Sisterhood of Dune (31 page)

Gilbertus left a staff meeting, made his way to the secondary wing, and entered an office that was more suited to a tenured professor than to a mere student, but Draigo Roget was no ordinary teaching assistant. On the cusp of graduation, Draigo had reached the limits of what Gilbertus or any of the instructors could teach him, and soon the young man would depart from the school as a full-fledged Mentat.

Gilbertus had made him repeated offers of a professorship. “Some of the best graduates choose to stay behind. You have performed better than any other student in the history of this institution, and you can probably teach better than most of our instructors.”

Draigo remained noncommittal. “I can also serve outside in the Imperium as a Mentat. That is what I have been trained to do.” Gilbertus could not argue with the logic, although he had insisted on giving him the larger office and other perks in hopes that he would consider the position.

Once again, he considered telling Draigo about Erasmus, hoping he would at last have an ally in protecting and studying the robot’s memory core. Erasmus would have been happy to work with another ward, someone who might be more easily convinced to build him a new machine form. But Gilbertus decided he could not take that risk yet … if ever.

Now, Draigo did not look up when the headmaster entered. With his dark eyebrows drawn together, the young man was combing over stacks of printed documents that overflowed his desk and sat in piles on the floor and side chairs: written records that tracked the appearances and movements of Omnius’s ships throughout more than a century of the Jihad, countless scattered data points.

Glancing up at Gilbertus, as if he’d been caught in an illicit action, Draigo said, “Just a little mental exercise before my graduation. By collating all the data of known sightings and attacks, I’m trying to backtrack and do a Mentat projection that looks at the ripples of second-order influences. Maybe I can discover the hidden footprints of other abandoned robot fleets or outposts. Given sufficient end points, perhaps I can extrapolate the beginnings.”

“Interesting—and very ambitious. Would you like some assistance?” Gilbertus understood the depth of the problem; it wasn’t simply a retrograde projection, since they had no way of knowing how many different depots or shipyards had launched all the vessels, or which ones had been destroyed or shut down during the course of the Jihad. However, with enough data points and intensity of mental focus, maybe they could tease out a bit of information. If anyone was capable, Draigo might do it. “With all that information, we should split it up and compare summaries.”

The young man smiled. “That would be an excellent idea, and I would appreciate your assistance. One last cooperative effort between master and student?”

The finality of the words disheartened Gilbertus. Taking a seat at the adjacent desk, he proceeded to scan document after document, speed-reading, absorbing data. As he retained all of the points in his mind, patterns began to emerge, and several hours later when the two of them compared what they’d discovered, Draigo said what Gilbertus was already thinking.

“I’ve extrapolated a few places where large numbers of machine vessels might have been built and launched,” Draigo said. “Extensive shipyards.”

“I’ve projected that, too,” Gilbertus said. “The most significant convergence of paths originates from a star system labeled as Thonaris. Yes, the evidence suggests it could be a prominent machine industrial facility.” Though he didn’t personally remember any previous mention of such shipyards, he could always ask Erasmus for confirmation.

Draigo tapped his fingertip on the records, which he had stacked in neat piles after memorizing the entries. “This seems like useful information. Thank you for your assistance.”

The two men remained silent for a time, each pondering the implications. Gilbertus knew that if he revealed the data to the Butlerians—as he was expected to do—Manford Torondo would ransack and destroy any such outpost, if it existed. Or, other commercial interests could salvage and exploit the treasure trove. Gilbertus did not like either alternative.

“It might be best if I consult the Emperor about what he wants to do,” Gilbertus suggested. “I will consider this further, but perhaps I should deliver this projection to him in person the next time I travel to Salusa Secundus.”

Draigo shrugged, as if he had no interest in the matter, now that the problem was solved. “We have time. The machine outpost has waited there untouched since before the Battle of Corrin—if our deduction is accurate.”

“It has been enjoyable working with you, Draigo Roget,” he said. “I will miss our friendly contests and our cooperation.”

The other man bowed his head. “And I have enjoyed learning from you, but I look forward to graduating. I shall do my best to continue to learn, even in the outside world.”

