How would he ever find Norma now?
Standing among the crowds at the interim spaceport, Aurelius Venport looked into the eyes of the refugees and saw stricken, dull defeat. No one seemed to know exactly what had happened, how mere Buddislamic slaves had obtained an atomic weapon. But other indications seemed to indicate that the blast hadn’t exactly come from a nuclear chain reaction, but from something similar….
And no one knew anything about Holtzman’s former assistant. Norma Cenva was the least of their problems.
Venport realized that it might take him a long time to uncover the answers. No hotels or amenities were available now. The majority of the guest lodgings had been within the blast zone, and other apartments and hotels on the fringes were packed with survivors of the bloody uprising.
He didn’t care about his own safety, or about money. On a hill away from the river, he found an intact home with a spare room, which he rented for an exorbitant fee without quibbling. What did cost matter now? He tried to get a few hours of sleep while waiting for daybreak, when he could begin his search in earnest, but he tossed and turned all night, worrying about Norma.
There had been no further word from Tuk Keedair, either, so Venport would have to do his own detective work.
At dawn the merchant arranged for transportation, paying another stiff fee for the use of a commercial flyer for two hours. A woman with bright red hair sat at the controls, looking haggard and smudged. She talked incessantly about salvage and rescue efforts, the scores of workers plowing through the wreckage. She told him her name was Nathra Kiane, and she accepted his commission, though she felt guilty for not being at the disaster site.
“I’ll take you up the river and into the side canyon, as you wish, sir, but we can’t stay for more than an hour. Everybody’s looking for someone. There’s too much work for me, too many people to—”
“It won’t take long,” he said, knowing this was the grim truth. “I’ll find out everything I need to know in a few minutes.”
The small craft flew over agricultural fields, a green-and-yellow patch-work on the plain along the winding banks of the river. The fields were blackened after the Starda disaster, and harvesting equipment sat idle. According to official reports, the surviving Dragoon guards and minor nobles were cracking down on all remnants of the bloody uprising, but there were still pockets of armed resistance in the back country.
Slaves had been slaughtered everywhere in retaliation. Whether or not they surrendered, regardless of whether they had participated in the uprising, all Buddislamics were being massacred by vengeful mobs. Faced with doom, even those peaceful slaves took up arms to defend themselves, and the cycle of bloodshed spiraled out of control. Venport moaned at the thought.
“I haven’t been up here since the catastrophe.” The pilot gave a groan of disgust mixed with dismay. “Animals! How could those slaves do such a terrible thing?”
The exhausted Nathra Kiane was clearly in a hurry. She banked the flyer sharply and accelerated northward along the open course of the Isana River. No boats floated on the rough water anymore. Ahead, where the Isana cut a deeper channel, the offworlder saw the beginnings of canyons branching off into high walls. Norma’s remote laboratory was far from the main destruction, so he prayed that she was safe, that perhaps she had returned here despite her deportation order.
Again, he wished he had stayed with her and allowed his Tlulaxa partner to deal with VenKee business interests: Rossak pharmaceuticals, Arrakis melange, glowglobes, suspensors.
“Up ahead,” Kiane said. “Were almost there.”
He could already see the boat docks at the bottom of the canyons where shuttleboats could tie up, the passenger and cargo lifts that rose to the building on top of the bluffs, and the large hollow grotto that held the large hangar, its cantilevered roof yawning open.
And the empty docking cradle for the ship. The prototype vessel was gone.
No one moved in the laboratory— no workers, no slaves, not even Dragoon guards. Gates had been left open, barricade fences knocked down. The remaining equipment lay scattered about in laboratory areas like dead insects.
No sign of anyone.
“Land in the clearing next to the hangar opening,” he said, amazed at how steady his voice was. When the red-haired pilot looked as if she might complain, he glared at her, then urgently peered through the flyer’s window, trying to see details among the shadows inside the hangar and cave.
