Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Roderick, though, waved the man away and leaned over to take a bite from the salad on his brother’s plate. “I’ll take care of this.” Salvador reached out in alarm to stop him, but it was too late. Roderick chewed and swallowed. “The salad is very good.” The blond, muscular man smiled, and everyone began to eat as he whispered to Salvador, “You’re silly to worry so much about your food. It makes you look weak and frightened. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Salvador began eating. Yes, he did know that Roderick would give his life to protect him, would risk poison or throw himself in front of an assassin’s projectile. Alas, Salvador knew that he wouldn’t do the same were the circumstances reversed. Roderick was a better person in almost every way.

  Down the table, Empress Tabrina let out a loud laugh, and Haditha nodded, pleased by some amusing comment. Salvador looked wistfully at his brother’s wife, not out of lust but out of envy for their relationship. Roderick’s marriage to Haditha was stable, happy, and had produced four well-behaved children, while Salvador’s marriage to Tabrina was as loveless as it was childless. Without doubt, the Empress was a great beauty, but lurking under that lovely exterior was a disagreeable, demanding personality.

  Tabrina’s wealthy mining family was a key supplier of strong, lightweight construction materials that were vitally needed for government projects, and Salvador had signed an agreement guaranteeing dire financial repercussions if the Emperor ever divorced her; there were even severe contractual penalties in the event of her premature death. Salvador had no way out now. It was a lousy contract and a lousy marriage.

  Fortunately, he had eight concubines … not so many for a man of his position, and his father had certainly had plenty of lovers besides Empress Orenna. Tabrina might not approve, but it was established tradition, providing the rulers with other options than a loveless bed.

  The other diners conversed in low tones, occasionally glancing in his direction. They were waiting for him to establish the subject of conversation, which he customarily did. His headache was already coming back.

  Roderick noted the cue and took the lead to put his brother at ease, which Salvador appreciated. As they waited for the soup course, he raised a glass of white wine to the woman from Rossak. “Sister Dorotea, your school is mysterious, but quite impressive. Perhaps you can share some of your learning with us?”

  “And perhaps not.” Her brown feline eyes sparkled. “If we told our secrets, what need would there be for the Sisterhood?” Chuckles circled the table.

  Roderick tipped his glass to her, conceding the point, and the discussion turned to the merits of the plethora of schools that had arisen since the end of the Jihad. “We are living in very exciting times, a renaissance of learning—so many schools specializing in the potential of the human mind and body.”

  Dorotea agreed. “It is imperative that humans see how far we can advance without oppression of thinking machines.”

  The Emperor received regular reports from across his vast realm. Schools were springing up like weeds around the Imperium, each one with a particular specialization, a focus on various mental or physical disciplines. The Emperor could not keep track of all the philosophies, although he assigned functionaries to monitor them. In addition to the Sisters of Rossak and the Suk doctors, Mentats were being taught on Lampadas, and adept Swordmasters continued to emerge from Ginaz. He had also just learned of a well-financed new Academy of Physiology on Irawok that included studies of kinesiology, anatomical functions, and nervous systems. And there were literally hundreds of other crackpot disciplines. Educational cults, he considered them.

  Salvador took every opportunity to show public appreciation for his brother. “Roderick, unlike me, you are a fine physical specimen. Perhaps you could be an instructor at the new physiology academy, or even a recruiter!”

  Roderick laughed and addressed Dorotea, while all the diners listened. “My brother doesn’t mean it. I have too many important governmental duties.”

  “Quite true,” Salvador said with not-so-feigned embarrassment. “Too often he needs to clean up after my mistakes.”

  Nervous laughter. Roderick made a dismissive gesture, continuing to focus on Dorotea. “And your advice has been invaluable as well, Sister.”

  Finally, servants began laying out the soup course. “As women complete their training,” she said, “Reverend Mother Raquella sends the majority of our graduates out to assist noble families in the Landsraad League. We think the Sisterhood has much to offer. As for my own skills, I am particularly adept at determining truth from falsehood.” She smiled at the two Corrino men. “Such as when one brother is lovingly teasing another.”

