Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  “The Sisterhood…” she said. He couldn’t look at her bruised lips and smashed teeth; all the blood made him uncomfortable. “Breeding records … you must not have children. Tainted bloodline … They sent me to sterilize you.”

  Salvador fumed. “Sterilize me? They want to destroy the Corrino line?”

  “No … just yours. Roderick’s line should be the Corrino emperors.”

  Prince Roderick’s brow furrowed in deep concern. “The Sisterhood is scheming against the Imperial throne?” He shot a glance at Salvador. “We need to get Anna away from them. We sent her there to keep her safe!”

  But Zhoma wasn’t finished. What started out as a laugh turned into a cough. She seemed to feel a surge of defiant energy and she spoke with absolute clarity. “After seeing how the Butlerians have you under their thumb, I decided sterilizing you wasn’t good enough—you should be killed instead.” She slumped back onto the table. “You’re going to execute me anyway, so I’ll tell you what everyone is saying behind your back: Roderick would be the better leader, by far.”

  * * *

  WHEN THE TWO men returned to the Palace, after changing clothes to remove the sweat and bloodstains, they were surprised to encounter a somber, formal delegation from Rossak. Sister Dorotea, two other Sisters—and Anna.

  “Well,” Salvador said, looking at his brother as they both stepped up onto the throne dais in the meeting hall, “I suppose that’s fortunate timing, now that we know what they’re really up to.”

  Roderick, though, narrowed his eyes and regarded the delegation with concern. Anna looked confused and disoriented, physically unharmed, but … wrong, somehow, and very much changed.

  Holding the young woman’s hand, Dorotea stepped forward and bowed. Her voice was soft and contrite. “Your Highness, a terrible tragedy has occurred.”

  Roderick came forward quickly to grasp his sister’s arms, checking her to see what was wrong, but Anna didn’t even look at him; her eyes flicked back and forth, her gaze dancing to an unheard beat.

  Salvador remained focused on Sister Dorotea. “Explain yourself—and understand that your life, and the fate of the entire Rossak school, will depend on your answer.”

  “My answer is the truth and will not change, threat or no threat.” She did not remove her gaze from Salvador’s. “Long ago, our Reverend Mother Raquella survived an assassin’s poison by altering the biochemistry of her body. This transformation gave her access to intense control of every aspect of her body and unlocked a host of memories from past generations. She became our first Reverend Mother.”

  Salvador was already growing impatient. “I want to know what you’ve done to my sister—not a history lesson on your order.”

  Dorotea did not hurry her explanation. “For many years the Sisterhood has been trying to recreate that transformation, exposing volunteers to dangerous chemicals in hopes of finding the key. Virtually all the volunteers died in the attempt, but I recently became the first new Reverend Mother. Once the technique was proved, other Sisters also made the attempt, so that we now have more Reverend Mothers.”

  Abruptly, Anna began rattling off words at a rapid clip; Salvador realized they were all the names of planets in the Imperium.

  “Anna convinced herself that she was ready, though none of us believed so. She was impulsive, stole a dose of the drug, and consumed it before anyone could stop her. She lay in a coma for many days, but did not die. When she awakened, she was altered—as you see.” Dorotea’s voice remained remarkably steady. “But I don’t think she’s a Reverend Mother. She seems to be somewhere in between.”

  Upset, Roderick demanded, “And with so many deaths from this drug, why wasn’t it guarded well enough to keep our sister away from it? You knew her emotional problems. That was why we sent her to the Sisterhood—for you to keep her safe.”

  “Anna is extremely willful,” Dorotea said. “And smart.”

  “Now I’m smarter,” Anna interrupted in a slurred voice. “There are people in my head, special instructors. Hear them.” She spewed out a jumble of sentences, words, and unintelligible sounds that made no sense, as if they poured out of a bowl in which they had been mixed. Her blue eyes were like glassy marbles, her expression vacant.

  Dorotea looked worried. “In the process of becoming a Reverend Mother, a Sister taps into a vast reservoir of past female lives, a host of memories. Anna seems to have … partially succeeded.”

