombstone of the thinking machines.”