Sisterhood of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Roderick sighed. Considering the state of his brother’s relationship with Tabrina, it was precisely the wrong thing to say.

  Salvador responded coolly. “I said I’ll look into the matter.”

  The nobleman bowed and turned his attention back to the combat event.

  After a while, the Emperor leaned closer to Roderick, smiling as one of the combat meks tore a cylindrical arm from its opponent. “This is so appropriate. First we lobotomized the robots, and now we make them destroy each other. I could watch this all day.”

  Roderick nodded. “It’s preferable to having the machines compel humans to do what they command.”

  In the stands, a rotund new invitee squealed, afraid of the ferocious metallic monsters, then laughed when he realized there was no actual danger.

  “I can’t remember,” Salvador said. “What did we wager today?”

  Roderick knew his brother remembered precisely what they had bet against each other. “Our summer villas on Kaitain, of course. Whoever wins gets both.”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve always preferred yours.”

  The copper-skinned robot launched a spiked spear from under its forearm, knocking the other machine down, where it lay on the ground, twitching and sparking. The first mek moved in for the kill.

  “It looks as if my robot is winning,” Roderick said, “but you know you’re always welcome to use my villa if you like.”

  His elder brother’s forehead wrinkled like a folded piece of paper. “What’s that? The copper mek is mine. Do you really believe that damaged hulk can fight back?”

  “You chose the chrome one, dear brother. Remember, you picked first.”

  Salvador’s blue eyes flashed. He liked to act absentminded when it suited him, but Roderick knew his mind was sharp. The Corrino Emperor was far more intelligent than most people realized. Crafty smart. He knew full well that he had chosen the chrome mek. “Very well, but you should feel guilty the way you always get the better of me.”

  “It was pure luck this time. We had no way of knowing which robot would win.”

  The Emperor ran a finger along his lips. “I suppose we could cheat.”

  “Against each other? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “As I am so often reminded, you are a better man than I.”

  Roderick disagreed, as he was expected to, but both men knew it was true.

  The chrome robot did rally and lurched to its feet to continue the fight, accompanied by a round of delighted cheers. Another “disguised” nobleman came and whispered a request into Salvador’s ear. The thin domino mask did not hide the identity of elderly Tibbar Warik, a prominent real-estate broker who needed a favor. Throughout these gladiatorial combats, inner-circle invitees would make such requests, and Roderick would have to implement them, according to his brother’s decisions.

  When the copper-skinned mek finally defeated its opponent, battering it into twitching shrapnel, the palace guards stepped forward and blasted the winner down.

  Tibbar Warik complained about deferred or defaulted payments from the new Suk Medical School, an extravagant complex under construction on Parmentier. Roderick thought the elite doctors had pretensions of grandeur. However, because Salvador had received a great many expensive (and questionable, in Roderick’s opinion) medical treatments from the former head of the Suk School, he often turned a blind eye toward the excesses. Warik was quite upset by the losses, and the Emperor dismissed him with a promise.

  When the nobleman was gone, and as staff members dragged the robot debris off the fighting field, Salvador turned to Roderick. “Warik says there’s a scandal brewing, involving a Suk doctor who duped a patient. You heard that Lars Ibson of Caladan died recently?” Roderick remembered the wealthy commoner who had built a fishing empire and lived like an emperor himself. “According to Warik, Ibson relied on a Suk doctor and paid a king’s ransom for bone-cancer treatments—treatments that turned out to be bogus. Complete placebos. Ibson didn’t live any longer, and certainly died poorer.”

  Roderick didn’t comment that he thought many of Elo Bando’s prescribed treatments for the Emperor fell into the same category; after Bando’s highly suspicious “suicide” on Parmentier, investigations had been closed, but Roderick suspected a more widespread problem among the Suks. “Do you think the Medical School would agree to a detailed audit of their operations? We’ve heard of investors loaning money to the school, and we know the Suks take in substantial revenues for their services, but it still doesn’t seem to add up.” Much of the funding for their extravagant expansion had come from the exorbitant sums Salvador himself had paid to the former head of the school.

