Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  He frowned. “I… never gave it much consideration.”

  “This is a shrine to our fallen son, who was slain by the evil Erasmus. That is real enough and cannot be denied.” She traced her fingertips on the slick crystal, her face distant and wistful. Then she rallied her determination and looked directly at him. “It doesn’t make any difference, Xavier. What I believe— what the people believe— is the only thing that matters. A symbol always has more power than reality.”

  He accepted only reluctantly. “I don’t like this deceit… but you’re right: it doesn’t change what truly happened to our child. It makes no difference to our reasons for hating Omnius.”

  She put her arms around him, and as he embraced her, he longed for the decades they had lost. “If all my devotees were like you, Xavier, we would have defeated Omnius in a year.”

  He hung his head. “I’m just an old battle-scarred soldier now. The other commanders are much younger. They’ve forgotten the determination that made the Jihad such a fierce struggle. They’ve known nothing else, and they see me as just a grandfatherly figure who tells old war stories.”

  Serena smoothed her silk-trimmed robes. “And now I need you to look to the future, Xavier. I intend to go to Corrin and face Omnius, but you must stay here and continue my fight. Iblis has already promised me that. You, too, must do whatever is necessary to guarantee that we will not lose everything we have fought for.”

  “There’s nothing I could say to stop you from going, is there?”

  Her smile was distant. “I must do what I can.”

  Xavier left the City of Introspection, feeling a leaden sense of foreboding. Something in Serena’s eyes, in her tone of voice, told him she intended to do a terrible, irrevocable thing, and he would not be able to stop her.

  My heart is stretched and pulled in so many ways. Why must Duty and Love tug in opposite directions?

  — PRIMERO VORIAN ATREIDES, private logs

  It was meant only as a test-run for the streamlined space-folding ships newly constructed for the Army of the Jihad. The Holtzman Effect engines developed by Norma Cenva made it possible to journey from the shipyards on Kolhar to any other place he wished, in a negligible travel time.

  Vorian Atreides knew exactly where he intended to go: Caladan. At last!

  Unaware of the turmoil in the League or of the unsatisfying accords the Ivory Tower Cogitors had negotiated with Omnius, Vor insisted on taking this test-run by himself. Though he was fifty-nine years old, he still felt young and enthusiastic.

  Working under the intense supervision of Norma Cenva, the Jihad engineers had constructed several experimental military vessels smaller than the VenKee cargo ships and far better suited for reconnaissance.

  Naturally, such new vessels needed to be taken on thorough shakedown cruises. Vor knew how to fly virtually any ship, and was ready to do this test personally. His fellow officers objected that a key military leader should never tackle a mission so fraught with risks and uncertainties, but Vor had never stood on ceremony— often to the frustration and dismay of his friend Xavier.

  Despite the navigational uncertainties involved in his headlong rush across the folded fabric of space, Vor took no one with him. He knew the risks were real after having seen records of VenKee’s merchant flights, and did not want to endanger anyone else.

  “You all look so serious, so tragic! I’ve made up my mind, and none of you have the rank to countermand my order.” He smiled. “Does anyone want to take bets on how soon I return?”

  * * *

  THE SPACE-FOLDING ENGINES worked perfectly.

  From the cockpit of the scout ship, surrounded by gleaming instruments and blinking lights, the brief journey felt to Vor like a fantastic dream, not a real experience. He didn’t seem to move at all. At first, his recon craft was near the bleak world of Kolhar. Then the cosmos bent and twisted around him, flooding with colors and images that he never imagined existed. Before he knew it, he had arrived at the ocean world that he remembered so clearly from his time here almost ten years ago. The whole journey took only a few seconds.

  He landed at the primitive military facilities erected on the Caladan coast to maintain and monitor surveillance satellites. The engineers and mechanics stationed at the outpost had never seen a ship like this, and the soldiers were astonished at the unannounced arrival of such an important officer.

