Sisterhood of Dune (75 page)

The strikingly beautiful girl bowed. “My concern is not for myself, but for the Sisterhood.”

“If you do this one thing, you will help ensure our future.” Dorotea darted away down the dark hallway outside of the concubines’ quarters.

Despite her dispute with Reverend Mother Raquella, Dorotea had studied the breeding projection herself. Even though computers were inherently evil, she could not deny their accuracy. She felt a responsibility to prevent the most terrible tyrant in all of history from being inflicted on humanity.

Each person mourns the loss of a comrade in his own way. But whatever the flowery eulogy, the dead remain dead.

—Zensunni saying

When he made his way back to the isolated weather-monitoring station and the flying craft the twins had landed there, Vor knelt for a long while on the warm sand beside the body of Griffin Harkonnen. The young man’s death was as utterly useless and heartbreaking as Ishanti’s had been.

Griffin might have been the best hope for restoring the fortunes and respect of House Harkonnen. His skills had been solid and his plans viable … but all had been snuffed out.

Vor’s enemies kept following him and causing him pain, always missing the true target, and so many innocents had paid the price for that debt. Even Mariella …

He wrapped Griffin’s body in a thin polymer tarpaulin that he found among the supplies inside the weather station. He could have just left the young man there—the elements would take care of him soon enough—but Vor found that dishonorable. Griffin Harkonnen had defeated him in a duel, held a sharp knife to his throat, and then granted Vorian his life back. Vor owed him a debt for that, but even more, Vor had to pay a debt to House Harkonnen … not to make excuses, not to explain, but to acknowledge his part in tarnishing Xavier Harkonnen’s name and in the disgrace and suffering heaped on Abulurd and his innocent descendants.

Yes, the repercussions came back to him. He took a deep breath and reconsidered, but only a little. Xavier and Abulurd and Griffin had been responsible for themselves—Vor harbored no illusions about that—but he, too, bore some of the blame, and now accepted it.

After tying the tarpaulin around the body, Vor lifted the young man over his shoulder and boarded the flier, setting the wrapped package behind the cockpit seats. With plodding thoroughness, he completed the flight checklist, started the engines, and lifted away from the rocky bowl.

The flier was a common Arrakis model; the compass, weathersat linkage, and navigation charts guided him back to Arrakis City. Early that afternoon, he landed at the edge of the main spaceport and set about trying to find a carrier to transport Griffin’s corpse back to Lankiveil, along with a message to his family that he still had to write.

The cargo line operators were baffled by his request. One asked, “Do you realize the expense, sir? Shipping a human body across space is not cost-effective.”

“I don’t care about the cost. He belongs with his family, his world, and his home. I need to send him back there.” Vor would have to arrange for a transfer of funds from one of his accounts on another planet, but the actual expense was not an issue. He could have ignored the responsibility, brushed the Harkonnens aside again, and turned his back on the guilt … but that sort of thinking had already caused too many problems.

The cargo operator shook his head. “I’ve seen fools waste their money in many ways. I advise you against this, but I know someone else will take your payment, if I don’t.” With a little convincing he accepted the job anyway.

Vor also felt obligated to give Griffin’s family an explanation—though not too much. He wrote the message while the men handled the body, preparing it for shipment. “Griffin Harkonnen died with honor, upholding his principles. This was a brave man, traveling the Imperium, never shirking his noble quest. He found me, as his family demanded of him, and we resolved our differences. In time, we might even have become friends, but he met an unexpected and tragic death. Now, in the spirit of his memory I can only hope his family will understand, and forgive.”

Vor paused, deciding not to reveal the existence of Agamemnon’s other two children to Griffin’s family. That matter was resolved, and the twins would cause no further harm. However, it was a battle the Harkonnens should never have needed to fight.

“He was killed by desert bandits,” Vor continued. “And I killed them for doing it. Your brave Griffin is avenged, and I join you in sorrow. I knew Griffin for only a short time, but I came to admire him, and I assure you, he earned the lasting respect of his family name.”

