This book is dedicated to the legions of Dune fans worldwide. Your tremendous support has made this remarkable universe possible.
Thanks to Frank Herbert’s enthusiastic readers, Dune became the first novel ever to win both of science fiction’s highest honors, the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award. Later, as the number of fans grew, Children of Dune became the first science fiction novel ever to appear on the New York Times bestseller list. When David Lynch’s film version was released in 1984, the novel Dune hit #1 on the New York Times.
Today, nearly fifty years after the original publication of Dune, the fans have kept Frank Herbert’s magnificent legacy alive, continuing to read all of his original chronicles as well as our new novels.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with all our books, we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to our wives, Janet Herbert and Rebecca Moesta Anderson, for their love and creative support. We would also like to express our gratitude to Tom Doherty at Tor Books, our editors Pat LoBrutto (Tor) and Maxine Hitchcock (Simon & Schuster UK), and our agent, John Silbersack (Trident Media Group). In addition, Kim Herbert and Byron Merritt have worked tirelessly to help raise awareness of the Dune novels through promotional efforts, convention appearances, and website work. Kevin would also like to thank Mary Thomson for her many hours of transcription, and test readers Diane Jones and Louis Moesta.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraphs
It has been eighty-three years …
1. After being enslaved …
2. We are barometers …
3. I have already contributed …
4. It is easy to look …
5. I am a generous man …
6. It will never be possible …
7. Life is complicated …
8. During the Jihad, Rossak …
9. It is a trivial thing …
10. What one person sees as …
11. Whether you see mankind’s …
12. A quiet observer …
13. History may remember me …
14. Slavery can take many forms …
15. The only good machine …
16. Adaptability is the essence …
17. One can draw …
18. A storm in the desert …
19. Practice can take …
20. From a tiny seed …
21. Life! If only …
22. Looking backward may seem …
23. Every noble family has …
24. Sadly, I must admit to myself …
25. The history of cooperation …
26. Superstitious fears are childish …
27. Every altruism has …
28. History is best left in the …
29. On my own planet …
30. Vengeance is as difficult …
31. Standing together, the remaining …
32. Love endures, but flesh …
33. I am the real Emperor …
34. Do we derive our identity …
35. Logic and reason are deceptive …
36. Be careful of the …
37. I’m a thinker …
38. We are like salmon …
39. Not all accidents …
40. We are much braver …
41. The galaxy is filled …
42. The lines of the past …
43. Most of the Imperium’s …
44. Theories change as …
45. Consider human life …
46. There is no more optimistic …
47. I am not afraid …
48. All jungles are unique …
49. A man may flee …
50. A successful search …
51. We should not be …
52. Most accomplishments are …
53. All Sisters have …
54. A hunt will always …
55. A prize is worth …
56. Logical enlightenment will …
57. Giving the latest …
58. The path to human …
59. Despite an appearance …
60. A pledge of loyalty …
61. Any attempt to amend …
62. Small experiences form …
63. It would be interesting …
64. As mortal humans …
65. The desert is not …
66. There are many journeys …
67. To play the game of …
68. The path of human …
69. A computer memory …
70. The thinking machine …
71. Measure what you fear …
72. It requires a white-hot …
73. Some people consider facts …
74. Life is filled with tests …
75. The first person to …
76. Those who nourish …
77. An Emperor has no shortage …
78. The human brain is a fragile …
79. Some things are too …
80. Anger, desperation, vengeance …
81. Sometimes it doesn’t take …
82. The Misborn have been …
83. As Serena Butler’s Jihad …
84. He who is willing …
85. Can a knife cut …
86. Computers are seductive …
87. A worthy opponent …
88. We do not always …
89. Despite their ability …
90. Our greatest commanders …
91. Persistence is a virtue …
92. Most public events …
93. Most people aspire …
94. Are your principles …
95. Historians and scientists …
96. One of the greatest …
97. Sometimes the most attractive …
98. Each person mourns …
99. Threats are only words …
100. Setbacks can send …
The Dune Series
About the Authors
Copyright
It was a time of geniuses, of people stretching the limits of their imagination and wondering about the possibilities for their race.
—HISTORY OF THE GREAT SCHOOLS
One might think that humanity would have peace and prosperity after the defeat of the thinking machines and the formation of the Landsraad League to replace the old League of Nobles, but the battles had just begun. Without an external enemy to fight, we began to fight ourselves.
—ANNALS OF THE IMPERIUM
It has been eighty-three years since the last thinking machines were destroyed in the Battle of Corrin, after which Faykan Butler took the name of Corrino and established himself as the first Emperor of a new Imperium. The great war hero Vorian Atreides turned his back on politics and flew off to parts unknown, aging only imperceptibly because of the life-extension treatment given to him by his notorious father, the late cymek general Agamemnon. Vorian’s one-time adjutant, Abulurd Harkonnen, was convicted of cowardice during the Battle of Corrin and exiled to the gloomy planet Lankiveil, where he died twenty years later. His descendants continue to blame Vorian Atreides for the downfall of their fortunes, although the man has not been seen for eight decades.
