Yet the beaten woman remained pathologically stubborn.
Valya had interrogated Esther-Cano for two hours that afternoon, improvising original methods when the traditional ones had failed. There would be no crude and clumsy torture implements such as the Scalpel interrogators used. No, this prisoner was an accomplished Truthsayer and a Reverend Mother, but Esther-Cano had no defense against the manipulative power of Voice that Valya had mastered.
Testing her abilities, Valya showed that she could overcome Esther-Cano with mere words. Sharpening her verbal weapons, the Mother Superior attacked her subject with vocal jabs that subdued her and turned her into a bleeding wreck on the floor. Valya had not laid a finger on the other woman, but her soft hypnotic Voice had convinced Esther-Cano that the sound was tremendously loud, rather than the whisper that it really was, and the mere suggestion of noise had actually destroyed the inside of her ears. Amazing and unexpected! When Esther-Cano returned to consciousness she would realize that she was completely deaf.
After the rough session, Sister Olivia would come in to help handle the unconscious prisoner, although even faithful Olivia was not allowed to learn about the use of Voice. Not yet. Valya had used the technique on Olivia, too, making her forget that she had ever received the eerie, irresistible command. Now Olivia returned, looking confused as to why she had gone. “Would you like me to take over now, Mother Superior?” She knelt beside the unconscious woman. “Oh, she’s bleeding! What happened to her ears?”
“Perhaps they could not stand to hear any more of her own lies.”
Olivia rose to her feet. “Shall I summon the medics?”
“Not just yet.”
Valya was learning her own abilities, experimenting with the effects. She wondered just how much physical damage a person could psychosomatically inflict on her own body. Could the victim’s mind cause subconscious constrictions to stop her own heart, burst her liver? Maybe the intractable traitor Esther-Cano could be useful to the Sisterhood as an experimental object.
On the cold floor, the woman began to stir, clutching at her ears and whimpering in pain. Seeing the blood smeared on her hands, she struggled to a sitting position, glared at the Mother Superior. “What have you done to me? I can’t hear my own voice!”
Valya leaned over and spoke softly, knowing the woman could not hear her. “I was trying to toughen you. I must teach you the proper way of thinking, of seeing the world.”
Esther-Cano seemed to be having trouble even sitting up, perhaps from dizziness. She shouted her reply. “I don’t understand what you’re saying or doing to me, but your actions are corrupting the Sisterhood. Mother Superior Raquella would never have condoned this! I can’t believe Dorotea ever agreed to rejoin your faction of heretics.”
Valya smiled and continued to whisper, “Dorotea did what she was told.” Then she rose to her feet and turned her face away from the victim, addressing Olivia, “Kill her.”
Olivia recoiled. “But why? She needs to be retrained, rehabilitated—”
“No, I will spend more time training you, developing your expertise. And killing is a skill we need in our repertoire now. This woman—she is no longer worthy even to be called a Sister—is too tainted to be useful, except in one way. She can serve the Sisterhood as a lesson to you—one that you will pass on to others.”
“What do you mean?”
Valya’s voice became throaty, otherworldly. “Kill her.”
Olivia obeyed reflexively. She delivered a kick to Esther-Cano’s larynx that snapped her neck, followed by a quick finishing blow to the center of her face, crushing her skull. Olivia blinked in astonishment at what she had done.
Satisfied, Valya returned to her living quarters, where she would enjoy dinner alone in celebration. She had just made another step in the progress of the new Sisterhood. Her new Sisterhood.
It seems as if we are going in a circle: we are chasing the Harkonnens, and they are chasing us.
—WILLEM ATREIDES, comments recorded by Vorian Atreides
Lankiveil was cold and cloudy, its air laced with frigid mist. After Abulurd Harkonnen’s exile here, Vorian had come to admire the Harkonnens for their fortitude in this windswept, backwater place. Recently, they had even begun to thrive.
