Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  When the worker finished adjusting the voice amplifier, Valya dismissed him and focused her attention on the gathered women. Some were already her elite, others would become that in time, while some might not make it at all. But they were all her followers, her Sisters, and she felt a certain affection for them, although she knew that love itself was a dangerous weakness. She would have to be careful.

  The speaker system carried her words across the silent throng. Some of the audience shivered in the cold, while others were more adept at controlling their metabolisms. “We stand at a critically important time for the Sisterhood. It was Mother Superior Raquella’s dying wish that our factions be reunited, the rift healed, and I intend to lead my new Sisterhood united through a bright time of growth and strengthening.”

  As she spoke, snowflakes fluttered through the air, a few at first, and then a thickening mass. Valya glanced up at the clouds. Perfect. The weather predictions had been accurate.

  “We must place more Truthsayers and Sister Mentats in the noble houses of the Landsraad League—make ourselves indispensible to the Imperium. Not only will this generate revenue for us, it will also make us vital to very influential people.” She allowed a smile on her face. “But that is only a stepping-stone. We have much greater plans in store.”

  Snowflakes settled on the attentive Sisters. The Reverend Mothers and Sorceresses could ignore the cold and the wet, but some of the Acolytes struggled against their increasing discomfort. Valya had no sympathy for them; they would have to learn, or die.

  “Your training will not be entirely mental and philosophical. I have developed new fighting techniques, which I’ve taught to many Sisters already. They will now train you. You will all be expected to master those skills.” We will never be weak again, she silently vowed, not individually nor collectively. Filled with determination, she remembered how they had been scattered from Rossak by Emperor Salvador and the antitechnology fanatics.

  Sister Ullora, one of the Reverend Mothers recently recalled from the Imperial Court, brushed snow from her hood. “Considering the weather, Mother Superior, perhaps this is a day better spent inside with other forms of instruction? Politics? Economics? Memorizing the Azhar Book?” She frowned at the blowing snow. “Some of the Acolytes are suffering.”

  Valya did not conceal her annoyance. Ullora had been far too loyal to Dorotea and had publicly disparaged Raquella and her “ragtag women” at the new school. Valya’s reply was withering. “Combat is neither a courtly dance nor a pleasant, springtime conversation.” She added just a hint of her new Voice control. “You will fight when I command it.”

  Ullora flinched, paled, and seemed to shrivel physically. She looked down in shame. The rest of the women showed their faith in Valya. Yes, she had them well in hand. As Mother Superior, she had to be firm with them. “Training may be harsh, but the rewards are worth the effort. We in the Sisterhood are the elite of all women, together as one, closer than any other friendship or loyalty. As individuals, many of you are already deadly warriors. Side by side, we are even stronger.”

  Several Sisters began to applaud, but Valya dismissed the distraction, wanting no empty cheers. An icy wind cut across the grassy area, and she saw Acolytes securing their robes tightly around their bodies, while others stood still and endured. Snow fell harder now.

  “Our Sisters may be assigned to noble houses, but they remain loyal to us and gather intimate information which we can use. The greatest power is the unseen and unexpected power.” She heard a murmur of concurrence in the assemblage, saw heads nodding.

  “Our focus shall also include powerful business interests, traders, philosophers. Our influence must spread to backwater planets, where we can use indoctrination and conversion methods. Passive or uneducated populations will be swayed most easily.”

  Cold wind whistled through the voice-amplification system. From control decks, the huddled male technicians adjusted the electronics, so that her words remained powerful and clear.

  “We will dispatch specialized Sisters as missionaries to such planets to plant seeds of superstition that can protect the future of the Sisterhood. Because beliefs among such people are often more powerful than knowledge, we will observe their fears and folktales and thus guide them so that they—unknowingly—begin to think and believe along lines that are useful to us.”

