Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  The Sisterhood was the young woman’s family now, as the Reverend Mother insisted, but Valya’s biggest secret was that she could not forget about her other heritage. She kept her divided loyalty as carefully hidden as possible.

  At the unexpected return of Vorian Atreides, her simmering anger had clamored for her to destroy the thorn in her family’s side, but she had passed that noble obligation on to her brother, and she knew Griffin would not let her down. She wondered where he was now.…

  Nearby, robed Sisters sat at other carousel screens or bustled in and out of the hidden chambers, but Valya paid them little mind. She was focused on digging for information, excavating historical files that showed the tangled relationship between Vorian Atreides and the Harkonnen family.

  Buried deep in the records, mislabeled (perhaps intentionally) so that no one had found them, were letters that Abulurd Harkonnen and Vorian Atreides had written to each other years before the Battle of Corrin. Her eyes widened as she pieced together the information: Vorian Atreides said he wanted to restore Xavier Harkonnen to the good graces of history, insisting that the man was a hero, not a traitor to humanity, but the League had no desire to hear it.

  She found two letters Abulurd had sent to Vorian, back when the men were still friends. The first, written in the heat of the Jihad, read: “Some say that Harkonnen blood running through my veins disgraces me, but I don’t accept the lies I have heard, the attempts to blacken the role of my grandfather. You and I know why he did what he did. To me the actions of Xavier Harkonnen speak of honor rather than cowardice.”

  In another letter, Vorian promised Abulurd that once Omnius was defeated he would work tirelessly to restore the Harkonnen name. However, after the events at the Bridge of Hrethgir, Vorian broke his vow, turned his back on the Harkonnen family, and saw to it that Abulurd was sent into exile.

  Abulurd’s final letter in the archives, written during the dark days of disgrace following the Battle of Corrin, was even more telling, and accusatory: “Vor, this is my second letter to you—my second urgent request. I know you want to destroy me and my name. Does that free you of your promise to correct history? At least let honor be restored to Xavier Harkonnen, who bravely flew his ship into the sun to destroy the evil Iblis Ginjo. Or will you cast Xavier aside, and all Harkonnens, because of your disappointment in me? What does that say about Atreides honor?”

  Valya looked away and realized she was crying. She wiped the tears away. She had faith that Griffin would do what was necessary. That detestable man deserved to die!

  Using a hand signal to activate the carousel, she scanned the files and traced her family tree, recognizing many of the names—from Abulurd, back to Xavier, Ulf, and even generations further into the archives of history. So many heroic deeds … but after Xavier killed himself and Grand Patriarch Ginjo, public opinion so turned against him that descendants changed their family name. Xavier’s grandson Abulurd tried to reclaim his heritage, but his later banishment only completed the destruction of their legacy.

  The next carousel screen showed seven images of Abulurd at varying ages. Her heart sank as she watched the faces change from youthful exuberance to the sad recognition of failure at the end of his life in exile.

  She was startled when a breeze touched her face, a warm gust of air in the cavern, as if someone had breathed hard on her and then flitted away. Nearby, she heard a whisper of sound that faded into the shadows. Valya looked around, her senses heightened, but saw no one. Other trusted Sisters worked at computer stations inside the large chamber, but all were far from her. A tactile sensation like gooseflesh skittered down her back … and then was gone.

  She waited, tense, but the sensation did not recur. She heard only the hum of fans and cooling systems, the subsonic pondering of thinking machines. Everything seemed normal.…

  Unsettled, she tried to calm herself by remembering how she had joined the Sisters of Rossak, when a black-robed woman came to Lankiveil on a cargo transport. Sister Arlett, a graduate of the Sisterhood, a traveler who stopped in out-of-the-way places to discuss the Rossak School. The missionary had seen a hunger and a potential in Valya’s eyes, and she gave the young woman hope when Valya knew she had little chance of bettering herself on Lankiveil. “The Sisterhood strives to improve humanity, one woman at a time,” Arlett had told her. “On Rossak, you can learn to become yourself, and more than yourself.”

