Dune: The Machine Crusade
Page 41
He shrugged impishly. “Usually.”
Leronica regarded him soberly, hands on her hips. “Virk, I think you might be pursuing me just because you believe I pose a challenge.”
“No,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster. “I pursue you because I find you fascinating. That is the absolute truth.”
She studied him with eyes that reminded him of Serena, and gradually the skepticism melted away. She put her hand over his, and her expression softened. “All right, then. I believe you.”
* * *
THE JIHAD ENGINEERING team remained on Caladan for more than four months, excavating a new base on the uninhabited, windswept headlands several hours by methcar north of the fishing village. The position was best for uplink to the new network of surveillance and communications satellites in orbit.
The jihadis built watch station towers and barracks for the contingent that would remain here. Personnel would be rotated out every few years, but this would be their home for now, as they kept vigil against the depredations of thinking machines. Vor also sent survey crews to complete a full mapping of the continents and oceans, providing the first detailed database of Caladan’s weather and currents. He was glad he could help improve the lives of these people….
Walking on the coastal headlands above the Sea of Caladan, Vor extended his hand to assist Leronica on the steep path. She didn’t need the help, but he enjoyed simply holding her hand, touching her strong fingers and playing the part of the gallant gentleman, a concept that few of the hardy local fishermen had ever considered.
“The weather is pleasant here, with fresh air and a sea that provides all the food you could want,” Vor said. They stood shoulder to shoulder, feeling the salty breeze on their faces. The silence was not uncomfortable, but refreshingly pleasant, without expectations.
Leronica looked around, as if trying to see what attracted him so much to this rugged place. “Familiarity bleaches the bright colors from a landscape. I spend most of my time thinking of other places, not this one.”
“I have traveled extensively, Leronica. Believe me, Caladan is a gem, a secret best kept from the rest of the League of Nobles. I’m surprised this planet isn’t more heavily settled.”
“We’re not far from some of the Synchronized Worlds.” Leronica climbed beside him, her brown mass of curls ruffled by wind. She often tied back her hair when she had to work in the tavern kitchens or brewery, but Vor preferred her flowing tresses displayed freely. When she had finally permitted him to run his fingers through her ringlets, the sensation had proved even more sensual than he had anticipated.
“So far Caladan hasn’t been enough of a target for Omnius to convert it into a machine-dominated planet, but we still suffer occasional raids by cymeks and robots.”
“Politics and tactics are interesting,” Vor said, “but other things are important to me, too. I feel a need right here.” He pressed a fist against his solar plexus, then looked around. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to build a great house here on the cliffs overlooking the village?”
Leronica laughed. “I know all about your League of Nobles, Virk. On Caladan we can do without our own local nobleman, thankyou.”
“Even with you as my lady, Leronica? And me as your baron, or count, or duke?”
“You, a common soldier-engineer, as a duke?” She swatted him playfully. “Enough of your nonsense.”
Holding hands, they walked along the path among thick bushes that sparkled with starry white flowers. Over the months while he’d been stationed there, they had become lovers and, more than that, close friends. Leronica had a beauty and a common sense that made her exciting to him in a way Vor had not felt since his all-consuming love for Serena Butler. The flirtation of other women in far-flung spaceports had maintained his interest for a few years, but as he spent every free hour with Leronica, he found himself growing more fascinated with the things this fresh-faced and wise— though not intellectual— woman could teach him.
* * *
FINALLY, WHEN THE Jihad observation station was completed and test messages successfully sent to the picket ships around the Caladan system, Vor knew it was time to take his team away and prepare for their next assignment. He would have preferred to remain behind on the peaceful, watery world, pretending to be a typical soldier, but the Primero knew he must lead his fleet again. Part of him wanted to stay, to escape the horrors of the Jihad. But in a short time that pretense would have made him miserable, and Vor Atreides was not the sort of man who could live a lie. He had already done enough of that in his life.
