Sandworms of Dune

by Brian Herbert & Kevin J.Anderson

Vol. VIII of the Dune series

Soon after the Honored Matrescareened into the Old Empire, the Bene

Gesserit Sisterhood learned to hate andfear them. The intruders used their

terrible Obliterator weapons to destroyBene Gesserit and Tleilaxu

planets, Richese with its vast industriesand weapon shops, even Rakis

itself.

But in order to survive the even greaterEnemy that pursued them, the

Honored Matres desperately neededknowledge that only the Sisterhood

possessed. To obtain it, they struck likeangry vipers, lashing out with

extreme violence.

After the Battle of Junction, the twoopposing groups were forcibly

united into a New Sisterhood, but thefactions continued to wrestle for

control and dominance.

Such a waste of time, talent, and blood!The real threat came from

outside, but we continued to fight thewrong enemy.

– Mother Commander Murbella, addressto the New Sisterhood

Two people drift in a lifeboat on anuncharted sea. One says, "There! I

see an island. Our best chance is to goashore, build a shelter, and await

rescue."

The other says, "No, we must go fartherout to sea and hope to find the

shipping lanes. That is our bestchance."

Unable to agree, the two fight, thelifeboat capsizes, and they drown.

This is the nature of humanity. Even ifonly two people are left in the

entire universe, they will come torepresent opposing factions.

– The Bene Gesserit Acolytes'Handbook

In re-creating particular gholas, we

reweave the fabric of history. Once

more, Paul Muad'Dib walks among us,with his beloved Chani, his mother

the Lady Jessica, and his son Leto II,the God Emperor of Dune. The

presence of Suk doctor Wellington Yueh,whose treachery brought a great

house to its knees, is at once disturbingand comforting. Also with us are

the warrior-Mentat Thufir Hawat, theFremen Naib Stilgar, and the great

planetologist Liet-Kynes. Consider thepossibilities!

Such genius constitutes a formidablearmy. We will need that brilliance,

because we face an opponent moreterrible than we ever imagined.

– Duncan Idaho, Memories of MoreThan a Mentat

I have waited and planned and built mystrength for fifteen thousand years.

I have evolved. It is time.

– Omnius

Twenty-One Years After Escape fromChapterhouse

So many people I knew in the past arenot yet reborn. I still miss them,

even though I do not remember them.The axlotl tanks will soon remedy

that.

– Lady Jessica, the ghola

Onboard the wandering no-ship Ithaca,Jessica witnessed the birth of herdaughter, but

only as an observer. Just fourteen yearsold, she and many others crowded themedical center, while two Bene GesseritSuk doctors in the adjacent crècheprepared to extract the tiny girl child

from an axlotl tank.

"Alia," one of the female doctorsmurmured.

This was not truly Jessica's daughter, buta ghola grown from preserved cells.None of

the young gholas on the no-ship were"themselves" yet. They had regainednone of their memories, none of theirpasts.

Something tried to surface at the back ofher mind, and though she worried at itlike a loose tooth, Jessica could notremember the first time Alia had beenborn.

In the archives, she had read and rereadthe legendary accounts generated by

Muad'Dib's biographers. But shecouldn't remember.

All she had were images from herstudies: A dry and dusty sietch onArrakis,

surrounded by Fremen. Jessica and herson Paul had been on the run, taken in bythe desert tribe. Duke Leto was dead,murdered by Harkonnens.

Pregnant, Jessica had drunk the Water ofLife, forever changing the fetus insideher.

From the moment of her birth, theoriginal Alia had been different from allother babies, filled with ancient wisdomand madness, able to tap into OtherMemory without having gone through theSpice Agony. Abomination!

That had been another Alia. Anothertime and another way.

Now Jessica stood beside her ghola"son" Paul, who was chronologically ayear older than she. Paul waited with hisbeloved Fremen mate Chani and thenine-year-old ghola of a boy who had inturn been their son, Leto II. In a priorshuffle of lives, this had been Jessica'sfamily.

The Bene Gesserit order had resurrectedthese figures from history to help fightagainst the terrible Outside Enemy thathunted them. They had Thufir Hawat, theplanetologist Liet-Kynes, the Fremenleader Stilgar, and even the notoriousDr. Yueh. Now, after almost a

decade of hiatus in the ghola program,Alia had joined the group. Others wouldcome soon; the three remaining axlotltanks were already pregnant with newchildren: Gurney Halleck, Serena Butler,Xavier Harkonnen.

Duncan Idaho gave Jessica a quizzicallook. Eternal Duncan, with all of hismemories

restored from all of his prior lives... Shewondered what he thought of this newghola baby, a bubble of the past rising upto the present. Long ago, the first gholaof Duncan had been Alia's consort...

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Concealing his age well, Duncan was afull-grown man with dark wiry hair. Helooked

exactly like the hero shown in so manyarchival records, from the time ofMuad'Dib, through the God Emperor's

thirty-five-century reign, to now, anotherfifteen centuries later.

Breathless and late, the old Rabbibustled into the birthing chamberaccompanied by

twelve-year-old Wellington Yueh. YoungYueh's forehead did not bear thediamond tattoo of the famous SukSchool. The bearded Rabbi seemed tothink he could save the gangly young manfrom repeating the terrible crimes he hadcommitted in his prior life.

At the moment the Rabbi looked angry,as he invariably did whenever he camenear the

axlotl tanks. Since the Bene Gesseritdoctors ignored him, the old man ventedhis displeasure on Sheeana. "After yearsof sanity, you have done it again! Whenwill you learn to stop taunting God?"

After receiving an ominous prescientdream, Sheeana had declared atemporary

moratorium on the ghola project that hadbeen her passion from its inception. Buttheir recent ordeal on the planet of theHandlers and their near capture by theEnemy hunters had forced Sheeana toreassess that decision. The wealth ofhistorical and tactical experience thereawakened gholas could offer might be

the greatest weapon the no-shippossessed. Sheeana had decided to takethe risk.

Perhaps we will be saved by Alia oneday, Jessica thought. Or by one of theother

gholas...

Tempting fate, Sheeana had performedan experiment on this unborn ghola in aneffort

to make it more like the Alia. Estimatingthe point in the pregnancy when theoriginal Jessica had consumed the Waterof Life, Sheeana had instructed BeneGesserit Suk doctors to flood the axlotl

tank with a near-fatal spice overdose.Saturating the fetus.

Trying to re-create an Abomination.

Jessica had been horrified to learn of it–too late, when she could do nothingabout it.

How would the spice affect that innocentbaby? A mélange overdose was differentfrom

undergoing the Agony.

One of the Suk doctors told the Rabbi tostay out of the birthing crèche. Scowling,the old man held up a trembling hand, asif making a blessing on the pale flesh of

the axlotl tank.

"You witches think these tanks are nolonger women, no longer human–but thisis still Rebecca. She remains a child ofmy flock."

"Rebecca fulfilled a vital need."Sheeana said. "All of the volunteersknew exactly what they were doing. Sheaccepted her responsibility. Why can'tyou?"

The Rabbi turned in exasperation towardthe young man at his side. "Speak tothem, Yueh. Maybe they will listen toyou."

Jessica thought the sallow young ghola

seemed more intrigued than incensedabout the

tanks. "As a Suk doctor," he said, "Idelivered many children. But never likethis. At least I don't think so. With myghola memories still locked away, I getconfused sometimes."

"And Rebecca is human–not just somebiological machine to produce mélangeand a

brood of gholas. You have to see that."The Rabbi's voice grew in volume.

Yueh shrugged. "Because I was born inthe same fashion, I cannot be entirelyobjective.

If my memories were restored, maybe I'dagree with you."

"You don't need original memories tothink! You can think, can't you?"

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"The baby is ready," one of the doctorsinterrupted. "We must decant it now."She turned impatiently to the Rabbi. "Letus do our work–or the tank could beharmed as well."

With a sound of disgust, the Rabbi

shouldered his way from the birthingcrèche. Yueh

remained behind, continuing to watch.

One of the Suk women tied off theumbilical cord from the fleshy tank. Hershorter

colleague cut the purplish-red whip; thenshe wiped off the slick infant and liftedlittle Alia into the air. The child let out aloud and immediate cry, as if she hadbeen impatient to be born. Jessica sighedin relief at the healthy sound, which toldher the girl was not an Abomination thistime. The original newborn Alia hadpurportedly looked upon the world

with the eyes and intelligence of a fulladult. This baby's crying soundednormal. But it stopped abruptly.

While one doctor tended the now-sagging axlotl tank, the other dried theinfant and

wrapped her in a blanket. Unable to helpfeeling a tug at her heart, Jessica wantedto reach out and hold the baby, butresisted the urge. Would Alia suddenlystart speaking, uttering voices fromOther Memory? Instead, the baby lookedaround the medical center, withoutseeming to focus.

Others would care for Alia, not unlikethe way Bene Gesserit sisters took baby

girls

under their collective wing. The firstJessica, born under the close scrutiny ofbreeding mistresses, had never known amother in the traditional sense. Norwould this Jessica, nor Alia, nor any ofthe other experimental ghola babies. Thenew daughter would be raised

communally in an improvised society,more an object of scientific curiositythan love.

"What an odd family we all are," Jessicawhispered.

Humans are never capable of completeaccuracy. Despite all the

knowledge and experiences we haveabsorbed from countless Face Dancer

"ambassadors" we are left with aconfused picture. Nonetheless, theflawed accounts of human historyprovide amusing insights into thedelusions of

mankind.

– Erasmus, Records and Analyses,Backup #242

In spite of a decades-long effort, thethinking machines had not yet capturedthe no-ship and its precious cargo. Thatdid not, however, stop the computerevermind from launching his vast

extermination fleet against the rest ofhumanity.

Duncan Idaho continued to elude Omniusand Erasmus, who repeatedly cast their

sparkling tachyon net into thenothingness, searching for their quarry.The no-ship's veiling capabilitynormally prevented it from being seen,but from time to time the pursuers caughtglimpses, as of something concealedbehind shrubbery. At first the hunt hadbeen a challenge, but now the evermindwas growing frustrated.

"You have lost the ship again," Omniusboomed through wall speakers in thecentral, cathedral-like chamber in the

technological metropolis of Synchrony.

"Inaccurate. I must first find it before Ican lose it." Erasmus tried to soundcarefree as he shifted his flowmetal skin,reverting from his guise as a kindly oldwoman to the more familiar appearanceof a platinum-surfaced robot.

Like overarching tree trunks, metalspires towered above Erasmus to form avaulted

dome within the machine cathedral.Photons glittered from the activatedskins of the pillars, bathing his newlaboratory in light. He had even installeda glowing fountain that bubbled withlava–a useless decoration, but the robot

often indulged his carefully cultivatedartistic sensibilities. "Do not beimpatient. Remember the mathematicalprojections. Everything is nicelypredetermined."

"Your mathematical projections could bemyths, like any prophecy. How do Iknow

they are correct?"

"Because I have said they are correct."

With the launch of the machine fleet, thelong-foretold Kralizec had begun, at last.

Kralizec... Armageddon... the Battle atthe End of the Universe... Ragnarok...

Azrafel...

the End Times... the Cloud Darkness. Itwas a time of fundamental change, of theentire universe shifting on its cosmicaxis. Human legends had predicted sucha cataclysmic event since the dawn ofcivilization. Indeed, they had alreadybeen through several iterations ofsimilar cataclysms: the Butlerian Jihaditself, the jihad of Paul Muad'Dib, thereign of the Tyrant Leto II. Bymanipulating computer projections, andthus creating expectations in the mind ofOmnius, Erasmus had succeeded ininitiating the events that would bringabout

another fundamental shift. Prophecy andreality–the order of things really didn'tmatter.

Like an arrow, all of Erasmus's infinitelycomplex calculations, running trillionsof data points through the mostsophisticated routines, pointed to oneresult: The final Kwisatz Haderach–whoever that was would determine thecourse of events at the end of Kralizec.The projection also revealed that theKwisatz Haderach was on the no-ship,so Omnius naturally wanted such a forcefighting on his side. Ergo, the thinkingmachines needed to capture that ship.The first to exert control over the finalKwisatz Haderach would win.

Erasmus didn't fully understand exactlywhat the superhuman might do when hewas

located and seized. Though the robotwas a longtime student of mankind, hewas still a

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thinking machine, while the KwisatzHaderach was not. The new FaceDancers, who had long infiltratedhumanity and brought vital informationback to the Synchronized Empire, fell

somewhere in between, like hybridbiological machines. He and Omnius hadboth absorbed so many of the livesstolen by the Face Dancers thatsometimes they forgot who they were.The original Tleilaxu Masters had notforeseen the significance of what theyhad helped create.

The independent robot knew he still hadto keep Omnius under control, though."We

have time. You have a galaxy to conquerbefore we need the Kwisatz Haderachaboard that ship."

"I am glad I did not wait for you tosucceed."

For centuries Omnius had been buildinghis invincible force. Using traditionalbut

supremely efficient lightspeed engines,the millions and millions of machinevessels now swept forward and spreadout, conquering one star system at a time.The evermind could have made use ofthe surrogate mathematical navigationsystems, which his Face Dancers had

"given" to the Spacing Guild, but oneelement of the Holtzman technologysimply remained too incomprehensible.Something indefinably human wasrequired to travel through

foldspace, an intangible "leap of faith."

The evermind would never admit that thebizarre technology actually made him...nervous.

Following a flurry of test skirmishes, thewall of robotic battleships hadencountered

and swiftly destroyed fringe outpostworlds settled by humans. Vanguarddrones mapped out the planets ahead anddistributed deadly biological plaguesthat Erasmus had developed; by the timethe actual machine fleet arrived at atarget world, military action was often

unnecessary against a dying population.Each combat engagement, even clasheswith isolated groups of Honored Matres,

was equally decisive.

To keep himself occupied, theindependent robot reviewed the streamsof data sent back

to him. This was the part he enjoyedbest. A buzzing watcheye flitted in frontof him, and he brushed it away. "If youallow me to concentrate, Omnius, I mayfind some way to speed up our progressagainst the humans."

"How do I know you will not makeanother mistake?"

"Because you have confidence in myabilities."

The watcheye flitted away.

While the machine fleet crushed onehuman planet after another, Erasmusissued

additional instructions for the invaderrobots. As the infected humans laywrithing, vomiting, and bleeding fromtheir pores, machine scouts casuallyransacked databases, halls of records,libraries, and other sources. This wasdifferent from the information to bewinnowed from the random lives thatFace Dancers had assimilated.

With all the fresh data flowing in,Erasmus had the luxury of becoming ascientist again, as he had been long ago.

The pursuit of scientific truth had alwaysbeen his true reason for existence. Nowthe flood was greater than ever before.Glad to possess so much new

information, so much undigested data, hegorged his elaborate mind on raw factsand

histories.

After the supposed destruction ofthinking machines more than fifteenmillennia earlier, the fecund humans hadspread, building civilizations anddestroying them. Erasmus was

intrigued by how, after the Battle ofCorrin, the Butler family had founded an

empire and ruled it under the name ofCorrino for ten thousand years, with afew gaps and interregnums, only to beoverthrown by a fanatical leader namedMuad'Dib.

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Paul Atreides. The first KwisatzHaderach.

A more fundamental change, however,had come from his son Leto II, called theGod

Emperor or Tyrant. Another KwisatzHaderach–a unique hybrid of man andsandworm that

had imposed a draconian rule for thirty-five hundred years. After hisassassination, human civilizationfragmented. Fleeing to the far reaches ofthe galaxy in the Scattering, peoplebecame hardened by their privationsuntil the worst sort of humans–HonoredMatres–had

blundered into the burgeoning machineempire...

Another flitting watcheye scanned thesame records Erasmus was reading.Omnius

spoke through resonating plates in thewalls. "I find their contradictions–posedas fact–to be unsettling."

"Unsettling perhaps, but fascinating."Erasmus disengaged himself from thestacks of historical files. "Their historiesshow how they view themselves and theuniverse around them. Obviously, thesehumans need someone to take firmcontrol again."

Why is religion important? Becauselogic alone does not compel a person

to make great sacrifices. Givensufficient religious fervor, however,people

will throw themselves againstimpossible odds and considerthemselves

blessed for doing so.

– Missionaria Protectiva, First Primer

Two male workers appeared at the doorof Murbella's coldly ostentatious council

chambers during a tense meeting. Usingsuspensor clamps, they hauled a large,motionless robot between them. "MotherCommander? You asked for this to bedelivered here."

The combat machine was built from blueand black metal, reinforced with struts

and

overlapping armor. Its conical headcontained a suite of sensors and targetingarrays, and four engine-driven armswere wrapped with cables andaugmented with weapons.

Damaged during a recent skirmish, thefighting robot had dark smears across itsbulky

torso where high-energy blasts hadknocked out its internal processors. Therobotic thing was shut down, dead,defeated. But even deactivated, it wascause for nightmares.

Murbella's advisors, startled out of their

discussions and arguments, stared at thebig machine. All of the gathered womenwore the plain black unitard of the NewSisterhood,

following a code of homogenized dressthat allowed no indication of theirorigins as either Bene Gesserit orHonored Matre.

Murbella gestured to the intimidated-looking workers. "Bring that thing insidewhere we can see it every time we talkabout the Enemy. It will do us good to bereminded of the adversary we're upagainst."

Even with the suspensor clamps, the mensweated as they wrestled the machine

into the

room.

Murbella strode to the bulky combatrobot and stared with defiance up into itsdull optic sensors. She glanced proudlyat her daughter. "Bashar Idaho broughtthis specimen back from the battle atDuvalle."

"It should be sent to the scrap heap. Orshot into space," said Kiria, a hard-edged former Honored Matre. "What if itstill has passive spy programming?"

"It's been thoroughly purged," saidJaness Idaho. As the newly appointedcommandant of the Sisterhood's military

forces, she had become a very pragmaticyoung woman.

"A trophy, Mother Commander?" askedLaera, a dark-skinned Reverend Motherwho often quietly supported Murbella."Or a prisoner of war?"

"This is the only one our armies foundintact. We blew up four machine shipsbefore we retreated and let them destroythe planet behind us. They had alreadyturned their plagues loose on Ronto andPital, leaving no survivors. Totalpopulation losses number in the

billions."

Duvalle, Ronto, and Pital were just the

latest casualties as the machine armycontinued its forward march through theoutlying systems. Because of thedistances involved and the sheer mightof the attacking ships, reports weresketchy and often outdated.

Refugees and couriers surged away frombattle zones, heading inward from thefringes

of the Scattering.

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Murbella turned her back on thedeactivated robot and faced the Sisters."Knowing that a tempest approaches, wehave the option of simply evacuating–abandoning everything we

have. That is the Honored Matre way."

Some of the Sisters flinched at thecomment. Long ago, Honored Matreshad chosen to

run from the Enemy, pillaging on theirway out, hoping to stay one step ahead ofthe storm.

To them, the Old Empire had been nomore than a crude barricade to bethrown up against the Enemy; they had

simply hoped it would last long enoughfor them to get away.

"Or, we can board up our windows,strengthen our walls, and ride it out. Andhope we survive."

"This is no mere storm, MotherCommander," said Laera. "Therepercussions are already being felt.Refugees fleeing the battlefront areoverwhelming the support systems ofsecond-wave worlds, all of which arepreparing for evacuation as well. Thepeople won't stand and fight."

"Like waterlogged rats crowding to thecorner of a sinking raft," Kiria muttered.

"Says the Honored Matre, who didexactly the same," Janess said from theend of the table, then tried to cover hercomment by loudly sipping her spicecoffee. Kiria glared at her.

"A shadow deep in our Honored Matrepast," Murbella said. "Through hubris,and a violent predisposition to strikefirst and understand later, the whorescaused all these problems." By diggingdeep into her mind and history, she hadbeen the first to remember how her long-dead sisters had stupidly provoked thethinking machines.

Kiria was indignant, clearly stillassociating herself with the Honored

Matres. Murbella found it disturbing."You yourself revealed why the HonoredMatres are what they are, MotherCommander. Descended from torturedTleilaxu females, rogue ReverendMothers,

and a few Fish Speakers. They hadevery right to be vengeful."

"They had no right to be stupid!"Murbella snapped. "A painful past didnot give them the right to lash out againstanything they encountered. They couldn'tsalve their conscience by pretendingthey knew what they were doing whenthey attacked a machine outpost and

stole weapons they didn't understand."

She smiled slightly.

"If anything, I can relate to–though notapprove of–their revenge against theTleilaxu worlds. In Other Memory Iknow what the Tleilaxu did to myancestors... I remember being one oftheir vile axlotl tanks. But make nomistake, that kind of provocative andpoorly planned violence has causedimmeasurable trouble for the humanrace. And now look what

we face!"

"How can we strengthen ourselvesagainst this storm, Mother Commander?"The

question came from ancient Accadia, aReverend Mother who lived in theChapterhouse

Archives.

Accadia hardly ever slept and rarelyallowed sunlight to touch her parchmentskin.

"What defenses do we have?" Thehulking combat robot seemed to mockthem from the corner of the room, wherethe men had left it.

"We have the weapon of religion.Especially Sheeana."

"Sheeana is of no use to us!" Janess said.

"Her followers believe she died onRakis decades ago."

The priests on Rakis had once mademuch of the girl who could commandsandworms.

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The Bene Gesserit had created agrassroots religion around Sheeana, andthe

annihilation of Dune had only served theSisterhood's greater purpose. After her

supposed death, the rescued girl wasisolated on Chapterhouse, so that oneday she might "return from the grave" togreat fanfare. But the real Sheeana hadescaped with Duncan on the no-shipmore than twenty years ago.

"It's not necessary for us to have her,specifically. Simply find Sisters whoresemble her and apply any necessarymakeup and facial modifications."Murbella tapped fingers against her lips."Yes, we shall begin with twelve newSheeanas. Disperse them to the refugeeworlds, since the displaced survivorswill be our most impressionablerecruits. The resurrected Sheeana willseem to appear everywhere at once–a

messiah, a visionary, a leader."

Laera spoke in an eminently reasonablevoice. "Genetic tests will prove thatthese impostors are not Sheeana. Yourplan will backfire once people see wehave tried to trick them."

Kiria had already thought of the obvioussolution. "We can have Bene Gesseritdoctors–

Suk doctors perform the tests... and liefor us."

"Also, don't underestimate the greatestadvantage we have." Murbella held outher hand like a mendicant asking foralms. "The people want to believe. For

thousands of years, our MissionariaProtectiva wove religious beliefs amongpopulations. Now we must use those

techniques not just for our ownprotection, but as a functional weapon, ameans of influencing armies. No longerpassive and protective, but an activeforce. A Missionaria Aggressiva."

The other women, especially Kiria,seemed to like the idea. Accadiascowled down at

her Ridulian crystal sheets, as if trying tofind profound answers written in thedense characters.

Murbella flashed a defiant look at the

combat robot. "The twelve Sheeanaswill carry spice from our stockpiles.Each will distribute extravagant amountsof mélange as she makes herpronouncements. She will say thatShaitan told her in a dream that spicewould flow again soon. Though Rakiswas burned as lifeless as Sodom andGomorrah, many new Dunes will

appear elsewhere. Sheeana will promisethem this." Years ago, groups ofReverend Mothers had been sent out ona secret Scattering, taking ships and all-important sandtrout to seed additionalplanets and create more desert worldsfor the sandworms.

"False prophets and sightings of themessiah. It's been done before." Kiriasounded bored. "Explain how this willbenefit us."

Murbella shot her a calculated smile."We take advantage of the superstitionsthat will run rampant. People believethey must endure a time of tribulation, acycle as old as the most ancientreligions, long before the First GreatMovement or the Zensunni Hajj. So, wetailor that belief to our own uses. Thethinking machines are the great evil wehave to defeat before humanity can reapits reward."

Turning to the aged mistress of the

Archives, she said, "Accadia, readeverything you can find about theButlerian Jihad and how Serena Butlerled her forces. The same for PaulMuad'Dib. We could even say that theTyrant began to prepare us for this. Studyhis writings and take sections out ofcontext to support our message, so thepeople will be convinced that this finaluniversal conflict has been foretold allalong: Kralizec. If they believe in theprophecies, they'll continue to fight longafter any rational hope should bedashed."

She motioned for the women to go abouttheir tasks. "In the meantime, I have setup a meeting with the Ixians and the

Guild. Since Richese is destroyed, I'lldemand that they

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devote their manufacturing capabilitiesto our war effort. We need every scrapof resistance the human race can muster."

As she was leaving, Accadia asked,"And what if those old prophecies proveto be

correct? What if these truly are the EndTimes?"

"Then our efforts are all the morejustified. And we still fight. It's all wecan do." Facing the robot, Murbellaspoke to it as if the machine mind couldstill hear her. "And that's how we willdefeat you."

I am the keeper of private knowledgeand uncounted secrets. You will

never know what I know! I would pityyou, if you were not an infidel.

– Mirage in the Shariat Road, anapocryphal Tleilaxu writing

In the enormous Guild Heighliner, nopassengers ever guessed what theNavigator and

his captive Tleilaxu Master were doingright under their noses.

By holding mélange supplies for ransom,the Bene Gesserit witches had backedthe

Spacing Guild into a corner and forcedthem to choose drastic alternatives.Facing extinction from spice starvation,the Navigator faction urged Waff togreater speed to complete his task.

The Tleilaxu Master felt the need forhaste as well, since he was facingextinction himself, though for differentreasons.

Turning his back on the observation lens,

Waff surreptitiously consumed anotherdose

of mélange. The cinnamony powder hadbeen provided strictly for scientificpurposes.

He touched the burning substance to hislips and tongue, closed his eyes inecstasy.

Such a small quantity–only a taste–wasenough to buy a house on a colony worldthese

days! The Tleilaxu man felt energy rushback into his ailing body. Edrik wouldnot begrudge him this bit of mélange tohelp him think straight.

Normally, Tleilaxu Masters lived frombody to body in a chain of gholaimmortality.

They had learned patience and long-termplanning from the Great Belief. Had notGod's

Messenger himself lived for three and ahalf millennia? But forbidden techniqueshad

accelerated this Waff's growth in theaxlotl tank. The cells in his body burnedthrough his existence like flames througha forest, sweeping him from infancy tochildhood to maturity, in only a fewyears. Waff's memory restoration hadbeen imperfect, bringing back only

fragments of his past life and knowledge.

Escaping the Honored Matres, Waff hadbeen forced to take refuge with theNavigator

faction. Since Edrik and his fellows hadfinanced his ghola resurrection in thefirst place, why not beg them forsanctuary? Though the little man did notremember how to create mélange withaxlotl tanks, he claimed he could do theimpossible–bring back the supposedlyextinct sandworms. A much morespectacular and necessary solution.

In the isolated Heighliner laboratory,Edrik had provided all of the researchtools,

technical equipment, and genetic rawmaterial he could possibly need. Waffdid as the

Navigators demanded. Bringing back themagnificent worms that had beenexterminated on

Rakis offered the simultaneouspossibilities of manufacturing spice, andof restoring his Prophet.

I must do this! Failure is not an option.

With his accelerated maturity, Waffwould be at his peak–the best health, thesharpest

mind–for only a short while longer.

Before he began the inevitable rapiddegeneration, he had much toaccomplish. The tremendousresponsibility prodded at him.

Focus, focus!

He climbed onto a stool and peered intoa plaz-walled containment tank full ofsand

from Rakis itself. Dune.

Because of the planet's religioussignificance, pilgrims who could notafford the

interplanetary passage contentedthemselves with relics, fragments of

stone chipped from the ruins ofMuad'Dib's original palace or scraps ofspice cloth embroidered with the sayingsof

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Leto II. Even the poorest of devoutfollowers wanted a sample of Rakiansand, so that they could dust theirfingertips and imagine themselves closerto the Divided God. The Navigators hadacquired hundreds of cubic meters ofauthentic Rakian sand. Though it wasdoubtful that the origin of the grains

would have any effect on the sandwormtests, Waff preferred to remove any strayvariables.

He leaned over the open tank, filled hismouth with saliva, and let a long dropletsplatter onto the soft sand. Like piranhasin an aquarium, shapes stirred beneaththe surface, swirling to seize theinvading moisture. In another place longago, spitting–sharing one's personalwater–had been a sign of respect amongthe Fremen.

Waff used it to bring sandtrout to thesurface.

Little makers. Sandtrout specimens, farmore precious even than the sand of

Dune.

Years ago, the Guild had intercepted asecret Bene Gesserit ship carryingsandtrout in

its hold. When the witches aboardrefused to explain their mission, theywere all killed, their sandtrout seized,and Chapterhouse had been none thewiser.

Learning that the Guild possessed someof the immature sandworm vectors, Waff

demanded them for his work. Though hecould not remember how to createmélange in an

axlotl tank, this experiment had muchgreater potential. By resurrecting theworms, he could not only bring backspice, but the Prophet himself!

Unafraid of the sandtrout, he reachedinto the aquarium with a small hand.Grabbing

one of the leathery creatures by itsfringe, he pulled it flopping out of thesand.

Sensing the moisture in Waff'sperspiration, the sandtrout wrappeditself around his

fingers, palm, and knuckles. He pokedand prodded the soft surface, reshaping

the edges.

"Little sandtrout, what secrets do youhave for me?" He formed a fist, and thecreature flowed around it to form ajellylike glove. He could feel his skindrying out.

Carrying the sandtrout, Waff went to aclean research table and set out a wide,deep pan.

He tried to unwrap the sandtrout fromhis knuckles, but each time he moved themembrane it flowed back onto his skin.Feeling the desiccation in his hand now,he poured a beaker of fresh water intothe bottom of the pan. The sandtrout,attracted by a larger supply, quickly

plopped into it.

Water was deadly poison to sandworms,but not to the younger sandtrout, thelarval

stage of the worms. The early vector hada fundamentally different biochemistrybefore it underwent the metamorphosisinto its mature form. A paradox. Howcould one stage in the life cycle be soravenously drawn to water, while a laterphase was killed by it?

Flexing his fingers to recover from theunnatural dryness, Waff was fascinatedas the

specimen engulfed the water. The larva

instinctively hoarded moisture to createa perfectly dry environment for the adult.From previous-life memories that didremain within him, he knew of ancientTleilaxu experiments to move andcontrol worms. Standard attempts to

transplant full-grown worms onto dryplanets always failed. Even the mostextreme offworld landscapes still hadtoo much moisture to support such afragile–fragile?–life-form as thesandworms.

Now, though, he had a different idea.Instead of changing the worlds toaccommodate

sandworms, perhaps he could alter the

worms themselves in their immaturestage, help them adapt. The Tleilaxuunderstood the Language of God, andtheir genius for genetics had

achieved the impossible many times.Had not Leto II been God's Prophet?

It was Waff's duty to bring Him back.

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The concept and chromosomalmechanics seemed simple. At somepoint in the

sandtrout's development, a triggerchanged the creature's chemicalresponse toward a

substance as simple as water. If he couldonly find that trigger and block it, thesandtrout should continue to mature, butwithout such a deathly aversion to liquidwater. Now that would be a truemiracle!

But if one prevented a caterpillar fromspinning a cocoon, would it stilltransform into a great moth? He wouldhave to be very careful, indeed.

If he understood what the witches haddone on Chapterhouse, they haddiscovered a

way to release sandtrout into a planetaryenvironment–the Bene Gesserithomeworld.

Once there, the sandtrout reproduced andbegan an unstoppable process to destroy

(remake?) the whole ecosystem. From alush planet to an arid wasteland. Theywould

eventually turn the world into a totaldesert, where the sandworms couldsurvive and be reborn.

More questions continued to follow, oneafter another. Why were the fleeing Bene

Gesserit Sisters carrying sandtrout

samples aboard their refugee ships?Were they trying to distribute them toother worlds, and thereby create moredesert planets?

Habitats for more worms? Such a planwould require a huge concerted effort,take

decades to come to fruition, and kill offthe native life on a planet. Inefficient.

Waff had a much more immediatesolution. If he could develop a breed ofsandworm

that tolerated water, even thrived aroundit, the creatures could be transplantedonto

innumerable worlds where they couldgrow swiftly and multiply! The wormswould not need to reconstruct a wholeplanetary environment before they beganto produce mélange. That alone wouldsave decades that Waff simply did nothave. His modified worms wouldprovide all the spice the GuildNavigators could ever desire–and serveWaff's purposes as well.

Help me, Prophet!

The sandtrout specimen had absorbed allthe water in the pan and now graduallymoved

about the base and sides, exploring theboundaries. Waff brought research tools

and chemicals to the laboratory table hisalcohols, acids, and flames, his deepsample extractors.

The first cut was the hardest. Then hebegan to work on the shapeless,squirming

creature to pry loose its genetic secretsin any way he could.

He had the best DNA analyzers andgenetic sequencers the Guild couldobtain... and

they were very good, indeed. Thesandtrout took a long time to die, butWaff was certain the Prophet wouldn'tmind.

A stench seeps from my pores. The foulodor of extinction.

– Scytale, the last known TleilaxuMaster

The small, gray-skinned child lookedworriedly at his older but identicalcounterpart.

"This is a restricted area. The Basharwill be very angry with us."

The older Scytale scowled,disappointed that a child with such amagnificent destiny

could be so timid. "These people haveno authority to impose their rules on me–

either version of me!" Despite years ofpreparation, instruction, and insistence,Scytale knew that the ghola boy still didnot grasp who he was. The TleilaxuMaster coughed and winced, unable to

minimize his physical problems. "Youmust awaken your genetic memoriesbefore it is too late!"

