However, the sandworms turned and circled the vehicle, coming closer. Hunting him. In a moment of fear, Waff froze. They were certainly large enough to attack and kill him. "Prophet, do not harm me. I have brought you back to Rakis. You are free to make this your kingdom once again."
The worms raised their blunt heads, swaying back and forth. Are they trying to send me some sort of message? He struggled to comprehend. Could their hypnotic movements be an alien dance? Or a predatory maneuver?
He did not move. He waited.
If this landscape was too harsh for them, if the Prophet needed to consume him in order to survive, Waff was fully prepared to donate the flesh of his own deteriorating body. If this was to be the end, so be it.
Then, as if at a silent signal, the sandworms turned in unison and sped off, their flexing ridges bumping across the glassy dunes. Presently they stopped, bent their armored heads downward, and smashed into the hard surface. They broke the crust and plunged downward, tunneling into the pristine, sterilized sands. Returning to the desert! Waff's heart swelled. He knew they would survive.
As he returned to the groundcar, he realized he had tears in his eyes.
When the forces are arrayed and the final battle is engaged, the outcome may be decided in only a few moments. Remember this: By the time the first shot is fired, half the battle is already over. Victory or defeat can be determined by the preparations that are set in place weeks or even months beforehand.
--BASHAR MILES TEG,
resource allocation request to the Bene Gesserit
Chief Fabricator Shayama Sen agreed to come to Chapterhouse, but the Ixian dignitary remained aboard his ship high in orbit, far above the recovery operations. He would not risk exposure to any last vestiges of the plague, though the disease had burned itself out down there.
Murbella had to go to him to make her demands--but under the strictest quarantine conditions. Encased in her own decontamination sphere, like a laboratory specimen in a tank, she felt foolish and helpless. The Bene Gesserit sphere's outer hull--though scorched by its passage through the atmosphere on the way to orbit and then exposed to the vacuum of space--underwent additional irradiation and sterilization procedures up there. Fail-safes, redundancies. Justified paranoia, she admitted to herself. Although Murbella did not fault him for taking such extraordinary precautions, the Ixian nevertheless had much explaining to do.
While waiting inside her sealed chamber aboard the Guildship (which was guided by a mathematical compiler rather than a Navigator), she composed herself. Still sore and battered from her duel with Kiria, she was satisfied that her violent response to the stupid power play had been necessary. None of the other distraught Sisters would challenge her now, thus leaving her role as Mother Commander uncontested.
Once again, Murbella cursed the rebel Honored Matres and their mindless destruction of the massive shipyards and weapons shops on Richese. Had that not happened, with both Ix and Richese producing armaments, the human race could have consolidated a meaningful defense. Now that Ix was the primary industrial center, the Chief Fabricator felt he could be intractable. Shortsighted fools!
Shayama Sen marched into the large metal-walled room and took a comfortable seat facing her. He looked smug and safe, while she felt like a caged zoo animal. "You called me away from our work, Mother Commander?"
Despite the inherent awkwardness of her position, Murbella tried to take command of the meeting. "Chief Fabricator, you have had three years to duplicate the Obliterators we provided, but all we've received in exchange for our melange payments are reports on your tests, and promise after promise. The Enemy has destroyed more than a hundred planets, and their battleships keep coming. Chapterhouse itself was nearly eradicated by the recent plague."
Sen bowed formally. "We are fully aware of this, Mother Commander, and you have my condolences." He got up and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher, then roamed the large meeting room, flaunting his own freedom.
Anger heated her cheeks and neck. How could this man sound so calm in the face of the crumbling human civilization? "We require the weapons you promised us--and without further delay."
Sen tapped his circuitry-imprinted fingernails together, pondering her containment sphere with a blank stare. "But we have not yet received full payment, and we hear your New Sisterhood is in dire financial straits. If we continue to devote all our resources to these Obliterators, and you renege--"
"The agreed-upon amount of melange is yours the moment you finish installing Obliterators in our new warships. You know this." She didn't dare let Sen discover that she had released a great deal of stockpiled spice to help her fellow Reverend Mothers fight the plague.
