Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  “But the Sisters don’t believe in love. How can you possibly think that will help me?”

  “You must find a new kind of inner strength, one that does not rely on your relationship with any man. I have had to do this over the years, and I am stronger for it, a better person.”

  Anna sat for several long moments, listening for sounds outside, any noises of searchers waiting for her. She went to the perimeter of her chamber and mentally created an opening to look through. The gardens and the woods were perfectly still.

  “All right, I’ll try it—for you.” She embraced her stepmother, then unfolded a leafy doorway and led the way outside.

  Every noble family has its dark secrets.

  —REVEREND MOTHER RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, SISTERHOOD RECORDS

  Valya Harkonnen reveled in every day she and her fellow Sisters spent at the Imperial Court. This was where she and her brother belonged, not Lankiveil. Even though she was just a member of the Reverend Mother’s entourage, she was still inside the Imperial Palace in Zimia. It gave her a better idea of what her family deserved.

  In the past, the Harkonnens had been at the heart of the old League of Nobles, well respected, with an honored history. But thanks to Vorian Atreides, who disgraced Abulurd all those years ago, they were shut out of the circles of power. The reminder gnawed at her, but she used Sisterhood techniques to calm herself and focus her thoughts. Nevertheless, as she looked around at court, she could see the possibilities.

  To everyone else here, even to Anna Corrino, she was merely Sister Valya. Her family name was never mentioned. Someday, though …

  Now, she accompanied the Reverend Mother to an audience of the wealthiest Landsraad leaders. She could not stop thinking that the Harkonnens were nobles, too, even though their bloodline had been pruned from the Imperial family tree.

  When Reverend Mother Raquella presented herself and her entourage to the Emperor the first evening, Salvador gave them only a cursory greeting. “I hope your school can help my dear sister. She needs guidance and instruction.”

  “We will watch her carefully, Sire.” Raquella bowed. “And see to it that she reaches her potential.”

  In the midst of his private meal, the Emperor wiped his mouth with a shimmering napkin, then frowned at the remnants of food on his tray, as if he had lost his appetite. He seemed to be suffering from indigestion. “I am anxious to get Anna away from here, and I trust your discretion to draw as little attention as possible. No need to add fuel to the scandal.” Valya could read the embarrassment on his face.

  However, the next spacefolder from Salusa to Rossak would not depart for two days, so they remained as guests in the Imperial Palace. Valya didn’t mind a bit. She drank in the details of the experience, knowing her ancestors had walked the same halls and slept in the same rooms. Her father would have been a duke or a baron in the Landsraad, if their family heritage had not been stripped away. Such thoughts always angered her, and she calmed herself by thinking instead about her brother and how hard Griffin studied to become Lankiveil’s official representative to Salusa Secundus. She was sure he would pass his exams.

  Meanwhile, Valya tried to work her way closer to Anna Corrino, but the Emperor’s sister had no interest in being social, choosing instead to sulk in her quarters. Once they got to Rossak, though, there would be time enough to make friends with her, under circumstances that were not in the Princess’s control. Valya did not intend to waste her time here in the Imperial capital. Feeling like a schoolgirl or a tourist, she had asked the Reverend Mother if they might attend the Emperor’s business meeting, so that she could observe and dream about what might have been. When Raquella made the request, Sister Dorotea easily obtained an invitation for them to sit in on the proceedings.

  Salvador held his audience in an antechamber of the Palace’s Autumn Wing, beneath a dome painted with vivid frescoes of the Butlers fighting heroic battles against thinking machines. Facing the audience, the Emperor sat on a great golden chair atop a dais. This secondary chamber was half empty, and the unoccupied seats had been withdrawn into the stone floor, leaving only the appropriate number of benches for the fifty participants to gather close to the throne.

  “Today I’ve decided to have a more intimate session.” Salvador’s voice echoed across the speaker system, with the volume adjusted too loud for the small audience. He waited for a court technician to reset the controls, then started over. “We have certain economic issues to discuss, areas where planetary leaders can be more cooperative with one another than in the past—for our mutual benefit, of course. With that in mind, I have brought a number of expert witnesses to testify.”