  “A scandal could hamstring their good work,” Salvador said. “The Butlerians object to advanced medical treatment, and I wouldn’t want to give them the wedge.” He rubbed his temples. “Besides, I need another personal physician, and the Suks haven’t sent me an acceptable one yet. I miss poor Dr. Bando. The school isn’t the same without him.”

  Despite the corrupt medical practices of some doctors, Roderick knew the Suk School still produced better physicians than any other academy in the Imperium, and he remembered the remarkable good that Mohandas Suk had done during the machine plagues. Unlike Salvador, though, he believed the loss of Elo Bando improved their respectability rather than worsened it. “Let me look into it, Sire. If they’re evading Salusan taxes, or defaulting on payments, they will be held to account.”

  “The school is becoming problematic, too full of its own importance.” Salvador was troubled. “I don’t want them shut down. At least not yet … not before I get my own personal physician.”

  “At the very least, they should have closer monitoring.”

  The Emperor nodded, then leaned forward as the next combat meks shambled into the fighting area. “You’re right, as usual, little brother. Let’s deepen our normal financial investigations of them, and see what we turn up.”

  Do we derive our identity, our worth, from our families or from ourselves?

  —REVEREND MOTHER RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, SISTERHOOD TRAINING MANUAL

  As Princess Anna’s mentor and protector, Valya tried to discover how to motivate the young woman and make her a stronger person … but the girl had very little drive. Raised and sheltered in the Imperial Palace, Anna was prone to impulsive, somewhat juvenile decisions and mood swings. Sisterhood training should eventually teach her how to deal with that, and Anna would return to Salusa Secundus as a changed woman … and Valya’s close friend.

  Perhaps Anna would ask Valya to accompany her back to Zimia and give her a position at court. From there, Valya could open political doors for her brother. His success in the Landsraad League would go a long way toward restoring Harkonnen wealth.

  But that was not all she wanted, not by a long shot. She actually considered the assassination of Vorian Atreides to be an even higher priority than getting Griffin to Zimia, which was why she had demanded that he go in search of the treacherous man who had brought down House Harkonnen. If Griffin cauterized the festering wound that had made generations of Harkonnens so miserable, their family could finally escape the ignominy they had been forced to endure for eighty years, the terrible pall of shame that had been covering them like a Lankiveil ice sheet. Revenge was more important to her than wealth, far more important.

  Back on her cold and barren homeworld, Valya had seen little point in marrying a native fisherman or whale hunter. Her great-grandfather Abulurd had left the family with no legacy, and her own father had few ambitions, too readily accepting their drastically reduced state. Her mother, Sonia, was a traditional local woman who had never been off-planet and was not interested in the rest of the Imperium. Since she had no noble blood, she was willing to accept the pittance of a life she and her family had, not questioning what House Harkonnen’s enemies had done to them.

  Valya could not be so passive. Once she escaped from Lankiveil and the millstone it represented, she intended to accomplish a great deal for House Harko
nnen. For a young woman in her situation, the Rossak School seemed to offer limitless possibilities—as proven by this chance to establish close ties with the Corrinos.

  Even so, Valya was quickly losing excitement about her assignment to befriend Anna Corrino. The girl was sweet, with many misconceptions about how others lived, and sometimes the job tested Valya’s patience.

  Alone now, she hurried down one corridor and then another, calling Anna’s name, but getting no response. The girl was so unpredictable! A few minutes ago, as breakfast ended in the great dining chamber and Sisters were milling about or heading for the exits, the green-robed Anna had slipped away, melting into the crowd of women. Did she think this was a game? Muttering, Valya felt a sinking sensation. If anything bad happened to the Corrino Princess, it would not be good for the Sisterhood, nor for Valya’s personal ambitions.

