Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  But she couldn’t drive the thought away, or ignore it. The calling had been like a loud shout in Zufa’s brain, demanding that she leave immediately. Come to Kolhar. Meet me there. She, the Supreme Sorceress of the Jihad, had no choice.

  This unremarkable planet was on the nearby trade routes from Ginaz, but she had never thought much about it. Kolhar had always been beneath her notice. Zufa had other priorities in the Jihad.

  Come to Kolhar!

  Now, as her private spacecraft descended and her ship’s onboard systems scanned for a dry spot to land near the rough settlements at the edge of the cold marshy wastes, a leaden dullness seeped into her like poison. The sky, the water, the soggy ground, and even the twisted trees, all looked ashen.

  Mother. Come to Kolhar. Now!

  Mother? Could it be some strange communication from the unborn fetus growing inside Zufa, the daughter of Iblis Ginjo… already prescient and sending her on a mission? If so, this could be the greatest Sorceress of all time. Smiling to herself, Zufa touched her abdomen, which did not yet show signs of pregnancy.

  Certainly, stunted Norma could not possibly have such powers…. She had heard nothing from her daughter in years. Even Savant Holtzman had stopped wasting time on her, and may have deported her from Poritrin prior to the disastrous slave uprising there.

  Did that mean that Norma was alive, that she had survived? Despite her disappointment in Norma, Zufa was her mother, and still cared about her.

  But even if Norma had survived, this message could not possibly be from her….

  A dusky outpost city with an outdated spaceport came into view. The primary Kolhar settlement held only a few hundred thousand inhabitants at most.

  As she approached for a landing, the Sorceress received clearance from a thin-voiced male attendant. Zufa noticed no other offworld ships anywhere, only the lethargic movement of local traffic. “We have a berth reserved for your vessel, Sorceress, and instructions for your arrival. We have been expecting you.”

  Curious to the point of annoyance, Zufa pressed him, even used a bit of telepathic nudging, but the man simply couldn’t tell her anything more. She just wanted to learn the answer to this mystery, and then get back to her real work.

  Following the mental summons, she hired a railtaxi and took it from the sleepy spaceport to a subsidiary village two hundred kilometers north. Why would anyone go out here by choice? The small car glided slowly on a narrow-gauge track; the ride was bumpy, especially when it ascended to a high plateau surrounded on three sides by snow-capped mountains. Zufa wanted to use her telekinetic powers to propel the sluggish transport at greater speed, but resisted the temptation.

  When Zufa finally debarked at a little station and stepped onto a painted wooden platform open to the cool winds, a stunningly beautiful blonde woman called out to her. “Supreme Sorceress Cenva. I have been waiting for you.”

  Though the air of Kolhar was damp and brisk, the woman wore only thin, loose clothing that somehow resisted blowing in the breezes. She was young yet somehow ageless, with gentle blue eyes and unblemished skin like delicate porcelain. She looked familiar in an odd sort of way.

  “Why have I been summoned here? By what means did you send such a signal?” Always conscious of her own status, Zufa wished she had not used the word summoned, as if she were no more than a lackey to be ordered about by a master.

  The beautiful stranger gave her an odd, infuriating smile. “Follow me. We have much to discuss… as soon as you are ready for the answers.”

  Zufa followed the woman into the station building, where a scrawny old man bowed subserviently and offered her a thickcoat. Zufa gestured the man away, paying no attention to the chill air on the plateau. “Who are you?” Suddenly, she remembered one of the messages: Mother. Come to Kolhar. Now!

  The woman turned to look at her calmly, as if waiting for something. Her features were tantalizingly familiar, clearly of Rossak stock, with high cheekbones and a classical profile. She looked like one of the great Sorceresses, but with a softer, more elegant beauty. In a way, her eyes reminded Zufa of… but it couldn’t be!

  “If you open your eyes, you will see that there are no limitations on possibilities, Mother. Are you capable of seeing me in a different form?”

  Startled, Zufa jerked her head back, then stepped forward, her eyes narrow and suspicious. “This is not possible!”