  Two men in business uniforms filed onto a platform at the base of the dais; one stepped up to a podium and activated a holo-prompter. For several minutes he droned on about tariffs imposed on materials imported between various star systems, surcharges imposed by Venport Holdings for the transport, and the significantly increased risks of contracting with lower-priced shipping companies that did not use the mysterious Navigators. In spite of her giddiness at sitting in on the special session, Valya found it dull—until the gilded door of the hall’s main entrance swung open.

  A tall, hawk-featured man strode forward, dressed in an old-fashioned, militaristic costume. Looking closer, Valya thought it might be an authentic Army of Humanity uniform from decades ago, adorned with braids and rank insignia. The other attendees of the meeting turned to look, muttering at the interruption; some even seemed relieved for the break from the tedious speech. Valya thought the visitor looked like an actor from a historical drama of the Jihad. Something about him seemed strangely familiar.

  The man’s focus was too sharp to be distracted by the din of surprised conversation. He marched straight to the podium like a general capturing a strategic hill, and nudged the startled economist out of the way. “It’s been more than eighty years since I was last on Salusa, so some of you might not know who I am.” He ran his gaze up and down Emperor Salvador on the throne, as if assessing him. “I can see the Butler in you, Sire, a bit more of Quentin than Faykan.”

  Salvador bristled on his throne. “I don’t recognize you, sir. Explain yourself.”

  Valya suddenly knew who the man was, or had to be. He was still alive? A chill ran down her spine, and loathing kept her speechless. She had spent a great deal of time staring at his image, hating what he had done to her family, to her future. But he was still alive? It seemed inconceivable.

  Since her arrival, she had seen statues of Vorian Atreides in Zimia, and she had studied records of his adventures with Xavier Harkonnen, memorizing his damning speech at Abulurd’s trial, which had brought about the downfall of her whole family. Amazingly, the man’s appearance had not changed over the course of the Jihad … but that was to be expected. The life-extension treatment given to him by General Agamemnon was a matter of public record.

  Throughout her life, Valya had known that Vorian Atreides was the cause of her family’s disgrace, but it was always a distant, theoretical thing. He had disappeared generations ago. Assuming he must be dead, she had hoped that he’d suffered a horrible, painful death.

  Now he was here! Her pulse raced, and her skin felt hot with anger.

  “I am Vorian Atreides,” he said, as if expecting applause. Others had been muttering his name. Reverend Mother Raquella looked stunned, though she had a most peculiar sparkle in her eyes. Salvador sat up, one of the last in the chamber to grasp the identity of the intruder.

  “I’m here to demand protection for my world and the end to an injustice. Raiders recently struck our planet of Kepler, took my people. I just came from the slave markets of Poritrin, where I liberated them.”

  The Emperor sat forward on his throne, and his voice sounded across the chamber’s speaker system, again too loud. “Kepler? Never heard of the place.” He looked around, but no adviser stood close to him. “That’s where you’ve been all these years?”

  “I had hoped to begin anew there. After
all I contributed to the Jihad, this isn’t too much to ask, is it, Emperor Salvador?”

  “No, of course not. If you truly are who you say, then you deserve it. You retired a hero.”

  Vorian stood straight, not bowing before the throne. “I am here to request protection for my planet and people. While I would prefer that you shut down the Poritrin flesh markets and outlaw the practice of slavery, I know that will never happen. It’s not realistic, because of the entrenched interests.” He looked at the befuddled economics expert who still seemed anxious to complete his presentation. “However, Sire, I will accept your guarantee of protection for Kepler, so that slavers never bother us again.” He continued to look at Salvador as if the rest of the audience did not exist … as if Valya did not exist. “I know you Corrinos can grant that much.”

  “If you can prove who you are.” Salvador stepped down from his throne. His initial confusion had gradually slipped into awe. “I suppose that’s a possibility, Supreme Bashar. Do you still hold that rank?”