Vor had not asked to become their enemy, but Abulurd’s descendants had painted him into that role. He and Willem were taking a grave risk by coming here, but Tula had slain Orry, and if she was on Lankiveil, they would hunt her down—for justice, and to keep the rest of his family safe.
Arriving in the main town in the sheltered fjord, both men wore warm clothing of the local style so they would not look out of place. As the pair tromped along a wooden boardwalk into the heart of the village, however, the effort to look unobtrusive was in vain; the locals spotted outsiders at first glance.
Vor could tell that Willem was growing angrier by the moment, staring at the townspeople as if he considered all of them to be murderers. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder to steady him, but he could feel the thrumming tension inside him. “Careful,” he said.
“Careful, yes,” Willem said, “but I won’t forget.”
The wooden buildings were weather-beaten, their metal roofs corroded. Not long ago Vor had stayed here for a month in disguise, after Griffin’s tragic death on Arrakis. Vor had considered the young Harkonnen man a friend, and had wanted to see how the family was faring. Under an assumed name, Vor had worked alongside Vergyl Harkonnen on a whale-fur boat. He had performed grueling chores without complaint, and afterward, knowing the family’s dire financial situation, he paid off Harkonnen debts anonymously. In his mind, Vor had done a good thing, and had felt better for it.
Then Tula had seduced and murdered Willem’s brother.
As the two bearded men continued through town, the large, weathered Harkonnen house was prominent along the shore of the fjord, at the far end of the docks and the cluster of shops and inns. Willem stared ahead as if he had seen the lair of a beast. “Is that it? Is that where Tula lives?”
Vor looked at the shingled house with its pointed, sloping gables in the distinctive architecture of Lankiveil. He knew there would be a cozy fire inside; Sonia Harkonnen and her servants would fill the house with the smells of cooking and baking. If Vergyl wasn’t out on his whaling boat, he would be in his study attending to the family accounts. “That’s where her family lives,” Vor said. “We don’t know whether or not Tula’s there herself.”
“Then we need to find out. Before she can get away.”
Vor looked up to see the sky darkening with an oncoming aurora storm; beyond the fjord cliffs, he could see flashes of color. He knew the weather would rapidly get worse. “Later. We’d better find shelter for now.”
On the fjord, the Harkonnen great house loomed tall. Several lights burned in the windows in the afternoon gloom as the aurora storm worsened.
Willem’s expression darkened. “We’ve been spotted in town already, and someone might ask questions. We can’t wait. We’ll have to go to the Harkonnen house and see if Tula is there, before she can bolt.”
Vor took his arm and led him toward an inn only two blocks away from the house. “If she’s there now, she will stay inside during the storm—as we should be doing.” They walked up the creaking wooden steps of the inn’s entrance. “We’ve come all this way. Wait until the weather clears, ask more questions, find out exactly where we stand … and find out if Tula’s here at all.” He opened the inn’s door, stepped inside.
Willem seemed reluctant. “But think about it—if we take our vengeance sooner, the storm will give us cover to help us get away. If they resist, we may have to kill the rest of her family, and good riddance!”
“No,” Vor said. “Only the guilty ones—only Tula, unless we find proof that more of them took part.” The sky crackled overhead, and the wind picked up. He wasn’t sure how many additional Harkonnens, if any, were involved. Tula had the most obvious blood on her hands.
The innkeeper ca
me into the foyer, rubbing his hands, as Vor entered. The man had a forced grin, but looked harried. “One room left, if you want to keep warm and safe from the storm. The staff and I are sealing the windows and preparing the generators, so we should be fine.”
Vor nodded. “Yes, my nephew and I would like a room. Probably just for one night.”
The innkeeper’s face showed sudden alarm, and he shouted past Vor. “You don’t want to go out there! And close the door!”
Vor spun to find the door wide open and the wind blowing into the foyer. Willem had ducked back out of the inn and set off up the street. With an angry sigh, Vor headed after him, calling Willem’s name, but his voice was lost in the increasing wind and commotion. Though it was only afternoon, the sky had turned dark, and more lights had come on in the houses and shops.
