Sisterhood of Dune (29 page)

Though Manford longed for a quiet season with Anari, where they could watch the natural pace of the harvest and the changing weather on Lampadas, he knew he had not been made for a normal life, nor had his beloved mentor, Rayna Butler. She’d survived the horrific Omnius plagues, while her whole family died around her. Forever scarred by the experience, Rayna spent her entire life insisting that humanity expunge its dependence on machines. Following her heroic example, Manford had been through a similar crucible. He was just as scarred, but in a different way, and he was just as driven. He would be traveling again soon. There were always planets that needed to hear his words.

Anari Idaho entered the office wearing her impeccable black-and-gray uniform. Her hair was cut short, her face scrubbed clean to show her rough beauty; the devotion on her expression was as indelible as a tattoo. “Two offworlders are here to request a meeting.” The slight downturn of her mouth was a sign of disapproval. “They have brought … equipment.”

Manford set the documents aside. “Who are they? What kind of equipment?”

“They come from the planet Zenith, scientists of some sort. One of them acts as if he is a person of note.”

Now Manford was curious. After asking the man’s name and making no connection with it, he said, “What do scientists want here?”

“Shall I interrogate them?” She sounded eager. Manford knew that if he requested it, she would break their necks without batting an eyelash. He didn’t know what he’d ever do without her.

“Send them in. I’ll talk with these scientists myself. If I need you to do anything, I will ask.”

A pair of diminutive men entered the room, pulling a sealed case the size of a small coffin. It floated on suspensors, and the blinking lights of a diagnostic panel shone on the top.

The smaller of the two belonged to the disgraced Tlulaxa race; he had short, dark hair and a pinched expression, and he was obviously subordinate. After the horrific scandal that had brought down the Tlulaxa organ farms during Serena Butler’s Jihad, most humans carried an intrinsic animus toward the race, but the Tlulaxa had been subdued and supposedly rehabilitated. In recent decades, zealous Butlerians had established a watchdog presence on the main Tlulaxa worlds, closely monitoring any research being conducted there. Many of their insidious projects had been quashed, much to the consternation of the Tlulaxa Masters. But they had been meek and cooperative; he expected no trouble from them.

The second man, obviously the one in charge, was not a Tlulaxa. Large eyes gave him an owlish look. He had brown hair, a weak chin, and a studious demeanor that made him seem more like an accountant than a researcher. The bookish man came forward briskly, evincing a scholarly and even conciliatory manner. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Leader Torondo. I am Ptolemy, an independent scientist and Landsraad representative from Zenith. This is my good friend and research associate Dr. Elchan.”

Manford kept his expression cool. “And what brings you to Lampadas? Very few self-proclaimed scientists offer to join our movement for the preservation of the human soul.” He forced a smile. “But I remain optimistic.”

Ptolemy blinked his owlish eyes, took a moment to gather his bearings. “That is part of the reason we’ve come. You may have heard of my planet Zenith, which encourages and funds many research projects designed for the benefit of the human race—medical advances, agricultural developments, automated shelter construction for the poor on primitive worlds. As the official representative from Zenith, I heard the speech you presented at the Landsraad Hall, and I felt compelled to see you in person.”

“Ah, now I remember you. You spoke on the record.” At the time, the man had seemed weak and unimpressive, as if the fate of the human race could be boiled down to a simple schoolhouse debate.

Ptolemy offered a smile. “Though I admit I did not agree with your argument, I respect your convictions and passion. A man must speak up when he has strong convictions—that is what makes humans great. We can agree on that? A bit of common ground?”

“Only a starting point.” Manford wondered what these men intended.

“I have to believe we can talk like reasonable men. Your impassioned speech gave me much food for thought.”

“Good.” Manford folded his hands together on the desk. “Humans think. Machines don’t. The mind of man is holy.”

“The mind of man is holy,” Anari murmured.

“Our two sides have grown so far apart they no longer hear each other, Leader Torondo. What if you and I could have a frank and logical discussion? The human race would be much more productive, stronger, and happier if we find some kind of compromise. We shouldn’t work against one another.”

Ptolemy’s smile was hopeful, and naïve. Manford did not smile back.

