Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Ptolemy slept little and worked the rest of the time. Nothing else interested him. Prior to this, he had always worked with a research partner, and an ache of loneliness hung around him constantly. The interaction and collaboration with Elchan had been a catalyst for breakthroughs, but now Ptolemy was on his own, his only company the whisper of air-recirculation ducts, the hum of life-support systems, and the bubble of nutrient tanks that held growing synthetic limbs. The joy of his laboratory trials and the happy triumphs of each small success were gone.

  Ptolemy had always wanted to help people by making amputees whole again or providing new skin to horribly scarred victims. He might have been a humanitarian, a hero lauded across the Imperium. But his good deeds and generous heart had only exposed him to hatred, and had cost Dr. Elchan his life.

  He closed his eyes now in the laboratory as he remembered how proud he had felt, and how satisfied, to present Manford Torondo with new legs. He had hoped to change the Butlerian leader’s life, make him smile and embrace technology. Shuddering, the researcher squeezed his eyes closed, but could not drive away the persistent memory of the stony-faced Swordmaster hacking the artificial limbs to pieces, destroying everything … and that had just been the beginning.

  Ptolemy was perspiring. With his gift of knowledge, he had to find a way to empower visionaries such as Josef Venport, so that the man could stand strong against the Dark Age that the antitechnology mobs were hell-bent on imposing.

  In the silence of the laboratory he thought he heard the haunting echoes of Elchan’s screams.

  When he opened his eyes, Ptolemy saw that all the artificial limbs in the nutrient tanks had twitched and stirred, like the raised arms of a defiant army, responding to his thought impulses. And every one of the hands was clenched into a hard, implacable fist.

  * * *

  INSIDE THE HANGAR dome, three monstrous machine bodies stood before him—motionless, but awe-inspiring nevertheless. Segmented legs, grappling hands, built-in weapons turrets, sensors, and circuitry … everything controlled by a preservation canister that had once held a tyrant’s disembodied brain.

  Silently, he paced around the mechanical bodies that had been retrieved from Denali’s harsh environment. The armored walkers had been scoured, particle-blasted, and inspected for damage. Ptolemy was impressed to see that the systems remained intact even after decades of exposure to caustic air.

  Each armored walker body had a unique design, built for a specific purpose and modified according to the tastes of the cymek user. By moving their preservation canisters from one artificial body to another, the cymeks could switch their physical forms at will, as if they were no more than exotic sets of clothes. Though they were mechanical artifices, the walker bodies had been built by humans, controlled by humans. These motionless cymek forms were the very embodiment of Butlerian nightmares, but Ptolemy didn’t fear them at all. He imagined how his life would have been different if he’d possessed one of these cymek warrior forms to stand against the barbarians on Zenith.…

  The sophisticated facilities Directeur Venport made available to him here surpassed even the best laboratories he’d used before. Every instrument, chemical, or tool he could imagine was his for the asking.

  Over the past month, he’d met his fellow researchers, all of whom had obsessions and determination—and quite possibly their own scars, as he did. Drawn together, the scientists had a shared drive, a concrete goal of saving and defending civilization. This was more than just an esoteric quest for discovery and truth.

  The facilities were not without problems. Although Venport had placed the greatest minds in this playground of science, the researchers suffered from a lack of support staff. Ptolemy asked for helpers to suit up in protective gear and retrieve the intact cymek walkers that he wished to study, but it took more than a week before they finally arrived. When he complained, politely, to Noffe about the delay, the Tlulaxa administrator nodded knowingly.

  “It is a challenge to find skilled personnel who fit the criteria. Directeur Venport’s scouts constantly monitor the Poritrin slave markets to acquire well-educated captives with any sort of skilled backgrounds.”

  Ptolemy was surprised to learn that the support technicians were indeed slaves, but what did that really matter? No one here got paid, and everyone worked; in practice, they were all equals.