  “Come with me, Mother, and we will talk. I have much to share with you.”

  In a bubble-top groundcar Norma drove her away from the plateau village and out onto a barren, slushy plain of half-frozen marshland. As the vehicle worked its way over the rough, roadless terrain, Norma told a remarkable tale. Astonished, Zufa could barely believe the revelations, but could not deny what she saw with her own eyes. “You have potential after all!”

  “The cymek torture shocked my brain to capabilities I never knew I had. My mind turned inward, where I found my own beauty and peace. A soostone Aurelius gave me triggered something inside and helped me to focus… something the cymeks never expected. And they paid for it with their lives. Afterward, I had the luxury of fashioning my new body according to the blueprints stored in my genes. Given the potential of my ancestors, this is how I should have appeared.”

  Zufa’s astonishment and wonder were palpable. “All my life this is what I expected— even demanded— of you. Though you never showed the potential before, I’m pleased to see that I was not wrong. I was hard on you because that is what you required. You did have it in you.” She nodded, expressing what she meant as a compliment. “You are worthy of my name after all.”

  Norma remained unruffled, showing that nothing her mother said could hurt her. Her gaze contained a hint of skepticism, as if she didn’t totally believe what Zufa was saying.

  “My beauty is irrelevant to the work I can do now. When my body was destroyed, I rebuilt it according to images drawn from my female bloodline. This body suits me, though I suppose I could revert to my previous form if I wished. I never minded it as much as you always did. Appearances are, after all, only appearances.”

  Zufa was perplexed. After spending years as a disappointing dwarf, her daughter seemed to consider the new physical beauty almost an afterthought. Norma had not adopted this perfect female form to impress anyone— or so she claimed.

  “You should not have given up on me, Mother.” Despite her pointed words, Norma seemed beyond anger and vengeance, with a calmly superior confidence in herself. “Many of your trainees have died in mental attacks against cymeks. But I managed to control a telepathic holocaust that would have wiped out any other Sorceress— even you.”

  Zufa was amazed at the possibility. She had seen so many of her talented sisters die in strikes against the machines with human minds. “You must show me how to do it.” She watched her daughter, wondered what she was thinking.

  Norma parked the groundcar a short distance away from an isolated cottage, and got out with her mother. As if frozen in place by the cold winds, Norma focused on a small rock formation a few meters away. It had been weeks since the incident that completely changed her life, and in that time she had not attempted to use her power again. Not out of fatigue, but out of uncertainty and concern that her abilities might manifest in ways she did not expect. Most of all, she feared harming her mother, who sat nearby.

  Norma relaxed her body. “Not now. I’m not ready. When I reshaped myself, it was external only— and triggered by extreme duress. But I feel that this is only the beginning, Mother, just an interim phase for me. Do not be surprised if I change even more in the future. Do not be surprised by anything I am now capable of.”

  The comment frightened the experienced Sorceress, who looked away, cheeks burning with shame.

  Norma seemed distant and preoccupied. “I am more concerned with the future, not the past. If I am no longer a disappointment to you, then we can be strong together, more powerful than you can imagine.” An arctic wind blew her long blond hair, giving her an ethereal appearan
ce against the snowy mountains beyond. “Now is a good enough time to lay a new foundation for our relationship. We have work to do.”

  Zufa could not bring herself to admit openly that she was sorry— a lifetime of sincere apologies would not undo the scorn and disappointment she had heaped on Norma for so long— but perhaps she could work harder now, and the two of them could join their abilities to make significant strides against the enemy. Norma would understand her implied apology, eventually.

  The Sorceress tentatively reached out both hands, and as she did so, she saw Norma doing the same, only a fraction of a second later. Or had it been simultaneous? The two women clasped hands awkwardly, then hugged in a fashion unfamiliar to either of them.

  They walked over rough, frozen ground to the cottage, an old prefabricated building erected long ago by a well-meaning colonist who had given up on his dreams of independence. Norma had renovated it and made it livable again.

