Dune: The Machine Crusade by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page A

paid to delve into details and questions that might arouse the ire of the crew supervisors. He passed time more easily if he kept himself numb on the outside, hiding the spark of his own identity deep within. At night, when he recited Sutras for his Zensunni followers, he recalled life on Harmonthep, listening to his grandfather quote the same scriptures….
    Unexpectedly, shift bells rang, and the lights increased inside the clamorous refinery. Sparks fell to the ground like tiny meteors, and pulleys raised the machinery back to the ceilings of the highbays. Bellowed words from speaker boxes were fractured into gibberish by the background din. Uniformed supervisors strode around the decks, assigning crews to staging areas.
    “Lord Niko Bludd grants all people of Poritrin, even slave workers, this hour of relaxation and contemplation to commemorate the victory of civilization over barbarism, the triumph of order over chaos.”
    The hissing racket of the refinery and shipyards dwindled. The slave crews interrupted their conversations and looked toward the speaker boxes. Supervisors stood on high platforms, glaring at the people to make certain they were paying attention.
    The announcement continued, clearer now, the recorded words of Lord Bludd. “Twenty-four years ago today, my Dragoon forces put an end to a violent and illegal uprising led by the criminal Bel Moulay. This man deluded our hardworking slaves, confusing them with irrational promises that lured them into a hopeless, nonsensical fight. Luckily, our civilization was able to restore the rule of order.
    “Today is the anniversary of the execution of this evil man. We celebrate the triumphs of Poritrin society and the League of Nobles. All humans must put aside their differences and fight our common enemy, the thinking machines.”
    Aliid scowled, struggling to suppress a defiant outburst. Ishmael knew what his friend was thinking. The Buddislamic slaves, by working in war industries, contributed unwillingly to the military effort against Omnius. Yet to the captives, the Poritrin slavekeepers and machines were both demons— only of different sorts.
    “Tonight, every Poritrin citizen is invited to join in feasts and festivities. Fireflowers and skypaintings will be launched from rafts in the river. Slaves are also welcome to observe, provided they remain within designated holding areas. Working together, combining our strength, Poritrin can be assured of victory against Omnius and freedom from the thinking machines. Let no man forget the potential of the human race.”
    The announcement ended and the work supervisors dutifully applauded, but the slaves were slow to add their cheers. Aliid’s expression darkened behind his black beard, and he pulled up the rag to cover his face again; Ishmael doubted the unobservant crew leaders noticed his look of pure hatred.

    * * *
    AFTER NIGHT FELL and the slaves returned to their camp compound in the marshy river delta, Lord Bludd launched his extravagant festivities. Hundreds of phosphorescent balloons rose into the sky. Celebratory music wafted across the water. Even after two decades on Poritrin, the melodies sounded slightly atonal and alien to Ishmael as he sat with his wife Ozza and their two daughters.
    Poritrin nobles professed to follow gentle, bucolic Navachristianity, but their core beliefs did not extend to their daily lives. They had their festivals, and embraced religious trappings, but the Poritrin upper classes did little to demonstrate their true faith. For centuries their economy had run on slave labor, ever since they had cast aside sophisticated technology, forsaking anything that reminded them of thinking machines.
    Slaves learned to snatch whatever moments and memories they could find. Ishmael’s girls Chamal and Falina were fascinated by the spectacle, but he remained quietly beside his wife, thinking his own thoughts. The celebration reminded him of the brutal crackdown the gold-armored Dragoon