“He’s the Emperor,” Roderick said, bristling.
“I could bear your son,” she said quickly, her voice husky. “No one would ever know that you got me pregnant, rather than Salvador. Even DNA tests would show the same thing. No one would question it.”
“I would question it. And if you do not share my brother’s bed, he would question it, as well.” Roderick stood up and walked around the desk, away from Tabrina. Her expression grew darker, and he turned on her. “You are the Empress. Be happy with that. I already have a wife, a family. I don’t need to be something I’m not.”
“But it’s something you are!” Tabrina said, and Roderick held up a hand to cut off further conversation. His receptionist abruptly opened the door, and Tabrina lashed out at the old woman. “We asked not to be disturbed. You’re interrupting us.”
The woman looked past the Empress to focus her attention on Roderick, in a clear rebuff. He wondered if she’d been eavesdropping. “Prince Roderick, you gave me strict instructions to alert you the moment the chemical-analysis results arrived.”
Roderick thanked her. “Yes, I did. Empress Tabrina, I believe we’re done here. This is an important and private matter.” He looked hard at her until she finally submitted, and walked out of his office in an attempt at good grace.…
After Roderick read the test results on the vitamin supplement Zhoma had prescribed for Salvador, he went to see his brother right away. They had made a grave mistake, and needed to rectify it as soon as possible.
Moments later, Roderick appeared at the Emperor’s private study, chased away the guards at the door, and dismissed the handful of advisers and scribes who attended him. Salvador blinked owlishly up at him. “What is it now, Roderick?”
Closing the door so that they were alone, he said, “My brother, I’ve discovered a plot against you.”
The human brain is a fragile instrument, easily damaged, easily perverted.
—ADMONITION OF THE SUK MEDICAL SCHOOL
Anna Corrino survived, but remained in a coma for days, responding to no treatments, showing no sign of awareness. She was not dead, but the Sisterhood was in an uproar, fearing for the future of their entire order.
The Emperor’s sister was impulsive and unwise—the reason she’d been sent to Rossak in the first place. Though distraught, Reverend Mother Raquella saw nothing to be gained by blaming Valya, who had not watched Anna closely enough and therefore inadvertently allowed the girl to do something so inconceivably stupid. The Sisterhood did not look for scapegoats—it looked for solutions.
The unfortunate Corrino girl lay on a bed in the main medical clinic, uncomfortably close to where the vegetative failed Sister volunteers were kept alive. In adjacent, guarded rooms the brain-damaged survivors remained under close observation. Raquella wanted to summon Dr. Ori Zhoma immediately, pulling her away from Salusa Secundus to see if she could do anything to help Anna … but the Reverend Mother was not yet ready to let the Emperor know what had occurred.
There might still be time. She needed to be very cautious.
Dorotea herself had lain unconscious for days during her transformation, so Raquella did not entirely surrender hope. However, Dorotea had been strong, well trained, and committed … while Anna Corrino was none of those things. Anna’s condition was an unparalleled disaster, and all the lives in Raquella’s Other Memories could not tell her how to escape the certain Imperial repercussions.
Sister Valya had taken the tragedy personally. She spent every extra hour at Anna’s bedside, talking to her, touching the girl’s hand, trying to stimulate her back to awareness. As Raquella entered the room that afternoon, Valya looked pale and frightened. “Has Emperor Salvador been informed yet? How do you think he’ll react?”
“He sent his sister to us for safekeeping. When he learns about this, the Sisterhood could be in grave danger. Unless she comes out of the coma.”
Valya’s eyes narrowed, and she swallowed hard. “Perhaps if he never finds out exactly what occurred? We could say it was a tragic accident, that a predator attacked her during a jungle exercise, or that she fell from a slippery cliff path, like Sister Ingrid did.”
“But she isn’t dead, child, and even if she were that’s no excuse. She’s our responsibility.” In oppressive silence, they both looked down at the girl, neither of them speaking.