  She spoke briefly, indicating the broad, fallow fields all around them. “Mother, I envision more than bleak emptiness. I see a whole landscape of possibilities! Finally, I have the mental powers of a Rossak Sorceress, while retaining the mathematical insights I developed on my own. I now have the answer, Mother. After so many years, I finally understand how to fashion engines that will fold space.” She turned to the older woman, and Zufa felt dizzy in the crosshairs of that gaze.

  “Do you understand, Mother? We can build vessels that travel from one battlefield to another in the wink of an eye. Imagine how much good my spaceships would do if they could appear anywhere in the universe on a moment’s notice. The Army of the Jihad could deal death blows to the Synchronized Worlds faster than Omnius could ever respond.”

  Zufa kept her balance, but her mind spun with a new spectrum of marvelous possibilities. “That could be the most significant change to the long-standing conflict since… since the atomic destruction of Earth.”

  “More than that, my Mother. Much more.” Norma narrowed her pale eyes. “But this time I cannot fail because of my personal weaknesses. Before, on Poritrin, I underestimated and ignored politics and personal interactions. I do not understand the art of manipulation, nor do I wish to.”

  Norma stared across the rugged openness, as if in her mind she could see invisible cities yet to be built. “Therefore, I need your help, Mother. My vision is too grand to be denied. I will not allow deluded fools or self-centered bureaucrats to stop me. Savant Holtzman caused me much harm on Poritrin, and I was blind to the ways he was hurting me, delaying me, until finally he attempted to steal everything. He wanted more than my ideas. He wanted to own the ideas because he could no longer generate them himself.”

  Zufa could not conceal her shock. “Savant Holtzman? He is dead now in the revolt, as is Lord Bludd and almost everyone else in Starda.”

  Norma nodded. “I know, so we must start from scratch, here on Kolhar. I need the abilities and political influence of the Supreme Sorceress of the Jihad. Simply developing the mathematics is not enough. I will make the technology work, while you will see that it is used. You and the other Sorceresses must help me turn this place into a great, secret shipyard.”

  “But… here?” Zufa asked, looking at the unwelcome terrain.

  Norma waved her arms expansively. “In my mind’s eye I see a vast launching area on this very plain, from which space-folding ships can travel across the universe, immense vessels that dwarf the spacecraft we know today.”

  Beside her daughter, Zufa blurted, “Norma, there’s something I have to tell you. I… am carrying your unborn sister. Through careful timing of my internal rhythms, I am pregnant with the child of Iblis Ginjo.”

  Even the supernaturally beautiful and powerful Norma seemed surprised. “The Grand Patriarch? But why?”

  “Because he has great potential that even he does not realize. Possibly even a hint of Rossak stock, far back in his breeding. I thought he would give me a perfect daughter. Now, perhaps, that was unnecessary.”

  “It seems that we each have surprising news,” Norma said. “Many things have changed between us. And Aurelius, too. The landscape of the future has changed.” She smiled gently.

  From now on I will make up for my failings, for my utter, shameful lack of faith in my child, Zufa promised herself. Guilt inundated her, as she realized she should always have been ready to help Norma. She vowed to make up for past mistakes. “Yes, I can help you accomplish this enormous task. I am glad you have chosen me for this responsibility, my daughter.”

  Norma’s gentle smile faded, and she seemed to stare through her mother, as if weighing Zufa’s change of attitude. “You are my flesh and blood. If not you, who can I trust? I have no better choice.”

  Then her pale blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. “And for my next step I must recruit the perfect businessman to provide the funding for such a massive undertaking.” Norma drew a breath of the chill air, then turned to open the door of her dwelling. “I can’t wait to see Aurelius again.”

  When the observer truly believes the illusion, it becomes real.

  — SWORDMASTER ZON NORET

  The master mercenary sat on a knoll of rock and sand, beside a broken-coral shrine adorned with fresh hyacinths. This memorial to Manion the Innocent offered comfort and protection against demon machines, but Jool Noret preferred to rely on his own fighting abilities, as he had done on Ix more than a year ago.

  Looking away, the hardened young man gazed out across the ocean of sand that surrounded his small private island. He envisioned imaginary enemies, targets, and foes.