  By now, with the heavy snow collecting on the ground, even the Reverend Mothers struggled not to shiver. It was a useful observation. In addition to the many regimes of intellectual and psychological study, each Sister should know how to control every nuance of her body, including her core temperature. Cold such as this should be no more than an inconvenience. Valya noted which ones seemed most able to endure the discomfort and decided to choose them as the women best suited for the challenging work on primitive worlds. They would be the first such missionaries.

  All the pieces would fit together, wheels within wheels within wheels. Yes, the Sisters would become so much more than Raquella had ever imagined! The Sisterhood had been whipped too often, had served others too often. The new Mother Superior would insist that they be active, not passive. To outsiders, they would continue to look subservient and useful, but internally they would have their own powerful agenda. Valya’s agenda.

  We will be invisible, but still strong. We will have the power, not the glory.

  She would create a harsher, edgier Sisterhood of women willing to use any tool or weapon they possessed—mental skills, ruthless combat methods, even seduction and manipulation. And the Sisterhood would become an extension of her personal goals for House Harkonnen. As the order advanced, so too would her Great House … and the historical injustices committed against her family would be reversed.

  She only wished Tula would be part of it, but her sister had gone home, at least temporarily. Tula seemed unsettled, and Valya hoped the young woman would come to her senses quickly, leave her self-imposed exile on Lankiveil, and become a strong member of the Sisterhood again. Tula might need firm encouragement … but Valya’s patience with her had not run out. Not yet.

  In any event, she had discreet operatives who were subtly keeping watch on the girl, just to make sure Tula did nothing foolish. It was best not to take chances.

  The wind howled as the storm became a blizzard, but she knew that a far more powerful storm was coming. Valya shouted, “Now strip down to your fighting clothes, all of you. It is time for combat training.”

  When immersed in the vivid memories of actions I have taken, I can revel in them or regret them, but I cannot undo them.

  —TULA HARKONNEN, lament written on Chusuk

  Though Lankiveil was her home, Tula felt that any sanctuary was only an illusion. She had trouble grasping who she really was anymore, and didn’t know how she could find her own purpose in life. Was she her own person, or the Sisterhood’s pawn … her sister’s pawn?

  Valya had transformed her into a weapon of vengeance, but that weapon had already been fired, and it was time to either reload or discard it.

  Tula sat near a warm fire in the Harkonnen great house. Outside, the skies were overcast, and a chill spring wind ruffled the water in the fjord. Her father and his crew had gone out on a three-day fur-whale hunt, but Tula remained home with her mother and brother, Danvis. They were glad to have her home, and Tula felt calmer in their company, although she pretended to be much more content than she actually was. She constantly jumped at shadows, always watching for someone dangerous and unexpected out of the corner of her eye—possibly Vorian or Willem Atreides. She knew they would never let her rest after the bloody scene she had left behind on Caladan.

  Tula spun the flywheel of her baliset and toyed with the strings, strumming familiar childhood songs, but the music did little to soothe her heart. Danvis sat down next to her with an uncertain smile. “I remember that one! I forgot that you could play the baliset so well.”

  “It’s been a long time … a long time since I’ve had a reason to play music.”


  Her brother was sixteen now, with black hair and dark blue eyes. The two of them were as close as brother and sister could be, maybe even as close as Valya and Griffin had been before Vorian Atreides killed him. Now, as Tula’s thoughts began to ricochet down that dark hallway, she tried to focus instead on the music, and then on Danvis, who made her realize how sweet and innocent she herself had been before Valya reshaped her into a deadly tool.

  Her family had no idea what that training had entailed, how Tula had been taught to use her every manipulative and sexual skill in order to ensnare one particular young man on Caladan: Orry Atreides.

  After killing Orry as instructed, Tula had returned to Wallach IX, where she received Valya’s deep appreciation, but she’d been disturbed and unhappy instead. Valya clearly didn’t understand her mood, nor why Tula wanted to go home to Lankiveil to recuperate. Even here, her family was full of questions about what had happened, where she had been, and what she had done. Tula remained tight-lipped.

  “Is Valya coming home soon too?” her mother pressed, cheerful and thinking small.

