Sisterhood of Dune (37 page)

Just then, from the steep path below, she detected the distinct sound of voices and saw a pair of Sisters ascending the trail single file in the darkness, their forms illuminated by bright handlights. They would not be able to see her in the darkness, if she stayed behind the rocks. Their voices grew louder as they climbed, and they dipped in and out of view, hidden by rocky overhangs. Her heart pounded harder, and she could think of no legitimate-sounding explanation to use if they caught her. But why would they even suspect?

She hid in the blackest shadows next to a gnarled Rossak cedar as the two Sisters arrived at the entrance to the record caves, surrounded by bright light. One of the women was Sister Valya. Other than their conversation, Ingrid heard only the murmur of jungle sounds from below, punctuated by the calls of night birds from their perches on the cliff.

Suspecting nothing, the two Sisters entered the dark cave, carrying their lights. After an interminable moment of hesitation, Ingrid slipped in after them, staying well beyond the illuminated circle. She moved with silent footsteps, as close as she dared. Back on Lampadas, she had often ventured out at night, carrying nothing more than a candle—or no light at all.

Valya and her companion walked down the stone-walled corridors and turned a corner, which plunged the main passage into darkness again. Ingrid scurried ahead to catch up, saw the pair of bright handlights again, but for only a moment before they turned left and vanished, as if they had walked directly through a wall.

The pitch black of the tunnel was unnerving, but Ingrid was much more afraid of being caught than of the darkness. Indeed, there was something mysterious and sinister about these hidden passages. When she reached the spot where the two had turned, Ingrid peered about, straining for any faint glimmer of light, any opening, but all she could make out was a rock wall.

But the two Sisters had gone somewhere. Ingrid hurried up and down the passage, sure that she was in the right place, but she could find no opening. In the darkness, she pressed her hands and face against the rock wall, trying to discover a secret door. Faintly, she heard buzzing sounds, like an insect nest … or thrumming machinery. She continued to feel her way along the stone wall.

Suddenly her hand passed through the rock.

Illusory rock. An opaque image projected over an opening to conceal it! Ingrid caught her breath. Stunned, she stepped back, then cautiously moved forward again to push her entire arm through the wall. Yes, a hidden entrance. Gathering her courage, Ingrid stepped through the wall—and found herself blinking inside a large, bright grotto that throbbed with sound; a circulating breeze washed past her face.

When her eyes adjusted, she saw the unthinkable. Row upon row of computers, complex storage devices as well as a low wall of monitor screens and metal platforms where robed Sisters tended the machines. Sister Valya had just stopped before a set of displays, hesitated as if she sensed something, and then turned back toward the disguised entrance.

Horrified, Ingrid backed up and scrambled through the hologram-covered wall. She hoped she had moved before Valya noticed her. Unable to comprehend the immensity of the criminal secret her own Sisters were keeping, Ingrid fled down the dark hallway, not caring that she couldn’t see. She thought she heard a noise behind her, and kept running until she burst outside into the cool, starlit night near the cliff-side trail. Her heart seemed to be shouting inside her chest.

Breathing hard, she began to make her way down the steep path, trying to calm herself. She had to think. She had to find someone to tell. The Sisterhood seemed suddenly dark to her, a monstrous thing teeming with secrets. The computer chamber was not a place she was supposed to see.

Ingrid walked in a daze. How much more of the Reverend Mother’s training was a lie? The Sisters claimed to depend only on human abilities, and yet they relied on the crutch of computers! What if Dorotea had deceived her as well? Ingrid didn’t want to believe that … but how could she be sure?

The only way, she decided, was to reveal the computers directly to Manford Torondo. He and his followers would destroy the evil machines without listening to rationalizations.

*   *   *

WHILE PREPARING FOR
her quiet work with the computers before most of the Sisters rose for the day, Valya had spotted the intruder. With a flash of acute perception, as she had been taught, she recognized the new acolyte from Lampadas: Sister Ingrid, the young woman who wore her Butlerian beliefs like a bold tattoo.

