Sisterhood of Dune (30 page)

Cioba nodded. “That is exactly how he was caught. Though his credentials appeared to be impeccable, our people sensed something wrong. He was reported in less than an hour.”

Josef’s face turned warm as he pictured the grassy plain covered with sealed tanks, each containing an embryonic Navigator immersed in mutagenic concentrations of melange gas. “He discovered what we’re doing out there, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.” Ekbir had no way to deny it.

Josef had known the secret would leak out sooner or later. Norma Cenva was the first to experience the biological enhancements caused by long-term exposure to spice gas—but his great-grandmother’s mind had been special in the first place. Only after a great deal of experimentation had another human candidate survived the change. Successes still comprised a relatively small percentage.

“He hasn’t revealed much to us yet, though we’ve only begun the interrogation process,” Cioba said. “I monitored it myself, and we’ve got Scalpel working on it.”

“Good.” The specially trained torturers in the Suk organization’s Scalpel division were efficient at inflicting long-term pain with no visible damage. He looked up at his wife, admired her pale skin, her porcelainlike beauty; Cioba’s Sorceress heritage was prominent in her features, but alas she exhibited no telepathic powers. “I wish you could just go into his mind and rip out the information.”

She stroked his arm with a brief, electric touch. “Yes, we can wish. But in the meantime we’ll have to use other means.” Perhaps their two daughters would show greater mental strength, once they grew older and completed their Sisterhood training.

“We assume he was sent by one of the other commercial transport companies, anxious to learn about our Navigators.…” Ekbir’s voice faltered as he realized he was stating the obvious.

“Arjen Gates already had his company meddling with the spice operations on Arrakis. I put a stop to that, but I still don’t believe he’s learned his lesson.” Josef had taken great pleasure in watching the images Ishanti sent of the capture and destruction of poaching operations near Carthag, hurling the rival chief down into a Coriolis storm.

None of the other space fleets had developed anything similar to Navigators, and his competitors had only the vaguest understanding of why VenHold ships never suffered a mishap, when their own blind flying resulted in high accident rates. Through careful analysis, Cioba had surmised that some of the other companies could be using computerized navigation devices, which were strictly forbidden. Venport had his own spies investigating the matter.

Personally, Josef had no qualms about using mechanical navigation devices, which he considered useful and reliable—he would have used them himself if he didn’t have Norma’s Navigators—and the restrictions against them were just silly. Nonetheless, if he could prove that one of his rivals used outlawed computers, he wouldn’t hesitate to report them, which would result in the confiscation and likely destruction of all ships in the competitor’s fleet. It was, after all, only business.

“Let me see this spy,” Josef said.

“We’re holding him in an interrogation chamber, sir, pending your orders.”

Josef scratched his thick mustache, glanced at his wife. “You know what my orders are going to be.”

Cioba led him out of the room, walking close beside him. “Don’t take any precipitous action.”

The security man guided them to the underground levels of the headquarters tower, where they met a gaunt man, who kept his head bowed and displayed a funereal manner. Dr. Wantori had completed specialized training at the Suk School, although his degree was not a matter of public record. Over the course of their studies at the medical institution, certain adepts discovered a penchant for inflicting pain rather than relieving it. Wantori was the best of the surreptitious Scalpel interrogators and torturers that Josef could find.

“This way, sir,” said Wantori in a grave voice. “We are beginning to make progress.”

They stopped in front of an opaque plaz viewing window. “Is he in there?” Josef asked. “Why is everything dark?”

“There is nothing to see, at the moment.” Wantori worked the screen, sliding through the spectrum. An image blurred, then focused as the sensors adjusted the range and mathematically shifted the display to visible light.

A man hung at an angle in the middle of the chamber, arms and legs outstretched, with his head tilted toward the floor. He looked like a lost soul in an old story of limbo. “What have you done to him?”

“He is unharmed, sir. The chamber is devoid of light and sound. Suspensors negate the gravity. The temperature precisely matches his body temperature. In his own perceptions, he is
nowhere.
” Wantori looked up, blinked his large eyes as if he didn’t like to reveal his techniques. “Often that’s enough to break an interrogation subject, but this one hasn’t revealed anything yet.”