  “Supreme Bashar,” Vor said. “Also, Hero of the Jihad, and before that I was Primero. I don’t know the ranks of your current military. Because of my honorable service, I was granted permission to use my rank as long as I lived—and in my case, that is a very long time. I will submit genetic proof of my identity, if that’s what you require.”

  Salvador blinked, obviously not sure how to deal with such a legendary figure; mutters of admiration rippled through the crowd. “We need to discuss this further, sir, but for the moment we provisionally welcome you back to Salusa. House Corrino remembers your outstanding service during the Jihad and the great victories you achieved on our behalf. If not for your heroism, Supreme Bashar Atreides, none of us would be here today.” He came forward to shake Vorian’s hand.

  The Emperor’s deferential attitude made Valya cringe. She thought she’d be sick.

  The chamber erupted in cheers and shouts of approval, but Valya had to restrain herself from screaming. After what this bastard had done, how could the Emperor even consider honoring him? This man had crushed House Harkonnen and tossed her family on the garbage heap of history. He should be thrown into the deepest Salusan prison.

  She wanted to launch herself toward him and attack with every fighting method she knew—but not now, not yet. She had learned patience and planning during her years in the Sisterhood. Now she was here to assist Reverend Mother Raquella and become a companion to the Emperor’s sister. She did not want to throw away the opportunity to restore legitimacy to her family.

  Her brother, on the other hand, could take care of the rest. She trusted Griffin, and she knew he would do it for her. Now that Valya knew Vorian Atreides was alive, and which planet he called home, Griffin could track him down and take the revenge that his family honor required.

  Sadly, I must admit to myself that I am the pinnacle of my bloodline. All my descendants are disappointments, despite the advantage of their breeding.

  —GENERAL AGAMEMNON, NEW MEMOIRS

  The twins had remained imprisoned in their preservation vault, immobile and fully aware, for more than a century. In all that time, Andros and Hyla had nothing to do but think and stew and plan. Having never left the laboratory, they had little grasp of the Jihad or of the League humans who fought against the Synchronized Worlds.

  The silence inside the sealed facility now seemed heavy and unnatural, as if the walls still reverberated with screams.

  “We killed them all too soon.” Andros stood in the laboratory module, studying the interesting red patterns splashed on the walls, the strewn body parts of the Swordmasters and Butlerians who had inadvertently released them. “They might have provided more information.”

  Swordmaster Ellus had been quite reluctant to divulge any secrets, but he did eventually, though Hyla had been forced to use her fingers to extract several of his teeth.

  “We can be forgiven our impatience.” She tapped her fingertips together and felt the tackiness of drying blood. “I’ve been restless, and Juno never allowed us much time to practice the skills she gave us.”

  Thanks to what Ellus had revealed between his screams, Andros and Hyla knew the basic story of humanity’s great purge against Omnius and the final victory at Corrin and how the cymek rebellion had ultimately failed. The battle that had wiped out so many neo-cymeks and robotic battleships at this laboratory outpost had been little more than an unmarked skirmish in the much-larger war. Even so, it had left the twins stranded, preserved inside the vault for year after year after year.

  Such a thing might have driven a lesser person mad, Hyla thought.

  “We should leave here,” Andros said. “We’ll take their ship, study their records, and find everything else we need to know.”

  “Juno created us to be superior specimens.” Hyla looked around at the slaughter. “We just proved that, but there is so much more we need to know and see and do.”

  “Juno never returned after Omnius attacked this outpost, and our preparation was incomplete,” Andros said. “We’ll have to do the rest ourselves.”

  The Titan Juno—General Agamemnon’s chosen mate for more than a thousand years—had been one of the oldest cymeks. Juno, Agamemnon, and the rest of the Twenty Titans had taken over complacent humanity, ruling as tyrants before surgically shedding their organic bodies and placing their brains in preservation canisters, so they could live for centuries inside machine bodies. First, however, Agamemnon had preserved his own sperm in order to create offspring when he deemed it appropriate, but his other sons had failed him, causing Agamemnon to erase them all.

