Ptolemy found the Tlulaxa work interesting, although he thought the basic human body was already too weak. He himself had been too weak to stand against the raving hordes that de
When a shipment arrived from Kolhar bearing the medically sustained brains of ten more failed Navigators, Ptolemy was glad to have new candidates for his expanding ranks of Titans. The other proto-+ , but impenetrableNavigator brains available to him were already ensconced in preservation canisters, so they could be installed into any cymek walker. Now he had even more specimens to work with.
When the cargo ship was ready on the loading dock, workers carried the Navigator brains on suspensor pallets, and Ptolemy sent them to his laboratory. The ship also brought two of VenHold’s private Suk doctors, specialists who had extracted the brains from the spice-saturated bodies on Kolhar. They had come to Denali to observe Ptolemy’s work firsthand.
With his lungs still scarred from exposure to Denali’s caustic atmosphere, Ptolemy coughed while greeting them. “I’m grateful for the assistance and advice from graduates of the Suk School. My new thoughtrodes are adaptive, easily connected to the living tissue of an aware brain. Our work is far superior to—” He had to fight back an intense fit of coughing, then wiped away an embarrassing smear of blood from his lips. The guest doctors fussed over him, but Ptolemy brushed them aside. “I already have my diagnosis. It’s not relevant to our discussion here.” And he pushed on.
Inside his main development chamber, he was proud to show the Kolhar team his preservation tanks and test beds, while assistants prepared the new Navigator brains. Ptolemy was well practiced in how to install them into his cymek
One of my primary tasks in advancing the cause of the Sisterhood is to think of human society as a whole, rather than in terms of small family units. We are much bigger than that. A first step is to break the natural bond between mother and child, to expose a girl from infancy+, and re m2I to her larger role in humankind. That powerful, but limiting, emotional connection must be diverted and rechanneled, so the energies of both mother and child are devoted to the future, rather than to petty personal concerns.
—MOTHER SUPERIOR RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, private remarks
The Imperial Court sparkled with ladies in jeweled gowns and dashing noblemen in exquisitely tailored uniforms, sashes, and caps. For the evening festivities, the courtiers and Corrinos were entertained by exotic performing artists, including talented musicians and dancers.
Reverend Mother Dorotea and Prince Roderick sat in smaller chairs beside Salvador on his immense throne of green crystal. Together, they watched a young woman perform a baliset ballad from her homeworld of Chusuk, a romance set during the time of thinking-machine brutality. The singer sat on a stool in her colorful native costume, holding the streamlined instrument so Dorotea could recognize the work of the master artisan Varota. At first glance, the Chusuk girl seemed too young to be entrusted with something so valuable, but she had an extraordinary talent, delivering a full range of tones with the baliset to accompany her haunting voice.
The Emperor, however, was not interested in the performance. Despite the beauty of the music, the Chusuk woman was rather drab, especially in this setting. Salvador seemed bored and irritable, consuming more than his usual amount of red wine mixed with melange. The nervous Imperial sommelier stood by, ready to call for another bottle from the palace cellars, should the Emperor require it.
Dorotea studied Salvador; he was overly concerned with his imagined physical ailments and had been increasingly uneasy and impatient after executing his personal Suk physician a year ago. Salvador was too nervous to allow another Suk until they could guarantee their new Imperial Conditioning, which was supposed to make them unbreakably loyal. Dorotea did not know which paranoia would win out—his fear of a conspiratorial doctor, or his chronic hypochondria.
Dorotea observed that the Emperor’s excessive consumption of wine and melange did not mix well with his edgy temperament. He had grown more volatile in the weeks since Empress Tabrina’s banishment from court after the scandal. Despite his long-standing marital problems, Salvador seemed oddly gloomy without her around.
With a wave of his hand, the Emperor interrupted the entertainer during her song, and she was so startled that she jangled the baliset. A robed protocol attendant hurried the Chusuk girl away. She was replaced by a storyteller, supposedly an authentic native of Arrakis who would recite traditional Zensunni fire poetry. With creased, weathered skin, the storyteller wore a desert cloak and a black distilling suit, but to Dorotea’s careful gaze, his garments and filter tubes did not appear properly fitted, making it look more like a costume than authentic attire.