  “My family relationships are not so playful or loving,” Anna blurted out, causing a hush to fall. “In fact, Salvador doesn’t know much about love at all. He has no love in his own marriage, so he’s determined to deny me a chance at romance.” The young woman sniffed, obviously expecting a show of commiseration from her companions. Lady Orenna gave the girl a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Empress Tabrina wore a completely stony expression.

  Anna sat straighter, her eyes flashing at Salvador. “My brother shouldn’t order me around in my personal life.”

  “No, but an Emperor can.” Sister Dorotea’s crisp voice filled the shocked lull at the table.

  Good response, Salvador thought. Now, how to get Anna out of here gracefully? He exchanged glances with Roderick, and his brother rose to his feet. “Lady Orenna, would you be so kind as to take our sister back to her rooms?”

  Anna remained petulant. Refusing to look at her stepmother or at Roderick, she kept her eyes focused on Salvador. “Separating me from Hirondo will not prevent us from loving each other! I’ll find out where you’ve sent him, and I’ll go there.”

  “Not tonight, though,” Roderick said calmly and motioned to his stepmother again. After a brief hesitation, Orenna straightened from her chair, displaying the excellent posture of her station. Salvador noted that the older woman showed no apparent pain in her joints now as she took Anna’s arm. The younger woman acquiesced at her touch, and the two departed the banquet hall with exaggerated dignity.

  One guest dropped a silver fork on a charger plate with a loud clatter in the awkward silence. Salvador wondered how he was going to salvage the evening and hoped Roderick might say something clever to lighten the mood. Anna was proving to be an unruly embarrassment. Maybe she would have to be sent away somewhere.…

  Just then, the air popped in the hall, and a large armored chamber materialized in the open area that was occasionally used by court musicians. A rush of wind swirled around the banquet table. Diners scrambled away, and palace guards ran forward in alarm, surrounding the Emperor to protect him. Automatically, he activated his personal shield.

  Through clearplaz windows in the tank, Salvador saw orange gas and the shadowy silhouette of a mutated creature with an oversize head. He recognized the figure immediately, though she was rarely seen in public anymore. Over many decades Norma Cenva had evolved into a form that no longer looked human.

  Ignoring the uproar among the diners in the hall, Salvador stood and faced the tank. At least it wasn’t the drama of his little sister’s romantic indiscretions. “This is a most unorthodox visit.”

  Silence fell in the hall when Norma’s eerie voice emanated through speakers, as if from far across space. “I no longer require a spacefaring vessel. I can now fold space with my mind.” She sounded fascinated by the very idea. The spice gas in her tank became agitated, making a storm of swirls.

  Salvador cleared his throat. He had spoken with this mysterious woman only twice in the twelve years of his reign. She awed and intimidated him, but to his knowledge she had never harmed anyone with her extraordinary powers. “You are welcome in my court, Norma Cenva. Your contributions to our victory over the thinking machines are immeasurable. But why have you come here tonight? It must be something very important.”

  �
��I no longer relate to others. Bear with me as I attempt to express myself.” Her large midnight eyes stared through the tank at Salvador, sending a chill of fear down his spine. “I see parts of the future, and I am concerned.” She drifted in her tank, and Salvador remained silent and tense, waiting for her to continue. “To bind the Imperium, we must have a network of transportation and commerce. And for that we must have starships.”

  Salvador cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. We have the VenHold Spacing Fleet, Celestial Transport, and countless other enterprises.”

  Everyone remained hushed in the banquet hall. Then Norma said, “Thousands of machine vessels were abandoned in space. They are still intact. Those ships can be used for commerce, for civilization. But other groups destroy these vessels wherever they are found. Mobs cause great harm. I am very disturbed by this.”

  Salvador’s throat went dry. “The Butlerians.” Manford Torondo took pride in sending reports to enumerate the machine ships that his people ransacked and exploded. “They act on their convictions. Some would call their fervor admirable.”