Suddenly, heaving a deep gasp, Anna sat straight up on the infirmary bed. Her eyes flung open, and she looked around without seeming to see her surroundings. Her mouth moved, and small, incomprehensible noises came out, growing louder—until Raquella realized they sounded like the voices of Other Memories that came and went inside her own head, as if Anna were channeling them. She seemed to be speaking dozens of nonsensical, overlapping conversations at the same time in Anna’s own voice.
Shouting for the medical Sisters, Raquella shuddered at the realization that Anna’s attempt to pass through the transformation might have left her damaged, like some of the other volunteers who had failed.
Perhaps it might have been kinder if she had died.
* * *
FOR THE NEXT week, the Mentat Karee Marques and several other Sorceresses monitored Anna, tending to her, nursing her. Though Anna had awakened, she might never recover, and Raquella knew she could not avoid letting the Emperor know for much longer, but she wanted a better understanding before she broke the news.
She called Valya and Dorotea—Reverend Mother Dorotea—to listen to the Sorceresses’ reports. Karee Marques looked highly agitated. “Anna’s jumbled voices have stopped for the most part, though they come in bits and pieces and finally fade away. When she spouts phrases, they are not always echoes from her other memories—sometimes she recites facts, random bits of learning such as historical lists, as if information is spilling out of her. She exhibits behavior similar to what was once called an idiot savant. She has an incredible capacity for certain details. She might prove to be useful, if she could learn to control the incredible flow of information.”
Sister Esther-Cano, the youngest of the pureblood Sorceresses, spoke up. “We have no idea how this could be, but Sister Anna has become an expert in the technology of foldspace travel. She has recited a wealth of information on all aspects of ship construction and operation, including the complexities of Holtzman mathematics and navigation chambers.”
Karee nodded. “We have verified the details to the extent that we could, and found no errors. She seems to know more even than the published papers suggest … quite possibly classified information that only Venport Holdings possesses. It is difficult to pull her focus away from such things even to feed her.”
Raquella clasped her hands in front of her on the desktop. “Does she discuss other subjects with any level of rationality?”
Karee shook her head. “She doesn’t seem interested in anything except foldspace travel—for now. She says she’s going to build her own ship and become a Navigator, so she can escape from this place forever.”
“She makes no secret about hating it here,” Sister Esther-Cano said. “She never wanted to come to Rossak in the first place, but was forced to.”
“Previously, she was emotionally unstable,” Valya pointed out, sounding nervous, “but this seems much different. I did report on prior indications of her mental quirks, such as how she was able to manipulate the movements of burrowers inside their hive wall, and she said she could also alter fogwood growth in the Palace gardens. Perhaps she had an odd kind of mental defense we did not recognize.”
Dorotea warned, “I know Emperor Salvador, and he will not take this well. He is quick to lash out and cast blame. We must be exceedingly careful about how we present this problem to him.”
Feeling like a martyr, Raquella bowed her head. “I am the Reverend Mother of the Sisterhood. I accepted Anna Corrino into my care, and I promised to protect her. Therefore, I will go to Salusa Secundus myself and give them the terrible news. Anna will accompany me to the Palace, but I will shoulder the blame personally, telli
ng the complete truth and asking for understanding. Maybe in that way I can save the Sisterhood, even if it costs my own life.”
Dorotea straightened, and Raquella sensed a change in her demeanor, as if she intended to take charge of the situation. “No, Grandmother. The Corrinos already know and respect me. Maybe I can salvage this. They valued my service—I should be the one to go. Perhaps I can control the message.”
“I can’t let you go,” Raquella said.
“I am a Reverend Mother now.” Dorotea’s voice was even, but the defiance was clear. “You don’t have to let me. I will do what I need to.”
Despite her own protestations, Raquella realized that the younger woman was correct. It was the best solution. She was disturbed by the insubordination, but Dorotea had indeed ushered many Sisters through the process of becoming Reverend Mothers … something Raquella had never been able to do. And in choosing the candidates carefully, Dorotea had strengthened her own power base within the order. She was ambitious, with obvious aspirations of leading the Sisterhood, and the trip to Salusa would look good on her resume. Was she making a power play? If so, it was a risky one.
