Thinking of resources, the Bashar took a side corridor to the fermentation bins and adjacent algae-growth tanks. Grown in the vaulted, humid chamber, the biomass provided raw material for the food-manufacturing units. A prime vulnerability.
As he opened a hatch, Teg caught the rich, marshy smell of compost and algae. They climbed metal steps to a catwalk and looked down into the cylindrical vat filled with hairy green slime. The stinking wet mass of fecund algae digested anything organic, growing large amounts of edible, rather unpalatable, material that could be converted into better-flavored foods. Ceiling fans whirred, drawing the odorous air upward through filters and into the intricate set of ducts that acted as the no-ship’s circulatory system. After taking samples and testing the chemical balance of the tanks, Teg concluded that everything was in order. No sign of sabotage since his last inspection.
The serious young man tagged along beside him. “I am not a Mentat yet, sir, but I have been giving the sabotage problem a great deal of thought.”
With raised eyebrows Teg turned to his protégé. “And do you have a first-order approximation?”
“I have an idea.” Thufir did not try to conceal his anger. “I suggest you have a long talk with the Yueh ghola. Perhaps he knows more than he has admitted.”
“Yueh is only thirteen. He does not have his memories back.”
“Maybe the weakness is in his blood. Bashar, we know that someone committed the sabotage.” The young man sounded disappointed in himself for allowing it to happen. “Even the real Thufir Hawat didn’t find the traitor in House Atreides before he betrayed us to the Harkonnens. That traitor was Yueh.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Back in the corridors again, the two passed a sick-looking old Scytale and his clone emerging from their quarters. Because they isolated themselves and lived with odd traditions and behavior, the Tleilaxu were natural suspects, but Teg had found no evidence against them. In fact, he believed the real saboteur would be careful to blend in perfectly and draw no attention at all. It was the only way he could have remained hidden for so long.
Two pregnant women passed by them in the corridor, chatting as they continued on their way. Both were part of Sheeana’s conventional breeding program to maintain the population of the Sisterhood, providing an adequate genetic base should the splinter group ever find a place to settle.
Finally, Teg and Thufir reached the cavernous, humming engine chamber, and entered the large aft compartment through a round doorway. Apparently safe but lost again since their last passage through foldspace, the Ithaca drifted, though Duncan insisted on keeping the Holtzman engines ready at all times.
Thick clearplaz separated the Bashar and Thufir from a trio of power plants that fed the machines. Walkways laced the outside of an explosion-proof plaz chamber that contained the side-by-side engines. The two stared up at the giant mechanisms that could fold space. A true miracle of technology. All of the readings remained within nominal range. Again, no sign of sabotage.
“We’re still missing something,” he mused. “I can feel it.”
Once before, at the end of the Battle of Junction, Teg had failed to see the terrible and deadly “Weapon” that the Honored Matres had held in reserve. That mistake had nearly lost him the entire war. He considered their situation now. What deadly device will I fail to see this time?
Humanity has a great genetic compass that constantly guides us onward. Our task is to keep it always pointed in the right direction.
—REVEREND MOTHER ANGELOU,
famed breeding mistress
Wellington Yueh had a powerful need to be forgiven. The blank spot in his mind was filled with guilt. He was just a ghola and only thirteen, but he knew he had done terrible things. His own history clung to him like tar to his shoe.
In his first life, he had broken his Suk conditioning. He had failed his wife Wanna by allowing the Harkonnens to use her as a pawn and had betrayed Duke Leto, bringing about the Atreides downfall on Arrakis.
After studying records of his prior existence, learning in painful detail what he had done, Yueh tried to find solace in considering the Orange Catholic Bible, along with other ancient religions, sects, philosophies, and interpretations that had developed over the millennia. The oft-repeated doctrine of Original Sin—so unfair!—was a particular thorn in his side. Yueh could have made a coward’s excuse that he couldn’t remember and therefore didn’t deserve blame, but that was not the path to redemption. He had to turn elsewhere.
