Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 35 (Every memory has a trigger)
Every memory has a trigger.
– Mentat observation
Vorian was invisible, just an average person on Lankiveil – and he liked being treated that way. When he worked with the Harkonnen patriarch, he kept his eyes open, understanding this man, knowing how much his past actions had harmed the family. Yes, Abulurd had earned his own disgrace eighty years ago, but not for all future generations.
Vor could help, if he found the right way. He didn’t want to be applauded, welcomed, or even forgiven. He just wanted to repair some of the damage he had left in his wake. For now, the Harkonnens accepted him, made him feel welcome, but they had no idea who he really was.…
Fur-whales were not as large as he had imagined, but they were dangerous, especially when being hunted. The majestic creatures could dive deep into the cold waters and escape, or they could turn on a pursuing boat and inflict serious damage.
The whales traveled in predictable migration patterns, clustering together as they cruised for food. In such groups, they could not escape the high-tech nets and stunners used by the Harkonnen hunters, but when the whales were corralled in the nets for the fur harvest, they could exhibit great power. Many hunters had lost lives or limbs from the beasts fighting to survive.
“Watch out for their pectoral fins.” Vergyl Harkonnen stood next to a motorized winch on the aft deck and shouted over the noise of machinery. “Razor sharp. They can cut off your arm like a scimitar.” He nodded while Vor and his fellow crewmen secured the net, taking care to avoid the thrashing fin that was sawing through strong metal mesh. “They’re prehistoric creatures, the top of the marine food chain.”
Vor wrestled with a rope. “They don’t have any predators?”
The bearded Harkonnen tossed his head, tugged his hood tighter against the chill. “Oh, a school of torpedo sharks might attack a sick or injured whale, but otherwise very little bothers them.”
“Except for us,” Vor said. “Humans are the most dangerous predators.”
For nearly two weeks now, he had worked on a Harkonnen whaleboat, pretending to be an observer, a researcher – which he was, though Vor’s intent was to research something else entirely. Cold spray washed over the deck, reminding him (fondly, he realized) of the years he had been stationed on Caladan for the Army of the Jihad. And beautiful Leronica Tergiet, one of his first loves. He’d met her so long ago, stayed with her for decades, raised two sons with her, but after she died Vorian Atreides eventually moved on, as he always did.…
The Lankiveil sun broke through the clouds. Vor felt warm from the exertion and loosened his jacket. After that, one of the crewmen took off his shirt, as if he had something to prove to the visitor.
In his time here on Lankiveil, feeling the camaraderie of the whalers, even the openness of Vergyl Harkonnen, Vor was fitting in well. Sometimes his fellow crewmen teased him for his inexperience, but at least he knew his way around a ship. He took the ribbing good-naturedly. After so many years, with so many identities, working so many jobs, Vor had learned to get along with rough-and-tumble types.
Earlier that morning, when the whaling boat set out from the village, the ruddy chief mate, Landon, spoke of dangerous old days before lightweight alloy nets became available, when hunters had to go out in small boats and face the aggressive animals with stunner harpoons.
“I lost a grandfather and a great uncle to fur-whales,” Landon said. “Now I take something back for them.”
Whale-fur was a high-priced export from Lankiveil, but an inefficient distribution system hindered House Harkonnen. Vergyl’s brother, Weller, along with Griffin Harkonnen, had attempted to change that and bring prosperity back to the family. Another disastrous failure …
Now they needed to solidify their operations, add equipment, and upgrade their processing facilities. If the Harkonnens could not earn enough to pay their debts, they would lose even their meager foothold on Lankiveil. Already the ambitious Bushnells were moving in, taking work, preparing to overwhelm the Harkonnens. Vor could perhaps do something about that.…
With the huge nets hoisted and swung over the aft deck, the day’s tally was eight captured whales; they were small ones, but with rare brown and silver fur. When one of the beasts crashed onto the long deck after being dumped from the nets, it writhed until the crew fired poison darts into its brain.
Vor and the other men set to butchering the creatures on the deck, hard and filthy work. Blood ran into gunwall channels and out onto the water, attracting a flurry of torpedo sharks. The whale innards reeked of everything foul Vor could imagine, but he endured the stench. His fellow crewmen teased him about the contorted faces he made, but he just laughed in response.