  Noffe tapped his fingers on his desk. “And we do take lessons from history. Even the great Tio Holtzman paid little attention to the qualifications or attitudes of his workers. He had staffed his household and research rooms with unwilling Buddislamic slaves—who eventually brought down the city of Starda.” He shook his head. “Yet another example of ignorant mobs destroying the best parts of society. It never ends.”

  With a dour, angry look, the Tlulaxa administrator removed a printed message on a sheet of filmpaper and handed it to Ptolemy. “We just received this news of the ransacking and wanton destruction Manford Torondo brought down on Bandalong.”

  As Ptolemy read the report, he felt angry, but not surprised. “So they’ve wrecked everything—again. How much knowledge was lost? How many of their discoveries could we have used here, in my own work?”

  “It is a tragedy, indeed.” The administrator scratched his cheek as if to remove the bleached albino spots, then lowered his voice to convey a secret. “But take consolation in the fact that very little key data was actually lost. Even in my exile here, I have kept in contact, receiving regular summaries and archiving detailed backups from many of my people’s most important projects. Remember, the Butlerians tried to lynch me on Tlulax fifteen years ago, so I knew not to underestimate them.” Noffe gave a defiant smile. “They may think they’ve won this time, but we’ll continue the work here, where the savages can’t bother us. We’ll have the last laugh. We’ve saved the research.”

  “But not the people,” Ptolemy said bitterly. “Not the people. We haven’t won yet.” He drew a deep breath. “But, mark my words, we will.”

  The thinking machine I admire most is the human brain.

  —NORMA CENVA, EARLY TECHNICAL JOURNAL ARTICLE SUBMITTED TO TIO HOLTZMAN

  Josef Venport preferred to think of his surprise attack on the Thonaris machine shipyards as an industrial consolidation rather than a conquest. He was a businessman, after all, not a military leader. With his seventy armed vessels, the takeover was straightforward and efficient.

  The seized and rechristened Celestial Transport vessels now flew under Venport colors. The CT employees working on-site to repair the robotic ships had been conscripted into VenHold service—most of them voluntarily. Some had demanded increased wages, while only a few required physical coercion.

  Josef and his Mentat stood inside the warm and well-lit administrative hub connected to the major assembly grids. “I am very satisfied with the results of this operation, Draigo. You have more than earned back your full Mentat tuition from the Lampadas school—and for your comrades as well.” His smile curled his thick mustache. “You have set a high bar for the level of performance I expect from you.”

  Draigo responded with a complacent nod. “I shall attempt to meet the challenge, sir.”

  In the past, when Josef located an intact battle group or depot, he had only plundered and reconditioned the robotic ships, but Thonaris offered much more. In addition to the dozens of complete or partially constructed robotic battleships that were simply there for the taking, these shipyards comprised a fully automated, independent manufacturing facility that included brute-force ore extractors, smelters, fabricators, and robotic assembly lines. Not only could he refurbish the existing robot ships, he could reprogram the automatic fabricators to build properly designed ships in the first place.

  Josef immediately gave his engineering crews the task of studying the depot’s control systems and getting the assembly lines operational again, after removing any existing AI circuitry or sentient control chips. He felt giddy at the prospects.

  Josef received progress reports as his e
ngineers explored the cold, shut-down facilities. Arjen Gates and his Celestial Transport crew had only bothered with the easy pickings. Josef doubted they would have dared to reawaken the entire factory. Arjen Gates had not been a man with vision.

  As reports and images of the valuable operations came in, Josef passed the details on to his Mentat for study and memorization.

  Draigo mused, “During my schooling on Lampadas, we were forced to listen to condemnations of all thinking machines. Even I am surprised to find myself in such a place.”

  “I hope the barbarians didn’t brainwash you. I need your intellect, not your superstition.”

  “I serve you, sir, but I wish to express my concern that it would be very bad for us if the Butlerians were to discover these operations.”

  Josef scoffed. “They are savages who shake sticks and howl at the moon. I cannot take them seriously.”

  Draigo brushed a hand down his black singlesuit. “Nevertheless, remember that my former teacher, the Headmaster of the Mentat School, helped me calculate the position of these shipyards.”

