Sisterhood of Dune (62 page)

The shuttle was ready to go. The two Reverend Mothers helped Anna aboard after Valya gave the girl a nervous, unacknowledged goodbye. Before stepping up the ramp herself, Dorotea turned to Valya. “This is the time for you to make your choice. Will you be on my side when I return? Raquella is not the only one who hears the memory-voices inside. Many of us know the truth of history now, and we were not told an accurate version of events. Reverend Mother Raquella took terrible risks, gambling our souls—our
human
souls!—for her ambitions. I do not believe as she does, nor would I make the same decisions, especially about her precious breeding programs!” A growl of disgust curdled in her throat. “I know about everything, because among the other lives in my mind, I have some of Raquella’s own memories. When I inform the Butlerians, and they come in force to find the hidden computers that we both
know
are up in those caves, will you be my ally, or my enemy? Think about it carefully.”

Valya froze, feeling her skin crawl. “You took a loyalty oath to the Sisterhood. You can’t break your vows like that.”

A vein throbbed on the side of Dorotea’s temple. “As human beings, each of us has a higher calling to destroy thinking machines. I know the truth now, and I can hear the screams of all those generations downtrodden by Omnius. That came about because of hubris, because humans thought they could control the technology they themselves unleashed. We dare not let it happen again! ‘Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.’”

Valya intoned. “The mind of man is holy.”

Moments later, Dorotea boarded the shuttle and sealed the hatch behind her.

Some things are too big to hide.

—anonymous saying

The landscape near the Butlerian headquarters reminded Gilbertus of images he had seen of Old Earth in its ancient days, with rolling green hills, farm buildings dotting the landscape, and pasturelands with grazing sheep, goats, and cows. Even the animals were originally from Earth stock. The scene had a flavor of an old Van Gogh painting that Erasmus revered,
Cottages at Cordeville.

Gilbertus and Manford Torondo enjoyed a sumptuous outdoor breakfast of fresh farm and dairy foods at the private house of the Butlerian leader.

Because of the great expedition he was about to launch to the Thonaris shipyards, Manford was surprisingly talkative. “If your projection is correct, Headmaster, we will have a great victory—just what I need in order to keep my followers energized. We will be doing a good thing for humanity. I’m glad you will be there to see this.”

Taking care to keep up appearances, the Mentat ate his breakfast even though he was not hungry. “I’m pleased you find the results of my projection worthwhile. But I would prefer not to accompany the fleet. I am not a military man, and I cannot abandon my obligations at my school. I still have important training programs to coordinate.”

As usual, he had hidden the memory core in his office, bidding the autonomous robot farewell and leaving with an uneasy feeling. He disliked leaving the Erasmus core alone, but he had no choice. Manford had summoned him. Gilbertus realized that, in a sense, he was working for two different masters, and both were invalids.

The Butlerian leader frowned at his answer. “Don’t you want to be with us, to see your Mentat projection proved correct?”

Gilbertus remained placid. “I know I am correct.”

“Then I want you there for my own reasons,” Manford said. “In case a recalculation is necessary.”

Knowing it was what Erasmus would have advised, the Mentat acquiesced without showing disagreement.

*   *   *

FEELING GREATLY OUT
of place, Gilbertus stood on a platform next to Manford Torondo. In front of them, cheering Butlerians gathered on the vast, grassy field before the ships that were ready to lift off to orbit. The legless man sat on a palanquin on poles that rested on the shoulders of two men; his Swordmaster stood at his side like a guardian statue.

Manford beamed as he looked out on the throng. He glanced at Gilbertus. “And now, as I promised, it’s time to remove the stain from your name, Headmaster Albans, to show all these people that you are forgiven, a worthy follower whose loyalty cannot be doubted.” The crowd cheered.

Gilbertus did not feel an inner warmth from the praise, as he did whenever Erasmus complimented him. But he pretended nevertheless, glad that the reputation of the Mentat School had been restored.

