Dune: The Battle of Corrin

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Abulurd felt warm inside upon hearing the praise. “I have never regretted reclaiming my Harkonnen name, Supreme Bashar, even though others heaped dung upon me because of it.”

  “Then maybe it’s about time for us to fix that.” Vor narrowed his gray eyes. “It has been decades since I told you the truth about Xavier. I thought that would be enough, but I should have known better. There is an old saying that one should not stir up unwarranted trouble. All along, I had decided that Xavier chose his course and was content with how he knew history would paint him.

  “I can’t even get the League to invest enough firepower to destroy the Corrin-Omnius and the remaining cymeks. I figured I had no chance at all of convincing the Assembly to rewrite history, pardon Xavier, and reveal Iblis Ginjo as the real villain.” His eyes blazed. “But it’s not fair to let my old friend pay such a price. You have been braver than I, Abulurd.”

  Abulurd looked as if he would choke with the effort of containing his tears. “I— I only did what seemed right to me, Supreme Bashar.”

  “When I see the right chance, I will raise the matter, at least get my objections on the record.” He looked around the bloodstained streets of Zimia. “Maybe they will finally listen.”

  He clapped a hand on Abulurd’s shoulder. “But first, it’s time for you to get your due. Since the Great Purge, your rank has not risen in proportion to your performance. Although other officers will deny it, I’m convinced you have been punished because of your Harkonnen name. From this day forward, that changes.” Vor stood now, looking grim and determined. “I give you my solemn promise that you will receive the full rank of bashar, fourth grade— “

  “Bashar!” Abulurd cried. “That’s a jump of two ranks. You can’t just— “

  Vor cut him off. “After today, I’d like to see them try to argue with me.”

  Despite their biological flaws, human beings continue to see things that our most sophisticated sensors cannot detect, and they understand strange concepts that gelcircuitry minds cannot comprehend. It is no surprise, then, that so many of them go insane.

  — Erasmus Dialogues

  The standoff in the skies over Corrin between the robot fleet and the hrethgir battleships that constantly sought to destroy them held no sense of urgency after almost two decades; Erasmus was far more interested in a small drama in his own gardens.

  There was no need for complex or subtle spy apparatus; he simply observed unobtrusively. Completely intent on a conversation with the latest Serena Butler clone, Gilbertus had not noticed his presence. His human ward seemed enraptured by her presence, though the robot couldn’t understand why. Surely after twenty years Gilbertus would have wearied of his efforts to fashion her into a worthy mate. This clone was flawed, mentally deficient, damaged somehow by Rekur Van’s re-creation of her flesh.

  But his ward claimed to be attached to this particular clone, for some inexplicable reason.

  Gilbertus looked like an adoring and patient young man as he sat with an open picture book. Serena looked at the illustrations and paid attention to some of his words, but other times she stared at the flowers and the jewel-toned hummingbirds that flitted about, distracting her.

  Behind the hibiscus hedge, Erasmus held very still, as if his motionlessness might convince her that he was merely a garden statue. He knew the Serena clone was not stupid… simply uninteresting in any way.

  Gilbertus touched her arm. “Look at this, please.” She turned her gaze back to the book, and he continued to read aloud. Over the years, he had diligently taught her how to read. Serena could access any book or record in the vast libraries kept on Corrin, though she rarely chose to do so. Her mind was usually engaged in less meaningful things. Gilbertus had never stopped trying, though.

  He showed the Serena clone great masterworks of art. He played exceptional symphonies for her, and he exposed her to many philosophical treatises. Serena was more interested in amusing pictures and funny stories. When she grew bored with the picture book, Gilbertus walked with her around the gardens again.

  As he observed Gilbertus’s makeshift teaching techniques, Erasmus recalled that many years ago he had filled the same role with an unruly, feral child. The task had required extreme effort and a relentless dedication that only machines could devote. Eventually, the robot’s work with Gilbertus Albans had paid off.