Jessica was the only one who could forgive him.
The eight ghola children in Sheeana’s project had been raised and trained together. Because of their individual personalities they had formed personal bonds and friendships. Even before they knew the history that should tear them apart, Yueh had tried to be a friend to Jessica.
He had read the journals and instructional writings of the original Lady Jessica, bound concubine to the Duke Leto Atreides. She’d also been a Reverend Mother, an exile, the mother of Muad’Dib, and the grandmother of the Tyrant. That long-dead Jessica had been a strong woman, a role model despite how the Bene Gesserit reviled her for her flaw, her weakness. Love.
Together, the gholas now faced a far greater enemy than the Harkonnens. When Jessica’s memories were finally awakened, would the shared threat be sufficient to keep her from wanting to murder him? He had read her own words, as written down by Princess Irulan, expressing her poignant agony of grief: “Yueh! Yueh! Yueh! A million deaths were not enough for Yueh!”
Yes, she was the only one who could offer him any hope of forgiveness. With a clean slate and an open heart, he prayed that it was possible for him to lead an honorable life this time.
Jessica often occupied herself in the main conservatory, tending the plants that served as a supplemental food source for the hundreds aboard. She had an affinity for the greenhouse work and was happy to be around the fertile dirt, the misting irrigators, the fleshy green leaves, and sweet-scented flowers. With her bronze hair and oval face, noble and young, she looked exquisitely beautiful. How she and Duke Leto must have loved each other long ago . . . until Yueh destroyed it all.
Jessica looked up from the flowers and lush herbs to focus haunted eyes on Yueh.
He said, “Do you mind the company?”
“Not yours. It’s refreshing to be with someone who doesn’t blame me for things I don’t remember doing.”
“I hope you’ll grant me the same consideration, my Lady.”
“Please don’t call me that, Wellington. At least not yet. I can’t be the Lady Jessica until I . . . well, until I become the Lady Jessica.”
He tried to guess the reasons for her gloomy mood. “Has Garimi been haranguing you again?”
“Some Bene Gesserits won’t forgive me for having gone against the strict commands of the Sisterhood, for betraying their breeding program.” She seemed to be reciting something she had read. “The consequences of that brought down an empire and subjected the human race to thousands of years of tyrannical rule and many more centuries of privation.” She let out a bitter laugh. “In fact, if your actions had actually resulted in the death of Paul and me, maybe Bene Gesserit histories would describe you as a hero.”
“I am no hero, Jessica.” To his credit, the original Yueh had given her and Paul the means to survive in the desert after the Harkonnens stormed Arrakeen. He had facilitated their escape, but was that enough for redemption? Could it possibly be?
She moved on, smelling the flowers, checking the moist soil. She had a habit of running her fingertips along the leaves, touching the undersides.
Yueh followed her as she walked through a small grove of dwarf citrus trees. Overhead, the segmented panes of the filtered windows showed only distant starlight and no nearby sun. “If they hate us so much, why did the Sisters bring us back?”
Her expression was one of bitter amusement. “Bene Gesserits have a terrible habit, Wellington: Even if they know a hook is hidden inside the juicy worm, they’
ll still bite. They always think they can avoid traps that get the rest of us.”
“But you’re a Bene Gesserit yourself.”
“Not anymore . . . or not yet.”
Yueh touched his own smooth, unmarked forehead. “We’re starting over, Jessica. Blank slates. Look at me. The first Yueh broke his Suk conditioning—but I was born without the diamond tattoo. Entirely unblemished.”
“Maybe that means some things can be erased.”
“Can they? We gholas were raised for one purpose: to become who we once were. But are we anyone in our own right? Or are gholas simply tools, temporary tenants living in houses on borrowed time until the rightful owners return? What if we don’t want those old lives? Is it right for Sheeana and the others to force them upon us? What about us as we are right now?”
