Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  On the ground with Vor, Griffin struck another blow, an energetic stab that Vor blocked with his blade, but his grip was too weak, and the dagger dropped from his fingers. In a last defense, Vor reached up with his left hand and seized his opponent’s wrist to keep the blade poised and away from him. “What did you do to her?”

  Griffin dug two stiffened fingers into the deep cut in Vor’s shoulder. The explosion of pain made Vor dizzy, and a moment later Griffin had the milky-white blade pressed against his throat.

  The young man finally answered with a hint of sorrow in his voice. “I didn’t harm her. I arrived on Kepler during her funeral.” He pressed the knife closer. “I never wanted to hurt your entire family, as you did to mine. I just wanted … wanted you to know that all Harkonnens do not deserve the disgrace you piled on us.”

  Vor did not beg for his life. He lay still, feeling the sharp blade against his neck, waiting for the deep and final cut. His many years, his long connections with Xavier and Abulurd Harkonnen, and all the generations afterward, had come to this.

  He let his words come out in a whisper. “And will taking my life restore your family honor?”

  Griffin crouched on top of him, his shoulders hunched. The blade trembled against Vor’s carotid artery. Tears welled in the young man’s eyes, and his expression cycled from anger through uncertainty to dismay.

  Finally, he lifted the dagger, stood up with a look of disgust, and cast the knife aside. “I choose not to kill you, Atreides, as a matter of honor. You are responsible for what you did to House Harkonnen, but I am responsible for myself.” With his left foot, he kicked both knives away and faced the Naib and the muttering Freemen. “The feud is over.”

  “You are weak,” Sharnak said. “You crossed the galaxy seeking revenge, and now you are too much of a coward to kill your mortal enemy?”

  Griffin scowled. “I don’t have to explain my decision to you.”

  Vor struggled to his feet. His bleeding shoulder throbbed, but he blocked the pain. The desert people glared at both of them and moved closer.

  Sharnak clenched his fist. “Griffin Harkonnen, you stole water from the tribe, and that crime warrants your death. Vorian Atreides, you are his accomplice. The blood feud may be over between you, but the water-debt to my people must be paid. We will take your bodies’ water, and may the universe forget about you both.”

  “Wait.” Vor fumbled inside the pockets of his tight desert suit, using his left hand. Blood had soaked his outfit, but the fabric’s water-absorption capability would reclaim it—if he lived that long. His fingers found the packet he sought, and he yanked it out. He tossed the small pouch onto the floor where the sand still showed patterns of their scuffle. “You value water over people. I believe I’ll mourn Ishanti more than you do.”

  The Naib looked at the pouch as if it were filled with scorpions. “What is this?”

  “If our crime is stealing water, I repay you with water chits from working on the spice crew, everything I earned. Redeem them in Arrakis City for five times the water that Griffin stole.”

  The Freemen looked down at the packet. Many in the tribe were outcasts who had never left the great sandy basins, but others had gone into the city; they knew how to spend the credits. The Naib seemed uncertain about the offer.

  Vor pressed, “Would you kill us anyway and just take my credits? Do your people have honor, or are you just thieves, after all?”

  The Freemen were not satisfied. “He owes us more than water,” one warrior pointed out.

  “Take their water,” another said.

  But the Naib drew himself up. “We are not thieves, or murderers. No number of water chits can repay us for the suffering you have brought, but Ishanti found some value in your lives. I will not have her spirit angry with us, so I do this for her, not you.” His brows drew together, then he bent to snatch the water tokens from the floor. “But you must leave the sietch and go far away.”

  Sharnak looked around at the desert men, waiting for them to challenge his decision, but he was their Naib. They respected his words, and no one spoke against him.

  “So be it,” the tribal leader said. “One of my people will take you in Ishanti’s skimcraft. We know of a weather-monitoring station many kilometers from here. There we will leave you alone. Use the communication in that place to send a message. But do not ever return here.”

  In a formal, cold demonstration of his censure, Naib Sharnak turned his back and refused to look again at Vorian or Griffin—an act eerily similar to how Vor had turned his back on Abulurd Harkonnen after his conviction for cowardice. “We want nothing more to do with either of you.”

