Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 64 (As a human being)
As a human being, I was born on the brink of personal destruction, and I have spent my life dancing along the edge of that cliff.
– MOTHER SUPERIOR RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL
Despite her increasing infirmity, Raquella felt a burst of energy, fueled by anger. Gripping a curl of message paper in her hand, she walked at a brisk pace through the plant– and statue-lined portico that had been set up in one of the new school buildings. Her shoes made sharp reports on the tiles, sounds that grew louder as she rounded a corner before coming to a wooden door.
She rapped sharply and stood staring at the door, as if willing it to move. Finally the door opened, and Reverend Mother Valya stood before her in a new black robe.
“I ordered you to attend the reception for Dorotea and her companions from Salusa Secundus.” Raquella waved the message paper under the younger woman’s nose. “Why did you decline?”
Valya had been on Wallach IX for less than a day since returning from Ginaz, but she arrived before Sister Arlett, who was bringing Dorotea from the Imperial Court. Now the transfer ship from Salusa Secundus was about to land at the spaceport, and Raquella didn’t have the time for squabbles or stubbornness. This had to end now!
Valya’s dark eyes hardened. “How can I welcome Dorotea when she is responsible for the murder of so many Sisters? She teaches a heretical group of women that pander to the Emperor and swoon whenever Manford Torondo mutters a command. To invite Dorotea back here, even to suggest that she is still one of us—”
Raquella did not try to quell her emotions. “I am the Mother Superior, and this is my school. I made it clear to everyone – Acolytes, Sisters, and Reverend Mothers alike – that I want the two factions to reconcile before I die. Valya, you must set aside your feelings for the sake of the Sisterhood … for my sake.”
Valya squirmed, obviously fighting her dislike. “I will never trust a turncoat, Mother Superior. On Rossak, you asked me to pretend to be Dorotea’s friend so I could spy on her – I have seen her heart, her unbridled ambition.”
Raquella’s voice was sharp, like a weapon. “As I have seen yours.”
Valya looked at the floor, then raised her gaze and seemed to summon her courage. “I left my Swordmaster instructor and came back at your urging, but what is all this talk of reconciliation? How can you forget our Sisters who were cut down by the Emperor’s troops?”
Raquella’s voice was quietly reassuring. “I’m not ignoring anything, but I must make compromises, for the future of the Sisterhood. When I am gone – and that will be soon, Valya – my work could be torn apart by a civil war, and I don’t want that to happen. All Sisters follow the same basic teachings and believe in our plan to improve the human race. It is best for us not to be divided simply because we disagree about the tools we use. It is essential for us not to be divided.”
“And who is to replace you?” Valya pressed. “Your message said you had chosen your successor.”
“I will tell you when I tell all of the Sisters. My choice will assure the best chance for the Sisterhood’s survival.”
“Is it to be Dorotea, then? The woman who abandoned us? Your own granddaughter?”
Raquella gripped Valya firmly by the arm and guided her out into the corridor. “My decision is forthcoming. And you will attend the reception.”
* * *
THE TWO WOMEN entered the austere reception hall, one of the first large structures built by VenHold workers. The school had expanded greatly in the initial year, but the women wasted no time or effort on unnecessary amenities or furnishings. The hall thronged with black-robed Sisters and a small number of white-robed Acolytes.
Just inside the doorway, Raquella said, “It would please me to see you and Dorotea spend time together. Make the initial effort. You used to be friends.”
“I pretended to be her friend.”
“Then pretend again. The Sisterhood is at stake.” The Mother Superior flowed away into the crowd of women, leaving Valya on her own.
Raquella eased herself into a seat and poured a glass of springwater from a pitcher. Going into a deep analysis, she felt her nerves crackle with misfires, her metabolism strain, her cellular chemistry struggle to continue functioning. Any normal woman would have died decades ago, but Raquella used her extraordinary bodily control to keep herself alive. She closed her eyes to dive deep into an inner trance where she worked within her own cells, monitoring the biological machinery.
Just a little longer … Maybe tonight she could surrender and be done with her work, with her life.
She returned to awareness when Sister Fielle spoke to her. Raquella realized that she had drifted off for longer than she expected. “Dorotea has arrived, Mother Superior.”
