Sandworms of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  The gathered Face Dancers seemed to hold the balance of power, and Khrone did not back down. His features shifted into a monstrous, demonic mask of fury. “Your lies cannot control us any longer. There is no fail-safe.”

  Erasmus emitted a poignant sigh. “Wrong again. This is my proof.” With a precise nod of his burnished head, he triggered the implanted shutdown virus that was genetically buried within each of the customized, “enhanced” Face Dancers.

  Like a toy discarded by a petulant child, the Face Dancer standing immediately behind Khrone crumpled lifeless to the floor, arms and legs akimbo, an expression of momentary shock animating his face before it reverted to its blank state.

  Khrone stared, unable to comprehend. “What are—”

  “And this.” Erasmus nodded again. With a swift sighing thump, the throng of Face Dancers in the cathedral chamber also dropped, an army scattered in death as if mowed down by projectile fire, leaving Khrone alive to accept his utter defeat.

  Then, after stretching out the moment for effect, the independent robot said, “And this. Your services are no longer required.”

  With his face twisted in rage and desperation, Khrone threw himself toward Erasmus—only to fall to the stone floor, as dead as the rest of his brethren.

  Erasmus turned to Duncan Idaho. “So, Kwisatz Haderach—as you see, I control fundamental parts of our intriguing game. I would not suggest my powers are as great as your own, but in this particular case, they are quite useful.”

  Duncan did not show any awe. “How far will your shutdown virus spread?”

  “As far as I wish. Even though the Oracle of Time extracted Omnius from the tachyon net, the strands of that vast interconnected mesh still exist in the fabric of the universe.” Erasmus twitched his head again and sent out a signal. “There, I just dispatched my trigger to every modified Face Dancer throughout human civilization. They are dead now. All of them. They numbered in the tens of millions, you know.”

  “So many!” Jessica exclaimed.

  Letting out a whistle, Paul said “Like a silent jihad.”

  “You would never have known most of them. With memory imprints, some even believed they were human. All across what remains of your former empire, a great many people are probably quite surprised as comrades, leaders, friends, and spouses drop dead where they stand and transform into Face Dancers.” Erasmus laughed again. “With a single thought I’ve eliminated our enemies. Our common enemy. You see, Duncan Idaho, we need not be at odds.”

  Duncan shook his head, feeling oddly sickened. “Once again, the thinking machine sees total genocide as a simple solution to a problem.”

  Now Erasmus was surprised. “Don’t underestimate the Face Dancers. They were . . . evil. Yes, that is the correct word. And since each one was fundamentally part of a hive mind, they were all evil. They would have destroyed you, and they would have destroyed us.”

  “We’ve heard that kind of propaganda before,” Jessica said. “In fact, I’ve heard it cited as the primary reason why all machines need to be destroyed.”

  Duncan looked at all the dead Face Dancers, realizing how much damage the shape-shifters had done for centuries, whether they were guided by the evermind or by their own schemes. Face Dancers had killed Garimi, sabotaged the no-ship, and caused the death of Miles Teg . . .

  Looking at the robot, Duncan narrowed his eyes. “I can’t say I’m terribly sorry, but there was no honor in what you—or the Face Dancers—did here. I cannot agree with it. Don’t think we are indebted to you.”

  “On the contrary, it is I who owe so much to you!” Erasmus could barely contain his pleasure. “That is exactly the way I’d hoped you would react. After thousands of years of study, I believe I finally understand honor and loyalty—especially in you, Duncan Idaho, the very embodiment of the concept. Even after an event that obviously helps your race, you still object to my tactics on a moral basis. Oh, how wonderful.”

  He looked down at all the Face Dancers, the astonished and confused expression on Khrone’s face. “These creatures are the exact opposite. And my fellow machines are not loyal or honorable, either. They merely follow instructions because they are programmed to. You have shown me what I needed to know, Kwisatz Haderach. I am very much in your debt.”

  Duncan stepped closer, searching for some way to access the new abilities he knew lay dormant inside him. Just knowing he was the much-anticipated Kwisatz Haderach was not enough. “Good. Because now I want something from you.”