  Computers are seductive, and will employ all of their wiles to bring us down.

  —MANFORD TORONDO, THE ONLY PATH

  For Raquella, this was the stuff of nightmares.

  She, Valya, and a dozen Sorceress watchers stood on the high cliff, gazing at a sky filled with gold-hulled Imperial warships that dropped like locusts from a giant spacefolder in orbit. It was mid-afternoon, and beyond the assault force the sky was clear and blue, deceptively tranquil, with the distant volcanoes slumbering.

  As soon as she recognized the Corrino lion insignia, she realized this was not an undisciplined attack from a hodgepodge of fanatics, but that did not diminish her concern. Previously, she might have assumed an official Imperial response would be more reasoned, more disciplined, but after the tragedy of Anna, the Emperor had every reason to be wrathful.

  Raquella knew that her own life, and the very existence of the Sisterhood, was on the line.

  “At least he did not bring the Butlerians with him,” she said, glancing at Valya, who stood pale and tense beside her. Ship after ship settled onto the sweeping silvery-purple canopy that had been designated as a landing area. “Perhaps that is one small glimmer of hope.”

  In the cave city beneath the high viewpoint, she watched Sisters scurrying about in confusion. She heard their agitated voices, their cries of alarm; even the members of Dorotea’s faction had good reason to be worried. They realized they might have unleashed a dragon.

  For all their training and focus on mental abilities, for all their meditation and muscle control, the Sisters were not an army. Even the handful of Sorceress descendants could do little to fight battles with their psychic powers.

  Emperor Salvador Corrino, on the other hand, had brought a fully armed military force.

  Resistance would only serve to antagonize him and rain down destruction upon the Sisterhood. No, they must not fight, Raquella decided. She would accept the blame and die for what had happened to Anna Corrino, if that preserved the Sisterhood. Thanks to the good work of Sister Valya, none of the Imperial searchers would find evidence of the illegal computers. Any other accusations Dorotea had made would fall flat.

  As uniformed Imperial soldiers disembarked from the military transport craft on the treetops, the Reverend Mother was struck by how very youthful the men were, even the officers who followed them. The air was a hum of machinery, terrible efficiency, and impending violence. Smaller suspensor gunships dropped down along the sheer cliffside, hovering in place with weapons directed toward the cave openings. A bombardment would bring down the rocks on the trails, seal the tunnels, and kill all the Sisters. But thus far no shots had been fired.

  Karee Marques gathered a dozen intimidating-looking Sorceresses around Raquella. Long ago, their legendary psychic powers had inspired awe and fear, but that was little more than a faded memory now. “We will help defend the Sisterhood, Reverend Mother,” Karee said. “The Emperor would never attempt such a bold invasion if we had more Sorceresses.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, Karee. They will kill us all if we try to do battle.” She began to walk down to meet the troops. “We must find some way to satisfy them.”

  A large, ornate suspensor ship drifted down to the already crowded landing area, and Raquella could see military officers hurrying about their duties. On the polymerized treetops, sol
diers rushed to form a cordon, preparing for the arrival of the Imperial flagship. A ramp with handrails shot from the side of the vessel, and uniformed soldiers streamed across the ramp, their weapons glowing from the ready-charges. Elite troops … the Emperor’s personal guard.

  Two older officers followed, and then Emperor Salvador Corrino himself emerged with his brother, Roderick, and an imperious-looking Sister Dorotea two steps behind.

  Valya made her disgust clear. “As I thought, Dorotea betrayed us.”

  “She did something, that’s for certain. I’m going to speak with them directly.”

  Valya drew courage from within herself, straightened her back. “If the Emperor is here to demand revenge for what happened to Anna, I should accompany you.”

  “I am Reverend Mother. The responsibility is mine.” Raquella’s smile had little reassurance. “But, yes, I do want you to come along. Maybe we can salvage this situation, show them what they want to see.” She turned to the aged Sorceress. “Karee, gather the Sister Mentats and have them wait for us in the caves with the breeding records. We will allow the Emperor to search anywhere he likes, and hope we can convince him that the Sisterhood uses only human computers.”

