The young man spoke to Vor, sounding sheepish, “I didn’t get a chance to introduce you. She’s a princess.”
Harmona showed embarrassment, but Vor could tell she was proud of her station. “It is mostly an honorary title. Chusuk is generous with such things.”
Two of Harmona’s large bodyguards stood outside the doorway, and Vor found their presence reassuring, even though—from what he had seen in the performance hall—the warrior Sisters could likely defeat them.
Harmona continued, “Willem told me the tragic story of his brother. I used some of my resources to help you find that woman, and I’ve been working with the authorities all night to try to intercept her. I fear that she managed to escape off-planet, though. Apparently, she had a lot of allies here.”
He and Willem had come to Chusuk to hunt down the Harkonnen woman who killed Orry. It had been naïve to think she would be an easy mark, and that mistake could have gotten them killed. At the very least, they had lost her trail.
And now the Sisterhood was forewarned. They would shelter Tula.
“Good thing you had extra security,” Vor said. “I certainly didn’t expect her to be protected like that. If not for your bodyguards, the battle might have gone far worse.”
With a grim expression, Harmona read Willem’s medical chart. “This looks bad enough.”
“He’ll recover. He’s strong,” Vor said. “But we shouldn’t stay here long. Either we have to go after Tula Harkonnen, or we need to move before they come after us.”
Harmona placed her hand on Willem’s shoulder, and the attending doctor came close, shaking her head. “That one isn’t going anywhere soon, especially not off-planet. He’ll need at least a few weeks to mend.”
Barely conscious, Willem tried to argue, but his insistence made him swoon from the pain. Harmona eased him back down to the pillow. “You are staying here—under my care—until you are considered fit enough.”
Unhappy, Willem said, “But we have to go. Tula’s getting away—”
“I can go,” Vor said. “Let me do some investigating.”
“Orry was my brother!”
Vor shook his head. “And the entire Atreides-Harkonnen feud is my fault.”
It had been eight decades since he’d fought in the Jihad, when he spent each day in a constant state of heightened alert. After retiring from service—and from public life—Vor concealed his identity and vanished into his own legend. For a long time he had tried to be a normal man, clinging to an ordinary life in hopes of putting the horror and bloodshed behind him. But it had been foolish to hope he could simply become a common man again. He could never escape the events in the Jihad, nor could he escape the enmity that generations of Harkonnens held toward him. He could never run away from the fact that he was Vorian Atreides.
He guessed that by now Tula Harkonnen had been whisked off to Wallach IX. Her sister Valya was there, someone who also hated him. And if Tula was enfolded in the arms of the Sisterhood, Vor and Willem would never reach her. He feared they had lost their chance.
Unless he could entice them out.
Vor said to the Princess, “Stay here and watch Willem. He may still be in danger, so guard him carefully and get him the best possible medical care. I can pay for anything he needs.”
She shook her head. “Oh, he’ll receive the best care, and we won’t accept any money from you. I’m a member of the noble family here, so funds are not an issue.”
He nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I need to leave today—I’ll draw them out, find a way to get the Harkonnens focused on me instead of Willem.”
“I will keep him safe,” Harmona said. “He can heal on my estate, and no one will get through our security.”
Vor nodded. “When the time is right, I’ll send for him.”
Willem again tried to argue, but he was fading, both from the pain and from a powerful sedative the doctor had given him. Harmona regarded Vor with a pragmatic look. “For years your face was on Imperial coins—Vorian Atreides, the greatest hero of Serena Butler’s Jihad. My grandparents and great-grandparents spoke of you with admiration. It’s terrible what happened to Willem’s brother at the hands of that monstrous girl!”
“Someday this feud will be over,” he said. “I want to end it—without putting Willem at even greater risk. This problem is of my own making, and I have to take care of it.”
He had already begun planning his trap. Maybe he could lure Valya and Tula into coming after him. He knew they wanted him more than any other target. For his legacy and for House Atreides, he had to deflect the danger away from Willem.