The child followed his older self downthe dim corridor of the no-ship, but hissteps

were too shaky to be furtive.Occasionally the degenerating Scytaleneeded support from his twelve-year-old"son." Each day, each lesson, shouldbring the younger one closer to the

tipping point at which his embeddedmemories would cascade free. Then,finally, old Scytale could allow himselfto die.

Years ago, he had been forced to offerhis only bargaining chip–his secret stashof

valuable cellular material–to bribe thewitches. Scytale resented being put insuch a position, but in return for the rawmakings of heroes from the past for thewitches' own purposes, Sheeana hadagreed to let him use the axlotl tanks togrow a new version of himself. Hehoped it wasn't too late.

For years now, every sentence, every

day increased pressure on the youngerScytale.

His "father," a victim of planned cellularobsolescence, doubted he had anotheryear before collapsing completely.Unless the boy received his memoriessoon, very soon, all the knowledge of theTleilaxu would be lost. Old Scytalewinced at the dire prospect, which hurthim far more than any physical pain.

They reached one of the vacant lowerlevels, where a testing chamber hadgone

unnoticed in the empty expanses of theship. "I will use this powindah teachingequipment to show you how God meant

for the Tleilaxu to live." The walls weresmooth and curved, the glowpanelstuned to a dull orange. The room seemedto be full of gestating wombs, round,flaccid, mindless–the way women weresupposed to serve a truly civilizedsociety.

Scytale smiled at the sight, while the boystared around with dark eyes. "Axlotltanks.

So many of them! Where did they allcome from?"

"Unfortunately they are merelyholographic projections." The high-quality simulation included mock tanksounds, as well as the odors of

chemicals, disinfectants, and medicinals.

As Scytale stood surrounded by theglorious images, his heart ached to seethe home he

missed so much, a home now utterlydestroyed. Years ago, before he wasallowed to set foot again in sacredBandalong, Scytale and all Tleilaxu hadalways undergone a lengthy cleansingprocess. Ever since the Honored Matreshad forced him to flee with only his lifeand a few bargaining chips, he had triedto observe the rituals and practices asmuch as possible–and had vigorouslytaught them to the young ghola–but therewere limitations. Scytale had not felt

sufficiently clean in a long time.

But he knew that God would understand."This is how a typical breeding chamberused to look. Study it. Absorb it. Remindyourself of how things were, how theyshould be. I

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created these images from my ownmemories, and those same memories arewithin you. Find them."

Scytale had said the same thing again

and again, hammering it into the child.His

younger version was a good student,very intelligent, and knew all theinformation by rote learning, but the boydidn't know it in his soul.

Sheeana and the other witches didn'tgrasp the immensity of the crisis hefaced, or

perhaps they didn't care. The BeneGesserits understood little about thenuances of restoring a ghola's memories,could not recognize the moment when aghola was perfectly ready... but Scytalemight not have the luxury of waiting. Thechild was certainly old enough. He

should awaken! Soon the boy would bethe only Tleilaxu left, with no one towake his memories.

As he surveyed the rows of breedingvats, the junior Scytale's face filled withawe and intimidation. The boy wasdrinking it all in. Good. "That tank in thesecond row is the one that gave birth tome," he said. "The Sisterhood called herRebecca."

"The tank has no name. It is not a personand never was. Even when it couldspeak, it was only a female. We Tleilaxunever name our tanks, nor the femalesthat preceded them."

Expanding the image, he allowed the

walls to disappear into a projection of avast

breeding house with tank after tank aftertank; outside were the spires and streetsof

Bandalong. These visual cues shouldhave been sufficient, but Scytale wishedhe could have added other sensorydetails, the female reproductive smells,the feel of the sunlight of home, thecomforting knowledge of countlessTleilaxu filling the streets, the buildings,the temples.

He felt achingly lonely.

"I should not still be alive and standing

before you. It offends me to be old andin pain, with my body malfunctioning.The kehl of true Masters should haveeuthanized me long ago and let me liveon in a fresh ghola body. But these arenot proper times."

"These are not proper times," the boyrepeated, backing through one of thedetailed holo-images. "You have to dothings you would not otherwise tolerate.You must use heroic means to stay alivelong enough to awaken me, and Ipromise you, with all my heart, that Iwill become Scytale. Before it is toolate."

The process of awakening a ghola was

neither simple nor swift. Year after year,Scytale had applied pressures,reminders, mental twists to this boy.Each lesson and each demand built, likea pebble added to the pile, higher andhigher, and sooner or later he would addenough to that unstable mound to triggeran avalanche. And only God and hisProphet could know which small stoneof memory would cause that barrier tocome crashing down.

The boy watched the flickering moodscross his mentor's face. Not knowingwhat else

to do, he quoted a comforting lessonfrom his catechism. "When one is faced

with an impossible choice, one mustalways choose the path of the GreatBelief. God guides those who wish to beled."

The very thought seemed to consumeScytale's last energy, and he slumpedinto a

nearby chair in the simulation room,trying to recover his strength. When theghola hurried to his side, Scytale strokedthe dark hair of his alternate self. "Youare young, perhaps too young."

The boy placed a comforting hand on theold man's shoulder. "I will try–Ipromise. I'll work as hard as I can." Hesqueezed his eyes shut and seemed to

push, as if wrestling with the intangiblewalls inside his brain. At last,perspiring heavily, he gave up the effort.

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The elder Scytale felt despondent. Hehad already used all the techniques heknew to

push this ghola to the brink. Crisis,paradox, unrelenting desperation. But hefelt it more than the boy did. Clinicalknowledge was simply insufficient.

The witches had used some sort ofsexual twisting to bring back the BasharMiles Teg

when his ghola was only ten years old,and Scytale's successor was already twoyears past that mark. But he could notbear the thought of the Bene Gesseritwomen using their unclean

bodies to break this boy. Scytale hadalready sacrificed so much, selling mostof his soul for a glimmer of hope for hisrace's future. The Prophet Himselfwould turn his back on Scytale indisgust. Not that!

Scytale placed his head in his hands."You are a flawed ghola. I should have

thrown away your fetus and started anewtwelve years ago!"

The boy's voice was rough, like tornfiber. "I will concentrate, and push mymemories out of my cells!"

The Tleilaxu Master felt a wearysadness weighing him down. "It is aninstinctive

process, not an intellectual one. It mustcome to you. If your memories don'treturn, then you are of no use to me. Whyshould I let you live?"

The boy was visibly struggling, butScytale saw no flash of awe and relief,no sudden

flood of a lifetime's experiences. BothTleilaxu reeked of failure. With eachpassing moment, Scytale felt more andmore of himself dying.

The fate of our race depends on theactions of an unlikely collection of

misfits.

– from a Bene Gesserit study on thehuman condition

In his second life, Baron VladimirHarkonnen had done well for himself. Atonly

seventeen, the awakened ghola alreadycommanded a large castle filled with

antique relics and a retinue of servantsto satisfy his every whim. Better yet, itwas Castle Caladan, the seat of HouseAtreides. He sat upon a high throne offused black jewels, gazing around alarge audience chamber as attendantswent about their duties. Pomp andgrandeur, all the trappings a Harkonnendeserved.

Despite appearances, though, the gholaBaron had very little real power, and heknew it.

The Face Dancer myriad had createdhim for a specific purpose and, despitehis reawakened memories, managed tokeep him on a tight leash. Too many

important questions remained

unanswered, and too much was out of hiscontrol. He didn't like that.

The Face Dancers seemed much moreinterested in their young ghola of PaulAtreides–

the one they called "Paolo." He wastheir real prize. Their leader Khronesaid that this planet and the restoredcastle existed for the sole purpose oftriggering Paolo's memories. The Baronwas just a means to an end, of secondaryimportance in the "Kwisatz Haderachmatter."

He resented the Atreides brat for it. The

boy was only eight and still had much tolearn from his mentor, though the Baronhadn't yet determined what the FaceDancers really

wanted.

"Prepare him and raise him. See that heis primed for his destiny," Khrone hadsaid.

"There is a certain need he must fulfill."

A certain need. But what need?

You are his grandfather, said theannoying voice of Alia inside theBaron's head.

Take good care of him.

The little girl taunted him incessantly.From the moment his memories wererestored,

she had been there waiting for him in hismind. Her voice still contained achildhood lisp, exactly as she hadsounded when she'd killed him with thepoisoned needle of the gom jabbar.

"I'd rather take care of you, littleAbomination!" he yelled. "Wring yourneck, twist your head–once, twice, threetimes! Make your delicate little skullpop right off! Ha!"

But it's your own skull, dear Baron.

He clamped his hands against histemples. "Leave me alone!"

Seeing no one else in the room with theirmaster, the servants looked at himuneasily.

The Baron fumed and slumped back inhis glittering black chair. Havingembarrassed

and angered him, the Alia voicewhispered his name tauntingly one moretime and faded

away.

Just then, a jaunty and self-importantPaolo strode into the chamber, followed

by an

entourage of androgynous Face Dancerswho acted as his protectors. The childcarried an air of overconfidence that theBaron found at once fascinating anddisconcerting.

Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and thisother Paul Atreides were inextricablymeshed,

simultaneously drawn together andrepelled, like two powerful magnets.After the Baron's memories had beenrestored and he understood enough ofwho he was, Paolo had been

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brought to Caladan and handed over tothe Baron's tender care... with direwarnings should any harm befall him.

From his high black chair, the Baronglared down at the cocky youth. Whatmade Paolo

so special? What was the "KwisatzHaderach matter"? What did theAtreides know?

For some time, Paolo had beensensitive, thoughtful, even caring; he hada stubborn

streak of innate goodness that the Baronhad been working diligently to eradicate.Given time, and enough harsh training,he was sure he could cure even thehonorable core of an Atreides.

That would prime Paolo for his destiny,all right! Though the boy still struggledwith his actions occasionally, he hadmade considerable progress.

Paolo came to an impertinent halt infront of the dais. One of the androgynousFace

Dancers placed an antique handgun intothe boy's hand.

Angrily, the Baron leaned forward for a

better view. "Is that gun from mypersonal collection? I told you to stayout of those things."

"This is a relic of House Atreides, soI'm entitled to use it. A disk gun, oncecarried by my sister Alia, according tothe label."

The Baron shifted on his throne, nervousto have the loaded weapon so close tohim.

"It's just a woman's gun."

Inside the thick black armrests the Baronhad secreted his own weapons, any oneof

which could easily turn the boy into awet smear–hmm, fresh material forgrowing another ghola, he thought. "Evenso, it's a valuable relic, and I don't wantit damaged by a reckless child."

"I won't damage it." Paolo seemedpensive. "I respect artifacts that myancestors used."

Anxious to keep the boy from thinkingtoo much, he stood. "Shall we take itoutside, then, Paolo? Why don't we seehow it works?" The Baron gave him anavuncular pat on the shoulder. "Andafterward we can kill something withour bare hands, like we did to themongrel hounds and ferrets."

Paolo seemed uncertain. "Maybe anotherday."

Nevertheless, the Baron hurried him outof the throne room. "Let's get rid of thosenoisy gulls around the midden piles.Have I mentioned how much you remindme of Feyd? Lovely

Feyd."

"More than once."

Watched over by Face Dancers, theyspent the next two hours at the castle'strash heap, taking turns shooting theraucous birds with the disk gun.Oblivious to the danger, the gullsswooped and shrieked at one another,

fighting over morsels of rain-splatteredgarbage. Paolo took a shot, then theBaron. Despite its antiquity, the gun wasquite accurate. Each spinning, microthindisk chopped a bird into bloody meatand dislodged feathers. Then thesurviving gulls squabbled over the freshgobbets.

Between them, they killed fourteenbirds, although the Baron did not donearly as well

as the child, who had quite an aptitudefor cool marksmanship. As the Baronraised the disk gun and aimed carefully,the girl's annoying voice rang in his headagain. That's not my gun, you know.

He took the shot and missed by a widemargin. Alia giggled.

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"What do you mean it's not yours?" Heignored Paolo's puzzled stare as the boytook the weapon for his turn.

It's a fake. I never had a disk gun likethat.

"Leave me alone."

"Who are you talking to?" Paolo asked.

After reaching into a pocket the Baronoffered several capsules of orangemélange

substitute to Paolo, who obediently tookthem. He grabbed the weapon back fromthe boy.

"Don't be ridiculous. The antiquitiesdealer provided a certificate ofauthenticity and documentation when hesold the weapon to me."

Grandfather, you shouldn't be so easilyfooled! My own gun shot larger disks.This is a cheap imitation and doesn'teven have the maker's initials on thebarrel, like the original.

He studied the carved ornamentalhandle, turned the gun toward his face,then looked at the short barrel. Noinitials. "And what about my otherthings, the objects supposedly owned byJessica and Duke Leto?"

Some are real, some are not. I'll let youfind out which are which.

Knowing the nobleman's penchant forbuying historical artifacts, the dealerwould

return to Caladan soon. No one made afool of the Baron! The Baron gholadecided the next meeting would not bequite so cordial. He would ask a fewincisive questions.

Alia's voice faded away, and he wasglad to have a moment of peace insidehis head.

Paolo had consumed two of the orangecapsules, and as the mélange substitutetook

hold, the boy dropped to his knees andstared beatifically into the sky. "I see agreat victory in my future! I'm holding aknife that drips with blood. I'm standingover my enemy... over myself." Hefrowned, then beamed again, yelling, "Iam the Kwisatz Haderach!" Then Paololet out a bloodcurdling scream. "No...now, I see myself dying on the floor,bleeding to death.

But how can this be, if I am the KwisatzHaderach? How can this be?"

The nearest Face Dancer grew animated."We were instructed to watch for signsof

prescience. We must notify Khroneimmediately."

Prescience? the Baron thought. Orinsanity?

Inside his mind, the presence of Alialaughed.

***

Days later, the Baron strolled along the

top of the cliff and gazed out to sea.Caladan did not yet have the lovely,grimy industrial capacity of his belovedGiedi Prime, but at least he'd paved overthe gardens in the vicinity of the castle.The Baron hated flowers with their eye-straining colors and sickening odors. Hemuch preferred the perfume of factorysmoke. He had great ambitions of turningCaladan into another Giedi Prime. Themarch of progress was more importantthan any esoteric plans the Face Dancershad for young Paolo.

On the lowest level of the restoredcastle, where other great houses wouldhave prepared chambers for "policyenforcement activities," House Atreides

had instead used the space for foodstorage rooms, a wine cellar, and anemergency shelter. Being a moretraditional

nobleman, the Baron had installeddungeons, interrogation rooms, and awell-equipped torture chamber. He alsohad a party room on that level, where heoften took young boys from the fishingvillage.

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You can't remove the marks of House

Atreides with such cosmetic changes,

Grandfather, said the pestering voice ofAlia. I preferred the old castle.

"Shut up, devil child! You were neverhere in life, either."

Oh, I visited my ancestral home whenmy mother lived here, when Muad'Dibwas

Emperor and his jihad splashed bloodacross the star systems. Don't youremember,

Grandfather? Or weren't you inside myhead then?

"I wish you weren't inside mine. I wasborn before you! I can't possibly haveyour memories inside me. You're anAbomination!"

Alia chuckled in a particularlydisconcerting way. Yes, Grandfather. I'mthat, and much more. Perhaps that's whyI have the power to be inside you. Or,perhaps you are just flawed completelymad. Have you considered thepossibility that you might be imaginingme? That's what everyone else thinks.

Servants hurried by, glancing fearfully athim. Just then the Baron saw a groundcar

negotiating the steep road from thespaceport. "Ah, here is our guest."

Despite Alia's intrusion, he expected thisto be an entertaining day.

After the groundcar pulled up, a tall manstepped out of the rear compartment andmade

his way past statues of great Harkonnensthat the Baron had erected in the pastyear. A suspensor platform floatedbehind the antiquities dealer, carryinghis wares.

What do you plan to do with him,Grandfather?

"You know damned well what I'm goingto do." High on the wall above, theBaron rubbed his hands together in

gleeful anticipation. "Make yourselfuseful for a change, Abomination."

Alia giggled, but it sounded as if shewas laughing at him.

The Baron hurried down as a haunted-looking house servant escorted thevisitor inside.

Shay Vendee was an antiquities dealer,always pleased to meet with one of hisbest

customers. As he strolled in with hisgoods trailing behind him, his round faceshone as radiantly as a small red sun.

The Baron greeted him with a moist

handshake, clasping with both hands andholding

on a little too long, squeezing a bit toohard.

The merchant extricated himself from hiscustomer's grip. "You'll marvel at whatI've brought, Baron amazing what turnsup with a little digging." He opened oneof the cases on the suspensor platform. "Isaved these treasures especially foryou."

The Baron brushed a speck off one of thejeweled rings on his fingers. "First Ihave something to show you, my dearMr. Vendee. My new wine cellar. I amquite proud of it."

A look of surprise. "Are the Danianvineyards operating again?"

"I have other sources."

After the dealer disengaged hissuspensor platform, the Baron led himdown a wide rock

staircase into increasing gloom.Oblivious to the danger, Vendeechattered cordially.

"Caladan wines used to be quite famous,and deservedly so. In fact, I heard arumor that a cache was found on theruins of Kaitain, bottles perfectlypreserved in a nullentropy vault.

The nullentropy field prevented the winefrom aging and mellowing–in this casefor

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22

thousands of years–but even so, thevintage must be quite extraordinary.Would you like me to see if I can acquirea bottle or two for you?"

The Baron stopped at the bottom of thedim stairs and peered with spider-blackeyes at

his guest. "So long as you can providethe appropriate documentation. Iwouldn't want to be duped into buyinganything fake."

Vendee wore a look of horror. "Ofcourse not, Baron Harkonnen!"

Finally, they passed through a narrowcorridor illuminated by smoking oillamps.

Glowglobes were too efficient and harshfor the Baron's taste. He loved the dank,gritty smell of the air; it almost maskedthe other odors.

"Here we are!" The Baron pushed opena heavy wooden door and led the way

into his fully stocked torture chamber. Ithad the traditional accoutrements: racks,masks, electrified chairs, and astrappado, by which a subject could bealternately hoisted into the air anddropped. "This is one of my newplayrooms. My pride and joy."

Vendee's eyes opened wide in alarm. "Ithought you said we were going to yourwine cellar."

"Why, over there, my good man." With agood-natured expression, the Baronpointed to a table from which loosestraps hung. A wine bottle and twoglasses sat on top.

He poured red wine into both glasses

and handed one to his increasinglyagitated guest.

Vendee glanced around, nervouslyeyeing the red stains on the table androck floor.

Spilled wine? "I have just made a longjourney, and I'm tired. Maybe we shouldgo back up to the main rooms. You willbe absolutely delighted with the newitems I've brought. Quite valuable relics,I assure you."

The Baron fingered one of the straps onthe table. "There is another matter, first."

He narrowed his eyes. From a side doora sunken-eyed boy marched in, carrying

what

looked like two ornate old weapons,disk handguns of ancient manufacture.

"Do these look familiar? Examine themcarefully."

Vendee held one weapon to examine it."Oh, yes. The antique gun of AliaAtreides.

Used by her own hands."

"So you said." Taking the other handgunfrom the serving boy, the Baron said toVendee, "You sold me a fake. I happen toknow that the gun you hold is not theoriginal weapon used by Alia."

"I have a reputation for integrity, Baron.If anyone has told you otherwise, theyare lying."

"Unfortunately for you, my source isbeyond reproach."

You are lucky to have me inside you topoint out your mistakes, Alia said. If you

believe I am real.

Indignantly, Vendee placed the gun on thetable and turned to leave. He only madeit

halfway to the door.

The Baron pulled the trigger of his own

weapon, and a large, spinning disk shotout and hit the dealer squarely in theback of his neck, decapitating him.Swiftly, smoothly.

The Baron was sure it hadn't hurt a bit.

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"Good shot, eh?" The Baron grinned atthe serving boy. The servant did notflinch at the murder. "Will that be all youdesire from me, sir?"

"You don't expect me to clean up this

mess myself, do you?"

"No, my Lord. I will get right to it."

"Then wash yourself afterward." TheBaron looked him over. "We'll haveeven more fun this afternoon."Meanwhile, he went back upstairs tostudy what the antique dealer hadbrought with him.

Once, I was born of a natural mother,and then reborn many times as a

ghola. Considering the millennia overwhich the Bene Gesserit, the

Tleilaxu, and others have meddled withthe gene pool, wonder–are any of

us truly natural anymore?

– Ship's log, entry of Duncan Idaho

Today, Gurney Halleck would be bornagain. Paul Atreides had looked forwardto this

during the months-long gestationprocess.

Since the recent birth of his sister Alia,the waiting had become nearlyunbearable.

But in a matter of hours, Gurney wouldbe removed from the axlotl tank. Thefamed

Gurney Halleck!

In his studies under Proctor SuperiorGarimi, Paul had read much about thetroubadour

warrior, had seen images of the man andheard recordings of his songs. But hewanted to know the real Gurney, hisfriend, mentor, and protector from anepic time. Someday, though their ageswere topsy-turvy now, the two wouldremember how close their friendshiphad

been.

Paul couldn't keep the grin off his face ashe rushed to get ready. Whistling an old

Atreides song that he'd learned fromGurney's recorded collection, he steppedinto the

corridor, and Chani emerged from herown quarters to join him. Two years hisjunior, the thirteen-year-old was whip-thin and fast, soft-spoken and beautiful,only a preview of the woman she wouldbecome again. Knowing their destinies,she and Paul were already

inseparable. He took her hand, and thepair happily hurried toward the medicalcenter.

He wondered if Gurney would be anugly baby, or if he had only become arolling lump

of a man after being battered by theHarkonnens. He hoped the Gurney gholawould have a natural skill with thebaliset, too. Paul was confident that theno-ship's stores could re-create one ofthe antique musical instruments. Maybethe two of them could play musictogether.

Others would be there for the new birth:his "mother" Jessica, Thufir Hawat, andalmost certainly Duncan Idaho. Gurneyhad many friends aboard. No one on theship had known

Xavier Harkonnen or Serena Butler, theother two gholas who would bedecanted today, but they were legends

from the Butlerian Jihad. Each ghola,according to Sheeana, had a role to play,and any one of them–or all of themtogether–might be the key to defeatingthe Enemy.

Aside from the ghola children, manyother boys and girls had been born overthe years

of the Ithaca's long flight. The Sistersbred with male Bene Gesserit workerswho had also escaped fromChapterhouse; they understood the needto increase their population and preparea solid foundation for a new colony, ifthe no-ship ever found a suitable planetto settle. The Rabbi's group of Jewish

refugees, who had also married andbegun families, still waited for a newhome to fulfill their long quest. The no-ship was so vast, and the populationaboard still so far below its capacity,that there was no real concern aboutrunning short on resources. Not yet.

As Paul and Chani approached the mainbirthing crèche, four female proctors ran

toward them down the hall, urgentlycalling for any qualified Suk doctor."They're dead! All three of them."

Paul's heart stuttered. At fifteen, he wasalready training in some of the skills thathad once made him the historical leaderknown as Muad'Dib. Summoning all the

steel he could put into his voice, hedemanded that the second proctor stop."Explain yourself!"

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The Bene Gesserit blurted, surprisedinto her answer. "Three axlotl tanks,three gholas.

Sabotage–and murder. Someonedestroyed them."

Paul and Chani rushed toward themedical center. Duncan and Sheeana

were already in

the doorway looking shaken. Inside thechamber, three axlotl tanks had beenripped from their life-supportmechanisms and lay in puddles ofburned flesh and spilled liquid.Someone had used an incinerating beamand corrosives to destroy not only thelife-support machinery, but the core fleshof the tanks and the unborn gholas.

Gurney Halleck. Xavier Harkonnen.Serena Butler. All lost. And the tanks,which had

once been living women.

Duncan looked at Paul, articulating the

real horror here. "We have a saboteuraboard.

Someone who wishes to harm the gholaproject–or maybe all of us."

"But why now?" Paul asked. "The shiphas been fleeing for two decades, andthe ghola project began years ago. Whatchanged?"

"Maybe someone was afraid of Gurney,"Sheeana suggested. "Or XavierHarkonnen, or Serena Butler."

Paul saw that the other three axlotl tanksin the crèche had not been harmed,including the one that had recently givenbirth to the spice-saturated Alia.

Standing by Gurney's tank, he saw thedead, half-born baby among the burnedand

dissolved folds of flesh. Nauseated, heknelt to touch the few wisps of blondhair. "Poor Gurney."

As Duncan helped Paul to his feet,Sheeana said in a coldly businesslikevoice, "We still have the cellularmaterial. We can grow replacements forall of them." Paul could sense her deepfury, barely controlled by her strict BeneGesserit training.

"We will need more axlotl tanks. I'llsend out a call for volunteers."

The ghola of Thufir Hawat entered andstared in disbelief at what had happened,his

face an ashen mask. After the ordeal onthe planet of the Handlers, he and MilesTeg had bonded closely; Thufir nowhelped the Bashar with security anddefenses aboard the ship. The fourteen-year-old struggled to soundauthoritative. "We will find out who didthis."

"Scan the security images," Sheeanasaid. "The killer can't hide."

Thufir looked embarrassed, as well asangry and so very young. "I alreadychecked. The security imagers were

deactivated, intentionally, but there mustbe other evidence."

"All of us were attacked, not just theseaxlotl tanks." Duncan's anger was plainas he turned toward young Thufir. "TheBashar has cited several previousincidents that he believes may besabotage."

"Those were never proved," Thufir said."They could have been mechanicalbreakdowns, systems fatigue, naturalfailures."

Paul's voice was ice as he took a last,lingering look at the infant that wouldhave been Gurney Halleck. "This was nonatural failure."

Then Paul's legs went suddenly rubbery.Dizziness rose around him, and his

consciousness blurred. As Chani rushedto grab him, he reeled, lost his footing,and hit his head hard on the deck. For amoment blackness enveloped him, agloom that brightened into a frighteningvision. Paul Atreides had seen it before,but he didn't know if it was memory orprescience.

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He saw himself lying on the floor in a

spacious, unknown place. A knife wounddeep

inside him sucked out his life. A mortalwound. His life's blood poured onto thefloor, and his vision turned to darkstatic. Gazing up, he saw his own youngface looking back at him, laughing. "Ihave killed you!"

Chani was shaking him, shouting into hisear. "Usul! Usul, look at me!"

He felt the touch of her hand on his own,and when his vision cleared he sawanother

concerned face. For a moment he thoughtit was Gurney Halleck, complete with an

inkvine scar on his jawline, the glass-splinter eyes, the wispy blond hair.

The image shifted, and he realized it wasthe black-haired Duncan Idaho. Anotherold

friend and guardian. "Will you protectme from danger, Duncan?" Paul's voicehitched. "As you vowed to do when Iwas a child? Gurney is no longer able."

"Yes, Master Paul. Always."

The Honored Matres clearly devisedtheir own name for them' selves, for

no one else would ever apply the term"honor" after seeing their cowardly,

self-serving actions. Most people havea very different way of referring to

those women.

– Mother Commander Murbella,assessment of past and present strengths

Weapons and battleships were asimportant as air and food during thesesupposed End

Times. Murbella knew she would haveto change the way she approached theproblem, but

she had never expected such resistancefrom her own Sisterhood.

With both anger and disdain, Kiria cried,"You offer them Obliterators, Mother

Commander? We can't just hand oversuch destructive weapons to Ix."

She had no patience for this. "Who elsewill build them for us? Holding secretsamong ourselves only benefits theEnemy. You know as well as I do thatonly the Ixians can decipher thetechnology and manufacture greatquantities for the coming war. Therefore,Ix must have full access. There is noother answer."

Many worlds were building their owngigantic fleets, armoring every ship theycould

find, working on new weapon designs,but nothing had so far proved evenremotely effective against the Enemy.The technology of the thinking machineswas unsurpassed.

But with a supply of new Obliterators,Murbella could turn the machines' own

destructive power against them.

After snatching the weapons from fringemachine outposts centuries ago, theHonored

Matres could have formed animpenetrable line and hurledObliterators at the oncoming

Enemy. If they had stood together for thecommon good, they could haveprevented this

whole problem. Instead, those HonoredMatres had fled.

Thinking about the hidden history shehad excavated from deep within OtherMemory,

Murbella continued to be annoyed atthose ancestors. They had taken theweapons, used them withoutunderstanding them, and depleted mostof their stockpiles in their petty revengeagainst the hated Tleilaxu. Yes, manygenerations earlier the Tleilaxu hadtormented their females, and the

Honored Matres had good reason todirect vengeful violence against them.

But such a waste!

Because the Honored Matres had beenso profligate in using the planet-roasting

weapons against any world that offendedthem, only a few Obliterators remainedintact.

Recently, when cracking down on therebel Honored Matre strongholds,Murbella had

expected to unearth greater stockpiles.But they had found nothing. Hadsomeone else stolen the weapons? The

Guild perhaps, under their originalpretext of helping the Honored Matres?

Or had the whores truly used them all,holding nothing in reserve?

Now the human race had insufficientweapons left to stand against the realEnemy.

The Obliterators were asincomprehensible as any device TioHoltzman had ever

created for folding space, and thewomen had never known how to createmore. For the sake of humanity, shehoped the Ixians could do so. Times ofextremis demand extreme actions.

Under her orders, the members of theunited Sisterhood now removed thepowerful

weapons from their no-ships, battlecruisers, and infiltration vessels. Shewould take them to Ix herself. Murbellacut off continued arguments as shemarched with a small entourage

toward the Chapterhouse spaceport.

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"But Mother Commander, at least

negotiate patent protections," Laera said,a flush showing even on her dark skin."Impose restrictions so that thetechnology does not becomewidespread." She was one of the mostbusinesslike Reverend Mothers, fillingmuch of Bellonda's old role."Proliferation amongst planetarywarlords could result in the devastationof the largest star systems. CHOAMalone, working with Ix, could wreak–"

Murbella cut her off with a disgustednoise. "I have no interest in who may ormay not benefit commercially after wewin this war.

If the Ixians help us achieve victory, they

are entitled to profit." She rubbed herchin thoughtfully as she looked up at theramp of her small, fast lighter. "We'll letthe planetary warlords deal with theirown problems."

You play with feelings as a child playswith toys. I know why your

Sisterhood does not value emotions:You cannot value what you do not

understand!

– Duncan Idaho, letter submitted toReverend Mother Bellonda

Sheeana used an authoritative tone, justshort of Voice. " 'Respect for the truth

comes close to being the basis for allmorality.' And I want the truth from you.Now."

Garimi raised her eyebrows and saidcalmly, "A quote from Duke LetoAtreides to

bolster the interrogation? Shall we bringin blazing lights and a Truthsayer?"

"My Truthsense is sufficient. I havealways known you well enough to readyou." The shock waves from theappalling crime in the birthing centerrippled through the no-ship. Theslaughter of unborn gholas, thedestruction of three axlotl tanks–tankscreated from volunteer Sisters!–went

beyond anything Sheeana had expectedfrom even her most vehement

detractors.

Her suspicions had naturally turnedtoward the outspoken leader of the

ultraconservative faction.

Inside an interior conference chamberwhose doors were sealed, Sheeanastood like a

stern schoolteacher, facing nine of themost prominent dissenters. Thesewomen had opposed the ghola projectsince its inception, disagreeing evenmore vehemently after Sheeana's

decision to restart the work.

Under the blistering scrutiny, Garimistared back, while her supporters wereopenly

hostile–especially the squat Stuka. "Whywould I damage an axlotl tank? It makesno sense."

Within her mind, among the lives inOther Memory, she heard the now-familiar voice of

the ancient Serena Butler, soundinghorrified. Killing a child!

Serena was an odd visitor in OtherMemory, a woman whose ancient

thoughts should

not have traveled down the corridors ofthe generations, and yet she had beenwith Sheeana for years now.

"You have shown a previous willingnessto kill ghola children." Sheeana finallysat down.

Garimi fought to control her trembling."I attempted to save us before Leto could

become a threat, before he could becomethe Tyrant again. That was all, and Ifailed. My reasons were well known,and I stand by them. Why would I go tosuch extremes now? What do I careabout Halleck? Or old General Xavier

Harkonnen? Even Serena Butler is so far

buried in our past that she's little morethan the smoke of a legend. Why would Ibother with them when the worst gholas–Paul Muad'Dib, Leto II, the fallen LadyJessica, and Alia the Abomination–already walk among us?"

Garimi made a disgusted rumble in herthroat. "Your suspicions offend me."

"And the evidence offends me."

"Despite our disagreements, we are allSisters," Garimi insisted.

At first the fleeing Bene Gesserits hadhad a common cause, a shared goal. But

in a

matter of months after their escape fromChapterhouse the divisions had begun,power

struggles, command questions, abifurcation of visions. Duncan andSheeana focused on

escaping from the outside Enemy, whileGarimi wanted to found a new Keep andtrain a fresh Bene Gesserit populationaccording to established ways.

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How have we changed so dramatically?How did the divisions get so deep?

Sheeana gazed from face to face, lookingfor indications of guilt, particularly inthe

eyes. Short, curly-haired Stuka had aline of moisture on her upper lip, one ofthe indicators of nervousness. But shedetected no hatred there, no loathingsufficient to have sparked an act of suchbrutality. With dismay, she had no choicebut to conclude that the perpetrator wasnot here.

"Then I need your help. The person

standing next to any of us could be asaboteur. We must interview everyone.Gather our qualified Truthsayers, anduse the last stores of the truthtrancedrug." Sheeana rubbed her temples,already dreading the huge task.