  A single decision, a single moment, can make the difference between victory and defeat.

  —BASHAR MILES TEG,

  Memoirs of an Old Commander

  It’s a trap—it must be.” Murbella stared at the vast yet motionless Enemy fleet. The human ships were still outnumbered hundreds to one, but the thinking machines made no move. The Mother Commander froze, holding her breath. She had expected to be annihilated.

  But the Enemy did nothing. “This is deeply unnerving,” she whispered.

  “All backup systems ready, as you ordered, Mother Commander,” one of the pale young Sisters announced. “It may be our only chance to cause some damage.”

  “We should open fire!” Administrator Gorus cried. “Destroy them while they are helpless.”

  “No,” said another Sister. “The machines are trying to lure us from our defensive positions. It’s a trick.”

  Everyone on the navigation bridge stared at their dark and quiet foe, afraid to breathe. The robot vessels just drifted out there in the cold void.

  “They have no need to trick or trap us,” Murbella finally said. “Look at them! They could destroy us any time they like. It was foolish, impulsive Honored Matre violence that triggered this very war in the first place.” The Mother Commander narrowed her gaze, studying the overwhelming force of warships. Utter stillness. “This time, I will take a moment to understand before we just open fire.”

  Murbella’s eyes blazed as she struggled to comprehend. She remembered when her eyes had been a hypnotic green—an alluring feature that had helped her ensnare Duncan. Strange, the thoughts that haunt you when death waits at your door . . .

  At the time of Duncan’s escape from Chapterhouse, no one had known the identity of the outside Enemy. Now, the Oracle had said Duncan was on Synchrony at the heart of the thinking-machine empire. Had he managed to get away? If Duncan was still alive, she could forgive him anything. How she longed to see him again, and hold him!

  The painful silence stretched out. Another excruciating minute, followed by another. Murbella had seen the thinking-machine forces on the move from planet to planet, and the aftermath of their strikes. She had seen the plagues they disseminated and had buried her own daughter Gianne with so many others in an unmarked grave out in the Chapterhouse desert. “No matter what the reason,” she said, “the machines have never been so vulnerable.”

  From her nearby ship, Janess gruffly acknowledged. “If we are going to die in battle, why not take out as many of the Enemy as we can?”

  Murbella had already prepared for this moment. She issued her orders, each word carrying a sharp edge. “All right, I don’t know why, but we’ve got an unexpected reprieve. We may be few, but we’ll be like D-wolves with sharp fangs. We’ll rely on our own eyes and skills.”

  One of the Guildsmen who had rushed aboard the ship at the last minute reacted with alarm. He was a bald and pasty-faced man with tattoos on his scalp. “Aiming our weapons will require precision maneuvering, Mother Commander! We can’t do it without assistance.”

  Murbella shot him a wilting glare. “I’d rather rely on my eyes than on Ixian systems. I’ve already been deceived once today. Target the largest ships. Destroy their weapons, disable their engines, and move on to others.”

  Janess transmitted to the clustered defenders, “The wreckage of all those Enemy ships can provide cover if the machines fire back at us.”

  The bald Guildsman objected again. “Every piece of debris is a navigational hazard. No
human can react fast enough. We need the Ixian devices back online, at least in a limited fashion.”

  Even Gorus looked at him strangely. Suddenly, the bald Guildsman shouted, turned from his technical station, and collapsed. Near him, without a sound, another of the new crewmen dropped dead in his tracks. A third slumped over on the upper navigation deck.

  Suspecting that their ships were under some kind of invisible attack from a silent, deadly weapon, the Sisters reacted quickly, trying to determine what was happening. Murbella hurried to the tattooed Guildsman, rolled him over, and watched his puttylike face shift to the blank visage of a Face Dancer.

  Gorus looked around as if he finally realized how he had been betrayed. The other two fallen bodies also shifted. All Face Dancers! Murbella glared at the Administrator. “You guaranteed me that everyone had been tested!”

