Plans within plans within plans—like an infinite array of nested reflections cast by angled mirrors. It takes a superior mind to see all of the causes and effects.
—KHRONE,
message to the Face Dancer myriad
O
n Caladan, the strange delegation from far, far outside arrived to see Khrone. They did not need to identify themselves when they demanded to learn of his progress with the Baron child and the Atreides ghola they called “Paolo.” Khrone already had what the old man and woman needed, a little boy with all the necessary potential in his gene markers. A Kwisatz Haderach.
Instead of rewarding the Face Dancer, though, the distant puppet masters breathed down his neck, watching everything he did. They wanted complete control, and Khrone resented it. The Face Dancer myriad had suffered from too much domination by fools during the millennia of their existence.
Nevertheless, he bided his time. He could deal with these misfit spies.
According to the Guild manifest and the expertly doctored identification glyphs they carried, the bizarrely augmented humans claimed to come from Ix. It was an acceptable cover story that would explain their odd appearance to any human who happened to see them. But Khrone knew that this technology sprang from an entirely different seed, and these ambassadors came from a much greater distance, where the breakwater fringes of the human Scattering had crashed against the bulwarks of the Enemy.
In the past, the meddling masters had pestered him via their interconnected net, but apparently since the net had recently sustained some damage, the two faraway watchers preferred a less vulnerable communication method. The old man and woman had sent these . . . monstrosities. He wondered if the supposed masters actually meant to intimidate him—him! The Face Dancer leader smiled at the very idea as he went to meet the delegation.
In the high-ceilinged foyer of the restored Castle Caladan, Khrone selected a guise that looked like an old archival painting of Duke Leto Atreides. He dressed in crisp gray clothes of an antique style, checked his appearance in a tall goldplaz-framed mirror, then clasped his hands behind his back as he descended the grand waterfall of stairs to the echoing hall. Stopping on the bottom step, he put on a bland smile, and waited coolly to receive the six men.
The scarred, pale-skinned representatives were clearly flustered by the physical effort of trudging up the steep walkway from the spaceport. Khrone had no incentive to make the journey easier for them, however. He had not asked for their presence, and did not intend to make them feel welcome. If the tachyon net was damaged, maybe the old man and woman would not transmit their waves of agony to goad him anymore. And then the Face Dancers could at last act with impunity.
Or maybe not. Uncertain, Khrone decided to maintain his docile charade just a while longer.
After the strange-looking ambassadors arranged themselves in a clump, Khrone looked down at them from the steps on which he stood. “Inform your superiors that you arrived safely.” He unclasped his hands, brought them to the front, and cracked his knuckles. “And please inform them that the damage to your bodies was no fault of mine.”
The men looked confused. “Damage?” The hairless men had pale skin with an oily appearance. Various devices were implanted in their skulls and chests: primitive electronic gauges, tubing, augmented memory chips, indicator lights. Raw red sores of unhealed wounds surrounded the implants. Everything had such a horrific, retrograde feel that Khrone had to wonder if this was a subtle and incomprehensible joke played by the old woman. She had a far quirkier sense of humor than her aged companion. “Damage? We were designed this way.”
“Hmm. Interesting. My sympathies.”
The mechanical additions were so primitive that they looked like a child’s botched experiment. Yes, Khrone thought, this has to be a joke. The old woman must be truly bored.
“We have come to observe and record.” The foremost man stepped away from the cluster. Dark fluid circulated through tubes in the thing’s throat, extending to a pump behind his shoulders. His eyes were a deep metallic blue, showing no whites whatsoever. Another joke, suggesting that he was addicted to melange?
“They must be frustrated to have lost the no-ship. Again.” Khrone gestured for the representatives to enter the castle’s great hall. “I certainly hope our masters do not take it out on me. We Face Dancers are doing an exceptional job, as instructed.”
“Face Dancers should have a greater sense of humility,” said another of the augmented delegates.
