Sandworms of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Corysta turned into the brisk sea wind. “These are matters you should take up with the Mother Commander.”

  “I should, but since she is on a quarantined planet, I can’t very well call on her, can I? Your Sisterhood is falling apart as a result of external attack and internal strife.”

  Women stood on plastone ramps at the water’s edge to receive a tired-looking group of Phibians who carried a net filled with small, misshapen soostones.

  Khrone could tell at a glance the gems were of poor quality, but at least it was part of a shipment he could seize as overdue payment. “Are your Phibians afraid of sea monsters? Can they not go to richer beds of shellfish?”

  “They harvest what they can, sir. There are no richer beds. The monsters have eaten many of the cholisters. Our underwater crops are ravaged. And, yes, the Phibians are understandably frightened. Many of them have been slaughtered.” Corysta stared at him coldly, and Khrone appreciated the steel in her expression; he could respect it. “We have holo-footage of that, too, if you doubt me.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I believe your story. I only want to know what the Sisterhood intends to do about it.” Khrone knew the women could do nothing. Eventually the seaworms would bring down the soostone economy of Buzzell, thus removing another one of the Mother Commander’s bargaining chips when she desperately needed to buy allegiances and secure equipment.

  Kept in the dark, the exiled Sisters did not yet understand the true potential of those worms. The primary chemical attributes of the new melange stolen from Buzzell would be a thousand times more effective on human nerve receptors. Oh, it would work very nicely indeed!

  He wondered if the Spacing Guild was even aware of Edrik’s destroyed Heighliner yet. It was possible that they weren’t. So many of their Navigators had vanished anyway, what was one more? If necessary, by planting a few hints here and there, Khrone could easily blame the loss on an attack by the thinking-machine battle fleet. If nothing else, Omnius made a fine scapegoat.

  The Face Dancer myriad had set their hooks everywhere. The Ixians were building supposed weapons and draining the Chapterhouse coffers of spice; now the Sisterhood’s soostone wealth was also disappearing. The Guild relied entirely on computerized navigation devices for their new ships, and the Navigators had no source of melange.

  All enemies of the Face Dancers would fall. He would see to that. The Lost Tleilaxu and the original Masters had already been erased. The Ixians were in Khrone’s pocket. Next would come the New Sisterhood, the Guild, and all of humanity. Finally, when he and his minions defeated the thinking machines, nothing would remain but the Face Dancers. And that would be enough.

  Pleased with himself, Khrone marched up to the dock and yanked the net of soostones from the women trying to sort them. “Your production has dropped off drastically, and too many CHOAM merchants have gone away empty-handed.”

  Corysta hovered close behind him. “I hope to hire mercenary hunters to track down the seaworms. It is possible that we may find something of interest—maybe something more valuable than soostones.”

  So, this woman already had her suspicions about the ultraspice! “I doubt it,” he said. Khrone took the net of rough soostones and marched back to the landing pad. Considering the vast game board, he decided it was finally time to head toward the heart of the thinking-machine empire. He would deliver the ultraspice to Omnius and let the evermind continue with his mad dream of creating and controlling his own Kwisatz Haderach.

  It wouldn’t help him in the end.

  We believe that confession should lead to forgiveness and redemption. Usually, however, it leads only to further accusations.

  —DR. WELLINGTON YUEH,

  encrypted entry

  The axlotl chamber smelled of fetid death. Duncan could not tear his gaze away from the still, cold flesh of the tank and the clear signs of necrosis. Rage and helplessness chewed at his gut. And who would the child have been? Sheeana hadn’t even told him. Those damned Bene Gesserits and their secrets!

  “Touch nothing,” Teg warned. “Get me all security images right away. We will find the saboteur this time.” One of the Sisters hurried to obtain the recordings.

  Meanwhile, young Thufir cordoned off an area around the poisonravaged tank and its unborn ghola. Mostly recovered from the memory-trigger attempt that had gone so dramatically awry, he now sternly followed the methods the Bashar had taught him. The corrosive poison had completely destroyed the growing fetus and then eaten through the wall of the womb that kept the thing alive. Somehow the tank had fallen to the floor, and yellow puddles oozed around the dead flesh.

