Текст книги "Mentats of Dune"
Автор книги: Brian Herbert
Соавторы: Kevin Anderson
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Текущая страница: 35 (всего у книги 38 страниц)
Chapter 74 (There are far more pleasant places for an Emperor)
There are far more pleasant places for an Emperor to visit than Arrakis, but it is important for the sake of appearances that I go there in person. I reign over my subjects on squalid worlds as well as those on magnificent ones.
– EMPEROR SALVADOR CORRINO, Imperial Journals
The spice crew chief received word from the spotter aircraft. “Wormsign, chief! It’s close – and a big one.”
The Imperial entourage responded with a titter of nervous excitement. Salvador hurried to the dust-smeared observation windows on the control deck. “Good. I’ve been wanting to see one.”
The crew chief kept his attention back on the communication system. “Plot its course. How long do we have?” The spotter transmitted coordinates, and the location of the behemoth appeared on a grid-map of the surrounding dunes. “Gods below, it’s close! Why the hell didn’t you spot it sooner?”
“It must have been running deep, Chief,” the spotter replied.
“You should hire better spotters,” Salvador remarked.
Crew Chief Okarr’s drawn expression and gray complexion alarmed the Emperor. “This one is extremely close, Sire. Too close!”
Wondering what action was necessary, Salvador snapped a signal to his Imperial troops. “Be on high alert. We may need your protection.”
The factory crew chief blinked at him in disbelief. “Sire, your guards can’t do anything against a giant sandworm.”
Directeur Venport’s voice came over the comm speakers, sounding scratchy and distant, even though Salvador thought he had merely gone to an office in another part of the spice factory. “Chief Okarr, prepare to jettison the spice – we don’t have much time.” The Emperor was not impressed with the electrical systems aboard this big mobile factory. Static storms and dust must be playing havoc with the circuitry.
“Yes, Directeur. I summoned the carryalls, and my crew is ready to evacuate. I’m trying to reach the rescue ships right now – they should be inbound momentarily.” His hands a blur across the controls, the chief prepped the spice container and launched it.
The loud explosive report startled Salvador. “What was that? Are we under attack?”
“That was planned, Sire.” Chief Okarr was flushed and tense, but he still answered the Emperor’s questions. “All the spice gathered during our operations is packed into an armored cargo container, which I just jettisoned. In tight situations like this, we launch it with a locator beacon far from the spice factory. With the worm distracted by the greater vibrations from our operations, we can usually retrieve the container later.”
“Interesting,” Salvador said, but his nervous entourage did not seem interested at all.
The captain of the Imperial Guard picked up on the tension in the control room. “Sire, we should return to the Imperial shuttle. It’s time to get to safety.”
Salvador nodded. “Yes, let’s leave these good people to their work. Spice mining is a complicated business, as we’ve seen firsthand. Good job, all of you.”
The guard captain touched his earadio, listened, and recoiled. “Sire, there’s been an explosion on the shuttle! I think it’s sabotage.”
The entourage gasped, looking to Salvador for guidance. He tried to be strong, for their sakes. Mustering a calm voice, he said, “We were warned of the dangers on Arrakis, but we’ll be all right. Captain, arrange for us to get away.”
“Sire! The shuttle can’t fly! The engines are ruined.”
“Ruined? You mean they can’t be repaired?”
“Ruined, Sire! We’re trapped here.”
“Will we still be able to see the worm?” asked one of the baliset players, as if she were more interested in inspiration for a new song than her own safety.
“I’m sure we’ll see the worm from the evacuation ships. Crew Chief, where do we go to board your rescue vessels?”
The chief was short-tempered, barking orders into the comm system. “We don’t have enough escape ships for a hundred extra people!”
“Carryalls aren’t responding, Chief – I can’t raise them at all,” shouted one of the workers. “They’ve got to be inbound.”
Someone else yelled, “That worm will be here in less than five minutes.”
Venport’s voice crackled over the speakers on the control deck. “Emperor Corrino, my apologies, but urgent business has called me away. I would have preferred to tell you in person.” He sounded flippant. “I’ve decided to reject Imperial seizure of my spice operations. Here on Arrakis, power doesn’t come from a title or bloodline, but from actions, resources, and carefully laid plans.”
Salvador didn’t understand what the man was saying.
Venport continued, “Chief Okarr, the spice cargo has been jettisoned safely away. You and your men have served Combined Mercantiles well and generated a great deal of profit for us. It was your bad luck to be assigned here today, but rest assured that I will compensate your families generously for their losses. And Emperor Corrino … enjoy the rest of your tour.”