"Ah, but if your spice is contaminated by the plague, of what use is it to us? How else will you pay?"
Murbella couldn't believe his blindness. "The spice is not contaminated. We will implement any sterilization measures you require."
"And what if that destroys its efficacy?"
"Then we will give you the original spice to decontaminate in whatever manner you see fit. Stop quibbling about nonsense when the extinction of the human race is imminent!"
Sen seemed scandalized. "You call it nonsense? The properties of spice are complex and could be harmed by such aggressive measures. The substance is of no value to us if we cannot use it."
"The plague organism has a short lifetime. Unless it is transferred from host to host, the disease dies swiftly. Place the spice on an airless moon for a year if you choose to."
"But the difficulties and the inconvenience . . . I believe these circumstances merit a renegotiation of our price."
If the container wall had not prevented her, Murbella would have killed him for his insolence. "Have you any idea of how much destruction the Enemy has spread?"
He pursed his lips, and said, "Let me dispense with subtleties, Mother Commander. Honored Matres provoked this Enemy into launching its fleet against them, and in turn against the rest of us. Your association with the whores was your own folly, and the whole human race has paid for it. Ix has no quarrel with these robotic invaders. Since they evolved from ancient thinking machines, it is possible that we Ixians have more in common with them than with manipulative, murderous females."
Ah. Now she was beginning to understand. Listening to the sharp voice of Odrade-within and a thousand other Reverend Mothers frantically offering advice, Murbella forced calm upon herself. It was clear that the Ixian was trying to escalate this discussion. But why? To distract her? Had he failed to make as much progress in developing the Obliterators as he claimed? Was production running behind schedule?
She selected a gambit that she hoped would shut down his blathering. "I authorize a thirty percent increase in your spice allotment, to be put in a trust fund held in the Guild Bank of your choosing. I expect that is sufficient to make up for any inconvenience? However, payment will be contingent upon your actual delivery of the weaponry in our contract. The Guild has delivered our new warships. Now, where are my Obliterators?"
Shayama Sen bowed, accepting her offer and withdrawing his objections. "Our manufactory worlds are operating at full capacity. We can begin loading Obliterators aboard your new ships immediately."
"I'll issue the orders." She paced within the decontamination bubble like a Laza tiger. The smells of disinfectant chemicals seeping through the air filters made her want to gag. She didn't think the chamber's replenishers were working properly. "How do we know your weapons will perform as you promise?"
"You provided the originals, and we duplicated them precisely. If the originals functioned, then these will, too."
"The originals functioned. You've seen what's left of Rakis and Richese!"
"Then you have nothing to fear."
"From now on, I insist that we place Bene Gesserit inspectors and line supervisors in your manufactories. They will keep you accountable and guard against sabotage."
Shayama Sen struggled with the demand, but could find no legitim
ate argument against it. "Provided your women do not interfere, we shall allow them access. Is that all?"
"We also need to witness a successful test before going into battle."
Sen smiled again. "You would have us annihilate a world merely to prove a point? Hmm, I see Honored Matre methods persist in your New Sisterhood." He chuckled. "I'll give you full records of our previous tests and even arrange for a new demonstration, if you like."
"We will review your data, Chief Fabricator. Transmit it to Chapterhouse, and arrange for a demonstration that I can see with my own eyes."
He tapped his silicon fingernails again, an annoying nervous habit. "Very well. I'll find a nice planetoid to blow up for your entertainment."
Murbella pressed against the curved, transparent wall of her sphere. "And there's one other thing I insist upon. Face Dancers have been found on many worlds, manipulating governments, weakening our defenses. Some even managed to infiltrate Chapterhouse. I need to have assurance that you are not a Face Dancer."
Sen reeled backward in surprise. "You accuse me of being an Enemy, a shape-shifter operative?"
