Sisterhood of Dune (48 page)

The shuttle landed on the main island where countless Swordmaster students had been trained in the years since the death of Jool Noret. Anari buckled on the harness, tightening the straps across her chest and waist to make sure it was secure, then turned and stooped. Manford grasped her shoulders and hoisted himself into the socket formed to hold his hips. She stood on muscular legs, barely noticing the added weight, and walked proudly down the ramp.

A group of bronzed, shirtless fighters had come to greet them. Though all of her fellow students had long since dispersed on private missions throughout the Imperium, she recognized two of her Swordmaster teachers among the welcoming committee. Rather than calling out to her instructors, however, she pretended to be invisible. Anari did not wish to overstep her bounds. In this situation, alongside her beloved Manford, she was here solely for him, to carry him, to serve him, to help him—not to show off her own important position. She would not speak unless he needed her to do so.

While she stood under the bright sunlight, Manford regarded the welcoming committee. He said nothing, waiting until one of the instructors hesitantly bowed, and then all the Swordmasters did likewise. It was a sufficient sign of respect. Manford gestured them up, smiling benevolently.

“I come to you with a great opportunity,” he said. “Even though our crusade against the machines is over and we defeated Omnius, the human race still needs Swordmasters. We have a new battle, not just to fight the oppressors, but to save our future. Do you still remember how to fight?”

A resounding cheer rose from those gathered. “Yes!” More of the muscular men and women had come to the landing area to see Manford.

Swordmasters had little use for ranks and authority. They trained with one another, bested one another. The superior fighters were obvious to any observer, and did not need special insignia, other than the weapons they carried in scabbards. One of the trainers, Master Fleur—among Anari’s toughest instructors—now acted as spokesman.

“We would welcome a new challenge. The Swordmasters of Ginaz have long awaited a worthy opponent. We follow the teachings of the great Jool Noret, but many of us work as mere bodyguards, or travel across the new Imperium, offering our services to the downtrodden. However, we have always hoped for more.”

Anari could almost hear the smile in Manford’s voice as he said, “Then I’m very glad I’ve come.”

*   *   *

ON THE GRASSY
hills above a black-sand beach, Swordmasters trained for combat. Master Fleur had set up a special demonstration for Manford, who sat in a special chair. Beside him, Anari stood watching eagerly. Part of her longed to participate, remembering when she’d been a student herself. She knew that if she asked Manford, he would grant permission for her to join in, but she had a higher purpose now. Though she thought fondly of her training days, her present duties were far more important.

Master Fleur had called for a demonic-looking black metal robot to be placed in the middle of the open grassy area. The enormous multi-armed battle mek towered four meters high, a robotic Goliath salvaged from one of the abandoned machine vessels. It stood on legs like pillars, with spiny defensive protrusions at its elbows, shoulders, and waist. The embedded projectile weapons in its four arms were deactivated, but the mek had other brutal fighting techniques and enough engine strength to level buildings.

Looking tiny, the Swordmaster trainees ringed it, ready to demonstrate their prowess with primitive but effective pulse-swords.

Fleur said to Manford, “We continue to hone our fighting abilities, should the thinking machines ever return.”

Anari knew that being so close to the enormous, nightmarish mek made Manford uneasy, but she would protect him. He resented the idea that the Swordmasters, as well as the Mentat School, felt the need to keep the hateful reminders as a necessary part of training, but he grudgingly understood. Another compromise, a necessary evil.

One of the students activated the mek’s power systems, and the optic threads glowed like a constellation of stars on its polished black face as it assessed its surroundings. The battle machine swiveled at the waist, stretched, and raised its mammoth shoulder carapace. The blunt head turned in a complete circle to scan the opponents arrayed against it.

With a yell, the Swordmaster trainees threw themselves forward.

Manford watched with interest. Anari’s eyes gleamed as she recalled many such exercises. Growing up as an orphan, she’d been forced to overcome great difficulties and had fought countless opponents to prove she was good enough. In her early teens, she had made her way to Ginaz and demanded to be trained. In short order, she defeated five people who tried to deny her entry to the school, and finally the masters allowed her in. There, she studied every sort of combat technique: hand-to-hand as well as tactical, fighting against humans or machines. Her body had been bruised and battered countless times, but she had always healed, and her heart had never been defeated.

