Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  The physical form drifting in the nutrient fluids reminded her of marble statues around the palace square in Zimia, but Anna could only think of it as Erasmus now. Erasmus! Her secret friend, her savior, her most steadfast companion, the one who had saved her from the dark and confusing mental labyrinth where she had been lost.…

  She glanced at the pulsing gelsphere resting on the table, connected to its sensory apparatus. “That will be you as soon as it’s finished.” She divided her attention between the growing body in the tank and the robot’s detached memory core, uniting them in her mind.

  “I have been without an appropriate body since the Battle of Corrin,” Erasmus said. “I miss my original flowmetal form, but removing my memory core from it was the only way for Gilbertus to save me from the mobs overrunning our city. Now I am eager to have the ability to move around as I please, to see and touch and experiment at will. The added biological component will be fascinating, I am certain.”

  Erasmus had been a comforting presence at the Mentat School whenever she drifted off to sleep, a wise and friendly voice that spoke through a secret conduit in her ear, advising her, testing her, helping her through the turmoil in her shattered mind. She would have been lost without him.

  “I can always help you, even before your body is ready.” Anna bent close to the gelsphere as if whispering in his ear.

  She knew her mind had been damaged from the poison she had taken at the Sisterhood school, but did not consider herself to be foolish or overly gullible. She knew all the stories, had read the history of what the independent robot had done to his human captives, but she was also pleased that he found her fascinating. He had helped Anna in so many ways. How could she not forgive him?

  The robot continued, “Dr. Danebh says the body will be ready in nine days for the implantation of my memory core. The waiting is difficult. I am tempted to power down my processor clock, stop my own subjective time, and wake up when the body is ready. I want to see with my new eyes, walk with my new legs, and feel temperatures, textures, pleasure, and pain with my new hands.”

  Anna said quickly, “Please don’t shut down in the meantime. I can keep you company. Won’t it be interesting for us to discuss what you can do with a biological body? I have so many ideas, so many suggestions.”

  She regarded the biological tank and the human body suspended there. She tapped the smooth, transparent walls, but the naked male form drifted away, bent in a partial fetal position, its arms and legs curled up. “I wonder what it’ll be like to touch it, to feel skin—and know it is you.” Her breath fogged the curved plaz.

  “I wonder if it will make me feel more human to be in a human body,” Erasmus mused. “Theoretically, it should.”

  She brightened. “You know it will! You’ll sense with nerve endings, feel what real people feel. It won’t just be data. At last you’ll be a real person yourself.”

  “I conducted tens of thousands of experiments and collated so many experimental results in my attempts to understand humans, but still something has always been missing. Some key factor keeps eluding me … a parameter that cannot be measured by even the most advanced laboratory apparatus.”

  “You’ll feel the difference,” Anna said.

  “I anticipate sharing many results with you.”

  “And I’ll assist in every way possible.” She let out a long sigh.

  Erasmus spoke as a disembodied voice. “When I see that body growing in the tank, I see only Gilbertus Albans, and it makes me feel … heavy.” He paused, as if troubled or confused. “I am experiencing an indefinable set of reactions that I suspect would be broadly categorized as sadness.”

  Anna’s expression fell. “I’m so sorry, Erasmus.” His sensors shifted, and she knew he was reading her face and identifying the genuine sympathy there. “Gilbertus was a good Headmaster,” she said. Her gaze flicked back and forth. “He wanted to help me, wanted to make me a Mentat.”

  * * *

  ERASMUS HAD BEEN analyzing and manipulating humans for centuries, all for the purpose of fully understanding them. Such an intriguing species! The evermind Omnius, who held dominion over the machine empire, had let him conduct thousands of experiments so the thinking machines could defend against the capricious human enemy. But Erasmus had always yearned for more.

  Since the collapse of the Synchronized Empire, his overall purpose hadn’t changed, but because he was the last independent robot, his need to understand humanity had taken on a personal urgency.

