Their inhibitions faded, and many men and women became newfound lovers in the shadowed passages of the caves. Later, when the celebration finally ended, their group would return to Its all-consuming mission. But for one night the spice transported them.
With Marha beside him, Selim traveled the pathways of melange, stepping through open doorways into the future. He sensed her nearby, a dazzling soul and a warm heart that had become an inseparable part of him.
But for this journey, Selim needed to go alone.
On the back wall of the cave, mysterious runes had been scribed long ago by forgotten explorers. No one knew what the inscriptions meant, but Selim. had fashioned his own interpretations, and his followers did not question such pronouncements.
Aided by the melange, Selim saw many things that were invisible to the real world.
And now for the first time he saw the true scope of the challenge he faced, the immensity of time over which this epic battle would be played out. He saw that this was not merely a struggle between himself and the hated Naib Dhartha, not a conflict Selim could resolve in his own lifetime. It had already gone too far. The temptation and dependence on spice had passed a threshold that no mere man could ever stop.
One lifetime would never be enough. Selim had to insure that his mission would last far beyond his own death. Shai-Hulud would show him how, when the time was right.
Afterward he awoke with Marha warm and naked against him, clinging even in her dreams, as if afraid to let go of him. She stirred in the dim shadows. Her face was filled with curiosity and appreciation, drinking in every detail of his features.
"Selim, my love, my husband" — she said the last word on an indrawn breath — "I have finally learned to see you, to truly see you, as a man, a human being. At first, I fell in love with the idea of you, the portrait of a hero, an outlaw who could see the future with an unwavering clarity of mission. But you are more than that… a mortal man with a heart. To me, that makes you greater than any legend."
He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "So, Marha, you alone know my secret. And you alone shall share it with me, keeping me strong, and helping me accomplish what I must." Selim stroked her dark hair and smiled at her, content with Marha's devotion. After all the years, myth and reality had merged into the same entity.
She seemed to read his thoughts, understanding him even before he put his hesitation into words. "Have you experienced another vision, my love? What troubles you?"
He nodded somberly. "Last night, after we consumed so much spice, more dreams opened to me." She sat up with an intent expression, switching from a newlywed wife in the afterglow of love to a devoted follower ready to receive new instructions.
Selim said, "We have raided caravans and thwarted Naib Dhartha's efforts to sell melange, but I have not done enough to drive away the offworlders. The spice trade grows greater every year. It is no wonder Shai-Hulud is disappointed in me. He has given me a quest, and so far I have failed."
"The Old Man of the Desert has faith in you, Selim. Why else would he give you such an impossible task?" When Marha sat up, his gaze drifted to her perfect breasts and smooth skin in the dim cave light. "We will help you. We will give everything to see that you achieve your goals. This mission is more than any one man could hope to accomplish."
He kissed her gently on her crescent scar, then sat up straight and looked toward brighter light outside, where the sun washed across the rippling dunes. "Perhaps it is more than one man can accomplish. But not beyond the capability of a legend."
Starry-eyed and full of dreams, young Aziz waited until his grandfather and the cliff dwellers had fallen asleep for the night. Then he gathered the bits of equipment he had hidden away one piece at a time, day by day. He made no sound, scurrying like a muad'dib, one of the small desert mice that populated the crannies and cliffs.
Tonight he would prove himself, not only to Naib Dhartha, but to Selim Wormrider. Though neither would want to hear it, both men were Aziz's heroes, people he respected. The boy saw honor on either side of the conflict, and hoped to bring them together somehow, for the good, of the Zensunni people. His secret.
But it was such a difficult task.
For many months, ever since the legendary bandits had rescued him from certain death in the desert, Aziz had been thinking about life among the outlaws. Selim Wormrider was blind to how much Naib Dhartha had done for the Zensunni people. The young man loved his grandfather very much and understood the Naib's stern ways, which he saw as the price for the tribe's dramatically improved life, reliable supplies of food and water, even a few luxuries and comforts purchased from interstellar merchants.
