Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Sometimes the most attractive packages are the most dangerous.

  —REVEREND MOTHER DOROTEA, FIRST NOTES FROM THE IMPERIAL PALACE

  Emperor Salvador Corrino lounged on his throne of green crystal, watching as a new concubine sang and danced for him in the large Audience Chamber, a lovely young woman who had come recommended by Sister Dorotea. Her name was Angelina, and though Salvador had been reluctant to let himself become close to any of the women trained on Rossak, Dorotea intrigued him by hinting at other specialized bodily training some of the Sisters underwent.

  In her first two nights of service as one of his concubines, Angelina had not disappointed him. Not at all.

  Though a long gown covered her from neck to ankles, Angelina showed she was extremely flexible, and he found her dance quite provocative. Every move reminded him of other moves she had demonstrated in the privacy of the bedchamber, causing Salvador to quickly forget about Empress Tabrina.

  As a formality, he had invited Tabrina to watch the lovely girl’s dance performance, but she had declined. In recent weeks their relationship had been flat, without arguments or passion—or anything else, for that matter. It was as if the two were not married at all, and living in separate worlds. Lately he’d been thinking of following the path of his father, letting his concubines bear children and then designating the succession.

  Until learning of Reverend Mother Raquella’s insidious scheme to cut off his bloodline, Salvador Corrino had given little thought to babies, to raising sons or daughters … but now it seemed a point of honor to him. Any one of his other women would do just fine, if the Empress failed to fulfill her duties.

  He leaned back on his throne. Salvador could not understand any of the words to Angelina’s song, and didn’t care. She had a throaty voice that evoked bygone times and places he had seen in filmbooks. Though he had asked her to dance here in order to lift his spirits, he finally waved her off with a quick brush of his hand through the air. She was a nice diversion, but he had so many other concerns. With a quick smile in response, she bowed submissively and hurried toward the open doorway.

  At least Angelina was obedient. Perhaps he would visit her again that evening … or not. Although he was definitely pleased with her, the Emperor did have eight other concubines, and he didn’t want to make Sister Dorotea feel too self-important. Dorotea stood near the throne now, looking very serious and loyal, though he detected pride in her expression. No doubt she was pleased that the Emperor liked her choice of concubine.

  Salvador’s forces had completed the banishment of all members of the old Sisterhood from Rossak. Reverend Mother Raquella and every Sister, except the ones Dorotea approved, had also left the jungle world with little more than the clothing on their backs. He hoped Roderick had been correct in his suggestion to salvage some of the eerily trained Sisters for Imperial use, and he was anxious to discover how Dorotea and her hand-picked followers could serve him. They would bear close watching.

  Prince Roderick stood beside the throne, ready to carry out his brother’s commands. Through an open doorway, the Corrino Emperor saw people milling about as they awaited an audience with him. Immense chandeliers hung overhead, and the walls were covered with heroic frescoes by the finest artists in the Imperium.

  None of the gaudy trappings interested him at the moment. All day long, he’d been suffering from a bad headache that worried him greatly, now that he had no personal physician. Emperor Jules had been tormented with chronic migraines before being diagnosed with his brain tumor.…

  After the attractive concubine flitted out of the Audience Chamber, Roderick got back to business. “Eight people are seeking an audience, Sire, including Dr. Waddiz of the Suk School, a representative from Venport Holdings, and an attractive woman who wants to interview you for…”

  “Send Waddiz in first. I want to talk with him about my headaches.” He felt trapped without access to qualified physicians; he needed them, even though he didn’t fully trust them. Three other Suk doctors were on call in the Palace, and he had ordered them confined to their quarters until further notice, unsure whether he dared to call on them again.

  Dr. Waddiz was a tall, distinguished-looking man with dark, tanned skin. The new head administrator of the Suk School knew full well that Zhoma had been disgraced and removed from service, and thus far he’d been wise enough not to ask too many questions about what had happened to her.