“One does not compromise by cutting a thing in half. They are my core beliefs and principles.”

The scientist chuckled nervously. “Oh, I’m not asking for anything like that! Please hear me out. We all know that technology can be abused, but it isn’t inherently evil. Some of our early experiments focused on growing sheets of polymer-based tissue to be grafted onto burn victims—Dr. Elchan’s work. The Suk doctors already use it extensively. But we have gone far beyond that. My associate and I have brought you a gift created in our laboratories on Zenith.” He gestured to the coffin-case that bobbed on its suspensors like a rowboat on a lake. “You’ll find it very beneficial.”

The quiet Tlulaxa partner did not seem so optimistic; in fact, Manford could sense a deep-seated fear emanating from him, as if he were walking a tightrope across a deep chasm. Ptolemy, though, was like a puppy, smiling encouragement to his friend. After opening the case, the Tlulaxa reached in and removed a flesh-colored object—an amputated leg!

Anari flinched, grabbed for her sword. Elchan blurted out, “No, it’s no trick! Please, just
look.
” Ptolemy sent his partner a questioning look, surprised at the reaction.

No, Manford realized upon closer inspection, it was a
prosthetic
leg sheathed in a very realistic, skinlike polymer.

Ptolemy continued with unabashed pride in his voice. “On Zenith, we have a separate independent laboratory dedicated to developing lifelike artificial replacement limbs that connect directly with biological nerve endings. In the past, many Jihad veterans were forced to live as amputees. Earlier, before the organ-farm troubles”—he glanced over at Dr. Elchan, then back at Manford—“the Tlulaxa labs provided tank-grown eyes or internal organs, but that work has been all but abandoned for almost a century. Now he and I have created this new bionic system that, when properly attached and configured, can tap into your mind’s impulses. The muscle analogs are responsive polymer fibers, and the nerve conductors are thin wires.”

He took the flopping false leg from his partner and held it up like a prop, poking at the flesh with his fingertips. “Our gift to you, Leader Torondo—an olive branch to show you the real benefits of properly applied technology. With this, you shall
walk again
! Dr. Elchan and I can give you your legs back, to let you see how science can help humanity and ease the hurt of so many who suffer.”

Manford was not the least bit tempted by the offer. “The cymeks used similar principles for their brains to operate machine forms. The human body is not a machine.”

Ptolemy looked baffled. “But of course it is—a biological machine. The skeleton is a structural framework, muscle fibers are like cables and pulleys, blood vessels are fluid-transport conduits, nerve endings are like sensors, the heart is the engine and the brain like a memory core—”

“What you say is deeply offensive.”

The scientist seemed disappointed by Manford’s stony reaction, but he pressed ahead anyway with dogged determination. “Please hear me out. If you will look at my friend and colleague?” He turned to his Tlulaxa partner, though the other man did not at all want the attention. “Through a serious accident, Dr. Elchan lost the use of his left arm, and we have replaced it with one of these prosthetics. I doubt you even noticed it until now.”

The other man raised his arm, flexed his fingers, and used his real hand to tug a gray sleeve up to reveal the smooth plastic skin on his left arm. A shiver of revulsion ran down Manford’s back. Standing at the doorway of the office, Anari Idaho was also repulsed by the prosthetics.

Still jabbering as if presenting a rosy progress report to a board meeting, Ptolemy removed the second leg from the coffin-container. “After we affix these to your body, you will be a whole man again.” He didn’t realize that he had stepped over a very important line.

Fighting back his disgust, Manford raised his chin and looked over at Anari. “You know what to do, Swordmaster.”

Like a released spring, she drew her sword and shouldered the two scientists aside. With a surprised cry, Ptolemy dropped the artificial leg onto Manford’s desk, and Anari swung her blade like a woodsman chopping a log. Lubricants and nutrient fluids spurted, dousing the papers, but Manford didn’t flinch. Ptolemy and Elchan cried out in dismay. Anari struck three times before the first leg was mangled beyond repair, then she made quick work of the other. “The mind of man is holy,” she said.

Sobbing, Dr. Elchan pulled his left arm tight against his chest, fearing the Swordmaster would hack the artificial limb off his body.