  Karee Marques hurried off as Raquella and Valya descended the path.

  In front of the Imperial flagship, attendants busied themselves setting up a small pavilion and a sturdy chair for the Emperor, out where he could observe the operations. Salvador wore full military dress complete with a Chandler sidearm. A lavish display of medals, ribbons, and golden lion designs across the chest made his red jacket look more like a costume than a real commander’s uniform. As he saw the Reverend Mother approach, his voice boomed out, amplified across speaker systems on the landed ships, “Planet Rossak is currently under lockdown, pending an investigation into allegations of egregious crimes against humanity.”

  Her head held high, Raquella walked on the paved expanse of treetops where the ships had landed; her entourage followed closely, but she did not look back at them. “Your military might is impressive, Sire, and these Sisters acknowledge your authority.” She strode closer, showing no fear, and Salvador scrambled to situate himself on his temporary throne. Roderick and Dorotea took positions on either side of him.

  “I represent this school,” Raquella continued, “and I speak for these women. I dispatched our Reverend Mother Dorotea to return your sister, Anna, along with my sincerest apologies for the harm she suffered.” She gestured to the military troops who stood at attention around the Emperor. “Obviously, that was insufficient. How else do you require me to atone for that terrible accident?”

  Salvador fidgeted on his throne. “That isn’t why we’ve come at all.” He looked to Roderick in irritation, then lifted his chin and cleared his throat. “In addition to the tragedy that befell our dear sister, we have received reports that your school uses outlawed thinking machines to manage your extensive breeding records.” He sniffed a whistling breath through his narrow nose. “I am also aware that you have made projections about which families and individuals should be allowed to reproduce—and I didn’t pass the test.”

  Now Raquella felt ice water wash through her veins. She had not expected this. As a Reverend Mother, Dorotea had access to Other Memories, and through them she could have learned about the computers—but she could not possibly have known about the projected flaw in Salvador’s genetics. The Sister Mentats would not have told her, so only Dr. Zhoma could have made that particular revelation. Either the Suk doctor had betrayed Raquella outright, or she’d been caught and tortured. The whisper of Other Memory voices suddenly grew so loud and alarmed that Raquella could barely think.

  Salvador lowered his voice to a growl, so that only Raquella and the nearby Sisters could hear. “Your breeding records are fatally flawed if they say that your Emperor cannot be allowed to produce an heir.” His nostrils flared; he seemed embarrassed to add this charge to the list of the Sisterhood’s crimes, not wanting to call attention to the idea that his own genetics might be faulty.

  Raquella chose to be audacious. “Sister Dorotea says these things?” She shook her head, feigning sadness. “It is to be expected. She only recently took poison, a near-fatal ordeal as part of the transformation to become a Reverend Mother. Delusions and psychological damage often result from such a massive dose of mind-altering drugs. You saw the unfortunate side effects that your dear sister, Anna, suffered as a result of a similar overdose.” She saw the rising anger plain on Dorotea’s face, but continued to gaze dispassionately at the Emperor. “Did my granddaughter also reveal to you that she herself lay in a coma for days before emerging, alive but changed?”

  “Granddaughter?” The Emperor flashed an accusatory look at Dorotea, then back at Raquella. “Are you saying this could all have been an hallucination? If this woman was unstable, why did you send her to the Imperial Court?”

  Raquella continued. “The desperate situation with Anna required an immediate response, and we chose Dorotea, my own granddaughter, as our representative because of her past service to the Imperial throne. I believed she had recovered, but now I fear she has begun to suffer delusions.”

  Dorotea’s voice had a sharp edge. “The Reverend Mother can cast doubts all she likes, Sire. But the Sisterhood has a chamber filled with computers—that is all the proof we need.”

  “‘In all ways, humans are superior to machines,’” Raquella said, almost an intonation.

  “Don’t quote the Orange Catholic Bible to me,” Salvador snapped. “I just released a new edition in my own name.”