Willem had rushed ahead, determined, running up the reinforced stairs to the front porch of the Harkonnen great house. He pounded on the door, shouting, as Vor finally caught up to him.
The door, emblazoned with the familiar Harkonnen griffin crest, swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman in a fur-lined housecoat. She looked surprised to see Willem, his hair windblown and his face flushed. “What are you doing out there? You shouldn’t be—” Then Sonia Harkonnen recognized Vor, and called him by the false name he had given during his last visit. “Jeron! Come in out of the weather.” She gestured them inside. “Who is your young friend?”
Willem stalked into the parlor, and Vor followed, grabbing his arm. “Wait!”
Willem looked around, glared at the older woman. “We’re here for Tula.”
“Tula isn’t here.” Sonia appeared confused. Her eyes widened as she seemed to notice the young man’s dark expression. “She left for Chusuk days ago. I’m afraid you missed her. But come in, come in!” She called down the hall as she took them into the parlor. “Vergyl! Jeron has come back!”
Feeling trapped, Vor tried to intercept the young man who was coiled for violence. “This is Willem. He’s my nephew.”
“Willem Atreides!” The young man threw it out like a challenge just as Vergyl Harkonnen emerged from the study.
The older man had a welcoming smile that changed as soon as he heard Willem’s outburst. “Atreides?” Vergyl looked from the flushed young man to Vor. “Jeron, what is he talking about?”
Sonia’s expression visibly altered: revulsion and fear covered by shock. “He is an Atreides? And he’s your nephew, truly?”
Vor paused, his thoughts racing, and then he reached a conclusion. He added in a strong voice, “Yes. My real name isn’t Jeron Egan. It’s Vorian Atreides.”
Vergyl Harkonnen stumbled, resting a hand against the wall for support. He looked stricken. “Vorian Atreides—the man who murdered our poor Griffin!”
Now that Vor had his chance, he tried to explain. “I didn’t kill your son. I tried to protect him. We were actually friends.”
Sonia gave Vor a fierce scowl. “Why did you come here? Why did you use a false name? To spy on us?”
“At first I came to check on you, to make sure you were surviving. I saw to it that Griffin’s body was returned home for a proper burial. I wish I could have saved him from the violent people who were after me. I have done everything possible to atone.”
Vergyl snorted. “Atone?”
Impatient and angry, Willem pulled himself free of Vor’s grip. “Your daughter Tula married my brother on Caladan. She seduced him, tricked him—and then murdered him on their wedding night. She is a killer, and she escaped justice.”
Sonia and Vergyl were both shaking visibly. “Tula on Caladan? Married? And you accuse her of murder? What in the nine hells are you talking about? Our sweet daughter would never harm anyone!”
Willem reached inside his pocket and grabbed printed images, which he scattered on the floor in front of Vergyl and Sonia. Beautiful wedding portraits showing Tula and Orry, the happy couple. And gory images showing how young Orry lay slaughtered in his bed. “She told my brother she loved him, then she slashed his throat as he lay sleeping.”
“You’re lying!” Sonia cried.
“She was acting so strange…,” Vergyl said in a small, lost voice.
“Tula has to pay the blood price,” Willem said. “The Harkonnens have to pay.” He reached for the long Caladan knife he kept at his waist.
Vor seized his arm. “Not these people. They did not kill Orry.”
As Sonia and Vergyl stared in shock and horror at the images, trying to deny what they saw, Vor took the knife away from Willem and dragged him back to the door. “We need to leave now.”
“No!” Willem struggled, but he was no match for Vor. “Someone has to pay for Orry!”
Vor leaned close and hissed in the young man’s ear. “We know where she is now! Chusuk. These people are not responsible for her crimes.”
Old Vergyl picked up one of the horrific images, staring at it. “No, no, no!”
As Vor pushed Willem out the door into the rising storm, behind them in the Harkonnen house another young man emerged, drawn by the shouts. Danvis—a pale teenager who looked alarmed and unsteady. “What’s happening?”