  Juno, however, established this secret test program, where she created Hyla and Andros from Agamemnon’s sperm and a slave female’s eggs. General Agamemnon knew nothing of the plan. Juno had enhanced the children—impregnated their skin with flowmetal, intensified their reflexes, and saturated their minds with sophisticated combat skills and tactical knowledge—imprinting their pliable brains with all the information they would need to become invincible weapons. Worthy children of Agamemnon.

  Juno had hoped to launch a larger-scale breeding program once the twins proved the concept. Stalking back and forth in her bulky combat body in front of their indoctrination chambers, Juno had talked with great anticipation about when she would introduce the twins to their legendary father. The words from Juno’s speakerpatch carried genuine sadness and anger when she talked about how Vorian Atreides, Agamemnon’s thirteenth son and greatest hope, had betrayed him after all.

  The twins had listened to every word, absorbing all of that vengeful spite.

  The robot attack on this outpost had destroyed the neo-cymek tenders, the laboratory assistants. Hyla was bitter that the cymek queen had so quickly discarded them. According to Swordmaster Ellus in his last gurgling revelations, Juno was dead, as was Agamemnon—both betrayed by Vorian Atreides.

  “Will we take anything with us from the laboratory?” Andros asked.

  “There’s nothing we need here. I’m sick of this place. You and I are sufficient. We’ll let the vacuum of space reclaim the outpost.”

  The two made their way to the docked Butlerian ship and rapidly familiarized themselves with the controls inside the cockpit. The pilot had mounted three prominent religious icons on a makeshift altar: a beautiful woman, an infant child, and an androgynous, hairless woman raising her hands and preaching. Hyla discarded the items.

  The vessel’s navigation system held charts of prominent worlds in the newly formed Imperium. Hyla also found historical accounts of the Jihad against Omnius, celebrations of the great hero Vorian Atreides … their brother.

  “We have work to do,” Andros said, “and a long journey ahead of us.”

  “We have time. We’ve already waited a century. Now let’s go find our brother.”

  Andros activated the ship’s engines, and the craft rose from the cratered ground, leaving the haunted outpost behind.

  The history of cooperation between the Suk School and the Sisters of Rossa
k is not surprising, since Dr. Mohandas Suk and Raquella Berto-Anirul worked together on a plague-relief medical team during the Jihad. Today, the two groups continue to sponsor cooperative educational forums, but we suspect that their ties run much deeper.

  —INTELLIGENCE REPORT TO PRINCE RODERICK CORRINO

  The more he thought about it, the Emperor was deeply troubled by the reemergence of Vorian Atreides, not to mention the demands he made. A legendary war hero, revered by generations of schoolchildren, a leader who had helped save the human race during its greatest conflict … and conveniently back again after eighty years of absence? What did the man really want? A handful of military patrol ships to guard a planet that nobody cared about? That seemed highly suspicious.

  Salvador was trying to be cautious in this matter of the Atreides scion and the verification of the man’s identity. Yes, the longevity of Vorian Atreides was well known and well documented, but anyone with similar features could claim to be the long vanished Hero of the Jihad, based upon statues and images in history books. Nobody alive remembered exactly what Vorian looked like in the flesh, or his mannerisms, or the tone of his voice. Besides, the gullible mobs continued to spot the renegade Toure Bomoko around every corner, so appearances were not exactly reliable.

  As Emperor, he needed to be careful. But if the man was who he claimed to be (and Salvador suspected he was), perhaps he could ride on the coattails of Atreides’s popularity.

  In order to give himself time to think, the Emperor sent away the economic experts, the Landsraad attendees, and the Sisters from Rossak, with strict instructions that they were not to speak of the strange visitor they had seen at court, though he knew rumors would leak out soon enough—and then the uproar!—assuming the man’s identity could be genetically verified. Vorian Atreides had accepted, even seemed to anticipate such questions and doubts, and had not objected when the Emperor demanded biological samples for testing. For now, Salvador could only delay something that was probably inevitable.