  “Valya is never coming home. She is the Sisterhood’s Mother Superior now. She has larger concerns than our welfare.”

  No matter how she tried, Tula could not hide from her own guilt. She spent a lot of time now with Danvis, who was still her best friend, and he could sense that she was troubled. He wasn’t shy about asking questions, even after she told him she didn’t want to answer, and he kept pressing. Once, when her agitation made her drop her guard, she let slip, “I got married,” then clamped her mouth shut again.

  After that, Danvis peppered her with more questions, but she refused to reveal Orry’s name or speak about his gentle personality, his foolish-looking smile—and all that blood. Killing the Atreides had been her mission, and Tula had not dared to disappoint her sister. Under other circumstances, though, Tula might actually have grown fond of the young man.

  Danvis watched her play the baliset for a long time and then blurted out, “I’m applying for a position in the Imperial Court.” The interruption made her falter on the strings of the instrument. He continued in a rush, “Valya used to tell me that she hoped I might do this someday, and I don’t want to let her down. I don’t want to let House Harkonnen down. It’s a great opportunity! Emperor Roderick is filling his staff with members of the Landsraad, and now that our family is stronger, we can regain the political ground we lost.”

  Since their disgrace at the end of the Jihad, House Harkonnen had suffered hardship on top of hardship—which Valya blamed squarely on Vorian Atreides, although their standing had also fallen because of unwise commercial decisions their father had made. Thanks to a recent infusion of wealth from an unknown benefactor, their family was on solid financial footing again, but Valya had not forgotten her grudge against the Atreides—and she made sure her sister would never forget either.

  “I’ve never been to the Imperial Court,” Tula responded to Danvis.

  His eyes sparkled. “Won’t you tell me where you went instead?”

  She concentrated on the baliset, generating a soft melody. “What does it matter? I’m here now, but I can’t stay on Lankiveil for long.”

  Danvis looked disappointed. “Will you go back to the Sisterhood school?”

  “No!” she answered, too quickly. Hadn’t she done enough? What was she to do now? If she returned to the Sisterhood, Valya would undoubtedly give her another murderous mission.… “Please don’t ask me any more questions. There are things I can’t share, not even with you.”

  “You’re my sister. You shouldn’t need to hide anything from me.”

  “You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I still have to.”

  Tula didn’t dare tell her brother what she had done, what Valya had forced her to do. She had been ruthless in her mission—Valya was proud of her—but ever since fleeing Caladan, Tula had discovered a surprising thing inside: her own conscience. During these days on Lankiveil, she was trying to remove the blindfold of Sisterhood programming.

  She retuned to the baliset and began to play a song that the musicians on Caladan had performed for her wedding ceremony. She remembered gazing with well-masked hatred upon Vorian Atreides, who had not recognized her. And young Willem, who looked so proud to see his brother getting married. And Orry beside her … handsome, gullible Orry, intoxicated with love and stunned by his apparent good fortune. He had so looked forward to their wedding night—as had Tula, but for different reasons. Such a pity that he had to be an Atreides.

  She recalled Orry talking about his dreams, his plans for their long life together. Tula had limited any discussion of their future, because she knew that the future held only death for Orry. She remembered the sweetness of his kisses, the beautiful time they had shared on their wedding night—before she’d stabbed him and slashed his throat, then bounded out through the night streets to hunt down Vorian Atreides as well. She had barely escaped Caladan with her life.

  Now she was back in the shelter of her family, but she could not stay here. Vorian and Willem Atreides would surely track her down. Or Valya would. She didn’t know which of the two possibilities bothered her more.

  Her mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “I made honeyflower pastries for dessert. Those were always your favorite.” Her mother smiled, but questions burdened her eyes.

  Tula felt a wave of nostalgia. If only she could remain here and act like a child again, without a care in the world. “Thank you, Mother. That’s very kind.”

  Since coming home, Tula had been curt with her mother, volatile enough that Sonia Harkonnen knew something was wrong. But Tula couldn’t explain anything to her, either.