The chief roared curses into the voice pickup. Imperial soldiers closed around Salvador to protect him, though he didn’t feel any safer having them near. The factory workers were in a complete panic. Some curled up, muttering prayers, while others fled the control deck, but there was no safe place to go.
Outside on the dunes, a handful of ground rollers raced away from the harvester factory. Salvador wondered if he and his inner circle could commandeer those vehicles and get away across the desert, although apparently the giant worms pounced on any small vibrations.
He felt confused, frozen into inaction. Roderick would have known what to do—he would have issued the right orders to arrange an escape, might even have been able to prevent Venport’s treachery in the first place.
Alas, his brother had always been a stronger, more competent person than he was. Many of Salvador’s special guards and advisers were concerned that Roderick might assassinate his brother and take the throne, but Salvador had never worried. Roderick was his closest, most loyal friend.
No, his brother would have kept them all safe. In fact, Roderick had advised him against imperializing the Arrakis spice operations at all. It had been Manford Torondo’s idea, and a very bad one. Roderick had advised him not to go to Arrakis, too. He bit his lower lip and muttered, “You were right, dear brother.”
The guard captain withdrew his Chandler pistol and pointed the deadly weapon at the crew chief’s florid face. “Tell us how to get the Emperor out of here, now! There must be a way.”
Unafraid of the weapon, the chief bellowed back, “There is no way – I’d evacuate my own people if I could! We can’t possibly call in any rescue ships in time. We have only minutes left.”
At the observation window someone screamed – a thin, womanish wail, though it came from a stocky man, the Minister of Mining. Salvador shoved him away and pressed closer to look through the main window. Dust had blown in front of the plaz, obscuring the view.
The guard captain, still waving his ineffective pistol, took over the spice factory’s comm systems, swiftly adjusting to a private frequency to transmit to the Imperial Barge in orbit. “Our Emperor is under attack! Convey this urgent message to Salusa Secundus. Directeur Josef Venport sabotaged the operations and abandoned us to be consumed by a sandworm. I … I do not believe we can survive. I have failed in my sworn duty.”
Hearing this, the barge pilot should know to activate the foldspace engines and race away, returning to the capital world with the news. Roderick would learn the truth, and he would retaliate against Venport Holdings.
Salvador found that satisfying, at least. Everyone was screaming now. Looking through the observation window, he said in a peculiar, matter-of-fact voice, “There’s the worm.”
The eyeless monster burst out of the desert, its mouth a cave filled with sparkling crystal teeth that scooped tons of sand down its gullet as it swept forward.
“It’s so close!” Salvador said, until someone said the thing was still at least two minutes away – the gigantic size made it appear much nearer. The worm hammered forward, the size of a starship. His brain went numb, frozen with terror and disbelief.
Maddened by the pounding vibrations, the worm careened forward, and Salvador had to admit that it was indeed very impressive.
* * *
LOOSE ENDS HAD a way of strangling a person. When making his assassination plans, Josef Venport had considered merely leaving the spice harvester to its fate, but he needed to see with his own eyes that the worm swallowed the factory, its crew, and the Emperor’s entourage.
Taref’s news of killing Manford Torondo had been premature, much to Josef’s disappointment, and now the young Freeman had thrown the carefully orchestrated plan into chaos, but thankfully Josef had implemented an emergency backup plan. This was not the way he would have preferred to handle the situation, but it accomplished the necessary purpose anyway.
It was sad to lose the spice crew and crew chief, who had done nothing wrong. This was a high-risk profession, however, and everyone aboard the harvester had known the risks when they signed on. Even spice factories with experienced crews were lost in the desert all the time. At least these people’s sacrifice would strengthen VenHold’s future, as well as that of the melange industry itself, and therefore the economy of Arrakis – along with commerce across the Imperium.
Even more important, with Salvador Corrino gone and a more rational leader in place – someone who could stand up against the barbarians – Josef would prevent the looming dark ages that Norma Cenva had envisioned. Yes, the spice workers would understand his choice, and their sacrifice was unavoidable. He couldn’t save them.
The two spotter pilots who had been paid to report the wormsign to him would be taken to Kolhar. They would remain under tight security and close observation. An evil man would simply have killed them to eliminate the last witnesses – the more cautious course – but these pilots had served him as he’d asked, and Josef always rewarded those who performed their jobs well.