Khrone raised his eyebrows. He wondered if his expression matched one the ancient Duke Leto might have made. “Am I remiss as a host? Come, would you care for refreshments? A feast?” He controlled his smile. “Or perhaps some much needed maintenance?”
“We prefer to spend our time collecting and analyzing data so that we can return with a full report.”
“By all means, allow me to facilitate your departure as soon as possible.” Khrone led the ambassadors to the castle’s laboratory levels. “Fortunately, despite the escaped no-ship and the damaged net, everything else is going extremely well. Here in the Old Empire, my Face Dancers are undermining the foundations of all human civilization. We have infiltrated every major power group and have begun to turn them against each other.”
“We require proof of this.” A strange smell wafted from the first representative’s body—caustic chemicals, halitosis, and a hint of rot.
“Then open your eyes!” Khrone paused in mid-step, calmed his voice, and continued in a more relaxed tone. “I invite you to travel among the worlds of the Old Empire. Your appearance may be alarming to most people, but enough anomalies have crawled back out of the Scattering that no one will question you too closely. I can provide a list of key planets and point out what you should look for. They will all be ready to fall like a house of cards as soon as the outside military forces arrive. Have our masters launched the battle fleet yet, or will they wait until they have the Kwisatz Haderach in hand?”
“That is not for us to say,” three representatives said in unison, their augmented minds linked, their voices overlapping in an eerie echo.
“Then you make it difficult for me to conclude my activities. Why should our masters withhold vital information from me?”
“Perhaps they do not trust you,” said another of the hodgepodge representatives. “Your progress has been unimpressive so far.”
“Unimpressive?” Khrone snorted. “I have the Baron Harkonnen ghola, and I have the Paul Atreides ghola. It is guaranteed.”
At the entrance to the thick-walled laboratory chambers, Khrone unsealed and hauled open a heavy door. Inside, a somewhat plump ten-year-old jerked to his feet, looking around warily with piggish eyes, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Recovering quickly, the adolescent snickered at them, captivated by the horrifically mangled observers.
Khrone did not speak a word to the ghola, but turned back to the six representatives. “You see, the next phase of our plan is imminent. I expect to restore this Baron’s memories soon.”
“You can try to do it,” the youth spat at him, “but you haven’t yet convinced me that it’s to my benefit. Why won’t you let me play with little Paolo? I know you’re keeping him here on Caladan.”
“Exactly why do we need the Baron Harkonnen?” asked one of the hideous observers, ignoring the boy. “Our masters are interested only in the Kwisatz Haderach.”
“The Baron will help us facilitate this. He will be like a wrecking bar to the Paolo ghola. After he becomes himself again, our Baron will be a valuable tool to unlock the powers of the superhuman. Historically, the problem with a Kwisatz Haderach is one of control. Once he helps me raise Paolo properly, I am confident the Baron can assure our hold on him.”
The young man grinned at the newcomers. “You certainly are ugly. What happens if you pull out those tubes?”
“He does not seem cooperative,” observed one of the spies.
“He will learn better. Reawakening a ghola’s memor
ies is a very painful process,” Khrone said, still ignoring the young Harkonnen. “I greatly look forward to the task.”
The Baron ghola let out an eager laugh that sounded like twisting metal. “I can’t wait for you to try.”
Khrone paused at the door, reminding himself to keep all security systems in place, especially with the mercurial Baron, who was quite prone to mischief. Khrone led the delegation of nightmarish humans into another room and carefully locked the chamber behind him. He did not want Vladimir Harkonnen to run loose.
“Our Atreides ghola is progressing nicely.”
Before entering the castle’s main chamber, Khrone turned a cool stare toward the hideous patchwork people. “Our victory is foreordained. Soon I will go to Ix to complete another step in the plan.” Khrone meant victory for the Face Dancers, but the ambassadors would interpret it as they wished. “The rest is just a formality.”
Reputation can be a beautiful weapon. It often spills less blood.