The young Sister Mentat extended her arm and helped the elderly woman to her feet. “Thank you.” Raquella resented her own increasing weakness, and she drew upon energy reserves to steady herself so that others would not see.
Valya stood off to one side, surrounded by a group of Sisters. Raquella realized that they were the commando women who had gone to retrieve the hidden computers from Rossak; they were also the Sisters most dedicated to Valya’s personal combat training. Of course, she should have realized that Valya would gather her own allies at the school.…
When the main doors opened, Sister Arlett strode into the reception hall, introducing the guests she had brought from Salusa. Dorotea followed her, a lanky figure wearing a black robe that was of a different cut from traditional Sisterhood garb; hers even included a Corrino lion crest. She was accompanied by six other women who also served in the Emperor’s palace. Raquella remembered all of the prodigal Sisters, wished they had never left.
Dorotea and her entourage looked around the hall to assess the Mother Superior’s new headquarters. Raquella caught hints of … haughtiness? Superiority? Disappointment at these workmanlike buildings, which were far inferior to the ostentatious spectacle of the Imperial Palace?
The orthodox Sisters mingled with their Wallach IX counterparts, showing no reservations. It was either a sign of submissiveness, or perhaps arrogance, since they had the Emperor’s favor.
From across the large room, Dorotea’s eyes met her grandmother’s like weapons systems acquiring targets. The voices of Other Memory became a loud whisper in the back of Raquella’s mind, a gathering storm. The other woman regarded her as if they were equals … and perhaps that was how Dorotea felt.
The old woman used well-honed techniques to control her blood pressure, her metabolism, her pulse. She had to remain calm and fully alert, using her last energy reserves. Most of all, she had to be ready to do what she must, the martyrdom solution – it was a tremendous gamble, but Raquella knew it was the best move she had left to her.
As Dorotea came forward with gliding steps, the Sisters gave her a wide berth. More and more Sisters congregated around Valya, facing Dorotea and her smaller entourage. Raquella wondered how many seeds Valya had already planted among the Wallach IX followers, how much of a personal power base she’d been building. Dorotea and Valya exchanged glances, but neither showed any emotion.
Now the Mother Superior gripped Dorotea’s hands warmly. “Welcome back, Dorotea. The Salusan Sisters are still our Sisters, though we have traveled different paths. Those paths are converging again.”
Reverend Mother Dorotea held the old woman’s hands formally, then squeezed tighter, but just for a moment. Was she trying to communicate some sort of message? “It is good to see you, Grandmother. We are both far from Rossak.”
“In distance perhaps, but we are not necessarily so separate. At least, it doesn’t have to be that way.”
Raquella was aware of all the women listening in on the conversation, not saying anything. Many of the Wallach Sisters shot questioning glances at Valya. The Mother Superior needed to seal this matter of opposing loyalties.
Raquella hoped that Fielle’s risky solution would succeed.
The Mother Superior had to stage a dramatic, emotional event that would likely result in her death. She had spent years demanding that her students learn to rein in their emotions, but now the future depended on both Valya and Dorotea caring about her.
* * *
DURING THE TENSE reception, the Wallach Sisters treated Dorotea and her companions as if they were made of cold glass.
The Mother Superior seated herself at the head of a long dining table and instructed Valya to sit on her right, Dorotea on her left. The two younger women kept themselves in separate pools of moody reticence, speaking only when spoken to, constantly on the alert for their rival’s every move, gesture, and word.
Through a high window in the hall, Raquella could see the fading outlines of nearby hills as darkness set in. She turned to Valya and Dorotea. “Back on Rossak, you two were comrades and learned from each other. You both endured the Agony, though you took separate paths to pass through to the other side.”
The two younger women seemed ready to interject, but Raquella held up a hand to silence them. “I know your disagreements, I know your beliefs – but I hope that both of you will understand that the Sisterhood is more important. The things we have in common are more fundamental than our differences. We know from history – written in documents and told to us by our ancestors within – that since the beginning of civilization countless societies have warred over nuances, while forgetting the commonality of their basic beliefs. We must not let that happen to ourselves.”
“Others have tried and failed,” Valya said sourly. “The Commission of Ecumenical Translators sought to find common ground among feuding religions and produced the Orange Catholic Bible. That didn’t turn out well at all.”