  Josef’s heavy eyebrows drew together. “Is he a Butlerian sympathizer?”

  “Difficult to tell. He is an intelligent, rational man, and he says what he needs to say. I cannot guess, however, whether or not he believes it.”

  To prove that he didn’t care, Josef ordered his work crews to redouble their efforts. Each day, more parts of the Thonaris manufacturing complex were up and running.…

  Now, eight days into the occupation, an unexpected VenHold ship flew to Thonaris, a small vessel that contained only two passengers—both enclosed in tanks. Norma Cenva had commandeered the vessel and used her own Navigator skills to fly directly from Kolhar. Josef doubted his great-grandmother had explained her intentions to anyone in the spaceport towers, and the company spaceport administration must be in a frenzy. He trusted Cioba to deal with the matter. By this time, though, his people should be accustomed to Norma’s quirks.

  When she arrived at the robotic facility and announced herself, Josef called for Draigo to accompany him and took a small craft from the admin-hub over to her ship. Norma seemed pleased by the burgeoning operations she saw. “More ships,” she transmitted, “for more Navigators.”

  Norma had installed her tank in the vessel’s Navigation deck, an open plaz-framed enclosure where an enclosed Navigator could look through the swirl of melange gas to view the universe while space folded around the ship. As a concession to his great-grandmother’s desires, Josef had instructed that all VenHold ships be modified with appropriate observation decks for the Navigators.

  When he and his Mentat came aboard, Josef was surprised to see that the second tank contained the captured spy, Royce Fayed, who continued to undergo his mutation-transformation. Remarkably, the spy had proved intelligent and adaptable, and was progressing through the change even more smoothly than most intentionally selected candidates.

  Norma’s vibrating, emotionless voice came from her tank’s speaker. “I have brought my protégé on his first flight.”

  “Is he ready for it?” Josef asked.

  “He will be. I am guiding him. His mind is … interesting.” She swam closer to the tank’s viewport, where she could look across at Fayed, who hovered inside his own enclosure, his swollen eyes closed as if in meditation. “He races along the pathways of higher physics, following the trail through tenth-order dimensional mathematics.”

  As if words and sentences were a great challenge to him, Fayed spoke aloud, but his eyes didn’t open and his expression did not change. “It is easy to concentrate upward … easy to become lost in thought.” He inhaled a swirling plume of freshly released melange gas, then exhaled it like a man smoking a hookah. “But … so difficult to concentrate downward.”

  Norma said, “Self-discovery and mind expansion are the important and obvious parts of becoming a Navigator. But my son Adrien taught me that it is just as important for a Navigator to remember his or her humanity. If that link is broken, we are no longer better than the average human. We are lost from them.”

  Josef smiled at the turn of circumstances. His original intent in placing the spy in the conversion tank had simply been to execute him in a creative, perhaps poetic way; he had never expected Fayed to thrive. While he didn’t trust anyone who would sell his loyalty to VenHold’s greatest rival, he did trust Norma Cenva—completely. She had vetted the new Navigator through a complex process that no one else could understand, using her prescience. She had proved many times that her intuition was more accurate than Draigo’s most sophisticated Mentat projections. Norma could see into the future and explore converging timelines, and if she vouched for Fayed’s talent and reliability, he accepted that.

  Nevertheless, Josef refused to drop his guard. “Our operations here have been consolidated with remarkable speed. Still, I am vigilant against any possible retaliation from Celestial Transport,” he said to Norma. He didn’t intend to make the same naïve and foolish mistakes that Arjen Gates had.

  Rather than leaving the Thonaris shipyards unprotected, Josef kept twenty armed ships here on patrol while the rest of the VenHold Spacing Fleet returned to their regularly scheduled routes. Josef couldn’t afford to lose the profits of so many commercial runs.

  Draigo added, “By now CT will have concluded that something went terribly wrong here. They will come to investigate, and possibly fight.”