  “We’ve been stuck here a long time, Primero,” one of the soldiers said. “Are you on a morale-boosting mission?”

  Vor smiled at him. “In part, Quinto. But truly I have another purpose on Caladan. There is someone I must see.”

  This time he would not bother to conceal his name or rank insignia. He had decided that he no longer needed to pretend for Leronica. He just wanted to see her and make sure that her life had gone well, that she had moved on. There was no reason to hide his identity.

  Even so, as he approached the town, smelling the sea and hearing the boats, he felt as anxious as if he were going to face an entire robot army. He found his optimism dragged down by an anchor of doubt. Of course a woman like Leronica would have married and raised a family, spending a happy, settled life here on Caladan. He had known from the beginning that he couldn’t just remain here and pretend to be a fisherman, and that he couldn’t uproot her from this quiet planet and take her into the middle of the Jihad.

  Vor had lost his chance for either course of action almost a decade ago. He should have forgotten about her, but he had tried to keep in touch despite the enormous distances. He had written many letters, sent her packages and gifts… and had never received a reply. Perhaps he should have stopped thinking about her long before this. Maybe it was not a good idea for him to come back here, now or ever. It might disrupt her life, and reawaken too many feelings in him. It was his own fault he had waited so long.

  But his feet kept walking, and his heart drew him forward.

  The coastal village had not changed much; it still welcomed him like a surrogate home. Leronica’s tavern seemed to have prospered over the years. He longed to see the lovely woman again, but was not foolish enough to believe he could simply walk back into her arms after so long.

  No, he would just visit as a friend, perhaps reminisce for a while, and leave it at that. He cared for Leronica, remembering her far above other romances, and was anxious to learn what she had been doing in the intervening years.

  When he stepped through the door, Vor stood silhouetted, looking into the dim light of the common room, inhaling the rich smells of smoke, fish, and sweet pastries Leronica had probably baked. Vivid memories flooded back. His smile was certain, and his confidence rose.

  He heard her sharp indrawn breath before his eyes adjusted. “Virk?” she said. “Vorian?” And then she caught herself, unable to believe. “Vorian Atreides, it can’t be you. You haven’t aged a day since you left.”

  Grinning broadly he stepped into the room. “My memories of you keep me young.” With a roguish smile, he came close and saw that she looked a decade older. Her face was more mature, her features filled out, and her curly hair longer, but she still looked just as attractive to him.

  Leronica came around the bar and threw herself into his arms. Before he knew it, they were kissing, laughing, and staring deep into each other’s eyes. Finally, he managed to catch his breath, stepped back, and held her at arm’s length. He shook his head in disbelief, but Leronica’s dark pecan eyes were sparkling and wide. “You took your sweet time getting here, Mister. Ten long years!”

  Suddenly he felt uncertain again. “You didn’t wait for me, did you? I never expected you to sit alone and stare up into the skies.” He didn’t want that kind of guilt.

  She made a scoffing noise and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “You think I had nothing better to do? Hardly. I made a very fine life for myself, thank you very much.” Then she smiled up at him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you, though. I appreciated every letter, every gift.”

  “So, you have a h
usband? A family?” He kept a chaste distance, convincing himself that he wanted to know the answers. “I’m not here to intrude or disrupt your life.” He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  Her face saddened. “I’m a widow. My husband was killed.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you want someone to talk to? Over a pitcher of kelp beer.”

  “That’ll take more than one pitcher.”

  He gave her a boyish grin, knowing how young he must look to her. “I am in no hurry.”

  They exchanged stories, a bit at a time. Each of Leronica’s revelations riveted his attention. She had two sons, twins. She had married a fisherman, but her husband of more than eight years had been killed by a strange sea monster. She’d been a widow for more than a year already.

  “I’d like to see the boys,” he said. “I’ll bet they’re fine young men.”

  She gave him a strange look. “Just like their father.”

