Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  With a stomach-wrenching sense of déjà vu, he stopped to stare at a burned and horribly mutilated body hanging from a lamppost; a thick cable was still twisted around the neck. The extremities had been cut off, the face smashed into unrecognizability, the skin and hair burned.

  Salvador tugged at his brother’s arm, not seeming at all upset. “Come, come! You’re going to love this!” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “It solves several problems at the same time.”

  Though he didn’t like any part of what he saw, Roderick went forward cautiously, trying not to inhale the stink of roasted flesh. The placard placed near the mutilated body said in a childish scrawl, “The Traitor Bomoko.”

  “Not another one,” Roderick groaned. “I wonder which poor innocent the mobs lynched this time.”

  His brother did a poor job of hiding his grin. “How do you know it isn’t the real Bomoko?”

  “After all these years, and all the misidentified victims? I highly doubt it.”

  Salvador leaned close to whisper, though the hubbub of guards and onlookers drowned out all normal conversation. “It’s no innocent this time, Brother. Wouldn’t you agree that this is a useful way to dispose of Dr. Zhoma? Two birds with one stone.”

  Roderick’s head snapped back but he stopped himself from responding aloud.

  Strutting officiously in front of a gathering crowd, Salvador raised his voice, sounding imperious, making sure people nearby could hear him. “We must take this seriously, Brother! Perform genetic tests and determine if we have at last found the real traitor, Toure Bomoko! It would be good to put this long nightmare to rest! I want you to supervise this matter personally.”

  Salvador’s angry expression was quite convincing even as he whispered out of the side of his mouth, “And I think you know what results I want.”

  Roderick kept his own expression studiously grim, though he felt great alarm inside. “No one will believe it, Salvador. It’s not even a matter of genetic testing—the clumsiest autopsy will show that this is a female, not a male. It can’t possibly be Bomoko.”

  The Emperor remained unperturbed. “Oh, you can take care of that. I have confidence in you. Issue a thorough-looking report, and I’ll give it my stamp of approval. Cremate the body and remove any other evidence. Problem solved! Zhoma has received the justice she deserved, and the mobs can stop looking for their bogeyman.”

  Roderick knew the infamous CET leader was probably dead somewhere on a distant planet, or at least hiding from the small-minded selfishness of Imperial politics. Roderick would have liked to be far from the pettiness, but he could not shirk his responsibilities. A Corrino did not hide.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take charge of this mess.”

  Salvador was so pleased that he patted his brother on the back. “I can always depend on you. We’re such an excellent team, you and I.”

  * * *

  THE ASSIGNMENT PROVED to be, in fact, simple enough. It was a far more difficult challenge for Roderick to see his sister and decide what to do with her.

  He found Anna wading in a shallow water garden with Lady Orenna, picking colorful floating flowers and putting them in a basket. Standing together in the water, the two women looked like children, and Roderick smiled at them. It was a pleasant contrast to the gruesome spectacle earlier in the day. The silver-haired Orenna, normally quite elegant, wore a simple dress that was drenched from the pool; Anna wore shorts and a dirt-stained blouse. She seemed happy.

  Watching from the edge of the pool, Roderick said, “You’re looking better today, Anna. A good night’s rest?”

  “Flowers for my mind.” With a sweet smile, she held up a beautiful yellow flower with delicate, fringed petals. “Genus Limnanthemum nymphoides, more commonly known as the floating heart. It is a heart for my mind.” In her basket, she pointed to a white-and-black flower with greenish-purple leaves. “Genus A. distachyus. It smells like vanilla and is edible. Would you like a taste?”

  “No thank you.” His stomach remained unsettled from the doctor’s mutilated corpse he had recently disposed of.

  His sister’s voice rattled on. “I can identify every plant in this pond, and every plant in the Imperial gardens. I know other things, too. The chemistry of the dirt, the origins of the rocks, the scientific names of all the birds and insects. These gardens contain many ecosystems—until now, I never saw all the wondrous interactions taking place.”

  Without pausing for a breath, Anna began a scholarly dissertation on the garden, but became distracted when a waterfowl with brilliant emerald plumage flitted by, which prompted her to provide exhaustive details about the region of Salusa Secundus where it nested, and its migratory patterns. Then she began describing planets and star systems where similar birds were found, and soon she was off that topic entirely, talking about the chemistry of cements, mortars, bricks, and other building materials, which somehow led to the mathematics of music.

  Lady Orenna stepped from the pond, wiped off her feet with a cloth, and said in a low tone, “I’m very concerned about her.”

  Anna continued to ramble as Roderick answered, “Does she still hear the strange voices inside?”

  Orenna nodded. “She collapsed just before we came here. Simply overwhelmed. These flowers seem to be calming her down, though.” The older woman sat on a small bench and put her shoes back on. “Her mind may be damaged; it’s overactive, filled with unsorted information that spews out at random. If she could control it and organize it, maybe our dear Anna’s awareness would return.”

  “She’s always been smarter than we allowed,” Roderick said. “And now, we have to do everything possible to give her the help she needs.”

  “The Suk School is in disarray—we dare not entrust her delicate mind to their psychologists.”