"Please leave me alone, so I canmeditate."

After the nine dissenters departed,Sheeana stood alone, her eyes halfclosed. The

population aboard the Ithaca had grown,spread out in the no-ship over the years.Even she wasn't sure how many childrenwere aboard, but she could easily findout. Or so she

presumed.

She murmured to Other Memory, "So,Serena Butler–was your murderer in theroom? If not them, then who could itbe?"

Serena's voice interjected, full ofsadness. A liar can hide behindbarricades, but all barricades eventuallyfall. You will have other opportunities todiscover the murderer. There is sure tobe more sabotage.

***

The truthsayers tested each other first.

Twenty-eight qualified Reverend

Mothers were gathered from Garimi'sfollowers and

from the general population of Sisters.The women did not protest theirinnocence or

complain about the suspicions cast uponthem. Instead, they accepted mutualquestioning.

Sheeana observed coolly as the womenformed triads, two individuals acting as

interrogators, the third as the subject. Assoon as each subject passed the rigorousquestioning, the roles switched, so thateveryone was questioned. One by one,the Truthsayers created an ever-growing

pool of reliable investigators. Everyonepassed the test.

Once the Truthsayers had confirmedeach other, Sheeana allowed them toquestion her.

Garimi and her dissident Sisters alsofaced the challenges and proved theirinnocence, as did Sheeana's staunchfollowers. All of them.

Next, with a Truthsayer named Calissabeside her, Sheeana stood before a stiff-backed

Duncan Idaho. The very thought ofDuncan being a murderer and a saboteurstruck her as

absurd. Sheeana wouldn't have believedit of anyone on board, and yet threeaxlotl tanks and three ghola children hadbeen butchered.

But Duncan... Standing so close to him,smelling his perspiration, feeling himsomehow

fill the room with his presence,summoned dangerous memories in her.She had used her own sexual bondingskills to break him free of Murbella.Despite their backgrounds, both knewthere had been more to that passionateencounter than just a necessary task.Duncan had been uneasy around her eversince, afraid of what he might succumb

to.

But in this situation there was neitherromance nor sexual tension, onlyaccusations.

"Duncan Idaho, do you know how tobypass the security imagers in themedical

center?"

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He looked past her, not blinking. "That is

within my capabilities."

"Did you commit this terrible act andcover your tracks?"

Now his gaze met hers. "No."

"Did you have any reason to preventGurney Halleck, Serena Butler, orXavier

Harkonnen from being born?"

"I did not."

Now that Duncan faced her and aTruthsayer, Sheeana could have askedhim questions

about their personal relationship towitness his reaction. He would not beable to lie to her or pretend. But shefeared his answers. She didn't dare ask.

"He speaks the truth," said Calissa."He's not our saboteur."

Duncan remained in the room whenBashar Miles Teg came for questioning.Calissa

displayed images of the horrific scenefrom the birthing chamber. "Are you inany way responsible for this, MilesTeg?"

The Bashar stared at the images, lookedup at her, turned his gaze to Duncan.

"Yes."

Sheeana was so startled that shestruggled to think of another question.

"How so?" Duncan asked.

"I am responsible for security aboardthis no-ship. Clearly, I failed in my duty.If I had done a better job, this atrocitynever would have occurred." He glancedat the troubled Calissa. "Since you askedme in the presence of a Truthsayer, Icouldn't lie."

"Very well, Miles. But that isn't what wemeant. Did you commit this sabotage or

authorize it? Do you know anything

about it?"

"No," he answered emphatically.

Dozens of private chambers were set up,where the interrogations could continue

unabated.

They asked every one of the gholachildren, from Paul Atreides all the wayto nine-year-old Leto II, and theTruthsayers detected no criminalfalsehoods.

Then the Rabbi and all of the Jews.

And every other passenger aboard theno-ship.

Nothing. Not a single person seemed tobe connected with the murderousincident.

Duncan and Teg used their Mentat skillsto check and recheck the lists of peopleaboard, yet they could find no errors. Noone had evaded questioning.

Sitting across from Sheeana in theotherwise empty interrogation room,Duncan

steepled his fingers. "There are twopossibilities. Either the saboteur iscapable of deceiving a Truthsayer... orsomeone we don't know about is hidingaboard the Ithaca."

***

In well organized teams, the BeneGesserit blocked off, then sectioned theno-ship's

decks, methodically moving from cabinto cabin and chamber to chamber. But itwas a

formidable task. The Ithaca was the sizeof a small city, more than a kilometerlong and hundreds of decks high, eachfilled with passages, chambers, andhidden doors.

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While trying to guess how someone elsemight have sneaked aboard, unknown tothem,

Duncan remembered discovering themummified remains of Bene Gesseritcaptives the

Honored Matres had tortured to death.That sealed chamber of horrors had goneundetected during the whole timeDuncan had been held prisoner insidethe ship on the Chapterhouse landingfield.

Could someone else–an unknownHonored Matre, perhaps?–have

remained hidden

aboard for all that time? More than thirtyyears! It did not seem possible, but thevessel had thousands of work bays,living quarters, corridors, and storagelockers.

Another possibility: During the escapefrom the planet of the Handlers, severalFace

Dancers had crashed small fighters intothe no-ship's hull.

Mangled bodies had been pulled fromthe wreckage of those ships... but couldit all have been a ruse? What if somehad actually survived those kamikaze

crashes and slipped away?

Perhaps one or more Face Dancers werelurking in the untraveled passages of theno-ship, looking for ways to strike.

If so, it was imperative to find them.

Teg had already installed hundreds moresurveillance imagers at strategiclocations, but that was only a stopgapmeasure at best. The Ithaca was so largethat even the best security equipment hadthousands of blind spots, and theresimply weren't enough personnel to

monitor the imagers already in place.

It was an impossible task.

Still, they tried.

As Duncan accompanied a group of fivesearchers, he was reminded of a beatingparty

marching through the tall grass on a biggame hunt. He wondered if they wouldscare a deadly lion out from somewherein the vastness of the vessel.

Deck after deck was searched, but evenwith a dozen teams, a completeinspection from

the topmost deck to the lowest cargohold would take a great deal of time, andin the limited searches they conducted,they found nothing. Duncan was

exhausted and stressed.

And the murderer–or murderers–remained aboard.

Only two options are before us now:defend ourselves or surrender to the

Enemy. But if any of you believes thatsurrender is a viable option, then we

have already lost.

– Bashar Miles Teg, speech given beforethe Pellikor Engagement

Leaving the Obliterators on Ix for thefabricators to study and duplicate,Murbella

traveled next to the main Guildshipyards on Junction.

Administrator Rentel Gorus, with long,pale hair and milky eyes, led Murbellaamong

the construction bays, suspensor cranes,conveyors, and assemblers, all of themteeming with workers. The buildingswere tall and blocky, the streetsserviceable rather than beautiful.

Everything on Junction was done on abreathtaking scale. Great lifters hauledcomponents up to the skeletons ofgigantic ships, assembling one vesselafter another. The air held the bitter tangof hot metal, the chemical residues from

welding mismatched components intohuge

vessels.

Gorus seemed overly proud. "As youcan see, we have the facilities yourequest, Mother Commander, providedthe price is right."

"The price will be right." With the NewSisterhood's wealth in mélange andsoostones, Murbella could meet virtuallyany demand for payment. "We'll pay youwell for every ship you create, everyvessel that can be placed into battle,every craft that can stand against thethinking machine army. The end of ourcivilization is at hand if we don't defeat

the thinking machines."

Gorus did not seem intimidated. "Everyside in every war believes their conflictis crucial to history. But most often thoseare delusionary and needlessly alarmistthoughts. This war may be over beforeyou have to resort to such measures."

She scowled. "I don't know what youmean."

"There are other ways to solve theproblem. We know that outside forcesare sweeping in to many planetarysystems. But what do they want! To whatwill they concede? We believe suchdiscussions are worth pursuing." Heblinked his milky eyes.

"What sort of trick is the Guild trying toplay on us this time?"

"No trick, just sensibility. Regardless ofpolitics, commerce must continue.Wartime desperation inspirestechnological innovation, but peacepromotes profitability in the long run.

Trade will go on, no matter who winsthe conflict."

Heighliners had long been the luxuryships of the universe; now Murbellaforced the

Spacing Guild to devote their shipyardsto creating the tools of war. Forcenturies the Guild's commercial fleet

had been stable, and demand for tradesteadily increased as people returnedfrom the Scattering. Now, however, withOmnius's fleet wiping out wholepopulations and sending refugees inpanicked flight back into the heart of theOld Empire, CHOAM and the Guildwere in turmoil.

A hot wind from the assembly bays blewin Murbella's face, burning her nostrilswith

the acrid smoke of waste chemicals. Ashiver coursed down her spine.

"Our common enemy must be rational,"Gorus continued. "We have thereforedispatched emissaries and negotiators

out to the war zone. We will find thethinking machines and make ourproposal. The Guild would prefer tocontinue its commerce regardless of theoutcome of this disagreement."

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Murbella gasped. "Are you insane?Omnius seeks the extermination of allhumanity.

That includes you."

"You overstate your case, Mother

Commander. Some of our emissarieswill, I believe, achieve our goal."

In the background, blasts of steam curledup from the stone smokestacks. Sheignored

the noise and the smell. "You are aconsummate fool, Administrator Gorus.Thinking machines do not follow therules you assume."

"Be that as it may, we feel obligated totry."

"And what is the result so far?"

"Acceptable losses. Our first emissarieshave disappeared, but we will continue

the effort. We plan for all eventualities–even disaster." Casually, he led her outonto a broad, open field under the half-assembled hulk of a huge ship. "Thus,we are comfortable with extendingcertain beneficial terms to the NewSisterhood. You have always been avalued customer, but the order yousubmitted is massive. Even underwartime conditions, you have asked formore ships than we are able to provide."

"Then offer your workers moreincentive."

"Ahh, Mother Commander, but will youprovide enough incentive to us?"

She bristled. "How can you think solely

of profits when the fate of the humanrace is at stake?"

"Profits determine all our fates." TheAdministrator gestured casually, as if toencompass the huge assembly of theships around him.

"We'll pay what you demand, and theGuild Bank will offer us loans ifnecessary. We need those ships, Gorus."

He smiled coolly. "Your credit is good,but we must address another problem.We do not have enough Guild Navigatorsto man so many new ships. All of thevessels we build for you will have to beequipped with Ixian mathematicalcompilers, rather than traditional

Navigators. Is that acceptable?"

"Provided the ships function as werequire, I have no objection. We don'thave time to develop and train anotherpopulation of Navigators."

Obviously pleased, Gorus rubbed hishands together. "Of late, Navigators haveproven somewhat intractable, due to theshortage of spice–a shortage which yourSisterhood created, Mother Commander.It is because of you that we had to lookfor alternatives to Navigators."

"I have no fondness for Navigators, orfor your obscene profits. I don't carehow the Guild accomplishes it, but weneed those ships."

"Of course, Mother Commander, and weshall provide what you wish."

"That is precisely the answer I need."

What is the advantage of prescience ifit serves only to reveal our own

downfall?

– Navigator Edrik, message to theOracle of Time

The Guild bureaucrats had the audacityto call Edrik's Heighliner back to theshipyards on Junction. Staring aheadwith his milky eyes, AdministratorGorus blithely announced that theHeighliner would be fitted with one of

the new Ixian mathematical compilers.

"Our spice supply line is undependable.We must be certain each vessel canoperate safely if its Navigator fails."

Over the past two years, more and moreGuildships had been outfitted with thehated

artificial controls. Mathematicalcompilers! No simple engine or toolcould adequately

complete the phenomenally complexprojections that a Navigator performed.Edrik and his fellows had evolvedthrough immersion in spice, theirprescient vision strengthened through the

power of mélange. There could be nomechanical substitute. Nevertheless,Edrik had no choice but to accept a teamof qualified and arrogant Ixian workerswho shuttled up from the Junctionshipyards. The tight-lipped men boardedthe Heighliner under the watchful eyes ofthe Guild, with their smug expressions,compiler machines, and dangerouscuriosity.

In his tank, Edrik was concerned thatthey would snoop around under thepretext of

completing their installation. TheNavigator faction could not risk thesemen finding Waff's laboratory, the

genetically altered sandtrout, and thesmall mutated worms he was producingin his tanks. The Tleilaxu man claimedto be making excellent progress, and hiswork must remain a secret.

Therefore, when the Ixian installerswere all safely aboard, Edrik simplyfolded space, informing no one in theshipyards where he was going. Hecarried his empty Heighliner far out intoan isolated wasteland between solarsystems, and there ejected thedisbelieving Ixians, along with theiraccursed navigation machines, out intothe cold vacuum.

Problem solved.

His acts would be discoveredeventually, but that could not be avoided.Edrik was a

Navigator. Mere human Administratorshad no hold over him.

Edrik suspected that the deviousAdministrator and his faction saw themélange crisis as an opportunity to shiftthe Guild's burden away fromproblematic Navigators; they did notreally want a new source of spice.Gorus was now an absolute ally, if not apuppet, of the Ixians. Edrik had seen theeconomic projections and knew that theAdministrators considered navigationmachines to be more cost-effective than

Navigators–and more easily controlled.

With the Ixians and their machineshappily ejected, Edrik knew it was timeto call

another meeting with his fellowNavigators; they needed to receive freshguidance from the Oracle of Time.Because Junction and several otherGuild planets were alreadycompromised by Gorus and his cronies,Edrik chose a place that no one butNavigators could find.

Once they had been shown how, theycould fold their Guildships deep intoanother

dimension, a nontraditional universewhere the Oracle occasionally went onpersonal,

incomprehensible explorations.

Ignited by the light of seven newbornstars, the cosmic gases swirling aroundhis giant ship seemed inflamed. Thenebula shone pink and green and blue,depending on which

window of the spectrum Edrik chose tolook through. The misty curtains put on aspectacular show, a great whirlpool ofionized gases and a perfect place tohide.

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When the ships gathered, the Navigatorswere in quite an uproar, and theirnumbers

were less than Edrik had hoped. So far,four hundred Heighliners had beendecommissioned, their parts salvaged toconstruct new no-ships that relied onartificial guidance systems.

Seventeen Navigators had died horribly,their tanks emptied. Edrik learned thatsix of his fellows had likewise murderedthe Ixian engineers rather than allowthem to install

mathematical compilers. FourNavigators had simply disconnected themachines, and the

onboard Ixian teams failed to realize thattheir vaunted systems were no longerfunctional.

"We require mélange," he transmitted."By the grace of spice, we see throughfolded space."

"But the Sisterhood has denied it to us,"one of the other Navigators said.

"They have spice. They spend spice. Butthey do not give it to us."

"The witches give it to the Guild for

ships... but the Administrators have cutus off. We are betrayed by our own."

"They control the spice."

"But they do not control us," Edrikinsisted. "If we find our own source ofspice, we will not need theAdministrators. This is for the survivalof Navigators, not simply for commerce.

We have struggled with this problem foryears. The Tleilaxu ghola has finallycome up with a solution."

"A new source of spice? Has it beenproven?"

"Is anything fully proven? If this goes

well, we can destroy the corrupt oldSpacing Guild and supercede them."

"We must speak to the Oracle."

Edrik waved his tiny, misshapen hands."The Oracle already knows ourproblem."

"The Oracle has not deigned to help us,"said another.

"The Oracle has her own reasons."

Drifting in his tank, Edrik acknowledgedtheir conundrum. "I have spoken to her

myself, but perhaps all of us together canurge her to respond. Let us summon the

Oracle."

Using their spice-enhanced minds, thenumerous Navigators shot a messagearrow

through the folds of space. Edrik knewthey had no way to coerce the Oracle ofTime–or the Oracle Infinity, as she wassometimes called–to respond, but hesensed her presence, and her deepuneasiness.

With a silent flash, a trapdoor opened inthe vacuum, and the ancient containerarrived.

It was not quite a ship, for the Oraclecould travel anywhere she wished,

mentally

folding space without the help ofHoltzman engines.

Even in that small and nonthreateningenclosure, Edrik knew full well thepower and

immensity of that highly advanced mind.As a human, Norma Cenva had firstdiscovered the connection betweenspice and prescience. She haddeveloped the technology of foldingspace, had created the incomprehensibleequations that Tio Holtzman had taken ashis own.

Though the Oracle used no known

transmitting device, her words wereloud and

implacable in their minds. "Yourconcerns are parochial. I must find thewayward no-ship. I must determinewhere Duncan Idaho has taken it, beforethe Enemy intercepts it."

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

37

The Oracle often chose her own esotericgoals without explaining them. One ofthe

Navigators asked, "Why is the no-shipso important, Oracle?"

"Because the Enemy wishes to have it.Our great foe is Omnius–except that heis as changed from his former computerevermind as I am evolved from thehuman I once was. The machines havecompleted their high-order projections.The evermind knows he must have theKwisatz Haderach, just as I know theEnemy must not have him." The Oraclelet the silence hang in space like a hole,before she added a stinging rebuke."Your appetite for spice is not thepriority. I must find the ship."

Abruptly discontinuing the debate, she

winked out again and vanished into herown

place in an alternate universe.

Edrik and the gathered Navigators wereshocked by her response. Navigatorswere

dying, spice was dwindling away tonothing, Administrators were trying tooverthrow the Guild–and the Oraclesimply wanted to find a lost ship?

Twenty-Two Years After Escape fromChapterhouse

These new Face Dancers cannot bedetected by DNA analysis or any other

form of cellular scrutiny. As far as weknow, only a Tleilaxu Master can

tell the difference.

– Bene Gesserit report on humanmutation

Though the Ixian specialists had studiedthe Obliterators for half a year, they stillhadn't given the Sisterhood an answer.Murbella brooded in her offices onChapterhouse, waiting.

The news seemed to worsen with eachpassing day.

She received regular updates on thedepredations of the thinking-machine

fleet. The

powerful Enemy ships moved inexorablythrough the fringe systems like a crashingtidal wave, drowning world after world.Another ten planets evacuated orcontaminated by plagues, another tenlost, and more refugees flooded into theOld Empire.

A network of Sisters met with anyrefugee ships that came from thebattleground

systems. Taking statements from groupsof survivors, they compiled anexhaustive three-

dimensional map of the movements of

the machine fleet. The pattern seepedlike a bloodstain through the galaxy.

In a single desperate stand, nineteenSisterhood no-ships expended their lastthree

Obliterators to destroy a whole battlegroup of oncoming machine ships andtemporarily

prevent the annihilation of one human-inhabited system. In the end, though,even that

devastation amounted to only a briefdelay; the machine fleet came back withgreater strength and crushed the worldafter all, killing every inhabitant. With

the last Obliterators gone, the NewSisterhood was woefully underdefended.

Unless the Ixians could help. What wastaking them so long?

Finally, a lone Ixian engineer came toChapterhouse to deliver his news. Whenhe said

he would speak to no one but the MotherCommander herself, escorts brought himto the main Keep. Waiting on herimposing throne in front of the dust-streaked, segmented window,

Murbella could respect the man forbypassing bureaucracy and getting to thecore of the matter.

The engineer's face was bland andunmemorable, his brown hair closelycropped, his

demeanor unassuming. He had apeculiar, unpleasant odor about him,perhaps from chemical residue or themachinery of Ix's undergroundfabrication plants. He bowedperfunctorily and stepped in front of her."Our best engineers and scientists havedeconstructed and analyzed the sampleObliterators you provided."

Murbella leaned forward, giving him herfull attention. "And you can reproducethem?"

"Better than that, Mother Commander."

His confident smile held no warmth atall, was simply an imitation of a facialexpression. "Our fabricators understandthe underlying concept of the weapon,and are able to concentrate itsdestructive power. Previously, itrequired several Honored Matrebattleships deploying multipleObliterators to kill a planet. With ourenhanced weapon a single ship canlaunch enough firepower to do what wasdone to Rakis."

He gave a perfunctory shrug. "Imaginewhat such an energy release would do toEnemy battleships."

Murbella tried to conceal her delight.

"We need as many as you can produce.Instruct your factories to begin work onthese weapons immediately." She kepther voice hard, letting

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

39

her impatience seep through. "But whydid you need to see me in person, whenyou could easily have sent a messagewith this information?" Her lips quirked."Do you require a pat on the back? ShallI give you my applause? There, you haveit."

The Ixian engineer remained bland."Before we begin, Mother Commander,there is the matter of payment. ChiefFabricator Sen has instructed me toinform you that Ix must be compensatedif we are to pull our profitablemanufacturing centers off-line in order tocreate these Obliterators for your war."

"My war? All humans must share theburden of the cost."

"Unfortunately, we disagree. The onlypayment we will accept is spice. Andthe only source of spice is your NewSisterhood."

"We have other ways to pay you."Murbella tried to conceal her alarm. She

wasn't sure their fledgling spiceoperations could supply the necessaryamount. And why would Ix care aboutspice, in particular?

Sisterhood accounts in Guild bankscould be drained; CHOAM could beconvinced to

supply important commodities; andsoostones were more valuable than ever,especially since the recent turmoil onBuzzell.

When she offered these alternatives,though, the Ixian fabricator shook hishead.

"I have no flexibility in these

negotiations, Mother Commander. It mustbe mélange. No other coin will do."

She ground her teeth, but had no patiencefor further delay. "Spice it is, then. Getstarted."

***

Departing from chapterhouse, Khronethe Face Dancer felt content. The New

Sisterhood had bowed to his demands,as he had known they would. Back on Ix,he had the ear of the Chief Fabricator,and Face Dancer replacements alreadycontrolled all key Ixian manufacturingcenters.

Khrone found it ironic to demandpayment in spice, since Ix had devotedso much

technological effort into installingnavigation machines in Guildships.Thanks to the

mathematical compilers, mélange wasbasically obsolete when it came tofolding space, and the Navigators werefading swiftly.

But by insisting on such a huge paymentin spice alone, and then hoarding the

commodity, Khrone would remove alarge amount of it from the market,making it even rarer.

That, in turn, would force more andmore ships to convert to the Ixiannavigation compilers, because the Guildcould not support the mélange needs oftheir Navigators.

Before long, with no way of supportingtheir own Navigators, the whole SpacingGuild

would fall under Khrone's control. Hehad worked it all out in exquisite detail.

In the meantime, he and his disguisedworkers would make it look as if theywere

providing everything the Sisterhooddemanded. Let them fight useless battles

while the real war was already won,right under their noses! MotherCommander Murbella would be quite

satisfied–up until the moment a curtainof darkness fell on humankind.

Permanently.

Every man makes errors. When asecurity chief makes them, though,there

are consequences. People die.

– Thufir Hawat, the original

The Bashar and his protégé marcheddown the corridors toward the no-ship's

life-

support center. "I am deeply ashamed,Thufir. It has been almost a year, and Iam incapable of finding a blatantsaboteur and murderer."

The young Hawat looked up at him,clearly idolizing the military genius. "Wehave a limited pool of suspects, and adiscrete area in which he–or she–couldhide. We've done everything possible,Bashar."

"And yet the saboteur is here,somewhere." Teg did not slow his pace."Therefore, we have not done everythingpossible, because we still haven't foundthe person responsible. The fact that

there have been no further murders doesnot mean we can let down our guard. Iam convinced our saboteur is still amongus."

The Ithaca was constantly beingsearched and monitored. Additionalsurveillance

imagers had been installed, but theculprit seemed to have an affinity forhiding. Teg

suspected that the work of the saboteurwent well beyond the murder of thegholas and the axlotl tanks. In recentmonths, many ship's systems hadinexplicably failed–too many to becaused by random events and natural

breakdowns. "Our adversary is still atwork."

The Thufir ghola raised his smooth chinin a display of pride. He was strong andgangly with a heavy brow; he had let hishair grow shaggy. "Then you and I willfind him."

Teg smiled at Thufir. "As soon as youregain his memories and experience as awarrior Mentat and Master of Assassins,you will be a formidable ally."

"I'm formidable now." Thufir hadalready proved his worth during thetense escape from the Handlers, riskinghis own life to help the Rabbi get awayfrom Face Dancers in league with the

Enemy. Teg believed the young gholahad the potential to do much more.

Varying his pattern, he insisted on anexhausting round of daily securityinspections

while he left Duncan Idaho on thenavigation bridge, ever vigilant for theEnemy's glowing net.

The Ithaca continued to wander in emptyspace. At first, their voyage had simplybeen

to get away from the Enemy hunters.Duncan had been forced to remainhidden behind the

ship's veiling no-field, since the old manand woman seemed to want him inparticular. Now, after more than twodecades, the population aboard hadincreased, and children were growing upand being taught necessary skills withoutever having set foot on a planetarysurface.

Despite all the worlds settled during theScattering, habitable systems seemedsparse

indeed. For the first time, Teg wonderedhow many ships of refugees fleeing fromthe Famine Times had simply diedwithout ever finding their destination.The Ithaca had no Guild

Navigator; only pure chance broughtthem within range of planets. So far, theyhad

encountered only two places that mighthave supported a new colony: oneHonored Matre

world that had been completely wipedout by Enemy plagues, and the planet ofthe insidious Handlers.

Nevertheless, with its recyclers,greenhouses, and algae tanks, the agingIthaca should have been able to sustainthe present number of passengers forcenturies, if necessary. They–

and their successors–could effectively

stay onboard forever and never stoprunning.

Is that our fate?

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

41

Teg asked himself. But because ofleakages, losses, and "accidents," thepassengers had cause for concern.Sooner or later, they would need toreplenish their reserves.

Thinking of resources, the Bashar took aside corridor to the fermentation bins

and

adjacent algae-growth tanks. Grown inthe vaulted, humid chamber, the biomassprovided raw material for the food-manufacturing units. A primevulnerability.

As he opened a hatch, Teg caught therich, marshy smell of compost and algae.They

climbed metal steps to a catwalk andlooked down into the cylindrical vatfilled with hairy green slime. Thestinking wet mass of fecund algaedigested anything organic, growing largeamounts of edible, rather unpalatable,material that could be converted into

better-flavored foods. Ceiling fanswhirred, drawing the odorous airupward through filters and into theintricate set of ducts that acted as the no-ship's circulatory system. After takingsamples and testing the chemical balanceof the tanks, Teg concluded thateverything was in order. No sign ofsabotage since his last inspection.

The serious young man tagged alongbeside him. "I am not a Mentat yet, sir,but I have been giving the sabotageproblem a great deal of thought."

With raised eyebrows Teg turned to hisprotégé. "And do you have a first-order

approximation?"

"I have an idea." Thufir did not try toconceal his anger. "I suggest you have along talk with the Yueh ghola. Perhapshe knows more than he has admitted."

"Yueh is only thirteen. He does not havehis memories back."

"Maybe the weakness is in his blood.Bashar, we know that someonecommitted the

sabotage." The young man soundeddisappointed in himself for allowing itto happen. "Even the real Thufir Hawatdidn't find the traitor in House Atreidesbefore he betrayed us to the Harkonnens.That traitor was Yueh."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Back in the corridors again, the twopassed a sick-looking old Scytale andhis clone

emerging from their quarters. Becausethey isolated themselves and lived withodd traditions and behavior, the Tleilaxuwere natural suspects, but Teg had foundno evidence against them.

In fact, he believed the real saboteurwould be careful to blend in perfectlyand draw no attention at all. It was theonly way he could have remained hiddenfor so long.

Two pregnant women passed by them in

the corridor, chatting as they continuedon

their way. Both were part of Sheeana'sconventional breeding program tomaintain the

population of the Sisterhood, providingan adequate genetic base should thesplinter group ever find a place to settle.

Finally, Teg and Thufir reached thecavernous, humming engine chamber,and entered

the large aft compartment through around doorway. Apparently safe but lostagain since their last passage throughfoldspace, the Ithaca drifted, though

Duncan insisted on keeping the Holtzmanengines ready at all times.

Thick clearplaz separated the Basharand Thufir from a trio of power plantsthat fed the machines. Walkways lacedthe outside of an explosion-proof plazchamber that contained the side-by-sideengines. The two stared up at the giantmechanisms that could fold space. A truemiracle of technology. All of thereadings remained within nominal range.Again, no sign of sabotage.

"We're still missing something," hemused. "I can feel it."

Frank Herbert

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42

Once before, at the end of the Battle ofJunction, Teg had failed to see theterrible and deadly "Weapon" that theHonored Matres had held in reserve.That mistake had nearly lost him theentire war. He considered their situationnow.

What deadly device will I fail to see thistime?

Humanity has a great genetic compassthat constantly guides us onward.

Our task is to keep it always pointed in

the right direction.

– Reverend Mother Angelou, famedbreeding mistress

Wellington Yueh had a powerful need tobe forgiven. The blank spot in his mindwas

filled with guilt. He was just a ghola andonly thirteen, but he knew he had doneterrible things. His own history clung tohim like tar to his shoe.

In his first life, he had broken his Sukconditioning. He had failed his wifeWanna by

allowing the Harkonnens to use her as a

pawn and had betrayed Duke Leto,bringing about the Atreides downfall onArrakis.

After studying records of his priorexistence, learning in painful detail whathe had

done, Yueh tried to find solace inconsidering the Orange Catholic Bible,along with other ancient religions, sects,philosophies, and interpretations thathad developed over the millennia. Theoft-repeated doctrine of Original Sin–sounfair!–was a particular thorn in hisside. Yueh could have made a coward'sexcuse that he couldn't remember andtherefore didn't deserve blame, but that

was not the path to redemption.

He had to turn elsewhere.

Jessica was the only one who couldforgive him.

The eight ghola children in Sheeana'sproject had been raised and trainedtogether.

Because of their individual personalitiesthey had formed personal bonds and

friendships. Even before they knew thehistory that should tear them apart, Yuehhad tried to be a friend to Jessica.

He had read the journals and

instructional writings of the originalLady Jessica, bound concubine to theDuke Leto Atreides. She'd also been aReverend Mother, an exile, the

mother of Muad'Dib, and thegrandmother of the Tyrant. That long-dead Jessica had been a strong woman, arole model despite how the BeneGesserit reviled her for her flaw, her

weakness.

Love.

Together, the gholas now faced a fargreater enemy than the Harkonnens.When

Jessica's memories were finallyawakened, would the shared threat besufficient to keep her from wanting tomurder him? He had read her ownwords, as written down by PrincessIrulan, expressing her poignant agony ofgrief: "Yueh! Yueh! Yueh! A milliondeaths were not enough for Yueh!"

Yes, she was the only one who couldoffer him any hope of forgiveness. Witha clean

slate and an open heart, he prayed that itwas possible for him to lead anhonorable life this time.

Jessica often occupied herself in themain conservatory, tending the plants

that served as a supplemental foodsource for the hundreds aboard. She hadan affinity for the greenhouse work andwas happy to be around the fertile dirt,the misting irrigators, the fleshy greenleaves, and sweet-scented flowers. Withher bronze hair and oval face, noble andyoung, she looked exquisitely beautiful.How she and Duke Leto must have lovedeach other long ago...

until Yueh destroyed it all.

Jessica looked up from the flowers andlush herbs to focus haunted eyes onYueh.

He said, "Do you mind the company?"

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44

"Not yours. It's refreshing to be withsomeone who doesn't blame me forthings I don't remember doing."

"I hope you'll grant me the sameconsideration, my Lady."

"Please don't call me that, Wellington. Atleast not yet. I can't be the Lady Jessicauntil I... well, until I become the LadyJessica."

He tried to guess the reasons for her

gloomy mood. "Has Garimi beenharanguing you again?"

"Some Bene Gesserits won't forgive mefor having gone against the strictcommands of the Sisterhood, forbetraying their breeding program."

She seemed to be reciting something shehad read. "The consequences of thatbrought down an empire and subjectedthe human race to thousands of years oftyrannical rule and many more centuriesof privation." She let out a bitter laugh."In fact, if your actions had actuallyresulted in the death of Paul and me,maybe Bene Gesserit histories woulddescribe you as a hero."

"I am no hero, Jessica." To his credit, theoriginal Yueh had given her and Paul themeans to survive in the desert after theHarkonnens stormed Arrakeen. He hadfacilitated their escape, but was thatenough for redemption? Could itpossibly be?

She moved on, smelling the flowers,checking the moist soil. She had a habitof running her fingertips along theleaves, touching the undersides.

Yueh followed her as she walkedthrough a small grove of dwarf citrustrees. Overhead,

the segmented panes of the filteredwindows showed only distant starlight

and no nearby sun.

"If they hate us so much, why did theSisters bring us back?"

Her expression was one of bitteramusement. "Bene Gesserits have aterrible habit, Wellington: Even if theyknow a hook is hidden inside the juicyworm, they'll still bite. They alwaysthink they can avoid traps that get therest of us."

"But you're a Bene Gesserit yourself."

"Not anymore... or not yet."

Yueh touched his own smooth, unmarkedforehead. "We're starting over, Jessica.

Blank slates. Look at me. The first Yuehbroke his Suk conditioning–but I wasborn without the diamond tattoo. Entirelyunblemished."

"Maybe that means some things can beerased."

"Can they? We gholas were raised forone purpose: to become who we oncewere. But

are we anyone in our own right? Or aregholas simply tools, temporary tenantsliving in houses on borrowed time untilthe rightful owners return? What if wedon't want those old lives? Is it right forSheeana and the others to force themupon us? What about us as we are right

now?"

Abruptly the gridwork of interlockingsolar panes overhead seemed to glowbrighter, as

if the system had absorbed a wash ofoutside energy.