  Valya was fascinated by the choice. The Rossak School was her chance to improve her prospects. Although Griffin was sad to see his sister go, and their mother dismissed the girl’s aspirations, Valya had made up her mind quickly. She’d flown away with Sister Arlett, feeling no regrets at all.…

  Now, after she finished working with the hidden computers, Valya returned to the main warrens and the classes where acolytes had just completed a meditation session. Presently, she saw Anna Corrino hurrying toward her, followed by an impatient-looking Sister Dorotea. No doubt Anna had been troublesome in the class.

  “I don’t need meditation classes,” Anna said. “I want to work on the breeding program with you.”

  Valya slowed, but continued walking into the main school complex. “The breeding program?”

  “Everyone knows the breeding records are up that trail.”

  “Each Sister has responsibilities beyond continuing her education,” Sister Dorotea said pointedly to Anna. “Sister Valya has her own duties, and I have mine assisting Karee Marques in the jungles.”

  Valya had heard rumors that Dorotea might even become the leader of the Sisterhood one day. But if so, Valya wondered why the Reverend Mother had not let her in on the secret of the breeding-record computers. Perhaps because Dorotea had spent years studying with the Butlerians on Lampadas?

  Anna took Valya by the arm, happily claiming friendship. “I want to see the breeding records. They must be very important.”

  Valya’s mind raced. Anna Corrino was not accustomed to being denied access anywhere. “Once you become a full Sister and pass all your tests, maybe I can use my influence to arrange a brief tour, but detailed family trees are generally off-limits.”

  Anna grinned. “I know all about House Corrino already.”

  Valya wondered if Anna had been told about the Harkonnen offshoot of the Butler/Corrino family tree. Would it surprise you to know we are cousins? Rather than answering Anna directly, she paraphrased the Reverend Mother’s words. “Maybe so, but remember that we are all Sisters, and the Sisterhood is our family now.”

  Not all accidents are what they seem. Victims do not even know why they have been chosen.

  —GENERAL AGAMEMNON, TRUE MEMOIRS

  Now that they had been set free, Hyla and Andros flew their stolen ship to the heart of the human Imperium. Salusa Secundus. During the flight, they had time to assimilate the information carried aboard the Butlerian ship, resenting and also questioning the facts as presented, especially how the history libraries portrayed their father, General Agamemnon, and the time of cymek Titans.

  The twins also learned how their prodigal brother, Vorian, had turned wholeheartedly against the Synchronized Empire, how he was worshipped as a hero among the feral humans, whom the thinking machines scornfully called hrethgir.

  “Apparently they revere betrayers,” Andros said. “The hrethgir do not grasp the greatness of their forebears—and our brother is no worthy son of Agamemnon.”

  “Maybe we can restore that,” Hyla said. “If Vorian turned once, maybe we can turn him again … back to his roots. And the three of us can achieve the potential of our breeding.”

  “He deserves to die for what he’s done,” Andros said.

  Hyla gave him a cool smile with sharp edges. “You just want to be the only son of Agamemnon.”

  “I am the only true son of Agamemnon.”

  Reaching the capital world, they tapped into information broadcasts to collect data, while keeping their ship unnoticed and invisible, not because they feared detection, but because any clamor would affect their
mission.

  Even though the technological network of Salusa Secundus seemed to have deteriorated since the time of the Jihad, the twins tapped into broadcasts and then slipped into historical libraries, where they scanned volumes of heavily slanted histories. The Jihad records celebrated Vorian’s numerous heroic deeds against the thinking machines, even attacking the cymeks who had raised him and granted him the miraculous life-extension treatment reserved for only the best. The accounts featured, and praised, how he had tricked and murdered his own father.

  Vorian could easily have become the first Emperor after the Jihad, and by rights he should have been, but he had allowed the far weaker Corrinos to take that mantle. He had chosen the easy way out, turning his back on the fame and power that was his due. He had vanished eight decades ago into the vast backwaters of the Imperium.

