Glancing along the headlands, she looked toward the landing field where Paul’s flyer would return. She told herself that Duncan would keep him safe, but the Swordmaster could also be reckless, and Paul always insisted on pushing his limits.
Even hurrying toward the field, alone out here in the storm, Jessica did not feel isolated. She was an important part of House Atreides, of Caladan. She was so much more than a concubine, a mother, or a Bene Gesserit Sister. Leto had left her in charge when he went away for Shaddam’s grand celebration. The Duke and his lady had an unspoken agreement, a bond of trust built over two decades together. Jessica often made decisions in his absence, taking responsibility to ease Leto’s burden. She knew the way the Duke thought and what he would decide.
Black clouds clenched like a threatening fist over the sea. Bright and ominous discharges lashed in all directions. As the stinging wind picked up, icy rain splashed across her cheeks. Paul and Duncan were out there, in danger, too far from shore to be safe. Her heart stuttered. Her son was a talented pilot, and no one was better than Duncan Idaho, but even the best could not always survive the wrath of an ocean storm. She hoped Caladan rescue crews would not merely find floating wreckage after the storm.…
“Come home, Paul,” she whispered.
Before setting off for the airfield, he had stood in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest. “An easy training exercise does not hone my abilities. Only real risk can provide real experience.”
She believed in him.
But now as she thought of their fragile craft out in the storm front, Jessica had to use her Bene Gesserit calming techniques. She had survived great risks too in her training back on Wallach IX. Her proctor, Reverend Mother Mohiam, had made young Jessica endure harsh exercises. The Sisterhood was certainly willing to let an unworthy Acolyte die, as a process of sifting out the absolute best candidates. Jessica had passed all those tests, learned all the intense and esoteric skills the Mother School could teach her.
Afterward, she had been sent to Duke Leto Atreides on Caladan, assigned to him as a concubine. Back then, it had been just another mission, a mission in which she excelled. Jessica had never known that it would become her entire life. She doubted many Bene Gesserit assignments turned out so perfectly.
A searing blue-white bolt of lightning struck a high point on the headlands not far away. She tugged the hood down over her hair and ducked as she ran toward the landing field. She could take shelter in the structures there. She thought—or was it just hope?—that she heard an undertone of engine buzzing behind the wind, but she saw no running lights of a returning flyer.
Paul would survive, she knew it. Duncan would not let him die!
As the thunder rumble intensified, Jessica wondered where Leto was right now. On Otorio, surrounded by other ambitious nobles, the Duke was enduring a different kind of test. Even now, he would be engaged in political skirmishes—dressed in finery, enduring the pomp and excesses of Emperor Shaddam’s gala. Jessica knew how much Leto disliked those pretentions. Though he did not pander, he was politically adept, with many strong friendships and alliances, making him much more influential than most other one-planet Landsraad houses. Even so, at this moment, he was probably drinking fine Tikal champagne, sampling extravagantly expensive hors d’oeuvres, and making empty conversation with other nobles as he represented House Atreides.
She could have been there on his arm, the Duke’s lady, but a bound concubine would not have served what the head of House Atreides required. Because of the tragic death of Ilesa Ecaz just before their wedding ceremony, she knew Leto would resist other marriage prospects, but time was enough to erode any landscape, and politics often outweighed hope. If pressed into a corner, Leto might be forced to put House Atreides before Jessica. Would he ever agree to marry, if the politics were right?
The height of the storm’s fury did not last long, and by the time she reached the shelter of the airfield control centers, the winds had already weakened. Over the sea to the east, the sky finally began to clear. Low on the horizon, a bright slash of blue sky peeked through an opening in the clouds.
Standing at the doorway of a low metal hut, she searched the skies and spotted lights above the gray, choppy water, heard the hum of aircraft engines growing louder. She saw the training flyer swoop in, but it wavered in the air. Had the fuselage been damaged? Was the pilot exhausted? Wounded?