  * * *

  HE STAYED FOR several weeks, making excuses and finding work that ostensibly needed to be done on Caladan, but each day went by too quickly. He met the boys Estes and Kagin, and marveled at the echoes of his own features. The twins were nine years old, and he could do the math himself. He decided Leronica would tell him in her own time, if she told him at all.

  Even if he had gotten her pregnant so long ago, Vor had never acted the part of a father to these boys. If Kalem Vazz was as good a man as Leronica said, let the twins have their memories untainted. Leronica seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

  They spent a lot of close time together, rediscovering friendship. Leronica never suggested that they rekindle their romance— not rebuffing him, but not inviting him to be her lover either. He could tell that she still loved Kalem and remained loyal to his memory. She had settled into her role as a widow, though she did not wallow in grief.

  Vor listened while Leronica talked about Kalem, about her life here on Caladan. Finally, after the first few days, she sighed and then smiled at him. “All of this must sound incredibly dull to a hero of the Jihad.”

  “It seems wonderfully peaceful, a refuge from all the horrors I have seen.” In his mind, he could not erase the memories of the massacres of helpless colonies, the horrific battlefields, the smashed robots and slain humans.

  She leaned against him, feeling sweetly warm and solid. “It is human nature to long for something other than what we have.” She stroked his cheek and he pressed her hand to his skin. “Now you must tell me about all the exotic places you’ve visited. You sent me that package of beautiful stones, but I prefer the pictures you paint with words. Take me to wonderful, far-off worlds with your stories.”

  Vor was nearly convinced that he wanted to make his life with this woman, who had captured his heart. He had already given decades to Serena’s Jihad— had he not earned a respite? He could stop fighting, couldn’t he, just for a while? When he gazed at Leronica, he saw what he truly desired. “I have all the time in the world, and see no harm in spending half a century with you… if need be.”

  But she laughed at him. “Vorian, Vorian, you would never be happy here. Caladan is not enough for a man like you.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of Caladan,” he said. “I was thinking of you, Leronica. To me, you shine brighter than all the stars in the universe.”

  They embraced, and shared a long, tender kiss….

  Everything changed two days later when a Jihad messenger came to find him on Caladan. The young man had come on another space-folding ship, crossing a vast distance in moments. Apparently Primero Harkonnen had dispatched an identical vessel earlier with the urgent news, but it had never arrived. It felt as if a vice had tightened on Vor’s heart when he heard about the loss of another one of the risky Holtzman ships. “The message must be dire indeed if Xavier is willing to risk so much just to contact me.”

  “It is about the Priestess of the Jihad,” said the breathless courier.

  Consumed with dread, Vor listened, and was astonished to learn of the peace accord and how Serena had gone to meet with the Corrin-Omnius. He refused to believe she was so foolish or gullible. Then his heart turned cold as he understood from Xavier’s message that she wasn’t fooled at all, and that she had something else in mind.

  “I have to go,” Vor said to Leronica. Her expression did not falter. She had understood from the moment of the courier’s arrival that Vor would be called to other duties.

  “I trust you’ll believe me now?” she said with a wry, sad smile. “You could never simply withdraw from the Jihad and content yourself with a quiet life.”

  “Believe me, Leronica.” He kissed her, then stepped back. “There is nothing in the universe I want more than that… but the universe is not in the habit of asking my preference.”

  “Go and do what you must.” She smiled at him warmly. “Just try not to wait ten years again before coming back.”

  “I promise. Next time, no one will be able to tear me away from you.”

  She frowned as she nudged him toward the uniformed courier. “Stop acting like a schoolboy, Vor. You have more important things to worry about now.”

  “You’ll have to believe me when I return.”

  He rushed back to his space-folding scout ship. In a few moments— if he made the dangerous passage safely— he would be back on Salusa Secundus, trying to meet with Serena before she left on her ill-conceived quest to meet with the computer leader. He hoped he could change her mind.

  But if Xavier’s suspicions were correct, he might not arrive in time.