But: Selim Wormrider had a fire in his eyes and a different sort of honor, a brave confidence and righteousness that overshadowed Naib Dhartha's more provincial concerns. Selim's outlaws followed their leader with passion, far more than the spice gatherers showed in their work for Naib Dhartha. And the woman Marha — who had run away from this very village — now seemed to have a new center in her life. Obviously, she had no regrets over her own decision.
For many nights Aziz had dreamed of joining the bandit group himself and becoming one of the romantic outlaws. He could talk to the Wormrider, say all the things he should have said months ago when he'd had the opportunity. His eyes shone, bright with the challenge of making the world right again, healing the breach, stopping the longstanding, destructive feud.
Aziz could do it. But would Selim accept him?
Perhaps… if he could demonstrate abilities that were useful to the tribe.
Upon delivering the outlaw's response: to his grandfather, Aziz had attempted to soften the words, to apologize and make excuses for Selim. Even so, Naib Dhartha had been infuriated, cursing the Wormrider with undeserved insults. Instead of rewarding him for his arduous journey, the Naib had sent his abashed young grandson off to his quarters alone. For days, the old man had kept a close eye on Aziz.
But the youth had not forgotten what he'd seen and experienced, and his imagination gave him alternatives that he should have considered before. Aziz wanted to go back. Most of all, he wanted the exhilaration and the excitement again. He was sure he could do it.
He had planned carefully for this night, remembering what Selim Wormrider had done, and convinced that he could repeat it. After all, years ago, a young untrained outcast had discovered how to ride the demon sandworms for the first time, without any guidance whatsoever…
Now in the quiet night, Aziz slid past the complacent guards and stole down a rocky footpath that opened onto the great basin of sand. The Realm of Sandworms. Only one of the moons was low in the sky now, shedding little glow, but the stars watching over him were as bright as the eyes of angels. Aziz scampered out onto the soft sands, leaving an obvious trail. He tried to run, but the sand slipped under his feet, and he felt as if he were swimming in dust.
Aziz needed to venture far enough out so that the worms could approach without being frustrated by buried rocks. But he also wanted to stay close enough to the cliffs in order for the people to see what he was about to do. Especially his grandfather.
The boy had been making his way for more than an hour when dawn colors began to smear the knife-sharp eastern horizon. He hurried along, hoping to get in position by sunrise, and climbed a high dune that made him think of a grandstand he had seen once in a videobook brought from offworld. He hoped that his careful footfalls had caused no vibrations loud enough to summon Shai-Hulud… not yet.
Aziz had brought along a rock and a metal rod, some rope, and a long sturdy spear — much more than Selim had carried as a fuzzy-cheeked youth when he first conquered the desert creatures. It could be done.
His heart pounding, his confidence unshaken, Aziz squatted on the dune. He thrust the metal into soft sand and began hammering it with the rock. The sounds shot out like sharp explosions, vividly audible in the eternal stillness of the desert.
As dawn finally broke across the sky the boy looked back toward the rugged
cliffs. Inside the dark sheltered windows, some of the sleeping Zensunnis would hear. He waited for the great worm to come.
Hearing the gunshot patter from far out in the dunes, Dhartha came awake. Curious and suspicious, the old leader dressed quickly, but before he could step from his private chambers another man lifted the door curtain. "Naib Dhartha, a youth has run far out onto the sand. I believe… it looks like Aziz."
Scowling, Dhartha strode through the tunnels to a bank of window walls that offered a view of the ancient desert. "Why is he making so much foolish racket? I taught him better than that."
Then, abruptly, the grizzled desert man suspected, as he remembered Aziz's deluded admiration for the bandit who commanded sandworms. Dhartha began to shout. "Send men out to bring the boy back. Hurry, before a worm comes!"
His companion looked reluctant, but turned to do as he was commanded.