Dorotea snorted, agreeing with Valya. “We could ask the members of the CET, but most of them were murdered. The only ones left are in deep exile.”
Mother Superior Raquella gave them each a stern glance. “The final success or failure of the Orange Catholic Bible remains to be seen. In the Sisterhood, we must take the long view – thousands of years, hundreds and hundreds of generations, not just a few decades.”
She paused for breath. “I am ancient and should have died long ago. Now I must anticipate what will happen to the Sisterhood when I am gone—my legacy.” She nodded toward Fielle. “Our Sister Mentats have run extensive projections, and I know what must be done.… I also know the dire consequences if I fail. When I die, it is up to you, and to all of my Sisters.”
“We can never forget that Dorotea betrayed us,” Valya said.
“I was not the betrayer. Your use of computers was a betrayal of the Imperium, and of humanity itself!”
“An unproven charge,” Valya said, “which you made with no thought of the consequences. Because of you—”
Raquella cut them off. “Enough!” It seemed hopeless, but she had to proceed with her plan. She had to force a rapprochement, and her final alternative would require her remaining energy. If she failed, she would be dead. “I grow weary of this. I grow weary of life.”
With all the dignity and energy she could muster, she strode out of the hall.
* * *
RAQUELLA WAS ON the edge of despair about the crumbling future, and every one of the Sisters needed to understand why she felt that way. The Sisterhood no longer matched her vision; perhaps it was appropriate for it to end with her, if the factions could not work together.
Bitterly, she wrote several identical farewell notes with subtle yet clear nudges and a deep sadness. Raquella explained in the letters that she had decided not to appoint a successor, that she had surrendered to the inevitable crumbling of her work. She said there was no sense in lingering longer. She made certain that the messages were delivered simultaneously to Valya, Dorotea, and several other close Sisters.
In any case, the die was cast.
Then the old woman left the school buildings and walked off by herself, wearing only a thin robe in the chill night. She carried a small handlight as she toiled along the familiar trail up the slope of Laojin Cliff. She made her way up to the crest of the promontory, where she would await the sunrise. The wind was cold, but she didn’t think much about it as she stood on the edge.
When day broke in a few hours, she would see bright sunlight spilling over the school buildings, and she would see the sheer cliff edge … just before she flew off it. Raquella had enough control over her body that she could simply shut down her organs and die quietly in bed, but that would not provide the drama she required. Fielle had been right about that when they had formed the plan, Raquella’s last chance.…
She hoped that the shock would be enough to force Valya and Dorotea together, and that the two quarreling women cared enough about her to set their differences aside. If not, the Sisterhood was already too broken anyway and would degenerate into a civil war. She would not allow that.
Her body seemed to be strung together with spiderwebs, ready to fall apart at a moment’s notice. Yet when Raquella finally stood on the very edge of the cliff, looking into the abyss of deep shadows, she maintained her balance despite the strong gusts and updrafts.
Other Memory gave her an infinite encyclopedia of experiences from human history, but her own long life provided enough memories to surround her: her younger years working with Dr. Mohandas Suk on Parmentier, before they were forced to flee riots when machine plagues raged across that world; her years on Rossak, helping the Sorceresses in their fight against thinking machines; Ticia Cenva’s efforts to catalog the bloodlines of humanity, even as the machines did their best to make humanity extinct.
With the night making her numb, Raquella’s eyes fluttered closed. The past was all around her, and she swayed on the edge of the cliff, but did not fear the plunge. She and Death were old companions, who had dueled several times before – with Raquella winning each of those matches.
But this time it would be different. Her female ancestors in Other Memory were ready to welcome her.
Long ago, while tending to the plague-struck people on Rossak, Raquella had caught the dread disease. She would have died, if not for the healing properties of the cenote waters. She had defeated Death then, and again shortly afterward when Ticia Cenva poisoned her. In the process of surviving, Raquella had altered the poison, changing herself to become the first Reverend Mother.
For eight decades she had tried to teach others what she had learned, to build something lasting – an order of powerful, enlightened women who would guide the destiny of the human race. Now she knew it had been a false hope if the Sisterhood could not last even one generation. The squabbling proved that her Sisters were no better, and no more visionary, than other people.