Willem struggled, but Vor was firm, pushing him out into the streets and fury of the weather. “Not here. This isn’t our target!”
Vor felt the crushing shadows all around him, and he needed to leave. He and Willem had just shattered the lives of these good people—and if Tula was long gone, it would do no good for them to stay any longer.
“We have to get off this planet—and make our way to Chusuk.”
Outside, the aurora storm had arrived in full force, reflecting colorful shimmers that dropped along with the clouds in the sky. The clatter and hiss of hail struck the roofs and the paved street, while signs were torn away by the wind. Yet Vor felt that the storm itself was preferable to staying inside with the devastated Harkonnens.
In any universe, nothing is perfect—be it human, machine … or other.
—NORMA CENVA, spice-induced ruminations
Norma Cenva resided inside her tank of swirling orange spice gas, but she lived primarily within her mind. Her physical body was merely an appendage, of secondary importance. She required her biological machinery to survive, but she immersed herself so deeply in esoteric matters that she rarely thought about her body at all.
Her chamber rested on a dais overlooking the other Navigator tanks on Kolhar, on the outskirts of the capital city. Since returning from Arrakis, she had felt restless and disturbed within the ripples of fate, and even with her expansive thoughts, she could not understand the reasons for her discomfort. The large and fortified spice stockpile would help stabilize their supply, and now that Josef had tightened his control on the desert planet, melange harvesting and distribution should grow.
With the supply of melange, the future for her precious Navigators should be stable and bright … but she still felt grave concern for them, and for mankind.
Gazing toward the VenHold headquarters towers in the distance, she transmitted her wishes to her handlers—failed Navigator candidates with varying degrees of physical abnormalities—and they responded immediately, without questioning why.
The handlers arranged a heavy suspensor hauler to carry her tank across the gray sky, delivering it to the roof of the VenHold headquarters tower. They deposited the ornate chamber on the high rooftop, secured it, and then left her alone, as she requested. Unlike any other Navigator, Norma could have transported herself with her own abilities, but that would have disrupted her complex train of thought.
She felt she was on the verge of a revelation, an epiphany … possibly a specific warning.
Ever since she had rescued Josef from the Imperial Palace on Salusa Secundus after his role in the assassination was exposed, she had monitored the ongoing crisis in the Imperium, assessing second- and third-order consequences. But even with spice prescience, she experienced troubling blind spots that prevented her from seeing certain events and choices. Even prescience hel
d imperfections, too much uncertainty, and for the sake of her Navigators, she needed to know.
This perch on the giant tower gave her a new perspective, from a cosmic standpoint. She gazed outward, and her mind extended beyond the limitations of human vision into the deepest tapestry of space-time. It was like a much larger version of the gas inside her tank and in an infinite variety of colors, with swirling nebulae and galaxies, so beautiful but challenging to her as well, for the difficulties they presented to her prescience.
She strained to envision all the way to the other side of the universe, and from there she peered back at herself with a powerful sense of reflective vision. From that infinite perspective, she gazed down upon Kolhar and her field of developing Navigators. Their tanks sparkled in the bright morning sun. Hundreds of Navigators, tank after tank, stretched across a wide, grassy field.
The universe is ours.
As her concerns knotted into questions that tangled into paradoxes, she needed this different vantage to help her find new solutions to serious problems.
Even though Josef had secured a stronger grip on Arrakis and had created the strategic spice bank, Norma was troubled by his recent rash of increasingly aggressive actions, which could well have unpleasant reactionary consequences. He had swept through the Imperial guard forces left behind on Arrakis, destroying Imperially sanctioned contract operations and seizing the profits for himself.
Norma agreed with the result of such actions … but not the provocative nature of the actions themselves. Roderick’s retaliations would cause more problems. Surely, Josef could see the danger. It did not require prescience to predict the Emperor’s response.
Josef considered himself invincible, but Norma could foresee possible disastrous consequences—and how they would affect her Navigators. Through a sudden spark of clarity, she recognized that they were all in the gravest danger!
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