  Sheeana turned to one of her Sisters. “Bring Jessica here. Immediately.”

  Duncan gave her a sharp look. “Why Jessica? Is she a suspect?”

  “No, but she will be hurt by this. Maybe I shouldn’t even tell her . . . .”

  Presently, Teg received a surveillance holotube from one of the Bene Gesserits. “I will scan every second. There must be some piece of evidence pointing to the traitor among us.”

  “There is no need. I killed the ghola.” A young man’s voice. All of them spun to look at a grim-faced Dr. Wellington Yueh. “I had to.” Thufir moved swiftly to seize him by the arm, and Yueh did not resist. He stood firm, ready to face the questions that would be thrown at him. “You can punish me, but I couldn’t allow you to spawn another Twisted Mentat. Piter de Vries would only have caused bloodshed and pain.”

  While Duncan immediately grasped the implications of Yueh’s confession, Sheeana sounded perplexed. “Piter? What are you talking about?”

  Yueh didn’t struggle in Thufir’s firm grip. “I witnessed his evil firsthand, and I couldn’t allow you to bring him back. Ever.”

  Just then, a breathless young Jessica hurried in with the three-year-old Alia in tow. Alia had intent, eager eyes, full of maturity and understanding that she should not have had. She carried a chubby doll that looked remarkably like a juvenile version of the fat Baron Harkonnen. One of its arms had almost torn loose. Leto II followed his grandmother, looking curious and worried.

  Sheeana still didn’t understand. “What does Piter de Vries have to do with any of this?”

  Yueh made a distasteful expression. “Don’t try to divert me with lies. I know who that ghola was.”

  “That baby was not Piter de Vries.” Sheeana spoke her words in a normal tone. “It would have been Duke Leto Atreides.”

  Yueh looked as if he had been felled with an axe. “There was no doubt—I ran a genetic comparison!”

  Jessica listened from just inside the doorway, her face flickering with a rush of hope before plunging into sadness. “My Leto?”

  Yueh tried to sink to his knees, but Thufir held him upright.

  “No! It can’t be!”

  With adult-sharp awareness, Alia tried to take her mother’s hand, but Jessica pulled away from the two children to loom over the Suk doctor. “You killed my Duke? Again?”

  He grabbed his temples. “It can’t be. I saw the results myself. It was Piter de Vries.”

  Thufir Hawat raised his chin. “At least we have found our saboteur.”

  “I would never have killed the Duke! I loved Leto—”

  “And now you’ve murdered him twice,” Jessica said, stabbing with each icicle-sharp word. “Leto, my Leto . . .”

  Finally, Thufir’s comment seemed to sink in. “But I didn’t kill the other three gholas or harm their tanks! I committed no other sabotage.”

  Teg said, “How can we believe you? This will require a great deal more investigation. I will review all evidence in light of this new information.”

  Sheeana was clearly troubled, but her words surprised everyone. “My own truthsense leads me to believe him.”

  The flesh tank and unborn fetus lay on the floor, chemically decomposing. Black streaks covered all tissue and spread into the surrounding puddle. Yueh struggled to throw himself into the poisonous corrosive, as if by doing so he could kill himself.

&
nbsp; With an iron grip, Thufir held him away from it. “Not quite yet, Traitor.”

  “No good will come from any of this,” the old Rabbi said, standing at the doorway of the medical center. No one had heard him arrive.

  Desperate, Yueh looked at him. “I tested the samples you gave me—the baby was de Vries!”

  The old man backed away like a startled bird. He looked indignant at the very suggestion he might have provoked the unstable young man. “Yes, I gave you a sample I obtained from the axlotl lab. But I merely raised a question—and never suggested that you should commit murder! Murder! I am a man of God, and you are a doctor—a Suk doctor! Who would imagine . . . ?” He shook his head. His gray beard looked especially wild today. “That tank you killed might have been Rebecca! I could never suggest such a thing.”

  Everyone in the room exchanged glances, silently agreeing that Yueh must be the saboteur after all.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. “Not the other times. Why would I confess to this but deny the others? My crime is the same.”