  Hyla could not comprehend why their demi-brother would do such a thing, given his potential. Even after all these years, she had no doubt that he remained alive—just as the twins did. He would probably live for centuries and centuries.

  It did not take Andros long to find him. Vor had indeed returned to the public stage, recently appearing on behalf of an insignificant world that he had called home. A place where he had a family. After stirring up the populace on Salusa Secundus, bowing and smiling to the cheers, accepting the parades they threw for him, Vor had departed, thinking he could slip into obscurity again.…

  “We have to go there,” Andros said.

  Hyla easily obtained the coordinates for the planet Kepler. “Of course we do.”

  They took the starship fuel they needed, murdered two people who got in the way, and flew off to find Agamemnon’s misguided, traitorous son.

  * * *

  THOUGH THE TWINS had been raised in isolation in the experimental/training lab, their surrogate mother, Juno, had pumped a wealth of information into them, giving them combat and infiltration skills. While some details were out of date, the techniques were timeless.

  Andros and Hyla waited in the thorny untracked hills on the edge of the inhabited valley where they knew Vorian Atreides made his home. After full dark set in, they sprinted across surrounding farmlands and into the sprawling village, the layout of which they had memorized from zoning records. They knew their brother’s house, knew the names of his wife, of all his grown children, his grandchildren, his closest associates. Though Vorian’s offspring did carry the bloodline of General Agamemnon, Andros and Hyla were not interested in inferior descendants. They wanted only their brother—and they had their own reasons for this.

  At this hour, only one light remained on in the large house. The night was quiet except for the vague rustlings of livestock. The chirping hum of night insects fell into a hush as the twins glided forward through the starlit shadows. They circled the house cautiously, then approached the lit window. Inside, Hyla saw only an old woman sitting alone in a chair, apparently reading, but she seemed half asleep. Faint, soothing music came from a concert box on a table. Hyla recognized Vorian’s wife, Mariella, but she saw no sign of their brother.

  Andros wanted to break in, kill the old woman, and ransack the house, but Hyla stopped him. “Juno taught us the difference between succeeding through intelligence and succeeding through strength. If Vorian isn’t there, let’s learn what we can first—quickly and efficiently. If that doesn’t work, we have the option for violence later, but not vice versa.”

  Andros agreed, and they went to the front door. With a quick twist of her wrist, Hyla snapped the knob, then broke the dead bolt out of its socket. The two lunged into the house so swiftly that Mariella barely had time to rise from her chair.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The old woman stood tense and indignant, but Hyla could already smell the fear that began to exude from her pores.

  “We’re looking for your husband,” Andros said. “Our dear missing Vorian. We long to see him. Where can we find him?”

  Mariella’s nostrils flared. “I have known my husband for seventy years, and I’ve never seen you before.”

  “We’re his brother and sister,” Hyla said, “and we only recently learned where he’s been hiding all this time.”

  The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “Yes … I can see the resemblance, but he never mentioned a brother or sister before.” Trying to be discreet but doing it clumsily, Mariella glanced around the room, no doubt searching for a weapon.

  “He doesn’t know about us, but we came to Kepler for a happy family reunion,” Andros said. Even Hyla could see that his attempt at a disarming smile was not convincing.

  “He’s no longer on Kepler,” Mariella said. “You missed him. He left, permanently. And I think you’d better leave as well.”

  Hyla frowned, annoyed that this would not be as easy and straightforward as they had thought. “Where did he go? We made a long journey to come here.”

  Suspicion crystallized around Mariella, and she crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant gesture. “I don’t think I want to tell you. He said his farewells and left Kepler for reasons he considered good and sufficient. If he wanted you to know where he was, he would have told you.”

  “This is taking too long.” With a lunge forward, Andros grabbed Mariella by the shoulder and shoved her back down into her chair with enough force that her collarbone snapped beneath his grip. The old woman let out a cry of pain. “It’s time we tried the other methods.”

  The siblings had successfully interrogated a hardened Swordmaster who was inured to pain; Hyla doubted an old woman would pose much of a challenge. “All right,” she told her brother, “but we’ll have to cover our tracks afterward. We can’t let any of these people alert Vorian that we’re tracking him down.”