Manford raised his hands in the air to quiet the crowd and shouted without artificial amplifiers, “Through Mentat analysis, Gilbertus Albans has discovered the location of what may be the most extensive shipyards ever constructed by the evil Omnius. With our enlarged fleet, we shall eradicate another blight left by the thinking machines. Stand in front of me, Gilbertus. Let these people see the Mentat who has revealed our next target.”

From the sound of the thunderous applause, Gilbertus knew this man could say anything, and the people would approve of it. Though uncomfortable with the attention, the Mentat took a step forward and stood in full view, while Manford continued to address the crowd.

“Recently, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, some people questioned the Headmaster’s dedication to our cause. Let us put those doubts to rest. Sometimes scholars can get caught up in the theoretical, while true crusaders focus on the practical. This man achieves both. He has sworn his loyalty to us, and his great Mentat School is proof of his goal to make us forever independent of thinking machines.”

In the midst of the commotion, Gilbertus had no choice but to stand there and receive the acclaim. Anari Idaho even handed him her sword, so that he could flourish it before the crowd, which made them even more excited. Understanding what they expected from him, and remembering the admonitions of Erasmus to do whatever was necessary to deflect suspicion from himself, Gilbertus shouted into the clamor: “On to the Thonaris star system!”

As a Mentat, accustomed to deep thinking and long consideration before acting, he felt out of balance here with the firebrand leader, who made so many of his decisions on an emotional basis. Demolishing the abandoned shipyards would not be a real clash that required Mentat battle projections, but Gilbertus knew that when the place was destroyed, the crosshairs would shift, and the Butlerians would look elsewhere.

Yes, there would always be a target, and Gilbertus didn’t want it to be him.

Anger, desperation, vengeance, regret, forgiveness. It is difficult to sum up one’s life in a single word.

—
VORIAN ATREIDES,
private journals, Arrakis period

The desert people were going to kill him—Griffin had no doubt of that. He could fight an opponent hand-to-hand, could stand up for himself … but he could not best an entire tribe.

It had been ten years since Valya jumped into the arctic sea to rescue him, and almost that long since he’d saved her from the drunken fishermen. He and his sister were a strong team, a
surviving
team, but they were not together now to help each other. Strangely, he worried more about her than about himself, and he hoped she could endure the loss if he died here on this sandblasted world.

The Freemen had taken him against his will to their secret hideout, and now that they had their answers, they would not simply return him to Arrakis City with a smile and an apology. Even though the Naib had ordered his outlaw followers to dump Griffin and Vorian Atreides in the desert, Griffin thought they might reconsider and slit his throat, drain his blood, and take his water as a resource for the tribe. That much he had learned in his short time on Arrakis. He recalled how efficiently the people in the alley had killed the robber and taken the body away. The desert people considered outsiders to be little more than walking bags of water.

He knew they would get away with killing him, no matter how they did it, and no one would notice the man from Lankiveil missing from his rooms—the proprietor would assume he had skipped out on his lodgings.

Griffin had been about to return to his icy homeworld and use his remaining money to buy passage … but at the last minute, by a strange twist of fate, he had found Vorian Atreides and confronted him. It was at least the partial victory that Valya had wanted—but Griffin wouldn’t be going home to tell anyone about it.

Unless he could escape. Griffin couldn’t bear the thought of never being able to speak to his family again. That was what finally convinced him to act. He had to tell all of them what he had found, especially Valya. He had to
live
for that.

The desert people led harsh lives and took what they needed … and so would Griffin from now on, making his own fate. If the Naib was going to murder him anyway, then Griffin would go out into the desert, where he might have a chance of survival, albeit a minimal one.

The Freemen placed only one lackluster guard in front of his cell, confident that the unending sands around them formed an inescapable prison. Sniveling, feigning weakness, Griffin begged for the guard to come inside. “A scorpion! It stung me!”

When the man came into the cell, wearing an annoyed and impatient expression, Griffin spun and with all his strength delivered a sharp chop down where the guard’s neck intersected his shoulder, stunning him. The Freeman had tried to react in time, flinching back, but could not avoid being struck; he had not expected such fighting skills from what he considered a weak offworlder. He crumpled to the floor.

