For a long while, the fresh melange sang through her mind, sharpening her thoughts and insights. She stared at the calculations in front of her, as motionless as one of the ancient statues commissioned by the Titans on Earth, before the human uprising had torn them all down.
From outside, she barely heard the familiar whine of heavy spaceflight engines and the changing pitches of pre-takeoff test cycles. Gradually, as the external noise increased, Norma retreated inward, focusing on her own mental galaxy. One of her greatest skills, and needs, had always been to drive away all distractions.
To enhance her efforts, she reached unconsciously to her open supply tray and palmed three more melange capsules, ingesting them in rapid succession. The odor of cinnamon filled the air she breathed, and she felt a calming wind inside, as if her body were the desert where the spice had come from and a great, cleansing sandstorm had begun to blow. Thoughts were brighter, clearer; the background annoyance faded.
How to see a navigation problem before it occurred? How to anticipate a disaster that happened in the tiniest shaved fraction of a second? At such speeds, one had to prepare and react before any evidence of a problem appeared— but that was impossible, violating all notions of causality. No reaction could exist before the initial action occurred….
In the shipyards an explosion rolled like thunder, accompanied by the sounds of crashing sheets of plaz and crumpling metal plates. Heavy components thudded to the ground, wrecking storage buildings and screeching across paved work yards, as if a massive cymek force had attacked Kolhar. The shockwave rocked Norma’s laboratory building and bowed the outer walls inward. Overpressure cracked plaz windows on the opposite side of her calculation chamber.
She didn’t hear it. Papers, her cup, and some drafting implements fell to the floor, but not the electronic sketch board, which she gripped in her hands, freezing it in place before her fixated eyes. For her, very little existed in the entire universe other than these numbers and formulas.
Sirens and klaxons went off, and secondary explosions boomed across the shipyard. Men shouted. Emergency crews rushed to the site of the disaster, rescuing the injured as other workers fled. Like a living blanket, flames spread across the entire building, curtaining her window, scorching and eating away at the walls— but Norma no longer looked in that direction. Though her body did not move, her mind performed complex mental acrobatics, examining different angles, diverse possibilities. Picking up speed, momentum. Closer and closer…
So many alternatives. But which one will work?
Acrid smoke oozed through the burst seals in her walls, penetrating the cracked plaz windows and crossing the floor toward her. The chemical flames roared hotter. Outside, the screams grew louder.
So close to a solution, an answer at last!
Norma scribbled new entries on the drawing board, adding a third column that incorporated the factor of spacetime in relation to distance and travel. On a whim, she used the galactic coordinates of Arrakis for a baseline, as if the desert world was the center of the universe. It provided her with a new perspective. Excited, Norma aligned three columns as unexpected thoughts occurred to her.
Three is a holy number: the Trinity. The key?
She thought also of the Golden Mean, known to the Grogyptians of Old Earth. Mentally, she placed three points on a line, designating A and B at each end, with C positioned in between so that the distance AC / CB = ø. This was the Grogyptian letter phi, a decimal of approximately 1.618. It was known that a line segment divided by the ø ratio could be folded on itself repeatedly, creating the ratio over and over, infinitely. A simple and obvious relationship, but basic. Elemental.
This mathematical truth suggested a religious connection to her, and made her wonder about the source of her own developing revelation. Divine inspiration? Science and religion both sought to explain esoteric mysteries of the universe, though they approached the solution from fundamentally different directions.
Arrakis. The ancient Muadru were said to have come from there, or settled there for a time in their wanderings. The spiral was their most sacred symbol.
Hardly able to contain herself, oblivious to the chaos and turmoil that engulfed the shipyards and her own building, she arranged the three columns in a physical spiral with the Arrakis factor in the middle, and again began to fold the columns over and over. More and more complex equations resulted, and she felt herself on the brink of a breakthrough.
In her blistering hands, the electronic drawing board had begun to smolder, but with a simple thought Norma obliterated the damage to her skin and to the equipment. Flames leaped around her, consuming her clothing and hair, roasting her skin. Each instant, she used the energy to rebuild her cells almost as an afterthought, to keep everything stable around her, so that she could continue. On the verge—
Loud and furious movement intruded into the universe of her calculations. A man, bellowing in a deep voice, grabbed her shoulders, knocked the electronic pad out of her hands, and hauled her roughly out of the divine place in her mind.
“What are you doing? Leave me alone!”
But the man would not listen. He wore an unusual suit… thick red material, completely covering his body… and a glossy but soot-stained helmet. He manhandled her through a crackling wall of flames and greasy black and purple smoke. Finally Norma became conscious of the discomfort to her body, her skin, and saw that she was naked. All of her garments had burned off, as if in her mental journey into the heart of the cosmos she had accidentally plunged through the cauldron of a sun.
With a concentrated effort, she focused on her internal chemistry, felt the changes as she restored her damaged cells organ by organ, section by section, treating her own injuries. Her mind was intact, and her body was easily repaired, simply an organic vessel to hold her increasingly abstruse thoughts. She couldn’t, however, re-create her clothes… not that it mattered to her.