One of her comrades had been Ellus, the only trainee who could fight her to a stalemate on a regular basis. Eventually the two became lovers, but they took more physical enjoyment from the sweat and exhilaration of combat than from sex. Because of that, Anari had been able to put aside her feelings for the man when they both left to join the Butlerians. Since meeting Manford, she had formed more important goals and accepted a mission that went beyond the hormonal drives of ordinary humans. In Anari’s mind, loyalty and dedication achieved a higher state.

Anari remembered when she and Ellus had fought against an equivalent model of battle mek, and the two of them had destroyed the gigantic opponent. While she remained Manford’s close companion, Ellus had gone off with two other Swordmasters and a group of dedicated Butlerians to locate and obliterate dozens of lost cymek bases.

He was expected to be gone for months, but she knew Ellus would return to Lampadas and announce his complete success. At one time she might have missed him for being gone for so long, but now she had Manford … more of Manford than any other person would ever have. That kind of love was as pure and clear as a Hagal diamond.

Now, she stood restless and fascinated as the Swordmaster trainees pummeled the combat mek, hammering at it like an exuberant and deadly mob, but the hulking battle machine was not easily defeated. The trainees fought on like wolves trying to bring down a furious mammoth.

The huge mek lashed out with its four jointed arms, clacking the articulated pincers. It seized one of the pulse-swords and cast it aside, yanking so hard that it dislocated the fighter’s shoulder. The disarmed man cried out in pain and staggered out of the way as two trainees dove into the gap to cover for him. The battle mek swatted them aside. Then it moved backward suddenly and thrust a spiny arm, jerking sideways to eviscerate one of the trainees. Spurting blood, the victim stumbled and coughed. Finally another fighter dragged him away, but it was clearly a mortal wound.

The sight of blood increased the skilled frenzy of the remaining trainees, and they swarmed over the machine. Their pulse-swords deactivated one of the mek’s four fighting arms. The battle mek lurched upward and swept sideways, bowling down three more trainees, who sprang back to their feet and leaped away.

The mek swiveled and thrust with its three active arms in a flurry of sharp, stabbing blows. It attempted to fire its useless projectile weapons, but hesitated when the integrated weapons systems did not work.

Anari was breathing hard, eyes intense. Her sweaty palm squeezed the hilt of her own pulse-sword so tightly she thought she might crush it. She glanced down at Manford in his chair, to find he was watching her instead of the fight. His eyes glinted with understanding. “Go,” he whispered.

Like a boulder shot from a catapult, Anari launched herself into the fray with a wild and delighted grin on her face. Her first blow with the pulse-sword sent a numbing vibration all the way up her arm, making a serious dent in the machine’s carapace.

Anari switched the pulse-sword to her other hand and continued fighting. A well-placed strike to the mek’s smooth metal face smashed a set of optic threads, taking them off-line. Working together, three of the trainees had used their swords to lock one of the robot’s jointed fighting arms.

The rest of the fighters hurled themselves upon the battle mek with no regard for personal safety, stabbing and pounding. Anari’s strike to the optic threads had created a blind spot, and a trainee was able to reach the access plate beneath the mechanical head. He tore off the plate and thrust his pulse-sword deep into the robot’s core.

Fading and crippled, the battle mek could no longer fight. Anari grabbed one of the useless, jointed arms and hauled herself onto the mammoth machine’s shoulders in a strange parody of how Manford rode on her shoulders. There, she used her pulse-sword to pry the mek’s head free from its neck socket.

With a groan, the mammoth machine lost its balance and toppled over. Within moments, the trainees had smashed it into countless pieces, destroying every hint of a functional circuit.

Satisfied, proud, and exhilarated, Anari walked back to Manford. She wiped perspiration from her forehead and gave him a bow of thanks. “It was beautiful,” he said to her, “to see you in your element like that.”