*   *   *

LATER, IN THE
privacy of his office, Gilbertus removed the memory core from its hidden compartment and conferred with the robot mind about the new information.

“Oh yes, I remember the Thonaris shipyards,” Erasmus said in his erudite voice. “One of our largest industrial operations.”

“Now that I have the information, how should I reveal it?” Gilbertus remained troubled. “And to whom? To Manford Torondo, to increase his goodwill toward the school? To the Emperor?”

“There is no rush to reveal it at all. One doesn’t simply
give away
such important information, even to the Emperor. Consider the value, and keep it as a bargaining chip. Reveal it only when you need to, when it is in our best interest to do so. You never know when such a ‘discovery’ might come in handy.”

“That sounds like good advice.”

“Have I ever given you any other kind?”

Gilbertus grinned. “No comment.”

We are like salmon, swimming upstream against the current of life. Each of us is desperate to learn where we came from—who our ancestors were and how they lived—as if their past will provide guidance for our future.

—
ABULURD HARKONNEN
, his Lankiveil notes

When Valya was assigned to conduct an hour of private intensive training with Anna Corrino and the two young daughters of Josef Venport, the age disparity of the acolytes was remarkable, but their skill level was roughly equivalent. If anything, young Sabine and Candys, aged nine and ten respectively, were more focused and talented than the Emperor’s flighty sister.

When the Reverend Mother asked her to take time away from studying the computerized breeding records, Valya’s initial reaction had been one of annoyance, because using the computers to make bloodline projections seemed so much more vital to the Sisterhood’s purpose, and to her own advancement. However, she definitely saw the advantages of establishing close ties with both Anna Corrino and the two Venport daughters.

“I’ll do my best, Reverend Mother,” she said.

Raquella had given Valya no specific curriculum, leaving the instruction to her own discretion; she wondered if the Reverend Mother was using this as a means of testing
her
as well.…

“We call this the labyrinth wall,” Valya said, leading her three students into a small, dim chamber. On one entire wall of the room (behind a thin pane of plaz) was a layer of finely sifted earth that held a complex insect colony. In the sandwiched tableau, a hive of armored burrowers—clawed nematodes covered with chitinous plates—excavated a maze of twisting tunnels. They had hollowed out a central pocket from which their queen guided all the operations of her drones. Valya secretly thought of the queen burrower as the “Reverend Mother.”

“We have been here before,” said the nine-year-old, Sabine, sounding superior.

Valya frowned at her. “You have not seen what I intend to show you.”

Candys was fascinated by the elongated bugs that continued to excavate and rearrange the architecture of their colony. Anna looked irritated.

“I want you to study the movements of these creatures, analyze their activities, and interpret the intriguing order of their pathways. This burrower colony is like a microcosm of the universe, filled with pathways that intersect, some that branch off, and others that simply stop at blind ends. It’s like the map of a person’s life: It only makes sense if you study it carefully.”

Anna’s voice carried impatient annoyance. “My brothers didn’t send me to Rossak to stare at an insect hive all day long.”

“An hour is hardly all day,” said Sabine Venport.

“Your brothers perform equivalent exercises,” Valya said. “Doesn’t Emperor Salvador have to think about the connections among the planets in the Imperium, the noble families, the bloodlines, the intermarriages, the feuds?”

“Our parents run Venport Holdings,” said Candys. “That’s almost as important as being the Emperor.”

Anna scoffed at the child. “There’s no comparison.”

Valya interrupted the brewing argument. “You are all acolytes now, and your family is the Sisterhood. Corrino and Venport mean nothing here.” She spoke with great conviction, although she felt otherwise. Valya didn’t want them asking about the Harkonnens.…

If she pulled the right strings, made the proper connections, Valya could salvage her family’s situation through the power and influence of the Corrinos
and
the Venports.

Directing their attention, Valya stood close to Anna Corrino as the three looked intently at the scurrying burrowers. “Study them until you see the pattern, and you will have a glimpse into their purpose. The hive queen must have some overall blueprint that we can unravel.”