  * * *

  TWO HOURS AHEAD of dawn, before the village stirred for the pre-sunrise farming chores, someone noticed the rising flames and sounded the alarm. Still tense after the slaving raid, despite the Imperial protective ships in orbit, the people of Kepler rushed to aid.

  Bonda raced with her husband and sons to see that Mariella’s house was on fire. Flames had already consumed the ground level and now spewed from the gables. She had never seen a house catch fire so quickly or so completely. “Mother!” she shouted, trying to run closer, but her husband, Tir, grabbed her arm to protect her.

  “Is she out? Did my mother get out?” Bonda screamed.

  Volunteer firefighters struggled to hook up hoses to the wellhead outside the house and sprayed water on the flames. Some of the firefighters glanced at her, their faces reddened and grim as they continued fighting the flames.

  Bonda struggled against her husband, but he refused to let go of her arm. Her heart was pounding, her throat raw. The porch collapsed in the inferno. Tears poured down Bonda’s face. Spiraling sparks flew like fireflies in the heat currents.

  She had grown up in that house with her brothers and sisters, but with her father gone, it had already felt half-empty. Her mother had seemed a pale shadow of herself without him, but she had refused to move in with any of her children.

  “Maybe she got out,” Bonda said, although nothing could have survived that blaze. Her knees let go, and she dropped to the ground. Tir sank beside her, putting his arms around her, holding her close. The flames rose higher into the sky.

  We are much braver in our private thoughts than we are in reality.

  —FAYKAN BUTLER, HERO OF THE JIHAD AND FIRST CORRINO EMPEROR

  Before Valya sent him the message, Griffin Harkonnen had never heard of the planet where Vorian Atreides was hiding. Kepler was one of the many hundreds of unnoticed and unremarkable worlds that comprised the frontier of the Imperium. Even during the centuries of thinking-machine rule, Omnius had never bothered with Kepler. It was no wonder that Vorian had simply vanished here for decades.

  Of course, Lankiveil was not much of a planet, either—a suitable place for a disgraced man like Abulurd Harkonnen to be banished, but little more than that. It could hardly be called “home” in the comforting
sense of the word.

  Yet, through all the difficulties and resentments, Griffin had tried to see the potential there, the possibilities for whale-fur trade, the investments he could bring in from other noble families if he had the opportunity to talk with them. And once he became the Landsraad representative, he would travel to Salusa Secundus, make allies, and conduct business—and eventually people would learn that his ancestors were the same as the Butler family, who called themselves Corrino after the Jihad. It was all part of his and Valya’s long-term strategy. Though Griffin might not live to see it completed, his children and grandchildren would.

  But the reemergence of Vorian Atreides had saddled him with other obligations first.

  After the loss of Weller and the whale-fur cargo, Griffin understood how important it was for him to be on Lankiveil, to guide his family through the rough and dangerous waters. Unable to do that in person, he had left careful instructions, appointed deputies among the townspeople, and coached Vergyl Harkonnen as best he could. He had to hope they could manage the business of Lankiveil well enough until he returned.

  Avenge our family honor, Griffin. I know I can count on you.

  Though it gave him considerable pause to seek vengeance against such an aged man, Harkonnen family honor trumped everything, including the ledger sheets and five-year plans he’d been spending so much time on. Considering the gravity of what Griffin had to do now—assassinate the most famous hero of the Jihad—he had some misgivings. But he did not shirk the responsibility. He needed to face the grim but necessary task, and complete it.

  After setting aside money for necessary planetary expenditures on Lankiveil and automating the accounts so that spaceship arrivals would be compensated and vital cargoes paid for, Griffin carefully budgeted the settlement money from Celestial Transport and booked the cheapest possible passage to Kepler. Most of the funds he took with him came out of the savings he had built up to pay for appropriate government certifications on Salusa Secundus and to establish an office in the capital city. For the time being, he set those dreams aside.