The rows of densely arranged plantsinside the greenhouse chamber becamemore

defined, as if his eyes had suddenlybecome much more sensitive.Overlaying the whole

chamber he saw a complex mesh of thiniridescent lines, resolving and focusing.

Something was happening–somethingYueh had never experienced before. Thelines

became visible all around them, like finenetting that drifted through the air itself.

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45

They crackled with energy.

"Jessica, what is this? Do you see it?"

"A web... a net." She caught her breath."It's what Duncan Idaho claims to see!"

Yueh's heart lurched. The hunters?

A loud security klaxon went off,accompanied by Duncan's voice."Prepare for

activation of Holtzman engines!"

Whenever the no-ship folded space,unguided by a Navigator, they risked adisaster.

Until now, Duncan's warnings had beenunsupported by outside witnesses,though the

Handlers had proved that the threat fromthe mysterious Enemy was real.

From the ship's corridors, Yueh heardthe shouts of people running toemergency

stations.

The gossamer stranglehold grew brighterand more powerful, surrounding and

infiltrating the whole ship. Surely,everyone could see this!

He felt a shudder through the deck, adisorientation and a slipping as theimmense ship folded space. Staringthrough the conservatory dome, he sawstar systems, swirling shapes andcolors... as if the contents of the universehad been placed in a mixing bowl and

stirred.

Suddenly the Ithaca cruised alongelsewhere, far from the snares. Duncan'scalm voice

came over the intercom. "We are safeagain, for the moment."

"Why did we see the net now and neverbefore?" Jessica asked.

Yueh rubbed his chin, his thoughts inturmoil. "Perhaps the Enemy is using adifferent sort of net–a stronger one. Ormaybe they are testing new ways oftracking and snaring us."

We must never voice doubt. We must

believe utterly that we can win this

struggle against our Enemy. But in mydarkest times alone in my quarters,

I always wonder: Is this truly faith, oris it mere foolishness?

– Mother Commander Murbella, privateChapterhouse Archives

When Murbella's small MissionariaAggressiva council gathered again, themeeting was

tense. In the past year, the Sisterhoodhad sent seven Sheeana surrogates torefugee camps in order to rally thefighters. The counterfeit Sheeanas had

their work cut out for them,

convincing fanatics to stand firm in theface of certain defeat.

The seemingly unstoppable Enemywarships proliferated like the heads of ahydra; no

matter how many vessels the humansdestroyed, more and more appeared.Given millennia to prepare for his finalconquest, Omnius had left nothing tochance. The dots on the star chartsshowed one planet after another fallingunder the onslaught of thinking machines.

Murbella sat in a hard anduncomfortable seat at the end of the

table; most of the others selected furrychairdogs. At the head of the table,Bashar Janess Idaho waited at attention,ready to deliver her report.

"I have news."

"Good or bad?" Murbella dreaded theanswer.

"Judge for yourself."

Her daughter looked haggard, weary,and considerably older than her years.Having

undergone the Spice Agony andextensive Bene Gesserit training, Janesshad the ability to slow her body's

changes, not for the sake of appearances,but to keep herself strong and limber.The constant fighting required it. Evenso, the unending crisis was taking itstoll.

Murbella noticed a scar on herdaughter's left cheek and a burn mark onher arm.

The female Bashar's words wereunemotional, but Murbella could feel theturmoil in her

clipped voice. "Even before the firstEnemy battleships were seen in theJhibraith system, the machines sent scoutprobes to disseminate plagues. Thepeople of Jhibraith had already called

for an evacuation, but once the first signsof disease appeared, the Guild turnedtheir ships around and refused to comecloser. One Heighliner had to bequarantined. Fortunately, the plague wascontained within seven isolated frigatesinside its hold. All passengers aboardthose frigates died, but the rest weresaved."

"What about the planet itself?" Murbellaasked.

"The plague spread rapidly across allcontinents. As expected. The currentviral strains are far worse than anythingpreviously encountered, more deadlythan even the legendary plagues during

the Butlerian Jihad."

Laera skimmed a Ridulian crystal sheetin front of her. "Jhibraith has apopulation of three hundred twenty-eightmillion."

"Not anymore," said Kiria.

Janess locked her fingers together, as ifto draw strength from her own grip."One of our Sheeana surrogates was onJhibraith. As soon as the Guildquarantined the planet, the faux Sheeanarose to her calling and spoke to crowdafter crowd as the plague spread. Theyknew they would all die. They knew thethinking machine forces were on theirway. But she

convinced them that if they must die, theyshould die as heroes."

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

47

"But if the Guildships had alreadydeparted, how could they fight?" Kiriasounded skeptical. "By throwingpebbles?"

"Jhibraith had its own in-system frigates,cargo vessels, and transport runners,none of them equipped with Holtzmanengines or no-fields. As the disease cutpeople down, survivors raced to create

a homegrown military force that mightstand against Omnius. The people had towork faster than the epidemic killedthem off." She forced her lips into acold, hard smile as she continued herreport.

"Our false Sheeana was like a demonherself. I know for a fact that she wentfive days without sleeping, for therecords show she appeared again andagain at different cities and factories,rallying the citizenry, forcing them tocrawl to their assembly stations ifnecessary.

Nobody bothered with quarantines, sinceeveryone was already infected. As

people died in the factories, their bodieswere dragged out to mass burial pits andhuge bonfires. Others took their places atworkstations.

"Even when the Enemy fleet surroundedthe world, people did not pause. Thenour

Sheeana disappeared." Janess lookedaround the table, lowered her voice."Afterward, I learned from a codedBene Gesserit signal that our surrogatecontracted the disease, and died from it."

Murbella was startled. "Died? How canthat be? Any Reverend Mother knowshow to

fight off infection."

"That requires great concentration andsignificant physical resources. OurSheeana had depleted her reserves. Ifshe'd rested for a day or two, she mighthave rallied her strength and driven offthe disease. But she kept going andgoing, using up whatever energyreserves she had. Knowing Jhibraithwas doomed, that the invading machinearmies would destroy her if the plaguedid not, Sheeana never slackened in herefforts."

Old Accadia nodded. "She had pushedthe people into a fanatical fervor. Nodoubt she realized that if they saw her

weakened and dying, they would losetheir resolve. She was wise to removeherself from public view."

Janess's thin smile showed trueadmiration. "As soon as her symptomsbegan to

manifest, Sheeana delivered one lastgrand speech, telling them she wouldnow ascend to heaven. Then she isolatedherself and died alone so that no onecould see the horrific plague take its tollon her."

"A marvelous and brave story for thearchival histories." Accadia pursed herwithered lips. "Her sacrifice will not beforgotten."

"If anyone still studies the histories afterthis," Kiria mumbled.

"And what of the subsequent fight onJhibraith?" Murbella asked. "Did thepeople defend themselves?"

"When the Enemy came, the peoplefought like ancient berserkers, to the lastman and woman. Nothing could stopthem. They met the Enemy fleet with shipafter ship flown by

grandfathers, teenagers, mothers,husbands, and even criminals releasedfrom detention

centers. All fought and died bravely.Their sheer ferocity drove back the

machines. Even with no defined militaryforce, the people of Jhibraith destroyedmore than a thousand Enemy vessels."

Reality forced ice into Murbella's voice."My enthusiasm is tempered by theknowledge that even after losing athousand vessels, the thinking machineshave countless others to throw againstus."

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Sandworms of Dune

48

"Still, if all planets fought like that, theremight be a chance for humankind to

survive,"

Janess pointed out. "The species wouldbe preserved."

Choosing her moment to pounce, Kiriapeeled crystal sheets from another set ofreports, then propped an image projectorin the center of the table. The chairdogshifted subtly and compliantly toaccommodate her movements. "This newreport shows why we can't count on allplanets. We are being attacked by a rotfrom within, as well as the outsidefleet."

Murbella frowned. "Where did you getthis?"

"Sources." Wearing a smug expression,the former Honored Matre activated the

projector.

"While we face the thinking machineshead-on, a more devious opponentundermines us from within."

The image resolved to show a mobscene. "This is Belos IV, but suchoccurrences have been documentedelsewhere. Sparked by helplessness inthe face of the approaching Enemy fleet,brushfire wars and political strugglesare starting on planet after planet.People are afraid. When their leadersdon't tell them what they want to hear,they riot, overthrow their prime

ministers, and prop others in their place.More often than not, they depose the newleaders as well."

"We know this." Murbella looked atJaness, who remained rigidly at attentionat the front of the table. She wished herdaughter would sit down. On the images,the citizens of Belos IV had risen upagainst their governor, who hadadvocated surrender to the oncomingthinking machines. "Obviously, thepeople didn't want to hear such amessage. Why is this relevant?"

Kiria jabbed a sharp-nailed finger at theimage. "Observe!"

When the crowd attacked the middle-

aged leader, he fought remarkably well,using

skills and speed rarely demonstrated byany bureaucrat. While Murbellawatched, she decided the governor musthave acquired some sort of specialtraining. His combat methods were

unusual and effective, but the mob faroutnumbered him. They dragged himthrough the

streets to the balcony of the governor'spalace and threw him off onto theflagstones far below. As he lay still, thehowling, cheering mob backed away.The images drew in closer.

The dead governor shifted and paled.His face became sunken andscarecrowish, somehow

unformed. A Face Dancer!

"We always suspected the new FaceDancers had questionable loyalties.They allied

themselves with Honored Matres andturned against the old Tleilaxu. We foundthem among the rebel whores on Gammuand Tleilax, and now it appears that thethreat is even worse than we suspected.Listen to the governor's words. Headvocated surrender to the thinking

machines. Who are the Face Dancers

really working for?"

Murbella reached the obviousconclusion and dragged her sharp gazelike a serrated

knife across the other Sisters. "The newFace Dancers are puppets of Omnius,and have infiltrated our populace. Theyare far superior to the old ones, able toresist almost any Bene Gesserittechnique. We always wondered how theLost Tleilaxu could have created them,

when their skills were so inferior tothose the old Masters demonstrated. Itdid not seem possible."

Laera said coldly, "It is possible if the

thinking machines helped to create them,then sent them back among Tleilaxureturning from the Scattering."

Frank Herbert

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"A first wave of scouts and infiltrators."Kiria nodded. "How far have theyspread?

Could there be Face Dancers among us,undetected by Truthsayers?"

Accadia scowled. "A frighteningthought, if we have no way of exposing

these new

Face Dancers. From what I can tell, theirmimicry is perfect."

"Nothing is perfect," Murbella said."Even thinking machines have flaws."

Without humor, Kiria said, "Oh, we canidentify them easily enough. Kill them,and Face Dancers revert to their blankstate."

"So you suggest we simply killeveryone?"

"That's what the Enemy intends to doanyway."

Restless, Murbella stood up. She couldremain here on Chapterhouse with theother

anxious Sisters, receive reports foranother year, listen to summaries, andplot the advance of the thinking machineson a map, as if it were some kind of wargame.

Meanwhile, the Ixian engineers struggledto build weapons equivalent to the

Obliterators, and the Guild shipyardsworked to produce thousands of ships,all of them equipped with mathematicalcompilers.

But the crisis went far beyond internal

politics and power struggles. Shedecided to go out there herself and travelamong the worlds on the edge of the warzone, not as Mother Commander, but as akeen observer. She would let a councilof Reverend Mothers run the

everyday activities here onChapterhouse, dealing with bureaucraticmatters and doling out spice rations tothe Guild in order to ensure theircooperation.

When Murbella announced her intent,Laera cried, "Mother Commander, that'snot

possible. We need you here–there's somuch to do!"

"I represent more than the NewSisterhood. Since no one else will stepup to the plate, I am responsible for thewhole human race." She sighed."Somebody has to be."

Our no-ship holds many secrets, yes,but not nearly the number we hold

inside ourselves.

– Leto II, the ghola

Leto II and Thufir Hawat had neverknown each other in their originallifetimes.

To them, that was not a disadvantage. Itleft them free to form a friendship

without any expectations orpreconceptions.

Nine-year-old Leto hurried ahead, downthe corridor. "Come with me, Thufir.Now that nobody's watching, I can showyou a special place."

"Another one? Do you spend all yourdays exploring instead of studying?"

"If you're going to be deputy chief ofsecurity, you need to know everythingabout the Ithaca. Maybe we'll find yoursaboteur down here." Leto turnedsharply right, dropped into a smallemergency lift, then paused at a dim,lower deck, where everything seemedlarger and darker. He led Thufir to a

sealed hatch that was posted withwarnings and restrictions in half a dozenlanguages. Despite the locks, he openedit with barely a pause.

Thufir looked puzzled, even a littleoffended. "How did you bypass securityso easily?"

"This ship is old, and systems breakdown all the time. Nobody even knowsthis one failed." He ducked into the lowpassageway.

The tunnel on the other side was awhistling, cool air channel. Up ahead theroaring

grew louder, and the wind became

powerful. Thufir sniffed. "Where does itgo?"

"To an air-exchange filtration system."The passages were smooth and curving–like worm tunnels. A shiver brushedacross Leto's skin, perhaps from amemory of when he had been joinedwith numerous sandtrout, from when hewas the God Emperor of Dune, the

Tyrant...

The two reached the central recyclerswhere large fans drove the air throughthick

curtains of filter mats, scrubbing outparticulates and purifying the

atmosphere.

Breezes tugged at the boys' hair. Ahead,sheets of filtration material blockedfurther

passage. The lungs of the ship,replenishing and redistributing oxygen.

Recently, Thufir had begun to mark hislips with a cranberry-red stain. As thepair stood in the bowels of the ship,listening to the roaring wind, Leto finallyasked, "Why do you do that to yourmouth?"

Self-consciously, the fourteen-year-oldrubbed his lips. "My original used thesapho drug, which made stains like

these. The Bashar wants me to live thepart. He says he's

preparing to awaken my memories."Thufir didn't sound entirely pleased withthe situation.

"Sheeana has been talking about forcingme to remember. She has some specialtechnique to trigger a ghola'sawakening."

"Aren't you excited at the prospect?Thufir Hawat was a great man." Theother boy remained preoccupied andtroubled. "It's not that, Leto. I reallydon't want my memories back, butSheeana and the Bashar have their mindsmade up."

"That's why you were created." Letowas baffled. "Why wouldn't you wantyour past life? The Master of Assassinswould not be afraid of the ordeal."

"I'm not afraid. I'd just rather be theperson I choose to become, and notemerge fully formed. I don't feel I'veearned it."

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"Trust me, they'll make you earn it, onceyou become the real Thufir again."

"I am the real Thufir! Or do you doubtthat, too?"

Thinking of the restless worm thatcrouched inside him, aware of all theatrocious things he would soonremember, Leto understood completely.

By following the same beliefs andmaking the same decisions, one wears

Life's path into a circular rut, goingnowhere, accomplishing nothing,

making no progress. With God's help,though, we can turn a sharp comer

in the circle and achieveenlightenment.

– The Cant of the Shariat

At last Waff was ready to release hisnew worms, and Buzzell was aconvenient ocean

planet on Edrik's standard trade route. Aperfect test bed.

The giant vessel carried merchants whotraded in soostones. Earlier, whenHonored

Matres had conquered Buzzell and killedmost of the exiled Reverend Mothers,the whores had taken the soostonewealth for themselves. Since then, fewof the aquatic gems had been traded onthe galactic market, which made their

value skyrocket. Now that the New

Sisterhood had recaptured Buzzell,soostone production was up again.

The witches ran tightly regimentedoperations there and kept smugglers atbay, thus

maintaining stable but high prices for thestones. With mercenary armies to protectthem, CHOAM merchants began to selllarge quantities of the gems, reapingprofits before a glut drove prices downagain. A temporary market fluctuation.

Though pretty and desirable, soostoneswere not necessary.

Mélange, on the other hand, was vital–asthe Navigators well knew. Waff knewthat his

experiments would eventually producefar more wealth than these underseabaubles could

ever represent. Soon, if his expectationswere met, Buzzell would be home tosomething far more interesting thanbaubles...

The Heighliner appeared above theliquid sapphire world, where tinyislands dotted the

expansive ocean. Buzzell's oceans weredeep and fertile, a large zone where the

genetically altered worms would thrive,provided they survived their initialbaptism.

The Tleilaxu Master paced the coldmetal floor of his laboratory chamber.Soon, Edrik

would inform him that the commerciallighters and cargo transports haddisembarked for the island outposts.Once they were safely gone, Waff couldbegin his real work on Buzzell

without being observed.

Inside the lab, the smell of salt, iodine,and cinnamon had replaced harshchemical

odors. Waff's test tanks were full ofmurky green water, rich with algae andplankton.

Once turned loose in the oceans, themodified worms would have to findtheir own

sources of nourishment, but Waff wassure they could adapt. God would makeit all possible.

Serpentine forms swam about in thetanks looking like ringed eels. Theirridges were an iridescent blue-green,showing a soft pink membrane betweensegments, a surrogate set of gills thatabsorbed oxygen from the water. Theirmouths were round like those of

lampreys.

Though they had no eyes, the newseaworms could navigate using watervibrations in much the way that Rakianworms had been attracted by tremors inthe dunes. Using carefully

mapped models from sandtroutchromosomes, Waff knew that thesecreatures had the same

internal metabolic reactions as atraditional sandworm.

Therefore, they should still producespice, but Waff didn't know what kind ofspice, or how it would be harvested. Hestepped back, interlocking his grayish

fingers.

That wasn't his problem or concern. Hehad done as Edrik commanded. He onlywanted

the worms back.

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It had taken more than a year out of hisaccelerated lifetime, but if Waffsucceeded in resurrecting God'smessengers, his destiny would becomplete. Even if the little man never

received another ghola lifetime, hewould have earned his place beside Godin the highest levels of Heaven.

Under proper conditions, sandtroutspecimens reproduced swiftly. Fromthem, he had

adapted nearly a hundred seaworms,most of which he would deposit in theoceans of Buzzell.

For a new species to survive, especiallyin an unfamiliar environment, thecreatures faced quite a challenge, andWaff fully expected that many of his testspecimens would die. Maybe most ofthem. But he was also convinced thatsome would live–enough to establish a

foothold.

Waff stood on his tiptoes, pressing hisface to the tank. "If you are in there,Prophet, I will soon give you a wholenew domain."

Five Guild assistants entered the labwithout knocking. When Waff turnedabruptly, the

seaworms sensed his movement. With athump, fleshy heads struck the reinforcedtank walls.

Startled again, Waff turned the otherdirection.

"Passengers have disembarked for

Buzzell," said one of the gray-clothedmen.

"Navigator Edrik has commanded us tofollow your instructions."

The five all had oddly distorted heads,swollen brows, and asymmetric facialfeatures.

Any Tleilaxu Master could haverepaired genetic flaws so that theirdescendants would

be more physically attractive. But thatwould serve no purpose, and Waff hadno interest in cosmetics.

He gestured to the tanks as the

Guildsmen sealed them for transport."Exercise extreme care. Those creaturesare worth more than all your lives."

The reticent assistants installed handleson the crowded tanks and began luggingthem

along the curving halls of the Heighliner.Knowing he had only four hours tocomplete his task before the passengershuttles returned, Waff urged them tohurry.

Because of the schism in the Guildbetween Navigators and Administrators,some

people might not wish him to create this

new avenue for spice production. TheIxians, the New Sisterhood, even thebureaucratic faction of the Guild mightall work together, or

separately, to assassinate him. Waffdidn't know how or why these particularfive Guildsmen had been chosen toassist him. If he expressed anymisgivings about them, Waff knew thatthe Navigator would not hesitate to haveall five killed, just to keep his Tleilaxuresearcher happy.

As the troupe walked to a smalltransport craft, Waff decided that wasexactly what he would do. Get rid ofthese men, these witnesses.

Afterward.

The sample tanks were loaded aboardthe small transport. Waff did not usuallyleave the safe confines of the Heighliner,but he insisted on accompanying thecrew down to the open sea. It was hisexperiment, and he wanted to be there inperson to make sure the worms werereleased properly. He didn't trust thefive Guildsmen to be sufficientlycompetent or attentive.

Then his suspicions ran deeper. Whatwas to stop these men from flying off inthe ship, revealing–or selling!–theseaworms to one of the opposingfactions? Could they be perfectly loyal

to Edrik? Waff saw danger everywhere.

As the transport dropped out of the cargobay, Waff wished belatedly that he had

demanded additional bodyguards, or atleast a sufficiently powerful hand-weapon for himself.

Whom could he really trust?

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Using technological apparatus connectedto their throats, the silent Guildsmen

communicated with each otherelectronically, transmitting brain signalswithout voicing words.

He knew they could speak aloud–whywould they be so secretive? Perhapsthey were

plotting against him. Waff looked at theimmense Heighliner far overhead andwished

fervently for this to be over.

The small transport descended into thecloudy skies, fighting choppy aircurrents.

Waff felt ill. Finally, they broke through

the moisture layers, and the oceansbelow

sprawled out to every horizon. On chartsdisplayed across the cockpit screens,Waff searched for a temperate zonewhere he could deposit the test worms, aplace where the seas were rich withplankton and fish. It would give thecreatures the greatest chance forsurvival.

He indicated a line of rocks not far fromthe Sisterhood's main island base and the

center of their soostone-harvestingoperations. "There. Safe, and closeenough to monitor the worms." Hesmiled, already imagining the first

panicked reports of eyewitnesses.

"Any rumors or wild stories should beinteresting."

The Guildsmen nodded, all business.The transport ship flew low over thewaves and

hovered above the gentle swells. Thelower cargo hatch opened, and Waffwent down to

observe the emptying of the tanks. Hesmelled the raw salt air, the tang offloating kelp, the wet breezes thatwhipped across the sea. A squall wasabout to begin.

Using the handles, two of the silentGuildsmen brought the first tank to theopening,

released the plaz cover sheet, andspilled the water and writhing seawormsinto the freedom of the waiting waves.

The serpentine creatures burst out likefrantic snakes. Once they plunged intothe green water, they streaked away.Waff watched their ridged bodiesundulating, then diving and disappearing.They seemed joyous in their newfoundfreedom, glad to have a large world

without plaz boundaries.

Brusquely, he gestured to the Guildsmen,

telling them to release the rest of theworms, emptying all of the aquariums.Waff had kept one crowded tank ofspecimens aboard the

Heighliner, and he could always createmore.

As he stood by the open hatch, hesuddenly shuddered, realizing hisvulnerability.

Now that he had turned the worms loose,would Edrik even require his services

anymore?

The Tleilaxu man feared the silentassistants might shove him overboard

and leave him

floating kilometers from the nearestspeck of land. Warily, he backed deeperinto the cargo hold and gripped a ridgedwall strut.

But the Guildsmen made no moveagainst him. They performed their workexactly as he

told them to, and precisely as theNavigator had specified. Perhaps Waffwas fearful only because he intended tohave these men killed. He naturallysuspected they would think the sameabout him.

Waff anticipated the seaworms would

thrive here. The environment wasconducive to

their growth and reproduction. Theworms would mark their territory, andwhen they grew large enough they wouldbecome leviathans of the deep. A fittingform for the Prophet.

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The transport's cargo doors sealed againwith a low hiss, and the Guild pilot flewaway.

Waff and his party would arrive back atthe Heighliner well before the merchantvessels returned with their loads ofsoostones. No one would be the wiser.

The Tleilaxu Master glanced through thecockpit's plaz port to see the wavesreceding.

He saw no sign of the seaworms, but heknew they were down there somewhere.

He let out a contented sigh, confidentthat his Prophet would come back.

It is the principle of the ticking timebomb, a strategy of aggression that

has long been part of human violence.

Thus we have inserted our "time

bombs" into the cells of gholas,activating specific behaviors at precise

moments of our choosing.

– From The Secret Manual of TleilaxuMasters

The no-ship had its own time, its owncycles. Most of the people were asleep,except for off-shift watches andmaintenance crews. The decks werequiet, the glowpanels dimmed. In theshadowy chamber that held the axlotltanks, the Rabbi paced back and forth,murmuring Talmudic prayers.

On a surveillance screen Sheeanaobserved the old man carefully, alwaysalert to

prevent any new incident of sabotage.When the saboteur had killed the threegholas and axlotl tanks, he or she hadshut down the security imagers, butBashar Teg had made sure that was nolonger possible. Everything was underobservation. As a former Suk doctor, theRabbi had access to the medical center;he often spent time with what remainedof the woman he'd known as Rebecca.

Though the old man had answered allquestions the Truthsayers asked him, hestill

hadn't earned her trust. Despite her bestefforts, the saboteur and murdererremained at large.

And the recent appearance of theglowing net had brought the Enemy tooclose, reminding the passengers of thevery real threat. Everyone onboard hadseen it. Their danger remained unabated.

Three relatively new axlotl tanks restedon their platforms; volunteers had comeforward to answer Sheeana's call,exactly as she had expected. All threenew tanks were currently producingliquid-form mélange that dripped intosmall collecting vials, but she had begunpreparations to implant one of the

wombs with cells from Scytale'snullentropy tube. A new embryo to bringback yet another figure from the past.She refused to let the sabotage deflecther ghola project.

The Rabbi stood before the new tanks,his tense body exhibiting clear markersof

loathing and disgust. He spoke to thefleshy mound. "I hate you. Unnatural,ungodly."

After watching the old man carefully,Sheeana left the monitor screens andentered the

medical center, gliding up behind him.

"Is it honorable to hate the helpless,Rabbi? Those women are no longeraware, no longer human. Why despisethem?"

He whirled, lights reflecting on hispolished spectacles. "Stop spying on me.I wish time alone to pray for Rebecca'ssoul." Rebecca had been his personalfavorite, willing to pit her intellectagainst his; the old man had neverforgiven her for volunteering to becomea tank.

"Even you need to be watched, Rabbi."

Anger flushed his leathery skin. "Youand your witches should have heeded the

warnings and ceased your grotesqueexperiments. If only the Honored Matreshad managed to get rid of Scytale whenthey destroyed all Tleilaxu worlds, thenhis hateful knowledge of tanks andgholas would have been lost."

"The Honored Matres also hunted downyour people, Rabbi. You and theTleilaxu share the same enemy."

"But it is not the same at all. We havebeen unfairly persecuted throughouthistory, while the Tleilaxu merelyreceived their just desserts. Their ownFace Dancers turned on them, from whatI understand." He took a step away fromthe fleshy mound, from the

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chemical and biological odors thatwafted from the tanks. "I can hardlyrecall what Rebecca once looked like,before she became this thing."

Sheeana searched for the memories, andasked the voices within to assist her.This time they did, and she found whatshe wanted, like accessing old archivalimages.

The woman had looked elegant in herbrown robe and braided hair. She'd

worn contact

lenses to conceal the blue eyes of herspice addiction...

With a bitter expression, the Rabbiplaced a hand on Rebecca's exposedflesh. A tear ran down his cheek. Hemuttered the same thing each time hevisited her. A litany for him. "Youwitches did this to her, made her into amonster."

"She's not a monster, not even a martyr."She tapped her own forehead."Rebecca's thoughts and memories are inhere and inside many other Sisters,Shared with us all. Rebecca did whatwas necessary, and so will we."

"By making more gholas? Will it neverend?"

"You are concerned about a pebble inyour shoe, while we seek to avoid therockslide.

Sooner or later, we will no longer beable to run from the Enemy. We'll needthe ingenuity and special talents of thesegholas, in particular those capable ofbecoming another Kwisatz Haderach.But we must handle the genetic materialcarefully, nurturing and developing it inthe proper order, at the proper pace."She strolled to one of the new tanks, afresh young woman whose form had notyet deteriorated into unrecognizability.

As she stood there, a troubling thoughtrefused to leave her mind, no matter howmuch

she tried to push it away. An absurd lineof reasoning, but all day long it had beenpercolating.

What if my own abilities could beequivalent to those of a KwisatzHaderach? I already

have a natural ability to control the greatworms. I have the Atreides genes, andcenturies of the Sisterhood's perfectedknowledge to draw upon. Would I dare?

She felt voices surfacing from within;one rose above the others. The ancient

Reverend

Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, repeatingsomething that she once said so long agoto a young Paul Atreides: "Yet, there's aplace where no Truthsayer can see. Weare repelled by it, terrorized. It is said aman will come one day and find in thegift of the drug his inward eye.

He will look where we cannot–into bothfeminine and masculine pasts... the onewho can be many places at once..." Theold crone's voice drifted away, withoutgiving Sheeana any advice, one way orthe other.

With a sneer, the Rabbi interrupted herthoughts. "And you trust that old Tleilaxu

to help you, when he's desperate toachieve his own goals before dying?Scytale hid those cells for so manyyears. How many of them containdangerous secrets? You've alreadydiscovered Face Dancer cells among thesamples. How many of your gholaabominations are traps laid by theTleilaxu?"

She gazed at him dispassionately,knowing that no argument would eversway him. The

Rabbi made the sign of the evil eye, andfled.

***

Duncan encountered Sheeana in anempty corridor, in the dimness of theartificial night.

The no-ship's recyclers and life-supportsystems kept the air comfortably cool,but upon seeing her alone like thisDuncan felt a flush of heat.

Sheeana's large eyes fixed on him like aweapon's targeting system. Feeling atingle like static electricity on his skin,he cursed his body for being so easilytempted.

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Even now, three years after Sheeana hadbroken the debilitating chains ofMurbella's

love, the two of them still foundthemselves drawn irresistibly intounexpected bouts of sex as frenetic asany he and Murbella had ever shared.

Duncan preferred to manage thecircumstances of their casual meetings,always trying

to make certain that others were present,that he had safe guardrails to preventhim from falling off a dangerous cliff.He did not like to be out of control: That

had already happened too many times.

He and Sheeana had surrendered to eachother like terrified people huddling in a

bombed-out battle zone. She hadcauterized him to cure his debility andstolen him from Murbella, yet he felt likea casualty of war.

Now as he saw Sheeana's expressionflicker, Duncan thought she felt the samesense of

vertigo and disorientation. She tried tosound reserved and rational. "It is betterif we don't do this. We have too manyconcerns, too many risks. Anotherregenerator system has just failed.

The saboteur–"

"You're right. We should not." His voicewas hoarse, but they had already starteddown a path with ever-increasingconsequences. Duncan took a hesitantstep forward. The muted corridor lightsreflected off the no-ship's metal walls."We shouldn't do this," he said again.

Desire swept like a wave over both ofthem. As a Mentat he could observe andassess,

concluding that what they were doingwas simply a reaffirmation of humanity.When they

touched fingertips, lips, and skin, both of

them were lost...

Later, they rested on tangled sheets inSheeana's quarters. The air carried amoist

muskiness. Duncan lay sated with hisfingers laced in his wiry dark hair. Hewas confused and disappointed inhimself. "You've taken away too much ofmy control."

Sheeana raised her eyebrows in the dimlight, showing amusement. Her breathwas

warm and close to his ear. "Oh? AndMurbella did not?" When Duncan turnedaway and did not answer, she chuckled.

"You're feeling guilty! You think you'vebetrayed her somehow.

But how many female imprinters did youtrain back on Chapterhouse?"

He answered the question in his ownway. "Murbella and I were trappedtogether, and no part of our relationshipwas voluntary. We had a mutualaddiction, two people brought to astalemate. That isn't love or tenderness.For Murbella–for all of you witches–ourlove-making was supposed to be 'justbusiness.' But I still had feelings for her,dammit! It isn't a matter of whether ornot I should.

"But you–you were like a violent

detoxification of my system. The Agonyserved the same purpose for Murbella,breaking her bond to me." He reachedout and cupped Sheeana's chin. "Thiscannot happen again."

Now she looked even more amused. "Iagree that it should not... but it willanyway."

"You're a loaded weapon, a full BeneGesserit. Every time we make love, youcould

easily let yourself get pregnant. Isn't thatwhat the Sisterhood would demand? Youcould carry my child whenever youallow yourself to do so."

"True. But I haven't. We are far fromChapterhouse, and I make my owndecisions

now."

Sheeana pulled him back to her.

Scientists see sandworms as specimens,while the Fremen see them as their

god. But the worms devour anyone whotries to gather information. How

am I supposed to work under suchconditions?

– Imperial Planetologist Pardot Kynes,ancient records

Sheeana stood in the high observationgallery where she and Garimi had oncegone to

discuss the future of their journey. Thekilometer-long great hold was largeenough to offer the illusion of freedom,though much too small for a brood ofsandworms.

The seven creatures were growing butremained stunted, waiting for thepromised arid

land. They had been waiting a long time,perhaps too long.

More than two decades ago, Sheeanahad brought the small worms aboard the

no-ship,

stealing them from the growing desertband on Chapterhouse. She had alwaysintended to

transplant them to another world, farfrom the Honored Matres and safe fromthe Enemy. For years, the worms hadzigzagged endlessly in the sand-filledconfines of the hold, as lost as everyoneelse on the Ithaca...

She wondered if the no-ship would everfind a planet where they could stop,where the

Sisters could establish a new andorthodox Chapterhouse, rather than the

mongrel

organization that made concessions tothe ways of the Honored Matres. If theship simply fled for generations andgenerations, it would be impossible tofind a perfect world for the sandworms,for Garimi and her conservative BeneGesserits, for the Rabbi and his Jews.

She recalled searching Other Memoryfor advice the evening before. For awhile, there

had been no response. Then SerenaButler, the ancient leader of the Jihad,came to her just as Sheeana drifted off tosleep in her quarters. Long-dead Serenatold of her experiences being lost and

overwhelmed by an endless war, forcedto guide vast populations when sheherself didn't know where to go.

"But you found your way, Serena. Youdid what you had to do. You did whathumanity needed."