After stripping off the thick pelts, the crew cut and separated the pieces well into the afternoon, tossing undesirable scraps overboard for the waiting sharks. The blubber would be rendered, and the rest would be sold as whale meat, a staple of the Lankiveil diet.
Vor indicated the increasing wind and waves, and Vergyl agreed. “We’d better head back to port.”
The Harkonnen patriarch manned the helm and steered the boat across the choppy, cold waters, heading toward the stark fjords. Vor hosed down the deck, then helped roll the sheets of fur and secure the lockers of fresh meat.
After working with Vergyl and his crew, getting to know the man’s wife and their son Danvis, Vor almost felt like a member of the family. They had been kind to him, openly grateful for the hours of work he provided without asking for pay. They accepted Vor’s story that he was doing research. He dreaded to think how everything would change if they discovered his true identity.
Danvis occasionally joined them on the whaleboats, but his parents sheltered him, hesitant to expose their only remaining son to danger. He was very unlike Griffin. One day Danvis would become the noble leader of Lankiveil, but Vor wondered if the young man would be easy pickings for the rival family operations. Or maybe life would toughen him. Since Vorian himself did not age, he could return to Lankiveil years hence to check on Danvis, give him the support he needed.
He sighed: Yet another generation of lives for which he felt responsible, yet another set of obligations. But after spending time here incognito, he felt more convinced that this was something he needed to do, to right the foundering ship of the Harkonnen family. He could not make them forgive him, but he could give them the financial stability they needed.…
The engines made a loud droning noise as the whaleboat plied the waves. Vor wiped his forearm across his brow and thought back on times he’d worked fishing boats on Caladan, the sweet moments he’d spent with Leronica – several lives ago.
A drizzle became a downpour as Vergyl throttled down the engines, working his way into the sheltered fjord. Even through the mist, Vor could see the village on the shore. He heard the happy chatter of the crew as they looked forward to hitting the tavern for a round of local ale. The cold rain bothered none of them; in fact, the fresh downpour washed away some of the odor of butchered whales that hung about the ship.
That evening, while the other crewmembers were drinking, and Vergyl returned to spend the night with his family, Vor dispatched a coded courier message aboard a departing transfer ship. The instructions would go to one of his financial contacts on Kolhar, the nearest planet with a bank that held part of his distributed fortune. He had the means to make a difference here, and he saw it as a way to lighten the shadow on his conscience. He instructed his banker to pay off the Harkonnen family debts in full, anonymously.
The sudden transfer of wealth would allow the Harkonnens to repair their whaling fleet, rebuild the spaceport, and be more competitive in shipping the harvested fur to offworld markets. Then they could resist the Bushnell incursions … without ever learning the identity of their secret benefactor.
Vorian Atreides intended to be long gone before the funds arrived.
He could not possibly make everything right, but this was a start. In the morning, he would tell Vergyl and Sonia he needed to leave Lankiveil, his “research project” completed. And he would be on his way somewhere else.
He had been thinking a great deal about Caladan. Maybe he would make his way back there.…
Chapter 36 (Every person can be manipulated)
Every person can be manipulated – and all of us are, in one manner or another.
– wisdom of the Cogitors
The Mother Superior moved with surprising stealth for a woman of her age and frailty. She managed to startle Valya outside between two of the main school buildings. “I’ve been watching you closely, and you don’t seem saddened by your sister leaving.”
Valya calmed herself, kept her expression flat and unreadable. “She has been gone for weeks already, Mother Superior. I am not her keeper – and I am following your advice to control my emotions. I should not appear sad or disappointed that she made her own choice.”
Raquella seemed amused. “On the contrary, you seemed pleased by her departure – even eager to have her go. I find this odd, since you were the one who indoctrinated Tula into the Sisterhood. Do you consider her a failure now that she has given up on us?”
“No, Mother Superior – not a failure. And she hasn’t given up. Tula will succeed in whatever she attempts, though perhaps not in any way we anticipated. I have high hopes for her.”