  “Not the same at all,” Jessica said in a knotted voice. “This was my Duke . . . .” She turned and left, while Yueh stared beseechingly after her.

  Each human, no matter how altruistic or peaceful he seems, carries the capacity to commit tremendous violence. I find this quality particularly fascinating, especially because it can lie dormant for extended periods and then flare up. For instance, consider their traditionally docile women. When these life-givers decide instead to take lives, it is a beautiful ferocity to behold.

  —ERASMUS,

  Laboratory Notes

  On Chapterhouse, the meeting of Reverend Mothers degenerated quickly to murderous intent.

  Eyes flashing, Kiria nudged the chairdog away from her as she stood. “Mother Commander, you have to accept certain facts. Chapterhouse is more than decimated. The Ixians still haven’t produced the Obliterators they promised. We simply can’t win this fight. As soon as we admit that, we can begin to make realistic plans.”

  Eyes bleary, Murbella gave the former Honored Matre a level look. “Such as?” The Mother Commander dealt with so many ongoing crises, obligations, and unsolvable problems that she could barely concentrate on the reports coming to the mostly empty Keep. The plague had passed on Chapterhouse, so everyone who was going to die was already dead. With the exception of the isolated inhabitants of the deep desert Shakkad Station, the only survivors on the planet were Reverend Mothers.

  All the while, the thinking machines continued to move through space, penetrating deeper into the Old Empire—though by sending scout probes and their plagues here to Chapterhouse, they had broken their previously predictable progression. Omnius must understand the significance of the New Sisterhood; a key victory here could stop the rest of humanity’s scattered fighting.

  “Let’s take what we need,” Kiria said, “copy our Archives, and vanish into the great unknown to create seed colonies. The thinking machines are relentless, but we can be swift and unpredictable. For humanity’s survival and the preservation of the Sisterhood, we must disperse, reproduce, and remain alive.” The other Reverend Mothers watched guardedly.

  Anger boiled within Murbella. “Those old attitudes have proved wrong time and again. We can’t survive simply by running or by breeding faster than Omnius can kill us.”

  “Many Sisters believe as I do—the ones still living, that is. You’ve led us now for almost a quarter of a century, and your policies have failed. Most of Chapterhouse is dead. This crisis forces us to consider new alternatives.”

  “Old alternatives, you mean. There is too much work ahead of us to rehash this tired debate. Is the identification test for Face Dancer genetics ready for distribution yet? That test is critical for all key planetary governments. Our scientists have studied the cadavers for weeks, and we must send—”

  “Don’t change the subject, Mother Commander! If you won’t make the rational decision, if you can’t see we need to adapt to circumstances, then I challenge you for leadership.”

  In astonishment, Laera backed away from the table, while Janess watched her mother, showing no emotion. After the plague had run its course, the female bashar had returned from the fringe battles.

  Murbella allowed herself a cool smile as she faced Kiria. Her voice dripped with acid. “I thought we finished this nonsense years ago.” She had fought off numerous challengers, killing each one. But Kiria was ready to put it to the test again. “Choose your time and place.”

  “Choose? That’s just like you, Mother Commander—putting off what must be done now.” In a flash as swift as nerve impulses could travel, Kiria leapt and lashed out with one foot. Murbella spun away, her spine bending backward with a suppleness that surprised even her. The deadly edge of Kiria’s foot came within a hair’s breadth of her left eye. The attacker landed on her feet, poised for further combat in the council chamber. “We can’t choose a time and place for fighting. We must always be ready, always adapt.” She lunged forward again, both hands outstretched, fingers rigid as wooden stakes to gouge Murbella’s throat.

  She writhed out of the way as Kiria thrust. Before her opponent could yank her hand away, Murbella grabbed the woman’s arm and added her own momentum, pulling Kiria off balance and slamming her into the council table, scattering Ridulian crystal sheets. Tumbling off, Kiria crashed into a chairdog. In angry reflex, her fist broke through the placid animal’s furry hide and spilled its blood on the floor. The piece of living furniture died with only the faintest peep of alarm and pain.