  He bowed before the throne. “Sire, let me offer my most heartfelt apologies that Dr. Zhoma’s service to you was unsatisfactory. She was quite secretive and acted independently in many areas. Now that we have begun to analyze her private records, we are discovering financial irregularities, as well. You can be assured that we will investigate them thoroughly.” Waddiz talked in a nervous rush. Because of public pronouncements, he knew for certain what Salvador had done to the Sisters of Rossak, and he might know that Dr. Zhoma had been caught in her allied plot. “Please don’t let this unfortunate incident reflect badly on our academic institution.”

  “Yes, yes.” Salvador rubbed his temples. “Your school’s reputation has definitely been tarnished.” His head throbbed constantly, and he was sure a tumor must be growing in there, pressing behind his eyes, swelling inside his skull.… How would he ever survive without a competent physician?

  Waddiz rose to his feet, keeping his head bowed. “Under my leadership, we will do everything possible to regain our standing—and our new facility on Parmentier will work closely with the recently established Committee of Orthodoxy. We pledge to work within any guidelines you decide to set for us, Majesty.”

  Salvador regarded him with a sour and skeptical expression. “The best way to regain your standing with me would be to guarantee the loyalty of any doctor assigned to touch my royal person. Zhoma was the highest-ranking Suk doctor. If she was caught trying to harm me, how can I trust any physician you provide? How can I be sure?”

  Waddiz folded his hands together, bowed again. “We have already been studying the matter, Sire, and we realize it is not a problem unique to an Imperial patron. Many important personages fear schemes and assassins, and a patient is often completely vulnerable during treatment. Our psychological wing is developing a type of conditioning that will make a doctor utterly incapable of harming a specific person.”

  Standing beside the throne, Roderick interjected, “Conditioning? Do you mean programming—like a machine? The cymeks added programming strictures to prevent Omnius from harming them.”

  Waddiz was alarmed by the comparison. “Not … like that. A special mental conditioning, costly and intensive, designed to protect an important patron like yourself, Sire.”

  “I am not merely an important patron—I am the Emperor.”

  “For you, Sire, there will be the highest level of surety. Imperial Conditioning. An intensive and infallible loyalty verification program that taps deeply into the pyretic consciousness, making an imprint that cannot be reversed under any circumstance. We are only in the test stages now, but the results are most promising.”

  Roderick whispered advice in Salvador’s ear, after which the Emperor turned to the Reverend Mother who waited near the throne. “So, Sister Dorotea, you have demonstrated a reliable intuition as to truth or falsehood. Does the doctor’s plan sound plausible to you? As far as you can tell, is he speaking the truth?”

  The nervous doctor squirmed under scrutiny. Presently, Dorotea looked up at Salvador and said, “I believe such conditioning is possible, and I sense none of the indicators that he is lying.”

  Again, Roderick whispered advice, this time recommending that there would need to be layers of additional testing to be conducted here on Salusa Secundus, so that the Corrinos could be completely assured of loyal physicians.

  Finally the Emperor nodded and said, “Very well, Waddiz. You may proceed with the program. I require a fully conditioned physician as soon as possible.”

  From somewhere, the doctor found his courage. “Thank you, Sire, but it is
only a very limited test program at this point, and we will need additional funding.…”

  Salvador brushed him aside. “See the Imperial treasurer. Roderick, draft the appropriate payment authorization.”

  “Thank you, Sire.” Waddiz bowed and hurried away.

  Ironically, as soon as the Suk doctor departed, the Emperor realized that his headache had faded.

  “Your exalted Highness,” Dorotea said, “my Sisters and I are grateful for the opportunity you extended in inviting us here. I would like to volunteer my services more frequently as one skilled in detecting falsehoods. Sire, if you allow me to stand near your throne during Imperial audiences, I will prove myself extremely useful to you.”

  “But can I trust you? Isn’t that the question, Dorotea? I want to trust you, just as I want to trust my doctors. But bad things have happened, things that give me pause.”

  She didn’t waver as she looked at him. “Allow me to demonstrate my talents, Sire, and I promise, you will not be disappointed.”

