Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
“He means to smother the Butlerian movement!” Dorotea was unable to hide her alarm. “If he allows thinking machines to return, we could all be enslaved again—”
While Salvador stared at him, unsure of what to do, Roderick lifted a finger to silence her. “There is a vast gulf between allowing the use of a machine and becoming enslaved by a computer overlord. Manford Torondo’s ‘slippery slope’ warnings hold more hysteria than reality.”
When Dorotea attempted to argue and defend the Butlerian position, Roderick’s voice took on an edge. “Directeur Venport is clearly dangerous and ambitious, but he doesn’t incite mindless riots in the streets … mobs that kill little girls.”
Dorotea swallowed, listening to the sharp slap of his words. She had made her point, and the Corrino brothers did see the extent of Venport’s schemes, but Roderick had no love for the Butlerians either. And the Emperor would do whatever his brother advised.
After a long silence, Roderick added, “Although I have no fondness for the Butlerians, if Sister Dorotea is correct, the influence of Manford Torondo pales in comparison to Directeur Venport’s. We may have to force both of them to their knees.”
And how will you get the power to do that? Dorotea thought, but did not dare to speak aloud.
Salvador was exasperated. “Is the whole Imperium going mad? Venport can’t do these things without my permission! Where will he stop? Does Josef Venport want my throne, too?”
It sounded like a joke, but Dorotea nodded. “Perhaps so – if you get in his way.”
Chapter 42 (Those Sisters flock together like birds – carrion birds)
Those Sisters flock together like birds – carrion birds!
– EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, comment overheard in the Imperial Court
Sister Arlett spent years out in the planets of the Imperium doing missionary and recruitment work for the Sisterhood, and when she returned she made her way to their new school on Wallach IX. She wasn’t exactly exiled, but Arlett had been encouraged to do her work far from Rossak, searching for candidates who would benefit from Sisterhood instruction.
Of the dozens of missionaries, Raquella kept particularly close watch over Arlett’s activities, because Arlett was her own daughter. And Dorotea, now the Emperor’s Truthsayer, was Arlett’s daughter, although Arlett didn’t know it. A tangled web of DNA strands …
As such, the Mother Superior felt that Arlett might be useful. Even though Arlett had never attempted the Agony, had never become a Reverend Mother, perhaps she would make an effective, unofficial envoy to the orthodox Sisters on Salusa Secundus. Maybe Arlett could be the first step to healing the schism.
Years ago, Reverend Mother Raquella had sent Arlett away when she refused to choose the good of the Sisterhood over love for her new baby, Dorotea. Raquella knew she was loyal to the Sisterhood, in her own way, and she had almost—almost—forgiven Arlett after her remarkable success in recruiting the talented Valya Harkonnen on Lankiveil.
But the old wounds were reopened when Dorotea survived the Agony and learned the truth of her own bloodline from the voices in Other Memory. Arlett did not know that Sister Dorotea was her long-lost daughter … but Dorotea knew. Maybe one of her internal voices was that of her own mother.…
So, when Arlett presented herself to the ancient Mother Superior in her Wallach IX offices, Raquella felt unexpected joy to see her. She had no room in her busy life for love, though, especially now when the Sisterhood was so diminished and her own time so short.
With a glance, Raquella assessed the dark-haired Arlett, noting that she had her mother’s lanky frame, upturned nose, and pale blue eyes. After so many years away, the missionary Sister had changed – but the Sisterhood training was so ingrained in her that it could never be taken away. If that were true of all Sisters, then even Dorotea might be salvageable.
Arlett sighed and sat in the proffered chair, but she remained tense. “I’ve seen so many worlds that I have fallen behind in the changes at the Sisterhood. I need to know what happened on Rossak, why some Sisters are now in the Imperial Court while others are here.”
Raquella nodded. “You will receive a full briefing before I send you on your new mission.”
“And I would love to hear about the progress of all my recruits – especially Valya Harkonnen.”
“Once they join the school, acolytes are no longer your concern.” Raquella heard the sharp tone in her voice and softened it, because this was not the time to antagonize Arlett. “Reverend Mother Valya has gone to Ginaz to assess the fighting techniques of the Swordmasters. I suspect by now she has thrown the entire combat school into turmoil.”
Arlett looked relieved. “I watched her in combat against her brother Griffin. She had great talent even when she was young and uncontrolled. Without doubt, she will teach the Swordmasters a few things.”
“Valya brought her sister, Tula, to our school. The girl showed promise, but left us for a personal matter. A severe disappointment.”
A troubled expression crossed Arlett’s face. “The Sisterhood is not for everyone, and recruiting is more difficult than it has been in the past. There are so many new schools for the ambitious to join, and ours has obviously fallen into disfavor.”
“We may no longer be in our old complex on Rossak, but Emperor Salvador allows us to continue our training here. We will grow strong again.”