Daylight leaked over the horizon, rising like rays of hope. Raquella opened her eyes and saw the huddled rooftops of the school buildings below. She heard voices, shouts – and saw the shadowy shapes of women rushing up the trail to the top of Laojin Cliff.
Good, they had received her message.
She heard Dorotea’s pleading voice, which brought comfort as well as urgency. “Mother Superior! Please come back.”
With a warm surge of relief, she also heard Valya calling out. “Dorotea and I will find a way to work together. The Sisterhood can’t stay broken.”
As the daylight brightened, she saw Dorotea and Valya leading a group of Sisters toward her. Raquella did not move from her position, but remained standing on the edge of the cliff.
At the top, Valya pushed her way forward. “We read your message, and it brought us to our senses. Dorotea and I have come here together – and we promise to do whatever is necessary to heal the wounds.” Then Valya’s voice shifted, and she said in a throaty, emphatic tone, “You will not jump, Mother Superior. Step back from the edge, now.”
Raquella had noticed a subtle shifting in the younger woman’s voice previously, when she spoke with other Sisters. The Mother Superior had always ascribed this to Valya’s intense personality, but now the voice seemed different, and the old woman felt something tugging at her, impelling her to step away from the edge.
“Step back from the cliff,” Valya repeated, with the same coarse edge to her voice. It was not a request, and Raquella felt the power of the words immobilize her body. She struggled against the strange power – or what seemed to be a power. Then she relaxed her muscles and just stood there, not wanting to jump, but uncertain if she should step back.
Valya moved closer and said in a softer tone, “We need you, Mother Superior. Both Dorotea and I are desperate for your wise counsel.”
“We’ll look for common ground and build on that,” Dorotea said. “I promise, we will find a way. You need to know that the Sisterhood will live on.”
Fielle and dozens of others – including the visiting Sisters from Salusa – rushed to the top of the cliff. Despite the cold wind that swirled around the promontory, Raquella felt increasing warmth inside. Tears streamed down her face, and she could not stop them.
But she refused to step to safety. “How can I be convinced you won’t simply return to your quarrels once you’ve lured me away from the edge?”
“You have our sworn promise,” Dorotea said. “Hear the truth in my words.”
“I swear there will be no further conflict between Dorotea and me after we resolve this,” Valya said.
Dorotea stepped closer to her rival. “My truthsense tells me that Reverend Mother Valya speaks honestly.” She extended her hand to the old woman, beckoning her. “Let us fulfill your dreams and visions, Grandmother. Let us build on your example, rather than on a tragedy.”
As the wind whipped around them, Raquella heard an upswelling of internal voices in her female ancestry, a chain of voices telling her in a strange harmonics, “This is not your time to die, Raquella. Not here, and not today. You need to live and inspire others – for as long as you can.”
At last, she turned away from the precipice and faced the gathered Sisters of Wallach IX and Salusa, all crowding together, beseeching her. Raquella said, “The voices of Other Memory tell me to believe you. They are normally a background murmur, but they speak to me now – clearly, and in complete agreement.”
The women whispered, looked at one another. Their eyes were wide, desperate. She saw both factions standing resolved, ready to cooperate.
The old woman stepped away from the cliff and into the arms of Valya and Dorotea, who both embraced her in a moment of shared emotion.
Chapter 65 (An Emperor’s grasp can encompass a million worlds)
An Emperor’s grasp can encompass a million worlds, and his decisions can bring down entire civilizations. Even so, the day-to-day activities are tedious.
– EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, Expanded Memoirs, Volume VII
When the Emperor arrived at Arrakis to assert Imperial control over spice operations, Josef Venport intended to be there waiting for him. Salvador Corrino was so naïve!
Departing from Kolhar on one of his fast spacefolders, Josef took the desert man Taref, who had served him well, despite being duped by the Half-Manford’s supposed death. The Freeman saboteur had been of little use, though, since finding his female friend dead in the snow; all he could talk about was returning to Arrakis. Josef couldn’t understand the workings of the desert man’s mind.
Initially he’d been convinced that once the primitive nomads saw other planets and tasted as much water as they could drink, they would never want to go back to their original poverty. How could they not be grateful? But for some incomprehensible reason, the squalid desert life beckoned Taref again.
Too often Josef was disappointed by irrational human beings, the bad decisions they made, their self-destructive behavior. He mourned for the species.
