By the time the Jihad patrol fleet reached the small colony on Chusuk, it was already too late. The attacking machines had left nothing.

The leveled cities had ceased smoldering; fires had burned themselves out. The only remnants of human habitation were black, twisted girders, craters from huge explosions, and a sour charcoal-smelling silence.

Far too many days had passed to expect any survivors.

On the ground, Vorian Atreides stood amid the wreckage, his feet spread to anchor himself against the overwhelming, devastating shock. Five more rescue and salvage shuttles descended from the two orbiting ballistas, but this would be no rescue operation… only an assessment of the appalling massacre.

The jihadis gasped their grief. A few of the soldiers had connections to Chusuk, relatives or friends who had lived here. Vor’s heart turned to ice as he found himself barely able to grasp the premeditated, calculated bloodshed that machine forces had unleashed here.

“Omnius didn’t even bother to take over,” he said, his voice hollow. Chusuk had boasted enough infrastructure that the evermind could have established a minor Synchronized World here, but the machines didn’t seem to want this place. “They just… destroyed everything.”

Vor shook his head. His dark hair was shaggy and sweaty, his eyebrows clenched together. “The machines may have changed their tactics. If they do this to other worlds, it means they just want to kill humans and leave their planets uninhabitable.” He looked over his shoulder at the soldiers who busied themselves out of numb habit, searching for useful tasks in this dead colony.

The Primero walked slowly through the broken and blistered streets. After his early years serving Omnius, being trained in the nuances of conquest, Vor had thought he understood the machines better than this. “It doesn’t make sense— unless cymeks did this.”

Chusuk had been a thriving settlement— not a paradise by any means, but certainly a worthwhile place to live, a foothold of humanity on a calm and unremarkable world. The colonists led quiet lives here, with gentle romances, close-knit families, and unambitious dreams. Real people who just wanted to live from day to day.

And the machines had turned them into victims.

Through a thick plaz window in the pavement, he saw a room below that looked undisturbed, with musical instruments arrayed on a workbench. Odd, how certain things survived in war, as if protected by angelic bubbles. He ordered searchers to check the rooms below, but they came back moments later reporting no signs of life.

Vor moved on. The burned buildings stood out like blackened skeletons. Walls had caved in, exposing structural frameworks and shattered brick components. The town square was only a gouge left from heavy explosives, probably fired by airborne robotic warships.

He saw roasted bodies that looked like black scarecrows, their arms twisted, shreds of lips drawn back to expose flame-cracked teeth. Real people. He never got used to the horrific cost of this Jihad. Empty eye sockets stared like charcoal pits, as if the people were still wondering why rescue had taken so long.

Three uniformed Jihad soldiers shouted from around the corner. Vor picked up his pace, turned to find two ruined combat meks that had been destroyed in the Chusuk defense. The settlers had been armed with few weapons, but apparently they’d rallied enough to demolish this pair of thinking machines.

Unfortunately, each mechanical army had thousands of such combat meks. The Chusuk colonists had resisted, but had never stood a real chance.

Vor’s mouth drew down in a frown. He felt empty inside, knowing there was nothing he could have done to prevent this slaughter. En route here for nearly a month, his warships had approached Chusuk on regular patrol duties. They had arrived expecting a resupply depot and a week’s furlough. They had received no distress call— not that a signal could have ever reached them in time anyway.

Vor felt sickened. He had not expected such senseless brutality from the machines, not here.

But he should have.

ON THE WAY to Chusuk, during the long, sluggish voyage across space, even a Primero had little to do. He had occupied himself reading business documents and drawing up notes for treatises on military tactics, in which he explained what he knew about thinking machines.

During the Jihad, Serena Butler had written a number of artful polemics about her crusade against the machines, from which Iblis Ginjo quoted liberally. At some point Vor had even contemplated writing memoirs of his own, since he had lived for so long and experienced so much… but when he thought of all the lies his father had included in his own memoirs, passing them off as true history, Vor found himself repelled by the idea. Even if he tried to be honest, human nature might make him color a few facts.

In another century or so, if he continued to make progress against Omnius, he might reconsider. For now, he was better off spending his time playing an occasional game of Fleur de Lys with his men. He would make history through his actions rather than through any documents he left behind….

During off hours alone in his cabin, Vor often relived pleasant memories, fantasizing a different life for himself. The first person who usually came to mind was Leronica Tergiet on Caladan, a woman who had truly touched his heart.

Never before had he dared to feel any sort of commitment or emotional bond… but Leronica made him want to be a different person, someone with no obligations or duties of cosmic significance, just a simple man who could be a husband and a friend. Vor did not regret his responsibilities or accomplishments, knowing that he had defended the populations of entire planets, but for a change it would have been nice to be small, unimportant, and content, an unremarkable soldier who went by the assumed name of “Virk.”

Emergencies in the Jihad had thus far prevented him from taking any discretionary trips back to Caladan, as he had planned to do. He sent Leronica letters by way of jihadi soldiers assigned to the tracking station, even an occasional gift. But he heard nothing back. He wasn’t even sure she’d have the means to dispatch a communiqué to him. Feeling dismal about it, he realized that he was probably not much in her thoughts at all.

By now a fine woman like that must have chosen a husband, had a family. If so, he hoped she still thought of him with fondness.

Though it occurred to him as a possibility, he could not in good conscience march in and disrupt whatever happiness Leronica had managed to create for herself. One day he had to return to Caladan, to find out for himself.

In the meantime, during the long, lonely journey between the stars, he continued to write her long letters that would be dispatched by roundabout couriers. He knew how much she liked to hear about other planets and people. And the exercise kept Leronica in his thoughts and helped him feel slightly less alone.

Thankfully, the demands of war made time pass quickly for him. Perhaps he would see her sooner than he anticipated. His pulse quickened at the thought. Could she possibly be waiting for him?

WALKING ONWARD WITH a leaden heart through the ruins of Chusuk, Vor stared at the shocking devastation. The machines had been exceedingly thorough in a way that seemed rather…inefficient to him. Surely the robotic armies had not needed to inflict so much damage simply to achieve their objective?

One of the cuartos in charge of an inspection squadron came up to report. “Primero Atreides, we’ve tallied the bodies. There are no more than a hundred.”

“A hundred? That’s not enough for a colony this size. Were the others disintegrated in the attack?”

“The pattern of destruction does not support that conclusion, sir.”

Vor formed his lips into a firm line, still perplexed. “They’ve probably been taken as slaves to replenish some of the losses in abortive rebellions. I pity the poor wretches who survived this.”

Then he straightened and lifted his chin. “We must finish up quickly. Take all the images you need, and we’ll return directly to Salusa Secundus. I’ve got to tell the Priestess what happened here.”

The cuarto’s expression solidified with resolve. “Once she views these images, she will ignite a fire among the population. The thinking machines will be sorry they ever chose to do this to one of our colonies.”

The officer ran to gather his men, while Vor sensed that the new spark from Chusuk would make the fighting even more fanatical, and infinitely worse.

Now, more than ever, he longed to be back on Caladan in the arms of Leronica….