  After centuries of research with the vast resources available in the machine capital of Corrin, Erasmus once thought he had conducted every possible test. But after the barbaric execution of Gilbertus, he had finally experienced a true breakthrough.

  With his perfect memory, he could replay the images of Anari Idaho’s brutal sword strike, how the blade sliced smoothly into Gilbertus’s bowed neck and decapitated him. The robot struggled each time he reviewed the images, and most of all he couldn’t comprehend the strange look of calmness on Gilbertus’s face in the final seconds, the beatific acceptance that his life would end.

  What had he seen in those final moments? What had he known?

  That mystery posed an even more compelling question, making Erasmus desperate to experience what was missing inside him … a level of nobility and perception that all humans possessed even without trying. Perhaps with a perfect biological body he would experience the secret by feeling his nerves, his heart, all his senses. As a sentient biological organism—or as close as he could get to becoming one—he would know what it was like for warm tears to stream down his fleshy cheeks. He would absorb existence … the mysteries of life … in the same way that even strange, confused Anna did.

  And once he assessed his new sensations, he wondered if he would be able to detect something so esoteric as the soul. It seemed possible to him, and he intended to look for it with all due diligence.

  I am driven by cold hatred, my emotions encased in ice.

  —MOTHER SUPERIOR VALYA, “The Resurrection of House Harkonnen”

  The supply shipment to the Sisterhood school brought an unexpected message from Lankiveil, a panicked recording from Danvis. Valya was consumed with planning the long-term growth of the order, yet a part of her mind always remained focused on restoring her Great House to glory … and completing her revenge against Vorian Atreides.

  But now the Atreides had come to her own family home! They’d gone there hunting for Tula, and threatened her parents, as well as Danvis! Shock and anger burned bright inside Valya.

  Her sister had stayed on Lankiveil for a brief time before slipping away to Chusuk, as if running away from something. Maybe she had known Vorian Atreides would come after her. The Mother Superior’s operatives had discreetly followed Tula, continued to watch her, and they had secretly arrived on Chusuk as well. Valya was confident that the young woman would come to her senses eventually.

  But now Vorian Atreides was after her! He and Orry’s brother Willem had shown bloody images of the revenge Tula had achieved for her family honor. Valya understood the implied threat—what would stop Vorian Atreides from murdering her family for revenge? Fortunately, Tula was long gone before they arrived, but the Atreides men had been in her family home!

  In his message, Danvis sounded angry and frightened, but he clearly didn’t comprehend the magnitude of the threat Vorian posed. Her sister was unaware of the grave danger she was in on Chusuk, and Valya needed to help her. The Harkonnens had to protect their own. The Sisterhood had to protect its own. She would send more watchers to guard Tula.

  As Valya felt a knot of tension tightening inside her, she needed physical exertion to burn off her restlessness. She hiked away from the main school complex and climbed the rugged escarpment of Laojin Cliff, from which old Raquella had threatened to leap if the feuding Sisters did not resolve their differences. Valya had an entirely different kind of resolution in mind now.

  Her mind swirling, she made her way up the steep path to the
rough training ground at the rocky summit. She could sense danger in the air as the dedicated women took risks.

  On the summit a group of advanced Sisters in white robes—all elite daughters of Rossak who carried ancient Sorceress blood—sparred and tested themselves. Most of the Sorceresses had been killed in the long Jihad against the thinking machines, and more had died afterward when Emperor Salvador attacked the old Rossak School. The few remaining Sorceresses in front of her were special assets with strong mental powers, and they trained in ways more rigorous than other Sisters would dare attempt.

  They practiced edgy, over-the-top fighting techniques developed long ago in the Rossak jungles, and Mother Superior Valya encouraged them to continue their training so they could instruct other women. In her vision for the Sisterhood, Valya wanted to synthesize many different combat methods into a new way of fighting that no one else could practice. Someday, Valya might find herself pitted against Vorian Atreides. Her lips curved into a grim, hard smile. She intended to be ready.