  As she passed an alcove, she saw Anna peeking out from around a statue of one of the heroes of the Jihad, chortling like a preteen. Valya was the same age, but there was a huge gulf of maturity between them.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Valya took her by the hand and pulled her out with a little more force than she intended.

  “I can take care of myself,” Anna said.

  Valya controlled her temper, reminding herself of this young woman’s connections. “Rossak has dangers, and the Sisterhood has rules. I’m just trying to watch out for you.” She kept protectively close to the troublesome young woman while guiding her to an Imperial economics class.

  When she released Anna just inside the classroom, the Princess frowned. “You won’t sit next to me?” Natural light illuminated the room, entering through slits and crevices in the rock, accompanied by a warm breeze that was redolent with the pungent odors of the jungle.

  “This is a class for acolytes, and I have another assignment,” Valya said. “I’ll come and get you after the lecture.”

  “Are you my best friend now?” Anna asked. “I haven’t had a good friend for a long time.”

  Valya softened her voice. “Yes, I’m your best friend now. Trust me, once you adjust here, you won’t want to go home.” She put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Hirondo really cared for me.” Anna looked dejected and needy. “My stepmother Orenna loved me.”

  “And now you have me, and we have trust.”

  Anna looked up at her. “My brothers never trusted me.”

  “Then you’re better off here, with us.” Through her own feelings and goals, Valya felt some sympathy for this misfit woman who had suffered from her doomed infatuation with a lowly kitchen worker, but Valya knew emotional attachments might compromise her own mission in life.

  She saw plainly that Anna was in desperate need of a friend—and no doubt had been for years. Valya intended to fill that role, partly out of pity, but primarily for her own reasons. She could only hope Griffin would also fulfill his obligations. He should already be on his way to deal with Vorian Atreides.

  Logic and reason are deceptive. They can lead a person to lose his soul.

  —MANFORD TORONDO, SPEECH ON SALUSA SECUNDUS

  Though the Butlerian movement had spread across the Imperium, their headquarters on Lampadas were modest and unpretentious. Manford felt that the domination of thinking machines should have taught mankind humility at the very least. It was through hubris and ambition that the original Titans had created the computer evermind in the first place.

  Propped up in a chair at his desk, which hid his lack of legs from visitors, he pored over lists of planets where his representatives had conducted successful demonstration raids. Occasionally, the local Butlerian leaders dispatched holorecordings, but Manford preferred the more intimate experience of reading words written by a human hand.

  Mankind had gotten into a great deal of trouble by looking for shortcuts, speed, and simplification. Devices could be so seductive. He remained haunted by the dark words Erasmus the robot had written in his journal: Given enough time, they will forget … and will create us all over again.

  When vehicles were easily available, lethargic people grew fat because they were too lazy to walk. Calculating machines could provide swift answers to complex sums, but what happened when the human mind atrophied and forgot how to calculate? As proof of human potential and superiority, Mentats from the school of Gilbertus Albans performed all the functions a computer could, and they were far more trustworthy than any calculating machine.…

  Though Manford longed for a quiet season with Anari, where they could watch the natural pace of the harvest and the changing weather on Lampadas, he knew he had not been made for a normal life, nor had his beloved mentor, Rayna Butler. She’d survived the horrific Omnius plagues, while her whole family died around her. Forever scarred by the experience, Rayna spent her entire life insisting that humanity expunge its dependence on machines. Following her heroic example, Manford had been through a similar crucible. He was just as scarred, but in a different way, and he was just as driven. He would be traveling again soon. There were always planets that needed to hear his words.

  Anari Idaho entered the office wearing her impeccable black-and-gray uniform. Her hair was cut short, her face scrubbed clean to show her rough beauty; the devotion on her expression was as indelible as a tattoo. “Two offworlders are here to request a meeting.” The slight downturn of her mouth was a sign of disapproval. “They have brought … equipment.”