Outside the fighting perimeter, the eviscerated trainee gurgled and died. One of the female field medics had tried to stop the bleeding and stuff the man’s intestines back into his abdomen. Now she just shook her head, raised her bloody hands, and bowed in respect to the fallen warrior for the bravery he had shown, even though he’d only been a trainee.

Fleur glanced at the dead fighter with a flicker of sadness, then devoted his attention to the rest of the combatants. “Swordmasters fight, and Swordmasters die. That is why we’re here.”

“The mind of man is holy,” Anari said.

Manford spoke aloud to Master Fleur. “Humans can be swayed so easily, and someone needs to keep them on course—someone with a clear vision. A few people may not like it, but we Butlerians have a higher calling.”

“Your calling is our calling.” Fleur raised his chin. “Observe, they are nearly finished.”

All twelve of the remaining trainees continued to smash the combat robot, even after it toppled over. One of them disengaged a set of the jointed fighting arms and held them up like a trophy. The other trainees methodically dismantled the fighting robot and left the pieces strewn across the grass. One held up the severed ovoid head.

“Another opponent vanquished, Master!” he shouted. Around him, the Swordmaster trainees looked battered and exhausted, but their eyes glowed with feral excitement.

Manford said to Fleur, “We need hundreds more like these to join our cause. With our new fleet, we must move against countless worlds, to watch them and ensure that dangerous technology never runs rampant again.”

“You will have as many Swordmasters as you need,” promised Fleur.

“Good. Very good,” Manford said, then continued in a lower voice. “Not all of our enemies are as obvious as a fighting mek, however.”

Any attempt to amend sacred texts, however fallible they may be, is inherently dangerous.

—excerpt from confidential report, for the Emperor’s eyes only

“I need a convincing argument that the old Suk School building should be torn down, to send a message,” Salvador said with a groan. “The Butlerians forced me to agree to it, and they are going to destroy it one way or another—but I need you to provide me with a legitimate-sounding excuse.”

Roderick wrestled with necessities as the two brothers met in the Palace’s lush conservatory. “It’s a very sad thing, and Manford Torondo is wrong to resent them so. We both know the Suk doctors provide a valuable service, to those who can afford it. They are careful not to use questionable technology.”

“Questionable technology? Manford’s mobs question
all
technology.”

“If our own father had sought medical attention in time, he would not have died of a brain tumor.”

Salvador sniffed. “And then I wouldn’t have become supreme ruler when I did, so there is a silver lining.”

Roderick nodded slowly. He had to come up with a good justification to knock down the old school headquarters. If he made the case that the former Suk administrator, Elo Bando, had duped Salvador out of a fortune for unnecessary medical procedures, that might cause enough of a scandal—but it would also make his brother look like a fool. He doubted he could even convince Salvador that he’d been deceived. “Maybe we can play up the questions of financial impropriety. There have been rumors, you know.”

“Or start a rumor of our own that they have a functioning computer locked in a back room somewhere.” Salvador let out an impatient sigh. “Manford’s people won’t bother to check their facts. They’ll raze the building to the ground, and it won’t matter whether or not they find anything.”

“That would certainly work, but a lie like that would make an enemy out of the Suk School,” Roderick said, with rising alarm.

“We haven’t seen thousands of Suk doctors swarming into the capital threatening violence—it’s the Butlerians we have to worry about. I need to throw them a bone, and Manford Torondo made it clear what he wants.” Salvador shook his head, and his eyes appeared haunted. “But we have to salvage the situation somehow with the Suk doctors. Let’s request a dedicated, personal physician for me from the Suk School on Parmentier, as a show of our support. Once we send Manford and his mindless minions on their way, I can make amends with the Suks.”

As they paced among the exotic foliage in convoluted planters throughout the conservatory, Roderick tried again to advise caution, but Salvador said, “You’ve counseled me in the past to be logical rather than emotional, but I’m dealing with excitable people. I hate being boxed in, but I’m forced to appease the Butlerians. If they ever turn against me, they’ll drag the entire Corrino family through the streets and put someone else on the throne.”

“Don’t worry, Brother,” Roderick said. “I’d never let that happen.”