In a sonorous voice the man told the timeworn tale of two children—a brother and sister—who ran away from their sietch and rode sandworms to the farthest reaches of the great Tanzerouft, never to return. They became the stuff of legend, reportedly seen for centuries afterward riding the great worms, remaining children forever, never growing into adults. While the story had some appeal, Dorotea found the man’s voice shallow, his tale-spinning abilities mediocre.
“Thank you.” Salvador interrupted the man as he was about to begin a second story. “That will be enough of that.”
The storyteller bowed and hurried away while the Emperor took another sip of+llch woman wine. Salvador looked crossly toward a doorway where even more entertainers awaited their turns. Three jugglers in whimsical costumes glided across the floor, but had barely begun their tumbling before the Emperor dismissed them. “No more jugglers for the rest of this month! This is an Imperial edict. I’m not in the mood for such frivolity. If I see another juggler, I will run him through with a sword.”
He chuckled as the frightened entertainers tripped over one another to exit, while Roderick looked at him with concern. During a moment of confusion about who would perform next, the Emperor lounged back, obviously uncomfortable. “All right, that’s enough foolish entertainment for this evening. A man of intelligence and culture can only take so much of this sort of fare. I shall have more wine and spice instead, and a little serenity.”
Glancing past the throne, Dorotea met Roderick’s gaze. She could tell they both wished the evening would end quickly. Perhaps Salvador would go distract himself with his concubines.
Despite the Emperor’s words, the members of his court continued chattering about their inane concerns. Dorotea had found very few of them to be serious or interesting, but Roderick was not like the others. The beleaguered Prince had his hands full trying to keep his brother from making a fool of himself, no matter how intelligent and cultured Salvador claimed to be.
At the main entrance door, Dorotea spotted a black-robed woman who moved quietly to the side of the room—not one of the hundred orthodox Sisters who had accompanied her to the Imperial Palace. The newcomer drew little attention to herself, but Dorotea recognized Sister Arlett—her own mother!
It took all of Dorotea’s effort to control her reaction. This woman worked as a missionary Sister to recruit new students. Other Memory images showed Dorotea many details of Arlett’s life, how she had been separated from her baby girl, sent away by Raquella to prevent her from forming a bond with her daughter. Later, the old woman had likewise sent Dorotea away to observe the Butlerian movement on Lampadas … was that a further ploy to keep her even more distant from her mother?
After awakening from the fog of poison, a “newborn” Reverend Mother with access to Other Memories, Dorotea discovered that cruel knowledge and the fact that the Sisters of Rossak possessed secret computers, which turned her against the corrupt operations.
Why had Arlett come here now? She didn’t even know Dorotea was her daughter, unless Raquella had revealed it to her. No, the old Mother Superior would never do that. But Raquella was aware that Dorotea knew the truth. What was her purpose in sending Arlett here, of all the possible Sisters?
A sharp, surprising pang struck her as she thought of a possible reason. Had something happened to the
Mother Superior?
While Roderick led his unsteady brother out of the throne room and the Imperial sommelier dutifully followed, Dorotea glided through the droning courtiers, who were disappointed that the entertainment had ended so abruptly. Dorotea wanted to know why her mother had come here.
Arlett watched her approach and waited, her emotions carefully masked. While the members of the court filtered out of the room, the two women found a place to talk in private. Her mother said in a low voice, pitched so only Dorotea could hear, “I bring an important request from Wallach IX.”
Dorotea said, as if granting a great favor, “I will listen, even though Mother Superior Raquella has no official sanction to continue training students. thinking machines a. p”
“Emperor Salvador was vague in delineating consequences.”