She waited at the edge of the field as the craft came in for a less-than-graceful landing, then she hurried forward as the cockpit doors opened. Paul sprang out exuberant, apparently filled with the excitement inspired by a brush with death. Duncan Idaho followed, walking straight and formal; she knew the Swordmaster well enough to see that even he was alarmed by their ordeal.
Jessica chastised in a low voice, “You should not have risked him like that, Duncan.”
The Swordmaster clearly had no way to argue. He lowered his gaze and searched for words, but Paul broke in, “We came back, Mother! And I learned so many techniques in that one hour…” He wiped a hand across his eyes as raindrops spattered his face. “After all, someday I may have to fly into a terrible storm, and you will be glad I have this experience.”
Anyone is capable of committing murder against another person, or against himself.
—THUFIR HAWAT
At the Bene Gesserit Mother School on Wallach IX, an ancient woman lay wheezing on her medical bed, crushed by the weight of visions and age. Lethea, a former Kwisatz Mother of the order, could see the entire gestalt of the Sisterhood’s vast breeding program; she understood every thread, bloodline, dead end, and hope, far more than any other Sister.
She lay dying, heavily dosed with the spice melange, kept alive long past her normal life span through horrendous artificial life support. But the Bene Gesserit considered it imperative that she remain alive, for Lethea had a unique and vital talent for the Sisterhood, a skill that was difficult to pass on to others.
The woman was also dangerous, unstable, irrational.
Mother Superior Harishka had just entered the isolated third-floor chamber in the medical wing that kept Lethea safe—and protected other Sisters from her. The Mother Superior passed a young Acolyte guarding the barricaded door, and they exchanged whispers, careful not to disturb the old woman locked inside.
With a silent command, Harishka nodded to the door, and the Acolyte opened the barrier. The Mother Superior entered the rank-smelling chamber, gliding over the dark wood floor toward the expansive bed where Lethea slept. The ancient woman had a surprisingly young face, but the rest of her body was withered and frail, and age spots and wrinkles covered her hands. Harishka had seen images of her friend from decades ago. Lethea was a former breeding mistress who rose through the ranks to head the entire program, and she still retained a shadow of her former beauty.
A stout Sister slid into the room holding a small imaging device. She moved closer to record Lethea’s expressions and any words she might utter if she emerged from her catatonic state.
Harishka stood by the bed for several minutes, not rustling her robe or breathing loudly enough to make noise. She would not deprive her old friend of even a moment of sleep. Even before becoming Mother Superior, Harishka had admired Lethea’s innate, incomprehensible ability to see the sweeping plan in a way no other Bene Gesserit could.
As if she could sense the Mother Superior’s thought, the bedridden woman’s eyes opened to slits, then widened. She looked piercingly at Harishka, startling her. “You’ve been standing there for so long. Are you trying to decide if you should cut my throat and be done with the troubles I cause?”
The Mother Superior responded with an uneasy laugh. “You know I would never consider that, old friend.”
“I am not a Truthsayer, so you could well be lying to me.” Lethea flinched with a sudden wave of suspicions.
“I did not come here to lie to you. I came to see how you are doing.” The Mother Superior added deep sincerity to her words. “The Sisterhood needs y
ou, Lethea. You are irreplaceable.”
Peripherally, Harishka saw a tall Sister in a green medical robe approach the bedside. The woman’s hair was pinned tightly to her head. Now that Lethea was awake, the medical Sister checked the instruments, then adjusted the diagnostics linked to the patient by wires and tubes.
Lethea snapped at the attendant. “I hate you for keeping me alive.” The tall woman looked nervously at Harishka, but held her ground. The other Sister with the imager stepped closer to get a better angle for her recording.
Harishka leaned down and spoke in a soothing voice. “We are helping you. Your body is too weak to sustain itself. This is for your own good.”