Abruptly the gridwork of interlocking solar panes overhead seemed to glow brighter, as if the system had absorbed a wash of outside energy. The rows of densely arranged plants inside the greenhouse chamber became more defined, as if his eyes had suddenly become much more sensitive. Overlaying the whole chamber he saw a complex mesh of thin iridescent lines, resolving and focusing.
Something was happening—something Yueh had never experienced before. The lines became visible all around them, like fine netting that drifted through the air itself. They crackled with energy.
“Jessica, what is this? Do you see it?”
“A web . . . a net.” She caught her breath. “It’s what Duncan Idaho claims to see!”
Yueh’s heart lurched. The hunters?
A loud security klaxon went off, accompanied by Duncan’s voice. “Prepare for activation of Holtzman engines!”
Whenever the no-ship folded space, unguided by a Navigator, they risked a disaster. Until now, Duncan’s warnings had been unsupported by outside witnesses, though the Handlers had proved that the threat from the mysterious Enemy was real.
From the ship’s corridors, Yueh heard the shouts of people running to emergency stations. The gossamer stranglehold grew brighter and more powerful, surrounding and infiltrating the whole ship. Surely, everyone could see this!
He felt a shudder through the deck, a disorientation and a slipping as the immense ship folded space. Staring through the conservatory dome, he saw star systems, swirling shapes and colors . . . as if the contents of the universe had been placed in a mixing bowl and stirred.
Suddenly the Ithaca cruised along elsewhere, far from the snares. Duncan’s calm voice came over the intercom. “We are safe again, for the moment.”
“Why did we see the net now and never before?” Jessica asked.
Yueh rubbed his chin, his thoughts in turmoil. “Perhaps the Enemy is using a different sort of net—a stronger one. Or maybe they are testing new ways of tracking and snaring us.”
We must never voice doubt. We must believe utterly that we can win this struggle against our Enemy. But in my darkest times alone in my quarters, I always wonder: Is this truly faith, or is it mere foolishness?
—MOTHER COMMANDER MURBELLA,
private Chapterhouse Archives
When Murbella’s small Missionaria Aggressiva council gathered again, the meeting was tense. In the past year, the Sisterhood had sent seven Sheeana surrogates to refugee camps in order to rally the fighters. The counterfeit Sheeanas had their work cut out for them, convincing fanatics to stand firm in the face of certain defeat.
The seemingly unstoppable Enemy warships proliferated like the heads of a hydra; no matter how many vessels the humans destroyed, more and more appeared. Given millennia to prepare for his final conquest, Omnius had left nothing to chance. The dots on the star charts showed one planet after another falling under the onslaught of thinking machines.
Murbella sat in a hard and uncomfortable seat at the end of the table; most of the others selected furry chairdogs. At the head of the table, Bashar Janess Idaho waited at attention, ready to deliver her report.
“I have news.”
“Good or bad?” Murbella dreaded the answer.
“Judge for yourself.”
Her daughter looked haggard, weary, and considerably older than her years. Having undergone the Spice Agony and extensive Bene Gesserit training, Janess had the ability to slow her body’s changes, not for the sake of appearances, but to keep herself strong and limber. The constant fighting required it. Even so, the unending crisis was taking its toll. Murbella noticed a scar on her daughter’s left cheek and a burn mark on her arm.
The female Bashar’s words were unemotional, but Murbella could feel the turmoil in her clipped voice. “Even before the first Enemy battleships were seen in the Jhibraith system, the machines sent scout probes to disseminate plagues. The people of Jhibraith had already called for an evacuation, but once the first signs of disease appeared, the Guild turned their ships around and refused to come closer. One Heighliner had to be quarantined. Fortunately, the plague was contained within seven isolated frigates inside its hold. All passengers aboard those frigates died, but the rest were saved.”
“What about the planet itself?” Murbella asked.
“The plague spread rapidly across all continents. As expected. The current viral strains are far worse than anything previously encountered, more deadly than even the legendary plagues during the Butlerian Jihad.”