“I like to watch them,” Candys said.

Valya whispered, as if sharing a secret with Anna alone. “Some of the Sorceresses use this as a mental exercise. After years of practice in directing their thoughts, a few have learned to change the pattern of the tunnels. They can rewrite the blueprint.”

“Could I do that?” Anna said.

Valya didn’t laugh, did not discourage her. “I don’t know. Can you? It takes great concentration.”

Anna looked up at Valya, who saw a scared little girl behind her eyes. “I had a special fogwood tree back at the palace, and over the years I made it into my own secret hiding place. I could make the branches grow in whatever directions I wanted. A lot of people can manipulate fogwoods, but not that particular variety, and I was especially good with it. Sister Dorotea was intrigued when she heard about it, but I refused to show her. She didn’t believe I could possibly have mental powers like that, but I wouldn’t perform for her—why should I?” She sniffed.

“Well, I believe you,” Valya said, because it made Anna smile at her.

“Can we do it?” Sabine asked. “We’re young, but we’ve already studied with the Sisterhood for two years.”

Valya paused to consider how the Reverend Mother might have answered, and told them, “Some say a person can accomplish anything she likes, if she applies herself, but that’s just an empty platitude. You can’t actually do ‘anything,’ but if you apply yourselves, you will discover strengths that others don’t have. You’ll surprise people who don’t expect it of you.” She lowered her voice. “And that is how you become powerful.”

The three spent the remainder of the hour staring in silence, studying the burrowers. Valya remained with them, but her thoughts were far away, contemplating connections and possibilities in her own future.

*   *   *

ALONE AGAIN TO
catch up with her duties in the high and secret caverns that held breeding records, Valya Harkonnen sat in the center of a computer carousel, using hand gestures to touch screens that paused in front of her, accessing the records she wanted. She sifted through historical and family files, exploring tributaries of data that flowed from the main river of famous events that occurred in the Jihad.

Aged Sister Sabra Hublein had trained her how to use the systems, which Valya found remarkably intuitive, and she enjoyed delving into the electronic strata of genetic information, as well as family histories and personal records.

Each time she slipped through the hidden holographic door into these computer chambers, Valya appreciated the great privilege that Raquella had bestowed on her. She always did her best to prove that she deserved the honor.

Though she and the Reverend Mother were separated by a vast gulf in age, they shared something that could not be expressed in words; Valya saw it in the caring way the old woman looked at her, the smile crinkles around the pale-blue eyes, the good-natured way she pursed her lips when talking. The
hope
she felt for Valya, like a parent wanting her child to succeed.

The Sisterhood was the young woman’s family now, as the Reverend Mother insisted, but Valya’s biggest secret was that she could not forget about her other heritage. She kept her divided loyalty as carefully hidden as possible.

At the unexpected return of Vorian Atreides, her simmering anger had clamored for her to destroy the thorn in her family’s side, but she had passed that noble obligation on to her brother, and she knew Griffin would not let her down. She wondered where he was now.…

Nearby, robed Sisters sat at other carousel screens or bustled in and out of the hidden chambers, but Valya paid them little mind. She was focused on digging for information, excavating historical files that showed the tangled relationship between Vorian Atreides and the Harkonnen family.

Buried deep in the records, mislabeled (perhaps intentionally) so that no one had found them, were letters that Abulurd Harkonnen and Vorian Atreides had written to each other years before the Battle of Corrin. Her eyes widened as she pieced together the information: Vorian Atreides said he wanted to restore Xavier Harkonnen to the good graces of history, insisting that the man was a hero, not a traitor to humanity, but the League had no desire to hear it.

She found two letters Abulurd had sent to Vorian, back when the men were still friends. The first, written in the heat of the Jihad, read: “Some say that Harkonnen blood running through my veins disgraces me, but I don’t accept the lies I have heard, the attempts to blacken the role of my grandfather. You and I know why he did what he did. To me the actions of Xavier Harkonnen speak of honor rather than cowardice.”