Showing considerable sympathy, he had even offered the young man a furlough on Caladan to recover and get his wits together, since the desert people seemed to have an obsession with that ocean world. Taref had insisted that he wanted to return home – though he couldn’t explain what he expected to find there. He had made it clear he had no place in his old sietch. Nevertheless, Josef granted the request, knowing he would gain nothing by arguing.
When they reached Arrakis City, however, Josef delayed releasing the young man from his service. “I have one final task for you, something only you can do. I will pay you well.”
Taref looked away. His melange-blue eyes were eerie and hard to read. “I don’t require any additional payment, Directeur. You have returned me to Arrakis, as I requested. Now, I wish to be on my own.”
Josef frowned, scratching his mustache. “But where will you go? What will you do here?”
“I do not know … but at least I am back on Arrakis. The path of my life has vanished like footprints in the sand. I cannot entirely retrace my way.”
Josef had little patience for Zensunni mysticism, nor for gloom and malaise. “But I still require your services. Do one last thing for me – and then I will send all of your friends back here, if that’s what they want.”
“Why would you do that?”
“If they don’t want to continue to do their jobs, then your companions are no good to me anyway. I’ll send them back here, provided they go to the deep desert and never reveal what they’ve done for me.”
Taref considered for a long moment. “I am confident they will want that. But I am surprised you would release us so easily.”
Josef narrowed his eyes, as if the young man were questioning his sense of honor and gratitude. “I don’t put loyal, competent workers to death, young man. Unlike some leaders, I believe in human nature. I treated all of you fairly, and I’ve always kept my word. In return, I expect continued honor from you.”
“Honor, yes. The honor of saboteurs.” Taref shook his head, then squared his shoulders again. “Very well. But when I finish this task, I will be gone, with no further obligation to you, to my people, or to anyone else. What do you require of me?”
“The Emperor is taking a long, slow passage with old FTL engines. As soon as he arrives, I need you to find a way aboard his barge with the regular spaceport maintenance and refueling crew.” Then, to Taref’s astonishment, he explained the mission.
* * *
THE IMPERIAL BARGE took its time getting to Arrakis, on a leisurely, luxurious voyage the way the old League of Nobles members used to travel.
Meanwhile, Josef spent three days in Arrakis City receiving reports from Combined Mercantiles, inspecting spice-harvesting records and assessing the numerous losses, including expensive machinery as well as experienced crews who were killed in Coriolis storms and sandworm attacks. Salvador Corrino had no idea how dangerous a business it was.
The spice workers were proficient in mounting a rapid response every time a worm was spotted. The moment one of the monsters was identified in the distance, rescue aircraft would soar in, evacuate the crews, and whisk away the spice cargo in containers designed to be detachable. In dire circumstances, the armored spice containers could be jettisoned far enough away that they might be retrieved. Draigo Roget had dedicated an entire arm of VenHold manufacturing to producing replacement equipment faster than Arrakis could destroy it.
Through its many separate holdings, the company’s investments were immense, as were the profits, which increased every year. For generations, the Venports had cultivated and improved the melange industry, inventing techniques and equipment, driving out poachers, securing and solidifying their claims.
And Salvador Corrino thought he could simply step in and seize it all with a personal appearance and the stroke of a pen? What a fool!
The Imperial Barge was a flying palace, complete with a throne room, audience chamber, functionaries, sycophants, and attendants, along with a ten-member military crew. According to his intelligence from the Imperial Court, the barge had fallback Holtzman engines, but relied on the slower drive that had been used before the discovery of foldspace travel.
Normally, the Emperor would have traveled gratis aboard a VenHold spacefolder, so by using his own transportation, he was snubbing Josef. Despite the intentional snub, the Imperial Barge would have to be serviced and refueled by an Arrakis City maintenance crew – which would provide all the opportunity Taref needed.
Through high-resolution surveillance satellites, Josef watched the gaudy Imperial Barge enter orbit. One of the Emperor’s ministers sent a message to the Combined Mercantiles headquarters even before Salvador delivered his pompous declaration of arrival and formal intent, which followed minutes later.
Reading the transmitted decree, Josef shook his head at its verbosity and folly. Such a waste of his valuable time. He knew the Half-Manford was behind this absurd action, but the Emperor should know better – as should Roderick Corrino. Had everyone lost their sense of reason?