On the jungle planet Rossak, Raquella Berto-Anirul, who survived a malicious poisoning that transformed her into the first Reverend Mother, has adapted methods from the near-extinct Sorceresses to form her own Sisterhood, featuring a school that trains women to enhance their minds and bodies.
Gilbertus Albans, once the ward of the independent robot Erasmus, has established a different sort of school on the bucolic planet of Lampadas, where he teaches humans to order their minds like computers, making them into Mentats.
The descendants of Aurelius Venport and Nor
ma Cenva (who remains alive, although in a highly evolved state) have built a powerful commercial empire, Venport Holdings; their spacing fleet uses Holtzman engines to fold space and mutated, spice-saturated Navigators to guide the vessels.
Despite the time that has passed since the defeat of the thinking machines, antitechnology fervor continues to sweep across the human-settled planets, with powerful, fanatical groups imposing violent purges.…
After being enslaved for a thousand years, we finally overwhelmed the forces of the computer evermind Omnius, yet our struggle is far from ended. Serena Butler’s Jihad may be over, but now we must continue the fight against a more insidious and challenging enemy—human weakness for technology and the temptation to repeat the mistakes of the past.
—MANFORD TORONDO, THE ONLY PATH
Manford Torondo had lost count of his many missions. Some he wanted to forget, like the horrific day that the explosion tore him apart and cost him the lower half of his body. This mission, though, would be easier, and eminently satisfying—eradicating more remnants of mankind’s greatest enemy.
Bristling with cold weapons, the machine warships hung outside the solar system, where only the faintest mist of dwindled starlight glinted off their hulls. As a result of the annihilation of the scattered Omnius everminds, this robot attack group had never reached its destination, and the population of the nearby League star system never even realized they had been a target. Now Manford’s scouts had found the fleet again.
Those dangerous enemy vessels, still intact, armed, and functional, hung dead in space, long after the Battle of Corrin. Mere derelicts, ghost ships—but abominations, nonetheless. They had to be dealt with accordingly.
As his six small vessels approached the mechanical monstrosities, Manford experienced a primal shudder. The dedicated followers of his Butlerian movement were sworn to destroy all vestiges of forbidden computer technology. Now, without hesitation, they closed in on the derelict robot fleet, like gulls on the carcass of a beached whale.
The voice of Swordmaster Ellus crackled over the comm from an adjacent ship. For this operation, the Swordmaster flew point, guiding the Butlerian hunters to these insidious robot vessels that had drifted unnoticed for decades. “It’s an attack squadron of twenty-five ships, Manford—exactly where the Mentat predicted we’d find them.”
Propped in a seat that had been specially modified to accommodate his legless body, Manford nodded to himself. Gilbertus Albans continued to impress him with his mental prowess. “Once again, his Mentat School proves that human brains are superior to thinking machines.”
“The mind of man is holy,” Ellus said.
“The mind of man is holy.” It was a benediction that had come to Manford in a vision from God, and the saying was very popular now with the Butlerians. Manford signed off and continued to watch the unfolding operation from his own compact ship.
Seated next to him in the cockpit, Swordmaster Anari Idaho noted the position of the robot battleships on the screen and announced her assessment. She wore a black-and-gray uniform with the emblem of the movement on her lapel, a stylized sigil that featured a blood-red fist clenching a symbolic machine gear.
“We have enough weaponry to destroy them from a distance,” she said, “if we use the explosives wisely. No need to risk boarding the ships. They’ll be guarded by combat meks and linked fighting drones.”
Looking up at his female attendant and friend, Manford maintained a stony demeanor, though she always warmed his heart. “There is no risk—the evermind is dead. And I want to gaze at these machine demons before we eliminate them.”
Dedicated to Manford’s cause, and to him personally, Anari accepted the decision. “As you wish. I will keep you safe.” The look on her wide, innocent face convinced Manford that he could do no wrong in her eyes, make no mistakes—and as a result of her devotion, Anari protected him with ferocity.
Manford issued brisk orders. “Divide my followers into groups. No need to hurry—I prefer perfection to haste. Have Swordmaster Ellus coordinate the scuttling charges across the machine ships. Not a scrap can remain once we’re finished.”
Because of his physical limitations, watching the destruction was one of the few things that gave him pleasure. Thinking machines had overrun his ancestral planet of Moroko, captured the populace, and unleashed their plagues, murdering everyone. If his great-great-grandparents had not been away from home, conducting business on Salusa Secundus, they would have been trapped as well, and killed. And Manford would never have been born.