Finally, Raquella acquiesced with good grace. “Very well, go to Salusa and take Anna with you. Your past experience with the Corrinos may well make you our best hope.”
* * *
VALYA ACCOMPANIED ANNA Corrino and Dorotea, along with two of the new Reverend Mothers, across the polymerized treetops to the area where the shuttles landed. Anna was pliable and cooperative, though she continued to mumble a stream of unintelligible phrases. Her eyes were vacant, her expression flat.
The shuttle was ready to go. The two Reverend Mothers helped Anna aboard after Valya gave the girl a nervous, unacknowledged goodbye. Before stepping up the ramp herself, Dorotea turned to Valya. “This is the time for you to make your choice. Will you be on my side when I return? Raquella is not the only one who hears the memory-voices inside. Many of us know the truth of history now, and we were not told an accurate version of events. Reverend Mother Raquella took terrible risks, gambling our souls—our human souls!—for her ambitions. I do not believe as she does, nor would I make the same decisions, especially about her precious breeding programs!” A growl of disgust curdled in her throat. “I know about everything, because among the other lives in my mind, I have some of Raquella’s own memories. When I inform the Butlerians, and they come in force to find the hidden computers that we both know are up in those caves, will you be my ally, or my enemy? Think about it carefully.”
Valya froze, feeling her skin crawl. “You took a loyalty oath to the Sisterhood. You can’t break your vows like that.”
A vein throbbed on the side of Dorotea’s temple. “As human beings, each of us has a higher calling to destroy thinking machines. I know the truth now, and I can hear the screams of all those generations downtrodden by Omnius. That came about because of hubris, because humans thought they could control the technology they themselves unleashed. We dare not let it happen again! ‘Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.’”
Valya intoned. “The mind of man is holy.”
Moments later, Dorotea boarded the shuttle and sealed the hatch behind her.
Some things are too big to hide.
—ANONYMOUS SAYING
The landscape near the Butlerian headquarters reminded Gilbertus of images he had seen of Old Earth in its ancient days, with rolling green hills, farm buildings dotting the landscape, and pasturelands with grazing sheep, goats, and cows. Even the animals were originally from Earth stock. The scene had a flavor of an old Van Gogh painting that Erasmus revered, Cottages at Cordeville.
Gilbertus and Manford Torondo enjoyed a sumptuous outdoor breakfast of fresh farm and dairy foods at the private house of the Butlerian leader.
Because of the great expedition he was about to launch to the Thonaris shipyards, Manford was surprisingly talkative. “If your projection is correct, Headmaster, we will have a great victory—just what I need in order to keep my followers energized. We will be doing a good thing for humanity. I’m glad you will be there to see this.”
Taking care to keep up appearances, the Mentat ate his breakfast even though he was not hungry. “I’m pleased you find the results of my projection worthwhile. But I would prefer not to accompany the fleet. I am not a military man, and I cannot abandon my obligations at my school. I still have important training programs to coordinate.”
As usual, he had hidden the memory core in his office, bidding the autonomous robot farewell and leaving with an uneasy feeling. He disliked leaving the Erasmus core alone, but he had no choice. Manford had summoned him. Gilbertus realized that, in a sense, he was working for two different masters, and both were invalids.
The Butlerian leader frowned at his answer. “Don’t you want to be with us, to see your Mentat projection proved correct?”
Gilbertus remained placid. “I know I am correct.”
“Then I want you there for my own reasons,” Manford said. “In case a recalculation is necessary.”
Knowing it was what Erasmus would have advised, the Mentat acquiesced without showing disagreement.