  She answered more carefully. “During the Jihad, I worked with Mohandas Suk to aid the victims of machine plagues, so I’ve seen firsthand the evils of thinking machines. I watched entire populations die because of them, so I would never try to recreate them here.”

  Roderick Corrino stepped forward when it was obvious the Emperor didn’t know what to say. “We have enough concerns to warrant a search of Rossak, and a purge if necessary.”

  “There are computers here,” Dorotea insisted.

  “And where exactly are these computers, Granddaughter?” Raquella’s gentle questioning made it clear that she pitied the other woman. “Have you seen them—other than in a dream?”

  “I’ve seen them in my Other Memories. The voices told me about them—your memories told me.”

  With a knowing nod, Raquella spoke to the Emperor. “I see. She has voices in her head.” It was all she needed to say.

  “Show me where you keep these breeding records, in whatever form,” Salvador demanded, rising from his throne. “I want to see the ones that refer to my family line, and my offspring.”

  With a smile, Raquella said, “Let me take you to our archives in the restricted caves.”

  Everything was prepared. Breeding charts and labyrinthine family trees were kept in inefficient but durable handwritten form. The files were by no means complete, but would be handed over to the Emperor. Sister Mentats had assembled the appropriate volumes.

  As she led the way up the trail, Raquella’s mind raced. What did the Emperor know? Had he interrogated Dr. Zhoma? Had the Suk doctor already managed to slip a chemical sterilization drug into his food, or had she failed entirely? “As you well know, Sire, compiling a vast database of genetic information has been a vital project for centuries on Rossak. We do have information on the Butlers and the Corrinos, as well as all important families. The Sorceresses, and my Sisters, have never made any secret of this.”

  While the extensive military presence remained in position, she led the Emperor and his entourage up the restricted cliff path to the upper caves. Once inside, Raquella showed them the former computer chamber, which now contained only tables, desks, and bookcases filled with bound copies of breeding records. Seven black-robed Sister Mentats sat at the tables absorbing the information, overseen by the Sorceress-Mentat Karee Marques.

  Karee removed one of the volumes from a shelf, and displayed it for Emperor Salvador. “Sire, we ha
ve eight Sister Mentats whose full-time assignment is to commit centuries of information to memory, adding to what we already know. Once we have sufficient data, we can begin to perform analyses and projections. These women are human computers, trained on Lampadas in a school supported by the Butlerians.”

  In fury, Dorotea ran to the shelved volumes, opened several of them, and scattered them on the floor. Her voice became shrill. “The thinking machines were here! Computer databases filled with centuries of information, making bloodline projections down the generations!”

  Roderick and the Emperor looked at other volumes, as did some of the unimpressed military officers. Red-faced, Salvador glared at Dorotea, who looked desperate. Pulling away from the group, she ran from chamber to chamber, searching, but found nothing. Finally, she stood in a doorway, with a confused and angry expression on her face. “Sire, they must have hidden the computers somewhere!”

  Raquella responded in her most reasonable tone, “You are welcome to search the entire cliff city, Sire. The Sisterhood’s only ‘thinking machines’ are our human computers. With Mentats, we need no forbidden technology.”

  Valya spoke up, sounding nervous, but Raquella knew the quaver in her voice was a careful act. “Excuse me, your Highness, but it is possible that Sister Dorotea is guilt-ridden over what happened to your poor sister. Dorotea works in the Sisterhood’s pharmaceutical research laboratories, and she is the one who formulated the poison dose that Anna consumed.”

  Dorotea’s eyes widened as she heard this. “I gave the capsule to you, Valya, not to Anna Corrino.”

  “You’re mistaken. I still have the dose you gave me.” As proof, she withdrew a small, dark pill from a pocket in her robe.

  Old Karee Marques gave Dorotea a damning look, then faced the Emperor. “Sister Valya is correct, Sire. Dorotea assists me in the pharmaceutical laboratory. The drugs are meant to be administered under only the most carefully controlled circumstances, but she mistakenly allowed a very dangerous dose to leave the labs, unmonitored. Against all warnings, your poor sister took the poison.”