Venport scrambled out of the flyer as soon as the pads touched down. The air smelled of singed grit, and the ground looked trampled. He could not begin to imagine what had occurred here. Had this destruction been caused by the military takeover of the complex, when Norma and Keedair had been evicted… or had there been a slave revolt here?
Inside the empty hangar he studied a tangled mass of metal at the center of the floor, the skeleton of heavy supports that should have held the decommissioned vessel. There was no evidence of the bulky ship itself.
With a heavy heart, Venport stumbled into the calculational offices where Norma had stored her files, but he saw only a few records strewn about, insignificant scraps and receipts. No notes, blueprints, or other important documents at all.
“Sure looks like this place was ransacked,” Kiane said, tagging along with him. “Anybody here?” But her words bounced back at her. “I’ll bet the slaves rioted and then escaped upland. They must have tossed any bodies off the edge, into the river.”
“Norma!” Venport ran backdown into the hangar and then outside, where he searched small storage buildings. He knew in his heart she wasn’t here. Filled with foreboding, he inspected everything carefully, looking for the tiniest clue, anything that might tell him what had happened.
But there was no sign of what had happened to the prototype ship or the people here. It was too quiet. Deathly quiet.
“Get me out of here,” Venport said, feeling sick to his stomach.
* * *
HE SPENT FIVE more days searching urgently in and around Starda, asking questions, pleading for answers. But everyone had missing friends and family members, and the casualty toll kept mounting. Lord Bludd and Tio Holtzman had both been declared dead. Among the shattered debris, bodies were still being found. Many victims had been burned in the fires, others butchered by slaves. Among the dead across the wide continent lay thousands of Buddislamic rebels, all mangled by Dragoons in retaliation for the uprising.
No one could tell him what he needed to know, but in his heart Venport already had the answer. He tried to cling to hope that Norma had indeed gone to Rossak, and that her passage had merely been delayed. But all indications pointed in a different direction, that she had met a terrible, undeserved fate.
Filled with grief over his lost love, Venport put Poritrin behind him, and vowed never to return here.
A thinking machine cannot be hurt, tortured, killed, bribed, or manipulated. Machines never turn on their own kind. The mechanisms are pure and clean, with exquisite internal parts and shimmering exterior surfaces. Considering such beauty and perfection, I fail to comprehend why Erasmus is so fascinated with humans.
— File from Corrin-Omnius update
Pain and fear made time seem to drag out to infinity. Norma Cenva had no idea how long she had been held captive, only that she was the last of the victims to face the cymek captor’s curiosity. The two Dragoon guards and the hapless slave ship pilot had already screamed their way into a mercifully silent oblivion.
From inside the monstrous raptor vessel, the voice of the Titan Xerxes said, “We have as many methods of inflicting torture as there are stars in the sky. This comes from diligent practice.” The words seemed to come from everywhere around her.
Norma dangled paralyzed and helpless in the belly of the condor-flyer that had captured her. She could only listen, and suffer. Her bodily capabilities had never been impressive, but Norma’s mind was a different matter; it stood on its own… apart from her physical form. She tried to focus her
thoughts and drive back the mounting terror, replacing it with resignation, acceptance of her impending death.
Her dreams and accomplishments had already been taken from her by the man she had faithfully served for so many years. Her experimental ship was lost to her, and she’d been driven from Poritrin in disgrace. She had let Aurelius down, along with everyone else who depended upon her.
A mere cymek could not inflict any deeper pain, or greater humiliation, than she had already suffered.
Within the belly of the huge predatory ship, the Titan’s preservation canister dangled above Norma, scanning her with an array of high-resolution optic threads.
“Long ago when I was human,” Xerxes mused, as if his words could torment her, “my body was rather small and ugly. Before I came to power and ruled over vast worlds, some people even called me a gnome.”
On hydraulic cables, the preservation canister lowered itself closer to where she hung, to get a better look at her squirming form. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, battered and stained.