  Now he watched his ward attempting to do the same thing. It was an interesting reversal. Erasmus could find no flaw in his technique. Unfortunately, the results simply weren’t equivalent.

  Through medical analyses, Erasmus knew that the Serena clone had the biological potential her genetics provided, but she lacked a mental capacity. More importantly, what she lacked was a set of meaningful experiences, the ordeals and challenges the original Serena had faced. The clone had always been too sheltered, too protected… too numb.

  Suddenly Erasmus thought of a way to salvage the situation. Fashioning a broad grin on his platinum face, the robot pushed his way through the crackling hedge and strode over to Gilbertus, who smiled back at his mentor. “Hello, Father. We have just been discussing astronomy. This evening I plan to take Serena out under the night sky and identify constellations.”

  “You have done that before,” Erasmus pointed out.

  “Yes, but tonight we’ll try again.”

  “Gilbertus, I have decided to make you a fine offer. We have other cells, and the possibility for creating many other clones, which will likely be superior to this one. I recognize how hard you have worked to bring this version of Serena up to your level. It is not your fault that you haven’t succeeded. Therefore, I suggest as a gift to you that I will provide another identical clone.” He broadened his flowmetal smile. “We will replace this one so that you can start again. Certainly you will have better results next time.”

  The man looked at him with an expression of horror and disbelief. “No, Father! You can’t do that.” He clutched Serena’s arm. “I won’t let you.” Gilbertus held Serena close to him and whispered soothingly to her. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

  Though he did not understand the reaction, Erasmus rapidly withdrew his offer. “There is no need to become upset, Gilbertus.”

  With a look over his shoulder as if the robot had just betrayed him, Gilbertus quickly took Serena away. Erasmus stood pondering, reassessing what he had just experienced.

  * * *

  LATE THAT NIGHT, under the dark skies of Corrin, the robot continued to spy on Gilbertus and the clone as they sat outside the villa, staring up into the sky. Though the trails of constantly shifting warships sketched distractions across the backdrop, Gilbertus pointed out patterns of stars, traced outlines, and identified the groupings on old star charts. Serena seemed amused and drew her own patterns in the sky.

  Erasmus felt oddly unsettled, even troubled. When he had spent years teaching Gilbertus, at least he received positive feedback and rewards from the progress his ward made. Even the original Serena Butler, with her sharp tongue and emotional debates, had been a worthy mental sparring partner.

  But the clone offered none of those things to Gilbertus.

  No matter how many times Erasmus reran his thoughts through his gelcircuitry mind, this made no sense at all. It was a puzzle that a sophisticated independent robot should be able to solve. But though he observed the two humans for hours that night, he came no closer to any insight.

  What does Gilbertus see in her?

  For those who know where to look, the past produces clear indications for us to follow in our journey into the future.

  — A History of VenKee Enterprises

  After returning from Rossak, having neither expected nor received gratitude for the warning she had delivered, Norma stood naked and curious in front of a mirror. Though she was not vain, she examined her body for more than an hour. Its classic bone structure and milky skin should have made her the vision of perfection, but imperfections appeared with unfortunate frequency: growing red blotches, ripples in he
r skin, and shifting features, as if her bone structure and her muscles had become plastic. Puckered patches of red covered large areas of her chest and abdomen. Even her stature seemed smaller. Distorted.

  So peculiar. She could always restore her appearance if she willed it, but the flaws would reappear. Norma wanted to understand what was happening.

  Adrien had noticed, but she could not explain it to him. At his insistence, she consulted one of the shipyard doctors, an elderly female specialist. The doctor prodded, frowned, and then made a quick pronouncement. “Allergic reactions, probably caused by an overconsumption of melange. Your son tells me you ingest immense quantities.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Please reassure Adrien.” Her noncommittal words produced the desired effect, and the medical specialist turned to depart.

  Norma would have preferred to be left alone, to concentrate on her work, and she had no intention of cutting back her melange consumption. Her recent visit to Rossak and her warning premonition about the piranha mites had left her unsettled. If the machines were indeed stirring again on Corrin, preparing new horrors against humanity, then she must always keep her mind alert and on guard.