  Abruptly, the young woman stopped her flow of disconnected words and said in her own familiar tone, “The voices are telling me to go away now. They don’t like me intruding on them, but it is too late. I’m already there.”

  “Anna,” Roderick said, “would you like to sit and talk with me now, the way we used to? You’re home now, where it’s safe.”

  She didn’t respond, gave no indication that she had heard him. Her eyes seemed to peer into a hidden, inner world.

  One of the main doors swung open, and Lady Orenna came into the entrance hall, wearing a white-and-gold robe. “I just heard Anna’s come back to us.” She hurried to the stricken Princess. “Oh child, how are you?”

  Anna seemed to hear her stepmother. Her face was a mask of sadness, as she looked at the older woman. “They hurt me.”

  “Who hurt you?” Salvador asked, rising from his throne.

  “The voices. They hurt me every time they talk … little needles of pain inside my brain.”

  The Virgin Empress put her arm around Anna and drew her close. “Why don’t you stay in my quarters tonight, dear? I’ll take care of you. And tomorrow we’ll go inside that fogwood shrub you like so much.”

  “I’d like that,” Anna said. “I’m home now.”

  Emperor Salvador leveled a malevolent gaze at Dorotea and her two companions. “This is the second time the Sisterhood has failed me—in one day! I will shut down and scatter your entire school!”

  Roderick touched his older brother’s arm discreetly. “But there’s more we need to know. Perhaps we should have further discussions about the proper response to this problem. A rash action now could have repercussions across the Imperium.”

  Sister Dorotea astonished them by speaking up. “Emperor Salvador, I understand your anger. Much of the Sisterhood is corrupt and should be eliminated, but we can save the rest. Some, such as myself and my Reverend Mother companions, believe in a different sort of Sisterhood, one that furthers the noble purposes of the Imperium. It is time to remove the excesses, cauterize the wounds, and move forward along the appropriate path.”

  Salvador made a rude snort. “I know all about your Sisterhood’s schemes, your breeding records, your plot to prevent me from having offspring! Fortunately, we caught your puppet, Dr. Zhoma, before she could sterilize me.”

  Dorotea’s expression became puzzled. “I was not aware of that plan, but Dr. Zhoma was a protégée of the Reverend Mother’s. I do not know her well. However, I agree wholeheartedly, Sire—the Sisterhood’s breeding program is at the heart of their corruption. There are dark secrets among the Sisters of Rossak, but I implore you to keep in mind that some of us are reasonable and wish to work with you … for you, Sire. Some of us are loyal to the Imperium and to the cautious philosophy of the Butlerians.”

  “How many are in your faction?” Roderick asked.

  “We are a minority, but many of the new Reverend Mothers share my deep concerns.”

  “‘Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind,’” said one of Dorotea’s companions, a diminutive woman with a rounded nose and a mole on her left cheek.

  Salvador felt decidedly uncomfortable. “I have heard Manford Torondo quote that many times, but what does she mean here? What does that have to do with what happened to Anna?” The thought of Zhoma’s conspiracy hung fresh in his mind.

  “Sister Gessie speaks of the most terrible thing the Sisterhood has done,” Dorotea said. “In their restricted caves, they use forbidden computers to maintain the disgusting breeding records. Even I am not allowed
access to that part of our school, but I have seen the computers in my Other Memories.”

  Roderick stiffened. “Thinking machines hidden inside the caves of Rossak?”

  “What?” Salvador’s shout echoed in the vaulted entrance chamber.

  “There is a rot at the core of the Sisterhood, but some of us do not find it acceptable. That is why I wanted to bring Anna back personally. I needed to speak with you, Sire, to inform you of this travesty. There needs to be a purging of the order, not a destruction—I would urge a course correction. I beg you not to punish our whole order for the actions of a corrupt few. Most of the Sisters do not know of this terrible crime, and they would join us, if given the opportunity.”

  “And the illegal computers,” Roderick said, “you have proof? You can find them?”