Valya didn’t tell the other predawn workers, but simply—and silently—bolted out through the anteroom and plunged back through the hologram into the darkened tunnel. She did not activate her handlight, but moved with stealth.

Up ahead, she could hear the frightened acolyte running.

Careful to make no sound, she paused just inside the cave opening, saw Ingrid’s shadowy figure pause at the head of the path, then begin to pick her way down in the darkness.

Familiar with the trail from frequent trips in the dead of night, Valya bounded after her. She had no doubt that the girl had seen everything. She heard Ingrid stumbling, gasping. With the accidental kick of a pebble, the pursuer made too much noise, and Ingrid froze, spinning around but still unable to see.

Valya was upon her in a moment. She spoke without hesitation, intent on keeping the acolyte off guard. “You look unwell, Sister Ingrid. Can I help?” With a subtle move, she slipped past her on the path and blocked her way down. “You know this is a restricted trail. You shouldn’t be here.”

The acolyte’s gaze darted like that of a trapped animal. “You are in no position to lecture me.”

Valya felt confident she was a better fighter, after all of her vigorous combat sessions with her brother. “We need to have a little talk.”

Ingrid’s chest heaved. “I don’t trust you. You’ve been corrupted by computers.”

“Computers?” Valya did her best to look surprised. “What do you mean?”

Ingrid pointed up the trail, and that hesitation was enough of an opening. Valya took it, pushing the young woman off the cliff so quickly that she didn’t even have time to scream. Partway down, Ingrid struck the rough rock wall, then crashed into the canopy and fell the rest of the way to the jungle floor.

There had been no choice, and Valya didn’t regret her decision. The computers held countless generations of irreplaceable knowledge, and she had sworn to Raquella that she would guard the secret of the breeding records. With all that as her priority, as her sworn
duty,
the killing had been easy.

But now she would have to tell Raquella what she’d done.

*   *   *

BY THE TIME
she arrived at the Reverend Mother’s private quarters, Valya had calmed herself so as to show no doubt when she delivered her confession. Dawn was just breaking, the Sisters arising for their morning chores. Raquella was busy with early activities as she welcomed Valya inside the room.

After making sure the door was closed for privacy, Valya confessed to killing the acolyte, revealing little emotion. The old woman displayed hardly any reaction, but regarded Valya like a surgeon assessing a particularly dire complication on the operating table. Finally, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around Valya’s wrist in an iron grip.

“You had no other choice but to kill her?” She squeezed tighter, taking the pulse of the much younger woman.

Valya told the truth, sure that Raquella could detect any falsehood. “I am convinced this was the best way to protect the breeding records. Letting her live had a far greater potential for disaster. Knowing Sister Ingrid, and seeing her reaction, I’m sure she was hell-bent on causing trouble.”

“And you had no other motives?”

“None.” Valya stared straight at the Reverend Mother.

Raquella held her wrist for a long moment, feeling the tempo of her pulse, the moisture on her skin. “I don’t condone what you did, but I believe your motive was pure. Show me where the body is. We have to make certain that no further questions arise, or your dangerous gamble will fail.”

The Rossak caves bustled with daybreak activities. After arranging for another Sister to teach her class, the Reverend Mother and Valya took a lift and descended to the jungle floor. They made their way through the trackless underbrush, following the edge of the cliff to the general spot where Ingrid had fallen. After an hour of searching, they found the crumpled body draped in a splash of blood across a rock. Two sapphire-scaled avians had already found the feast, but flew away, startled, at the approach of the women.

Valya looked at the dead acolyte and still felt no guilt.
The Sisterhood is your only family now.
“I don’t like what I did, Reverend Mother. I’m ready to face the consequences if necessary.”

Raquella stared at the tableau for a long moment. “We both know that Ingrid would have called down the fanatics on Rossak, and the breeding computers must be protected at all costs. They represent centuries of work by the Sorceresses, generations of detailed bloodline projections—our key to the future evolution of humanity. I’m sorry to admit this, but some things are worth killing for.”

Raquella had Valya help her carry Ingrid’s lifeless body deeper into the jungle, out of sight of the high cliff path. They left it well off any trail, where predators would soon dispose of the remains.