  “They destroy valuable resources that could be used to strengthen human civilization. You must stop them.” The rusty swirls of gas cleared away, revealing Norma with all of the hideous, deformed details of her body—the stunted torso, the tiny hands and feet, the grossly large head and eyes, the nearly invisible mouth, nose, and ears. “Or your Imperium will fragment and die.”

  Salvador was left entirely without a response. He had no idea how he could stamp out the Butlerian movement, even if he wanted to. Before he could come up with excuses, however, Norma Cenva folded space, and her tank vanished from the banquet hall, leaving only a pop of displaced air.

  Emperor Salvador shook his head and muttered with forced levity, “Amazing what those Navigators can do.”

  A quiet observer may learn countless secrets, but I prefer to be an active participant.

  —ERASMUS, SECRET LABORATORY NOTEBOOKS

  In order to keep his thoughts and memories in precise, accessible order, a Mentat required a certain amount of meditation and mental practice every day, uninterrupted hours of quiet contemplation. As the headmaster of the school, Gilbertus Albans kept his office private, an isolated sanctuary where he could wall himself off and focus on improving his mind. Students, fellow instructors, and school administrators knew not to disturb him when he was inside his sealed office chamber.

  No one guessed what he was really doing there.

  The Erasmus memory core sat exposed on its stand, completely engaged in conversation. When Gilbertus paced around the office, the independent robot spoke up. “Do you realize you taunt me just by moving about, flaunting your freedom by pacing back and forth?”

  Gilbertus took a seat at his desk, pushed a wisp of hair out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay seated.”

  Erasmus chuckled. “You realize that does nothing to solve the problem.”

  “And yet it keeps you alive. You must accept certain sacrifices and limitations in order to continue to exist. I saved you from Corrin.”

  “And I appreciate that, but you speak of eighty years ago.”

  Gilbertus enjoyed sparring and debating with his old mentor. “Weren’t you the one to tell me that machines have infinite patience?”

  “True, but I was not made to be a passive observer. I have too many experiments to perform, too much to learn about the intriguing inconsistencies in human behavior.”

  “I understand your predicament, Father, but you will have to content yourself with studying the material I provide—until we find some other solution. I can’t stay here forever.” Gilbertus had already reached the limit where casual observers had begun to wonder about his perfect health, how he seemed quite young for his years, though he altered his appearance to look older. In order to keep secret the life-extension treatment he’d received from Erasmus, Gilbertus had fostered the rumor that he consumed melange regularly, and the geriatric properties of spice gave him a youth and vigor beyond his years. Although he kept records of his spice purchases, he never consumed the substance. The last thing Gilbertus Albans needed was something to make him look even younger.

  The robot spoke up again. “If I am to be a scholar, then I must study human interactions. Despite this frustrating isolation, I have been able to tap into the school’s power conduits and ventilation systems. With the materials at hand, I created an even more extensive network of optic fibers, tiny remote spyeyes, so I can watch the day-to-day activities of your school. It is fascinating.”

  “If your spyeyes are discovered, the Butlerians might burn down the school.”

  “Illogical but interesting,” Erasmus said. “I will trust your conclusion, after my experiences with provocative and shockingly unpredictable human behavior.”

  From his desk, Gilbertus withdrew a printed document that had been submitted for the library at the Mentat School. “I have obtained a new history released by the Butlerians, which focuses on destroying your reputation.”

  “Another one?”

  “See the title, The Tyranny of the Demon Robot Erasmus.” He raised the book, and the optic threads implanted in the room’s walls and ceiling drank in the cover of the tome.

  Erasmus chuckled again. “That does not sound objective.”

  “I thought you enjoyed the propaganda aspects of historical accounts.”