  “I am certain of it. We can enlist the aid of Manford Torondo—”

  With an alarmed look, Salvador said, “No need to involve the Butlerians. The Imperium is my responsibility. I’ll send a military squad to take care of this.” He looked over at his brother, feeling pleased for the first time all day. “There, it’s decided.”

  The Misborn have been cast out by the Sorceresses, but those who survived know the underbelly of the jungle better than anyone else. Because of my past history with them, secret places have been revealed to us.

  —REVEREND MOTHER RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, PREDAWN ADDRESS TO THE FAITHFUL

  The Sisterhood had to be prepared. Not only did the rush of inner voices warn Raquella of the impending crisis, but Sister Valya had told her a specific reason for the threat. In becoming a Reverend Mother, Dorotea had learned—through Raquella’s old, embedded memories—about the secret computers.

  And she intended to expose the illegal technology to the Butlerians.

  Raquella had to do something to protect the Sisterhood before mobs came to destroy what they did not understand.

  Dorotea also had allies among the Sisters, especially among the new Reverend Mothers. Appalled by the emergency, many of the women had been calling for an end to secrets. Nine of Dorotea’s most vehement Reverend Mothers demanded to search the restricted upper caves that held the breeding records, confident they would find proof of illegal technology.

  Up in the breeding-record caves, the isolated chambers held shelves piled with documents printed on incredibly thin sheets of paper. For generations, the women of Rossak had compiled and maintained these mountains of information; it would require an army of Mentats to inspect and analyze it all.

  Only a subset of the Sisters who worked with these hardcopy genetic records knew about the camouflaged holographic wall that concealed a large secondary chamber that contained forbidden computers. But if the Butlerian mobs or Imperial soldiers ransacked the tunnels, demanding answers, someone was sure to stumble upon the wrong room.

  Raquella knew full well that Dorotea’s allies had no concrete proof—even the new Reverend Mothers had unreliable, nonsequential memories from the past voices they could now access. Her granddaughter might remember some of Raquella’s actions from long ago, before the birth of Arlett, but she certainly couldn’t be sure what the old Reverend Mother was thinking or doing now.

  However, merely raising the specter of computers was tantamount to a decree of guilt, and feelings among the Sisters were inflamed even further when Raquella flatly refused to grant them access, stationing additional Sorceress guards on the high path and accusing Dorotea’s allies of gross insubordination.

  She felt helpless as she watched the Sisters take sides. Karee Marques and her Sister Mentats had already predicted that a dark schism would occur in the Sisterhood. Raquella knew that if she did not openly address the issue, they would see the avoidance as a confession.

  She had to hold her ground and remain true to the goals she had established, critical goals that would require drastic action. She conferred with Karee, Valya, Sabra Hublein, and fifteen other Sisters from her most trusted inner circle, those who knew the deepest secrets—and she gave them their instructions.

  Then, in a bold move, Raquella summoned every member of the Sisterhood for an emergency meeting at dawn. As the misty sky brightened with sunrise, more than a thousand members of the Sisterhood streamed into the largest meeting chamber.

  In such a huge crowd, no one would notice the absence of Sister Valya and a handful of specially picked assistants. This would be their only chance.

  Standing before the assemblage, Reverend Mother Raquella raised her hands and waited for silence to fall. With ancient eyes, she looked out across the sea of faces. “Many of you have been eager for an open debate. You have your questions and concerns. It is time for you to speak your minds, all of you. I will listen to you, and respond.” She nodded to two hand-picked Sorceress guards, who closed and locked the doors, sealing all the Sisters inside the great chamber. “We will stay here until you have spoken your thought, even if it takes the entire day.”

  Raquella was ready for all comments and questions.

  But it was all a diversion. She needed to buy time.

  * * *

  WITH THE REST of the Sisterhood’s members gathered for the meeting, Valya and a dozen loyal Sisters rushed to dismantle the forbidden computers.

