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Erasmus said. “The great Omnius would follow the military suggestions of a cymek?”
    “Barbarossa amused me, and there is always the chance that some of the Titans might be killed. That is not necessarily a bad thing.”
    “Of course,” Erasmus said, “since programming restrictions prevent you from harming your creators outright.”
    “Accidents happen. Regardless, our offensive will either subsume the League Worlds or exterminate the fragments of humanity there. I do not care which. Very few humans are worth keeping around . . . perhaps none at all.”
    Erasmus did not like the sound of that.

The mind commands the body and immediately it obeys. The mind orders itself, and meets resistance.

    — ST. AUGUSTINE,

    ancient Earth philosopher
    T hough the cymeks had only begun their assault on Zimia, Xavier Harkonnen knew that free humanity must make its stand, here and now. And make it count.
    The weapon-studded warrior-forms strode forward in lockstep. Raising silver arms, they launched explosive projectiles, spewed gouts of flame, spread poison gas. With each smashed wall, the cymeks drew closer to the main shield-generator station, a soaring tower of parabolic curves and intricate latticework.
    At the fringes of Salusa’s atmosphere, an orbital array of redundant satellites wove a crackling fence with amplifiers at each node. Across the continents, transmission towers beamed up the substance of the Holtzman scrambler field, crisscrossing it into an intricate mesh high above the planet, an impenetrable tapestry of energy.
    But if the cymeks took out the primary towers on the surface, vulnerable gaps would open in the shield. The whole protective fabric could unravel.
    Coughing blood from his searing throat and lungs, Xavier shouted into his comline, “This is Tercero Harkonnen, assuming command of local forces. Primero Meach and the control center have been wiped out.” The channel remained silent for several long seconds, as if the entire Militia had been stunned.
    Swallowing hard, Xavier tasted rusty blood in his mouth, then he issued his terrible order: “All local forces, form a cordon around the shield-transmitting towers. We do not have the resources to defend the rest of the city. Repeat, pull back . This includes all combat vehicles and attack aircraft.”
    The expected complaints poured in. “Sir, you can’t be serious! The city is burning!”
    “Zimia will be undefended! This must be a mistake!”
    “Sir, please reconsider! Have you seen the damage those cymek bastards are already causing? Think of our people!”
    “I don’t recognize the authority of a tercero to issue orders of such—”
    Xavier countermanded all of them. “The cymek objective is obvious: they intend to bring down our scrambler fields so the robot fleet can destroy us. We must defend the towers at all costs. At all costs .”
    Blatantly ignoring his order, a dozen pilots flew kindjals overhead, continuing to dump explosives upon the cymek walkers.
    Xavier growled in an uncompromising voice, “Anybody who wants to argue about it can do so afterward— at your court-martial.” Or mine , he thought.
    Droplets of scarlet splashed the inside of his plaz mask, and he wondered how much damage the poisonous fumes had already done. Each breath became difficult, but he put such concerns out of his mind. He could not sound weak, not now. “All assets, pull back and protect the towers! That is an order. We need to regroup and change our strategy.”
    Finally, Salusan ground units retreated from their pitched defenses, drawing back toward the shield-transmitter complex. The rest of the city lay as vulnerable as a lamb prepared for slaughter. And the cymeks took advantage with gleeful mayhem.
    Four warrior-forms crashed through a statue park and destroyed fabulous works. The mechanical monsters annihilated buildings, blasting and burning museums, dwelling complexes, hazard shelters. Any target suited them.
    “Stand firm,” Xavier