  Danvis jarred her from her thoughts. “You stopped playing.”

  “What would you like to hear?”

  He thought for a moment. “‘The Lost Whaler’s Song.’”

  “That’s a sad one.”

  When her brother shrugged, Tula realized that he was less familiar with sadness than she was. She envied Danvis for his comparative innocence. She had once felt satisfaction in knowing she had a purpose. But everything had changed.

  She tried to remain calm, setting the baliset aside. She had been working on a decision in her mind. “I can’t stay here. I have to leave again and go far away.”

  He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are we in danger? Our family?”

  She looked at him long and hard, surprised that he had sensed something. “Possibly. But far less than I am. Demons are chasing me, and I can’t get away from them if I stay here. They’ll find me.” She swallowed hard. “And Valya scares me too.”

  Danvis looked disturbed, but she couldn’t reveal any details that would make it better for him. If she confessed what she had done in the name of House Harkonnen, her brother would be appalled; their parents would be horrified and ashamed of her. Better that she kept it all inside herself.

  “Lankiveil isn’t where I need to be. I realize that now. I have to find a place without memories for me … entirely without memories.” She glanced down at the baliset. “I think I’ll go to Chusuk. I have heard good things about that world…” Her voice trailed off.

  Danvis stared, obviously yearning to understand what was wrong with her. He laced his fingers together.

  She thought again of how handsome Orry had looked. Tula had awakened in the quietest hour, as planned, and gazed at his peaceful face as he slept, so satisfied and content. So unknowing. She had given him that happiness at least, before completing her mission. His expression had changed terribly as soon as she stabbed him in the chest—

  She drove that image from her thoughts, choosing to focus instead on his handsome face, even though Valya insisted the blood was the part she should remember, in the name of House Harkonnen.

  In Tula’s mind, there was no way to make vengeance a pretty picture.

  Before long Emperor Roderick will come to his senses and beg me to restore the use of VenHold ships. Without my Na
vigators, the Imperium will lose too many carriers and people in foldspace; too many missions will fail. It is only a matter of time.

  —JOSEF VENPORT, conversation with his wife, Cioba

  Now that Vorian had arranged passage on the next outbound spacefolder, they would be leaving Kepler soon. From all indications, this unobtrusive branch of his family was safe; Harkonnen operatives had made no outside inquiries or threats. No one had seen any newcomer matching Tula’s description.

  He was relieved, but not surprised. His life on this isolated planet had been quiet, unremarkable, and invisible. He had meant to hide from history here for all those years. How would the Harkonnens ever learn of his family’s existence here? How would Tula know enough to come here to strike at other members of his family?

  It had all seemed far-fetched. And yet Vor needed to see for himself. Ignoring the possible threat to these innocent people was not a mistake he wanted on his conscience. Now, at least, he felt reasonably sure.

  He had dispatched anonymous warnings to Atreides households, including an image of the young Harkonnen murderer. Vor couldn’t reveal too many details without exposing his or Willem’s identities, but at least his extended Kepler family now knew to watch out for her. Tula would never be able to come here and do what she had done to Orry, and Vor was satisfied with that. He and Willem had succeeded.

  Now they could go on the offensive.

  He felt a warm wistfulness just having seen his family again, remembering happy days here. If circumstances had been different, he could have stayed here without a care for the rest of the Imperium, could have forgotten his past and vanished into obscurity. But it was time to take a more active role beyond just waiting and watching. Willem was right in wanting to hurry things up: They should be tracking down Tula, rather than merely hovering in the shadows on Kepler. Justice needed to be served.

  If Tula wasn’t actively trying to eliminate Vor’s extended family, she might have fled back to the Sisterhood school and the protection of her sister Valya—in which case, he and Willem had little chance of breaching the Wallach IX defenses. Or perhaps she had returned home to the Harkonnen holdings on Lankiveil—Vor felt that was their best chance. He decided that was the next place to go.