Murbella leaned against the solid wall, regarding him coolly. His indignation did nothing to convince her. She worked the internal controls, and a small, sealed container opened near the base of the Bene Gesserit chamber. It was a sterilization bin, an autoclave and chemical bath. Steam still curled from the package as it emerged for the Chief Fabricator to take.
"This is a testing device we have developed. After analyzing Face Dancer specimens found among our dead, we ran genetic tests and developed this infallible indicator. Right now, Chief Fabricator--as I watch--you will complete this test on yourself."
"I will not." He sniffed.
"You will, or you'll receive none of our melange."
Sen roamed again, frowning. "What is this test? What does it do?"
"It is mostly automated." Murbella explained the principle to him and the easy steps. "As a bonus for you, we can allow Ix to produce these in great quantities. There are plenty of suspicious people who see Face Dancers everywhere. You could make a tidy profit selling these kits."
Sen considered. "You may be right."
While Murbella observed, he went through the motions, standing close enough to her bubble that she could watch his every movement. As far as the Reverend Mothers knew, the test could not easily be foiled, and the Chief Fabricator had had no time to prepare a deception. She waited with intense interest, and was relieved when the indicators declared him fully human. Shayama Sen was not a Face Dancer.
With an irritated expression on his face, he held the chemical tab up for her to see. "Are you satisfied now?"
"I am. And I advise you to perform this test on all of your chief engineers and team leaders. Ix is a likely target for the Enemy to infiltrate. Another reason for my Sisters to supervise your vital work for us."
Sen looked genuinely disturbed, as if that possibility had not occurred to him. "I concede your point, Mother Commander. I would like to see those results myself."
"Then include them when you send your data about the Obliterator tests. In the meantime, prepare to install your weapons in all the new warships coming out of the Junction shipyards. We are about to engage in an all-out offensive against the thinking-machine fleet."
Each sentient life requires a place of extreme serenity, where the mind may roam afterward in memory and to which the body longs to return.
--ERASMUS,
contemplation notes
Now that you have been among us for more than a year, it is time to show you my special place, Paolo." The independent robot waved a metal arm, and his majestic robes flowed around him. "And you too, of course, Baron Harkonnen."
The Baron scowled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your special place? I'm sure we'll be charmed by what a robot considers to be a special place."
During the time that he and Paolo had lived on Synchrony, he'd lost his awe and fear of thinking machines. They seemed plodding and grandiose, full of redundancy and very little impulsivity. Since Omnius thought he needed Paolo, along with the Baron to keep Paolo in line, the two were safe enough. Even so, the Baron felt a need to show some backbone, and turn the circumstances to his own benefit.
Around the interior of the now-familiar cathedral chamber, the walls became a wash of color, as if invisible painters were hard at work. Instead of blank metal and stone surfaces, the murky shades of green and brown sharpened into highly realistic trees and birds. The oppressive ceiling opened to the sky, and peculiar synthesized music began playing. A gemgravel pathway ran through the lush garden with comfortable reclining benches at intermittent intervals. A lily pond appeared on one side.
"My contemplation garden." Erasmus formed his artificial smile. "I enjoy this place very much. It is special to me."
"At least the flowers don't stink." Paolo ripped up one of the bright chrysanthemums, sniffed it, and discarded it at the side of the path. After a year of constant training, the Baron had finally made the boy's personality into something he could be proud of.
"This is all lovely," the Baron said drily. "And utterly pointless."
Be careful what you say to him, Grandfather, cautioned the Aliavoice within. Don't get us killed today. It was one of her continual harangues.
"Is something troubling you, Baron?" Erasmus asked. "This should be a place of peace and contemplation."
See what you've done! Get out of my head.
But I'm trapped here with you. You can't get rid of me. I killed you once with the gom jabbar, and I can do it again with a little careful manipulation.
"I see that you are often plagued by disturbing thoughts." Erasmus stepped closer. "Would you like me to open your skull and look inside? I could fix the problem."
Be careful with me, Abomination! I just may take him up on the offer!