He had grown restless after staying in one place for so many months, and the only thing that made him regret his imminent departure was this remarkable woman. Leronica Tergiet was a simple person, without airs, and Vor found her genuine affection refreshing, without pretensions or agendas.
My dear sweet Leronica.
Against his instincts, on their final day before his departure with the fleet, Vor decided to reveal his true identity to her. After they had made love through the long, sleepless night, he felt it important to give something back, to share an honesty with her that rivaled the clear openness she always offered him.
“Leronica, I’m not just another soldier in the Army of the Jihad, and my name is not Virk. I am… Primero Vorian Atreides of the Holy Jihad.” He looked for a glint of recognition in her eyes, but saw only troubled curiosity and confusion.
He continued, “I was the one who rescued Serena Butler from Earth and took her and Iblis Ginjo back to Salusa Secundus. That was the beginning of the Jihad.” He said this not to impress her, for he had already won at least part of Leronica’s heart; he said it because he wanted her to know the worst and the best about him. “You’ve heard the story?”
“I’ve got enough troubles with my father, the fishing harvest, the tavern,” she said, and Vor realized that the locals were primarily concerned with the movements of schools of fish and algae tides, not to mention the monstrous electrical elecrans that lurked beyond the horizon to prey on unsuspecting fishing boats. “Why should I bother with old news and distant battles? Oh, a few of our young men have become jihadis— and I suspect your crew will go away with another handful of strong recruits who will soon regret leaving the fishing harvest and our young maidens.” She looked over at him in the darkness, propping her head up with a bent elbow so that her palm disappeared into her thick brown curls. “So, you say you’re the cause of all this, then?”
“Yes, I was raised by the thinking machines. I was a trustee human on Earth. My father was…. the cymek Agamemnon.” He paused, but noticed no reaction of disgust on her face. “The Titan General Agamemnon.” Still no reaction. They didn’t seem to get much news on this somewhat remote world.
Like pouring water into an empty vessel, he told her more. He described his upbringing, including his journeys on the Dream Voyager to Synchronized Worlds and his participation in the Jihad and all the battlefields across the Galaxy where he had faced the thinking machines.
As she lay in bed beside him, Leronica’s eyes glinted in the flickering orange light of a candle, not a glowglobe. “Vorian, you are either a man with much experience and memories… ora practiced liar.”
He smiled at her, then leaned over to kiss her. “I might argue that the one does not preclude the other, but I promise you I am telling the truth.”
“This doesn’t surprise me. I knew you had greatness in you; I just thought it would come sometime in the future.” She paused. “But don’t start making promises to me or you’ll begin to regret our time together, and I don’t want that.”
“There is not the remotest possibility of that,” Vor vowed. “But now that you know my real identity, Leronica, it would be best if you kept it a secret.”
She raised her eyebrows, as if offended. “So the great Primero is ashamed to have taken the local fisherman’s daughter for his woman?”
He blinked in the candlelight, suddenly realizing how his admonition must have sound
ed, and then he laughed. “No— quite the opposite, in fact. I’m doing it for your safety. I am an important man, with dangerous enemies. They would rush to undefended Caladan and try to harm me through you. My own father would do anything to hurt me, and I believe there are many human servants of Omnius who would be eager to discover that Vorian Atreides has fallen in love.”
She blushed, and he stroked her arm. “Our love is too wonderful. I can’t let it be used against us as a weapon.”
She sighed and snuggled against him. “You are a complicated man, Virk— Vorian. I’ll have to get accustomed to your name. I don’t understand all of the strange politics and vendettas of your holy war, but I will honor your request… on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“Describe all the places you have seen, the exotic worlds I will never visit. Take me to them in my imagination. Tell me of Omnius worlds and glittering machine cities, of Salusa Secundus and the beautiful capital of Zimia. Describe the canyons of IV Anbus and the gentle rivers of Poritrin.”