Though the events affecting his ancestors had occurred generations ago, he still hated the machines, and vowed to continue the mission.
Accompanying the Butlerian followers were five trained Swordmasters, the Paladins of Humanity, who had fought hand-to-hand against thinking machines during Serena Butler’s Jihad. In the decades after the great victory on Corrin, Swordmasters had busied themselves with cleanup operations, tracking down and wrecking any remnants of the robotic empire they found scattered throughout the solar systems. Thanks to their success, such remnants were getting more and more difficult to locate.
As the Butlerian ships arrived among the machine vessels, Anari watched the images on her screen. In a soft voice, which she used only with him, she mused, “How many more fleets like this do you think we’ll find, Manford?”
The answer was clear. “I want all of them.”
These dead robotic battle fleets were easy targets that served as symbolic victories, when properly filmed and broadcast. Lately, though, Manford had also become worried about the rot, corruption, and temptation he observed within the new Corrino Imperium. How could people forget the dangers so quickly? Soon enough, he might need to channel his followers’ fervor in a different direction and have them perform another necessary cleansing among the populations.…
Swordmaster Ellus took care of the administrative details, sorting the robotic ships onto a grid and assigning teams to specific targets. The five other ships settled in among the derelict machines and attached to individual hulls. Then the respective teams blasted their way aboard.
Manford’s team suited up and prepared to board the largest robotic vessel, and he insisted on going along to see the evil with his own eyes, despite the effort it entailed. He would never be content to stay behind and watch; he was accustomed to using Anari as his legs, as well as his sword. The sturdy leather harness was always close by in case Manford needed to go into battle. She pulled the harness onto her shoulders, adjusted the seat behind her neck, then attached the straps under her arms and across her chest and waist.
Anari was a tall and physically fit woman and, in addition to being faultlessly loyal to Manford, she also loved him—he could see that every time he looked into her eyes. But all of his followers loved him; Anari’s affection was just more innocent, and more pure than most.
She hefted his legless body easily, as she had done countless times before, and settled his torso onto the seat behind her head. He didn’t feel like a child when he rode on her shoulders; he felt as if Anari were part of him. His legs had been blown off by a deluded technology-lover’s bomb that had killed Rayna Butler, the saintly leader of the anti-machine movement. Manford had been blessed by Rayna herself, in the moments before she died of her injuries.
The Suk doctors called it a miracle that he’d survived at all, and it was that: a miracle. He’d been meant to live on after the horrifying day. Despite the physical loss, Manford had seized the helm of the Butlerian movement, and led them with great fervor. Half a man, twice the leader. He had a few fragments of pelvis left, but very little remained below his hips; nevertheless, he still had his mind and heart, and did not need anything else. Just his followers.
His curtailed body fit neatly into the socket of Anari’s harness, and he rode high on her shoulders. With subtle shifts of his weight, he guided her like part of his own body, an extension below his waist. “Take me to the hatch, so we can be the first to board.”
&
nbsp; Even so, he was at the mercy of her movements and decisions. “No. I’m sending the other three ahead.” Anari meant no challenge in her refusal. “Only after they verify there is no danger will I take you aboard. My mission to protect you outweighs your impatience. We go when I have been advised that it is safe, and not a moment sooner.”
Manford ground his teeth together. He knew she meant well, but her overprotectiveness could be frustrating. “I expect no one to take risks in my stead.”
Anari looked up and over her shoulder to gaze at his face, with an endearing smile. “Of course we take risks in your stead. We would all lay down our lives for you.”
While Manford’s team boarded the dead robotic ship, searching the metal corridors and looking for places to plant charges, he waited aboard his own vessel, fidgeting in his harness. “What have they found?”
She did not budge. “They’ll report when they have something to report.”
Finally, the team checked in. “There are a dozen combat meks aboard, sir—all of them cold and deactivated. Temperature is frigid, but we’ve restarted the life-support systems so you can come aboard in comfort.”
“I’m not interested in comfort.”
“But you need to breathe. They will tell us when they’re ready.”
Though robots did not require life-support systems, many of the machine vessels had been equipped to haul human captives in the cargo bays. In the final years of the Jihad, Omnius had dedicated all functional vessels to the battle fleet, while also building huge automated shipyards to churn out new war vessels by the thousands.
And still the humans had won, sacrificing everything for the only victory that mattered.…
Half an hour later, the atmosphere in the machine ship reached a level where Manford could survive without an environment suit. “Ready for you to come aboard, sir. We’ve located several good places to plant explosive charges. And human skeletons, sir. A cargo hold, at least fifty captives.”
Manford perked up. “Captives?”
“Long dead, sir.”
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