Vor had spent a lot of time mentoring the young man, trying to envision him as the leader of the Atreides family. Yes, Vor could see it. In so many ways, Willem reminded him of himself, and he could still make something of his life. It was important for him to do so.
When Vor looked at Harmona, he knew he was leaving Willem in good hands. No regrets. “I am going to Corrin—a place where if the Harkonnens hunt me down, few innocent bystanders will get hurt. Maybe I can lure them to me, and turn the tables on them.”
Vor considered the former machine capital a private place, his place. He had grown up there under the glare of its red giant sun more than two centuries ago, so he knew the world well. Yes, that was where it should end.
He would not ask Harmona to keep the destination a secret—in fact, he was seeding careful and subtle rumors himself about where he was going, so that the Harkonnens would know exactly where to find him. Remembering how the Sisterhood commandos had appeared last night, Vor suspected their spies were still on Chusuk, watching. With luck, they would take the bait.
“Please see that Willem is well taken care of. I’m going alone.”
Hard measures are required in order to accomplish anything of true significance. When sculpting a statue, much of the stone is thrown away.
—MOTHER SUPERIOR VALYA HARKONNEN
Even as Mother Superior, Valya continued to hone her skills and make herself more competent, more and more dangerous. The new combined combat techniques were intriguing and exciting, and she made sure her Sisters were proficient.
Under the small blue-white sun, she watched as Sister Deborah, dressed in her flowing white Sorceress robe, addressed the uneasy Orthodox Sisters who had been recalled from Salusa Secundus. They stood together, wary. None of them knew what had happened to Esther-Cano; they only knew that their colleague was no longer there. So far, none of them had dared to ask about her.
Valya wondered how many of these stubborn women would have to be removed … permanently, in the same fashion.
The dark-robed Sisters stood on a rocky promontory overlooking the fledgling Mother School complex. When the traitor Dorotea had pulled the rebellious faction together, she’d convinced her Orthodox followers to become schemers and spies, whisperers of clever and insidious disinformation, but she had not taught them to be aggressive fighters. Observing them closely, Valya saw that they possessed considerable potential. It would be a shame to kill them all.
Some of the Orthodox women proved to be more open-minded than Valya had anticipated, willing to learn new ways of thinking. Those who aligned themselves with the rest of the Sisterhood would not have to be discarded; provided they were sincere, she would welcome them fully into the order.
Others, though, were reluctant to give their allegiance to her, which she found disappointing, though not surprising. These last prodigal Sisters had to be retrained, or broken. Questionable loyalties created friction and vulnerabilities that Valya could not afford, especially now.
Her close ally Deborah, with her bony face and darting dark eyes, often reminded Valya of a bird. Her lean, angular frame did not carry an ounce of fat. She was a ruthless opponent in combat, skilled in virtually all of the techniques Valya had brought to the school.
As the training continued, Deborah called for a volunteer among the Orthodox Sisters. “I will demonstrate a new way of fighting to add to your repertoire. In e
xtreme circumstances, you may need every weapon we can give you.”
Valya gazed out upon the assembled women, their hair flowing in a cool breeze on the promontory. She spoke up. “Think of the slaughter on Rossak. We must never let ourselves be helpless again.”
A slender woman stepped forward to volunteer, but a more muscular Sister pushed her aside. “No, I will do this.” Though she was only in her mid-thirties, Sister Ninke’s auburn hair was salted with gray. Ninke had once served with Valya as an assistant proctor under Mother Superior Raquella, before becoming one of Dorotea’s traitorous followers.
Now Ninke faced the Sorceress instructor with a confident expression, and Deborah nodded somberly. “I have observed you in training sessions, Ninke. You are at the peak of your physical skills, but you lack something important … the ability to be wary. Confidence can lead to weakness, and overconfidence leads to mistakes. Where are you on that spectrum of danger?”
Ninke rolled her eyes in disdain. “Shall I just stand here, or would you like me to go into a fighting stance?” She was trying to provoke Deborah.