  Manford set the documents aside. “Who are they? What kind of equipment?”

  “They come from the planet Zenith, scientists of some sort. One of them acts as if he is a person of note.”

  Now Manford was curious. After asking the man’s name and making no connection with it, he said, “What do scientists want here?”

  “Shall I interrogate them?” She sounded eager. Manford knew that if he requested it, she would break their necks without batting an eyelash. He didn’t know what he’d ever do without her.

  “Send them in. I’ll talk with these scientists myself. If I need you to do anything, I will ask.”

  A pair of diminutive men entered the room, pulling a sealed case the size of a small coffin. It floated on suspensors, and the blinking lights of a diagnostic panel shone on the top.

  The smaller of the two belonged to the disgraced Tlulaxa race; he had short, dark hair and a pinched expression, and he was obviously subordinate. After the horrific scandal that had brought down the Tlulaxa organ farms during Serena Butler’s Jihad, most humans carried an intrinsic animus toward the race, but the Tlulaxa had been subdued and supposedly rehabilitated. In recent decades, zealous Butlerians had established a watchdog presence on the main Tlulaxa worlds, closely monitoring any research being conducted there. Many of their insidious projects had been quashed, much to the consternation of the Tlulaxa Masters. But they had been meek and cooperative; he expected no trouble from them.

  The second man, obviously the one in charge, was not a Tlulaxa. Large eyes gave him an owlish look. He had brown hair, a weak chin, and a studious demeanor that made him seem more like an accountant than a researcher. The bookish man came forward briskly, evincing a scholarly and even conciliatory manner. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Leader Torondo. I am Ptolemy, an independent scientist and Landsraad representative from Zenith. This is my good friend and research associate Dr. Elchan.”

  Manford kept his expression cool. “And what brings you to Lampadas? Very few self-proclaimed scientists offer to join our movement for the preservation of the human soul.” He forced a smile. “But I remain optimistic.”

  Ptolemy blinked his owlish eyes, took a moment to gather his bearings. “That is part of the reason we’ve come. You may have heard of my planet Zenith, which encourages and funds many research projects designed for the benefit of the human race—medical advances, agricultural developments, automated shelter construction for the poor on primitive worlds. As the official representative from Zenith, I heard the speech you presented at the Landsraad Hall, and I felt
compelled to see you in person.”

  “Ah, now I remember you. You spoke on the record.” At the time, the man had seemed weak and unimpressive, as if the fate of the human race could be boiled down to a simple schoolhouse debate.

  Ptolemy offered a smile. “Though I admit I did not agree with your argument, I respect your convictions and passion. A man must speak up when he has strong convictions—that is what makes humans great. We can agree on that? A bit of common ground?”

  “Only a starting point.” Manford wondered what these men intended.

  “I have to believe we can talk like reasonable men. Your impassioned speech gave me much food for thought.”

  “Good.” Manford folded his hands together on the desk. “Humans think. Machines don’t. The mind of man is holy.”

  “The mind of man is holy,” Anari murmured.

  “Our two sides have grown so far apart they no longer hear each other, Leader Torondo. What if you and I could have a frank and logical discussion? The human race would be much more productive, stronger, and happier if we find some kind of compromise. We shouldn’t work against one another.”

  Ptolemy’s smile was hopeful, and naïve. Manford did not smile back.

  “One does not compromise by cutting a thing in half. They are my core beliefs and principles.”

  The scientist chuckled nervously. “Oh, I’m not asking for anything like that! Please hear me out. We all know that technology can be abused, but it isn’t inherently evil. Some of our early experiments focused on growing sheets of polymer-based tissue to be grafted onto burn victims—Dr. Elchan’s work. The Suk doctors already use it extensively. But we have gone far beyond that. My associate and I have brought you a gift created in our laboratories on Zenith.” He gestured to the coffin-case that bobbed on its suspensors like a rowboat on a lake. “You’ll find it very beneficial.”