He would keep the pilots alive on Kolhar, granting them their reward (though they might not immediately consider it a reward). Eventually, they would appreciate being sealed into tanks of spice gas and transformed into new Navigators.…
He hoped he had been able to get the message to Norma Cenva quickly enough. He could never tell when she was receptive, when she would just know. But he could always count on her.
Josef guided his escape flyer, looking down at the undulating ground as the sandworm circled the spice factory. On its approach, the worm offhandedly devoured several scout rollers that tried to escape across the dunes. The jettisoned melange container had landed more than a kilometer away in an adjacent valley; he would have someone retrieve it, once the dust settled around here.
Josef was startled and annoyed when Salvador’s guard captain transmitted an urgent tight-beam message to the Imperial Barge, alerting them to the treachery. It would have been simpler to take care of the barge if the crew remained ignorant, but Josef had planned for that already. He sent a signal to orbit. “Grandmother, are you there and prepared?”
He activated a screen in his cockpit, a projection from a nearby VenHold ship in space that was tracking the Imperial vessel. Transmissions were picked up, alarms sounded. Only a skeleton crew remained aboard the barge, but they were already priming their engines and setting their mechanical navigation system to escape. Their old FTL drive would not be fast enough, and he wasn’t sure they could activate the backup Holtzman engines in time.
“I am here,” Norma said. “As are the rest of our warships.”
With a shimmering wink, twenty fully armed VenHold vessels emerged from foldspace to surround the opulent Imperial Barge, weapons activated.
The barge pilot yelped into the comm line. “We’ve been betrayed!”
“Indeed you have,” Josef muttered to himself.
Beneath him as he circled, Josef watched the whirlpool of sand. The giant worm rose up and crushed the spice factory, shearing away the metal plates. All the panicked transmissions ended abruptly. The worm circled back and struck again, then dragged the wreckage of the offending machinery under the surface.
On his cockpit screen, VenHold warships opened fire on the Imperial Barge.
But the Imperial ship, given the brief warning, had already begun its escape – and the crew proved to be unexpectedly swift in their reactions. The VenHold warships launched another volley of projectiles that blackened the barge’s hull, but the pilot activated the emergency Holtzman engines and plunged blindly into foldspace.
Norma’s voice came across the comm line. “They escaped, but they were clearly damaged.”
Frowning, Josef said with a sigh, “A plan can have many prongs. That ship won’t be going anywhere.” He hoped Taref had indeed caused sufficient damage to their navigation systems.
Below, the worm retreated underground, leaving only a churned cauldron with a few rusty smears of spice. All the evidence was gone. And soon, with storms and other weather patterns, the excavation site would look as if it had never been disturbed by man.
Chapter 75 (I only hope I have enough time)
I only hope I have enough time and good fortune to do what needs to be accomplished.
– VALYA HARKONNEN, to her sister, Tula
The Sisterhood possessed layer upon layer of secrets, and Valya Harkonnen was the sole custodian of the most important secret of all. Mother Superior Valya Harkonnen.
Explaining Dorotea’s death involved meticulous choreography, and Valya attended to the details with intense focus. No mistakes. The scenario was obvious to the Sisters who ran into Mother Superior Raquella’s chamber and saw the two women dead. And Dorotea’s own Truthsayers were there to announce the veracity of Valya’s account.
The following morning, she stood alongside Sister Fielle and Sister Olivia on the grass of the commons, watching as gray smoke curled from the top of the masonry crematorium structure. Dull gray clouds overhead matched the color of the smoke. Valya shivered as a chill wind cut through her robe.
Prior to her death, Mother Superior Raquella had left instructions that she wanted no funeral for herself and no mourning. Back on Rossak, the body of any dead Sister would have been cast into the jungle, for nature to reclaim. Here on Wallach IX she had asked to be cremated without fanfare, her ashes scattered in the central commons of the school complex.
Since Dorotea, overcome with grief, guilt, and despair, had purportedly killed herself after the Mother Superior’s death, Valya seized the opportunity to suggest that they be cremated together. It was fitting, she said, since their bodies had fallen together in the end. She chose her words with great care to make the point without lying – especially in the company of the six orthodox Sisters who had come from Salusa Secundus. “It is a perfect symbol of what we agreed to do, to show that Dorotea truly and fundamentally rejoined our Sisterhood.”
Since Valya was now the Mother Superior, the other Sisters did not challenge her suggestion. She watched the smoke continue to dance out of the chimney. Both bodies were fully consumed now, along with any lingering evidence of Dorotea’s murder.