“I wouldn’t have expected him to. Any man who could infiltrate my Navigator field is no ordinary spy. He’s either very dedicated or very well paid.” Josef considered. “I hope he’s well paid, because a mercenary can be bought, whereas a man with political or religious convictions is harder to break.”

Ekbir pointed out, “He is physically unharmed, except for some contusions and one broken finger, which he received while resisting capture.”

“I healed it,” Wantori said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered,” Josef said.

The interrogator shook his head slightly. “The pain of a broken bone or the ache of bruises decreases the effectiveness of sensory deprivation. It gives the subject something to hold on to, a focus. Now he has nothing, not even the pain. To him, it must seem as if a thousand years have passed. And my procedure is just beginning.”

Josef said, “Let me speak to him.”

Wantori looked alarmed. “It’ll be a setback to our disorientation process, sir.”

“Let me speak to him!” Josef barely controlled his temper. The fact that someone would come here like a rapist in a nunnery offended him. For generations the Venports had built their empire, funded research, constructed ships, acquired wealth and power. He found it deeply insulting that anyone would try to take what he had
achieved.

Cioba nodded to the interrogator. “Do as my husband says. It may yield some interesting results.”

Wantori activated a set of controls, gestured toward an input speaker. When Josef spoke, his words boomed into the lightless tank. “My name is Josef Venport.” After days of utter silence, without any sensation whatsoever, the captive spy must have thought he sounded like a deity. “I can tell you’re a professional at what you do, and I won’t insult you by asking detailed questions. Dr. Wantori will take care of that for me. Will you at least do me the courtesy of telling me your name and why you are here?”

The spy twisted as he floated, but did not seem uncomfortable or disoriented. He did not try to find the source of the voice. “I was waiting for someone to ask. My name is Royce Fayed, and I should think my reason for coming here is obvious.”

“Who sent you?”

Was that a smile on the spy’s face? “I thought you weren’t going to ask me detailed questions.”

“Indulge my curiosity.” Josef’s nostrils flared.

“I’m sorry, Directeur Venport, but you’ll have to work a little harder than that.”

Josef knew better than to be drawn into that game, so he switched off the transmitter, then turned to Wantori. “Find out what you can. Find out everything.”

*   *   *

WHEN THE STRANGER
named Royce Fayed was brought to Josef Venport’s main offices again two weeks later, the spy looked gaunt and significantly changed. His hands and fingers were comically splayed, the joints smashed and then badly re-fused. His head had been shaved, and scars marred his scalp. Dr. Wantori had been very thorough.

Fayed stood sullenly as the VenHold security chief read his report. “He is working for Celestial Transport. Arjen Gates hired him personally. The company is getting desperate after the recent string of accidents and the sudden unavailability of insurance coverage for them. Clever of you to set that up.”

Josef allowed himself a smile, glanced at his wife. Another plan that he and Cioba had developed together. It had taken years, but his holding company had bought a controlling interest in most of the insurance companies that covered commercial space transportation. As such, VenHold now possessed accurate data on just how many losses Celestial Transport had suffered in spacefolding mishaps; and, since he owned the insurance carriers, Josef was able to deny coverage to CT outright. He could have charged outrageous premiums, but the money didn’t matter to him as much as driving his key competitor out of business.

“Arjen Gates wants to know how you navigate foldspace,” Fayed said without a trace of humor. “And I am paying the price for his curiosity. I’m not complaining. I did accept the job.”

“We won’t even send your body back to him as a warning that his attempt failed. I’ll just let him remain curious.”

The broken man still had a gleam in his eye. “Don’t you want to know why he so urgently needs Navigators?”

“His loss rate answers that question,” Cioba pointed out.

“Oh, but he is more desperate now.” Royce Fayed did his best to straighten himself, though his body no longer functioned properly.

“Are you trying to make a bargain?” Josef asked. “If I know you have more information, I can just have Dr. Wantori continue the interrogation.”

Fayed did not shudder. “That will not be necessary. I take satisfaction in knowing that when I tell you, you’ll be even more frustrated.” His bruised lips somehow made a smile.

“What is it?” Josef snapped.