  Of all the weapons that we utilize in war, Time is potentially the most effective— and the least under our control. So many major events could have been changed if only there had been another day, another hour, even another minute.

  — PRIMERO XAVIER HARKONNEN, letter to his daughters

  At Zimia Spaceport, Xavier Harkonnen received a VIP seat in the grandstands to watch the departure of the Priestess of the Jihad. He was the only one not cheering.

  Though Octa stayed at home at the Butler Estate, Xavier’s second daughter Omilia accompanied him to watch the spectacle. At the age of thirty-five, Omilia continued her career as an accomplished baliset player, performing concerts for popular Salusan cultural festivals. Smiling now, she sat next to her father, happy to be with him.

  Xavier brooded as uneasiness chewed him up inside. Amidst the celebration and grand hopes for Serena’s mission to Corrin, he felt incredibly alone. He had dispatched an urgent message to Vorian Atreides, but was sure his long-time friend could not possibly arrive here in time. He focused on Iblis Ginjo as he chattered happily with dignitaries, looking a bit too pleased with her mission. Xavier was certain that Ginjo had a role in her decision and wished he could discover what was going on behind the scenes.

  Niriem and four other handpicked Seraphim had already gone on board, preparing to pilot the vessel to Corrin. Standing in front of the ramp, Serena delivered a grandiose speech that was empty and passionless, but still well received. Too drunk with the possibilities of the Jihad’s end, the gathered people did not listen closely. They heard only what they wanted to hear.

  Excited, Omilia clutched her father’s sinewy arm. When he looked at her, he was faintly surprised to recognize that his girl was an adult woman now, beautiful and full of potential, with a hint of Serena’s features from the Butler bloodline. Even little Wandra was now already ten years old, and Omilia was nearly twice the age Serena had been when she and Xavier had announced their betrothal, long ago….

  How could so many years have passed, with so little joy to show for it?

  Filled with worry and foreboding, Xavier stared, his expression intense. In the midst of cheering spectators and waving ribbons, he noticed that Serena looked deeply tired, resigned. She carried herself with a purposeful demeanor.

  He withdrew from his pocket the necklace of black diamonds that Serena had given him so many years ago, before her impetuous secret attempt to save Giedi Prime. Back then, a young and stricken O
cta had delivered the necklace with its recorded holomessage. That single decision of Serena’s, that one mission, had changed all of their lives forever.

  And now she was off on an even more important venture….

  When the diplomatic ship was sealed and the fanfare blew, Xavier slumped back in the grandstand with tears trickling down his seamed face. Some of the spectators looked at him, perhaps considering the Primero a doddering old veteran reliving his glory, wallowing in half-forgotten memories.

  Smiling, Omilia nudged him. “What’s wrong, Father? It’ll be all right. Surely you of all people must have complete faith in Priestess Serena?”

  He stroked the smooth, dark gems of the old necklace. “Yes, Omilia. Serena will accomplish whatever she decides to do.” He shook his shaggy head. “I fear in my heart that Serena will never come back.”

  * * *

  VOR DID NOT waste a moment worrying about about the risks and hazards of navigation with the unproven Holtzman-effect engines. He simply plunged his ship headlong into space, knowing that he must arrive at the League capital world with all possible haste.

  But he reached Zimia long after Serena had already gone.

  Not knowing what else to do, he went directly to the Butler Estate. Perhaps he and Xavier could find some way. Vor didn’t allow himself to doubt that he could do something.

  At the front gate of the manor house atop the hill, the old Primero studied him with weary, shadowed eyes. Vor was taken aback just to look at the man who had been his comrade for so many years. Could

  Xavier truly be so old? His face wore an expression of absolute defeat that Vor had never seen before.

  “I knew you would come.” Xavier’s hands clutched the dark wooden frame of the door.

  “How did you know to find me on Caladan?”

  Xavier gave him a wan smile. “You don’t even notice how often you talk about that woman. Where else would you have gone?”