And what evidence could there be? Those last moments were locked inside Valya’s mind. “Dorotea took her own life,” she asserted, standing firm with her story. “Just before she died, Mother Superior Raquella did something to Dorotea’s mind, changed her somehow. Dorotea was distraught, overwhelmed. She took the knife in her hands and plunged it into her own throat. I saw it myself.”
The visiting Salusan Sisters were appalled and outraged at the turn of events, suspicious that Valya might have murdered her rival, possibly even the old Mother Superior, too. But three of Dorotea’s companions were also skilled Truthsayers. They had faced Valya with their veiled accusations, scrutinized her as she repeated her story. “Listen to my words.” She allowed just the right mix of anger and indignation to mingle with deep, heartfelt sadness, and added a customized edge to her powerful Voice. “Dorotea took her own life. She stabbed herself with the knife. I did not touch her.”
Even the most skeptical of the Truthsayers could detect no falsehood in her words – and Valya reminded them of the promises they had made to the revered Raquella Berto-Anirul. They must all accept Valya as the next Mother Superior.
Now, as the last smoke wafted out of the crematorium chimney, Valya said, “Although Mother Superior Raquella disdained emotional involvement, I can’t help feeling great sadness. But she died knowing we had reached an agreement, that the schism was healed and the two factions of the Sisterhood could go forward united, stronger than ever. I intend to follow those wishes and do everything possible to ensure the extraordinary future Raquella envisioned.”
Fielle and Olivia nodded, remaining close beside her. The other Sisters had lined up on the commons, including the six orthodox visitors, all enduring the cold wind.
Fielle said, “Mother Superior had faith that you would both do what is best for the Sisterhood. Dorotea must have had her own insight, a tragic one that led to her suicide. Was that a failure, or a radical decisive action? Maybe she knew that, despite the best intentions, having two Mother Superiors would eventually lead to division again.”
Valya liked the sound of that. “I choose to believe Dorotea wanted to prevent further chaos.”
Sister Olivia was shaking her head, deeply bothered. She kept both hands in the large side pockets of her robe, accentuating the pear shape of her body. Valya realized that the Sister Mentat was waiting to be formally recognized by her Mother Superior. “Yes, Olivia?”
“I was following a projection. Raquella was the founder of our order, and Dorotea led the other Sisters on Salusa. Now we’ve lost both of them, our best chance for reconciliation.” Her expression grew agitated, and she fidgeted. “What will become of us now? I want to do as Mother Superior Raquella would have wished.”
“I am the Mother Superior now,” Valya said, firm but not angry. “And you are overwrought. I need you, as a Mentat and a Sister, to control your emotions. Only in that manner can we succeed against all of our challenges. We must work harder to master our feelings. Look what despair did to Dorotea.”
A startled expression. Then: “Yes, Mother Superior! I’m sorry, Mother Superior. I shouldn’t be worried about our Sisterhood, with you leading us. Perhaps I should go to the pharmacy for a sedative?”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Valya smiled gently. With a quick bow, Olivia hurried away.
“Your friend has a tendency to be nervous,” Valya said to Fielle. “We cannot afford hysteria or rash decisions. Raquella worried about the survival of the Sisterhood when she chose her successor. That part is past now, and I have even bigger dreams. As Mother Superior, I will change the emphasis of our teachings, focusing on allied mental and physical disciplines. Sisters must learn how to fight and defend themselves on a personal and collective basis – but we can’t let outsiders suspect just how powerful we are. We have a great deal of work to do, momentous challenges to face.”
And Valya knew she would also have to keep the secret of the breeding-record computers from all but her inner circle of Sisters. It had been done before.
Fielle lifted her chin. “I will aid you with my Mentat projections. What do you plan, Mother Superior?”
“Our Sisters will train here on Wallach IX, and they will also serve on Salusa Secundus, all loyal to the Mother Superior. I would like to post them in each of the noble houses of the Landsraad as well. As our influence spreads, the Sisterhood will grow stronger. Those who remain at the Imperial Court will reassure the Emperor so that he continues to accept our order.”
Fielle coughed in the dry, cold air. “I would like to be more than a Sister Mentat, Mother Superior. With your permission, I feel I am ready to face the Agony. If I become a Reverend Mother, the Sisterhood will grow even stronger.”