“My own good?” The Kwisatz Mother half sat up, then slumped back onto the bed. Harishka reached in to prop Lethea, and the medical Sister pushed pillows behind her back. “You mean for the good of the Bene Gesserit.”
“Are we not Sisters together? Sworn to uphold and advance the goals of the order? The breeding program is essential to the Sisterhood. You are central to the Sisterhood.” Harishka straightened. “Therefore, what is good for the Sisterhood is also for your own good.”
The ancient woman sulked. “I have no friends, you know. I’ve never felt even a semblance of affection for any other human being, not even for you.”
Harishka laughed. “You are not so unpleasant as you portray yourself to be. I have many fond memories of our conversations.”
The former Kwisatz Mother wheezed. “I’ve had an extraordinarily difficult life, and one that has lasted far too long. So many breeding pathways that proved to be dead ends, so many hopes dashed—I see them all, and countless others that are doomed to failure. What is the point?”
Harishka answered in soft tones. “You can sort out the threads that are not failures. You keep our hopes alive.”
“I cannot live forever. You found a Kwisatz Mother to replace me, so let me slip into the realm of Other Memory. She is highly skilled. I have spoken with her. I know she can handle the job.”
The Mother Superior gave a consoling nod. “But you have another talent, don’t you? One she does not possess? That is why you are so important to me.”
“It makes me worth tolerating.” Lethea looked at the tubes connected to her, the spice essence flowing into her, the life-support mechanisms that monitored her heartbeat, maintained her respiration. Suddenly, the crone lashed out, “If you care so much, did you bring me something good to eat?”
Harishka reached into a pocket of her robe and brought out a small, compact package that expanded into a portable bowl. She produced a spoon from another pocket, then instructed the tall medical Sister, “Turn off the machines. Leave her in peace for a few moments. She can sustain herself.”
The Sister looked dubious, then anxious.
Lethea rasped, “I can control every cell in my body. I will stay alive long enough to eat!”
Though the humming devices fell silent, the tubes and monitors remained connected. Harishka pulled a chair next to the bed. The aged woman squirmed, tried to see the bowl. “What is it today?” Her flicker of eagerness was the most positive reaction Harishka had seen in some time.
“The peppery savoy soup you like so much. It is hard to get.” The Mother Superior smiled. “But I found a way. For you.”
Lethea looked almost happy, but not quite. “You are the only one who can calm me. Others try, but not like you.”
“We both have special skills.” Harishka slipped a partial spoonful of the dark green soup into Lethea’s mouth. She tasted it and swallowed, so Harishka gave her another spoonful, and another, careful not to let soup dribble down her wrinkled chin. When the old woman had finished, Harishka wiped her lips with a cloth. Lethea refused to let anyone else feed her like this.
Satisfied, the ancient Kwisatz Mother looked sleepy.
Harishka rose to leave. “I will check on you again tomorrow.”
Lethea glared at her. “You just want to make sure I’m still alive.”
“Yes, I do.”
The old woman closed her eyes and pushed some pillows off the bed to lie down again. The medical Sister tried to help, but Harishka took care of making Lethea as comfortable as possible.
As the dying woman lay with her eyes closed, Harishka said to the others, “You can turn the life support back on. Keep me advised of any changes.”
* * *
AFTER MOTHER SUPERIOR Harishka had gone, Lethea sat up of her own accord. The two medical Sisters remained in the room with their backs turned, conferring in whispers, but she heard every word.
“I go in and out of clarity,” Lethea said. “But I am very clear now.”
The two Sisters turned toward her, instantly alert. Both showed signs of fear.
Lethea used the irresistible power of Voice, instantly locking her control over the two attendants. “You, with the imaging device, come here.”
The stout young woman did as she was told. She stood by the bedside, anxious, but she could not resist.
“Are you recording all of this?” Lethea demanded. “So that my every word, my every action, can be analyzed and discussed?”
The Sister nodded. “I am good at my job.”