  “I spoke the truth! But in the rush to lauch your whole fleet, someone might have been missed. And what if one or more of the testers happened to be a Face Dancer?”

  She turned from him in disgust. A flurry of transmissions arrived from the other defender vessels, all reporting dead Face Dancers onboard. Amidst the jumble of comm activity, Janess’s voice came in sharp and clear. “Five Face Dancers were on my vessel, Mother Commander. All are now dead.”

  Meanwhile, the listless Enemy ships continued to drift apart, though they could easily have pressed their attack on Chapterhouse and achieved victory. Murbella’s thoughts spun, wrestling with yet another mystery. Face Dancers among us, working for Omnius. But why did they drop dead?

  Not long ago, the Oracle of Time had whisked her numerous Heighliners away from this battlefield to Synchrony . . . to Duncan. Had the Oracle and her Navigators struck a blow that sent ripples through the entire Enemy fleet? Had Duncan? Something seemed to have shut down the thinking-machine battle fleet and all their shape-shifter spies.

  Murbella indicated the dead Face Dancers sprawled near her. “Get those monstrosities out of here.” Not bothering to hide their revulsion, several Sisters dragged the scarecrowish bodies away.

  Murbella focused on the screen with such intensity that her eyes burned. The Honored Matre part of her wanted to strike and kill in a frenzy, but all of her Bene Gesserit training screamed for her to understand first. Something essential had changed here. Even the voices of Other Memory couldn’t counsel her. Thus far, they had been mute.

  Representatives of the remaining populations on Chapterhouse transmitted urgent messages, demanding reports from the front, wondering how long they might expect to survive. With no answers for them, Murbella didn’t respond.

  Janess transmitted a brash suggestion. “Mother Commander . . . should we board one of the Enemy ships? It could be our best chance to discover what’s happened.”

  Before she could answer, space distorted again around them. Four huge Heighliners reappeared, emerging in the debris-strewn battle zone so close to the human defenders that Murbella shouted for evasive action. The Guild pilot on one of the nearby ships reacted with an exaggerated maneuver, pulling his heavy cruiser out of the way and nearly colliding with Janess’s vessel. Another careened into a debris field of destroyed first-wave machine ships.

  A third defender acted impulsively and opened fire on the silent thinking-machine fleet, launching a volley of explosive projectiles into the conical nose of the nearest machine battleship. Fiery eruptions burst out in a repeating pattern along the Enemy vessel’s hull.

  Alarms rang out, and Murbella demanded reports, wondering if the machines would respond with a massive display of force. No more caution. “Prepare to fire! All ships, prepare to fire! Hold nothing back!”

  But even thus provoked, the darkened Omnius fleet remained motionless. The Enemy vessel damaged in the impulsive barrage careened in a slow drift, still burning. Very slowly it crashed into an adjacent machine ship and caromed off, sending them both spinning.

  The Enemy ships did not fire a single return shot. Murbella couldn’t believe it.

  In the midst of the surprise and mayhem, a Navigator’s voice sounded calm and otherworldly. “The Oracle of Time has sent us here to locate the commander of the human forces.”

  Murbella pushed her way to a commline station. “I am Mother Commander Murbella of the New Sisterhood . . . of all humanity.”

  “I have orders to escort you to Synchrony. I will now take command of your foldspace engines.”

  Before her Guildsmen could scramble to their stations, the Holtzman engines hummed at a higher pitch. Murbella felt a familiar shifting sensation.

  It is too simplistic to state that humans are the enemies of all thinking machines. I strive to understand these creatures, but they remain incomprehensible to me. Even so, I greatly admire them.

  —ERASMUS,

  private files, secure database

  You want something from me?” Erasmus seemed to find Duncan’s demand amusing. “And how will you force me to obey?”

  The man’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “If you truly understand honor, robot, I won’t need to. You will do what’s right and pay your debt.”

  Erasmus was genuinely delighted. “What else do you wish from me? Isn’t it enough that I eliminated all Face Dancers?”

  “You and Omnius were responsible for far more mischief than those shape-shifters.”