Arlett frowned. “Or the orthodox Sisters on Salusa will grow strong. Apparently, Reverend Mother Dorotea is training new acolytes.” Raquella heard no special intonation in Arlett’s voice when she spoke her daughter’s name.
“This is the true Sisterhood,” Raquella reminded her. She stood up from her desk and gestured for Arlett to follow her to an instructional house where, seated in a circle on the cold floor, Fielle and five other Sister Mentats pored over bound volumes of family histories, bloodline trees, and genetic descriptions dating back to Mating Indices developed by the Sorceresses of Rossak.
Seeing them enter, Fielle rose to her feet, smiling as she greeted Raquella, while giving Arlett barely a glance. Now that Valya was gone, Fielle seemed even more eager to impress the Mother Superior. “We have collated and accessed enough data now, Mother Superior, that we have Mentat projections for many generations ahead – and we foresee a glorious pathway, one we will take to create the pinnacle of human development and consciousness.”
“Every breeding plan must have an ultimate goal.” Raquella felt a trace of hope. She had insisted that these women do the memorization work, although more comprehensive data was contained in the secret computers.
The wounded Sisterhood could begin to grow truly strong again … but that would not be enough for Raquella. Before dying she had to bring the two factions together again and choose a worthy successor. After carrying such a heavy future on her shoulders, she could not wait to pass the load to a younger leader.
Fielle continued, “We cannot be certain what lies ahead, Mother Superior. Our projections do not show faces or forms, only a tremendous potential for humankind, in which we create humans far superior to us now.”
Arlett had been away from the main school for so long that she seemed alarmed by the idea. “Is it the Sisterhood’s business to plan for that? What if our own plans turn against us? Is there not a risk?”
Raquella frowned at her daughter’s ill-considered comment. “I have countless past lives in my head. They advise me, scold me, pressure me. Rarely are they unanimous, but Other Memory is clear that there’s an even greater risk if we do not pursue this grand genetic scheme.” She nodded to Fielle, then to the other Sister Mentats, who had paused to listen. “Proceed with your work.”
Raquella was content to see all the myriad pieces of her Sisterhood working together, looking so far into the future, like a ship guided across stormy seas but by a steady hand on the helm.
How could these immense and complex plans proceed without her? Would any of the the squabbling voices of Other Memory surface for some other Reverend Mother to provide guidance and more detail? Who was qualified? Who had the experience, the maturity, the temperament? Raquella had lived far too long – if she had let herself die decades ago, during a more stable time, perhaps the new leader would already be seasoned. But she didn’t have such a luxury. Her bones ached; her body felt fragile and tired.
Her two best students were Dorotea and Valya. Should her choice be Valya Harkonnen? She had undergone the Agony herself, all alone, and returned to the school. That in itself showed a measure of strength and dedication no one else could match. Valya was fiercely devoted to Raquella, although her temperament often provoked conflict, rather than resolving it. The young woman was intense and ambitious, but didn’t have the wisdom a Mother Superior required. Still, as a Reverend Mother now, Valya had countless generations of memories within her, generations of wise advice.
Dorotea, though, had betrayed her fundamental loyalty to the Sisterhood, turning a philosophical difference into a personal one. The ancestral memories had revealed to her how Raquella had forcefully separated Arlett and baby Dorotea. Was that reason enough for her to expose her fellow Sisters to Imperial retaliation? Or, by throwing in her lot with the Emperor, did she have a painful but visionary insight into how to preserve at least some of the Sisterhood’s teachings, right under the Emperor’s nose? What if Dorotea had done the right thing after all?
Raquella didn’t know, but if she could somehow co-opt the Salusan Sisterhood into her own and bring the two factions back together, then she could be content. What if choosing Dorotea as her successor healed the breach?
While the remaining sands of her life trickled through the hourglass, Raquella Berto-Anirul found herself increasingly tempted to join the voices inside her head. She could become part of the collective Other Memories, the sea of past lives.
But not yet. Neither she nor the human race could afford for her to go too soon.
Raquella knew what she had to do. As she and Arlett emerged from the teaching hall into the cool, gray morning, the Mother Superior turned to her daughter. “I want you to go to Salusa Secundus. Initiate a secret connection with Sister Dorotea so that we can resolve our differences.”
Arlett was surprised. “She is the Emperor’s Truthsayer. Why would she listen to me, Mother Superior? I doubt if she even knows who I am.”
Raquella covered a small smile. “She will know who you are. Trust me.”
Arlett seemed perplexed, but she drew herself up, ready to begin her assignment. “And what am I to say to her?”
“This schism has caused too much damage. Be my liaison and soften her heart toward me. Ask her to come to Wallach IX and speak with me – while there is still time.”
Arlett seemed startled. “While there is time, Mother Superior? What do you mean?”