He forced a smile as he replied to the independent robot. "I'm just impatient to learn exactly how we can work with Omnius. Your war against humanity has gone on for some time now, and we've been your guests for a year. When will we do what you brought us here for?"
Paolo kicked a divot into the gemgravel path. "Yes, Erasmus. When do we get to have fun?"
"Soon enough." The robot swirled his robes and guided his companions through the garden.
The boy had just passed his eleventh birthday and was developing into a strong young man, well-muscled and highly trained. Thanks to the Baron's constant influence, virtually all traces of the former Atreides personality had been extinguished. Erasmus himself had supervised Paolo's vigorous combat training against fighting meks, all to prime him to become the supposed Kwisatz Haderach.
But the Baron still could not fathom why. Why would the machines care about some obscure human religious figure from ancient history?
Erasmus motioned for them to sit on the nearest bench. The synthesized music and birdsong around them grew louder and more energetic until they became intertwined melodies. The robot's expression shifted once again, as if in reverie. "Is it not beautiful? I composed it myself."
"Most impressive." The Baron despised the music as too smooth and peaceful; he preferred more cacophonous, discordant selections.
"Over the millennia, I created wondrous works of art and many illusions." Erasmus's face and body shifted, and he became entirely human in appearance. Even the gaudy and unnecessary garments altered, until the robot stood before them again as a matronly old woman in a floralprint dress holding a small hand trowel. "This is one of my favorites. I have perfected it over the years, drawing from more and more of the lives my Face Dancers bring me."
With the hand trowel she dug in the simulated soil near the bench, getting rid of weeds that the Baron was sure had not been there moments earlier. A worm crawled out of the exposed, dark dirt, and the old woman sliced it in half with the trowel. The two parts of the squirming creature faded into the dirt.
A gentle undercurrent flowed in her voice, not unlike that of a grandmother telling bedtime s
tories to children. "Long ago--during your original lifetime, dear Baron--a Tleilaxu researcher named Hidar Fen Ajidica created an artificial spice that he called amal. Though the substance proved to have significant defects, Ajidica consumed huge quantities of it himself, and as a result he went increasingly mad, which led to his demise."
"Sounds like a failure," Paolo said.
"Oh, Ajidica failed spectacularly, but he did accomplish something very important. Call it a side effect. For his special ambassadors, he created greatly improved Face Dancers, with which he intended to populate a new domain. He dispatched them into deep space as scouts, colonizers, preparers of the way. He died before he could join them. Poor foolish man."
The old woman left her trowel stuck in the ground. When she straightened, she pressed her hand against the small of her back, as if to comfort an ache. "The new Face Dancers located our machine empire, and Omnius allowed me to study them. I spent generations working with the shape-shifters, learning how to draw information from them. Lovely biological machines, far superior to their predecessors. Yes, they are proving to be extremely helpful in winning our final war."
Looking around the illusory garden, the Baron saw other forms, minor workers who appeared to be human. New Face Dancers? "So you made an alliance with them?"
The old woman pursed her lips. "An alliance? They are servants, not our partners. Face Dancers were made to serve. To them, Omnius and I are like gods, greater Masters than the Tleilaxu ever were." Erasmus seemed to be pondering. "I do wish they had brought one of their Masters to me before the Honored Matres destroyed nearly all of them. The discussion could have been most enlightening."
Paolo brought the conversation back around to a subject that interested him. "As the final Kwisatz Haderach, I will be a god, too."
Erasmus laughed, an old woman's cachinnation. "Beware of megalomania, young man. It has brought down many a human--such as Hidar Fen Ajidica. Soon I expect to have a key to help you reach your potential. We need to free the god that crouches inside your body. And that requires a powerful catalyst."
"What is it?" the young man demanded.
"I keep forgetting how impatient you humans are!" The old woman brushed off her flower-print dress. "That is why I enjoy the Face Dancers so much. In them, I see the potential for perfecting humans. Face Dancers could be the sort of humans that even thinking machines might tolerate."