Walking away from the main school grounds, the two women worked their way up a steep and rugged path along Laojin Cliff, a wooded hillside with an abrupt drop-off. It was the highest point in the vicinity, and Raquella liked to take the rugged walk at least once a week. The Mother Superior insisted on demonstrating that she was still physically and mentally fit to lead. Today, even Valya found it difficult to keep up with the Mother Superior’s pace.
“The loss of my brother Griffin was a tremendous blow,” Valya admitted as she kept up with Raquella. She cast her gaze down. “Having Tula back will make my parents and Danvis very happy.”
Raquella paused on the trail to give her a hard look. “You may be a Reverend Mother, but I can still read you. Are the goals of the Sisterhood paramount in your mind now? Above those of your family?”
Valya always felt uncomfortable trying to explain herself. “I have two families – House Harkonnen and the Sisterhood. I can be loyal to both.”
“A diplomatic answer, but potentially problematic.”
“I refuse to view the universe in simplistic terms.”
Raquella’s papery lips formed a genuine smile. “Perhaps that suggests a future leadership role for you.”
Valya fought to control the surge of excitement. Certainly the Mother Superior realized that Valya was the best choice to follow as her successor, to continue rebuilding the school. Before she could press the issue, the old woman changed the subject. “I received a report from observers in the Imperial Palace. Sister Dorotea has made herself invaluable as Emperor Salvador’s Truthsayer, and he has allowed her to begin training her own new acolytes on Salusa.” She let out a long, rattling sigh. “The splinter group of orthodox Sisters will have no incentive to reunite with us. I had so hoped for…” She shook her head. “Dorotea is my own granddaughter.”
Sister Fielle approached from the ridge above, negotiating her way down the slope along a steep zigzag trail. When Raquella waved for the Sister Mentat to join them, Valya was disappointed to lose an important private moment with the Mother Superior. Nevertheless, she shifted her thoughts, concentrated on solidifying her efforts to make Fielle an ally.
The young Sister Mentat shared greetings, giving Valya an unreadable smile, and the three fell into step together on the trail, with Raquella setting the pace to continue the climb. The Sister Mentat didn’t seem to mind returning uphill the way she had come.
Valya continued the discussion with some urgency, expecting Fielle to take her side. “Our faction is stronger than Dorotea’s, Mother Superior. We are the better organization with a greater long-term vision.” She controlled the intensity in her voice. “We can also work on Truthsaying abilities here among ourselves, and I’ll redouble our training in new combat techniques.” She hadn’t told the Mother Superior about her experimental new voice control. “We’re in a war for our very survival, and every Sister must know how to fight, both personally and in the larger political arena. Our Sisters have to be unparalleled as fighters and as advisers.”
Fielle interrupted, “But we use our minds more than our bodies. The Sisterhood is a philosophy, a way of life, and a way to better the human race.”
Valya raised her voice. “And if we had learned how to fight earlier, we could have been more effective against the Emperor’s troops before they slaughtered so many of us on Rossak. What if Dorotea convinces him to come to Wallach IX and finish the destruction?”
“That would never happen again,” Fielle said.
Valya paused on the path, straightened her back. “I won’t take that chance. I want us to become better fighters, for ourselves and for the Sisterhood.”
Raquella gave her a wry smile. “You are already our best fighter.”
“And I can be better still – and then I can make others better. In each Sister, and in the Sisterhood as a whole, the physical and mental must work together. Each aspect strengthens the other.”
Valya turned to Fielle. “Sometimes I can be a bit abrupt because I am focused on the Sisterhood, on the grand missions and goals that the Mother Superior has laid out for us. I apologize if I seem impatient and overly intense. I am trying to do better.”
Looking sideways, she saw Raquella smiling like a proud parent.
Valya spoke in a rush. After sending Tula on her mission, she had goals of her own, larger plans. “With your permission, Mother Superior, I would like to travel to Ginaz – visit the Swordmaster School and ask them to accept me as a student. Whatever I learn from them can be applied to the Sisterhood.” Valya could also use those skills on behalf of House Harkonnen, perhaps even in personal combat against Vorian Atreides.