A soft smile crept onto Lethea’s face. “Then do a good job of this.” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper, the force of her words directed only to this Sister. “See that stone wall over there, with the one brick that sticks out slightly above the others? See how it’s a little bit sharp?” With a gnarled hand, she pointed toward a corner of the room.
The Sister nodded. She held up her recording device.
“Now go over there and bash your forehead into it as many times as you can, as hard as you can.” Lethea held out her hand. “Here, let me hold your imager while you do as I command.”
The medical Sister cried out and lunged to help her companion, but Lethea stopped her in her tracks with Voice. “Halt! Do not move another step!”
Without hesitation, the stout Sister handed Lethea her imager, and the ancient woman recorded every moment as the hapless young Sister walked to the wall, faced it, and drew herself back so she could bash her head against the stone. After the first impact, she reeled backward from the bloody stain, then lunged forward to bash her head again.
While Lethea recorded and the other Sister watched helplessly, the young woman hammered her forehead several more times into the sharp, protruding stone, until finally she tumbled to the floor. The front of her skull split open, and blood poured down her face.
Exhausted, Lethea slumped back onto her bed again, staring at the brightness of the ceiling, gazing into a white light. She loosened her grip on the imager, but it recorded her words as she drifted off into sleep.
“Jessica … Jessica of Caladan! You must take her away from him! Jessica.”
Is the life of a king worth more than that of a peasant or thief? Is your own life worth more than that of a person of lower station? Such valuations can be used to determine whether actions are heroic, or cowardly.
—EMPEROR FONDIL III, THE HUNTER, “Considerations for Imperial Bias”
Those in the immediate circle around Shaddam recoiled at the colonel bashar’s sharp warning. Some cried out in panic. In the dim reception room, Leto thought of all the ships on the nearby diplomatic landing field, wondered how many could evacuate the tower and how much time they had.
As if in a mocking gesture, all the power switched back on, and the full lights blinded the people. Leto ducked away, shielding his eyes. There was not a second to waste. Through the Monolith windows, lights flared on around the museum complex, flashing rainbows, swirling stars, reflective multicolored beams that celebrated Corrino greatness. He realized this was another distraction.
The Sardaukar grabbed the Emperor and forced him toward a discreet door in the back of the reception room. “Sire, you must leave. Now.” He barked a string of orders to the other Sardaukar in the room. “You as well, Count Fenring, and the Empress. Come with us.”
Indignant
, Shaddam tried to pull free, but couldn’t. “This has already been enough of an insult, Colonel Bashar. I will not run away. My people cannot see me being a coward.”
The Sardaukar’s face looked deadly, as if the Emperor were no more than an unruly child. He spoke in a low, urgent voice. “These people aren’t going to survive to tell anyone, Sire. We are in the impact zone. There is an escape lighter on the roof, a small, fast ship that can take you to safety!”
Without arguing, Fenring swiftly made his way toward a sealed door at the back of the room. “We had better listen, hmmm?” Other Sardaukar cleared the way, knocking noble guests aside as if it were a part of a sports competition.
Leto’s tone was terse as he pushed forward. “There are thousands of people in this city, here by your command, Sire. We all have to evacuate.”
Empress Aricatha responded, “My husband is the most important person, but if others can escape, too…”
Leto bolted to the site-wide public address system, which was ready to broadcast Shaddam’s proud speech, now that power had been restored. He slapped the comm switch. “Attention all citizens! Evacuate the city by any means possible. Get as far away as you can.” He doubted they would be able to make it, but he had to give them at least some warning. “Impact imminent!”
Another Sardaukar activated an alarm, and warbling sirens resonated throughout the extensive complex, magenta lights flashing along the web of interconnected streets. The massive dump boxes were already hurtling down through the atmosphere. Leto had no idea how accurate the targeting was or how long it would take, but the mass of the crashing objects and the vaporization of impact would be equivalent to a small atomic.
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 6