“Inform her that I do not have long to live. She is a Truthsayer, and will know you are not lying. Tell her that I want to talk with her before the end.”
Chapter 43 (Successful people sort through priorities)
Successful people sort through priorities and act upon them, while the unsuccessful see only a fog of chaos.
– DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, instruction to business trainees
In hand-to-hand combat, Valya Harkonnen had found only one true match for her skills – her brother Griffin, and he was dead.
Each time she practiced fighting now, each time she went through her lethal yet graceful moves, she remembered what she and her brother had taught each other. More recently, during Tula’s training, her sister had shown quick advancement, too, almost fighting at Valya’s level. But Tula was no match for Valya, as Griffin had been. She and her brother had shared something indefinable, had saved each other’s lives, and forged a remarkable closeness.
Perhaps Valya would have that connection with Tula one day, after her sister had Atreides blood on her hands.…
For her other goal, the advancement of the Sisterhood, she would continue to instruct the Sisters on Wallach IX. Armed with specialized muscular and reflexive training to give them superior control of their bodies, as well as other fighting skills, the Sisters would become formidable fighters.
But first, Valya meant to acquire even more skills of her own.
The Ginaz School had been established during Serena Butler’s Jihad. For more than a century, skilled Swordmasters had wrought great destruction on combat meks and fighting robots. Now, long after the defeat of the thinking machines, Ginaz still produced the best Swordmasters in the Imperium. Some worked as mercenaries for noble houses; many espoused belief in the Butlerian movement, since a true Swordmaster needed no advanced technology, only a sword and the ability to use it.
On the first day of instruction on Ginaz, Valya wore a sleeveless white combat suit. That morning in one of the simple, open huts where students slept, an aide had tied a black bandana around her head. The aide, an aged man who had never completed his training but remained at the school, called himself Rissar. Before sending her out to the training field, he had looked at Valya’s outfit, nodded at her with a smile. “You are dressed like Jool Noret, the founder of the school. Now prove yourself worthy of that garment.”
Rissar said the same to each of the other students as he prepared their headbands and fitted short training swords at their waists. Then the old man sent the candidates out to stand on a rocky promontory above the sea, facing away from the water. “Remain completely silent. And wait.”
Perspiring in the tropical heat of the training island, Valya stood with the other students. As they waited for their instructor, she considered the legendary fighters who had been here before her. As soon as Valya incorporated their techniques with the skills she had acquired as a Reverend Mother, she could be more formidable than the heroes of Ginaz – and there had been many. With her already-honed skills and natural abilities, she expected to advance quickly here.
During the long, restless pause, Valya had time to study the other students standing in the sun: four women (including herself) and ten men, some anxious, some calm, all wondering when the lesson would begin. Valya endured the delay, annoyed that the school was wasting her time. She wanted to learn everything she could and return to Wallach IX as soon as possible.
A hot ocean breeze blew strands of dark hair around the sides of her face, though the headband held most of it in place. Ever wary, she kept watch over her shoulder, in case someone climbed the rocks. She began to suspect that the instructor might make some sort of dramatic entrance and leap into their midst.
As she assessed her companions in silence, she noticed some of them doing the same with her. At the far end of the line, a small, sinewy man stared straight ahead, not moving a muscle. His headband, combat suit, and sword-in-scabbard were the same as everyone else’s, but he wore them differently; his stance was more prepared, as if he knew something they didn’t. Supposedly all fourteen students were equally matched for the training, but Valya wondered if this one already had some training at the school, or—
Defying Rissar’s instructions, she broke formation and walked over to him, meeting his steady blue-eyed gaze. He had a small mouth and broad nose; she noticed a pale scar on one cheek. “You’ve been in combat before.”
“And you as well,” he replied in a high voice, both amused and interested. “I can tell by the way you move and the way you survey your surroundings.”
She had all the information she needed to know. “You are our instructor.”
While the other students reacted with surprise, the man gave her a thin smile. He made a quick move to his right and darted around her, while she went into a defensive posture and spun to face him.
He landed on the balls of his feet, but did not attack. Instead, he faced the line of students. “I am Master Placido. I was only ten when the Swordmaster School accepted me, and over the past nine years I have collected plenty of experience. I intend to give a small amount of it to you – if you are ready.”
With a sudden movement, he flourished his thin sword, then tossed it high in the air and caught it by the handle, before sliding it smoothly back into the scabbard. Valya was not impressed by the acrobatics; it was all braggadocio, effective for intimidating an average opponent or a class of green students, but Valya could easily have disarmed him while he was showing off.
She slipped back into formation, intentionally taking the spot where Master Placido had stood moments ago. He seemed amused by her behavior, but she was not amused by his. She used her training and observation techniques to measure his movements, attitudes, and abilities, so that she could defeat him.