—BASHAR MILES TEG,
first incarnation
F
oremost among the Mother Commander’s weapons were her flesh-and-blood fighters. The rebel Honored Matres on Gammu wouldn’t have a chance against the Valkyries. They had made a serious mistake in attempting to strike Chapterhouse with their Obliterators.
After their attack failed, the dissidents on Gammu had expected Murbella to overreact and retaliate instantly. But she had exercised the meticulous care and patience she’d acquired from her Bene Gesserit training. Now, striking back after a month’s delay, she knew that every aspect of the plan was perfectly arranged.
Before setting off for Gammu, Murbella reviewed and revised her options based on the latest intelligence reports, as well as the information she had gleaned from Sharing with Priestess Iriel before she died. It was still unclear whether or not the renegade whores would make a suicidal stand on Gammu, triggering any last Obliterators they possessed, rather than let the world fall to the New Sisterhood. This would be Murbella’s most critical battle to date, the toughest enclave of rebels.
Alone with the responsibilities of supreme command, she stood high atop the western rampart of Chapterhouse Keep. The attack itself, and victory, would occur swiftly. More than just excising the festering sore of rebel Honored Matres, the New Sisterhood needed the Gammu military-industrial complex for further defenses against the oncoming Enemy.
Murbella had already sent in operatives to soften the resistance: secret assassins, adept disseminators of propaganda, and members of the Missionaria Protectiva to rally the ever-growing religious groups against “the whores who killed the blessed Sheeana on Rakis.” It was exactly what Duncan Idaho would have done.
The Honored Matres on Gammu were led by a charismatic and bitter woman named Niyela, who boldly claimed to trace her ancestry back to House Harkonnen—an obvious lie, since Honored Matres were unable to traverse the webs of Other Memory and could not remember their predecessors. Niyela had made her claim only after spending time digging through old records from the days when Gammu was a grimy industrial planet called Giedi Prime. Even after so long, the local population held a visceral hatred for the Harkonnens. Niyela apparently used that to her advantage.
The Honored Matres had set up extensive defenses on Gammu, including sophisticated scanners to detect and destroy incoming aircraft and missiles, specifically tailored to foil the New Sisterhood’s traditional mode of attack. For the time being, small gaps remained in their coverage, especially in the least populated regions of the planet.
Janess assured the Mother Commander she could bring their forces in through one of the gaps and mount an overwhelming surprise attack. For the first time, her fighting women would rely primarily on their Swordmaster skills.
After gathering all their ships and summoning Guild transport, the Valkyries launched.
FROM THE NIGHT side of Gammu, scores of troop transports disembarked from an orbiting no-ship and headed down toward a region of broad, frigid plains. Flying only meters above the icy ground, Murbella’s ship raced overland toward the capital city of Ysai. Behind them, a formation of small troop shuttles cruised along like a school of hungry piranhas. Under her direction, the stealth shuttles paused just long enough to release their swarms of female commandos into the city, and then streaked off without firing a shot, triggering no alarms.
Just shy of dawn, Murbella and thousands of her black-uniformed Sisters filtered into Ysai to engage the defenders from the inside out, attacking where they were least expected. Although the entrenched whores had anticipated a large-scale lightning assault with attack ’thopters and heavy weaponry from above, the Sisterhood’s commandos fought like scorpions from the shadows, striking, stinging, killing. The hand-to-hand combat made famous by the ancient Swordmasters of Ginaz required no technology more sophisticated than a sharp blade.
The Mother Commander chose her own target after reviewing the personal habits of Honored Matre Niyela. Accompanied by a small guard of fighters, Murbella ran directly to Niyela’s ostentatious apartment near the central Guild Bank buildings in Ysai. The Valkyries in their combat singlesuits seemed to be cloaked in black oil. Half of the assassination operations were over before the whores managed to sound the first alarms.