Appalled, Ptolemy said in a hollow voice, as if
he
were the one who had been betrayed, “Why did you do that? Those legs were our gift to you.” Manford almost pitied the man. He honestly didn’t understand!

“There is a seductive quality to machine technology. It is a slippery slope,” Manford said. “If I permit one thing, where do I draw the line? I do not want to open that door.”

“But you use machines regularly, sir! Your logic is arbitrary.”

Unbelievable—the man was still trying to get through to him! In a way, he admired Ptolemy’s dedication to his beliefs, even if they were wrong. “My faith is perfectly clear.”

Dr. Elchan was terrified and shuddering, but Ptolemy stuck to his principles. “Please, there must be something! If you won’t allow us to give you replacement limbs, then we can create a simple suspensor platform for you to ride in.”

“No. A suspensor platform is still technology, a first step on the road to ruin, and I will not allow it. Your temptations won’t work on me.”

Ptolemy pointed toward the naked sword Anari held. “
Technology
made that blade. Technology drives the starships that you use to travel from planet to planet. You accept it only when it meets your needs?”

Manford shrugged, not willing to concede the point. “I am not perfect, and I make some sacrifices for the greater good. There are many thousands of worlds in the Imperium, and all of them need to hear my words. I can’t simply shout across space. It’s a necessary compromise. I have to use some forms of technology for the greater good.”

“That’s a contradiction,” Ptolemy said.

“Faith sees through contradictions, while science cannot.” He looked down at the mangled prosthetics. “But when it comes to my body, I draw the line. Sacred human flesh was made in God’s image, and the only assistance I will accept in place of walking is from another human being. Countless volunteers are willing to carry me on a palanquin wherever I need to go. Anari here”—he gestured to the Swordmaster—“bears me on her shoulders when necessary.”

Ptolemy frowned, as if Manford had spoken to him in a foreign language. “So it is your preference to oppress a human being rather than use a simple wheelchair? Don’t you see how demeaning it is to use a person as a beast of burden?”

A flare of rage flushed Anari’s face. “I consider it an honor.”

She raised her sword, stepping toward the two scientists, but Manford stopped her from killing them. “There’s no need for violence, my loyal companion. These misguided scientists came here to speak their point of view, and I agreed to hear them.”

She muttered under her breath. “I am not a slave. I serve you willingly.”

Manford said to the two men, “I will not budge on the matter. I respect your dedication to your delusions, Dr. Ptolemy—but if only you could see the light. Your mission here has been a complete waste of time, and this meeting is at an end. You may leave your equipment rubbish here. We’ll see that it’s disposed of properly.”

As the two scientists left in disgrace, Ptolemy looked back with obvious disappointment, devastated to see the mangled prosthetic legs. He looked so lost and confused; he simply couldn’t comprehend a man whose convictions were different from his own.

Manford felt sorry for him, and for what would have to happen next.

Be careful of the knowledge you seek, and the price you must pay for it.

—axiom of the Sisterhood

When Josef Venport returned from Denali, an unpleasant surprise awaited him at the Kolhar headquarters, one far more serious than the usual administrative problems he faced.

His wife met him, accompanied by his security chief, Ekbir. Cioba said nothing at first, but he could read a wealth of concerns in her stolid expression. She let Ekbir deliver the information. “A spy, sir.”

Josef went rigid as anger built within him, though he didn’t dare show any reaction. The idea seemed utterly preposterous, but was not unexpected. With its space fleet, planetary banking, and mercantile operations, Venport Holdings was much too influential and far-reaching not to attract malicious attention.

“We neutralized him,” Cioba said. “Limited the release of information. I have ideas on how to deal with spies, but I thought I should check with you first.”

“Where did you find him?” Josef asked.

Ekbir steeled himself, met the Directeur’s gaze. “Out in the Navigator fields, sir. The man posed as one of our technicians. He had the proper uniform, identification badge, access codes.”

“Find out how he got them.”

Ekbir gave a slow nod. “Already working on it, sir.”

Josef’s thick eyebrows drew together. “All VenHold maintenance technicians are carefully vetted and given specific psychological training. They’re a close-knit team. How did he infiltrate them?”