  On the rugged ridge, she also saw three white-robed trainees stationed on ledges below the lip of the cliff. Sister Deborah, a lean and angular Sorceress, stood watching them. “Mother Superior, welcome. Have you come to participate in the exercises?”

  “Not today. I just want to observe.” She was still preoccupied with Danvis’s report and hoped the sparring would settle her. Valya stepped close to the precipice to see the Sorceress trainees conducting their hazardous routines near the sheer drop-off. The three Sisters seemed to be showing off for her, engaging in dramatic leaps and practice attacks, landing on narrow ledges. They used nudges of telekinesis to balance themselves on the tiniest spaces.

  “Impressive,” Valya said to Deborah, “but these feats are impractical for Acolytes who do not have the Sorceress bloodline or abilities.”

  The white-robed woman smiled. “We have a less demanding practice ground on the other side of the slope. Follow me.”

  Deborah led her along the crest trail to where a line of Acolytes waited at the verge, ready to tumble down a steep slope. Though it was not a sheer cliff, the practice slope still looked treacherous; this was not just a test of physical ability but agility, balance, and swift reflexes. Valya had undergone this herself, and expected nothing less from her initiates. If a young woman used her training, conditioning, and intelligence during the fall, she would reach the bottom with little or no injury. If not, she would be broken.…

  The first two Acolytes had already plunged over the edge, rolling and springing back to balance on the ledges, dodging boulders, and continuing to the bottom as swiftly as they could. Somehow, both trainees managed to survive and even show grace, ultimately landing on their feet at the base of the sheer rock wall.

  The third Acolyte, however, experienced trouble shortly after she tumbled over the verge. She made it neatly to the first ledge on the course, then lost her footing when a loose rock broke away. As the trainee tumbled out of control, a Sorceress observer sprang into the air and used telekinesis to cushion and guide her plunge. With her white robe and long, flowing hair, the Sorceress plucked the Acolyte off the slope just as she was about to smash into a jagged rock outcropping. Together, they reached the bottom, where the shaken and bruised Acolyte stood on unsteady feet.

  Valya turned to observe the rest of the young women who were lined up for their tests. When she saw the next Acolyte hesitate before throwing herself over the edge, she snapped, “What are you worried about? Your enemy is fear, not the fall. I have ensured that someone will rescue you if you lose control.”

  A flush suffused the young woman’s cheeks, and a quick flash of anger lit her dark eyes. “With due respect, Mother Superior, it is the opposite. I cannot experience—and conquer—my fear if I know a Sorceress will swoop in and save me should I fail. I want to face the full risk, so that I can develop as quickly as possible.” She lifted her chin. “Tell them not to help me.”

  Valya smiled with surprise. “Mother Superior Raquella said something similar to me once. What is your name?”

  “Sister Gabi, Mother Superior.”

  Gabi reminded Valya of herself not so long ago—young, brash, and anxious to advance. She raised her voice for all to hear. “This Acolyte is completely on her own for the exercise. No Sorceress is to assist her in the fall—no matter what happens.”

  Deborah leaned close to ask in a low tone, “Is this wise? If she is killed, it might demoralize the others.”

  “This must be a real proving ground, and a memorable event will make it even more so.” Each Sister was taught to focus on the attainment of perfect bodily control, mastering their reflexes, their movements, one muscle at a time. Anyone who knew the techniques could easily survive such a fall with grace.

  As Gabi stood on the edge, mentally preparing herself, the Sorceress spotters withdrew along the slope. The young Acolyte shot an appreciative glance in Valya’s direction, and without further hesitation, hurled herself down the precipitous slope. She rolled and dodged, controlling her plunge so well that she seemed to flow over the ground. She avoided the sharp rocks, landed briefly on tiny ledges, rebounding and continuing down, until she reached the bottom and landed on her feet, breathless and triumphant.

  Energized by the success, more Acolytes followed Gabi over the edge, demanding no rescues, and many did not fare as well. At the end of the exercise, two had suffered broken bones, several with lacerations, and one experienced a concussion. But none of them died.

  “One should never expect to be rescued,” Valya said to Deborah as they watched the end of the exercise.