*   *   *

AFTER DISMISSING VALYA
, the Reverend Mother returned alone to her private chambers, where she sat among her prized volumes, thinking. A copy of the
Azhar Book
rested on a table beside her chair. Sometimes she liked to thumb through it to find useful passages. Today, though, her problems went beyond any experiences that had gone into the writing of that volume.

She was aware of the increasing tensions among the Sisters, and Karee’s recent Mentat prediction of a terrible schism in the Sisterhood loomed like a thunderstorm. Perhaps this event was the first warning shot.

Raquella heard the clamor of her other memories calling to her, shouting in alarm and offering contradictory advice. Those ancestral experiences were not like a series of library books that she could take off the shelf whenever she wished; the memories came and went of their own volition, for their own reasons and on their own schedule. At times she could diminish their clamor a bit, but it always surged back.

In moments, they fell silent and did not respond to her questions, leaving Raquella without answers or guidance.

There is no more optimistic person in the universe than the high-level graduate who is fresh from completing his studies and ready to fulfill far-reaching dreams.

—from an Imperial study of the schools movement

Twelve Mentat students had completed their training. A panel of stern instructors interrogated them, then sent the dozen candidates along to Gilbertus Albans for his final approval.

Among them were the talented Draigo Roget, two Sisters from Rossak, and others he had come to know well over the years of their instruction. Gilbertus passed them all. There was no doubt in his mind.…

Some might find it incongruous that at an institution devoted to logic and precise mental organization, the commencement ceremonies were steeped in manufactured tradition. In establishing the Mentat School, Gilbertus had taken great pains to imbue it with a sense of reverence and history. All the buildings looked old and solid, the rules were complex, the forms dense to give the impression of a weighty bureaucracy. Each graduation certificate was ornately lettered, hand-illuminated, and presented on real parchment. The graduates wore embroidered, voluminous robes and puffy, impractical caps.

Everything, Gilbertus knew, was merely symbolic and served no real purpose, though the students and instructors loved it—the Butlerian candidates in particular. Outsiders could not help but be impressed with the graduation ritual, pronouncements spoken in ancient, nearly forgotten tongues that each Mentat student had been forced to memorize. Some might have said that learning those dead languages was a useless exercise, but Gilbertus foresaw that those dialects, understood by very few living humans, could be useful as private languages for battlefield commands or business espionage.

Well rehearsed before the event, the twelve students now lined up while Gilbertus stood at a podium in the main amphitheater. He droned on, reciting by rote the same statement over and over again, recognizing each student as a true Mentat, granting him the blessing of the Lampadas school.

“I hereby dispatch you to promote clarity of thought and advancement of human mental capabilities.” At the end of each pronouncement, the audience intoned, “The mind of man is holy,” a concession to the Butlerians that Gilbertus had included in the ceremony.

When they were finished, Draigo Roget came up to speak to Gilbertus. He had taken off his graduate robe, hung up the braid in his quarters, and now stood in his trim black jumpsuit again. He bowed formally. “I came to thank you for your instruction, Headmaster. You have granted me an opportunity I will never forget.”

“I wish you would stay with us, Draigo. I could not ask for a more promising instructor. You would rise high in our school, perhaps to my position. I won’t be here forever, you know.” In truth, Gilbertus thought he might endure physically for centuries or more, but time was pressing in on him. Before long, he would have to leave the school and take up another identity. Too many decades had passed, and he could simulate only so much age and decrepitude, even reaching the limits of the known geriatric benefits of melange consumption—which he let people think he used.

“I could do that, sir, but the whole Imperium awaits. I think my destiny lies out there.”

Reluctantly, Gilbertus nodded. “Then I wish you the best of luck, and hope we meet again.”

*   *   *

GILBERTUS STOOD ON
the floating airfield, raising a hand in farewell as the shuttle containing Draigo Roget and other passengers prepared to take off. The black-haired Draigo sat at a windowport, apparently not seeing him. Presently, with a smooth and remarkably silent surge of suspensor engines, the white craft ascended quickly, until it was a speck in the sky, and then gone.