And so will you, Sheeana.

Now, seeing the sandworms ripple thesand far below, Sheeana could sensetheir

feelings in an indefinable way, and theycould sense hers. Did they dream ofendless, dry dunes in which to staketheir territory? The largest of the worms,nearly forty meters long with a maw

large enough to swallow three peopleabreast, was clearly dominant.

Sheeana had given that one a name:Monarch.

The seven worms pointed their eyelessfaces toward her, displaying crystallineteeth.

The smaller ones burrowed into theshallow sand, leaving only Monarch,who seemed

to be summoning Sheeana. She stared atthe dominant worm, trying to understandwhat it

wanted. The connection between them

began to burn inside her, calling her.

Sheeana descended to the sand-filledcargo hold. Stepping out onto churneddunes, she

strode directly toward the worm,unafraid. She had faced the creaturesmany times before and had nothing tofear from this one.

Monarch towered over her. Putting herhands on her hips, Sheeana looked up,and

waited.

In the heady days on Rakis, she hadlearned to dance on the sands and

control the

behemoths, but she had always knownshe could do more. When she was ready.

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The worm seemed to be playing uponher need for understanding. She was thegirl who

could communicate with the beasts, whocould control and understand them. Andnow, in

order to see her own future, she had togo farther. Literally and metaphorically.

It was what Monarch wanted. Dangerousand frightening, the creature exhaled astink of

inner furnaces and pure mélange.

"So, now what do we do, you and I? Areyou Shaitan, or just an impostor?"

The restless worm seemed to knowexactly what she had in mind. Instead ofrolling its

body toward her so she could climb itsrings to ride, Monarch faced her with itsround maw open. Each milky-white

tooth in a mouth the size of a caveopening was long enough to be used as acrysknife. Sheeana did not tremble.

The sandworm laid its head on the softdunes directly in front of her. Temptingher to a symbolic journey, like Jonah andthe whale? Sheeana wrestled with herfears, but knew what she must do–not asa charlatan's performance, for shedoubted anyone was watching her, butbecause it was necessary for her ownunderstanding.

Monarch lay waiting for her, mouthagape. The worm itself became a secretdoorway,

luring her like a dangerous lover.

Sheeana stepped past the portcullis ofcrysknife teeth and knelt inside thegullet, inhaling the rank cinnamon odor.Dizzy and nauseated, she could barelybreathe. The sandworm did not move.Willingly, she worked her way deeperinside, offering herself, thoughconvinced that her sacrifice would notbe accepted. It wasn't what the wormwanted from her.

Without looking back, she crawledfarther down the throat into dry, darkwarmth.

Monarch did not twitch. Sheeana keptgoing, felt her breathing slow. Deeperand deeper

she went, and soon guessed that she hadgone at least half the length of the proneworm.

Without the friction heat sparked byroaming endless deserts, the worm'sgullet was no longer a furnace. Her eyesbecame accustomed to what she realizedwas not total darkness, but was insteadan eerie illumination that seemed morethe product of another sense in her ownmind than traditional eyesight. She coulddimly see the rough, membranoussurface around her, and as sheproceeded, the undigested odor ofmélange precursors grew stronger, more

concentrated.

Finally she reached a fleshy chamberthat might have been Monarch's stomach,but

without digestive acids. How did thecaptive sandworms survive? The odorof spice was more intense here than shehad ever experienced–so much so that anordinary person would have suffocated.

But I am no ordinary person.

Sheeana lay there, absorbing the warmth,letting the intense mélange seep intoevery

pore in her body, feeling Monarch's dimconsciousness merge into hers. Sheinhaled deeply and felt a great, cosmic

sense of calm, like being in the womb ofthe Great Mother of the Universe.

Unexpectedly, with the unusual visitordeep in its gullet, the sand-worm doveinto the

artificial desert and began to movethrough it; taking her on a strangejourney.

As if connected directly with Monarch'snervous system, Sheeana could seethrough the

eyeless worm to its companions beneaththe sand. Working together, the sevensandworms

were forming small veins of spice in thecargo hold. Preparing.

Sheeana lost track of time and thoughtagain of Leto II, whose pearl ofawareness was

now inside this beast and all of theothers in the hold. She wondered whereshe fit into this

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paranormal realm. As the GodEmperor's queen? As the female part of

the godhead? Or as

something else entirely, an entity shecould not begin to imagine?

The worms all carried secrets, andSheeana understood how much the gholachildren

were like that as well. They each held atreasure greater than spice within theircells: their past memories and lives.Paul and Chani, Jessica, Yueh, Leto II.Even Thufir Hawat, Stilgar, Liet-Kynes... and now baby Alia. Each had acrucial role to play, but only if theycould remember who they were.

She saw each image, but not in her own

imagination. The sand-worms knewwhat those

lost figures contained. An urgencyrushed toward her like a desert wind.Time, and with it their chances forsurvival, was slipping away too quickly.She envisioned a succession of thepossible gholas, all primed likeweapons, but blurred as to what eachcould do.

She could not wait for the Enemy. Shehad to act now.

The worm resurfaced, and after movingalong the sands, it jolted to a stop.Inside,

Sheeana caught her balance. Then, byconstricting its membranous interior, thecreature gently pushed her back out. Shecrawled from the mouth and tumbledonto the sands.

Dust and grit clung to the film coatingher body. Monarch nudged her, like amother

bird urging a chick to go out on its own.Caught up in disorienting visions, shestruggled and dropped to her knees onthe dry sand. The faces of the gholachildren wavered around her, dissolvinginto bright lights.

Awaken!

She lay gasping for breath, her body andclothing drenched in spice essence.Beside

Sheeana, the big worm turned, burrowedback into the shallow sand, anddisappeared from view.

Reeking and reeling, Sheeana made herway back toward the cargo-hold doors,but she

kept losing her footing and falling. Shehad to reach the ghola children... Theworm had given her an importantmessage, something that seeped into herconsciousness like a wordless form ofOther Memory. In moments, she was leftwith an overwhelming certainty of what

she had to do.

You say that we must learn from thepast. But I–I fear the past, for I have

been there, and I have no desire toreturn.

– Dr. Wellington Yueh, the ghola

After being scrubbed and showered torid her of a spice reek so strong thateven the

Sisters who assisted her covered theirmouths and noses, Sheeana slept for twodays in deep and disturbing dreams.

When she finally emerged and found

Duncan Idaho and Miles Teg on thenavigation

bridge, she made her announcement."The gholas are all old enough. EvenLeto II is the same age as when Irestored the Bashar." The smell ofmélange was heavy on Sheeana's breath.

"It's time to awaken them all."

Duncan turned his back on theobservation window where he stood."Triggering the

process isn't like activating a subroutineor working through a bout of temporaryamnesia.

You can't just issue a memo and order itdone."

"The ghola children have always knownthat we would demand this of them," shesaid.

"Without their past memories, withouttheir genius, they are of no more value tous than any other children."

The Bashar nodded slowly. "To recall aghola's past life is an experience thatdestroys and recreates the psyche. Thereare numerous proven methods, somemore painful than

others, but none are easy. You can'tawaken the children all at once. Each

critical event must be tailored to theindividual. A horrible, mind-shatteringcrisis." Teg's face showed echoes ofpain. "You thought you were using ahumane awakening method with me,Sheeana... when I was only a ten-year-old child."

Though Duncan, too, seemed uneasy atthe prospect, he stepped down from the

observation window and walked towardSheeana. "She's right, Miles. We createdthose gholas for a purpose, and rightnow they're all like unloaded guns. Weneed to load our gholas–our uniqueweapons. The Enemy's net is strongernow, and it nearly snared us again.

We all saw it. Next time, we may not beable to slip away."

"We've waited long enough." Sheeana'svoice was hard, brooking no argument.

"Some gholas may be more challengingthan others." Teg's eyes narrowed. "Youmay lose some to madness. Are youprepared for that?"

"I have gone through the Spice Agony, ashave all Reverend Mothers on this ship.We survived the unbearable pain."

"I have the memories of my old life,"Teg said. "Of wars and atrocities, andenduring unbearable torture. Somehowthe bad details are much more vivid than

the pleasant ones, but nothing is worsethan the awakening."

Sheeana waved her hand. "Throughouthistory, men and women have had amonopoly

on their own kinds of pain, each thinkingtheirs is the worst." She smiled grimly."We will start with the least valuableghola, of course. In case something goeswrong."

Wellington Yueh was summoned to standbefore the Bene Gesserits in one of theno-

ship's council chambers. The ganglyteenager had a pointed chin and pinched

lips. Already buried within his facewere hints of the familiar chiseledfeatures and broad forehead–thedespised visage that had becomesynonymous with the word traitor forthousands of years in galactic referenceworks.

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The young man was nervous, fidgeting.Sheeana drew herself to her full heightand

stepped closer. He flinched at her

intimidating presence, but somehowfound the courage to stand where hewas. "You summoned me, ReverendMother. How may I assist?"

"By awakening your memories.Tomorrow you will be the first of oursubjects to

undergo the trigger."

Yueh's yellowish face paled. "But I'mnot ready!"

"That is why we have given you a fullday to prepare." Proctor SuperiorGarimi's tongue was sharp, as usual.

Although Garimi had never embraced

the project, she now wanted to see its

culmination.

Sheeana knew what she was thinking: Ifthe awakening process failed, Garimiintended

to prevent any further gholas from beinggrown; if the awakening succeeded, shewould insist that the program hadfulfilled its goal and could bediscontinued. She knew that Sheeana,still intrigued by all those cells in theTleilaxu's nullentropy capsule, wasplanning further ghola experiments.

Yueh's legs were locked. He seemedclose to fainting and grasped a nearby

chair to

steady himself. "Sisters, I don't want tohave my memories back. I am not theman you think you resurrected, but a newperson–my own person. The oldWellington Yueh was tormented

in so many ways. Even though he was inpart me, how can I forgive him for whathe did?"

Garimi made a dismissive gesture."Nevertheless, we brought you back forone purpose only. Don't expect sympathyfrom us. You have a task to perform."

After the proctors took the distraughtyoung man away, Sheeana looked at

Garimi and

two other senior Sisters–Calissa andElyen–who had observed the discussion."I will use the sexual method on him, thesame one that worked on the ghola of theBashar. It is the best technique weknow."

Elyen said, "Your sexual imprintingunlocked the Bashar's memories onlybecause it precipitated a crisis in him.Teg's mother had armed him againstsexual imprinting. It wasn't yourtechnique that stirred up his past, but hissheer resistance to it."

"Indeed. So for each of our gholas we'lltailor an individualized agony that

leverages their own fears andweaknesses."

"How can sex break Yueh the way itbroke the Bashar?" Garimi asked.

"Not the sex itself, but Yueh's resistanceto it. He's terrified of remembering hispast. If he believes we know how tounlock his memories, he'll fight us witheverything he has. As he fights, I willapply my most potent procedures, andhe'll spiral over the brink into completemadness."

Garimi shrugged. "If it doesn't work, wehave other ways."

The room was dim and the shadows

cloying, which made Yueh's terror morepalpable.

The chamber was devoid of furnitureexcept for a padded mat on the floor,like those that the ghola children usedduring physical training sessions.

The witches had not explained what toexpect. The young man knew from hisstudies

that the process of regaining one's pastwas painful. He was not a strong man,nor was he particularly brave. Even so,the prospect of pain did not petrify himnearly so much as the dread ofremembering.

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The door slid open with a gentle hiss oflubricated metal gliding in its tracks.

From the corridor, blinding light flowedin, much brighter than the glowpanels inhis

cell. It silhouetted a woman's figure–Sheeana? He turned to face her andcould see only her outline, the sensualcurves of her body no longer masked byflowing robes. When the door sealedbehind her, his eyes adjusted to the more

comfortable illumination.

When he saw that Sheeana wascompletely unclothed, his fear increased."What is

this?"

His voice, torn by nervousness, came outas a squeak.

She stepped closer. "You will disrobenow."

Barely a teenager, Yueh swallowed."Not until you explain what is going tohappen to me."

She used the hurricane force of Bene

Gesserit Voice. "You will disrobe now!"

In a spasmodic reaction, his arms andlegs jerking, he tore off his clothes.Sheeana

inspected him, running her eyes up anddown his thin, naked body like a hawkassessing its prey. Yueh got theimpression that she found himinadequate.

"Don't hurt me," he pleaded, and hatedhimself for saying it.

"Of course it will hurt, but the pain won'tbe anything I inflict upon you." Shetouched his shoulder. He felt an almostelectric shock, but he was transfixed,

unable to move. "Your own memorieswill do that."

"I don't want them back. I'll fight you."

"Fight all you wish. It will do you nogood. We know how to awaken you."

Yueh closed his eyes and gritted histeeth. He tried to turn away, but shegrasped his

arms to hold him still, then released hergrip and began touching him. Thedelicate strokings felt like the line ofheat left by a lighted match down his armand across his chest. "Your memoriesare stored within your cells. In order toawaken them, I must awaken your body."

She stroked him, and he shuddered,unable to draw away.

"I shall teach your nerve endings to dothings they've forgotten how to do."Another jolt, and he gasped.

She touched him again, and his kneesbuckled, exactly as she wanted. Sheeanapushed

him toward the mat on the floor. "I needto wrench you into the full awareness ofevery chromosome in every cell."

"No." The word sounded incrediblyweak to him.

As she pressed herself against him,

letting warm skin ignite his perspiration,Yueh

tunneled backward into himself, trying toflee. From all he had learned of his past,he found one thing with which to anchorhis bravery.

Wanna! His beloved Bene Gesserit wife,the weak link in his long chain ofbetrayals,

and the strongest link in his originallifetime.

The evil Harkonnens had known thatWanna would be the key to breaking hisSuk

conditioning, and it had only worked–could only have worked–because Yuehloved her with all his heart. BeneGesserits were not supposed to succumbto love, but he knew that she must havereciprocated.

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He thought of her pictures in thearchives, of all he had learned about herin his

researches. "Oh, Wanna." He yearned forher in his mind, tried to latch onto her as

a lifeline.

Sheeana stroked his waist, trailed herfingers lower and climbed on top of him.Yueh's

muscles were completely out of hiscontrol. He couldn't move. Her lipsvibrated against the skin of his shoulder,his neck. Sheeana was a skilled sexualimprinter. Her body was a

weapon, and he was the target.

A flood of sensations nearly drove thearchival image of Wanna from his mind,but

Yueh fought against what Sheeana was

making him feel. Instead, he focused onwhat he

might have done in Wanna's lovingembrace.

Wanna.

As the rhythm of their lovemakingincreased, real memories intruded on theinformation

he had obtained through research. Yuehrecalled those terrible moments after hiswife had been seized by the Harkonnens,and saw images of the loathsome fatBaron, his thuggish

nephew Rabban, the viper Feyd-Rautha,

and the Mentat Piter de Vries, who had alaugh that sounded like vinegar.

Weak, helpless, and infuriated, he hadbeen forced to watch them torture Wannainside

an isolated chamber. She was a BeneGesserit; she could block her pain, coulddeflect her body's responses. But Yuehcould not so easily shunt such thingsaside, no matter how hard he tried.

In his nightmare memory the Baronlaughed, a rumbling basso sound. "Seethe little chamber she's in, Doctor? A toywith some very interestingpossibilities." As the men watched thegroggy and disoriented Wanna, she stood

on weak knees, but upside-down withinthe booth. "We can convert gravity into athing that depends entirely onperspective."

Rabban chuckled, a harsh release ofnoise. He operated artificial gravitycontrols in the small room, and suddenlyWanna fell with a thud to the floor. Shemanaged to tuck her head and shouldersjust enough to avoid breaking her neck.With the speed and fluidity of a

serpent, Piter de Vries scurried forwardcarrying a pain amplifier.

At the last moment, Rabban snatched itout of the Twisted Mentat's hands andapplied it to Wanna's throat himself. She

writhed with a jagged spasm of agony.

"Stop! Stop, I beg you!" Yueh cried.

"Oh, Doctor, Doctor–you know it can'tpossibly be that easy..." In the vision, theBaron folded his pudgy arms across hischest.

Rabban twisted the gravity controlsagain, and Wanna was thrown like alimp doll from

wall to wall, smashing into the sides ofthe chamber. "When one is too lovely,something must be done to correct thatcondition."

My beautiful Wanna!

The memories were so vivid now, farmore detailed than anything he had readin the

Archives section. No meredocumentation could have provided suchprecise clarity...

In a different, newly unlockedcompartment of his brain, he livedanother memory.

He was artificially paralyzed, forced towatch during one of the Baron's drunkenparties while Piter played a sparkingpain amplifier over Wanna's suspendedbody.

Each flash provoked a twitching

response of agony from her. The otherguests laughed

at her pain and at his helpless misery.

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When he was freed from his paralysis,Yueh trembled, drooled, and struggled.The

Baron stood over him, a huge grin on hisbloated face. He handed Yueh aprojectile pistol.

"As a Suk doctor, you should doeverything possible to stop a patientfrom feeling pain. You know how to stopWanna's pain, Doctor."

Unable to break his conditioning, Yuehshuddered and spasmed. He wantednothing

more than to do as the Baron demanded."I... can't!"

"Of course you can. Choose a guest, anyguest. I don't care which. See howamused they are by our little game?"Grasping Yueh's shaking wrists, hehelped the doctor point his projectileweapon around the room. "But don't tryany tricks, or we will make the torment

last a great deal longer!"

He wished he could put Wanna out of hermisery, killing her instead of letting the

Harkonnens have their perverted fun. Hesaw her eyes, the spark of pain andhope, but

Rabban stopped him. "Focus, Doctor.No mistakes."

Through blurred vision he made outnumerous targets, and tried toconcentrate on one, a tottering oldnobleman, a semuta addict. That one hadlived a long life, undoubtedly withconsiderable debauchery. But for a Sukdoctor to kill–

He fired.

Overwhelmed by the horrific scene nowplaying out in his head, Yueh paid nofurther

attention to Sheeana's ministrations. Hisbody was drenched with sweat, but lessfrom sexual exertion than from theextreme psychological distress. He sawSheeana appraising him. The memorieswere so clear to him that his entire bodyfelt like a raw wound: Wanna in agonyand the sharp, broken-crystal pain ofhow his Suk conditioning had beenthwarted.

It had happened thousands of years ago!

The years before that watershedoccurrence, and the years afterward,extended outward,

filling his mind, now fresh and hungry.As the relentless memories returned, sodid more anguish and guilt, accompaniedby a disgust with himself.

Yueh felt as if he was about to vomit.Tears poured down his cheeks.

In the training room, Sheeana studied thewet streaks clinically. "You're weeping.Does that mean you've successfullyregained your memories?"

"I have them back." His voice was huskyand sounded infinitely old. "And damn

you witches to hell for it."

We have so little trouble findingenemies because violence is an innatepart

of human nature. Our greatestchallenge, then, is to choose the most

significant enemy, for we cannot hopeto fight them all.

– Bashar Miles Teg, military assessmentdelivered to the Bene Gesserit

After she departed from Chapterhouse,Murbella traveled to the V battle lines.That was where the Mother Commanderbelonged. Posing as nothing more

important than an inspector for the NewSisterhood, Murbella arrived at Oculiat,one of the systems that lay directly in thepath of the advancing thinking-machinefleet.

Once, Oculiat had been at the far edgesof inhabited space, a jumping-off pointfor the Scattering after the Tyrant's death.Objectively, this sparsely populatedworld had little significance, justanother target on the vast cosmic map.But for Murbella, Oculiat represented agenuine psychological blow: When thisworld fell to the machines, the Enemywould be

encroaching into the Old Empire itself,

not just into a distant and unknown placethat had been omitted from old starmaps.

Until the Ixians delivered theirObliterators and the Guild provided allthe ships she had demanded, the MotherCommander had no way to stop, or evenslow, the thinking machines.

Under a hazy sky illuminated by wateryyellow sunlight, Murbella stepped out ofher

ship. The landing field seemed deserted,as if no one tended the spaceport anylonger. As if they were not evenwatching for the Enemy.

When she made her way to the franticcrowds in the central city, though, shesaw that

the inhabitants had already found theirown enemy. A mob surrounded the main

administration building wheregovernment officials had barricadedthemselves. The locals had put theirleaders under siege, screaming for bloodor divine intervention.

Preferably blood.

Murbella knew the raw power that theirfear generated, but it was clearly notchanneled properly. The people ofOculiat–and all desperate worlds facing

the oncoming Enemy–needed guidancefrom the Sisterhood. They were analready-charged weapon that must beaimed.

Instead, they were out of control. Shesaw what was happening and rushedforward, but

stopped short of throwing herselfheadlong into the mob.

They would tear her limb from limb, andthey would do it for Sheeana.

The random appearances and sermons ofthe "resurrected Sheeana" had preparedbillions of people to fight. The Sheeanashad kindled the anger and fervor of

populations, so that the Sisterhood couldmanipulate that raw power for their ownpurposes. Once unleashed, however,such fanaticism became a chaotic force.Knowing they were unlikely to survive

against the oncoming machines, the menand women threw themselves intoviolence, seeking any sort of enemy theycould get their hands on... even amongtheir own people.

"Face Dancers!" someone shouted.Murbella pushed her way closer to thecenter of action, knocked aside flailingarms and fists, and cuffed someone onthe side of the head. But even stunned,the wild and emboldened people surged

onward. "Face Dancers! They've beenmanipulating us all along–selling us outto the Enemy."

Those who recognized the MotherCommander's Bene Gesserit unitardbacked away;

others, either oblivious or too angry tocare, were not swayed until she usedVoice.

Bombarded by the irresistible command,they staggered away. Just one personagainst the multitude, Murbella strodetoward the colonnaded doorways of thegovernment center, which

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the people saw as their target. She usedVoice again but could not stop them allin their tracks.

The shouting and accusatory shrieks roseand fell like a thunderstorm.

As she fought her way to the front of thebarricade, several of the foremost mob

members noticed her uniform and let outa long cheer. "A Reverend Mother ishere to support us!"

"Kill the Face Dancers! Kill them all!"

"For Sheeana!"

Murbella grabbed an elderly womanwho had been yelling along with theothers. "How do you know they're FaceDancers?"

"We know. Think about their decisions,listen to their speeches. It's obvious theyare traitors."

Murbella didn't believe that FaceDancers would be quite so obvious thatcommon

rabble could detect the faint subtleties.But the mob was convinced.

Six huffing men ran by, carrying a heavy

plasteel pole that they proceeded to useas a

battering ram. Inside the capitolbuilding, terrified officials had piledobstructions against the doors andwindows. Thrown stones shattered theornamental plaz, but the crowd couldn't

break in so easily. Bars and heavyobjects blocked the way.

Wielded with the strength of panic andhysteria, the battering ram pounded thethick

doors, tearing hinges loose andsplintering wood. In moments, a wave ofhuman bodies

pushed forward.

Murbella called out. "Wait! Why notprove they're Face Dancers before youkill

anyone–"

The old woman shoved past, eager to getto the officials. She stepped onMurbella's

foot, heard her shouted cautions, thenturned to her with a narrowed gaze like aserpent's.

"Why do you hesitate, ReverendMother? Help us capture the traitors. Orare you a Face Dancer yourself?"

Murbella's Honored Matre reflexescame to the fore, and her hand snappedout, cutting

into the woman's neck with a blow thatrendered her unconscious. She had notmeant to kill the woman, but as heraccuser fell to the steps a dozen peoplesurged forward, trampling her to death.

Heart pounding, Murbella pressedagainst the wall to avoid the brunt of thestampede.

If the cry had been taken up–"FaceDancer! Face Dancer!"–with fingerspointing at her, the crowd would havekilled her without thinking. Even withsuperior fighting abilities, Murbella

could never fend off so many.

She backed up farther and took shelterbehind the tall statue of a long-forgottenhero of the Famine Times, shieldingherself with its pla-stone bulk. Thescreaming mob would crush many of itsown members to get into the governmentbuilding.

She could hear cries inside, a dischargeof weapons, and small explosions. Someof the

trapped officials must have beencarrying personal protection. Murbellawaited, knowing it would be oversoon...

The bloody attack burned itself out inhalf an hour. The mob found and killedall twenty government officialssuspected of being enemy Face Dancers.Then, still not sated in their

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thirst for blood, they turned against anyof their own members who had notshown sufficient murderous fervor, untilmost of the violence drained away intoguilty exhaustion...

Standing tall, Mother Commander

Murbella entered the building, whereshe surveyed

the smashed windows, display cases,and artwork. Jubilant murderers draggedbodies onto the polished tiled floor ofthe main legislative gallery. Almostthirty men and women were dead, someshot with projectile weapons, othersbeaten to death, many with such violencethat their genders were hardlyrecognizable. The corpses on thepolished stone floor wore expressions ofhorror and shock.

One of the bodies among the bloodymess was indeed a Face Dancer.

"We were right! You see, Reverend

Mother." A man pointed at the deadshape-shifter.

"We were infiltrated, but we rooted outthe enemy and killed it."

Murbella looked around, at all of theinnocent humans murdered to discoverone Face

Dancer. What was the economy ofbloodshed? She tried to assess it coolly.How much

damage could that one Face Dancer havecaused, exposing vulnerabilities to theoncoming Enemy forces? All of thoselives? Yes, and more, she had to admit.

From their elation it was obvious thatthe people of Oculiat considered theiruprising a victory, and Murbella couldnot dispute that. But if this wave ofinsane vigilantism continued, would allgovernments topple? Even onChapterhouse? Then who wouldorganize the people

to defend themselves?

Weak minds are gullible. The weakerthe thought processes, the more

ridiculous the notions they will believe.Strong minds, like mine, can turn

that to an advantage.

– Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, originalrecordings

Despite being unarmed, the Baronsneered into the face of the red-eyedmongrel hound.

The growling animal moved toward himon the flagstoned floor, baring its sharpfangs,

ready to spring.

Fortunately, the Baron had killed theferal creature with a poison dart gunsome time

ago, and this stuffed mechanical versionmerely followed a programmed

reenactment.

The simulacrum went motionless whenhe gave it a hand signal. An amusing toy.

Nine-year-old Paolo moved around thetrophy chamber, admiring the wildanimals on

display. The Baron had dragged the boyout on many hunts in the pristinewilderness of

Caladan, so that he could witness thekilling firsthand. It was good for hisdevelopment and education.

Rabban had always enjoyed such things,but Paolo had originally been reluctant

to

engage in the slaughter. Maybe it wassome flaw in the genetics. However, theBaron was gradually breaking down hisresistance. With vigorous training and asystem of rewards and punishments(plenty of the latter), the Baron hadalmost managed to squash the core ofinnate goodness in this ghola of PaulAtreides.

Weathersats had predicted constant rainand wind for the rest of the week. TheBaron

had looked forward to going out on afresh hunt, but the cold and wet wouldhave made for a miserable expedition.

He and Paolo were trapped inside thecastle. The two had formed a remarkablebond. House Atreides and HouseHarkonnen–how ironic!

But though Paolo was a clone of thehated Duke's son, raised properly hewas turning

out more like a Harkonnen.

He is your grandson, after all, theinternal voice of Alia nagged at him.

Overcoming an urge to shout back at her,the Baron watched four workmen with

suspensors hoist an immense stuffedmastaphont onto a viewing stand. Yet

another nearly extinct creature, thisferocious beast had charged at themacross a field last autumn, slashing withits serrated horns. But the Baron, Paolo,and half a dozen guards had opened firewith lasguns, cutting disks, and poisonflechettes, mangling the creature beforeit finally fell. What an exciting hunt thathad been!

Paolo looked at the animated creatureson stands. "Instead of going outside tothe wilderness, let's go hunting in here.We can pretend they're not already dead.Then we don't have to worry aboutgetting wet and cold."

The Baron looked out at the stormy

skies, wondering if the weather was thereal reason

for Paolo's reluctance. "I don't mindpain, but personal discomfort is anothermatter entirely."

He looked around, assessingpossibilities for damage. And grinned."You're absolutely right, my boy!" Itpleased him to hear how deep his ownvoice was becoming.

They ordered servants to bring aselection of lasguns, dart pistols,swords, and knives for their next ersatzadventure. When the mechanical systemswere activated, the dead

animals went into a frenzy all over thetrophy room. The two hunters tookcover, imagined their danger, and shotthe mechanical creatures off of theirstands, chopping through

prosthetic bones, stuffing, and preservedflesh. Last of all, they activated the hugemastaphont

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and watched it stomp over the debris.Finally catching it in a crossfire oflasgun blasts, they amputated its legs.

The beast crashed to the floor, itsautomatic servos writhing.

The Baron found the violence to beeminently satisfying, and even Paoloseemed to

warm to the activity. Afterward, thebrave hunters surveyed the damage andlaughed as they marched out into thecorridor. The Baron spotted threeworkmen, who looked as if they

wanted to become invisible. "Get backin there and clean things up!"

You always make a mess of things, don'tyou, Grandfather?

The Baron pressed his hands against hishead. "Shut up, damn you!" Alia beganhumming repetitive singsong tunes,designed to drive him mad, no doubt.When a bewildered Paolo pestered himwith questions, the Baron slapped himaway. "Leave me alone! You're as bad asyour sister!"

Confused and startled, Paolo ran off.

The girl's grating voice vibrated in hismind until he couldn't stand it. Hehurried out of the castle. Barely able tosee where he was going, the Baronbumped into one of the blockyHarkonnen statues and rushed toward thesea cliff. "I'll hurl myself over the edge–

I swear it, Abomination–unless youleave me alone!"

He got all the way to the windy, rockybrink, before the Alia voice at last fadedinto

sweet silence. The Baron dropped to hisknees on the high stone walkway,looking with

delicious vertigo over the tremendousdrop-off. Maybe he should just do itanyway, and fall to the wet black rocksand churning waves. If the damned FaceDancers needed him so badly, they couldjust grow another ghola, and maybe thatone wouldn't be so flawed. The BaronHarkonnen would be back!

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Gatheringhis remaining shreds of dignity, helooked up to see a pug-nosed FaceDancer staring at him. Though all shape-shifters looked exactly the same to him,he somehow knew this one was Khrone."What do you want?" Officiously, theFace Dancer said, "You and Paolo willdepart Caladan and never return. Thegreat war is proceeding, and theevermind has decided that he needs theKwisatz Haderach close to him.

Omnius wants you to complete the boy'spreparation under his direct supervisionin the heart of the machine empire. Youwill depart for Synchrony as soon as aship is ready."

The Baron flicked his gaze past the FaceDancer to Paolo, who crouched by a

Harkonnen statue, close enough toeavesdrop on the conversation. Hechuckled to himself, for this boy was aspersistent as Piter de Vries! As soon ashe realized he was discovered, Paoloscampered forward. "Is he talking aboutme?"

"Discuss Paolo's destiny with him on theway," Khrone said to the Baron. "Domore than explain it. Make the boybelieve."

"Paolo is inclined to believe anythingthat reinforces his delusions ofgrandeur," the Baron said, ignoring the

boy. "So, this Kwisatz Haderachbusiness is... real?"

Even though the Face Dancers hadfinally explained the truth to him, theidea still

sounded preposterous. He was notconvinced that this young ghola could beso important in the grand scheme ofthings.

Khrone looked ghastly in his blank state.Shadows around his eyes darkened ashis

displeasure became evident. "I believeit, and so does Omnius. Who are you toquestion?"

Believe it, dear Grandfather, said theannoying voice. By his very genes, PaulAtreides has the potential to be greaterthan you will ever be, in any incarnation.

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The Baron refused to reply, either aloudor in his own thoughts. Ignoring the

Abomination often made her shut up.

And now they were going to Synchrony,the home of Omnius. He looked forwardto

seeing the thinking-machine empire.New challenges, new opportunities.

In spite of the sum of his first life'smemories, the stories of the evil thinkingmachines and the Butlerian Jihad weretoo distant to seem relevant. Though heharbored considerable resentmenttoward the Face Dancers, he was glad tobe on the side of greater strength.

Later, during the shuttle ride to orbit, theBaron gazed down at the coastline, the

villages, the new smokestacks and strip-mined areas of Caladan. In hisexcitement, Paolo bustled from windowto window. "Will we have a longjourney?"

"I'm not a pilot. How should I know?The thinking machines must be very faraway,

otherwise humans would have knownabout them long before now."

"What will happen when we get there?"

"Ask a Face Dancer."

"They won't talk to me."

"Then ask Omnius when you see him. Inthe meantime, amuse yourself."

Paolo sat down beside him in thepassenger compartment and begansampling packets

of syrupy packaged food. "I'm special,you know. They've been grooming me,watching over me carefully. Whatexactly is a Kwisatz Haderach,anyway?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of ahand.

"Don't crawl into their delusions, boy.There is no such thing as a KwisatzHaderach. A myth, a legend, somethingwith a hundred vague explanations in asmany prophecies. The

entire Bene Gesserit breeding programis utter nonsense." He recalled fromdeep memories that he had been part ofthat breeding program himself, forced to

impregnate the vile witch Mohiam. Hehad humiliated her during the act, but inretaliation the hag had transmitted thedebilitating disease that had made himbloated and fat...

"It can't be nonsense. I have visions,especially when I take spice tablets. Isee it again and again. I've got a bloodyknife in my hand, and I'm victorious. Isee myself rushing to take my prize–mélange, but more than mélange. I alsosee myself lying on the floor, bleeding todeath. Which one is right? It's soconfusing!"

"Shut up and take a nap."

They docked with an unmarked ship high

above Caladan. It bore no markings ofthe

Guild and carried no Navigator. Widehangar doors opened, drawing the shuttleup and inside.