  Murbella sprang onto the tabletop and kicked a loose holoprojector at her opponent. The sharp edge of the device caught Kiria on the brow, making a cut that bled profusely. The Mother Commander crouched, ready to defend herself from a frontal attack, but Kiria ducked under the table and heaved upward with her back, knocking the table over. When Murbella fell, Kiria dove over the capsized table and dropped onto the Mother Commander. She wrapped wiry hands around her throat in a primitive but effective method of assassination.

  With rigid fingers, Murbella jabbed Kiria’s side with enough force to fracture two ribs, but at the same time she felt the sickening snap of her own fingers breaking. Instead of withdrawing as expected, Kiria snarled in pain, raised Murbella’s neck and shoulders, and slammed her head against the floor.

  Murbella’s ears rang, and she felt her skull crack. Fluttering black spots of unconsciousness circled her vision like tiny vultures waiting for fresh carrion. She had to stay awake, had to keep fighting. If she faded now, Kiria would kill her. And if she was defeated here, she would lose not just her life, but the Sisterhood as well. The fate of the entire human race could be decided in this moment.

  Janess watched her mother with anguish, but Laera and the other Reverend Mothers were well trained and would not interfere. The unification with Honored Matres had required certain concessions from the Bene Gesserits, including the right of anyone to challenge the Mother Commander’s leadership.

  Kiria continued to choke her, while Murbella strained to draw a breath. Blocking the pain of her broken fingers, she clapped her palms hard against Kiria’s ears. As the deafened woman reeled, Murbella gouged out her right eye with a crooked forefinger, leaving blood and jelly all over her face.

  Kiria writhed away, pushing to her feet, but Murbella followed with a flurry of hand blows and kicks. Even so, her challenger was not defeated yet. Kiria hammered her heel into Murbella’s sternum, then struck her abdomen with a side blow. Something ruptured inside; Murbella could feel the damage but didn’t know how bad it was. Digging into her energy reserves, she drove Kiria aside with her shoulder.

  The Honored Matre’s lips were drawn back to expose bloody gums and teeth. Rallying, Kiria gathered all of her strength to strike, ignoring her mangled eye. But as she planted her foot, she slipped on a smear of the chairdog’s blood on the smooth floor. This threw off her balance for an instant—just long enough to give Murbella the advantage. Without hesitating, the Mother Commander st
ruck a blow so hard that her own wrist shattered—as did Kiria’s neck. The challenger fell dead to the floor.

  Murbella swayed, while Janess came forward, concern on her face, ready to help her mother, her superior. Murbella raised an arm. Her broken wrist flopped limply, but she banished the wince of pain from her face. “I am capable of standing by myself.”

  Some of the younger Reverend Mothers, with wide eyes and intense expressions, had backed up to the walls of the council chamber.

  Murbella wanted so badly to fall beside her victim on the floor, letting the exhaustion and pain take control. But she could not allow that—not with so many Reverend Mothers observing. She could never reveal a moment of weakness, especially now.

  Summoning her breath, dredging up the last sparks of endurance, Murbella spoke in an even voice. “I will go to my quarters now and heal.” Then, in a lower voice, “Janess, have the kitchens send up a restorative energy drink.” She cast a dismissive glance at the dead Kiria, then raised her eyes to Janess, Laera, and the awed spectators in the hall. “Or do any of you wish to challenge me and take advantage of my condition?” In defiance, she held up her broken wrist. No one took the offer.

  Injured inside and out, Murbella had no clear memory of how she made it back to her quarters. Her progress was slow, but she accepted no aid. The other Reverend Mothers, sensing her determination, left her alone.

  In her dim room, the spice drink was already waiting for her. How long did it take me to get here? After a single sip she could feel energy surge through her body. She murmured a thankful blessing to Janess; her daughter had made this drink extremely potent.

  Leaving word that she was not to be disturbed, she sealed her door and consumed the rest of the rejuvenating beverage. It boosted the internal repairs she had already begun to make, delicately probing with her mind to judge the extent of her injuries. Finally, allowing the flood of pain to wash into her senses, Murbella carefully assessed what Kiria had done to her. The degree of internal damage frightened her. Never in any previous challenge had she come so close to losing.