  “Mischief? It was rather more than mischief, wasn’t it?”

  “And to atone for it, there’s something you need to do.” Duncan’s attention was entirely focused on the robot, not on the dead Face Dancers, not on the destructive sounds of sandworms outside in the city. Paul, Chani, Jessica, and Yueh all remained quiet in the chamber, watching him.

  “I am the final Kwisatz Haderach,” Duncan said, feeling the nascent abilities embedded within him all the way down to his DNA, “yet I need to comprehend so much more. I already understand humans—maybe better than anyone else—but not thinking machines. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t just eliminate you all, now that the thinking machines are weakened. It’s what the evermind would have done to us.”

  “Yes, it is. And you are the final Kwisatz Haderach. The decision is yours.” Erasmus seemed to be waiting for something, his optic threads gleaming like a cluster of stars.

  “And is there a way that doesn’t require the annihilation of one or the other? A fundamental change in the universe—Kralizec.” Duncan stroked his chin, thinking. “Omnius’s fleet contains millions of thinking machines. They’re not destroyed, but simply without guidance, correct? And I believe your empire contains hundreds of planets, many of which would never be habitable to humans.”

  With his robes flowing around him, the platinum robot began to stroll through the great vaulted hall, stepping over Face Dancer corpses that lay strewn everywhere like marionettes with their strings cut. “That is an accurate assessment. Do you want to find them all, destroy them all, hoping you never miss one? Now that they are without the evermind, it’s even possible that some of the more sophisticated machines could develop independent personalities during a time of long deprivation, as I did. How confident are you in your abilities?”

  Duncan followed him closely. Several times, Erasmus glanced back at him, and made an odd series of expressions, from inquisitive scowls to tentative smiles. Did he see a bit of fear there, or was it feigned? “You’re asking me if I want victory . . . or peace.” It was not a question.

  “You are the superhuman. I say it again—decide for yourself.”

  “Through more lifetimes than I can count, I’ve learned patience.” Duncan took a long, deep breath, using an old Swordmaster technique to center his thoughts. “I’m in a unique position to draw both sides together. Humans and machines are both battered and weakened. Do I choose extermination for one side as the solution?”

  “Or recovery for both?” Erasmus stopped, and with a blank expression faced the man. “Tell me, what precisely is that dilemma? Omnius has been ripped from the universe, and the rest of the thinking machines have no leadership
. In one swift blow I have expunged the entire Face Dancer threat. I fail to see anything left to solve. Hasn’t the prophecy come true?”

  Duncan smiled. “As is the case with so many prophecies, the details are vague enough to convince any gullible mind that everything was ‘foretold.’ The Bene Gesserit and their Missionaria Protectiva were masters at that.” He looked closely at the robot. “And so, I think, are you.”

  Erasmus seemed both surprised and impressed. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Since you were in charge of the ‘mathematical projections’ and the ‘prophecies’ based on them, you were in a position to write predictions however you wished. Omnius believed everything.”

  “Are you saying I made up the prophecies?” Erasmus asked. “Perhaps as a way to guide an evermind stubbornly intent on a narrowminded course of action? Perhaps to bring us precisely to this juncture? A very interesting hypothesis. One worthy of a true Kwisatz Haderach.” The grin on his face seemed more genuine than ever.

  Smiling coolly, Duncan said, “As the Kwisatz Haderach, I know there are—and always will be, even as I evolve—limitations on my knowledge and my abilities.” He tapped the robot in the center of his chest. “Answer me. Did you manipulate the prophecies?”

  “Humans created countless projections and legends long before I existed. I simply adapted the ones I liked best, generated the complex calculations that would produce the desired projections, and fed them to the evermind. Omnius, with his usual myopia, saw only what he wanted to see. He convinced himself that in the ‘end’ a ‘great change in the universe’ required a ‘victory’ for him. And for that he needed the Kwisatz Haderach. Omnius learned many things, but he learned arrogance too well.” Erasmus swirled his robes. “No matter what the evermind or the Face Dancers thought—I have always been in control.”