  Roderick broke in, “Perhaps the Emperor will summon you for specific tasks. You will be notified when you are needed.”

  Looking disappointed, Dorotea departed with a formal bow, and Emperor Salvador sat back on his throne. He had a long day ahead of him, many decisions to make, many visitors to greet, as was his duty. But there were other duties, and he was daydreaming that he might visit the Empress in her bedchamber that evening instead of his concubines, and for a specific purpose.

  Yes, Salvador decided, it was about time he had children of his own. Just to spite Raquella’s version of the Sisterhood and her monstrous bloodline predictions.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, AS Salvador endured a banquet beside Empress Tabrina, as usual, he felt that his life was returning to normal … but that did not mean it was good.

  Looking across the table, he observed Roderick and his wife, and their well-behaved children, as they all shared desserts with each other. Haditha picked up a small pastry, took a bite, and offered it to her daughter. Roderick laughed at some joke their boy had made, then leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek.

  Salvador felt a deep sense of longing for what his younger brother had. But he was the Emperor of the Imperium! Thousands and thousands of worlds! Why couldn’t he have a good family life? Why was that so difficult? He reached over hopefully, touched Tabrina’s hand.

  She looked at him as if he had wiped excrement on her wrist. “Don’t touch me,” she rasped.

  He withdrew, stung. Keeping his voice low, he protested, “You’re my Empress! Why do you treat me this way?”

  “We’ve been over this a hundred times! I’d be much warmer if you’d grant me a title and a government position. For many years I watched my father work his industries; I sat in his offices, learning from him. I have skills, and I would certainly be a better commerce minister than that idiot you’ve had in the position for four years.”

  “You dare to blackmail me!?”

  “What blackmail?” Tabrina arched her brows. “I am only doing what women have done since time immemorial. You expect me to swoon over you when you treat me like a mere pet? I ask for a few perfectly reasonable duties, and you say no. I am the wronged party, not you.”

  “But I need a legitimate heir. The Imperium needs an heir.”

  “And I want to be commerce minister.” She drew her arms close to her chest. “The solution seems obvious enough.”

  “So … if I give you that title, you’ll carry my child?”

  “Give me the title and the duties. Then yes, I will invite you to my bedchamber—on a specified schedule. Beyond that, I have no control over whether or not I get pregnant.”

  Salvador narrowed his eyes. “But you’ll do nothing to prevent it?”

  “I’ll do nothing to prevent it.” She softened her expression a bit. “And I think you’ll find the arrangement far more pleasant, because I’ll be happier with the new status. Just don’t expect me to love you.”

  “No, I would never expect that,” Salvador said, looking again at the happy couple of Roderick and Haditha.

  * * *

  DOROTEA SLIPPED THE vial into the new concubine’s soft, lotioned hand. “It is a cream, easily applied. Emperor Salvador will never notice, provided you keep his mind elsewhere.”

  Angelina smiled stiffly. “But Reverend Mother, are you sure he won’t feel it? Won’t know?”

  “We’ve formulated this very carefully. A single exposure should be sufficient to render him sterile. He won’t know anything has changed, won’t even suspect he has a problem for a long time. And it won’t harm you, either.”

  The strikingly beautiful girl bowed. “My concern is not for myself, but for the Sisterhood.”

  “If you do this one thing, you will help ensure our future.” Dorotea darted away down the dark hallway outside of the concubines’ quarters.

  Despite her dispute with Reverend Mother Raquella, Dorotea had studied the breeding projection herself. Even though computers were inherently evil, she could not deny their accuracy. She felt a responsibility to prevent the most terrible tyrant in all of history from being inflicted on humanity.

  Each person mourns the loss of a comrade in his own way. But whatever the flowery eulogy, the dead remain dead.

  —ZENSUNNI SAYING

  When he made his way back to the isolated weather-monitoring station and the flying craft the twins had landed there, Vor knelt for a long while on the warm sand beside the body of Griffin Harkonnen. The young man’s death was as utterly useless and heartbreaking as Ishanti’s had been.