Silvery figures moved within the cold,airless landing bay, guiding the smallvessel into a docking cradle. Robots–demons from ancient history! Ah, so, atleast part of Khrone's wild tale might betrue.

The Baron smiled at the boy staring outthe windows. "You and I are about toundertake an interesting journey, Paolo."

A sheathed dagger is useless in a fight.

A maula pistol without projectiles

is no more than a club. And a gholawithout his memories is merely flesh.

– Paul Atreides, secret ghola journals

Now that the ghola of Dr. Yueh had hismemories restored, Paul Atreides knewhe had

to attempt more innovative measures toawaken himself. Paul was the oldest ofthe ghola children, the one with(presumably) the greatest potential, butSheeana and the Bene Gesseritobservers had chosen Yueh as a testcase. Unlike the Suk doctor, however,Paul actually wanted his past back. He

longed to remember his life and lovewith Chani, his childhood with DukeLeto and Lady Jessica, his friendshipswith Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho.

But Paul continued to be haunted byprescient memory-visions of his owndouble death.

And he was growing impatient.

How could the passengers aboard theno-ship think there was still time forcaution?

Only a few months ago, they had againnarrowly escaped the Enemy's net,brighter and

stronger than ever before. Of greatconcern, the saboteur still had not beencaught. Though the saboteur had donenothing else as dramatic as the murder ofthe three axlotl tanks and unborn gholas,the danger remained.

Paul knew the Ithaca needed him, and hewas tired of being just a ghola. He hadan idea to attempt, one that was bothdesperate and dangerous, but he didn'thesitate. His real memories hovered likea mirage just beyond the heat-shimmeredhorizon.

With faithful Chani beside him, he stoodoutside the hatch that led into the greatsand-filled hold. He had told no one else

what he intended to do. Over the pasttwo years, security had been tightened asmuch as the Bashar and an eager ThufirHawat could manage, but no oneguarded the entrance to the cargo hold.The seven sandworms were considered

sufficiently dangerous to act as their ownwatchdogs. Only Sheeana could safelygo among the large creatures, and thelast time she had done so, even she hadbeen briefly swallowed up.

Paul gazed at Chani's beautiful elfin faceand her thick, dark red hair. Evenwithout

prior knowledge, without knowing hisdestiny was to be with her, he would

have found the Fremen girl strikinglyattractive. In turn, she ran a methodicaleye over his body, his special new suit,his tools. "You look like a real Fremenwarrior, Usul."

After studying records and working witha fabrication station in the engineeringlevels, Chani had fashioned an authenticstillsuit for him–probably the first onemanufactured in centuries–and providedhim with a rope, maker hooks, andspreaders.

The unusual tools felt oddly familiar inhis grasp. According to legend,Muad'Dib had

summoned a dangerous monster for his

first worm ride. These creatures in thehold, though stunted by their captivity,were still behemoths.

The hatch opened, and he and Chanistepped into the artificial desert. Whenthe flinty

odors and arid heat struck him, he said,"Stay here, where it's safe. I have to dothis alone, or it won't be effective. If Iface the worm and ride it, that may jarmy memories."

Chani did not try to stop him. Sheunderstood the need as well as he did.

He climbed up the first rise, leavingfootprints in the sand, then raised both

hands and shouted, "Shai-Hulud! I havecome for you!" In this confined space, hedid not need a thumper to summon theworms.

A quality in the air changed. He sensed astirring in the shallow dunes and sawseven

serpentlike shapes coming toward him.Instead of running away, he sprintedtoward them,

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selecting a place where he could set uphis approach and mount one. His heartpounded. His throat was dry despite thestillsuit mask covering his mouth andnose.

Paul had reviewed holofilms to studyFremen sandriding techniques.Intellectually he

knew what to do, just as–intellectually–he knew the factual details of his past.But a

theoretical understanding was fardifferent from actual experience. Itoccurred to him now, as he stood smalland vulnerable on the sand, that the mosteffective form of learning was in the

actual doing, which ensured a morethorough comprehension than he couldderive from dusty archives.

I shall learn well, he thought, letting fearwash past him.

The nearest worm surged toward himwith a rushing sound of scattered sand.The sheer

size of the worms grew moreincomprehensible as they approached,cresting the dunes.

Infusing his heart with courage, Paulforced himself to face this challenge. Heheld up his hook and spreader andcrouched for the first leap. The noise of

the monsters' approach was so loud thatat first he did not hear the womanshouting. From the corner of his eye, hesaw Sheeana bounding across the dunes,throwing herself in front of him. Thelargest worm

exploded through the dust and reared up,its gigantic round mouth glittering withcrystalline teeth.

Sheeana held up her hands and shouted,"Stop, Shaitan!"

The worm hesitated, and quested fromside to side with its fleshy head as ifconfused.

"Stop! This one is not for you." She

placed a firm hand on the chest of Paul'sstillsuit and pushed him behind her. "Heis not for you, Monarch."

As if sulking, the largest worm backedaway, keeping its eyeless head turnedtoward

them. "Get back to the hatch, foolishboy," Sheeana hissed at Paul, using justenough Voice to make his legs respondbefore he could think.

Duncan Idaho was also there at thehatchway, glowering. Chani looked bothfearful and

relieved.

Sheeana marched Paul back toward thewaiting observers. "That worm wouldhave

destroyed you!"

"I'm an Atreides. Shouldn't I be able tocontrol them like you can?"

"That isn't a theory I intend to test withyou. You are too important to us. Of allthe gholas, if you foolishly throw yourlife away, what are we to do?"

"But if you protect me too much, you'llnever get what you need. Riding a wormwould have brought my memories back,I'm sure of it."

"You restored Yueh," Chani pointed outto Sheeana. "Why not Usul? He's older."

"Yueh was expendable, and we weren'tsure of what we were doing. We havealready

developed specific plans for awakeningLiet-Kynes and Stilgar, and if wesucceed with them, others may followincluding Thufir Hawat and you, Chani.One day, Paul Atreides will get hischance. But only after we are certain."

"What if we don't have the time?" Paulwalked away from them, brushing sandand dust from his new stillsuit.

***

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Duncan awoke to a loud signal at thedoor to his quarters. His initial thoughtwas that Sheeana had come to him again,despite their mutual reservations. Heslid aside the door, ready for anargument.

Paul stood there wearing a replica of anAtreides military uniform, which evokedinstant respect and loyalty from Duncan.The young man had dressed that way onpurpose.

Right now, the ghola Paul was almostexactly the same age as the original hadbeen

when Arrakeen had fallen to the deviousHarkonnens, when the first Duncan haddied

defending him and his mother.

"Duncan, you say you were my closefriend. You say you knew Paul Atreides.Help me now." Grasping an ornatelycarved ivory hilt, the young man drew ablue-white crystalline dagger from asheath at his waist.

Duncan stared in amazement. "Acrysknife? It looks... Is it real?"

"Chani made it from a worm toothSheeana found in the cargo hold."

In wonder, Duncan touched his fingers tothe blade, noting how tough and sharp itwas.

He drew his thumb along the edge,intentionally cutting himself. He let asingle drop of blood fall onto the milky-white dagger. "According to ancienttradition, a crysknife must never bedrawn unless it tastes blood."

"I know." Paul was clearly troubled ashe took the weapon back and returned itto its sheath. After hesitating, he blurtedout what he had come to say.

"Why won't the Bene Gesserits awakenme, Duncan? You need me. Everyone onthis

no-ship needs me."

"Yes, young Master Paul. We do needyou, but we need you alive."

"You need my abilities, as soon aspossible. I was the Kwisatz Haderach,and this ghola has the same genetics.Imagine how I could help."

"The Kwisatz Haderach..." Duncansighed and sat down on his bed. "TheSisterhood spent centuries creating him,but at the same time they were terrifiedof him. He can

supposedly bridge space and time,seeing the future and the past, placeseven a Reverend Mother dares not look.Through brute force or guile he can forgea union between the most diverse offactions. It's a grab bag of tremendouspowers."

"Whatever those powers are, Duncan, Ineed them. And for that I require mymemories.

Convince Sheeana to try me next."

"She will do what she will do, at a timeof her choosing. You overestimate theinfluence I have among the Sisters."

"But what if the Enemy's net ensnares us

completely? What if the KwisatzHaderach is your only hope?"

"Leto II was a Kwisatz Haderach, aswell, though neither you nor your sonturned out exactly the way the BeneGesserit intended. The Sisters are veryafraid of anyone who

manifests unusual powers." He laughed."After the Scattering, when theSisterhood brought the great DuncanIdaho back, some of them even accusedme of being a Kwisatz Haderach.

They killed eleven of my gholas, eitherby Bene Gesserit heretics or Tleilaxuschemers."

"But why don't they want these powers?I thought–"

"Oh, they want the powers, Paul, butonly under carefully controlledconditions."

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His heart went out to the young man,who looked so lost and desperate.

"I can't do anything without my past,Duncan. Help me retrieve it! You livedthrough part of it with me. You

remember."

"Oh, I remember you very well." Duncanlaced his hands behind his head andleaned back. "I remember yourchristening on Caladan after you werenearly killed by Imperial intrigues as aninfant. I remember how Duke Leto'swhole family was put at risk in the Warof Assassins. I was given the great honorof taking you to safety, and you and Iwent to the wilds of Caladan. We stayedwith your exiled grandmother Helena,and we hid among the Caladanprimitives. That was when you and Ibecame so close. Yes, I remember itvery well."

"I don't," Paul said with a sigh.

Duncan seemed caught in a loop of hispast lives. Caladan... Dune... theHarkonnens...

Alia... Hayt. "Do you know what you'reasking me, about your memories, aboutyour life?

The Tleilaxu created my first ghola as anassassination tool. They manipulated mebecause I was your friend. They knewyou could not turn me away, even thoughyou saw the trap."

"I wouldn't have turned you away,Duncan."

"I had the knife raised against you, readyto strike, but in the last instant, I collidedwith myself. The programmed assassinHayt became the loyal Duncan Idaho.You can't imagine

the agony!" He pointed a stern finger atthe young man. "Restoring your past willrequire a similar crisis."

Paul squared his jaw. "I'm prepared forit. I'm not afraid of pain."

Wrinkling his brow, Duncan said,"You're too content, young Paul, becauseyour Chani grounds you. She makes youstable and happy–and that's a severedrawback. In contrast, look at Yueh. Hefought against remembering with every

fiber of his being, and that's what brokehim. But you... what fulcrum can they useon you, Paul Atreides?"

"We'll just have to find something."

"Are you really ready to accept it?"Duncan leaned forward, offering nomercy. "What if the only way you canhave your past restored is that you mustlose Chani? What if she has to diebleeding in your arms, before you canremember?"

More than anything, I need my father toknow I did not fail. I do not want

him to die thinking I was unworthy ofhis genes.

– The Scytale Ghola, no-ship securityinterview

"It must be built according to precisestandards," insisted the old Tleilaxu. Hisvoice cracked. "Precise standards!"

"I will take care of it, Father." Theghola, only thirteen, tended thedegenerating Master who sat in a stiffarmchair. Old Scytale refused to liedown until a traditional bier for his bodywas built. He intentionally kept hisaustere living quarters locked to keepothers away. He had no desire to beinterrupted or harassed during his dyingdays.

The Tleilaxu Master's organs, joints, and

skin had begun to fail in increasingly

problematic ways. It reminded him ofhow the no-ship itself seemed to bebreaking down, its systems failing as airleaked into space, water wasinexplicably lost, food stores wentmissing.

Some of the more paranoid refugees sawsabotage in every flickering glowpanel,and many turned their suspicious eyestoward the Tleilaxu.

It was another reason for him togrumble. At least he would soon begone.

"I thought you said my bier was already

being built. It cannot be rushed."

The teenager bowed his head. "Do notworry. I am following the strict laws ofthe

Shariat."

"Show it to me, then."

"Your own bier? But that is meant tocarry your body only after you... afteryou..."

Old Scytale glowered with his darkeyes. "Purge those useless emotions!You have

become too involved in this process. It

is shameful."

"Am I not supposed to care about you,Father? I see your pain–"

"Stop calling me Father. Think of me asyourself. Once you become me, I willnot be dead. No need for weeping. Eachof our incarnations is disposable, solong as the memory train continuesuninterrupted."

Young Scytale tried to regain hiscomposure. "You are still a father to me,no matter what memories are buriedinside me. Will I stop feeling theseemotions when my old life is restored?"

"Of course. At that glorious moment you

will understand the truth–and your

obligations."

Scytale grabbed the young man by hisshirt and pulled his face close. "Whereare your memories? What if I were todie tomorrow?"

Old Scytale knew death was imminent,but he had dramatized his infirmity in an

attempt to shock his replacement. Thepremature construction of the bier wasyet another attempt to provoke a crisis. Ifonly the two of them could be back onTleilax, where full immersion in the holytraditions of the Great Belief would beenough to trigger even the most stubborn

of gholas. Here onboard a godless no-ship, the difficulties seemedinsurmountable.

"This should never have taken so long."

"I have failed you."

The rheumy eyes flashed. "You are notonly failing me, you are failing yourpeople. If you do not awaken, our wholerace–our entire history and all theknowledge in my mind–will

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vanish from the universe. Do you want tobe responsible for that? I refuse tobelieve God has turned His back on usentirely. Our fate, lamentably, dependsupon you."

The ghola looked crestfallen, as if anunsupportable weight rested on hisshoulders.

"I am doing all I can to achieve that goal,Father."

He said the word deliberately. "Anduntil I succeed, you must do all you canto remain alive."

He's finally showing a little strength,Scytale thought, bitterly. But it's not

enough.

Days later, the ghola stood by his father'sdeathbed, his own deathbed. He felt as ifhe were having an out-of-bodyexperience, watching his life slip awaymoment by moment. It gave the boy anoddly disconnected feeling.

Since emerging from the axlotl tank,Scytale had loved only one person:himself... both his older self and the selfhe was going to be. The degeneratingman had provided cells from his ownbody, cells that held all his memoriesand experiences, all the knowledge ofthe Tleilaxu.

But he hadn't provided the key to unlock

them. No matter how hard the youngghola

strained, his memories obstinatelyrefused to emerge. He clutched the oldman's hand.

"Not yet, Father. I've tried and tried."

With near-sightless eyes, old Scytaleglared at his counterpart. "Why do you...

disappoint me so?"

Yueh had been restored to his past life,and two other gholas–Stilgar and Liet-Kynes–

were even now being raked over the

mental coals. How could mere witchessucceed where a Tleilaxu Master failed?Bene Gesserits should never have beenso adept at triggering the avalanche ofexperiences. If Scytale could not do it,the Tleilaxu would be relegated to thedustbins of history.

The old man on the bed coughed andwheezed, while the younger leanedclose, tears

trickling down his cheeks. Old Scytalespat blood. His disappointment and utterdespair were palpable.

An insistent signal at the door announcedthe arrival of two Suk doctors. The

bespectacled Rabbi was obviouslyrepulsed by his duties, while young Yuehstill appeared to be shaken by the recentreturn of his memories. Scytale couldsee in their eyes that they both knew theolder Master would perish very soon.

Among the witches there were other Sukpractitioners, but Scytale had insisted onbeing tended only by the Rabbi, and onlywhen absolutely necessary. They wereall unclean

powindah, but at least the Rabbi wasn't adisgusting female. Or, perhaps Scytaleshould choose Wellington Yueh over theold Jew. The old Tleilaxu Master had toaccept certain

medical examinations, if only to keephimself alive until his "son"reawakened.

Scytale lifted his head. "Go away! Weare praying."

"Do you think I like tending to gholas?To filthy Tleilaxu? Do you think I wantto be here? You can both die, for all Icare!"

Yueh, though, moved forward with amedical kit, easing the younger Scytaleaside to

check the dying man's vital signs. BehindYueh the Rabbi squinted through hisspectacles with vulture eyes. "It won't be

long now."

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Such an odd old holy man, young Scytalethought. Even compared to the smells of

disinfectant, medicine, and sickness,he'd always had an odd smell about him.

Sounding compassionate, Yueh said,"There isn't much we can do."

Gasping for air, old Scytale croaked out,"A Tleilaxu Master should not be so

weak and decrepit. It is... unseemly."

His youthful counterpart tried again totrigger the flow of memories, to squeezethem

into his brain by sheer force of will, ashe had attempted to do countless timesbefore. The essential past must be inthere somewhere, buried deep. But hefelt no tickle of possibilities, no glimmerof success.

What if they are not there at all?

What if something had gone terriblywrong? His pulse pounded as the panicbegan to

rise. Not much time. Never enough time.

He tried to cut off the thought. The bodyprovided a wealth of cellular material.

They could create more Scytale gholas,try again and again if necessary. But ifhis own memories had failed toresurface, why should an identical gholahave any better luck without theguidance of the original?

I am the only one who knew the Masterso intimately.

He wanted to shake Yueh, demand toknow how he had managed to rememberhis past.

Tears were in full flow now, falling ontothe old man's hand, but Scytale knewthey

were inadequate. His father's chestspasmed in an almost imperceptibledeath rattle.

The life-support equipment hummedwith more intensity, and the instrumentreadings

fluctuated.

"He's slipped into a coma," Yuehreported.

The Rabbi nodded. Like an executionerannouncing his plans, he said, "Too

weak. He's going to die now."

Scytale's heart sank. "He has given up onme." His father would never know if hesucceeded now; he would perishwondering and worrying. The last greatcalamity in a long line of disasters thathad befallen the Tleilaxu race.

He gripped the old man's hand. So cold,too cold. He felt the life ebbing. I havefailed!

As if felled by a stunner, Scytaledropped to his knees at the bedside. Inhis crashing despair, he knew withabsolute certainly that he could neverresurrect the recalcitrant memories. Notalone.

Lost! Forever lost! Everything thatcomprised the great Tleilaxu race.

He could not bear the magnitude of thisdisaster. The reality of his defeat slicedlike shattered glass into his heart.

Abruptly, the Tleilaxu youth feltsomething changing inside, followed byan explosion

between his temples. He cried out fromthe excruciating pain. At first he thoughthe was dying himself, but instead ofbeing swallowed in blackness, he feltnew thoughts burning like wildfireacross his consciousness. Memoriesstreamed past in a blur, but Scytalelocked onto each one, absorbing it again

and reprocessing it into the synapses ofhis brain. The precious memoriesreturned to where they had alwaysbelonged.

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His father's death had opened thebarriers. At last Scytale retrieved whathe was

supposed to know, the critical data bankof a Tleilaxu Master, all the ancientsecrets of his race.

Instilled with pride and a new sense ofdignity, he rose to his feet. Wiping awaywarm

tears, he looked down at the discardedcopy of himself on the bed. It wasnothing more than a withered husk. Heno longer needed that old man.

These ghola children contain old soulsthat are not unlike the voices in a

Reverend Mother's Other Memory. Thechallenge is to access and exploit

these old souls.

– Ship's log, entry of Duncan Idaho

In the gangly body of a teenager, filledwith the memories of a long life and theshame of things he had done, WellingtonYueh walked with painstaking slowness.Each step brought him closer to themoment he had been dreading. The skinof his brow burned where a

diamond tattoo should have been; atleast he no longer displayed that lie.

Yueh knew that if he ever intended tomake this life different from his error-prone past, he must confront the terriblethings he had done.

Here, thousands of years later and on theother side of the universe, HouseAtreides

lived all around him: Paul Atreides,Lady Jessica, Duncan Idaho, ThufirHawat. At least Duke Leto had not beenresurrected as a ghola. Not yet. Yuehdidn't think he could bear to look into theeyes of the man he had betrayed.

Facing Jessica would be tough enough.

Walking ponderously toward herquarters, Yueh heard voices ahead, achild's giggle and

a woman's rebuke. Suddenly little Aliatoddled out of one doorway and duckedinto another, followed by a scoldingproctor. The two-year-old wasextremely precocious, with a hint of thegenius that the first Alia had been; the

spice saturation in the axlotl tank hadaltered her somewhat, but she didn'tpossess the complete Other Memory ofher predecessor. The proctor followedand sealed the door behind them. Neitherof them had glanced at Yueh.

Alia was the most recent ghola to beborn; the program had been stalled sincethe

horrific murder of the three tanks andunborn children. At least that is onecrime I do not have on my conscience.

But the Bene Gesserits would soonbegin the program again. They werealready

discussing which cells to implant in thenew axlotl tanks. Irulan? EmperorShaddam himself?

Count Fenring... or someone far worse?Yueh shuddered at the thought. He fearedthat

the witches had gone beyond true needand now were just toying with lives,letting their infernal curiosity sidestepall caution.

He paused in front of Jessica's quarters,steeling himself. I will face my fear.

Wasn't that part of the Litany the witchesso often quoted? In their presentincarnations as gholas, Jessica and Yueh

had been close enough to think ofthemselves as friends.

But since becoming Dr. Wellington Yuehagain, everything was different.

Now I have a second chance, he thought.But my road to redemption is long, andthe

incline very steep.

Jessica opened her door at his signal."Oh hello, Wellington. My grandson andI were just reading a holobook aboutPaul's younger years, one of those tomesPrincess Irulan was always writing."She invited him inside, where he sawLeto II sitting cross-legged on the

carpeted floor. Leto was a loner, thoughhe frequently spent time with his"grandmother."

Yueh twitched nervously when sheclosed the door behind them, as if to sealhis doom

and prevent escape. He kept his eyesdown, and after a deep sigh he said, "Iwish to apologize to you, my Lady.Though I know you can never forgiveme."

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Jessica placed an arm on his shoulder."We've been through this. You can't bearthe blame for things that were done solong ago. It wasn't really you."

"Yes it was, because I remember it allnow! We gholas were created for onepurpose, and we must accept theconsequences."

Jessica looked at him impatiently. "Weall know what you did, Wellington. Iaccepted that and forgave you long ago."

"But will you do it again after youremember?

One day those vaults will be opened inyour mind, the terrible old wounds.

We've got to face the guilt ourpredecessors left for us, or we'll beconsumed by things we never did."

"It's uncharted territory for all of us, butI suspect we each have plenty of thingsto atone for." She tried to console him,but he didn't feel he deserved it.

Leto paused the filmbook and looked upwith an eerie intelligence in his eyes."Well, I'm only going to takeresponsibility for what I do in this life."

Jessica reached out to touch Yueh's facegently. "I can't understand what you wentthrough, what you're still going through.I'll know soon enough, I suppose. Butyou should think about what you would

like to be, not what you're afraid ofbeing."

She made it sound so simple, but despitehis best efforts, he had been twistedbefore.

"What if I do something bad in thislifetime, too?"

Jessica's expression hardened. "Then noone can help you."

You think your eyes are open, yet youdo not see.

– Bene Gesserit admonishment

Water crashed against the black reef on

Buzzell, sending up a veil of spray.Mother

Commander Murbella stood with theonce-disgraced Sister at the edge of thecove, watching Phibians frolic in deepwater. The amphibious creatures swamtogether, slick and smooth-skinned,diving under the combers and thenbursting to the surface again.

"They love their new freedom," Corystasaid.

Like dolphins in an ancient Earth sea,Murbella thought, admiring their forms.Human...

and yet dramatically not so.

"I'm more interested in seeing themharvest soostones." She turned her faceinto the salty wind. Gray clouds weregathering, but the air remained warm andhumid.

"Our debts in this war are staggering.Our credit is stretched beyond its limits,and some of our most vital supplierswill accept nothing but hard currency–like soostones."

In the months since leaving Oculiat, theMother Commander had traveled fromplanet to

planet, studying humanity's defenses.Realizing their great peril, local kings,presidents, and warlords provided

independent battleships to add to thenewly constructed Guild vessels beingreleased by the Junction shipyards.Every government and cluster of alliedworlds scrambled to invent or acquirenew armaments to use against the Enemy,but so far nothing had proved effective.The Ixians were still testing theObliterator weapons, which had provedto be more difficult to manufacture thanexpected. Murbella continued to demandmore work, more material andsacrifices. It wouldn't be enough.

And the war continued. Plagues spread.Machine fleets destroyed every human-

inhabited world they encountered. Near

the edge of one of the main combatzones, three more Sheeana surrogatesrallied the people caught between ahammer and an anvil, but to no avail.

So far, since the beginning of Omnius'smarch across space, Murbella could notclaim a single clear victory.

In her bleakest moments the oddsseemed poor and the obstaclesinsurmountable.

Millennia ago, the fighters of theButlerian Jihad had faced anotherimpossible situation, and humankind hadwon only by accepting an appalling cost.They had unleashed countless

atomic weapons that not only destroyedthinking machines, but also trillions ofhuman beings who had been held inslavery. The Pyrrhic victory had left ahorrendous stain on the human soul.

And now, even after that monumentalsacrifice, Omnius was back, like anoxious weed

whose roots had never been destroyed.Gauging the progress of the thinkingmachines, in the next year or two thehuman race would be forced into aclimactic showdown.

Once the Ixian industrialists deliveredtheir long-awaited Obliterators, all thecollected militaries from planet after

planet would draw a line in space. Asfar as she was concerned, thatopportunity could not come soon enough.

"Our soostone shipments have increasedevery month for the past two years." Asshe spoke, Corysta did not remove hergaze from the frolicking aquaticcreatures. "The Phibians are moreproductive, now that the HonoredMatres have stopped torturing them. Andthey

never used to play like that before. Theyconsider the seas of Buzzell their homeinstead of their prison."

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Corysta, a former Breeding Motherexiled here for the crime of trying tokeep her own

baby, had become a stalwart monitor ofsoostone harvests. She oversaw thegrading, cleaning, and packaging of thepearlescent gems, which were deliveredregularly to CHOAM

intermediaries.

"Even so, we need more soostones."

"I'll speak with the Phibians, Mother

Commander. I'll explain that our need isgreat, that the Enemy draws near. Forme, they might work harder." Corysta'ssmile was strangely unreadable. "I'll askit as a favor."

"And that will work?"

The other Sister shrugged. The Phibiansleapt high into the air and dove back intothe

water, while Corysta waved to them,laughing. They seemed to know she waswatching them.

Sunlight glinted on the water. Were thesePhibians putting on a specialperformance?

Quite suddenly, something large andserpentine emerged from the depths nearthe

splashing creatures. An eyeless headrose above the waves, its round mouthflashing

crystalline teeth. The head questedaround, fin-edged gill flaps sensingvibrations, like a sea serpent fromancient legends.

Murbella caught her breath. To heramazement it resembled a sand-wormfrom Rakis,

though only about ten meters long–andwith adaptations that enabled it to live in

the water.

Impossible! A seaworm?

Corysta ran frantically down the rocksand waded into the surf. The Phibianshad

already seen the monster and tried toswim away. The worm darted towardthem, spray

glistening from its greenish rings.

Two more of the long, sinuous monstersappeared from the deep water andcircled

around the Phibians. The aquatic people

clustered in a defensive formation; onemale with a scar on his forehead drew awide, flat-bladed knife used for scoringcholisters on the ocean floor. The otherPhibians brandished their own weapons,which were laughable against a seaserpent.

Knee-deep in waves, Corysta slipped onthe algae-slick rocks. Murbella ran afterher,

fixated on what she saw in the water."What are those creatures?"

"Monsters! I have never seen thembefore."

The scarred male Phibian emitted a loud

vibrating sound and slapped one webbedhand

on the water with a sharp crack. Theclustered Phibians bolted like a startledschool of fish, several divingunderwater, others swimming brisklyacross the waves.

Though they had no eyes, the swimmingworms knew where the Phibians were.With a

blur and a flick of long serpentinebodies, they pursued the aquaticworkers, driving them toward the rockyshore.

Murbella and Corysta watched the

largest worm lunge and grab one of thePhibians,

scooping him down into the wet gullet.The other worms attacked like a groupof frenzied sharks.

Murbella waded out to grab Corysta'sshoulder, preventing her from swimmingfarther

into the churning water. They were bothhelpless to prevent the violence. "MySea Child,"

Corysta moaned.

The seaworms thrashed and splashed asthey fed. Bloody waves lapped against

Murbella's legs, and she dragged thesobbing Corysta back to shore.

A planet is not merely an item for study.Rather it is a tool, perhaps even a

weapon, with which we can make ourmark on the galaxy.

– Liet-Kynes, the original

Now that Stilgar and Liet had their gholamemories back, they had become the no-ship's

experts on extreme recycling, making themost of their reduced resources. TheIthaca's life-support systems had beendesigned by geniuses out in the

Scattering, descendants of those who hadsurvived the horrific Famine Times. Thehighly efficient technology could servepassengers and crew for long periods,even in the face of the increasingpopulation. But not in the face ofdeliberate sabotage.

Tall and lean, with the body of a youthand the aged eyes of a naib, Stilgarlooked ready to embark on a desertjourney. He and Liet-Kynes had beenbound at first by common

interests and more recently by theirawakened pasts. Liet refused to talkabout the crisis through which Sheeanahad broken him–it was a matter too

private even for close friends.

For himself, Stilgar couldn't forget whatthe witches had done to him. To the very

depths of his being he was a desert manof Arrakis. Watched over by ProctorSuperior Garimi, he had read of hishistory as a young commando against theHarkonnens, later as naib, and then as asupporter of Muad'Dib. But to trigger hisghola memories, the Sisters had tried todrown him.

At a water-filled recycling reservoir,Sheeana and Garimi had tied weightsaround his

ankles. Stilgar fought, but the witches

were more than a match for him. "Whathave I done?

Why are you doing this to me?"

"Find your past," Sheeana said, "or die."

"Without your memories you are useless,and better off drowned," Garimi said.They dumped him into the pool.

Unable to free himself from the weightson his ankles, Stilgar had quickly sunk.

He had struggled mightily, but the waterwas everywhere, more oppressive thanthe

thickest dust cloud. Trying desperately to

peer upward, he made out only the vaguewavering shapes of the two women upthere. Neither lifted a hand to help him.

His lungs screamed, and blacknessclosed in around his eyesight. Stilgarthrashed

violently and grew weaker everysecond. He was starving for breath. Hewanted to cry out–

needed to–but there was no air.

Exhaled bubbles roared out of his openmouth. When it was more thanunbearable, he

inhaled a huge gulp into his lungs,

flooding his air passages. He couldn'tsee any way out of the tank–andsuddenly it was no longer a tank, but awide, deep river, which he realized wason one of the planets where he hadfought in Muad'Dib's jihad. He hadmarched with a

regiment of Caladan soldiers and theyhad needed to ford the river. The waterhad been deeper than anyone anticipated,and all of them went under. Hiscompanions, who had been born

swimming, thought nothing of it, evenlaughed as they made their way to shore.But Stilgar was dragged beneath thesurface. He reached up, clutching for air.

He had inhaled water then, too, andnearly drowned.

Finally, Sheeana dragged Stilgar out ofthe tank and pumped his lungs. Adisapproving

Suk doctor scolded her and Garimi asshe revived the young ghola. They rolledhim over, and he vomited up sourmouthfuls of water. He was barely ableto rise to his knees.

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When he turned his glare on Sheeana, hewas more than an eleven-year-old boy.He was

Naib Stilgar.

Later, when he saw Liet restored aswell, Stilgar was afraid to ask whatterrible ordeal his friend had beenforced to endure...

Now the two headed for the great hold tosee the sandworms, as they had donemany

times before. The high observationchamber was one of their favoriteplaces, especially now.

The tremendous worms called up strongand atavistic feelings in them.

As they approached, Stilgar breathed inthe comforting scent of warm, dry airwith the

distinct odors of worms and cinnamon.He smiled briefly in a passing nostalgia,before his face creased in a frown. "Ishould not be smelling that."

Liet picked up his pace. "Thatenvironment has to be carefullycontrolled. If the seals are leaking, thenmoisture could penetrate the hold." Yetanother breakdown, after so manyothers!

Rushing into the equipment chamber,they found young Thufir Hawatsupervising repair

operations. Two Bene Gesserit Sistersand Levi, one of the refugee Jews,worked to install sheets of replacementplaz. They applied thick sealants aroundthe windows high above the sand-filledcargo hold. Thufir was scowling.

Stilgar strode forward, his demeanorintimidating. The task of monitoring the

sandworms and the recycling systemswas generally reserved for himself andLiet. "Why are you here, Hawat?"

Thufir showed surprise at the coldly

accusatory tone of the Fremen's voice."Someone poured acid on the seals. Thecorrosive destroyed not only the sealant,but part of the plaz and the wallplates aswell."

"We patched it in time," said Levi. "Wealso found a timed device that wouldhave emptied one of our waterreservoirs into the hold, flooding it."

Stilgar trembled with rage. "That wouldhave killed the worms!"

"I checked those systems myself, onlytwo days ago," Liet said. "This is nosimple breakdown."

"No," Thufir agreed. "Our saboteur is at

work again."

While Stilgar ran his gaze suspiciouslyover the gathered people, Liet hurried tothe

instrument consoles to check the desertenvironment. "There appears to be nopermanent damage. The readings arestill within the creatures' tolerancerange. Scrubbers should bring the airback to desired levels in short order."

Stilgar took special care to inspect thenew seals, found them adequate.

He and Liet exchanged looks that saidthey had to be suspicious of everyoneonboard.

Except for each other, Stilgar decided.

Long ago, when he and Liet had firstknown each other, the two had sharedmany

adventures fighting the nefariousHarkonnens. Like his father, Liet had leda double life, delivering grand dreams tothe desert people while acting asImperial Planetologist and Judge of theChange. Liet was also the father ofChani. While the Fremen girl's ghola didnot remember him yet, he rememberedher, and he looked at Chani with astrange, age-worn love.