  For that, she needed more spice.

  She had been experimenting with different variations of melange: solids, powders, liquids, and gases. Physically and mentally, she was already different from any other human being.

  Norma could get rid of the blotches that appeared on her skin, but why bother? Now, still standing in front of the mirror, she made the blotch on her upper body fade, and then brought it back intentionally. Such folly to keep herself beautiful. For what? For whom? A waste of time and energy. Allowing her body to change would never diminish the love she held in her heart for Aurelius.

  VenKee market studies showed that some people experienced immediate reactions to melange, while others developed them over time. Norma did know that large doses of spice opened doors in her mind and in the universe, allowing her to see pathways to the impossible. In fact, contrary to the doctor’s advice, she intended to take even larger doses of spice, pushing the limits of her capabilities.

  Since the Great Purge, Norma had lived with a weighty, perplexed guilt because so many of the Jihad spacefolders and crews had been lost. Certainly, she had made progress on individual elements of the problem since then, but the ultimate solution still eluded her. It was time to redouble her efforts and solve the space-folding navigation problem once and for all.

  From the storage bureau inside her private chamber, she removed a specially designed breathing mask, which she sealed over her mouth and nose. When she touched a button, gas hissed through the tube, carrying with it the pungent odor of melange. Rusty orange swirls colored her vision. She could barely see outside herself, but she could see within.

  Due to the high level of spice already in her body, the effects were almost immediate. Norma experienced a stunning vision… at last, a brilliant epiphany in which she saw the solution to the navigation problem— a means of safely avoiding the hazards of space.

  The key lay not in machinery or calculations, but in prescience, a mental ability to forecast safe paths across vast distances. Like her recent vision of the danger to Rossak. With repeated exposure to melange at high enough concentrations, she could open up far more abilities than anyone had suspected humans possessed. Her earlier computerized probability calculators had been the crudest possible attempt along these lines. But with spice, her own mind could become a far superior navigation tool.

  Prescience.

  Recovering from her revelation, Norma noted that her body had shifted back to something resembling its former stunted shape, the original pattern, though with more crudely formed features and a larger head. Why? A throwback? A distant cellular memory? A subconscious choice?

  But her mind was expanding, crackling with energy as it focused on what was important: Melange. Navigation. Folded space. Prescience.

  The answer at last!

  * * *

  BECAUSE HER BODY had chosen the new shape during her vision, Norma let it remain that way, a rough approximation of the body she had grown up with, blunt-featured and stunted, but with a grossly larger head in relation to her dwarfish frame.

  She didn’t attempt to resculpt her appearance. It was simply an unnecessary expenditure of energy. The whole physical journey to beauty seemed shallow to her, infinitely insignificant in the scheme of the cosmos.

  Unlike the spice, prescience, and folding space…

  A guiding mind aboard a space-folding ship could predict disasters well before they happened, in time to plot a different path through folded space. Yet merely knowing the basis of her answer had not shown her how to physically implement the solution. Still, it was only a matter of time.

  Each experiment brought Norma closer to her goal. She found it amazing that melange was both efficacious for inhibiting the Scourge and for traveling via folded space. The substance itself was a miracle— an extremely complex molecule.

  Now her work required ever-increasing quantities of melange, and through VenKee she could obtain as much as she needed. The price of melange on the open market had risen swiftly. Twenty years ago, a significant percentage of the human population had survived the Omnius Scourge in large part because of the spice. Unfortunately, afterward their appetites had been whetted; many of the survivors were even addicted. The epidemic had changed the economy of the League, and VenKee Enterprises, in dramatic and unforeseen ways.

  Her eldest son was ambitious and clever, just like Aurelius had been. Norma had never craved power or wealth herself, shying away from the fame her remarkable discoveries brought, but she realized that her navigational breakthrough and the feasibility of space-folding ships would allow Adrien and his descendants to expand the already wealthy VenKee Enterprises into a commercial empire as powerful as the League itself.