  Norma swam in her tank, silent for a long moment, before pronouncing with firm confidence, “You need not be concerned about Celestial Transport.”

  Josef assumed it was a prescient vision, but she dropped back into the spice gas and did not speak further. When her silence drew out for a long moment, he realized she had gotten distracted, wandering off in pursuit of some profound and intriguing idea. He did not try to force her attention back, however, since Norma’s brainstorms were often extremely profitable. She was more than a genius. She was the sum total of all geniuses who had ever lived, and ever would live, combined into her one remarkable mind.

  Royce Fayed spoke. “We will return to Kolhar now. I will guide us.”

  Josef could not hide the alarm in his voice. “Are you qualified?” He could not imagine losing his supremely talented great-grandmother to a navigational mishap.

  “Norma Cenva has explained the theory, shown me examples, and demonstrated the correct technique. I am ready.” The ship began to hum, and the command circuits connected to the Navigator tanks flashed as they received new input. The transformed spy added, “You should both leave now.”

  “Come, Draigo. Quickly!” Josef knew that once Navigators turned their minds to a problem, they could forget about mere humans altogether. With Josef piloting, the shuttle separated from the VenHold vessel and headed back to Thonaris’s main admin-hub. He had not even finished docking when he saw the ship wink out of existence behind him, folding space back to Kolhar.…

  He was glad to have received Norma’s tacit approval for his success here; at least he assumed she was pleased. And he expected Thonaris to become a powerful, vibrant facility that would produce great profits for Venport Holdings.

  Around him, the automated manufactory lines were lighting up and humming, using materials that the extractor machines had mined from the planetoids. In this facility, new ships were being constructed on assembler docks, adding to the Venhold Spacing Fleet’s vast and comprehensive network—the glue with which he was binding the thousands of planets in the Imperium.

  Now that he knew Celestial Transport was no longer a threat, thanks to Norma’s prescience, he let himself relax. Thonaris was a bustling complex, a base to rival (and potentially even replace) the original Kolhar shipyards established by Norma Cenva and Aurelius Venport. Yes, this was a good day.

  He looked out the admin-hub’s broad viewing port and admired his prize—the body of Arjen Gates himself—captured during the raid on the shipyards. The one man among all the CT workers and pilots whom Josef could not forgive.

  From his
studies of human history, Josef knew that ancient sailing ships had been adorned with carefully chosen figureheads, and now Arjen Gates had become his. A gruesome statue … a trophy.

  Pathetic, despairing, begging for his life, Gates had been strapped to a steel crossbar, his arms and legs bound, his neck tied to keep his head upright. VenHold workers had suited up, and Josef joined them, smiling through his faceplate as he watched the vulnerable and fragile Gates squirm. The rival shouted curses as they marched him into the airlock.

  “You are a nuisance,” Josef had said through the suit speakers. “You refused to learn your place, and you kept taking what is mine. I’m not a man of infinite patience.”

  The airlock cycled, and the decompression had killed the man swiftly enough. Bound to the framework, straining against the empty vacuum, Gates immediately froze solid, his face drawn back in horror and dismay, his eyeballs shattered. Yes, mounted outside the admin-hub of the robotic shipyards, the petrified corpse made a very satisfactory figurehead.

  Josef didn’t gloat, however, and turned back to study the Thonaris operations and all the work he had to do.

  Measure what you fear most. Do you want that to be the benchmark of your life?

  —QUESTIONS FOR ACOLYTES, FROM THE ROSSAK TEXTS

  When Dorotea first saw Sister Valya again, she felt a wash of relief. “You survived the transformation as well? I am glad to see it!” Valya would be her first ally, the genesis of a new wave of Reverend Mothers. A new partner who had also seen the generations of horrors and enslavement, who would realize that even the smallest risk was too great … and that Raquella had kept many important secrets from the Sisterhood. Together they would institute dramatic changes in the Sisterhood.

  Valya’s gaze flickered away. “No, the poison dosage was wrong for me. After I swallowed the pill, I was so sick I vomited before it could affect me.”