Outside the burning calculation chamber, medical attendants placed her on a cot and wrapped her in a healing blanket. They began to take her vital signs.
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Norma struggled to break free, but two strong men held her down.
Adrien rushed over, looking distraught. “Be calm, Mother. You’ve been burned, and you need to let these people take care of you. Two men died trying to rescue you from the inferno.”
“That was unnecessary. A complete waste. Why would they risk themselves when I can easily rebuild my body?” She looked down at herself. “I’m not burned— just distracted.” Her body began to feel cooler as she repaired the epidermal structures of her skin, vastly accelerating the catalysts in the healing blanket. “See for yourselves.”
A doctor shouted to the attendants. Something pricked her arm, an injection. She performed a chemical analysis on the fluid as it flowed into her veins— a fast-acting sedative— and used her powers to counteract the effect. She sat up, pushed the healing blanket away from her. The attendants rushed to stop her, but she extended her arms. “No burns anywhere. I am intact.”
Startled medical personnel pulled back and allowed her to finish. Norma focused on her face and neck, which had not yet received the full force of her curative powers, and erased deep burns and then a few superficial blisters. She touched the rough skin of her face, felt it smooth out and cool.
“My body is under my control. I have reconstructed it before— as you well know, Adrien.”
Norma rose to her feet, letting the healing blanket fall to the ground. Everyone looked at her in disbelief. Aside from her hair, which she had not yet restored, her milky skin was almost perfect except for a large red blotch on one shoulder. Catching sight of it, Norma focused her restorative powers, and the persistent blemish disappeared.
Curious, she thought. For weeks, the red area had been getting larger, requiring her periodic attention to clear it away. Previously, everything about her appearance had remained in place automatically, requiring no conscious effort after the initial metamorphosis.
>
Adrien hurried to cover his mother’s nakedness with the blanket, while the emergency teams continued to struggle to get the shipyard fires under control.
“I need to get back to work right away,” Norma said. “Please see that no one interrupts me again. And, Adrien— trust me next time. Some of my choices may seem odd to others, but they are a necessary part of my work. I cannot explain it further.”
Too much commotion around here, she thought. Since she no longer had an office in which to work, Norma walked purposefully off toward a rocky hill near the shipyard, a promontory on which she could sit and think in peace.
Humans were foolish to build their own competitors— but they couldn’t help themselves.
— ERASMUS,
philosophical datanotes
Though designed as an update ship for the thinking machines, the Dream Voyager was a timeless vessel, streamlined and beautiful, no less serviceable now than when Vor had served Omnius. Almost a century ago, Vor had first flown the black-and-silver ship with Seurat. He had escaped Earth in the Voyager, rescuing Serena Butler and Iblis Ginjo, and he still used it whenever he wasn’t required to be on the bridge of a military ship. In an odd way, it made him feel at peace.
Now he flew the Dream Voyager, comfortable at the controls. After fighting the Jihad for nearly a full century, he had far more discretion on his missions than any other officer. When he’d told Leronica he was leaving Salusa again, she had simply smiled stoically, accustomed to his restlessness. In part he was running from further uncomfortable encounters with his sons during their long visit in Zimia, but he was also heading out to find his other descendants. In the final accounting, that must be considered a good thing.
Since making his decision, Vor had dug up details of his past travels and service in the Jihad. But records were often corrupted and incomplete, especially on worlds that had been harassed by the thinking machines. There had been quite a few eager women, all of them wanting to do their part to strengthen the much-pummeled human race. If they had never informed him about their children so many years ago, he would have difficulty following the clues and tracking them down now.
As a starting point, however, he did know he had one daughter by Karida Julan on Hagal. Long ago, when she’d told him, Vor had sent plenty of credits to support the child and her mother. Since finding Leronica, though, he’d had no further contact.
Too often, Vor had blithely abandoned his connections and obligations. He was beginning to see a pattern in his life, that he made swift and far-reaching decisions without thinking through the consequences. If only he could find his daughter by Karida— the last name he knew was Helmina Berto-Anirul— perhaps he could do something right for a change.
Following up on the leads, Vor found to his dismay that Helmina had been killed in a groundcar accident seven years ago. She had, however, left behind a daughter of her own, born late in Helmina’s life: Raquella, Vor’s granddaughter. According to a credible report, Raquella was now living on Parmentier, a recaptured Synchronized World governed by Rikov Butler.
Vor made up his mind to meet her before it was too late. The Jihad Council and Quentin Butler were happy to have him go to Parmentier to deliver political documents and receive updates from Rikov. This fit quite well with his own agenda.
He pushed the old update ship to the maximum acceleration he could tolerate. The Dream Voyager was painfully slow in comparison with the military and merchant spacefolders, but on the long journey he had plenty of time to rehearse his first meeting with his granddaughter.
In her late teens, Raquella had married a jihadi soldier who’d died in the war less than a year later. Afterward, she studied medicine and dedicated herself to helping the war-injured and those suffering from the deadly diseases that still afflicted humanity. Now twenty-nine, she had spent years with the respected doctor and researcher Mohandas Suk. Were they lovers? Perhaps. Suk was himself the grandnephew of the great battlefield surgeon Rajid Suk, who had served Serena Butler during the early fervor of the Jihad. Vor smiled. Like himself, his granddaughter did not have low aspirations!