The Sorceress instructor remained cool. “You seem unaware of the fact that every word you utter, every move you make, is filled with weakness. My method will enlighten you. Yes, go into your best fighting stance, and I will demonstrate its flaws.”
Ninke scowled at the verbal jab, but prepared for combat. Valya was quietly impressed with the way she held her body loose and poised, ready to leap in any direction. Ninke was fast—but not fast enough.
Deborah circled her practice foe, forcing Ninke to turn constantly to keep her instructor in sight. The Sorceress feinted to the right, which provoked a defensive move, and as Deborah drew back she did a smooth backward flip, followed by a quick forward flip, so that she stood a step closer to Ninke than before—all in a blur. Before Ninke could assess the new stance, the Sorceress repeated her movement, farther and faster this time, so that she landed behind Ninke and gave her a taunting slap on the shoulder.
Ninke whirled, but could not even glimpse her opponent. Deborah reached in and slapped the side of her head, moving so unexpectedly that Ninke could not follow her. Even observing, Valya could hardly keep track of the Sorceress. Deborah was so swift that she seemed to disappear entirely and then blur back into view.
Finally she stood behind Ninke again and said in a harsh voice, “Had we truly been fighting, I could have broken you with debilitating blows from any direction before you even knew where I was.”
Ninke nodded with growing anger. “This is like witchcraft.”
With a smile Deborah said, “Yes, our new fighting Way is witchcraft, and the most talented of you must master it—for the good of the Sisterhood. But our skills require tremendous concentration and force of will, along with abandoning the rules of motion that you previously thought you understood.”
Ninke seemed unwilling to accept her obvious lack of skill in comparison with her instructor. In training the intractable Orthodox Sisters, Valya had decided that one of them must serve as a prominent example, for the benefit of the rest. The intractable Esther-Cano had already been killed, but in private. Perhaps Ninke would be the example these others needed.
“Let me show you a simple technique of our Way,” Deborah said to the other trainees, and then she added to Ninke with a hint of scorn, “in slow motion this time, if that is what you require.”
Ninke’s nostrils flared at the affront, but the Sorceress ignored her. Deborah slumped to the ground, and as she got back to her feet she moved so smoothly she seemed to float on air. “Notice the liquid flow of muscles, just one constant motion. You must seek, and attain, utter relaxation, while your thoughts remain hyperalert. Your mind and musculature must be in complete synchronization. Try it yourself.”
Ninke attempted to repeat the movement, but without the finesse. Deborah laughed at the attempt, and when the Orthodox Sister got back to her feet, she struggled to contain her emotions, but failed. She was red-faced and angry. Valya knew this was what Deborah had been trying to accomplish.
“Try it again!” The Sorceress demonstrated once more by dropping to the ground, and then floating back up. “See how my muscles flow. Pay attention this time!”
Rather than making the attempt, Ninke lashed out with a sharp kick at the Sorceress, lightning fast, but Deborah was not there for the kick to land. Coming in from one side, she slashed a hard retaliatory blow onto Ninke’s forearm. All of the Sisters heard the sickening crack of bone. Rather than collapsing, Ninke struck out with her intact arm, but Deborah slammed into Ninke’s stomach, driving her backward. Falling, Ninke hit her broken arm on the ground and cried out in pain.
As the woman tried to struggle to her feet, Valya stood over her. The goading had worked. “No truly trained Sister would ever let herself be provoked into such rash responses. For your own good, stay down! If you get back on your feet, I cannot prevent Deborah from killing you. It was not wise to challenge her as you did. She was merely trying to demonstrate your weaknesses—for your benefit.”
Ninke glared up at Valya. “You intended for me to be injured. You arranged for it to happen—just as you found a way to eliminate Sister Esther-Cano. Will I be the next to die? Or do you think my wayward mind can be retrained?”
Valya was startled by the bold statement of facts. “I am your Mother Superior. Your fate is for me to decide.”