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Bothered by the acrid odors of acid andsealant, Stilgar turned grimly away fromthe

observation window. "From now on, Isleep here. I will not let Shai-Hulud die,not while I still breathe."

"I'm working with the Bashar. Theremust be some kind of a trail, so we onlyneed to find it. The corrosive wasacquired from secure stores, so theremay be fingerprints or genetic traces."Thufir's lips were not stained red withsapho, his skin not grizzled, his eyes not

weary with age and experiences, as inthe famous old portraits. "Perhaps theimagers captured the saboteur sneakingto the observation deck. Once I catchhim, we can all rest more easily."

"No," Stilgar said. "Even then, I wouldnot let my guard down."

In a sudden resurgence, the maddeningsabotage continued in myriad ways andat

random points around the huge ship,setting everyone's nerves on edge. TheBene Gesserits remained vigilant andwary, while the Rabbi preached to agrowing number of followers

about spies and murderers lurking amongthem.

Duncan studied the readings, ranprojections. Again, he wondered if oneor more of the

Face Dancer Handlers might still beaboard, having escaped the wreckage ofa crashed ship.

Where else could the saboteur behiding? After years of searching, Duncanand Teg had run out of ideas. How couldthis enemy elude surveillance imagers,Truthsayer interrogations, and vigoroussearches? In a few suspicious incidents,a blurry form could be seen moving inrestricted areas, but even enhancement

could not sharpen the facial features torecognizability.

The saboteur seemed to know exactlywhere and when to strike. An endlesssuccession

of little breakdowns and smallaccidents, each taking its toll, ran theship's company to exhaustion.

One time, imagers detected whatappeared to be a man as he movedfurtively down a

corridor near a bank of oxygen-scrubberunits and air-circulating machines.Dressed in dark clothing and a tight-fitting hood that covered most of his

face, he carried a long silver knife and apry bar, and his body leaned forwardagainst the heavy air flow. Then, likeliquid flowing around a corner, the manslipped into the central recirculationchamber, where great fans blasted airthrough a system of arteries in the no-ship, pushing it through thick curtains ofmatted fibers coated with biogels toremove impurities.

With sudden fury, the unidentifiablesaboteur slashed and hacked at theporous filter

mats, ripping them from their frames anddestroying their ability to purify air.

After completing this mayhem, the

saboteur turned to flee. Not a singleframe of the

imagers showed the face; it wasn't evenabsolutely clear whether the hoodedvandal was male or female. By the timesecurity personnel rushed into the area,the saboteur had vanished into thehowling, recirculated wind.

Duncan did not need to whisper theobvious answer. Face Dancer.

He studied all records of the kamikazeships from the Handlers, noting wherethey had

crashed into the hull and how the bodiesaboard had been confirmed dead and

disposed of.

One of the shape-shifting Handlers musthave crawled out of the flamingwreckage.

Even worse, there might be more thanone.

***

The air smelled moist and foul, likeseaweed and sewage. Duncan stood onthe mist-

slickened catwalk above one of thelargest algae tanks. The entire vat wasdying. Poisoned.

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Standing next to him, gripping thecatwalk rail with a white-knuckled hand,Teg

frowned at the chemical analysesdisplayed on his datapad. "Heavymetals, potent toxins, a list of deadlychemicals that even this stuff can'tdigest." He pulled up a dripping handfulof the once-fecund green substance. Thegoop was brownish now, breakingdown.

"The saboteur is trying to destroy ourfood supply," Duncan said.

"Our air, too."

"To what end? To kill us, it appears."

"Or simply to make us helpless."

Duncan glared at the vat, feeling angryand violated. "Get work crews to drainand scrub the tank. Decontaminate asquickly as possible. Then harvest startermaterial from other tanks to fertilize thebiomass. We've got to stabilize it beforesomething else goes wrong."

***

Duncan was alone on the navigationbridge when the next disaster occurred.Over the

years the passengers had learned toignore the faint vibrations of the no-ship's movement.

Now, though, an abrupt lurch and anobvious deflection in course nearlythrew him out of his chair.

He called for Teg and Thufir, thenscrambled over the controls, scanningempty space

around them. He feared they might haverun into a piece of space debris or somegravitational anomaly. But he found no

evidence of impact, no obstacles in theirvicinity. The Ithaca was obviouslyyawing, and he struggled to steady itusing the numerous smaller engines

distributed around the hull. This slowedthe spinning of the ship, but did notentirely stop it.

As the immense vessel continued to turn,he saw a glittering silver path like ascarf of mist, spewing from the stern.One of the no-ship's three primary waterreservoirs had been dumped–intentionally. The great swath of waterhad been ejected with enough force topush the Ithaca off course. Theevacuated water shifted the ship's ballast

and sent them into a spin.

The loss of angular momentum madetheir situation worsen as more and morewater

poured away, like a comet's tail behindthem. The ship's reserves!

Working feverishly at the controls,Duncan overrode the reservoir hatch,praying all the while that the mysterioussaboteur had merely opened the door tospace, rather than using one of thedeadly mines locked away in the armory.

Teg burst onto the navigation bridge justas Duncan managed to close the cargodoors

and reestablish containment. The Basharbent over the screens, his young butseasoned face creased in concern. "Thatwas enough water to supply us for ayear!" His gray-eyed gaze flitted aroundnervously.

Pacing the deck, Duncan stared out at themisty veil of dispersed water. "We can

retrieve some of it. Scoop it up as ice,and when I fully stabilize our spin–"

But as he looked at the smear of lostwater spreading out against the starrybackdrop, he saw other lines appear,sparkling multicolored threads drawingtogether and enclosing the no-ship like aspider's web. The Enemy's net! Again it

was bright enough for Teg to see it, too.

"Damn it! Not now!"

Lunging into the pilot's seat, Duncanactivated the Holtzman engines. Withone or more

saboteurs aboard, the enginesthemselves could have been rigged toexplode, but he had no choice. He forcedthe enigmatic machines to fold spacewell before he could think about whatcourse to take. The no-ship, stillspinning, lurched off to another place.

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They survived.

Afterward, Duncan looked at Teg andsighed. "We couldn't have retrievedmuch of the expelled water anyway."

Even the ship's sophisticated recyclershad their limits, and now the actions ofthe

saboteur had driven them–intentionally–toward an inescapable conclusion.

After many years of constant flight, theno-ship's provisions had to bereplenished as

soon as an acceptable planet could belocated. Not an easy task in a hugegalaxy,

encompassing vast distances. They hadfound nothing suitable in years. Notsince the planet of the Handlers.

But Duncan knew that would not be theironly problem. When they found a place,they

would be forced to expose themselves–again.

Synchrony is more than a machine,more than a metropolis; it is an

extension of the evermind itself. It

constantly shifts and morphs into

different configurations. At first Ibelieved this effect was for defense, but

there seems to be another force atwork, a surprising creative spark.These

machines are exceedingly odd.

– Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, the ghola

The metropolis before them wasbeautiful in an industrial and metallicway: sharp

angles, smooth curves, and a great dealof energy as structures moved and

flashed like a perfectly tuned machine.Angular buildings and windowlesstowers covered every square

meter of ground. The Baron saw nooffensive greenery, no gaudy flowers orlandscaping, not a leaf, blossom, orblade of grass.

Synchrony was a bustling symbol ofproductivity–along with concomitantprofits and

political power, if thinking machinesever figured out how to pay attention tosuch things.

Maybe Vladimir Harkonnen would showOmnius how it was done.

After the long journey from Caladan, theBaron and Paolo rode a tram to theshifting

center of the machine city. The Atreidesghola peered out through the curvedwindows, his eyes wide and hungry.They were crowded in the tram with anescort of eight Face Dancers.

The Baron had never understood howthe shape-shifters were connected withOmnius and the new SynchronizedEmpire. The elevated car shot along anunseen charge path high above theground, whizzing like a bullet betweenthe perpetually shifting buildings.

As they went deeper into the city, huge

edifices moved up, down, and sidewayslike

pistons, threatening to crush the streakingtram. When the half-alive buildingsswayed like robotic seaweed, he noticedthat the Face Dancers inside the trammoved in unison, wearing placid smileson their cadaverous faces, as if theywere part of a choreographedpresentation.

Like a needle threading a complex mazeof holes, the tram sped toward animmense

spire that rose out of the center of thecity like a spike thrust up from thenetherworld.

Finally, the car came to a clicking stopin a spectacular central square.

Anxious to see, Paolo squirmed andpushed his way out the door. Even withuncertainty

and fear gnawing at his gut, the Baronmarveled at the numerous fires burningat specific geometric points around thespire, each with a human tied to a stake,martyr-fashion.

Obviously, in their conquest of worldafter world, the thinking-machine fleethad taken experimental subjects. Hefound the extravagance breathtaking.These machines certainly showed a lotof potential and even uncanny

imagination.

He thought of the huge thinking-machinefleet out in space, as it methodicallyplowed

deeper into human-settled territory.From what Khrone had explained, whenthe machines

finally obtained a pet Kwisatz Haderach,Omnius believed he would be fulfillingthe terms of the mechanical prophecy,making it impossible to fail. The Baronfound it amusing how the thinkingmachines viewed everything as anabsolute. After fifteen thousand years,they should know better.

Paolo had let himself be caught up in amegalomaniacal whirlwind. The Baron'sjob was

to feed those delusions, always keepingin mind that he was in a dangeroussituation himself and needed to keep hiswits and focus. Unsure whether personalglory or ignominious death lay ahead,the Baron was repeatedly reminded thathe was merely a catalyst for Paolo.

Secondary importance indeed!

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Emerging from the back of his mind,Alia interrupted him, insisting that themachines

would discard him when he had fulfilledhis purpose. When he sputteredinternally in protest, she screeched overhim: You're going to get us killed,Grandfather! Think back to your firstlife–you weren't always such a gulliblefool!

The Baron shook his head briskly,wishing he could get her out of his mind.Maybe his

Alia tormentor was the result of a tumorpressing upon a cognitive center of hisbrain. The malignant little Abomination

was deeply entrenched in his skull.Maybe a robot surgeon

could cut her out...

The Face Dancers led him and his youngward across a platform and down a setof stairs

to the square. Giddy, Paolo ran aheadand did a brief dance of joy. "Is this allmine? Where is my throne room?" Helooked back at the Baron. "Don't worry–I'll find a place for you in my court. Youhave been good to me." Was that a scrapof leftover Atreides honor? The Baronscowled.

The Face Dancers nudged the Baron into

a lift tube, while allowing Paolo to enter

unassisted. Instead of climbing to theapex of the tower as the Baron expected,however, the lift plunged in free falltoward the bowels of hell. Swallowingthe impulse to scream, he said,

"If you're really the Kwisatz Haderach,Paolo, perhaps you should learn to useyour powers...

immediately."

The boy shrugged dumbly, showing littlerecognition of the peril they were in.

As soon as the lift settled to a smoothstop, the walls melted away around them

to reveal an immense, undergroundchamber. Here, as outside, nothingremained stationary.

Rotating walls and a clearplaz floor leftthe Baron dizzy and disoriented, as if thetwo humans stood in a vault of space.

A mist rose and congealed in the shapeof a large man, a faceless, ghostlikefigure.

The foggy form, nearly twice the heightof a grown man, stopped in front of themand

moved its arms to make a swirl of icyair that smelled of metal and oil. Withinthe

countenance, two glowing eyes becameapparent. From a misty mouth, a deepvoice said, "So, this is our KwisatzHaderach."

Paolo lifted his chin and recited what theBaron had told him, with considerablepassion.

"I'll be the one who can see all placesand all things simultaneously, the onewho will lead the multitudes. I am theshortening of the way, the rescuer, themessiah, the one spoken of in countlesslegends."

Words flowed from the fog. "You have acharismatic presence that I findfascinating.

Humans exhibit an irresistiblecompulsion to follow physicallyattractive, charming leaders.

Properly harnessed, you could be aneffective and destructive tool for us."The fog creature laughed, swirling thecold wind around him. Then hisotherworldly eyes riveted on the Baron.

"You will see that the boy cooperates."

"Yes, of course. Are you Omnius?"

"I speak for the evermind." Thefogginess shifted as the mist flowed intoitself and resolved into the gleamingmetallic shape of a polished robot withan exaggerated but

menacing smile molded onto his face."For the sake of convenience, I callmyself Erasmus."

The walls of the chamber shifted like akaleidoscope to reveal hundreds ofangular

combat robots stationed around theperimeter like strange beetles. Theirmetal eyes glittered in the same hostilefashion.

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"Perhaps I will question you now. Orlater? Indecision is a very human thing,you know.

We have all the time in the world." Thesmile on the robot's platinum face hadlocked into place. "I so love yourclichés."

Twenty-Three Years After Escapefrom Chapterhouse

Even with a Navigator's incrediblemental advancement, I cannot forget

the fundamental thread that ties us tothe rest of humanity: the old emotion

of hope.

– Navigator Edrik, unacknowledgedmessage to the Oracle of Time

The four specialized Guild craft wereshaped like hornets, sleek sensor-studded ships

that skimmed low over the waves ofBuzzell. Scan eyes pointed down at thewater, searching for movement. From thelead ship Waff peered through the spray-specked plaz windows,

hoping to catch a glimpse of seaworms.The Tleilaxu's excitement andanticipation were

palpable. Worms were down theresomewhere. Growing.

He had released the creatures just over ayear ago, and judging from the flurry ofrumors the Guild had picked up, theseaworms must have thrived. None ofthe Bene Gesserit witches on the rockyislands understood where the serpentinecreatures had come from. Now, Waffthought with a thrill, it was time to reapthe harvest he had sown. He couldn'twait to see them, to know that he hadaccomplished his holy mission.

The sky was overcast, with patches offog lying low over the sea. At regularintervals, the scanning crews droppedsonic pulsers into the water. Thethrobbing signals would map themovements of large underwater

denizens, and theoretically attract theseaworms just as

Fremen thumpers had once attracted thehuge monsters on old Rakis. Near Waffin the

cockpit, five silent Guildsmen monitoredthe equipment while separate, smallerhunting

platforms circled lower, keeping pacewith the hornets. Periodically theplatforms went back to check the pointswhere the pulsers had been dropped.

The leviathans of the deep from theancient scriptures were more than justGod's

judgment on powindah unbelievers. Thiswas the return of the Prophet, God'sMessenger

resurrected from the ashes of Rakis, inan adaptive new form.

The initial sightings of the beasts hadoccurred within six months. At first thetales told by the amphibious soostoneharvesters had been met with disbelief,until the seaworms

attacked in full view of islandsettlements. According to eyewitnessaccounts–and Bene

Gesserits were well trained in accurateobservation–the monstrous things had

grown far larger than Waff hadpredicted. Truly, a sign from God thathis work was blessed!

So long as they were fed, the wormscontinued to grow and multiply.Seaworms

apparently preferred to eat the largecholisters that produced soostones,tearing into beds tended by Phibians.The aquatic people had rallied to driveaway the sea monsters, but they hadfailed.

Waff smiled. Of course they had failed.One could not change a path that Godhad laid

down.

The angry witches had led huntingparties, taking boats out onto the waters,guided by

vengeful Phibians. They beggedChapterhouse for weapons to kill theseaworms.

But with Enemy forces attackinghundreds of fringe worlds, and theindustries of

Junction and Ix consuming most of theNew Sisterhood's resources, they werestretched far too thin.

The Bene Gesserits needed soostone

wealth to build and replenish theirarmies faster

than the Enemy could destroy them, but ifthe seaworms produced what Waffhoped, the

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creatures would be worth far more thanany gem. Soon, there would be multiplesources of spice, including a new andmore potent form. Waff could transplantthe creatures to any ocean planet, wherethey could thrive without reconfiguring

an entire ecosystem. Considering theircurrent monopoly on mélange, thatwould not make the Sisterhood happy.

The pilot circled the lead hornet ship.Guild assistants stared fixedly atmonitors.

"Picking up shadows at various depths.Numerous tracks. We are close."

Waff moved eagerly to the other side ofthe craft and stared down at the choppywaves.

Pulse beacons continued to emit sirensongs, and hunting platforms flittedalongside.

"Be ready to move as soon as you detecta worm. I want to see one. Let me knowwhen you have a sighting."

Down in the water, he noticed two slick-skinned Phibians, who seemed curiousabout

the pulse beacons and the flurry ofactivity. One raised a webbed hand in anincomprehensible signal as the hornetships and hunting platforms streakedoverhead.

"Seaworm surfacing," announced one ofthe Guildsmen. "Target acquired."

The little Tleilaxu rushed forward to thecockpit. Below, a long, dark shape

appeared in the water, breaching like agreat whale. "We must capture and killit. That is the only way to see what'sinside."

"Yes," said the Guildsman. Waffnarrowed his eyes, never able tounderstand these people. Was the managreeing with him, or simplyacknowledging the orders? This time hedidn't care.

Waff glanced at the projected map,noting that their search had taken them toone of the inhabited rocky islands. Oncehe verified the success of the newworms, there would be no need tocontinue keeping secrets. The witches

could do nothing about the seaworms,nor what they produced. They could notstop his work. Today, after his teamcaptured a specimen and confirmed theresults of his experiments, the truthwould be obvious.

We will show the witches what liesbeneath the waves, and let them drawtheir own

conclusions.

The lead hornet craft slowed, its enginesbuzzing. The moment the seawormemerged

from the waves, ringed and glistening,Waff's hunters fired a fusillade of

supersonic harpoons from their hoveringplatforms. The barbed tips hit the beastbefore it could realize its danger andsubmerge. Spear points caught in the softrings, anchoring themselves as the worm

thrashed and writhed. Waff felt joy, aswell as a twinge of sympathetic pain.From behind the lead craft, three otherhornet ships shot more harpoons into thetrapped creature, pulling back onhyperfilament cables.

"Don't damage it too much!" Waffintended to kill the thing anyway–anecessary sacrifice in the name of theProphet–but if the carcass and internalorgans were too mangled, his dissection

would be more difficult.

The group of hornet craft went intohover mode above the waves, theircables taut and

straining as the seaworm thrashed. Milkyfluid oozed into the water, dissipatingbefore the Tleilaxu researcher couldorder one of the Guildsmen to collectsamples.

Other seaworms circled their strugglingbrother like hungry sharks.

The worm was twenty meters long–atremendous rate of growth for such ashort time.

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He was impressed. If the creatures werereproducing as rapidly as they weregrowing,

the oceans of Buzzell would soon beteeming with them! He couldn't ask formore.

The wounded beast quickly tired.Engines humming with the strain, theGuild vessels

began to drag the feebly struggling worm

toward the nearest reef, which wasbarely visible in the wispy fog banks.The small hunting platforms returned tothe hornet ships, docking inside theircramped cargo holds.

The island was one of the mainSisterhood outposts for soostoneprocessing, complete

with barracks, warehouses, and aflattened spaceport capable of handlingsmall ships.

Let the witches see this!

Flying in formation, the hornet shipstowed the captive worm to shore. In thewater

below, at least twenty Phibians appearedcarrying crude spears and tridents–as ifthey thought they could pose a threat tothe giant creatures! Shouting curses andthreats, the Phibians attacked the tangledworm, stabbing and cutting.

Annoyed at the interference, Waff turnedto his Guildsmen. "Drive them away!"Using small cannons mounted on thedeck of the lead hornet ship, Guildsmentook potshots at the Phibians, killingtwo. The others dove underwater. Atfirst they left the bloody corpses bobbingin the waves, but a number of thePhibians returned moments later. Whenthey

attempted to retrieve their fallencomrades, a second sea-worm streakedin and devoured the bodies.

The droning hum of the hornet shipsattracted a crowd of women on thedocks as the

sluggish prize was dragged into thevillage harbor. Dark-clad Sisters lefttheir barracks, perhaps thinking thatsmugglers or CHOAM representativeshad arrived. From the recent

depredations of the seaworms, mostsoostone operations had stalled. Sortingbins and

packaging lines were silent and

unmanned.

His chest swelled with pride, Waffjumped down from the ramp onto themetal and

stone wharf as the Guildsmen hoisted theringed creature onto the main dock. Itsnarrow tail drooped into the water.Exhausted from its struggles and oozingfluids from the harpoon wounds, thecaptive worm thrashed one more time,expending the last of its energy. ThoughWaff and his servants had conquered andsubdued the worm, he still feltimpressed to be so close to themagnificent creature.

Seven curious Phibians floated by the

dock pilings, staring upward. In theirbubbling, hissing voices, they mumbledin awe.

Waff stood triumphantly before the large,dripping thing. Slime trickled from thedead

seaworm onto the dock, and a gush ofmilky-gray fluid flowed from its mouth.

The long sharp teeth were very fine, likeneedles. Rather than reeking of fish, the

seaworm had a distinct sharp-sweetodor with a hint of pungent cinnamon.Perfect!

Women came forward to confront Waff.

"We've never captured and killed aseaworm

before," said a Sister in a brown dresswho introduced herself as Corysta. Sheseemed delighted to see the leviathandead. "They have caused great havoc inthe seas."

"And they will continue to do so. Learnto adapt your operations." Waffperfunctorily turned from her to issueinstructions to his crew, then toldCorysta and the other Bene Gesserits tostay back. "We are on strict Guildbusiness. Do not attempt to interfere."

Though dead, the seaworm twitched asnerve impulses continued to fire. Waff

ordered

the Guildsmen to lash down the carcass,so that he could dissect it withoutinterruption.

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The Guild assistants brought him alascutter, a superfine shigawire saw,spreaders, and shovels.

Setting the lascutter to full power andholding it in both hands, Waff sweptsideways in a broad arc and sliced the

seaworm open, so that the round,dripping segments flopped apart.

Guildsmen hurried forward withspreaders to pull open the wound andexpose the internal structure. Waffreveled in the gore. The Prophet must beso pleased with him.

In preparation, he had already killed andautopsied two of the original smallspecimens in his laboratory, so he knewthe creatures' basic arrangement oforgans. The worm was a biologicallysimple creature, and working on thislarger scale made the process easier.Water and slime oozed onto the dock,splattering Waff. Under other

circumstances he might have beendisgusted, but this was the sacredessence of his Prophet. The Tleilaxuman sniffed more deeply, and there–adefinite undertone to the smell–he caughtthe vital, pungent aroma of puremélange. No doubt about it.

Waff buried his arms up to his shouldersin the organs, feeling around, identifying

specific structures by their shapes andtextures. Guild assistants used widescoops to shovel offal onto the dock.Witches and Phibians watched infascination, but Waff paid little

attention to them.

Ignoring the obviously confused andimpotent Sisters, he laser-cut deeper intothe

worm, sliced along its length andrummaged through the stinking debris,until finally a large bluish-purple lumpof soft liverlike material spilled out.Waff stepped back for a breath, thenleaned closer, poking and prodding withhis fingers. He made a cut with thelasknife at its lowest setting.

A rich oily-cinnamon odor boiled out, sothick it could be seen as fumes. Waffreeled

dizzily. The intensity of the mélangenearly bowled him over. "Spice! The

creature is saturated with mélange!Extremely concentrated spice."

The Sisters looked at each other andcame closer with curious expressions."Spice? The seaworms produce spice?"

The Guildsmen stood close to Waff andhis dripping prize, blocking the BeneGesserits.

"The seaworms destroyed our soostonebeds!" another woman shouted.

Waff stared them down. "These creaturesmay have destroyed one economy onBuzzell, but they created an even moreimportant one." His assistants picked upthe large, mélange-saturated organ and

carried it back to the nearest hornet ship.Waff would have to test the substancethoroughly, but he already felt confidentin what he would find.

Up in the orbiting Heighliner, Edrik theNavigator would be pleased.

Dripping with slime and seawater, Waffhurried back to the ship.

Some see spice as a blessing, others asa curse. To everyone, however, it is

a necessity.

– Planetologist Pardot Kynes, OriginalArrakis Notebooks

After her long and exhausting journeyacross the Old Empire, from the planets

preparing for battle, to the Guildshipyards, to the soostone operations onBuzzell, Mother Commander Murbellareturned to Chapterhouse with reneweddetermination. Since she had

been gone for many months, her quartersin the Keep now looked like a stranger'srooms.

Harried acolytes and male workersscurried to unload her belongings fromher ship.

After a polite knock on the door, anacolyte stepped in. The young woman

had short

brown hair and a furtive smile. "MotherCommander, Archives sent theseupdated charts.

They were supposed to be waiting foryou upon your arrival." She held out thinmaps with finely detailed lines, thendrew back, startled, when she noticedthe hulking combat robot, deactivatedbut still standing in the corner of theroom like a war trophy.

"Thank you. Don't mind the machine–it isas dead as they will all soon be."Murbella took the reports from the girl'shands. With a second glance, sherealized the young woman was her own

daughter Gianne, her last child withDuncan Idaho. Another daughter,Tanidia, also raised by the NewSisterhood, had been shipped off towork among the Missionaria.

Do Gianne or Tanidia even know whotheir parents are?

Years ago she had made the choice totell Janess of her parentage, and theyoung

woman had thrown herself into the studyand understanding of her famous father.But

Murbella had let her other two daughtersbe raised among the Bene Gesserit in the

more

traditional way. She doubted they knewhow special they were.

Gianne seemed hesitant, as if hoping theMother Commander would ask her for

something else. Though she knew theanswer, on impulse Murbella asked,"How old are you, Gianne?"

The girl seemed startled that she knewher name. "Why, twenty-three, Mother

Commander."

"And you have not yet undergone theAgony." It was not a question.

Occasionally, the Mother Commanderhad been tempted to use her position tointerfere with the girl's training, but hadnot done so. A Bene Gesserit was notsupposed to show such weakness.

The young woman seemed ashamed."The proctors suggest that I wouldbenefit from

more focus and concentration."

"Then devote yourself to that. We needevery Reverend Mother we can find."She glanced at the ominous combatrobot. "The war has worsened."

***

Murbella realized she could not rest,could not waste the time. She demandedto see her

advisors, Kiria, Janess, Laera, andAccadia. The women arrived, expectinga meeting, but Murbella herded them outof the Keep. "Prepare a 'thopter. Weleave immediately for the desert belt."

Carrying a stack of reports, Laera didnot react well to the news. "But Mother

Commander, you've been gone so long.Many documents await your attention.You have to

make decisions, give proper–"

"I decide the priorities."

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98

Kiria, looking scornful, bit her wordsback when she noted the MotherCommander's

complete seriousness. They all crowdedaboard an empty ornithopter, then waitedfor the tedious takeoff preparations.Murbella wouldn't sit still for a moment."If I don't get a pilot, I'll fly this damnedthing myself."

A young male pilot was quickly broughtto her.

As the 'thopter took off, she finallyturned to her advisors and explained,"The Guild demands an exorbitantpayment for all the warships we haveunder construction.

Ix already accepts payments only inmélange, and now that soostones fromBuzzell are

no longer economically viable,everything hinges on spice. That is ouronly coin significant enough to appeasethe Guild."

"Appease them?" Kiria snapped. "What

madness is this? We should conquerthem and force them to produce theweapons and vessels we need. Are wethe only ones who

understand the threat? Thinking machinesare coming!"

Janess was astonished by the otherwoman's suggestion. "Attacking theGuild would

create open civil warfare at a time whenwe can least afford it."

"Do we have enough resources to spendon these ships?" asked Laera. "Ourcredit has already been strained past itslimits with the Guild Bank."

"We all face a common enemy," oldAccadia said. "Surely, the Guild and Ixwould be willing–"

Murbella clenched her hands. "This hasnothing to do with altruism or greed.Despite the best intentions, resourcesand raw materials do not appear likerainbows after a storm.

Populations must be fed, ships must befueled, energy must be produced andexpended.

Money is only a symbol, but economicsis the engine that drives the wholemachine. The

piper must be paid."

The 'thopter raced across the sky,buffeted by dry winds and blown dustlong before

they saw the desert. Murbella gazed outthe curved window, sure that dunes hadnot extended this far across the continentthe last time she'd visited the desert. Itwas a spreading antiflood, total drynesssweeping outward in waves. At the heartof the desert, the worms grew andreproduced, keeping the cycle going in aperpetually increasing spiral.

The Mother Commander turned to thewoman behind her. "Laera, I require acomplete

assessment of our spice-harvesting

operations. I need to know numbers.How many long tons of mélange do wegather? How much do we have in ourstockpiles, and how much is

available for export?"

"We produce enough to meet our needs,Mother Commander. Our investmentcontinues

to go into expanding the operations, butour expenditures have increaseddramatically."

Kiria muttered a bitter comment aboutthe Ixians and their endless bills.

"We may need to bring in outside

workers," Janess pointed out. "Theseobstacles can be overcome."

The 'thopter swooped toward a chimney-plume of dust and sand thrown up by a

harvester.

Around it, like wolves circling awounded animal, several sandwormsapproached the

vibrations. Already the operations werebeginning to wrap up, with minersrushing and

carryalls hovering to snatch the heavymachinery away as soon as wormsventured too close.

Frank Herbert

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Murbella said, "Squeeze the desert,wring out every gram of spice."

"Beast Rabban was given the same tasklong ago, during the days of Muad'Dib,"said Accadia. "And he failed in aspectacular fashion."

"Rabban did not have the Sisterhoodbehind him." She could see Laera,Janess, and Kiria all making silentmental calculations. How many workerscould be diverted to the desert zone?

How many off-planet prospectors andtreasure hunters could they allow on

Chapterhouse? And how much spicewould be enough to keep Guild and Ixianengineers

producing the desperately needed shipsand weapons?

The male pilot, having been silent untilnow, said, "While we are out here,Mother Commander, shall I take you toour desert research station? Theplanetology crew is studying thesandworm cycle, the spread of desert,and the parameters necessary for themost effective spice harvest."

" 'Understanding is required beforesuccess is possible,'" Laera said,quoting directly from the old OrangeCatholic Bible.

"Yes, let me inspect this station.Research is necessary, but in times likethese it must be practical research. Wehave no time for frivolous studiesconcocted by the whim of an

offworld scientist."

The pilot banked the 'thopter andaccelerated far out into the open desert.On the

horizon, a lumpy, black ridge showed areef of buried rock, a safe bastion where

worms could not go.

Shakkad Station had been named afterShakkad the Wise, a ruler from daysbefore the

Butlerian Jihad. Nearly lost in the mistsof legend, Shakkad's chemist had beenthe first man in history to recognize thegeriatric properties of mélange. Now,far from Chapterhouse Keep or anyoutside interference, a group of fiftyscientists, Sisters, and their support stafflived and worked. They set up weather-testing devices, traveled out onto thedunes to measure chemical changesduring spice blows and monitor thegrowth and movement of sandworms.

When the 'thopter settled onto a flat cliffoutcropping that served as a makeshiftlanding pad, a group of scientists cameout to meet them. Dusty and windblown,a survey team was just returning from theedges of the desert where they had setout sampling poles and weather-testinginstruments. They wore stillsuits, exactreproductions of those once used by theFremen.

A majority of the scientists at ShakkadStation were men, and several of theolder ones had made brief expeditions tocharred Rakis itself. Three decades hadpassed since the

ecological destruction of the desert

planet, and by now few experts couldclaim firsthand knowledge of thesandworms or original conditions onDune.

"How may we assist you, MotherCommander?" asked the station manager,an

offworlder who pushed dusty protectivegoggles up onto his forehead. The man'sowlish eyes had already begun to turn afaint blue. Spice had been in his dietevery day since his arrival at theoutpost. His body gave off an unpleasantsour odor, as if he had taken hisassignment in the waterless belt withparticular seriousness, even to the point

of foregoing regular bathing.

"Assist us by getting more mélange,"Murbella answered bluntly. "Do yourteams have everything they need?" Laeraasked. "Do you require additionalsupplies or workers?"

"No, no. We just want solitude and thefreedom to work. Oh, and time."

"I can give you the first two. But time isa commodity none of us has."

We can conquer our enemy, of course,but is it worthwhile to achieve

victory without understanding the flawsof our opponent? Such an analysis

is the most interesting part.

– Erasmus, Laboratory Notebooks

The machine-based cathedral onSynchrony was a mere manifestation ofwhat the rest

of the galaxy might become. Omnius waspleased at the progress the thinking-machine fleet had made in the past fewyears, conquering one system afteranother, but Erasmus knew that so muchmore remained to do.

The voice of Omnius boomed muchlouder than necessary, as he sometimesliked to do.

"The New Sisterhood offers thestrongest resistance to us, but I knowhow to defeat them. Scouts have verifiedthe secret location of Chapterhouse, andI have already dispatched plague probesthere. Those women will soon beextinct." Omnius sounded quite bored."Shall I display the map of star systems,so you know just how many we haveencountered and

conquered? Not a single failure."

Displays jabbed into Erasmus's mind,regardless of whether he wanted to seethem or

not. In bygone days the independentrobot had been able to decide what he

wanted to

download from the evermind, and whathe didn't. Increasingly, however, Omniushad found ways to override the robot'sdecision-making abilities, forcing datainto his internal systems, sliding it pastmultiple firewalls.

"Those are mere symbolic victories,"Erasmus said, intentionally shifting tohis disguise of the wrinkled old womanin gardening clothes. "I am pleased thatwe have made it to the edge of the OldEmpire, but we still have not won thiswar. I have spent millennia studyingthese stubborn, resourceful humans. Donot assume victory until we actually

have it in our hands. Remember whathappened last time."