  He nodded in agreement. “No, I can think of only one place that might be able to understand her condition—the Mentat School on Lampadas. They know more about the human mind than anyone. I’ll suggest it to Salvador, and I think he’ll agree.”

  Without taking off his shoes or rolling up his trousers, Roderick waded into the water and hugged his sister, as if to protect her from the demons tormenting her fragile mind. In his arms, she trembled a little, then looked up into his eyes and smiled. “I love you,” Anna said.

  Most people aspire to noble actions, but only in theory. When faced with the challenge of implementing their convictions, they shrink from them, becoming pragmatic rather than idealistic.

  —JOSEF VENPORT, VENHOLD INTERNAL MEMO

  After Norma rescued him from the disaster at Thonaris, Josef did not pause to mourn the loss of personnel or ships. Rather, he and Cioba put the entire company, all holdings and subsidiary operations, on high alert. Manford Torondo and his insane barbarians were no longer merely an annoyance: The destructive, deadly extremists had to be stopped at any cost. And Venport Holdings was one of the only forces in the Imperium with enough assets to stand against their savagery.

  Back on Kolhar, Josef sat in his office, trying to quantify the damage and losses. Nearly six thousand employees dead, including several hundred who had been transfers from Celestial Transport during the takeover. It was even possible that some had been captured by the barbarians. Under interrogation the high-level supervisors could provide important information about VenHold vulnerabilities. He fumed.

  Thirteen of his most heavily armed patrol ships had been destroyed. Seventy recovered machine ships and partially built vessels, all turned to scrap, along with cargo holds full of sophisticated equipment and heavy machinery, an Emperor’s ransom in processed raw materials.

  Everything destroyed.

  Cioba entered his office, and he looked up at her. She understood his immense gratitude for helping him keep his family’s commercial empire intact. The marriage had been one of the wisest business deals he had ever negotiated.

  Today, instead of her usual business attire, with her long hair done up neatly under a scarf, Cioba had let her hair
tumble loose to her waist … and she wore a clean white robe that accentuated the pale perfection of her skin. He was startled by her appearance; it brought to mind the image of a fearsome Sorceress about to engage in battle with a cymek.

  Before he could comment, she said, “There is another crisis.”

  The words were like a weight dropped on his back. “I don’t need another crisis.”

  Cioba stepped up to his desk. “This one we can solve—and it gains us another powerful ally.”

  He sat back, tapped his fingers on his bloodwood writing surface. “All right, tell me about it.”

  She described the news she had just received about the disaster on Rossak, the Emperor ordering the execution of the Sisterhood’s Mentats—including Cioba’s grandmother Karee Marques—as well as the disgrace and disbanding of the entire order. “The Emperor had heard rumors of illegal technology on Rossak, and though he found no evidence, he attacked nevertheless.”

  “Illegal technology? Has everyone gone mad?”

  “All Sisters were ordered to leave Rossak. Some have returned to their homes, while others scattered to points unknown.”

  He rose to his feet. “And our daughters?”

  “They are safe. I’ve dispatched one of our ships to retrieve them. But there are many other women who need our help.” Her dark eyes flashed, challenging him to disagree with her.

  “In what way?”

  “Some of the Sisters—those with antitechnology leanings—remain in the good graces of the Emperor, and he has taken them back to Salusa Secundus. The others, however, including Reverend Mother Raquella, have no place to go. I suggest that you provide them with sanctuary. Send them to Tupile with the other exiles, or find a new place. The Sisterhood will continue … and VenHold may find their skills extremely valuable, as I hope you have found me to be valuable.”

  “Absolutely.” He brushed back his hair, already considering the benefits he might reap from this new development. “Very well, arrange for our spacing fleet to provide sanctuary to Raquella and to any other Sister who requests it. They’ll be in our debt.”

  “The Sisterhood doesn’t forget its debts,” Cioba said, and surprised him by bending closer and giving him a long kiss on the lips, before departing.

  * * *

  IN THE MASS evacuation, most of the Sisters had already dispersed before a large ship from the VenHold Spacing Fleet arrived, with an invitation from Sister Cioba. Bowing to her influence, Josef Venport had let his wife provide sanctuary for Raquella and the Sisters who had openly aligned themselves with her. The Reverend Mother seized on the offer.

  When leaving Rossak, the women were allowed to take only a few items of clothing and personal articles, all of which were inspected. Though all available copies of the Azhar Book had been destroyed, Raquella knew that many of her scattered missionary Sisters had copies of the Book, and ten more Sister Mentats were undergoing special instruction at the Lampadas School, where they were memorizing the entire text.

  Emperor Salvador had done an efficient job of breaking up the Sisterhood, and had outlawed many of the basic tenets of the order, but Raquella was still confident that the core of her teachings and the goals of the organization would survive. She would make sure of it.

  Aboard the outward-bound spacefolder ship, guided by a mysterious and unseen Navigator, Raquella felt pained to know that some of her most loyal Sisters were discouraged and on their own, convinced that their outlawed order would never regroup. Many women had already returned to their own homeworlds if given the opportunity, or they went elsewhere to begin new lives. As soon as Raquella reestablished her school, far from Imperial oversight, she would begin to reach out and renew those contacts.