Brightly clothed Honored Matres guarded the entrance to Niyela’s dwelling, but Murbella and her companions struck in force, firing silent projectiles that hit their marks. Murbella bounded up an interior stairway, followed by Janess and her most trusted fighters. On the second level, a tall, athletic woman emerged from shadows in the hall. Dressed in a purple leotard and a cape adorned with chains and sharp crystal shards, she moved with the grace of a predatory feline.
Murbella recognized Niyela from Priestess Iriel’s vivid memories. “Strange, you don’t look at all like Baron Harkonnen,” she said. “Perhaps some of his most prominent features did not breed true. Maybe that’s a good thing.”
As if springing an ambush, fully fifty Honored Matres emerged from doorways to take up protective positions around Niyela, arrogantly assuming the smaller assault squad would buckle and retreat upon seeing them. Like a deadly dance, the well-trained Valkyries paired off against them, flashing blades in their hands and sharp spines in their combat suits.
Murbella had eyes only for Niyela. The two leaders faced off, circling. The other women seemed to expect a “softened” Mother Commander to cringe at the prospect of combat.
The Honored Matre leader suddenly kicked out with a callused and deadly foot, but Murbella moved faster and eluded the blow. In a blur of motion, she counterattacked from one side with her fists and elbows, backing her adversary away. Then Murbella laughed, which unnerved her opponent.
In an unrestrained response, the Honored Matre threw herself at Murbella, fingers outstretched like knives, but Murbella thrust up with her left elbow, catching Niyela with the armored spine protruding from her combat suit. The slice shed blood down Niyela’s arm. Murbella landed a solid kick in the other woman’s solar plexus, driving her back into the wall.
Bumping into the stone barrier, Niyela slumped, as if beaten. She sprang to one side and darted back, but Murbella was ready for her, countering every move, driving Niyela backward until she had nowhere left to go. Even her Honored Matre followers could not resist the dizzyingly swift fighting techniques that the Mother Commander had drilled into her soldiers. All fifty of the guards were dead, leaving their leader alone and defeated.
“Kill me.” Niyela spat the words.
“I’ll do worse.” Murbella smiled. “I will take you to Chapterhouse as my prisoner.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY, the victorious Mother Commander marched through the streets of Ysai and mingled with curious crowds. The Cult of Sheeana had taken firm root here, and the Gammu natives saw their liberation as a miracle, interpreting the army of Sisters as soldiers fighting for their beloved martyr.
Noting various clear behavioral markers, Murbella suspected that some women in the crowd were actually Honored Matre
s who had changed their distinctive clothes. Were they cowards, or the seeds of a fifth column who would continue to resist on Gammu? Even with the signs of victory around her, Murbella knew that the fighting and consolidation would continue for some time, if not in Ysai itself then in the outlying cities. She would have to assign teams to root out any remaining nests of rebels.
She was not the only one to notice the lurking Honored Matres. Her agents surged forward, making arrests, thinning the crowd. Anyone captured would be given the opportunity to convert. Niyela herself would begin enforced training back on Chapterhouse. Those who didn’t cooperate would be put to death.
Murbella’s triumphant forces took more than eight thousand Honored Matres back to Chapterhouse, and more would follow after the mop-up operations were completed under the direction of Janess. The conversion process would be difficult, monitored closely by troops of Truthsayers and now-loyal Honored Matres—but no more difficult than the original forced unification. The Mother Commander could not afford to discard so many potential fighters, despite the risk.
Thus the New Sisterhood grew even stronger, with more and more numbers added to their forces.
SIXTEEN YEARS AFTER
ESCAPE FROM CHAPTERHOUSE
Is Love born to us, as natural a part of our humanity as breathing and sleeping? Or is Love something we must create within ourselves?
—MOTHER SUPERIOR DARWI ODRADE,
private Bene Gesserit records (censored)
T
wo more years passed aboard the no-ship. Paul Atreides, his body now ten years old, his mind stuffed full of all the external memories the library archives could provide and the histories of what he was supposed to be, walked with the girl Chani.
Hunters of Dune Page 29