  Behind the holographic barrier, they broke down the components, removed all the dense gelcircuitry storage modules, and used suspensor lifts to drop them down old ventilation and access shafts inside the cliff city to the bottom of the canyon wall. From there, hushed workers shuttled the sealed components deep into the tangled jungle. Reverend Mother Raquella had shown them a hiding place where the dismantled computers would be protected from the hazards of the dense undergrowth—where they would never be found by Butlerian ransackers, Imperial soldiers, or suspicious Sisters.

  Back when Raquella had nearly died from the Omnius plague, one of the cast-off Misborn had taken her out to a hidden home of other deformed exiles in the jungle. In the caverns under a limestone sinkhole, the Misborn had sheltered her and nursed her back to health. No one else had ever found the place, and the Misborn had all died out in the decades since. The Reverend Mother had not been there in many years, but she remembered.

  Valya led her companions into the jungle in a breathless rush, but with military efficiency. The lost cenote would be the perfect hiding place to store the dismantled computers and their priceless genetic information.

  As Serena Butler’s Jihad taught us, we must use any conceivable weapon to fight the enemies of humanity. But what if those foes are themselves misguided humans?

  —PTOLEMY, DENALI RESEARCH JOURNALS

  When he finished repairing the first of the superlative cymek walkers, Ptolemy felt the return of excitement, even optimism. As he became absorbed in studying the mechanical systems, he almost forgot the pain and disappointment of working alone. Without Dr. Elchan, Ptolemy’s work had become an obsession to restore order and fix something that had been broken. And he had to do it for the good of humanity.

  The thoughtrode interfaces connecting the nerves to the armored limbs were extremely complex, and Ptolemy still had much to learn before he would be able to control a mechanical warrior form using neural impulses. On the plus side, the armored bodies were straightforward machines driven by engines, pistons, and cables, and they could be controlled using more traditional means. Ptolemy constructed a small cab slung under one of the crablike bodies. Sealed and pressurized, with hard-linked inputs to the machine controls, the cab was equipped with life-support systems that would allow Ptolemy to ride inside while he explored the murky, caustic landscape of Denali.

  When he finished testing the systems, Ptolemy climbed through the hatch of the control cab, sealed himself inside, opened the valves on the air tanks, and powered up the systems. The great machine hummed, and the crablike body raised itself on bulky legs.

  Even as he imagined being one of the neo-cymeks, he realized that Elchan would have scolded him for such hubris. Ptolemy’s whole life had been devoted to progress and the betterment
of civilization, never to personal glory. Yet now, he knew that if he succeeded with what he had in mind, great fame and widespread admiration could very well be his. If he survived, and people understood.

  The veteran researcher moved one of the six legs forward, followed by another, and then another. It was a complicated task to walk in the apparatus, not at all intuitive, and it amazed him that the cymeks had ever been able to operate their machine bodies so fluidly, and in such a wide range of configurations with legs and grappling arms, rolling treads, and even wings.

  Anxious to practice with the modified machine, and to see what he might discover and salvage out on the hostile landscape, Ptolemy sealed off the lab hangar, depressurized it, and used a remote signal to open the bay doors. Greenish fumes roiled into the hangar module.

  Peering through the plaz windows of his control cab, he set the jointed legs in motion. Delicately at first, and gradually with more confidence, he plodded out onto the boulder-strewn expanse among the Denali research modules. The veil of toxic clouds gave the surroundings a distorted, dreamlike appearance. The light glowing from the research modules was fuzzed by the mist.

  Adjusting to the rolling, synchronized movement of three pairs of legs, Ptolemy crossed the flat landing field where shuttles dropped off supplies, and then he ventured beyond the vicinity of the research facility.

  Years ago, while building this secret outpost at an old cymek base, technicians in environment suits had scouted a kilometer around the facility, but had done little actual exploring farther away. This facility’s mission was to conduct important research projects far from the prying eyes of the Butlerians; few of the scientists were interested in mapping an inhospitable world. Josef Venport certainly didn’t care about the scenery on Denali. Ptolemy, though, was focused on trying to locate any remnants of the old cymeks, technology that he might put to use.