Laera skimmed a Ridulian crystal sheet in front of her. “Jhibraith has a population of three hundred twenty-eight million.”
“Not anymore,” said Kiria.
Janess locked her fingers together, as if to draw strength from her own grip. “One of our Sheeana surrogates was on Jhibraith. As soon as the Guild quarantined the planet, the faux Sheeana rose to her calling and spoke to crowd after crowd as the plague spread. They knew they would all die. They knew the thinking machine forces were on their way. But she convinced them that if they must die, they should die as heroes.”
“But if the Guildships had already departed, how could they fight?” Kiria sounded skeptical. “By throwing pebbles?”
“Jhibraith had its own in-system frigates, cargo vessels, and transport runners, none of them equipped with Holtzman engines or no-fields. As the disease cut people down, survivors raced to create a homegrown military force that might stand against Omnius. The people had to work faster than the epidemic killed them off.” She forced her lips into a cold, hard smile as she continued her report.
“Our false Sheeana was like a demon herself. I know for a fact that she went five days without sleeping, for the records show she appeared again and again at different cities and factories, rallying the citizenry, forcing them to crawl to their assembly stations if necessary. Nobody bothered with quarantines, since everyone was already infected. As people died in the factories, their bodies were dragged out to mass burial pits and huge bonfires. Others took their places at workstations.
“Even when the Enemy fleet surrounded the world, people did not pause. Then our Sheeana disappeared.” Janess looked around the table, lowered her voice. “Afterward, I learned from a coded Bene Gesserit signal that our surrogate contracted the disease, and died from it.”
Murbella was startled. “Died? How can that be? Any Reverend Mother knows how to fight off infection.”
“That requires great concentration and significant physical resources. Our Sheeana had depleted her reserves. If she’d rested for a day or two, she might have rallied her strength and driven off the disease. But she kept going and going, using up whatever energy reserves she had. Knowing Jhibraith was doomed, that the invading machine armies would destroy her if the plague did not, Sheeana never slackened in her efforts.”
Old Accadia nodded. “She had pushed the people into a fanatical fervor. No doubt she realized that if they saw her weakened and dying, they would lose their resolve. She was wise to remove herself from public view.”
Janess’s thin smile showed true admiration. “As soon as her symptoms began to manifest, Sheeana delivered one last grand speech, telling them she would now ascend to heaven. Then
she isolated herself and died alone so that no one could see the horrific plague take its toll on her.”
“A marvelous and brave story for the archival histories.” Accadia pursed her withered lips. “Her sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
“If anyone still studies the histories after this,” Kiria mumbled.
“And what of the subsequent fight on Jhibraith?” Murbella asked. “Did the people defend themselves?”
“When the Enemy came, the people fought like ancient berserkers, to the last man and woman. Nothing could stop them. They met the Enemy fleet with ship after ship flown by grandfathers, teenagers, mothers, husbands, and even criminals released from detention centers. All fought and died bravely. Their sheer ferocity drove back the machines. Even with no defined military force, the people of Jhibraith destroyed more than a thousand Enemy vessels.”
Reality forced ice into Murbella’s voice. “My enthusiasm is tempered by the knowledge that even after losing a thousand vessels, the thinking machines have countless others to throw against us.”
“Still, if all planets fought like that, there might be a chance for humankind to survive,” Janess pointed out. “The species would be preserved.”
Choosing her moment to pounce, Kiria peeled crystal sheets from another set of reports, then propped an image projector in the center of the table. The chairdog shifted subtly and compliantly to accommodate her movements. “This new report shows why we can’t count on all planets. We are being attacked by a rot from within, as well as the outside fleet.”
Murbella frowned. “Where did you get this?”
“Sources.” Wearing a smug expression, the former Honored Matre activated the projector. “While we face the thinking machines headon, a more devious opponent undermines us from within.”
Sandworms of Dune Page 7