Fielle seemed confused by the suggestion, but Raquella gripped the young Sister Mentat’s arm with a withered hand. “Valya’s idea is interesting. You have Mentat training, and it occurs to me that we might learn much from the other great schools as well, adapting their techniques to improve our own.”
Valya squared her shoulders. “Since I’m a Reverend Mother, I can learn more swiftly than others, be better. Let me take them by surprise. I’d like to observe Ginaz, absorb and adapt their fighting methods, bodily control, defenses, and how to think during combat. There is great strength in combining disciplines, and the Sisterhood must have strength. We will be more than a match for Dorotea’s traitors.”
Raquella scolded her like a child. “I may disagree with the others, but they are not traitors, just a different perspective on our teachings. Dorotea has something that we do not – a respected position close to the Emperor. She has no reason to envy us, or fear us. It would be best for our future if we could find common ground. That is what I long for most, before I die.”
Valya tried to control the edge in her voice. “Dorotea should not have betrayed us in the first place, if her true loyalties lay with the Sisterhood.”
“Her loyalties may be confused, but I believe she is still a true Sister in her heart.” Raquella looked sad as she paused on the trail. She turned to Valya. “Just as your blood sister needed to return to your homeworld, I understand that you must go on your own journey. You have my permission to travel to Ginaz.”
Chapter 37 (Success is a matter of definitions)
Success is a matter of definitions. What is victory? What is wealth? What is power?
– DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, VenHold internal memo
Over the years, the scientists on Denali had sent Josef Venport numerous exuberant proposals, many of which had seemed absurd and unobtainable. New shield generators, thoughtrode interfaces, mob stunners, atomic pulse-flashes, even mechanical “cricket” saboteurs.
Not wanting to place limitations on his remote think tank, he told Administrator Noffe to encourage imagination in all its forms, so long as it led to developments that could inflict harm on the Butlerians.
But this was more than he had ever hoped for.
Josef, Draigo, and Ptolemy sat under the bright desert sun watching seven mechanical walkers guided by Navigator brains. He was already impressed with what Ptolemy had produced. The fearsome machines moved with remarkable swiftness and ease. Josef smiled: Results such as this justified the fortune he had poured into the Denali research facility.
Now he had his own Titans.
His great-grandmother had been tortured by one of the ancient Titans, and that ordeal had transformed Norma Cenva into more than a human being. Her husband, Aurelius Venport, had devoted his life to fighting the cymeks. How ironic that Josef Venport was responsible for creating a new group of Titans that were even more powerful than their predecessors.
Ptolemy touched his earadio. “Still no sign of a worm.”
“Maybe the creatures are afraid,” Josef said.
“I doubt sandworms know fear, Directeur,” Draigo said. “From the vibrations, the creatures would have no way of knowing these cymeks were different from a spice factory. And we were anticipating that the Holtzman field from the shields would madden at least one worm.”
“I was being facetious, Mentat.”
At last, a ripple rolled along under the sand, casting it up like the crest of a wave. The great worm plowed through a succession of dunes as if they were no thicker than air, moving with the speed of a projectile fired from a weapon.
Josef rose out of his observation chair. “What a monster!” Beside him, Draigo’s dark eyes widened as he drank in details. Ptolemy looked both awed and terrified.
It seemed that the theories about the effect of shields on the creatures might prove correct after all.
The enraged sandworm exploded upward. As the huge maw came out of the sand, dust sheeted off its curved segments.
Inside their preservation canisters, the proto-Navigator brains did not panic. Having researched the behavior of sandworms, they positioned the walker bodies in a precise attack configuration, as if this were a military drill. Three of the cymeks switched off their shields and bounded away like jumping spiders.
The worm slammed down like a battering ram, but the agile cymeks sprang in opposite directions, their movements carefully coordinated, as if the brains were telepathically linked. Even from the distant outcropping Josef could feel the tremors as the monster dove under the sand.
Scuttling to the dune tops for a better strategic position, the seven cymeks launched artillery, hammering the sandworm’s segmented body with explosion after explosion. So much dust, sand, and smoke boiled into the air that Josef could barely see.