Dorotea no longer had any close connections with the Sisters who remained in Raquella’s fold. While she disagreed philosophically with her rivals, Dorotea did not feel vindictive toward them. She wished the Mother Superior would show strength against temptation and fervently espouse the Butlerian philosophy, but that was not likely to happen with VenHold supporting the school on Wallach IX. Dorotea’s orthodox Sisters here would grow stronger, and her trained Truthsayers would prove more and more useful.
As far as she was concerned, Raquella’s Sisters were irrelevant.
Dorotea looked at Arlett’s pale blue eyes; even the features were similar to her own, the same nose, the same jawline. How does she not realize it? Deciding to stop the charade Raquella had established long ago, Dorotea said, “Is this a personal matter, Mother, or are you here on business?”
Arlett glanced away, as if embarrassed. “I am not a Reverend Mother. I have not yet undergone the Agony.”
Dorotea’s voice was hard. “That’s not what I meant, Mother. You gav="SB3" aid="1Q
All power bases are made of flesh, and must eventually decay and crumble.
—ancient admonition
After his ship arrived at Salusa, s in return?”
As usual, Salvador turned to his brother for advice. Prince Roderick, unable to forget the tragedy and violence the Butlerian leader had caused on his last visit here, felt an icy chill go down his spine. Recently, the antitechnology mobs had struck Baridge in a bloody riot that they called “holy.” Roderick saw nothing even remotely holy in their work, and Manford had never atoned, never apologized for, never even seemed to notice the death of Nantha or any of the others killed in their reckless fervor.
And now he was returning to Zimia as if nothing had happened.
All around the capital city, government employees assigned to the Committee of Orthodoxy remained at a heightened state of readiness, to demonstrate that they were always watchful for any technology that Manford had declared unacceptable.
Roderick wished his brother could outlaw the whole movement and render them impotent … but that would be like playing with explosives. Nevertheless, he blamed Manford Torondo for Nantha’s death; that could not be forgiven, regardless of politics or risks.
As the Butlerian delegation made its way through the city, Roderick increased the number of security teams around the palace, granting them quiet permission to use lethal force if a riot began. Meanwhile, court functionaries organized a reception as quickly as they could. They rushed about to prepare the Audience Chamber, setting up drinks and hors d’oeuvres on gilded tables. Salvador suggested that the formality of the reception would force Manford to behave like a diplomat; Roderick didn’t think the man deserved any amenities. He kept his anger in check and decided to make certain his brother wasn’t bullied into additional foolish concessions.
Salvador sat sweating on his throne, dreading Manford’s arrival. He had already consumed several goblets of wine mixed with melange. His spice consumption had increased dramatically of late, and he kept powdered melange in its usual place in a little jeweled box on the armrest of his throne. The stimulating effect of spice made the Emperor’s eyes shine.
Even in the midst of his aching grief over Nantha’s death, Roderick was perceptive enough to realize that Salvador was also depressed, a gloom that began after the exposure of Empress Tabrina’s affair with the Grand Inquisitor. She was banished, and Quemada executed by his own Scalpel torturers, the entire affair kept quiet from the public on Roderick’s insistence. But still … even though Salvador had openly despised his wife—and the feeling had been mutual—he showed unexpected misery at her absence. Salvador wanted Roderick to comfort him, although his pain could not possibly match the pain of losing an innocent daughter.
A lesser man might have sought to capitalize on his brother’s shortcomings, especially in a time of personal crisis. With all the turmoil in the Imperium, the out-of-control Butlerians and the ruthless commercial war VenHold had launched against them, Salvador’s rule was unsteady. Roderick was loyal to the Corrino throne, a moral man. He was the second-born, and his role was clear. He had never wanted more.
Leaning close to the throne, Roderick suggested, “Allow me to remove your wineglass and the melange box, just for a little while? Leader Torondo is entering the palace now, and we don escape plan,” the robot saidhech woman’t want to show him any weakness.”
Salvador appeared reluctant before he gestured in acquiescence. “Of course, of course. I don’t need it.” The Prince whisked away the two items, handing them to a uniformed man, who hurried out a side door.