Before Salvador could make too much of a spectacle of himself – he seemed to expect the hard-bitten desert workers to bow down and weep with joy in his presence – Josef transmitted a welcome on a direct-line transmission.
“Emperor Corrino, we are honored that you would grace this humble world with your visit. Our desert operations are complex and difficult, as you must have been briefed. VenHold attorneys are already meeting with Imperial representatives on Kolhar, and I hope you are aware there will be a lengthy transition period as we turn over administration to Imperial control. In the meantime, please allow me to welcome you in person.”
On the screen, Salvador shook his head. “I’d rather not come down to that dirty and insecure place. Manford Torondo was nearly killed in Arrakis City when he visited.”
Josef flinched. “Mere rumors, Sire – but your concern is merited. Arrakis is a harsh world with rough people. Should I join you aboard your Imperial Barge instead, to discuss matters?”
The Emperor looked relieved. “Yes, that would be preferable to getting dirty.”
Josef took his own shuttle from the Arrakis City spaceport up to the barge, bringing a routine team of company maintenance workers. Dressed as any other VenHold employee, with appropriate papers and credentials, Taref melted into the work crew.
In his climate-controlled Imperial chamber, Salvador was in a good mood to receive a presumably cooperative Directeur Venport. Josef tried to put the conversation on the correct track from the start. “Your offer of compensation is fair, perhaps even overly generous, Sire. I understand the power of the throne, so magnanimity is always welcome. You rule the Imperium, and my company is a valuable resource. I look forward to a much closer alliance with you.” He bowed. “My Mentat lawyers inform me that it would have been within your powers under the rules of eminent domain to simply seize the operations without compensation. I appreciate your willingness to work with me for a mutually acceptable solution.”
With a sniff, Salvador said, “Yes, I could have used an iron fist, as I did with House Péle, but VenHold administers many resources for the Imperium, and you have demonstrated your ability to manage your company quite well. I want us to be on friendly terms. The Imperium and the Imperial Armed Forces depend on your ships for many things.”
Josef struggled to suppress his anger. “As Emperor, you have a very difficult role, Sire. I understand the narrow path you must tread, balancing the sensible needs of businessmen like myself against the wild and extreme demands of the Butlerians. I’m confident our representatives can negotiate mutually acceptable terms on the Arrakis contract and subsequent House Corrino control. We can all profit from this situation.”
Salvador’s eyes were sparkling. “I’m relieved you’ve decided to be reasonable, Directeur. I only wish Manford were so tractable.”
Some of the Imperial functionaries chuckled, but their laughter had a nervous edge.
In a dining chamber that seemed too ornate to be inside a spaceworthy ship, the Emperor served a fine banquet while they orbited Arrakis. The meal included braised game hens, chocolate-mist desserts, expensive wines, Salusan fruit juices, and artesian ice water. On Arrakis, this water-extravagant dinner – the drinks alone – would have cost more than a spice crew supervisor’s annual salary, but Josef didn’t comment on this. Salvador wouldn’t care, anyway.
“The important first step, Sire, is for you to witness the melange operations with your own eyes. I’ve made arrangements for you and your entourage to be taken under utmost security out to the deep desert, where you will tour one of our biggest spice-mining operations. The factory moves from day to day as spotters find new concentrations of melange. That way, you’ll see for yourself how the spice is gathered, and why the operational expense is so high.”
“That sounds interesting and informative.” The Emperor nodded, and then his functionaries nodded as well.
“Because bandits often prey upon our operations, it’s best if we don’t announce the location or timing of this expedition.”
“Is it dangerous?” A hint of alarm crept into Salvador’s voice.
Josef smiled. “I’ll be right there with you, and we will be surrounded by my powerful paramilitary force. You’ll be far from the dangers of a confined population center such as Arrakis City. As for the Tanzerouft, where we’ll be, the last incidents of harassment came from unruly Freemen who resented our intrusion into their lands. We have that fully under control now, so it’s nothing to worry about. And you will see more spice than you can possibly imagine, tons and tons of it just lying on the ground!”
Josef had noticed that although his visitors consumed the wines and delicacies with avid abandon, they only took small amounts of melange, treating it as if it were in limited supply.