Holding her close, Vor spent hours telling her of the marvels he had experienced, making her eyes grow wide as he painted pictures in her imagination. All the while, in his own heart, he held the growing wonder of this unassuming young woman and the mounting intensity of his feelings for her.
Years ago, he’d been consumed with love for Serena Butler, but came to realize she was an idealistic figure, an unrealistic vision of perfection he had formed in his mind, because she was so different from the other slave women kept by the machines. Now Serena’s lover was the war itself, the Holy Jihad. She would never again give her heart to a man.
Seeing how devoted Octa was to Xavier, Vor had longed for such companionship himself, but had never been able to take the necessary steps to achieve it. This Leronica Tergiet was different from any previous paramour. She was not judgmental, and her problems remained close to home: running the tavern, keeping the boats maintained, worrying about the fish harvest. She didn’t understand a conflict that spanned star systems.
“Someday I will show you all those places,” Vor promised, “and perhaps I will come back and settle down. I find myself wishing for a simpler life like you have here.”
Leronica shot him a skeptical look. “Shame on you, Vorian Atreides. You could never be happy on Caladan. I don’t ask any more than you can give. Please do me the same favor.”
“All right.” He maintained the happy expression but felt crestfallen. “If I asked for your hand in marriage, you’d simply call it more of my nonsense anyway, wouldn’t you? Even so, I know I have to leave soon, but I promise to think of you often. I sincerely hope that I can return to Caladan and spend time with you again. Much more time. You are incredibly important to me.”
He kissed her, and she gazed back at him with her dark pecan eyes, making an impish frown. “Nice words, Vorian, but I don’t believe for a minute that you haven’t said them to a hundred girls on a hundred planets.”
Vor put his arms around Leronica’s waist, pulling her close. He said with all the sincerity in his heart, “True enough… but this time I honestly mean it.”
Pain is always more intense than pleasure… and more memorable.
— A Saying of Old Earth
Before morning light pierced the shadows of the river canyon, a storm of Dragoon troops swept in and surrounded Norma’s laboratory complex. Jet-powered assault boats roared upstream and penetrated deep into the narrowing canyon. Armed flyers swooped down from above. Gold-armored troops marched forward with heavy equipment and easily broke through fences that had been erected to discourage the curious.
The thirty mercenary guards hired by VenKee saw that they were outnumbered and outgunned ten to one. Tuk Keedair stood inside the compound at the edge of the large hangar and railed at his tiny force to drive back the invaders, but the guards decided that the Tlulaxa man wasn’t paying them enough, nor was he a person for whom they would willingly die. After a few moments of tense standoff, the hired guards threw down their weapons and opened the main gate.
In furious despair, Keedair crumpled to his knees in the graveled work-yard. He knew the potential of Norma Cenva’s work, understood that she had been within days of testing the space-folding prototype vessel. And now they would lose everything.
Norma’s Buddislamic slaves stopped in their tracks to stare at the Dragoon force. Many of the workers showed veiled resentment toward the official Poritrin guard, recalling when the oppressive gold-armored troops had crushed the rebellion led by Bel Moulay almost twenty-seven years earlier.
Emerging from her calculation rooms, Norma stared at the flurry of unexpected military craft, armed flyers, and marching soldiers. Then a hover platform cruised over the smashed fences, carrying a satisfied-looking Tio Holtzman at its helm.
When the Savant disembarked at the warehouse doorway, he confronted Norma. “By order of Lord Bludd, I have come to inspect these facilities. We have reason to suspect that you may be performing unauthorized development based on research done under my auspices.”
Norma blinked at him, not comprehending. “I have always done my own work, Savant. You never showed any interest in it before.”
“Perhaps I have reason to change my mind. Lord Bludd has instructed me to confiscate everything I find here and inspect it for possible violations of your contractual limitations.”
“But you cannot do that.”
Rolling his hazel-colored eyes, Holtzman indicated the overwhelming force of Dragoon soldiers that had swarmed into the complex and secured the buildings. “The data suggest otherwise.”