Vor finished what he had to say, and after Arrakis City morticians sealed and preserved the body, he placed the letter in a message compartment on the airtight storage container, and watched as it was loaded onto the next outbound cargo ship. Eventually, it would be transferred to Lankiveil.

After the ship was gone, Vorian remained in Arrakis City for three days, but soon he came to realize that nothing was left for him there. And with Mariella now gone, he could not imagine returning to Kepler; he would only expose the rest of his family to great risk.

There were thirteen thousand planets in the Imperium. Surely he could find someplace else to go.

At the spaceport office, he offered his credentials, paid a substantial fee, and signed aboard a VenHold cargo ship that was due to depart with a load of melange. With plenty of solaris remaining in his accounts, he would fly the space lanes for a while, or he might disembark on any world that interested him.

The future for Vorian Atreides—however long he had—was an open, empty canvas. He boarded the ship, with no idea where it was bound, and did not look back at the desert planet.

Threats are only words, and have the detrimental effect of warning your opponent, which allows him to prepare a defense or offense. I don’t believe in threats. I believe in hard, decisive action.

—Valya Harkonnen

After the Sisterhood was outlawed on Rossak, Valya was sent back to Lankiveil, against her will. She had been torn away from the jungle planet and herded onto a space transport with many other Sisters, unable to ask Reverend Mother Raquella what to do or how she could help preserve the core of the Sisterhood.

Everything was lost.

Her parents welcomed her back to the small, gloomy planet. It was the definition of home, she supposed: a place where family would take you in, no matter what shame or crisis you brought with you.

Griffin still had not returned from his hunt for Vorian Atreides, but her little brother and sister were excited to see her. Her mother and father had kept her old room for her, and they pestered her with questions about the Sisterhood. They weren’t really interested, but were glad to have her back. Her mother had never believed that the special training would benefit Valya.

From Valya’s perspective, though, she had learned too much to simply sit back and resign herself to a quiet, unambitious life. She looked forward to Griffin returning home, when the two of them could make plans and take new paths to restoring the Harkonnens to prominence. Her hopes for advancement through the Sisterhood, or through ties of friendship with Anna Corrino, had all run aground.

She remembered the Reverend Mother’s words:
The Sisterhood is your only family now.
But the order of women had been scattered, and her own family seemed to have forgotten what it really meant to be a Harkonnen. They had made poor decisions, which led to their exile here on this wintry world of cold seas and rugged fjords. They failed to grasp the significance of political events beyond their own backwater planet. They continued to disappoint her.

But Griffin had never let her down, and as days passed she grew increasingly worried about him. If she could jump into the arctic waters again to save him, she would.

One morning, two weeks after her arrival, Valya entered the main living area of her parents’ house. The fireplace was ablaze, and she could smell a pot of whale-meat stew cooking in the kitchen, a family recipe seasoned with aromatic local spices and vegetables. She had never liked Lankiveil cooking.

Her father chatted at great length with Valya about making alterations to their house, using different roofing materials and better insulation. She had no interest whatsoever. As the planetary leader, Vergyl Harkonnen made no attempt to advance the political position of House Harkonnen, and he merely shrugged when he received a notice that the Landsraad proxy for Lankiveil had signed on to Manford Torondo’s petition, and publicly added support for the Butlerians.

She sighed in dismay as she looked at her father now, sitting on a blocky wooden chair by the fire, engrossed in a book. In the time she’d been away, he had become a very small person. If House Harkonnen were ever to return to prominence and glory, it would not be up to him; it would be up to her and her brother.

Griffin, where are you?
she thought, sensing something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Sonia Harkonnen sat at a small table where she used a thick needle and cord to sew pieces of whale fur together, making a new coat for Valya’s younger brother, Danvis. The boy was fourteen now, old enough to go out on fur-whale expeditions; his features and mannerisms reminded her of Griffin at that age.

Valya stood by the fire to warm herself. Every day since returning to this icy world, she’d been chilled to the bone—having grown accustomed to the comparatively warm and pleasant climate of Rossak. Her father greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Valya.” Her mother followed with the same words, exactly, and her own vacuous smile.