  Noret wore nothing but a small loincloth cinched at the waist. Crouching, he bunched his muscles until the frozen stance made him ache, but he refused to loosen up, refused to blink, even though trickles of sweat rolled over his eyebrows and into his eyes.

  Then, quick as lightning, he slashed with his pulse sword. The disruptor edge stabbed into the air precisely where Noret had aimed.

  Noret had vowed never to let his skills fade, even when he went back to Ginaz between battle engagements. He had to keep training with Chirox, to bring his abilities to an ever higher level. Already he had set the mek’s adaptability algorithm far beyond previous limits, exceeding anything he had formerly considered practical. Proving himself repeatedly, he never achieved any sort of self-satisfaction. The subtle clock of age ticked inside him, and he didn’t want to lose his skills as he grew older. Strange, morbid thoughts for a man who had not even reached his twenty-third year.

  Months ago he had returned to Ginaz with a group of veterans on their way home from Salusa Secundus. None of the angry, well-seasoned mercenaries particularly wanted to loll around on a sunny archipelago, so for weeks they hunted through space along a perimeter of the Synchronized Worlds, looking for suitable stragglers. They found and destroyed a pair of robotic scout vessels, but with no more targets in sight, the troop transport ship eventually headed off through the corridor toward Rossak and Ginaz. After threading their way through the system’s asteroid belt, they reached the ocean world.

  Noret did not mind. He longed to be back on the small island with Chirox, honing his skills sharper than a nanoblade. The better to kill machines.

  Without warning, he whirled, leaped into the air, and slashed behind him. Since childhood, he had trained with a variety of weapons, including complex armaments that could take out a dozen combat robots at a time. Even so, he always went back to his father’s pulse sword. It was an archaic weapon, but precise. Use of the sword demanded a skill level that no scrambler grenade or brute-force weapon would ever require.

  Fighting is a matter of precision and timing, the correct application of senses, and the knowledge that comes from experience.

  When not on a mission for the Army of the Jihad, Jool Noret trained for hours every day, either alone or with the sensei mek. Having no wish for close human companionship, he made no friends among the other trainees who came to the island. He paused only to drink tepid water or eat bland foods, enough to energi
ze his body so that he could keep fighting, training, and sharpening his edge.

  Soon Noret would be ready to return to the Jihad. He considered himself a man who existed for no reason other than to obliterate thinking machines. One day, his recklessness might cost him his life, but he would make sure that it cost Omnius a great deal first….

  Below, on the trampled beach, student hopefuls silently and respectfully observed Noret as he worked through an exercise routine. The sensei mek Chirox stood with the observers. Noret saw them with his peripheral vision, but paid them no heed. He had learned a great deal from simply watching his father, and they were welcome to observe, but he would not be their teacher.

  Noret turned his back on the audience and plunged forward with his exercises. The people knew of his exploits, from war reports that the Council of Veterans disseminated among recuperating mercenaries and crowds of eager trainees. All of the island people had heard of his victories. On his very first mission, Jool Noret had achieved near-legendary status, single-handedly unleashing an atomic city-killer that wiped out the Ix-Omnius. Since then, in a handful of other skirmishes, Noret had defeated swarms of thinking machines.

  But Noret shunned all accolades and refused to bask in fame. He did not feel he deserved it.

  In the past few weeks, though, an increasing number of curious students had come to watch him, hungry to replicate his techniques. They witnessed Noret’s superhuman drills against the combat mek and gasped as he moved.

  The crowds increased. Some of the would-be warriors pleaded openly for personal instruction, but he declined them all. “I cannot. I have not yet learned all that I need to know.”

  Though he sought to conceal it, he refused to teach any admirers because of the guilt he carried over his father’s death. His heart felt like stone. He knew he would fall in battle someday, for that was the fate of his kind. But he vowed to do it in a blaze of glory, with his skills sharpened to their limits. His complete release of all care or self-preservation liberated him to achieve such feats as he demonstrated in his training exercises. What good would that kind of teaching do the other mercenaries, except to get them all killed?