Ignoring the pain of her broken arm, Ninke struggled to a sitting position. She looked at the other trainees watching them. “It does not escape our notice, Mother Superior, that Orthodox Sisters are assigned the worst jobs. Two of our number have been forced to become unwilling birth mothers—is that meant to humiliate, or is it an integral part of your rumored breeding program?” She narrowed her gaze. “Where are the computers you use to keep track of the genetic records?”
“Dorotea embarrassed herself by making such ludicrous accusations,” Valya said, “and in doing so she nearly brought down the Sisterhood. Salvador’s thugs found no evidence to support her absurd claims, but still they killed many of us and drove us from Rossak—all because of wild, unproven claims. Watch yourself.”
“Just because they found nothing doesn’t mean the computers weren’t there. We never stopped believing they existed.”
“Believing something and proving it are two different things. Report to the clinic, Sister Ninke, and get medical treatment for your arm.”
Ninke backed away, favoring her injured arm but never taking her gaze away from the Sorceress, who stood poised and ready to kill at the Mother Superior’s command. Deborah’s blood was up, making her a dangerous weapon that needed to stand down and shut off.
As Ninke walked unsteadily toward the medical clinic, Valya called after her, “You will thank me one day for this, because it will make you stronger.”
* * *
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, Valya returned to the school complex to find Tula waiting for her at the private dining table. The watchers had delivered her safely from Chusuk, but Tula didn’t look pleased about it.
The young woman rose to her feet and bowed, as if Valya were a complete stranger. She showed no warmth at seeing her older sister, but this did not cause Valya to dampen her own enthusiasm. “I am delighted you’ve returned to us. Are you well? You look quite pale.”
“Tired from the trip, and from the trouble on Chusuk.” When Valya responded with a blank look, Tula added, “Two of the Atreides located me there, but they paid a price. You sent guards to watch over me, and they … took care of the threat.” She sounded resentful.
Valya drew in a quick breath. “Are the Atreides dead?”
Tula shook her head. “Injured only. Vorian and Willem.”
Valya caught her breath. “Vorian Atreides came after you himself? And you allowed him to live?”
“We were in a crowded place, with many witnesses, and security guards who got in our way. He and Willem were soundly defeated. That was enough.” Her voice hitched. “Don’t you think so too?
Can’t we put an end to the killing, or must it continue for the rest of time? Is that what you want?”
Scowling, Valya said, “I want the Harkonnens to be strong again, and that means the Atreides must be weak, or dead.” She brightened. “Even so, I am glad you’ve returned to us, safe. And now that we know for certain Vorian Atreides is looking for you, I will send out my operatives. We will locate him again, and next time I’ll use all the resources of the Sisterhood to finish him off.”
Instead of the happy response Valya had hoped for, her sister merely ate the rest of her meal in silence.
What some men see as aspirations, others see as obligations. Either way, we find ourselves trapped.
—DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, private conversation with his wife, Cioba
The loss of the huge spice bank on Arrakis was a disaster by any measure, and Josef had not even begun to calculate the second- and third-order costs to Venport Holdings. The initial investigation suggested that the raiders had used giant sandworms.
The stunning attack revealed a considerable vulnerability, of which he had been entirely unaware. Not only had the catastrophe cost him an incalculable fortune in spice to be sold throughout the Imperium, Norma’s Navigators would now face short supplies. And because she had pulled all of his battleships away from the siege of Salusa in response to the raid, Josef had lost that gambit as well.
A cascade of setbacks.
Knowing how much his great-grandmother valued and protected her Navigators, he wasn’t surprised she would rush off to save the spice bank—but, oh, the damage she had done in that moment of almost certain victory. It made the VenHold fleet look like skittish, impotent cowards, running away from Roderick Corrino and the half-Manford’s capering savages. The timing could not have been worse.
Now it would require all of his capabilities to rebound. The victory he sought was not about achieving wealth and power, but to safeguard humanity’s future. If he let the antitechnology fanatics win, the human race would certainly face an unprecedented dark age.
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