Far out on the dunes, Aziz continued his beckoning rhythm. When the Naib grabbed the stone window edge with cramped fingers, he stared out into sunlight spilling across the pristine dunes. He saw the tiny dotted line of his grandson's footprints leading out into the wasteland. Utter foolishness!
From the horizon, he could already see the titanic ripple of an oncoming worm. None of the rescuers would ever reach the boy in time. Dhartha's chest felt cold. "Ayü, no! Buddallah, please do not let this happen!"
Aziz stood atop the dune, gripping a metal staff with the innocent confidence of a believer. Dhartha was old, but his eyesight remained sharp, and he could see the boy confront the upwelling of sand, the churning wake as the behemoth circled around and then went toward him with the force and destructiveness of a desert storm.
Like a beetle on a hot rock, Aziz ran along the narrow dune crest to get into better position, but the motion of the subterranean demon caused the loose sand to crumble and slide. The boy lost his footing and tumbled head over heels. He dropped his spear, a flash of silver in the morning light.
Before: Aziz could regain his footing or grab his tools, a gigantic mouth lined with crystal fangs rose up and up, gulping sand and dirt… and a morsel of human flesh.
Naib Dhartha. stared with his mouth open and tears of grief and rage glinting in his eyes. The innocent boy was gone in an instant, misled by an insane belief that he could tame the demons of the dunes, like the outlaw wormriders who had a pact with Shaitan himself.
Selim is at fault for this.
The beast sank beneath the sand and began to move away. The stirring of its passage erased all signs of struggle.
Around Naib Dhartha's head, like the shadowy flickering of raven wings, he thought he heard the bitter, accursed laugh of Selim Wormrider.
B. G.
JIHAD YEAR
One Year after the Conquest of Ix
I have done grand things in my life, far beyond the aspirations of most men. But somehow I have never found a home or a true love.
—Primero Vorian Atreides, private letter to Serena Butler
Since his days riding with the robot Seurat aboard the Dream-Voyager, Vor had been a restless person, never wanting to settle in one place. With a fresh curiosity and an eagerness to witness the full scope of free humanity, he absorbed the flavor of every new planet, adding it to his catalog of experiences. He liked seeing the people, the cultures, the threads that bound the various human races more tightly than Omnius could ever control the Synchronized Worlds.
Even now, moving silently along his update route, Seurat would be delivering the contaminated Omnius sphere from planet to planet and infecting the evermind. It was a grand trick, perhaps the most destructive military ruse in history. Xavier would have chosen to implement a rigid, full-force strategy in which the Army of the Jihad followed Seurat and struck hard at each reeling machine world, but such a plan would be impractical, tactically speaking, and would undoubtedly tip off both Seurat and Omnius before Vor's plan had a chance to spread and do maximum damage without any loss of human life.
Vor would let the machines destroy themselves, while he went about the more formal business of the Jihad.
Vor had never been to water-rich Caladan — an isolated, sparsely populated Unallied Planet — but it seemed like a pleasant place. After Vor returned from sneaking the corrupted evermind update into Seurat's derelict ship, Serena Butler had issued her new plan for prosecuting the Jüiad. Even before Xavier returned from his surprising victory on Ix, Vor happily volunteered to do the footwork.
For months he had traveled among strategically important planets on the fringes of League territory, searching for places to establish Jihad outposts. These under-protected worlds would probably appeal to thinking machines, as IV Anbus had, as potential beachheads.
Each new place gave Vor a broader perspective on the scope of the war, and the vital reasons why the human race must win. Sometimes when he thought about it, he wondered how Al-machines had gotten out of control in the first place, and how matters had come to the present state of extreme crisis.
In his early life, he had admired the efficient industries and cities built by Omnius, along with monuments celebrating the achievements of the Titans. But among scattered human settlements, even those not affiliated with League Worlds, Vor now felt a different sort of admiration. The carefree people exhibited happiness in many ways: They took pleasure in daily life, in good food, wine, and a warm bed. They drew joy from each other's company, from the different aspects of love and friendship. They celebrated their fervor and enthusiasm for the Jihad by building heartfelt memorials to Serena's baby.