  A wave of sadness overtook her. No one had saved her brother Griffin from the evil Vorian Atreides.…

  For hours, Valya had let her mind work through her own treacherous obstacle course, with dangerous consequences for failure. The Atreides knew that Tula had assassinated Orry, and now they were hunting for the young woman.

  Even so, she realized that Vorian could have attacked and killed her family on Lankiveil, but had refrained from doing so. He was a difficult man to understand.

  Valya wouldn’t make the assumption that they were safe now. She would send Sisters to Lankiveil to watch over her family, in case the Atreides returned. She couldn’t leave her family vulnerable, although she doubted if Vorian would come back to do them harm, now that he had forfeited his chance.

  House Harkonnen must not remain in the shadows forever: eight decades of disgrace was long enough. At the same time, Valya needed to protect her family—every one of them.

  Memory may be a safety net, but forgetfulness is a blessing.

  —TULA HARKONNEN, songs from Chusuk

  Chusuk’s scars from the Jihad had been nearly erased. The planet had been a smoldering wreck after the brutal thinking machines were driven out, but with songs of victory and freedom in their hearts, the survivors had reclaimed their world, rebuilt their cities. The people focused on universities, festivals, cultural expressions, and craft guilds that built the finest musical instruments in the Imperium. Chusuk had become a planet of art and poetry, as if the nightmarish subjugation of the thinking machines had altered the psyche of the population, inspiring them and providing emotional depths for them to draw upon.

  Tula Harkonnen could try to forget her own dark past here, vanish into everyday life, and exist as a normal young woman with a quiet demeanor and shy disposition. No one on Chusuk knew who she really was … any more than the people of Caladan had known when Valya sent her there to seduce and murder Orry Atreides.

  Now, she dressed in plain clothes and bound her long blonde hair back. Tula was too beautiful to be invisible, but she tried not to draw attention to herself. When she played her family baliset, she was proficient enough that people stopped and listened, while some skilled practitioners offered her some advice.

  No one could see the blackness that surrounded her heart. The young woman had been so fierce a fighter, so focused on reclaiming Harkonnen honor against the vile Atreides that she believed
everything Valya told her—and did as she was commanded.

  But each night now as she went to sleep in her lonely bed on Chusuk, Tula thought of her traumatic wedding night, of how handsome Orry had looked dozing beside her, languid and fully vulnerable after their lovemaking … unprepared for the sharp, swift edge of her knife.

  Initially she had not questioned the mission, but once it was complete and she returned to Wallach IX, she had begun to wonder about what she’d done. Following orders like a soldier, Tula had killed a young man whose only crime was that he had Atreides blood in his veins. But young Orry had been isolated on Caladan all his life, generations removed from the harm that Vorian Atreides had committed against their great-grandfather. Orry had known nothing about how Griffin had died on Arrakis.

  Valya had been vehement, though: “Only the death of an Atreides innocent can begin to repay the crimes that Vorian committed against our family.”

  Tula wasn’t foolish enough to think that the price had been paid in full. Every day that she recovered here on Chusuk, she expected Valya to dispatch Sisters to find her. Ostensibly, they would claim they were coming to “protect” her and bring her back to Wallach IX so she could continue her training and go after the Atreides again, in another way. But now Tula was afraid of that training. She was also sure that Vorian and Willem Atreides would try to track her down to kill her. An unending cycle of violence.

  Tula’s emotions swung like a pendulum. She just wanted to be left alone and forget she was a Harkonnen, forget she was anyone at all. But she doubted that was an option. If Vorian ever found her, he would make her pay the ultimate price … and if Valya found her, she would make Tula pay in a different way.

  Tula liked to bring her baliset into the market, where she would find a place under the colorful awnings. She played songs—not to attract an audience, but simply to create music near other poets and musicians who did the same. She chose favorite tunes of the fur-whalers on Lankiveil, songs no one on Chusuk had ever heard. She also created her own melodies, exploring the music with her fingers and imagination.