One of Dorotea’s orthodox Sisters, Reverend Mother Esther-Cano, entered the chamber, followed by a team of functionaries that Roderick had assigned to record the proceedings. He wished Dorotea were here because he trusted the Truthsayer’s wise counsel, but she and several companions had just departed for Wallach IX on a mysterious, urgent mission.
Esther-Cano led Sister Woodra, who had offered her Truthsayer services to Manford Torondo. Did the Butlerian leader suspect that Salvador might lie to him? Roderick stiffened at the thought. He would have to make sure his brother was careful about whatever he said, whatever he promised.…
Sister Woodra looked around the vaulted chamber, nodded, and sent an all-clear signal. With a buzz of activity, Manford Torondo entered, riding on the shoulders of his Swordmaster.
Roderick narrowed his gaze while remaining close to the Emperor. He kept his hand protectively near a hidden weapon. Roderick had always disliked the fanatics, but after Nantha’s death, he felt deep revulsion, resentment, and distrust toward Manford Torondo.
Anari Idaho approached the throne, carrying Manford as if she were a beast of burden. Sister Woodra stepped away from Esther-Cano and joined the Butlerian delegation, apparently to demonstrate where her loyalties lay.
Salvador tried to hide his nervousness with formality. “Greetings, Leader Torondo.” His voice was steady and dignified, showing hardly any slur from the effects of alcohol and spice. “Your arrival is unexpected.” He cleared his throat. “How can I be of assistance to you, my good friend?”
Roderick felt a burn of anger at these words. Friend?
“Friendship has nothing to do with my visit.” Manford’s face showed more than a little irritation. He glanced around in displeasure. “Hors d’oeuvres? And wine? Do you think we are here for a party?”
Roderick tensed at the blatant disrespect, but Salvador was quick to sound ridiculously conciliatory. “We have more than wine and treats, of course. We simply wanted to extend courtesy. If this is not enough, a banquet in your honor can be arranged.”
“There will be no rampage festival this time,” Roderick broke in, raising his voice. “We have security teams in place. Crowds of your followers will be vigorously dispersed if you attempt to incite them to violence.”
“Your security teams can try to do so.…” Anari Idaho muttered.
From his place on her shoulders, Manford turned to look at the Corrino Prince. “Why would I incite my followers to violence? I abhor unnecessary violence. In the last festival, my followers were overly enthusiastic. We apologize for the inconvenie
nce we caused.”
Roderick wanted to rage at him, My daughter’s death was not an inconvenience!
But the Butlerian leader had already turned his attention back to Salvador. “I’m not hungry, Sire—except for action. Not long ago, you disbanded the poisonous Sisterhood school on Rossak because they conspired against you. Now you must do the same to Venport Holdings. Josef Venport is creating monsters to navigate his ships, cor+sech womanrupting the human form and the human mind. His ships use computers, too—we have proof, because we captured a foldspace vessel he sent to Baridge.”
Roderick’s eyes widened. Concrete evidence that VenHold ships used computers in their navigation systems? The banned practice had long been rumored. “And where is your proof?”
The Swordmaster lifted her chin. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
Manford added, “The ship was unfortunately lost in transit, as so many have been.”
Salvador sat up on the throne. “Then you have no proof.”
“We went to Arrakis to uncover Directeur Venport’s schemes—and his thugs tried to have me killed.” The Butlerian leader gestured to Sister Woodra, who removed a small holoprojector from her robes. Roderick frowned; no device should have slipped past security.
Woodra fumbled with the recording crystal, installed it in the player, and activated the image. She made an adjustment and projected a series of blurred images of dusty streets, a yellow sun and sky, people running.
“On the streets of Arrakis City,” Manford said, “a man in the crowd shot a crude projectile pistol. I was his intended target.”
The next image showed what appeared to be Manford Torondo dead, with half of his skull blown away. His body lay sprawled on the floor of a fire-illuminated room. Anari Idaho looked furious to see the images again.
“I narrowly escaped with my own life.”
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