The worm rose up again, thrashing about like an unchecked high-pressure hose. It slammed into one of the cymeks and knocked the machine body into the air, then scooped downward to swallow one of the other cymeks, Hok Evander, who was still protected by a shimmering shield.
In his observation chair, Ptolemy let out a groan as the struggling cymek vanished down the creature’s gullet. Josef was surprised at his lack of objectivity. “This is a test, Dr. Ptolemy. One must expect losses.”
The remaining five Titans redoubled their attack, shooting flames, lasbeams, and exploding shells. Although several of the worm’s armored segments looked ragged and damaged, the attack only enraged the beast. It lifted itself up and then crashed down on top of two more cymeks, smashing them into the sand. The behemoth was so massive that even the walkers’ enhanced armor could not protect them.
The last three Titans spread out equidistant from the worm and continued to attack. The creature let out a rumbling groan like exhaust from a starship engine.
Then, oddly, its serpentine form bulged and swelled, as if repeated detonations were occurring from its interior. A dark stain appeared on the ring segments, then smoke spurted out from a widening wound. Sizzling chemicals dripped down its tough hide.
From within the worm’s digestive tract, the swallowed Titan, still shielded, unleashed explosives and deadly acid to cut its way out. The escaping cymek left timed projectiles behind, which exploded as soon as the machine walker scrambled free.
Josef chuckled, unable to tear his gaze away. Beside him, Ptolemy looked as if he might be ill at seeing so much devastation.
Mortally wounded, the worm crashed onto the sands, leaking fluids from myriad injuries, its gullet torn open. Seeing the vulnerable spot, the surviving cymeks continued to attack until the sandworm shuddered and collapsed across the flattened dunes.
Grinning, Josef turned to Ptolemy. “Most impressive!”
The scientist groaned. “But I lost three of my Titans – almost half of my finest cymeks – to destroy one worm! They were my experimental subjects, and I spent so much time and care—” Agitated, he began coughing so hard that he nearly fell out of the observation chair. “Two of them, Hok and Adem, rescued me on Denali when my life support failed.”
“Don’t worry, they performed well – beyond my expectations.” Josef clapped him on the shoulder. “More important than that, you proved that a sandworm can be killed! We have the means to do it.”
Ptolemy slumped in his chair, pale and uncertain, but found his resolve. “Based on this demonstration, Directeur, I shall make improvements to the walker bodies to ensure that the others are more protected.” The churned sand looked as if it had been the site of an aerial bombardment. “The Navigator brains for the next batch of Titans will have better data for increased performance.” He looked deeply sad.
Suddenly, with an eruption that flung gouts of sand in all directions, a second sandworm lurched out of the dunes.
The creatures were suspected to be territorial, but the Mentat had already suggested that this might be a contested zone. Surprised by the new monster, the Titans could not react in time. The second worm smashed one cymek in its first blow, swept two other walker bodies away, and swallowed the fourth.
Ptolemy fell to his knees from the chair in deep despair. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.” All lost. Xinshop, Yabido, all seven of his elite force. Tears streamed down his dusty cheeks.
The first sandworm, the dying one, continued to quiver and twitch on the sand. The second eyelessly regarded its rival, uninterested in the ruined cymeks or the distant VenHold observers. For long moments, the creature loomed over the severely damaged body of the dead worm, and then glided out onto the open dunes from which the first worm had come, claiming the territory for itself.
On the rock outcropping, VenHold workers hurried out of the landed spacecraft, folded up the observation chairs, and prepared to depart.
Ptolemy continued to stare at the battleground. “They’re all gone. Every one of our finest test subjects. I … I still have much work to do.”
But Josef felt exhilarated. “Don’t be downcast – that was tremendous. And you have plenty more proto-Navigator brains to work with. Ah, just imagine what those cymeks could do against the Half-Manford. We’ll need more of your creations, many more, and I authorize you to build them.”
He urged the research scientist back into the shuttle. “You’re going to help me defeat our enemies, Dr. Ptolemy. Your cymeks will prove invaluable, both here on Arrakis and in battles against the barbarians.” He pondered for a moment longer. “And, if it should ever come to this, they will fight on our side in a war to take control of the entire Imperium.”