Valya stared hard at her for a moment. “That is not a decision to make lightly … and even with the refined Rossak drug, many candidates still die in the attempt. Sister Fielle, in you I see not just a possible Reverend Mother, but a possible leader. I think Raquella saw that as well.”
“But how could I lead other Reverend Mothers without being one myself?”
“You are a Sister Mentat, an essential element of our organization. I will depend on you for advice. I need Sisters I can rely on. You were there when Mother Superior Raquella died. You saw that she put her faith in me, and I put my faith in you now. The Sisterhood needs you, Fielle. I need you at this critically important time in our history.”
“As you wish, Mother Superior.” For a moment the Sister Mentat seemed disappointed, but she mastered her emotions, and Valya saw her features relax in acceptance. “I will do as you command.”
As Valya watched the gray smoke dissipate, she thought of her own rapid ascension here. The library of ancient experiences and knowledge in Other Memories had made her wise beyond her years.
She also knew that the resources of the Sisterhood gave her a clearer path to advance House Harkonnen. She could accomplish both of the goals that had consumed her for so long. As she co-opted the Salusan Sisters, she would gain greater influence with the Imperial throne, find and expand opportunities, seek ways to increase Harkonnen participation in the Landsraad. Maybe find a place for Danvis, maybe use Tula as a breeding mistress …
Griffin would have been proud of Valya. She knew that her beloved brother would have agreed with what she intended to do next.
The last wisps of smoke from the crematorium washed away in the morning breeze. It was over now. Both Dorotea and Raquella had been reduced to fine ash. Valya inhaled a long, deep breath of cold air, but didn’t allow herself a smile. She would continue to control her emotions.
“After we scatter the ashes,” she said, “I will make preparations to go to the Imperial Court and inform the orthodox Sisters of the deaths of both Raquella and Dorotea, as well as the good news that we are once again unified, and that I am the new Mother Superior. The six Salusan Sisters who came with Dorotea will accompany me to vouch for what they witnessed here.”
Fielle added, “And you must arrange for a new Truthsayer for the Emperor, now that Dorotea is gone.”
Valya had already been considering possibilities, reluctant to let one of Dorotea’s original followers take such an important role, though Salvador might insist on it. Valya needed her own loyal Truthsayers. “I will take Sister Olivia with me on this visit, and three or four other Wallach Sisters as well. I want you to remain here and manage the school in my absence.”
Fielle lowered her voice. “We dare not share the knowledge of the computers with the Salusan Sisters. That would shatter the Sisterhood again.”
“We kept that secret on Rossak, and we will keep it here, too.” Valya took a deep breath, as she pondered the future of the Sisterhood before her. “We will be a long time recovering from what the Emperor did to us on Rossak, and we must take great care not to incite extreme reactions. We will not become fanatical Butlerians, but we will quietly demonstrate that our human abilities are superior. And after generations of carefully modeled, studied, and manipulated breeding, we will advance humanity even further.”
When she visited the Imperial Court, Valya would take stock of the women there, assigning some of them back to Wallach IX, where they could be closely watched, while others might be more malleable and left on Salusa. She would also assign some of her faithful Sisters from Wallach IX to fill certain roles on Salusa. It would be a gradual process, requiring years, maybe even generations. Mother Superior Raquella had taught her how to think in the very long term.
“Our task will be easier, and far less dangerous, once the Butlerian hysteria quiets down,” Valya mused.
“Without Manford Torondo, the movement will fracture and fade away,” Fielle said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been assassinated yet – by Josef Venport or someone else.”
Valya’s voice was completely even. “Are you volunteering for the assignment?”
“No, Mother Superior! I didn’t mean to suggest the Sisterhood would condone anything like that.”
Valya arched her eyebrows. “You should make a Mentat projection on the possibilities and probabilities. We might be better off if the Butlerian leader were out of the way.”
“Or worse off, if someone even more dangerous took his place.”
Two black-robed Sisters emerged from the crematorium, each carrying an urn. The ashes would still be warm, reminding Valya of how a body’s warmth lingered even after the heart had stopped beating. In time, the memory of the traitor Dorotea would grow as cold as her ashes that were soon to be spread on the ground. Valya would make sure that Dorotea was not revered, her actions not emulated. Perhaps even her name would be forgotten.
Raquella, though, was a different matter. There would be statues erected in her honor, and her memory would endure as long as the Sisterhood. And Valya Harkonnen would forever be known as her chosen successor, the bearer of her eternal torch.
Valya knew she was also much more than that.…