Vor did not regret having left his trustee life behind. He was proud of how the entire Galaxy had changed because of his decision to turn away from his father and rescue the grieving Serena Butler. After that, he had felt more alive than ever before, more human.
He wished only one thing had turned out differently… that Serena might have reciprocated his love for her. But her heart had turned to granite, forcing Vor to accept that, with few regrets. His new life of freedom was rich in countless other ways.
With his health and perpetual youth, Vor Atreides found it easy to attract lovers in the various spaceports. Some of them were one-night adventures, others were women to whom he returned again and again. He probably had many unidentified, unclaimed children across the Galaxy, but he could never be a real father to any of them. Fearing reprisals from the cymeks, not wanting to give his father Agamemnon any hold over him, Vor always pretended to be a low-ranked jihadi during stopovers, never revealing his identity or his heritage. It was for their own safety, not his…
For similar reasons, he avoided the sort of lifetime commitment that Xavier and Octa had. In addition to the identity of his own cymek father, Vor kept the secret of his near immortality; he would have no choice but to watch helplessly as any woman he married grew old and died. For now he just took each day, each planet, and each relationship on its own terms, without worries.
Now, in coming to Caladan, his mission was to establish an observation outpost. In the past half century, thinking machine marauders had been sighted numerous times in the system, not far from where Xavier Harkonnen's family had been attacked and killed by cymeks forty-three years before. Already, Caladan had dispatched representatives to Salusa Secundus, announcing that the fishing villages and coastal cities were amenable to forming a loose planetary government which, in theory, would be willing to join the League of Nobles.
Vor wanted to establish a Jihad presence that would act as a buffer if Omnius's aggressions ever grew more overt here. For the moment, the fervor of the Jihad kept the thinking machines on the defensive, but the evermind had been setting plans for centuries; no one could ever know exactly what the mechanical superbrain might attempt next. League forces had to be ready.
Though he held a high rank, Vor did not assume unquestioning respect for military officers. With no desire to be saluted or treated with particular deference, and for his own comfort, he often dressed in casual clothes without any insignia. He could be a Primero duri
ng military strategy sessions in the Jihad Council, but on his time off he wanted to socialize as an equal with old and new friends.
He fit in among ordinary people, loved roughhousing with village men at impromptu sporting games or gambling with the best of them, winning and losing a month's pay at Fleur de Lys or other games. As hard as he worked for the war effort, he put almost as much effort into any free time he could get. There would be time for some relaxation here, while researching the best place to set up a military outpost.
Caladanian fishing villages were quaint and rustic. The people built their boats and painted the sails with family markings. Without weather satellites, they studied wind patterns and even tasted salty air to predict storms. They knew which seasons offered the best fishing, where to find the shells and edible seaweed that formed the staples of their diet.
Now, after three days of surveying headlands to the north for a potential site, Vor watched boats come in as the sun dipped on the horizon. On the docks, crude hand-made shrines memorializing Manion the Innocent were strewn with flowers and colorful shells. One of the shrines up the coast even claimed to contain a holy lock of the boy's hair.
He heard water lapping against the pilings and felt a peace he had not experienced in recent memory. He drew in a deep breath; despite the iodine smell of old seaweed clinging to the soft wood, and the rank aroma of unsold fish waiting to be turned into fertilizer meal, he enjoyed this place.
Many of his military engineers stayed with the orbiting Jihad ships to establish a network of observation satellites that could also provide hurricane warnings for the people of Caladan. Other crews operated from isolated points of land near the main fishing villages, constructing rigid uplink towers for the surveillance network. Still more jihadis would be stationed here on Caladan to perform necessary maintenance.
The Machine Crusade Page 33