He strode past her into the experimental hangar and came to an abrupt halt, staring in disbelief at the large, laughably old cargo ship surrounded by workers on platforms. “This? This is your big project?”
Marching forward for a closer look, the Savant climbed a temporary metal stairway on the side of the ship. At the rear of the vessel, he stood at a high railing and peered down into one of two open engine compartments. “You have stolen my seminal work, Norma.” He poked his head into the mechanics. “Explain to me how this apparatus uses my Holtzman Effect to fold space.”
Intimidated and reluctant, she followed him while the Dragoon guards remained below. “That… would be difficult, Savant Holtzman. You have admitted that you do not understand the fundamental field equations yourself. How is it a misdeed for me to develop something you do not understand?”
“Do not misquote me! Of course I understand it!”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Then explain the Holtzman Effect to me yourself, now.”
His face purpled. “The depths and subtleties of the concept go beyond even you, Norma.”
Gathering her resolve, she said, “VenKee will challenge this action. Your intrusion here is in violation of our agreement and of the laws of Poritrin. Tuk Keedair will file a formal complaint. All of this work belongs to his company.”
Holtzman made a rude, dismissive gesture. “We’ll see about that. The
Tlulaxa’s visa has been revoked. And you, Norma, are no longer a welcome guest on Poritrin. After you have finished detailing everything for me, the Dragoon guards will escort you back to Starda. We’ll arrange a spacecraft to take you away.” He paused and smiled. “The cost of your passage will be billed to VenKee Enterprises, of course.”
With his Dragoons looking on, Holtzman spent half the morning examining piles of blueprints and a shelf full of electronic notepads. Occasionally he asked her questions, most of which she refused to answer. Finally he announced, “I am confiscating these notes to study them further.” When she objected, he wagged a finger in her face. “You’re lucky I don’t have you thrown in prison instead of just exiling you from Poritrin. I can always speak to Lord Bludd.”
Norma had never hated this man before, had always assumed she and Holtzman had interests in common. She could not believe her own eyes as she watched the Savant sifting through her research with all the finesse of a rubble-clearing machine.
WHILE HOLTZMAN’S APPRENTICES ransacked her laboratories and removed important documents, Norma and Keedair were hauled off by Dragoons, to separate holding quarters in Starda City. The accommodations were comfortable— not prison cells, at least— but she felt like a caged animal.
Norma was not allowed to speak to her Tlulaxa associate at all, but she did have the freedom to send transmittals off-planet… since none of them could arrive soon enough to make any difference. Even with the most optimistic estimates, months would pass before the slow spaceships could bring any answers.
Still, for three days, Norma wrote out desperate messages, imploring Aurelius Venport for help, dispatching them on every outbound ship. She had no idea which vessels might encounter the powerful merchant first, but she needed his assistance desperately. She needed to have him here.
Norma felt very alone.
Slaves brought her a fine meal, but she had no appetite for it. Nothing could diminish her anger toward Tio Holtzman, her former friend and mentor. She had never experienced such unjust treatment, not even from her disapproving mother. After everything she had done to boost the Savant’s status and reputation, now he showed her no gratitude whatsoever. He had used her, taken advantage of her creative genius.
Worst of all, she doubted he would ever be able to reproduce her work, and it would all be wasted. The space-folding project could not be allowed to fade into complete obscurity!
While she waited for a ship to transport her to Rossakin exile, Norma had time to consider matters that had never concerned her before. Previously, her work had been all-consuming, and she’d hardly paid attention to anything else. Now she wished she had not been so politically naïve.
All the respect she thought she had earned over decades of dedicated service had been snuffed out like an ember ground beneath a boot heel. Lord Bludd and all of Poritrin— even most of the League— believed that Holtzman himself had been responsible for all of her accomplishments, and that she had been no more than a “minor lab assistant.” Banking on his established reputation, Holtzman had the unwavering support of Lord Bludd. Norma had never had time for politics or currying favor.