  “It always amuses me how a person with no firsthand knowledge of events can distort the facts with such vehemence. When I read Agamemnon’s memoirs, I saw how the cymek general distorted history. It took me a long time to discover that humans do not appreciate or even want the truth. Machines, on the other hand, would be at a great disadvantage if they knowingly used false data to draw their conclusions.”

  Gilbertus let out a bright laugh. “I think you enjoy being so reviled.”

  The robot pondered this. “I was hated for many centuries by my labor crews, my household slaves. Even Serena Butler despised me, and she was one of my favorite humans of all time. You, Gilbertus, are the only one who has ever seen my true worth.”

  “And even I am still learning,” Gilbertus replied. In fact, he had read the histories himself and knew from his own observations that the robot had indeed committed most of the horrors attributed to him.

  Erasmus sounded impatient. “Open the book. I want to read what the Butlerians say about me.”

  Gilbertus dutifully turned page after page so that Erasmus could scan and absorb the words. “Ah, I was not aware that the Butlerians had access to my laboratory notebooks. One of the volumes was recovered from Corrin after the battle? I’m so glad the records were preserved, although I am disturbed that this author—and presumably the readers of this volume—could draw such ridiculous conclusions from my carefully researched data. I believe I understand more about human suffering than humans themselves do,” Erasmus said. Gilbertus could imagine him shaking the smooth and beautiful flowmetal head he used to have. “However, if you would find a way to provide me with a sophisticated body again, I could continue my important work.”

  “You know that wouldn’t be wise at this time.” Although he loved the independent robot for all of the tremendous opportunities he’d given him, Gilbertus was wary and protective. Despite his mental acuity, Erasmus wasn’t fully cognizant of the dangers he would face if ever he emerged from hiding. And Gilbertus didn’t entirely trust what the robot might do.

  “I wish the humans hadn’t made such a mess of things,” Erasmus said, simulating a long sigh. “The thousand years of machine rule were quite efficient and well organized. I fear the galaxy will never be the same.”

  Gilbertus closed The Tyranny of the Demon Robot Erasmus. “I don’t disagree, but you may be overlooking a key insight.”

  “A key insight?” Erasmus sounded delighted. “Share it with me.”

  “It serves no purpose for you to criticize the humans for their rebellion, when you yourself were the catalyst. You personally were the direct cause of the downf
all of the machine empire.”

  Erasmus sounded offended. “How so? I might have inadvertently contributed in some small way by dropping Serena’s baby from the tower—”

  “In every way,” Gilbertus countered. “None of the machine defeat would have happened without you. You posed the challenge to Omnius, deciding to question the loyalty of the human slaves who had previously shown no evidence of organized resistance. You suggested that you could trick some of your slavemasters into turning against the machines. You planted the hints of a human rebellion.”

  “It was an interesting experiment,” Erasmus said.

  “And it destroyed the Synchronized Empire. Without you, Iblis Ginjo would never have organized his rebel cells, would never have considered overthrowing the Omnius worlds. When you killed the infant son of Serena Butler by throwing him off a balcony in front of a great crowd, you touched a spark to the tinder that you yourself had laid.”

  “An unusual conclusion.” Erasmus sounded hesitant, then admitted, “When viewed in that light, perhaps I was responsible.”

  Gilbertus stood from his desk. “Ponder that, Father, when you’re feeling restless and isolated here. If you had been more careful, the machine empire would never have fallen. And because you’re all that’s left, and because I worry about you, I don’t intend to be careless.”

  He closed the robot’s memory core back in its hidden cabinet, making sure all the locks and seals were in place. Then he went off to instruct his students on how to order their minds more like those of thinking machines.

  History may remember me with awe, terror, or hatred. I don’t care, so long as I am not forgotten.

  —GENERAL AGAMEMNON, NEW MEMOIRS

  Leading a small group of Butlerian hunters, Swordmaster Ellus felt more like a scavenger than a predator. Omnius and his robotic forces had been utterly defeated, and even their deactivated remnants could pose no threat; the rebellious cymeks had also been wiped out, leaving dead walker bodies and obscure empty outposts.