  The bodies of the slaughtered Mentats and Sorceresses had been cast to the jungles below so they could be reassimilated into the Rossak ecosystem … including poor Karee Marques, who had been so young and helpful during the virulent Omnius plagues. It seemed like much longer ago than the actual decades that had passed since then.

  The breeding records and dismantled computers remained hidden in the isolated cenote, deep in the jungle. They were safe and intact … though the Sisters were in exile. Once the Reverend Mother made a new home for these women—thanks to the assistance of Cioba and Josef Venport—the computers and records would be retrieved.

  First, she needed a new location for the school.

  * * *

  JOSEF AND HIS Mentat went out to the field of Navigator tanks. Draigo Roget remained stunned to have been rescued at all. “Even after all my training on Lampadas, I learned a fundamental thing in the recent battle.” The Mentat was intent on the central tank, mesmerized by the swirling spice gas. “I learned that even the most detailed Mentat projections are fallible. Though I thought I had complete data, I could never have predicted that Norma Cenva would come for us.”

  Norma’s enlarged face came close to one of the plaz viewing ports. She blinked. “Prescience is a variable that can never be factored into Mentat calculations—even prescience itself has many variables. A Navigator uses spice to envision countless possible paths through the universe, and then must choose a safe one. There is rarely only one option.”

  Still fuming, Josef cut off further discussion. “I am usually patient with your esoteric discussions, Norma, but right now we face a crisis.” He glanced away from the field of Navigators to the distant Kolhar spaceport where vessels came and went: cargo ships, passenger transports, and the armed vessels he had used in his original conquest of the Thonaris shipyards. He should have left the entire force there in a massive defensive posture.…

  “Kolhar is going to be a target,” Josef said. “We have to defend this place and set up planetary shields like the ones that guarded Salusa Secundus from thinking-machine attacks. Our commercial ships must also be equipped with military-grade shielding, as well as the most advanced weaponry.”

  The Mentat was silently compiling a list in his head. “We have thousands of vessels in the VenHold Spacing Fleet, sir. Such an operation will require a massive expenditure and involve significant risk.”

  “Then we’ll spend the money and take the risk! Make no mistake, this is war, and the planets of the Imperium will have to take sides and reap the benefits, or suffer the consequences. We’ll withdraw the services of our vessels from any planet that sides with the barbarians.”

  The Mentat’s brows drew together. “Venport Holdings will incur great financial losses as a result. If you lose this war, you’re on the path to losing a great deal more—perhaps everything.”

  Josef snapped, “We will not help any world that turns its back on reason and civilization. Where will the barbarians draw the line? Will they spurn all medical technology, even as they die? They have already ransacked and destroyed the original Suk School in Zimia.” He shook his head.

  “Will they give up their power grid? Will they sacrifice heating and plumbing? Will they turn off the lights, leaving people to spend their evenings huddled around the glow of candlelight? Will they outlaw fire because it’s too dangerous? Will they eat their meat raw?” Josef laughed bitterly. “We’ll see how enthusiastic the Half-Manford’s followers are once they actually get what they want. Let them live like true primitives for a while, unable to communicate with other worlds, and watch how quickly they change their minds and fall apart.”

  For a long time, Josef had been intent on building the power of his family, on stockpiling wealth and expanding into as many markets as possible. But now that he had thrown down the gauntlet and stepped into a war greater than any he had previously imagined, he realized this was a clash of civilizations, a war between reason and superstition, between progress and barbarism. And Josef would not go down without a fight. Rational humanity needed a champion.

  He drew strength from his newfound passion. “We can face these murderous bullies and expose them for what they are. We’ll leave Manford Torondo without a leg to stand on.” He paused, not intending to be humorous. “Metaphorica
lly speaking, that is.”

  “Such a conflict could take years … or decades,” Draigo warned.

  “So be it. We have VenHold’s resources, our knowledge, and dedicated, clear-thinking individuals. We’ll fight panic with intelligence. How can we possibly lose?”

  Are your principles the true foundation of your life, or window dressing? If you are unwilling to stand up and declare your beliefs for all to see and hear, they are not true beliefs, but mere pretentions.

  —MANFORD TORONDO, ADDRESS TO THE LANDSRAAD LEAGUE

  After destroying the Thonaris shipyards, the remnants of Manford’s Butlerian fleet went directly to Salusa Secundus. Even though they had lost more than sixty ships to Venport and his technology-lovers, and the remaining vessels were battered and war-scarred, the fleet made an imposing show as it descended to the Zimia Spaceport.

  Manford’s blood still ran hot from the battle, and he announced over all channels, to make certain everyone on Salusa heard his news, “We have averted a catastrophe of machine resurgence and defeated a group of human traitors. Now we return to the capital of the Imperium for the support and accolades of the Landsraad League and every member of the government.”

  They released carefully edited video images that showed the fearful extent of the reawakened robotic factories, how Josef Venport had flouted the rules of sanity and decency. Immediately following the victory, the Butlerians had remained at Thonaris for the better part of a day to pummel the outpost and shipyards. Venport himself, however, had apparently escaped.