* * *
FEELING GREATLY OUT of place, Gilbertus stood on a platform next to Manford Torondo. In front of them, cheering Butlerians gathered on the vast, grassy field before the ships that were ready to lift off to orbit. The legless man sat on a palanquin on poles that rested on the shoulders of two men; his Swordmaster stood at his side like a guardian statue.
Manford beamed as he looked out on the throng. He glanced at Gilbertus. “And now, as I promised, it’s time to remove the stain from your name, Headmaster Albans, to show all these people that you are forgiven, a worthy follower whose loyalty cannot be doubted.” The crowd cheered.
Gilbertus did not feel an inner warmth from the praise, as he did whenever Erasmus complimented him. But he pretended nevertheless, glad that the reputation of the Mentat School had been restored.
Manford raised his hands in the air to quiet the crowd and shouted without artificial amplifiers, “Through Mentat analysis, Gilbertus Albans has discovered the location of what may be the most extensive shipyards ever constructed by the evil Omnius. With our enlarged fleet, we shall eradicate another blight left by the thinking machines. Stand in front of me, Gilbertus. Let these people see the Mentat who has revealed our next target.”
From the sound of the thunderous applause, Gilbertus knew this man could say anything, and the people would approve of it. Though uncomfortable with the attention, the Mentat took a step forward and stood in full view, while Manford continued to address the crowd.
“Recently, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, some people questioned the Headmaster’s dedication to our cause. Let us put those doubts to rest. Sometimes scholars can get caught up in the theoretical, while true crusaders focus on the practical. This man achieves both. He has sworn his loyalty to us, and his great Mentat School is proof of his goal to make us forever independent of thinking machines.”
In the midst of the commotion, Gilbertus had no choice but to stand there and receive the acclaim. Anari Idaho even handed him her sword, so that he could flourish it before the crowd, which made them even more excited. Understanding what they expected from him, and remembering the admonitions of Erasmus to do whatever was necessary to deflect suspicion from himself, Gilbertus shouted into the clamor: “On to the Thonaris star system!”
As a Mentat, accustomed to deep thinking and long consideration before acting, he felt out of balance here with the firebrand leader, who made so many of his decisions on an emotional basis. Demolishing the abandoned shipyards would not be a real clash that required Mentat battle projections, but Gilbertus knew that when the place was destroyed, the crosshairs would shift, and the Butlerians would look elsewhere.
Yes, there would always be a target, and Gilbertus didn’t want it to be him.
Anger, desperation, vengeance, regret, forgiveness. It is difficult to s
um up one’s life in a single word.
—VORIAN ATREIDES, PRIVATE JOURNALS, ARRAKIS PERIOD
The desert people were going to kill him—Griffin had no doubt of that. He could fight an opponent hand-to-hand, could stand up for himself … but he could not best an entire tribe.
It had been ten years since Valya jumped into the arctic sea to rescue him, and almost that long since he’d saved her from the drunken fishermen. He and his sister were a strong team, a surviving team, but they were not together now to help each other. Strangely, he worried more about her than about himself, and he hoped she could endure the loss if he died here on this sandblasted world.
The Freemen had taken him against his will to their secret hideout, and now that they had their answers, they would not simply return him to Arrakis City with a smile and an apology. Even though the Naib had ordered his outlaw followers to dump Griffin and Vorian Atreides in the desert, Griffin thought they might reconsider and slit his throat, drain his blood, and take his water as a resource for the tribe. That much he had learned in his short time on Arrakis. He recalled how efficiently the people in the alley had killed the robber and taken the body away. The desert people considered outsiders to be little more than walking bags of water.
He knew they would get away with killing him, no matter how they did it, and no one would notice the man from Lankiveil missing from his rooms—the proprietor would assume he had skipped out on his lodgings.
Griffin had been about to return to his icy homeworld and use his remaining money to buy passage … but at the last minute, by a strange twist of fate, he had found Vorian Atreides and confronted him. It was at least the partial victory that Valya had wanted—but Griffin wouldn’t be going home to tell anyone about it.
Sisterhood of Dune Page 48