As the Dream Voyager finally approached the outer orbital lanes, a surprising message blared across his comline: “I am planetary governor Rikov Butler. By my order, Parmentier is under strict quarantine. Half of our population has succumbed to a new plague, possibly developed by the thinking machines. Extremely high mortality rate, as great as forty to fifty percent— and the secondary deaths and chaos are impossible to quantify. Depart before you are infected. Carry our warning throughout the League of Nobles.”
Concerned, Vor opened the channel. “This is Supreme Commander Vorian Atreides. Give me further details on your situation.” He waited, anxious.
Instead of answering him, though, Rikov’s voice repeated the same words. A recording. Vor transmitted his request once more, searching for a reply. No one responded. “Is anybody there?” Is anybody alive?
His instruments picked up a blockade of orbiters in place, primarily to stop ships from escaping. They bristled with weapons, threatening but silent. The nearest station looked like a fat beetle, a large, round habitat with brightly illuminated ports encircling its equator line. Messages and warnings were broadcast in the leading galactic languages over all the comlines, threatening to destroy anyone who attempted to leave the infected planet.
Vor hailed the nearest station repeatedly, but no one answered. He had always been doggedly persistent once he made up his mind to pursue a goal. Now that he knew of the crisis here, he needed to see Rikov Butler. And since he knew Raquella was also here, he wouldn’t turn around without seeing her.
One of the other stations finally responded to his call. A haggard-looking woman came on the screen. “Go back! You are forbidden from landing on Parmentier— we are under strict quarantine because of the Omnius Scourge.”
“Omnius has always been a scourge to human existence,” Vor said. “Tell me about this plague.”
“It’s been raging down there for weeks, and we’ve been sent to these stations to enforce a strict quarantine. Half of us are sick. Some of the stations are abandoned.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Vor said. He had always been impulsive— to his friend Xavier’s frequent dismay. The life-extension treatment Agamemnon had given him a century ago protected him from disease; he had not suffered so much as a minor cold in all those years. “A quarantine is designed to keep people from getting out, not getting in.”
The haggard woman cursed at him, called him a fool, then signed off.
First he docked against the empty blockade station. They could send all the warnings they wanted, but he had never been good at following orders. The Dream Voyager matched hatches and activated the standard-configuration access doors. Vor once again identified himself, waited in vain for a reply, then opened the locks intent on finding out more about the plague on the surface of Parmentier.
As he drew the first whiff of what should have been reprocessed and sterilized air, a shudder went down his spine. After many decades of war, he had developed an almost extrasensory ability to detect when something was not right. He powered on his personal shield and made sure his combat knife was readily accessible at his side. He identified the all-too-familiar, unmistakable odor of death.
A warning message blared across the facility’s speaker system: “Code One! Full Alert! Proceed to safe rooms immediately!”
The message repeated itself into empty space, then fizzled and stopped. How many others had ignored the command, or not moved quickly enough? It appeared that the healthy men and women aboard the station had fled, hoping to outrun the plague. He doubted any of them had had access to long-range spacecraft that would have taken them to other League Worlds. Fortunately.
His boots clicked on the hard polymer deck. Behind a guard station counter he found two bodies on the floor, a man and a woman in brown-and-black uniforms. Parmentier Home Guard. Crusty, dried fluids covered their skin; blood and excrement had dried on the de
ck as well. Without touching the victims, he estimated that they had been dead for several days, perhaps a week.
A private room behind the counter had walls of surveillance monitors. Every screen showed essentially the same thing: empty corridors and rooms with a few human bodies strewn about. While diminished crews remained alive on other stations, this facility was empty. He had already guessed that the surface communication systems were either down or unattended. This scene confirmed it. With nothing more to be done on the orbiting ghost ship, Vor returned to the Dream Voyager.
Vor hoped his granddaughter had found a safe place. With millions of people at stake, how could he worry about one woman he had never even met? If she was a doctor, working with Mohandas Suk, Raquella’s services were needed more than ever down there. He smiled to himself. If she truly had Atreides blood in her veins, then she was probably in the thick of things….
Landing in the city of Niubbe, built on the foundations of an old Omnius industrial complex, Vor was greatly reassured to find people alive, though many of them looked like the walking dead, as if they might collapse at any moment. Many muttered to themselves and seemed disoriented or angry. Others appeared to be crippled, their tendons ruptured, unable to walk or stand. Some bodies lay along the streets, piled up like cordwood. Haggard-looking retrieval teams in large groundvans picked up the bodies and hauled them off, but the public work crews were obviously overwhelmed by the scale of the epidemic.
First he went to the governor’s mansion. The large house was empty, but not ransacked. He called out over and over, but heard no answer. In the master suite, he found two bodies, a man and a woman— no doubt Rikov and Kohe Butler. He stared for a long moment, then made a cursory search of the other rooms, but found no one else, no sign of their daughter Rayna or the servants. The mansion echoed with his footsteps and the buzzing of flies.
Dune: The Battle of Corrin Page 10