  Norma knew that the gaseous form of melange was superior for her purposes, more intense, taking her mind to previously unattainable heights. Now, with eager anticipation, she planned to take her idea to the next stage.

  Full spice immersion, total exposure, complete dependence.

  * * *

  OBSESSED WITH HER plan, Norma conscripted laborers and technicians from other projects in the shipyards. In comparison with the huge vessels with complex Holtzman engines and shield generators, her project was small and inexpensive. But it would have more far-reaching importance than anything else she had ever done.

  Though he tried to talk with her, Adrien didn’t completely understand what his mother hoped to accomplish, and she did not try to articulate the reasons. Lately, it seemed difficult for her to speak in his language, but he never argued with her requests. He knew that whenever Norma had one of her vast ideas, the shape of the galaxy was bound to change.

  The crews constructed a transparent, airtight plaz chamber fitted with nozzles, to which they connected large bottles of expensive melange gas. When the chamber was complete, Norma sealed herself inside, bringing a simple cushion on which to sit. Alone. Closing her eyes, she turned a control to pump in orange spice gas. She drew deep breaths, waiting for the effects, as the enclosure filled with more melange than she had ever before consumed. Such a potent concentration would have killed an unprepared person, but she had built up a great tolerance, and need, for the spice.

  With wide-eyed Kolhar workers looking on, she inhaled deeply of the curling orange gas— and felt herself dropping away, accelerating into her mind. The cells of her misshapen body swam in the cinnamon-smelling vapor, merging with it. Total concentration, total calm.

  This experience took her beyond the technology of folding space, lifting her to a level of pure spirituality. To Norma, the essence of being human was her ethereal nature. She felt like a sculptress on a cosmic scale, working with planets and suns as if they were modeling clay.

  It was majestic and liberating.

  She remained sealed inside the chamber without food or water— only the nourishing spice. The cle
arplaz walls became streaked with rusty brown, and she barely heard the constant hiss of gas jets around her.

  At long last, she swam in a place where she could really think.

  One cannot understand humanity without taking a sufficiently long view. We are in an excellent position to achieve this.

  — Rossak Archives,

  “Statement of Purpose”

  The bloodlines of humanity formed an intricate and beautiful tapestry, but only for those who were able to see it. The warp and weft of DNA threaded from family to family, generation to generation. Nucleotide sequences combined and recombined, shuffling genes, creating a near-infinite number of human patterns. Not even the Omnius evermind could comprehend the potential that lay within beings that sprang from this awe-inspiring double-helix molecule.

  Ticia Cenva and the Sorceresses of Rossak had taken on that project as their charge and their quest.

  Deep inside the cliff cities, far from the sounds and smells of the silvery-purple jungle, far from the scars left by the recent attacks of the swarming piranha mites, Ticia stood with one of her tall, pale sisters inspecting their vital— and highly illegal— computers. These record-keeping devices were anathema to the League of Nobles, yet here they were absolutely necessary. The Rossak women had no other way to sort and manage the overwhelming genealogical data they had acquired. The Sorceresses kept many deep secrets from the rest of humanity, and this was one of their boldest.

  For generations the Sorceresses had maintained breeding records of all the families on this one planet. The environment of Rossak played havoc with human DNA, causing frequent mutations— some of which were horrific embarrassments, while others actually improved the species. The information collated during the Scourge offered them vastly more data to track and study.

  Turning to the woman beside her, a young Sorceress named Karee Marques, Ticia said, “Now that we have compiled the basic bloodline data and followed many possible permutations, just imagine what we can do with this amazing information. Now we can finally put it to use.” She pressed her pale lips together and admired the computers. “Projections. Perfection. Who knows what new human potential we can uncover? Our limitations can be erased. In fact, why should we stop at attempting the merely superhuman? There may be abilities we have not yet dreamed of.”