  Griffin might have been the best hope for restoring the fortunes and respect of House Harkonnen. His skills had been solid and his plans viable … but all had been snuffed out.

  Vor’s enemies kept following him and causing him pain, always missing the true target, and so many innocents had paid the price for that debt. Even Mariella …

  He wrapped Griffin’s body in a thin polymer tarpaulin that he found among the supplies inside the weather station. He could have just left the young man there—the elements would take care of him soon enough—but Vor found that dishonorable. Griffin Harkonnen had defeated him in a duel, held a sharp knife to his throat, and then granted Vorian his life back. Vor owed him a debt for that, but even more, Vor had to pay a debt to House Harkonnen … not to make excuses, not to explain, but to acknowledge his part in tarnishing Xavier Harkonnen’s name and in the disgrace and suffering heaped on Abulurd and his innocent descendants.

  Yes, the repercussions came back to him. He took a deep breath and reconsidered, but only a little. Xavier and Abulurd and Griffin had been responsible for themselves—Vor harbored no illusions about that—but he, too, bore some of the blame, and now accepted it.

  After tying the tarpaulin around the body, Vor lifted the young man over his shoulder and boarded the flier, setting the wrapped package behind the cockpit seats. With plodding thoroughness, he completed the flight checklist, started the engines, and lifted away from the rocky bowl.

  The flier was a common Arrakis model; the compass, weathersat linkage, and navigation charts guided him back to Arrakis City. Early that afternoon, he landed at the edge of the main spaceport and set about trying to find a carrier to transport Griffin’s corpse back to Lankiveil, along with a message to his family that he still had to write.

  The cargo line operators were baffled by his request. One asked, “Do you realize the expense, sir? Shipping a human body across space is not cost-effective.”

  “I don’t care about the cost. He belongs with his family, his world, and his home. I need to send him back there.” Vor would have to arrange for a transfer of funds from one of his accounts on another planet, but the actual expense was not an issue. He could have ignored the responsibility, brushed the Harkonnens aside again, and turned his back on the guilt … but that sort of thinking had already caused too many problems.

  The cargo operator shook his head. “I’ve seen fools waste their mo
ney in many ways. I advise you against this, but I know someone else will take your payment, if I don’t.” With a little convincing he accepted the job anyway.

  Vor also felt obligated to give Griffin’s family an explanation—though not too much. He wrote the message while the men handled the body, preparing it for shipment. “Griffin Harkonnen died with honor, upholding his principles. This was a brave man, traveling the Imperium, never shirking his noble quest. He found me, as his family demanded of him, and we resolved our differences. In time, we might even have become friends, but he met an unexpected and tragic death. Now, in the spirit of his memory I can only hope his family will understand, and forgive.”

  Vor paused, deciding not to reveal the existence of Agamemnon’s other two children to Griffin’s family. That matter was resolved, and the twins would cause no further harm. However, it was a battle the Harkonnens should never have needed to fight.

  “He was killed by desert bandits,” Vor continued. “And I killed them for doing it. Your brave Griffin is avenged, and I join you in sorrow. I knew Griffin for only a short time, but I came to admire him, and I assure you, he earned the lasting respect of his family name.”

  Vor finished what he had to say, and after Arrakis City morticians sealed and preserved the body, he placed the letter in a message compartment on the airtight storage container, and watched as it was loaded onto the next outbound cargo ship. Eventually, it would be transferred to Lankiveil.

  After the ship was gone, Vorian remained in Arrakis City for three days, but soon he came to realize that nothing was left for him there. And with Mariella now gone, he could not imagine returning to Kepler; he would only expose the rest of his family to great risk.

  There were thirteen thousand planets in the Imperium. Surely he could find someplace else to go.

  At the spaceport office, he offered his credentials, paid a substantial fee, and signed aboard a VenHold cargo ship that was due to depart with a load of melange. With plenty of solaris remaining in his accounts, he would fly the space lanes for a while, or he might disembark on any world that interested him.