Free Dune: The Butlerian Jihad by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page B

to inspect his recently installed scrambler shields. Only the great inventor himself could devise a stopgap measure against the technical flaw the cymeks had discovered.
    When Xavier mentioned his concerns to Viceroy Butler, the florid-faced leader had nodded, but stopped further discussion. “First, we must have a day of affirmation, to celebrate the fact that we are alive.” Xavier saw deep sadness behind the Viceroy’s mask of confidence. “We are not machines, Xavier. There must be more to our lives than war and revenge.”
    Hearing footsteps on the terrace, Xavier turned to see Serena Butler smiling at him, her eyes flashing with a secret depth that she shared with him now that no one could see the two of them. “There is my heroic tercero.”
    “A man responsible for letting half a city be destroyed isn’t usually called a hero, Serena.”
    “No, but the term does apply to a man who saved the rest of the planet. As you are fully aware, if you hadn’t made your hard choice, all of Zimia, all of Salusa, would have been crushed.” She put a hand on his shoulder and stood very close to him. “I won’t have you wallowing in guilt during the victory parade. One day won’t make much difference.”
    “One day could very well make a huge difference,” Xavier insisted. “We barely drove off the attackers this time because we were too confident in the new scrambler shields, and because we foolishly thought Omnius had decided to leave us alone after so many decades. This would be the perfect time for them to hit us again. What if they’ve launched a second wave?”
    “Omnius is still licking his wounds. I doubt his force has even returned to the Synchronized Worlds yet.”
    “Machines don’t lick wounds,” he said.
    “You’re such a serious young man,” she said. “Please, just for the parade? Our people need to have their spirits uplifted.”
    “Your father already gave me the same lecture.”
    “You know, of course, that if two Butlers say a thing, it’s bound to be true.”
    He gave Serena a firm hug, then followed her from the terrace toward the parade reviewing stand, where he would sit in a place of honor beside the Viceroy.
    Since they’d been children, Xavier had always found himself attracted to Serena; as they matured, they had grown confident of their deepening feelings toward each other. Both he and Serena considered it a foregone conclusion that they would wed, a rare perfect match of politics, acceptable bloodlines, and romance.
    Now, though, with the sudden increase in hostilities, he reminded himself of his greater priorities. Thanks to the disaster that had killed Primero Meach, Xavier Harkonnen was interim commander of the Salusan Militia, which forced him to face larger issues. He wanted to do so much, but he was only one man.
    An hour later, the assemblage sat on a grandstand in the central plaza. Scaffolding and temporary girders shored up the broken facades of government buildings. The ornamental fountains no longer functioned, but the citizens of Zimia knew there could be no other place for such a presentation.
    Even burned and damaged, the tall edifices looked magnificent: constructed in Salusan Gothic style with multilevel roof lines, spires, and carved columns. Salusa Secundus was the seat of the League government, but it also hosted the leading cultural and anthropological museums. In surrounding neighborhoods, the crowded dwellings were of simpler construction but pleasing to the eye, whitewashed with lime taken from chalk cliffs. Salusans prided themselves on having the best craftsmen and artisans in the League. They did most of their production by hand instead of with automated machinery.
    Along the parade route, the citizens dressed in colorful raiment of magenta, blue, and yellow. People chattered and pointed as the remarkable stallions passed them, followed by marching musicians and folk dancers on hover-floats. One monstrous Salusan bull, drugged into a near stupor to