“By comparison, woman, you are so ugly that your parents should have smothered you at birth… and then sterilized themselves to prevent the creation of any more monstrosities.”
Norma replied in a husky voice, “My mother… might agree with you.”
The sharp threads suspending her in the air were suddenly severed, and she tumbled to the hard interior decks Xerxes’ massive raptor ship. Gasping with pain, she hunched over. Held in place by the craft’s gravity system, which rapidly increased, like a heavy boot crushing her body, Norma could barely breathe.
She heard mechanical voices, but couldn’t make out the words.
Clinging to hope and comfortable memories, Norma closed her eyes and clutched the egg-shaped soostone, as if the glittering jewel could help her now. Despite the horrors around her, the gem made her feel a connection with Aurelius, and these thoughts strengthened and kept her alive. For the time being.
Xerxes and the brain canisters of half a dozen of his sycophant neocymeks surrounded her, hanging from the ceiling like fat arachnids, and Norma made out their words. The Titan thrummed beside the neos, speaking to them. “You are the first of the new recruits Beowulf has drawn into our rebellion against Omnius, and soon others will join us— especially after this little demonstration.”
Trapped, Norma felt more like a tasty grub worm than a human. She shivered on the cold floor while her tormentor plunged the chamber temperature down to far below freezing. The metal deckburned her skin with frozen fire, and her breath plumed away from her like white steam.
“Oh, poor little dear— are you shivering?” Xerxes inquired in a mocking synthesized voice. Using manipulator arms from above, the Titan dropped an energy blanket over her, which clung like a Rossak leech-bat, adhering to every exterior cell of her body. It made her colder. Norma struggled unsuccessfully to push it off against the quicksand of artificial gravity.
“Here, now you can be warm again.” Xerxes transmitted a signal, and the blanket suddenly glowed scarlet with meshwires that seared into her exposed flesh.
Though she had expected the torment, Norma could not keep herself from crying out. She clutched the sweat-slick soostone as if it were an anchor, even as the agony intensified. The blanket film sizzled and sputtered as it burned its way into her tissues. Then, springing from the thick fibers of the blanket, a network of electronic probes pierced her skin. Hair-fine wires wormed their way into her muscles and made neuro-connections with her body.
Moments later the heat dwindled, leaving only a stench of roasted skin and burned hair in the frigid air. But Norma knew the worst torture was yet to come. Though tears stung her eyes, stubborn defiance hardened her face, and she found the strength to lift her head, albeit only slightly. “From the beginning, you have left me without hope, so I expect no compassion from you.” She forced a defiant yawn. “I must inform you, though, that the pain you inflict is… quite ordinary.”
Suspended above her, the individual cymekcanisters vibrated, as if in merriment. “Ordinary pain?” Xerxes sent another signal, and a bolt of agony erupted through her left arm. She cried out and nearly dropped the soostone, but squeezed it in a death grip. Her mind focused on one name, and the image of the man she held most dear. Aurelius!
“Left leg,” Xerxes said.
Pain seared through her limb, and her head hit the deck again. Xerxes increased the artificial gravity, making Norma feel as if a giant invisible foot were crushing her. With the air squashed out of her lungs, she could make no sound, so the Titan released her and let her scream. An involuntary sound. She wished she could detach herself from the suffering. If only her thought processes could be independent of their biological pain. She had, however, no desire to be a cymek.
“Eyes,” Xerxes said, like a games man calling a shot. Gravity lurched again.
Unable to stop herself, Norma howled and covered her eyes with her stubby hands. She rained curses on Xerxes and all of his kind, but didn’t have the words to express the depth of her loathing.
The cymeks continued their sport, step by step increasing her anguish and torment, slacking off just long enough so that her mounting dread increased the next jolt of pain. With his diabolical companions, Xerxes worked on her, body part by body part. He was careful to keep her flayed mind conscious inside the tormented body so that she could experience every moment. Then he made it worse.
And worse again, wrenching up the intensity.