Panting and perspiring, Griffin used his own belt to tie the man, and gagged him with a swatch of cloth from the cot in his cell. Then in the darkness he crept out of the chamber, stealing along the stone corridors.

Several Freemen moved about, but he kept to the shadows and waited until the tunnels were quiet again. He knew his sister would have wanted him to find Vorian’s cell, kill the man while he slept, and escape, but Griffin had no idea where his enemy was being kept. For now, he could only hope to get away and survive the desert ordeal … so that he could get home to his family.

He found the storage cistern where the Freemen kept their communal water supply, which was carefully regulated but unguarded. In their culture, water thieves were hated more than murderers—but since the desert men had kidnapped Griffin and might still intend to steal his body’s water, he felt justified taking a pack and a full literjon. He also found a desert kit with a dust mask and compass, on a rock shelf of supplies near the exterior moisture-sealed door.

He headed out, hoping to find some small settlement or a spice-harvesting operation out there in the arid wilderness. He knew his odds were not good. There were many ways to die in the desert.

*   *   *

VOR LAY AWAKE
, staring at the rough stone walls and gazing into his past and his conscience. When the night sentries called out the alarm, he swung off his hard sleeping pallet and pulled aside the door covering, certain that Andros and Hyla had returned. He would fight them—better to die in combat against a true enemy, than to be exiled by the Freemen.

Ishanti ran to his chamber before he could move down the dim corridor, and seemed relieved to encounter him. “Well, at least you two weren’t foolish enough to run away together.”

“Run away? Who ran away?”

“The Harkonnen man stole water and fled into the desert … though what the fool intends to do out there, I have no idea.”

Pieces clicked into place in Vor’s mind like the gears of a clockwork mechanism. “What does he have to lose? You plan to kill him anyway.”

“Now that he has stolen water from us, that’s exactly what we will do.”

Vor was already moving. “We’ll stop him. He can’t have gone far. If the Naib gets the people out to search, we can still save him—and retrieve your precious water.” Not that he expected them to be grateful.

Before she could answer, Sharnak met them, his face as tight as a clenched fist in the low light. “Now we see how offworlders repay our courtesy.”

Vor responded with a wry smile. “Courtesy? You put a hood over his head, drugged him, and kidnapped him from his lodgings. You threatened to execute both of us. You have an odd definition of ‘courtesy.’”

Ishanti laughed. “The man swore a blood feud against you, and now you speak on his behalf? You are a strange man, Vorian Atreides.”

“Nothing about life is simple.” Since his hard conversation with the young Harkonnen, Vor had pondered much about what he’d done to Abulurd’s descendants. Blaming and punishing the entire family for the sins of their great-grandfather was an unjust thing to do. His own father, Agamemnon, was one of humanity’s greatest criminals, and Vor refused to accept any blame for those crimes. Griffin Harkonnen didn’t deserve that, either.

At the very least, Vor knew he should have kept his promise to rehabilitate the record of Xavier Harkonnen. Maybe he should have gone to Lankiveil to check on Abulurd’s descendants, as well; he had no animosity against them. He said to himself in a quiet voice, “If you live for centuries, there is plenty of time to do things you regret.”

Now that the naïve Griffin had escaped into the desert, Vor felt a genuine concern for him. “We need to find him and bring him back. Then decide what to do with us; take my water if you must, but not his. I don’t want him to pay any more for the things I’ve done.”

“He’s a foolish offworlder, and we should let the sandworms devour him,” Naib Sharnak said.

Ishanti shook her head. “He has stolen Freemen water and supplies. We will retrieve those, at least. If he is so intent on dying, the fool can do it without wasting our water. Vor and I will go together.”

*   *   *

THEY TOOK ISHANTI’S
skimcraft, but Vor insisted on operating the controls. The desert woman raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

“I’ve been flying craft like these for several of your lifetimes.” They lifted off from the line of cliffs and soared into the moonlit night. Vor peered out across the wasteland of sand. “He won’t bother to try hiding his tracks—he doesn’t know how. He’ll just be trying to run.”