“Only one of you proved observant enough to notice that I was different,” he said. “Defeating an opponent depends on more than your ability to handle a weapon. Any fight begins with an accurate assessment of your adversary, to ascertain weaknesses and strengths.”
Placido walked down the line of students, pausing in front of each, but he ignored Valya. Was he trying to irritate her? She made a point of controlling her emotions.
“Break into pairs and demonstrate your fighting abilities against each other, so that I can assess where the starting point should be for this class. Use your swords or not, as you prefer.”
Valya was paired with a tall, thirtyish man who identified himself as Linari. She could tell from the way he moved and his muscular build that he’d been in fights before, but they had probably been brawls; he relied on strength and intimidation rather than finesse. Linari wore a sneering expression as they circled each other; both of them kept their swords sheathed. Valya knew she wouldn’t need hers, and Linari refused to draw his own as a matter of pride.
As she and her opponent remained wary, evaluating, she heard other students wrestling or punching one another. She did not take her eyes from Linari’s. When she decided she’d given him enough time, Valya lunged to the right and leaped up to strike Linari with a fist in the temple, stunning him long enough for her to go low and slide around him. She kicked his knees from behind and sent him tumbling down onto the rocky surface.
As Linari rose to his feet, his expression changed from haughtiness to respect. “Good move,” he said, with a toothy grin. “Thank you for teaching it to me.”
After each combat, Master Placido changed the pairings, and Valya rapidly proved herself to be the elite fighter in the class. In each case she took down her opponent with enough restraint to prevent injury, though she could easily have killed or disabled every one of them.
Placido watched her, measured her. He seemed to know Valya was holding back. As she dispatched one classmate after another, Placido and the other students gathered around to watch. Valya turned from the last defeated student, who hunched over, wheezing, and then she stood crisply in front of the youthful instructor, appraising him again. Her dark headband was damp with perspiration, but she did not feel tired. A breeze from the sea cooled her skin. She heard the waves, the movement of feet around her, the rustling of garments and sheathing of swords – and the awed whisperings of the students.
“Perhaps you would like to instruct this class?” Placido’s body was rigid, his mouth a tight line, one hand near the handle of his sheathed sword.
“I have been instructing them. And now I would like to instruct you as well, Master Placido.” Some of the students gasped; others watched in intent silence.
Placido smiled. “I am always eager to learn.” The two faced each other and began the combat dance. Valya kept her knees slightly bent, her hands and arms relaxed and in front of her, watching his every move.
Even as tension built in the air, the Swordmaster continued to lecture the others. “Notice her precise muscle control, and the way her eyes absorb their surroundings. She draws information from every available sense, which enables her to adapt to changes in the combat situation.”
Valya considered attacking, then decided not to, because Placido would expect her to do that. He gave a faint nod as he recognized what she was doing.
“She’s wondering what I can do,” Placido announced to the others. “That is good. Notice that her earlier aggressiveness has changed, and now she is in a defensive, wait-and-see mode.”
In a lightning-fast maneuver, he somersaulted instead of walking, becoming a blur as he continued to circle her, sometimes on his hands, sometimes on his feet, sometimes sliding past her. A short sword suddenly appeared in his hand, and Valya realized that he had taken it from her scabbard, like an acrobatic pickpocket. When he stopped moving, Placido had a sword in each hand. He dropped both weapons onto the rocks with a metallic clang.
Valya turned, still alert, just as he blurred into motion again. She felt a hard thrust in her midsection that knocked the wind out of her and dropped her to her knees. When she looked up, and around, he was no longer there. Linari and several other students rushed to the edge of the precipice, staring down.
Catching her breath, forcing control on her body, Valya rose to her feet and fought back the after-echoes of pain. Far below, she saw Master Placido bounding along the beach at the base of the cliff.
“He must be afraid of me,” she said, eliciting laughter from the others.
Moments later, Placido returned, after climbing the outcrop from a different side, and he presented himself, not breathing hard at all. He faced Valya. “You still have a great deal to learn, but I find you interesting.”
Valya took care to maintain a nonthreatening posture, with her arms folded across her chest. “And I find you interesting as well. Perhaps I can learn from the Swordmasters after all.”
His assessment of her went deeper than she expected. “You have fire in your eyes. There is someone you wish to kill. Not me, I hope.”
“It is not you, Master.”
He continued to stare at her. “Swordmaster training is not designed to create murderers.”
She avoided a direct answer. “I have no vendetta against my fellow students, but I need to fight them as part of our lessons. While I train, I find it useful to think of someone I despise, so I can raise my skills to a higher level.”
Placido nodded slightly. “An unusual technique, but you use it effectively.” He looked at the other trainees. “For those of you who have hatred to spare, you might wish to do the same, while keeping the secret of your enemy’s identity. I will teach you fighting methods, and you may customize them to your own abilities and needs. And hatreds.”