“We have already learned a great deal and gained a goodly amount of practice by playing with the slave ship captain and the two guards,” Xerxes said.
“She has a higher threshold than the other three,” said one of the dangling neos. “They were dead long before this point.”
“Shall we test her limits?” Xerxes asked, rhetorically.
Norma could barely comprehend the words echoing above her. The soostone in her grasp seemed to have fused to her flesh. She did not hear Xerxes’ answer, but she felt him unleash a firestorm of amplified pain through every major nerve in her small body. Increasing, increasing.
She heard the neo-cymeks scrabbling and chattering with glee.
Suddenly, Norma could no longer even scream. Her eyes screwed tight, and her brow furrowed at the pressure on her head, as if her skull was about to collapse and squirt out its brain. With both hands, she squeezed the soostone in a posture of prayer, until her hands and arms shook.
“How much pain can one fragile biological vessel sustain?” asked one neo-cymek.
“I wonder if she will explode,” said another.
Sparks arced around her body, crackling off her skin, burning her flesh, igniting her short brown hair. Still, Xerxes amplified the intensity to unimaginable levels. While the Titan hung suspended, the neos clamored, cackling with pleasure.
Abruptly, the induced torture focused on her brain itself, the brilliant mind that had incubated in the body of the Supreme Sorceress of the Jihad, Zufa Cenva. Flares jumped across synapses, overloading her cerebrum.
Norma’s eyes opened. It felt as if a billion tiny razors were cutting her cells open and slicing them smaller and smaller, into infinitesimal points of pain. The soostone glowed like a miniature sun in her hand and reflected back into her.
At the zenith of her agony something loosened in her brain, unlocking the inherited Rossak powers that had lain dormant since her birth. The soostone Aurelius had given her provided the key, breaking the barrier her mother had never been able to find. All the power of the soostone absorbed into her, and suddenly she felt nothing. The cymek’s pain transmitters continued bombarding her as before, but Norma easily deflected the energy from her body, directing it… accumulating it at a distance.
Her entire physical form pulsed, vibrated, and sparked blue. Norma Cenva’s flesh turned incandescent, melted away, and converted into pure, raw energy. Was this what her mother’s kamikaze Sorceresses had learned to do themselves, in order to annihilate cymeks?
No, Norma decided this w
as different in one fundamental way: she could control it.
She saw her own blood spattered all around— on the deck, on a bulkhead, on the gleeful brain canisters above her. She focused on the tormentor called Xerxes and felt a potent energy surge inside her transformed brain, like a weapon getting ready to discharge. Blue light lanced from her mind to the Titan’s, splitting the cymek’s canister open, detonating it like an organic bomb and boiling the brain inside.
Next, she detonated every neo-cymek simultaneously in a glorious backwash of mental energy that evaporated all organic tissue in a wide radius. It was only the beginning of her capabilities.
Gradually, the hurricane of mental energy subsided, and Norma felt an intense calm and euphoria about her, as if she were alone in the universe… as if she were God, with the act of Creation yet to come.
Though born of a powerful Sorceress of Rossak, Norma had previously displayed no telepathic aptitude. Yet the incredible torment, combined with the unexpected catalyst of the soostone, had awakened her inborn powers.
So serene. She could see forever, across millions of galaxies and the heavens. She saw all the way around the universe, until she looked at herself from behind: nothing more than the essence of a mind floating in the air, pulsing and throbbing. Anything, absolutely anything, seemed possible to her now.
Using the simmering energy available to her, she began to rebuild her body, creating matter out of nothingness, atom by atom, cell by cell. With invisible hands, as if she truly were God, she began to fashion a new physique to contain her consciousness, her powerful, exponentially expanded mind.
Then she paused to consider alternatives. Certainly her old form was a possibility, or a taller version, with her original features softened just a little, but not too much. She envisioned what she might look like.
There are other options, of course.
Dune: The Machine Crusade Page 46