Valya couldn’t wait to leave this place again.

When Sister Arlett had recruited her on a windswept day down by the docks, the woman had described how the school on Rossak could be Valya’s route to power and influence. But now the Sisterhood was a wounded creature, looking for someplace to heal … or die.

“We saved an omelet for you when you didn’t come down for breakfast.” Her mother gestured toward a covered warming dish on the hearth.

Valya decided to take the food up to her room, where she could think about what to do next. She picked up the plate and turned toward the wooden stairs, when she heard an urgent rapping at the door. It was not a good sound; her senses were immediately alert.

Her father waved her off and went to answer the knock. He opened the heavy door to see two local fishermen bringing a delivery, an oblong package almost two meters long, stamped with transfer labels from the VenHold Spacing Fleet. “This was in the shuttle that arrived last night. We’re still distributing.”

Vergyl thanked them, curious about the large package. Valya helped him pull it inside, but something about the size and shape of the container filled her with dread. Oblivious, her father poked at the labels to see if he could identify the sender’s name, but Valya ignored a message compartment and tore at the packaging, peeling away the sheets of polymer.

She was the first to see her brother’s dead face, his eyes closed, his cheeks covered with a stubble of beard. His goatee was matted, and there was a tracing of dust on his forehead and in his brown hair. His head lolled at an odd angle.

Shocked, her father stumbled backward and bumped into the wall, then began to sob. Her mother rushed forward to stare in horror at the body of her son. It was something parents should never have to see.

Valya summoned all of the training that the Sisterhood had given her. She had been taught how to study a situation in a hundred instant snapshots from every vantage. She froze and stared, then threw herself on the makeshift casket. In a very quiet voice, she whispered her brother’s name, knowing he could never answer her again. “Griffin!”

The two fishermen who had delivered the package bowed their heads respectfully. One of them opened the message compartment and handed an envelope to Vergyl Harkonnen. “This came too, sir. I’m very sorry, sir.” His partner handed over additional mail, and both of them stepped back.

Distraught and sobbing, Vergyl tore the first envelope open and his shaking hands tore the paper letter, but he pushed the pieces back together so he could read the words. He seemed as incapable of understanding the message as he was of comprehending the death of his son. “It’s … from Vorian Atreides.”

Valya grabbed the letter from him. “What? That bastard!”

She read the message, knowing it would either be gloating or lies. Written in a firm script, the letter asserted that her brother had died a hero, trying to defend Vorian against attackers. Nonsense! Griffin had gone to assassinate him, not save him. This Atreides was implying that they were friends! It had to be a lie, a complete lie!

Again, Vorian Atreides was sticking his thumb in the eyes of the Harkonnens.

“He killed my brother.” Though she didn’t know the circumstances of Griffin’s death, Valya knew whom to hold responsible. It felt even more personal to her now, and her desire to kill him more just.

Also in the mail delivered by the cargo ship was an ostentatious official document, signed, stamped, and sealed—a proclamation that Griffin Harkonnen had paid the requisite fees and passed all of the required examinations, and he had now been accepted as Lankiveil’s official planetary representative to the Landsraad.

Valya tore it in two.

“This vendetta will never end,” she whispered to her brother’s body. “I will find Vorian Atreides.”

*   *   *

SHE RETREATED TO
her room and locked the door. Her parents assumed she had gone to grieve. Instead, reaching into a pocket, she brought out a small packet containing a single capsule of the new Rossak drug, a precisely measured portion she had taken from Sister Karee’s lab. It was identical to the one that Anna Corrino had stolen and swallowed, the same dosage that had nearly killed her.

Valya held the pill between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it, trying to summon the nerve to take the poison—which would either kill her, or transform her. Previously, she had hesitated, worried that her death would cause irreparable harm to Harkonnen ambitions, but now she felt exactly the opposite. If she could become a Reverend Mother, with full control and precise access to her cellular chemistry, and to the memory-lives of all her female ancestors back to the dawn of time—then she would be unstoppable.