“CT scouts recently discovered hundreds of perfectly intact robot ships. Once they are refurbished and retrofitted with Holtzman engines, Celestial Transport’s fleet will be four times the size it is now, maybe even larger than your own. Scouts also found the robotic facilities for refueling and manufacturing those vessels—large facilities. Arjen Gates has everything now … except Navigators.”

Josef sucked in a quick breath, and a hungry excitement filled his eyes. “And where are these ships? How can I find them?” His own scouts had been combing known machine planets for intact facilities like that, hoping to find a key manufacturing yard. He had not expected Celestial Transport’s scavengers to be more successful than his people.

Fayed let out a wheezing laugh. “And there’s the joke on you, Directeur Venport. I was hired to learn about your Navigators, but I don’t know where the facility is. I don’t have the coordinates, not even which star system it’s in. That is my final trick on you. Your doctor is quite proficient at interrogation, but I genuinely don’t know any more than that.”

Security Chief Ekbir was startled by the revelation. “I apologize that I didn’t get the additional information from him in the first place, sir. I do believe him when he says he doesn’t know.”

Cioba sat coolly in her chair. She nodded in agreement.

Unfortunately, Josef believed the man as well. His mind was already racing with dreams of what the VenHold Spacing Fleet could do with a whole depot full of untouched, completely functional robotic ships. He hated to imagine that Arjen Gates was even now overseeing his engineers, preparing to add those spacecraft to his fleet.

“You can kill me now,” Fayed said with a sigh. “I’m done.”

“Oh, I don’t intend to kill you.” Josef rose from his desk. “I’m taking you to my great-grandmother.”

*   *   *

OUT ON THE
field of Navigator tanks, Josef and Cioba brought the aching, frail spy to the tank of Norma Cenva, which overlooked the other Navigator-candidates. Some days he had to work very hard to get her attention; today, however, Norma was immediately interested.

Her strange voice warbled through the speakers after he told her how the spy had been captured. “Many wish to know the secret of creating Navigators.”

“It’s
our
secret,” Josef said, “a Venport secret. We captured him before he could deliver his information.”

A long pause from her tank. Fayed stood looking through the clearplaz window into the reddish-orange swirls of gas where he could see the distorted form of the woman inside.

“Why do you stare so intently, Fayed?” Cioba asked him. “Didn’t you already see this when you were spying?”

“Not so closely.”

“Why did you bring him to me?” Norma asked.

“He has a very interesting mind. Our interrogators find him quite a challenge. Cioba thinks he has potential, and I agree.”

He couldn’t tell if Norma’s interest had been piqued. She said, “We need people with potential. More Navigators.”

Josef could have just executed the man and been done with it—Ekbir would have taken care of it without being asked—but Josef felt a particular personal grudge against this man who had tried to steal his family’s livelihood, to dilute the seminal Venport achievement by giving Navigators to cheap imitations.

Josef turned to the damaged spy. “You came here to discover how Navigators are made, Fayed, so we will show you. We’ll show you everything, giving you a greater understanding than you ever expected.”

Norma pressed her soft, no-longer-human face against the plaz, peering out with her large eyes. She watched as Josef instructed his guards to place Royce Fayed inside one of the empty tanks.

They sealed it and filled the chamber with spice gas.

I’m a thinker. That is what I do, in great depth and detail, every waking moment of the day. I like to believe it’s worthwhile. And yet, I can’t help but recall something Erasmus said to me once when I was young, and he was my master: “All of these things with which we occupy ourselves don’t amount to much in the cosmic scale of things, do they? No matter how extensively we ponder any particular topic, there is really very little there.”

—
GILBERTUS ALBANS
,
Reflections in the Mirror of the Mind

The Mentat School administration offices were a labyrinth of modular rooms and cubicles; in the background, music played so softly that Gilbertus often ignored it. This afternoon, however, the melody drew his attention because he heard the punctuating, powerful notes of “Rhapsody in Blue,” one of Erasmus’s favorite Old Earth pieces. Since the independent robot had managed to connect his memory core to the school’s audio systems, Erasmus had no doubt chosen the music himself, another subtle reminder of his hidden presence. None of the professors or students in the school would guess at the thoughts and emotions such melodies elicited in Gilbertus, or in the machine mind of Erasmus, with its simulation programs.