Omnius's snort of disbelief echoedthrough the entire city of Synchrony. "Weare by definition better than flawedhumanity." From a thousand watcheyes,he looked down upon Erasmus and hismatronly disguise. "Why do you persistin wearing that embarrassing shape?

It makes you look weak."

"My physical body does not determinemy strength. My mind makes me what Iam."

"I am not interested in your mind either. Isimply wish to win this war. I must win.

I need to win. Where is the no-ship?Where is my Kwisatz Haderach?"

"You sound as demanding as BaronHarkonnen. Are you unconsciouslyimitating him?"

"You gave me the mathematicalprojections, Erasmus. Where is thesuperhuman?

Answer me."

The robot chuckled. "You already havePaolo."

"Your prophecy also guaranteed aKwisatz Haderach aboard the no-ship. Iwant both

versions redundancy to assure victory.And I do not want the humans to haveone. I must control them both."

"We will find the no-ship. We alreadyknow there are many intriguing thingsaboard, including a Tleilaxu Master. Hemay be the only one left alive, and Iwould very much like to speak withhim–as would you. The Master needs tosee how all those Face Dancers have

shaped us, built us, so that we couldbecome closer to gods. Closer thanhumans, at any rate."

"We will keep sending out our net. Andwe will find that ship."

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101

All around the city, in a dramaticstatement of the evermind's impatience,towering

buildings collapsed, full metal structuresfell in upon themselves. Hearing thethundering sounds and feeling the floorshake beneath him, the independent robotwas not impressed.

Too many times he had witnessed suchoverblown theatrics. Omnius certainlyenjoyed

running the show, for better and often forworse, though Erasmus continually triedto control the evermind's excesses. Thefuture depended on it–the future thatErasmus had ordained.

He dug through the projections that he'ddigested from trillions of datapoints. Allof his results were colored to fitprecisely the prophecies he hadformulated himself.

Omnius believed them all. The gullibleevermind relied too much on filtered

information, and the robot played himwell.

Given the proper parameters, Erasmus

was absolutely certain the millenniaahead would

turn out properly.

Those who see do not alwaysunderstand. Those who claim tounderstand

can be the blindest of all.

– The Oracle of Time

What remained of Norma Cenva'sancient corporeal form was confinedinside a

chamber that had been built andmodified around her during thousands of

years. But her mind knew no physicalboundaries. She was only tenuouslyconnected to flesh, a biological

generator of pure thought. The Oracle ofTime.

Her mental links to the fabric of theuniverse gave her the ability to travelanywhere

along infinite possibilities. She couldsee the future and the past, but notalways with perfect clarity. Her brainwas such that she could touch the Infiniteand almost–almost–comprehend it.

Her nemesis, the evermind, had laiddown a vast electronic network

throughout the

fabric of space, a complex tachyon roadmap that most people could not see.Omnius used it as a net to sift for hisprey, but so far he had not managed tosnare the no-ship.

Long ago, Norma had created theprecursor to the Guild as a means offighting the

thinking machines. Since that time, theGuild had taken on a life of its own,growing away from her while shestretched herself farther into the cosmos.Politics between planets, powerstruggles between the Navigator factionand the human Administrators,

monopolies on

valuable commodities such as soostones,Ixian technologies, or mélange–suchproblems did not concern her.

Keeping watch over mankind requiredan investment of her mental currency.She felt

the turmoil in civilization, knew thegreat schism in the Guild. She wouldhave chastised the Administrators forcreating such a crisis, if she could onlyremember how to speak to such smallpeople. Norma found it exhausting totalk in simple enough terms to makeherself

comprehensible even to her advancedNavigators. She had to make themunderstand the true Enemy, so that theycould shoulder the burden of fighting.

If the Oracle of Time did not attend togrander priorities, no one else would.No one else in the universe couldpossibly do it. With her prescience, shegrasped what was most

important: Find the lost no-ship.

The final Kwisatz Haderach wasaboard, and Kralizec's black cloud hadalready

released its torrents. But Omnius wassearching for the same thing and might

get to it first.

She had felt the recent struggles betweenthe Bene Gesserits and the HonoredMatres.

Before that she had witnessed theoriginal Scattering and Famine Times, aswell as the

extended life and traumatic death of theGod Emperor. But all of those eventswere little more than background noise.

Find the no-ship.

As she had always foreseen and feared,the unrelenting foe had come back. Nomatter

what guise the thinking machines nowwore, regardless of how much they hadchanged, the Enemy was still the Enemy.

And Kralizec is well under way.

While her prescience flowed outwardand inward, ripples of time eddiedaround her,

making accurate predictions difficult.She encountered a vortex, a random,powerful factor that could change theoutcome in uncounted ways: a KwisatzHaderach, a person as

anomalous as Norma Cenva herself, awildcard variable.

Frank Herbert

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103

Omnius wanted to guide and control thatspecial human. The ever-mind and hisFace

Dancers had sought the no-ship foryears, but so far Duncan Idaho hadeluded capture.

Even the Oracle had been unable to findhim again.

Norma had done her best to thwart theEnemy every step of the way. She had

saved the

no-ship, hoping to protect the peopleonboard, but she had lost contactafterward. Something on the ship wasmore effective than a no-field at blindingher search. She could only hope thethinking machines were as blind.

The Oracle's search continued, herthoughts reeling out in delicate probes.Alas, the

vessel simply was not there.

In some mysterious manner, thepassengers hid it from her... assuming ithad not been

destroyed.

Though her prescience was not clear,Norma realized that time was growingshorter and

shorter, for everyone. The crux point hadto occur soon. Thus, she needed togather her allies.

The foolish Administrators hadreconfigured many of their great ships,installing artificial controls–like thinkingmachines!–so that she could no longercall upon them through her paranormalmeans. But she could still command athousand of her loyal Navigators. She

would make them ready for battle, the

final battle.

As soon as she found the no-ship...

The Oracle of Time expanded her mind,casting her thoughts into the void like a

fisherman, until the neural ache wasincredible. She pushed harder than ever,stretching her boundaries beyondanything she had previously attempted.No price of pain could be too

great. She knew full well theconsequences of failure.

All around her, a vast clock ticked.

There must be a place where we can

find a home, where we can be safe

and rest. The Bene Gesserit sent out somany Sisters on their own

Scattering before the Honored Matrescame. Are they all lost, as well!

– Sheeana, confidential no-ship journals

Flying ever onward, the Ithaca reeledfrom the recent spate of damage. And thesaboteur continued to elude them. Whatmore can we do to track him down?

Even Duncan's most thorough Mentatprojections offered no new suggestions.

Miles Teg and Thufir Hawat once again

dispatched teams to inspect, and evenransack,

the quarters of all passengers, hoping tofind incriminating evidence. The Rabbiand his people complained aboutpurported violations of their privacy, butSheeana demanded their fullcooperation. To the extent possible, Teghad been closing down sections of theimmense vessel with electronicbarricades, but the clever saboteur wasable to get through anyway.

Assuming no further incidents, with thelife-support, air-recirculation, and food-growth systems crippled, the passengerscould not last more than a few months

without stopping somewhere toreplenish the stores. But it had beenyears since they had found anothersuitable world.

Duncan wondered: Is someone trying todestroy us... or drive us to a particularplace?

With no starmaps or reliable guidance,he tried to use his uncanny prescienceone more

time. Another big gamble. Activating theHoltzman engines and closing his eyes,Duncan

folded space again, spinning the cosmicroulette wheel–And the no-ship

emerged, intact but still lost, at theperimeter of a star system.

A yellow sun with a necklace of worlds,including a terrestrial planet that orbitedat the appropriate distance to supportlife. Possibly habitable, certainly withoxygen and water that the Ithaca couldtake aboard. A chance...

Others had gathered on the navigationbridge by the time the no-shipapproached the

uncharted world. Sheeana got down tobusiness. "What do we have here?Breathable air?

Food? A place to live?"

Gazing through the observation window,Duncan was pleased at what he saw."The

instruments say yes. I suggest we send ateam immediately."

"Resupply is not good enough," Garimisaid, her tone gruff. "It never was. Weshould consider remaining here, if this isthe kind of world we've been lookingfor."

"We considered that at the planet of theHandlers, too," Sheeana said.

"If the saboteur drove us here, we needto be very cautious," Duncan said. "Iknow it was a random foldspace jump,

but I'm still troubled. Our pursuers cast awide net. I would not be quick todismiss the possibility that this place isa trap."

"Or our salvation," Garimi suggested.

"We'll have to see for ourselves," Tegsaid. Working with the bridge controls,he displayed high-resolution images onthe wide screens. "Plentiful oxygen andvegetation, especially at the higherlatitudes away from the equator. Clearsigns of habitation, small villages,midsized cities, mostly far to the north.Large-scale meteorological scans showthat the climate is in upheaval." Hepointed to storm patterns, swaths of

dying forests and plains, large lakes andinland seas shriveling into dust bowls.

"Very few clouds in the equatoriallatitudes. Minimal atmosphericmoisture."

Frank Herbert

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105

Stilgar and Liet-Kynes, alwaysfascinated with new worlds, joined thegroup on the high deck. Kynes drew aquick breath. "It's turning into awasteland down there. An artificialdesert!"

"I've seen this before." Sheeana studieda clear brown band like a knife slashacross what had apparently been a lushlyforested continent. "It's likeChapterhouse."

"Could this be one of Odrade's seedplanets?" Stuka asked, from her usualposition at Garimi's side. "Did theybring sandtrout here and disperse them?Will we find our Sisters down on thatplanet?"

"Untainted Sisters," Garimi said with agleam in her eyes.

"Quite possibly," Sheeana said. "We'llhave to go down there. This looks likemore than a place to replenish our

resources."

"A new colony." Stuka's excitement wasinfectious. "This could be the worldwe've been looking for, a site toreestablish Chapterhouse. A new Dune!"

Duncan nodded. "We cannot pass up anopportunity like this. My instinctsbrought us here for a reason."

Are we the last ones left alive? What ifthe Enemy has destroyed the rest of

mankind by now, back in the OldEmpire... back with Murbella? In that

case, it is imperative that we establishas many colonies as possible.

– Duncan Idaho, no-ship logs

Keeping themselves hidden from theplanet's inhabitants, several teams ofefficient

Bene Gesserits launched a major effortto restock the no-ship with necessary air,water, and chemicals. They sent outmining ships, air scoops, water-purification tankers. That was theIthaca's immediate priority.

Stilgar and Liet-Kynes insisted on goingdown to inspect the growing desertband.

Seeing the passion on the faces of thetwo awakened gholas, neither Teg nor

Duncan

could deny the request. Everyone wasguardedly optimistic about finding awelcoming

landscape here, and Sheeana wonderedif this might be a place where she couldrelease her seven captive sandworms.Although Duncan could not leave theveiling of the no-ship,

because then he would be exposed to theEnemy searchers, he had no cause toprevent the others from finding a home atlast. Perhaps this would be it.

Bashar Teg piloted the lighter down tothe surface himself, accompanied by

Sheeana

and an eager Stuka, who had longwanted to establish a new Bene Gesseritcenter, rather than just drift aimlessly inspace. Garimi had let her staunchsupporter make the first foray, while sheformulated plans with herultraconservative Sisters aboard the no-ship. Stilgar and Liet were most eagerjust to set foot on the desert–a realdesert with open skies and endlesssands.

Teg flew directly toward the ravagedarid zone, where an ecological battlewas taking

place. If this was indeed one of Odrade's

seed planets, the Bashar knew howvoracious

sandtrout would seal away a planet'swater, drop by drop. Environmentalchecks and balances would fight backwith shifting weather patterns; animalswould migrate to still-untouchedregions; stranded plant life wouldstruggle to adapt, and mostly fail.Reproducing sandtrout could act muchfaster than a world could adapt.

Sheeana and Stuka stared through thelighter's plaz viewing windows, seeingthe

spreading desert as a success, a triumphof Odrade's Scattering. To the

exquisitely prudent Bene Gesserit, eventhe ruin of an entire ecosystem was an"acceptable casualty" if it created a newDune.

"The change is happening so swiftly,"Liet-Kynes said, his voice tinged withawe.

"Surely, Shai-Hulud is already here,"Stilgar added.

Stuka echoed words that Garimi hadsaid time and again. "This world will bea new

Chapterhouse. The hardships will meannothing to us."

With the detailed information in theirarchives, the people aboard the Ithacahad all the expertise they needed toestablish a new place to live. Yes, acolony.

Teg rather liked the sound of the word,because it represented the hope of abetter

future.

Teg knew, however, that Duncan couldnever stop running, unless he chose toface the

Enemy directly. The mysterious old manand woman were still after him withtheir sinister net, or after something on

the no-ship, maybe the vessel itself.

The lighter descended with a rough roarthrough the china-blue sky. In the middleof the abrupt desert band, dunesstretched as far as he could see. Sunlightreflected from the sands

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

107

into bone-dry air, and thermal currentsjostled the ship from side to side. Tegwrestled with the guidance systems.

In the back, Stilgar chuckled. "Just like

riding a sandworm."

Cruising over the middle of the wideningdesert belt, Liet-Kynes pointed at arusty-red splash that marked an eruptionfrom beneath the surface. "Spice blow!No mistaking the color or pattern." Hegave a wry smile to his friend Stilgar. "Idied on one of those. Damn theHarkonnens for leaving me to die!"

Mounds rippled and stirred the top layerof sand, but they did not emerge intoopen air.

"If those are worms, they are smallerthan the ones in our hold," Stilgar said.

"But still impressive," Liet added.

"They have had less time to mature,"Sheeana pointed out. "Mother SuperiorOdrade did not send volunteers on herScattering until after the desertificationof Chapterhouse was well under way.And we do not know how long thewandering Sisters took to get here."

Below, obvious lines marked the rapidexpansion of the sandy wasteland, likeripples on a pond. At the fringes weredie-off perimeters, places where allvegetation had perished and the dirt hadbecome blowing dust. The encroachingdesert had created ghost forests and

inundated villages.

Flying low, searching with uneasy

anticipation, Teg discovered half-buriedrooftops, the pinnacles of once proudbuildings drowned under the spreadingdesert. In one shocking

glimpse, he saw a high dock and part ofa capsized boat that sat atop a blisteringdune.

"I look forward to seeing our BeneGesserit Sisters." Stuka sounded eager."Obviously they succeeded here in theirmission."

"I expect they will welcome us,"Sheeana admitted.

After seeing the city drowned in sand,Teg did not think the original inhabitants

of this planet would have appreciatedwhat the refugee Sisters had done.

As the lighter followed the northern edgeof the desert, the scanners picked outsmall

huts and tents erected just beyond thesand's reach. Teg wondered how oftenthe nomadic villages were required tomove. If the arid zone expanded asrapidly as it had on

Chapterhouse, this world would belosing thousands of acres every day–andaccelerating as sandtrout continued tosteal precious water.

"Set down at one of those settlements,

Bashar," Sheeana said to him. "Any ofour lost Sisters could be here on theedge of the dunes to monitor theprogress."

"I long to feel real sand under my bootsagain," Stilgar muttered.

"It's all so fascinating," Liet said.

As Teg circled above one of the nomadicvillages, people ran out and pointed upat

them. Sheeana and Stuka pressedexcitedly against the plaz windows,searching for distinctive dark BeneGesserit robes, but they saw none.

A formation of rocks towered over thevillage, a bulwark offering shelteragainst

blowing sand and dust. People, waving,stood atop the pinnacles, but Teg couldnot determine if the gestures werefriendly or threatening.

"See, they cover their heads and faceswith cloths and filters," Liet said. "Theincreased aridity forces them to adapt. Inorder to live here on the edge of the drydunes, they are already learning toconserve bodily moisture."

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"We could teach them how to make realstillsuits," Stilgar said with a smile. "Ithas been a long time since I wore adecent one. I spent a dozen years aboardthat ship, drowning my lungs withmoisture. I can't wait to taste dry airagain!"

Teg found an open landing area andbrought the lighter down. He feltunaccountably

troubled as the natives scurried towardthem. "Those are obviously nomadiccamps. Why wouldn't they move inland,to where the climate is morehospitable?"

"People adapt," Sheeana said.

"But why would they have to? Yes, thedesert belt is growing, but there are stillplenty of wide forests, even cities not farfrom here. Those people could outrunthe spreading dunes for generations tocome. Yet they stubbornly remain here."

Before the hatch opened to let in a breathof parched air, the nomads encircled thecraft.

Sheeana and Stuka, both wearingtraditional dark robes fromChapterhouse so that their

refugee Sisters would recognize them,boldly led the way. Teg followed with

Stilgar and Liet.

"We are Bene Gesserit," Sheeana calledto the people in universal Galach. "Areany of our Sisters among you?"Shielding her eyes against the brightness,she searched the few weathered femalefaces she saw, but got no response.

"Perhaps another village would be best,"Teg suggested in a whisper. His tacticalsenses were alert. "Not yet."

An elderly man drew closer, pushing afilter mask away from his face. "You askfor Bene Gesserits? Here on Qelso?"Though coarse, his accent wasunderstandable. Despite his age, heappeared to be healthy and energetic.

Taking the lead, Stuka stepped ahead ofSheeana. "The ones who wore blackrobes, like ours. Where are they?"

"All dead." The old man's eyes flashed.

Stuka's suspicion came too late. Movinglike a striking snake, the man hurled ahidden

knife from his sleeve, with deadlyaccuracy. At an unseen signal the rest ofthe throng rushed forward.

Stuka plucked clumsily at the blade thatprotruded from her chest but could notmake

her fingers work. Crumpling to her

knees, she tumbled sideways off thelighter's ramp.

Sheeana was already moving, retreating.Teg shouted for Liet and Stilgar to getback

inside the ship as he drew one of the stunweapons he had brought from the no-ship's armory.

A large rock struck Stilgar in the head,and Liet helped his young friend, tryingto drag him back into the lighter. Tegfired a swath of silvery energy, makingpart of the dusty mob collapse, but moreknives and stones clattered at them.

Frenzied people rushed the ramp from

all sides, jumping at Teg. Many handsgrabbed

his wrist before he could fire again, andsomeone ripped the stunner out of hisgrip.

More took hold of Liet by the shoulders,pulling him away. Sheeana fought with a

whirlwind of blows from her repertoireof Bene Gesserit fighting techniques.Soon a crowd of fallen attackers layaround her. With a roar, Teg prepared tolurch into his hyperacceleratedmetabolism, with which he could easilydodge blows and weapons, but a silverybeam from his own stunner gushed outlike tinkling rain, dropping the Bashar,

and then Sheeana.

***

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In short order the villagers bound thehands of their four prisoners with strongcords.

Though badly beaten, Teg regainedconsciousness and saw that Liet andStilgar were tied together. Stuka's bodylay near the ramp while the attackersransacked the lighter for

equipment and hauled things off.

A group of men lifted Stuka's body. Theold man retrieved his knife, yanking itfrom the dead woman's chest and wipingit on her robe with an expression ofrevulsion.

He glowered at the corpse and spat, thenmarched toward the prisoners. Lookingat the

three young men, he shook his head indisapproval. "I did not introduce myself.You may call me Var."

Defiantly, Sheeana glared up at him."Why have you done this to us? You saidyou

knew of the Bene Gesserit order."

Var's face contorted, as if he had hopedto avoid speaking to her. He leanedclose to

Sheeana. "Yes, we know the BeneGesserit. They came here years ago anddelivered their demon creatures to ourworld. An experiment, they said. Anexperiment? Look what they did to ourbeautiful land! It is becoming nothingmore than useless sand."

He held his knife, considered Sheeanafor a long moment, then sheathed it."When we finally realized what thosewomen were doing, we killed them all,but too late. Our planet is dying now,

and we will fight to protect what's left ofit."

The first law of commercial viability isto recognize a need and meet it.

When acceptable needs do not presentthemselves, a good businessman

creates them in any way possible.

– CHOAM primary commercialdirective

When yet another Navigator died in histank, few of the Spacing Guild'sAdministrators

mourned the loss. The giant Heighliner

was simply brought back to the Junctionshipyards to be refit with one of theIxian mathematical compilers. It wasconsidered progress.

After long years of practice, Khroneeasily concealed his pleasure at thesight.

So far every aspect of the wide-reachingplan had proceeded as expected, onedomino

falling after another. Posing in hisfamiliar disguise as an Ixian inspectionengineer, the leader of the Face Dancermyriad waited on a high, copper-flooredplatform. He observed the

clamorous shipyards, while warmbreezes and industrial fumes driftedaround him.

Nearby, the human administrator RentelGorus was not quite as proficient atcovering

his satisfaction. He blinked his milkyeyes and looked up toward the pilotingbay of the ancient, decommissioned ship."Ardrae was one of the oldest remainingNavigators in our commercial fleet.Even with his spice supplies drasticallycut, he clung to life much longer than weexpected."

A plump CHOAM representative said,"Navigators! Now that these drains on

our

resources are disappearing one by one,Guild profits should increasesignificantly."

Without prompting from his master, theMentat assistant recited, "Knowing thelifetime of that Navigator, andconsidering the quantities of mélangerequired to institute his initial mutationand conversion, I have calculated thetotal amount of spice consumed duringhis service to the Guild. With fluctuatingprices based on the relative glut duringthe Tleilaxu years and recentskyrocketing costs due to severeshortages, the Guild could have bought

three full-sized Heighliners, completewith no-field capabilities, for the samecost in spice."

The CHOAM man muttered in disgust,while Khrone remained silent. He foundit most

effective simply to listen and observe.Humans could be counted on to drawtheir own

conclusions (often erroneous ones) solong as they were pointed in the properdirection.

Savoring his secrets, Khrone thought ofthe numerous ambassadors the Guild hadsent

to the front, attempting to negotiatenonaggression treaties with the thinkingmachines, hoping to declare themselvesneutral for the survival of the Guild. Butmany of those emissaries had beenKhrone's Face Dancer plants, whointentionally achieved no success.

Others–the human ones–never returnedfrom the encounters.

With Richese conveniently obliteratedby rebel Honored Matres (secretlyguided by

Khrone's Face Dancers), humans had nochoice but to turn to Ix and the Guild inorder to obtain the technological itemsthey required. The Junction shipyards

had always been

immense complexes for constructinghuge interstellar ships.

Murbella's defensive fleet was growingwith remarkable speed, but Khroneknew that

even these efforts would not be veryeffective against the sheer size andscope of Omnius's military, which hadbeen thousands of years in the making.The fabrication facilities of Ix (alsocontrolled by Face Dancers) were stilldelaying the development andmodification of the Obliterator weaponsupon which the Sisterhood's defenserelied.

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And since every new Guildship wascontrolled by an Ixian mathematicalcompiler

rather than a Navigator, the MotherCommander and her allies would havemany surprises in store.

"We will build more ships to make upfor the obsolescence of the Navigators,"

Administrator Gorus promised. "Ourcontract with the New Sisterhood seems

infinite. We have never had so muchbusiness."

"And yet interplanetary trade is downdrastically." The CHOAMrepresentative nodded to both Khroneand Gorus. "How is the Sisterhood topay for these expensive ships andarmaments?"

"They have met their obligations with anincreased flow of mélange," Gorus said.

Khrone finally nudged the conversationwhere he wished it to go. "Why notaccept

payment in horses or petroleum or someother outdated and useless substance? If

your

Navigators are dying and your shipsfunction perfectly well with Ixianmathematical

compilers, the Guild no longer needsmélange. What good is it to you?"

"Indeed, its value is greatly diminished.Over the past quarter century, followingthe destruction of Rakis, the Tleilaxuworlds, and so much more, those whocould afford spice recreationally havedwindled to a tiny number." TheCHOAM representative glanced at hisMentat, who nodded in agreement."Chapterhouse might have a monopolyon mélange, but by their very iron grip,

by decreasing the amount of spiceavailable for popular consumption, theyhave strangled their own market. Fewpeople really need it anymore. Now thatthey have learned to live without spice,will they be so keen to reacquire theiraddictions?"

"Probably," Gorus said. "You need onlydrop the price, and we'd have astampede of customers."

"The witches still control Buzzell," theMentat pointed out. "They have otherways to pay."

The CHOAM man disdainfully raisedhis eyebrows. He made very expressivenoises

without words. "Luxury items duringwar? Not a good economic investment."

"Providing soostones is no longer easyfor them either," Gorus pointed out,"since sea monsters are destroying theshell beds and attacking theirharvesters."

Khrone listened intently. His own spieshad brought back disturbing, butintriguing,

reports about strange happenings onBuzzell, and a possible secret Navigatorproject centered there. He had demandedmore information.

Khrone watched while jawlike

machinery on a large crane pried openthe pilot's bay on

the gigantic decommissioned Heighliner.Heavy suspensor lifters strained andgroaned as they pulled out theNavigator's thick-walled plaz tank.During the slow, clumsy extraction, thetank caught on the edge of the hole in theHeighliner's structure. A hull plate brokeoff and spun downward, striking the sideof the Heighliner and ricocheting with ashower of sparks, then tumbling until itfinally slammed into the ground farbelow.

Wisps of orange spice gas escaped fromthe Navigator's chamber, stray exhaust

vapors

leaking into the atmosphere. Only adecade or so ago, such a quantity ofwasted spice gas would have beenenough to buy an Imperial palace. Nowthe CHOAM representative and

Administrator Gorus watched itdissipate without comment. Gorus spokeinto a tiny

microphone at his collar. "Deposit thetank in front of us. I wish to stare at it."

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The crane raised the thick-walledchamber, swung it away from the hulk ofthe

Heighliner, and brought it over to theobservation platform. Suspensorslowered the container gently to thecopper-floored deck, where it settledwith a distressingly heavy thump.

Spice gas continued to vent from thechink in the thick plaz.

The mélange vapors smelled strangelyflat and metallic, telling Khrone that the

Navigator had inhaled and exhaled them

until very little spice potency remained.At a curt direction from the milky-eyedAdministrator, silent Guild workersunsealed a cap on the tank, causing theremainder of the spice to blast out in adeath rattle.

As the polluting gas drained, the murkyclouds swirled and thinned, revealing a

silhouetted form slumped inside. Khronehad seen Navigators before, of course,but this one was flaccid, gray-skinned,and very dead. The bulbous head andsmall eyes, webbed hands, softamphibious-looking skin gave the thingthe appearance of a large, misshapenfetus.

Ardrae had died days earlier, starved formélange. Though the Guild now hadplenty of spice in their stockpiles,Administrator Gorus had cut off theNavigators' supplies some time ago.

"Behold, a dead Navigator. A sight fewwill ever see again."

"How many still survive among yourGuildships?" Khrone asked.

Gorus seemed evasive. "Among theships still in our inventory, only thirteenNavigators remain alive. We are on adeath watch for them."

"What do you mean the ships 'still inyour inventory'?" the CHOAM man

asked.

Gorus hesitated, then admitted, "Therewere some still flown by Navigators,vessels that we had not yet managed toequip with mathematical compilers.They have... how shall I say this? Overthe past few months they havedisappeared."

"Disappeared? How many Heighliners?Each ship is hugely expensive!"

"I do not have precise numbers."

The CHOAM man had a hard voice."Give us your best estimate."

"Five hundred, perhaps a thousand."

"A thousand?"

At his side, the Mentat held his silence,but he appeared as upset and startled asthe

CHOAM representative.

Trying to demonstrate control over thesituation, Gorus said in an almostdismissive

tone, "When starved for spice, theNavigators grow desperate. It's notsurprising that they take irrationalaction."

Khrone himself was concerned, but hedidn't show it. These disappearances

sounded

like a widespread conspiracy involvinga Navigator faction, something he hadnot expected.

"Do you have any idea where they mighthave gone?"

The Guild Administrator feignednonchalance. "It doesn't matter. Theywill run out of spice and die. Look atthese shipyards and see how manyvessels we are creating every day.

Before long, we'll make up for the lossof those outdated ships and obsoleteNavigators. Have no fear. After so manyyears of bondage to a single substance,

the Guild is making a good businessdecision."

"Thanks to your partners from Ix,"Khrone pointed out.

"Yes, thanks to Ix."

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Following a lull, the noise of theshipyards became very loud. Welderswent to work,

and heavy machinery lifted curved

components into place. A cargo haulerhalf a kilometer wide brought in two setsof Holtzman engines. The men continuedto watch the magnificent activities for along time in silence. None of them evenlooked again at the pathetic deadNavigator in his tank.

Humanity has many profound beliefs.Chief among them is the concept of

Home.

– Bene Gesserit Archives, Analyses ofMotivating Factors

The next time Edrik's Hetghliner went toBuzzell on a run, the vessel left theplanet

carrying something vastly moreimportant than soostones.

Hidden on the sealed laboratory deckswas a package of the uniquely powerful

substance extracted from the slaughteredseaworm's strange, dense organ. Withextravagant optimism, Waff had named it"ultra-spice." Tests proved that thepotency went beyond that of any spiceever recorded. This remarkablesubstance would change everything forthe

Navigator faction.

The Tleilaxu Master also understood theimportance of his achievement, and

meant to

use it to his advantage. Without beingsummoned, he pushed past Guildsecurity forces and made his way to therestricted levels reserved for theNavigator. Officiously ignoring allchallenges, Waff opened thick doorsuntil he stood before the plaz-walledtank that held Edrik in his expensive bathof spice gas. Having succeeded inrestoring at least one breed of worms,Waff was no longer a sycophant. Hecould make brash demands of his own.

Waff's shortened ghola life span didn'tgive him much time to meet his criticalgoals,

thus making him increasingly desperate.He was already well past his physicalprime, and now his body was in a rapidplunge to degeneration and death.

He probably had no more than a year orso left.

Full of rigid defiance, Waff stood beforeEdrik's tank and said, "Now that myaltered seaworms are capable ofcreating spice in a form accessible byGuild Navigators, I want you to take meto Rakis." He no longer had anything tolose, and everything to gamble. Hecrossed his thin arms over his chest intriumph.

Swimming slowly, Edrik drifted close to

the plaz wall. The swirls of orange gaswere

hypnotic. "The new mélange has notbeen proved in practice."

"No matter. Its chemistry has beenproved."

Edrik's voice grew louder through thespeakers. "I am troubled. In its originalform, mélange has complexities thatcannot be revealed in any laboratoryanalysis."

"You worry unnecessarily," Waff said."Seaworm spice is more potent thananything you have ever consumed. Try ityourself, if you do not believe me."

"You are in no position to makedemands."

"No one else could have accomplishedwhat I did. Buzzell will be your newsource of mélange. Seaworm hunterswill harvest more ultraspice than youcan possibly use, and

Navigators will no longer be dependentupon the Bene Gesserit witches or theblack market.

Even if the Sisters decide to harvest theseaworms and try to create anothermonopoly, you can ignore them. Bychanging the worms, instead of theplanet, we can place them anywhere.

I have given you the road to freedom."

Waff snorted, raised his voice. "Now Idemand my payment."

"We kept you alive after the HonoredMatres were overthrown on Tleilax. Isthat not sufficient compensation?"

With a conciliatory sigh, the Tleilaxughola held his hands out. "What I askwill cost you little and gain you muchhonor, a blessing from God."

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The Navigator wore a look ofdispleasure on his distorted face. "Whatdo you desire, little man?"

"I repeat: Take me to Rakis."

"Absurd. The world is dead." Edrik'swords were flat.

"Rakis is where my last body perished,so consider it a pilgrimage." Hecontinued in a rush, saying more than hehad intended. "In my laboratory I createdmore small worms from the remainingsandtrout specimens. I have strengthenedthem, made them capable of

surviving in the harshest environment. Ican repopulate Rakis and bring back the

Prophet–"

He abruptly fell silent.

At the first rumors that the seawormswere thriving, Waff had turned hisefforts to the last few sandtrout in hisoriginal stock. Sculpting wormchromosomes for survival in a

comfortable ocean environment had beena challenge; much more difficult, though,was the task of toughening the monstersto survive out in the blasted wastelandsof Rakis. But Waff did not turn his backon difficulty. All along, his goal hadbeen to bring the sandworms back wherethey belonged.

God's Messenger must return to Dune.

He studied Edrik, who stroked withwebbed hands as he considered therequest. "Our Oracle recently sent us amessage, calling upon Navigators toleave the Guild and join her in a greatbattle. That must be my priority now."

"I implore you, take me to Rakis." As ifto remind Waff of his imminent mortality,a twinge of pain shot through his chestand down his spine. He needed all hiseffort not to show the anguish of dying,the misery of failure. He had so littletime remaining. "Is that so much to ask?Grant me this one favor at the end of mylife."

"That is all you wish to do? Die there?"

"I will spend my last energies on mysandworm specimens. Perhaps there is away of reintroducing them to Rakis andregenerating the ecological systems.Think of it: If I succeed, you will haveyet another source of mélange."

"You will not be pleased with what youfind there. Even with moisture recycling,

shelters, and equipment, survival onRakis is more difficult than it has everbeen. Your expectations are unrealistic.Nothing useful remains."

Waff tried unsuccessfully to keepdesperation out of his voice. "Rakis is

my home, my spiritual compass."

Edrik thought it over, then said, "I canfold space to Rakis, but I cannot promiseto return. The Oracle has called me."

"I will remain there as long asnecessary. God will provide for me."Waff rushed back to his private researchlevels. Intending to stay on the desertplanet, undoubtedly for the rest of hislife, he requisitioned all the supplies andequipment he might need for years,allowing him to be entirely self-sufficient on that bleak and lifelessworld. After placing the order, helooked at his tanks where the newarmored sand-worms writhed, eager to

be released.

Rakis... Dune... was his destiny. He feltin his heart that God had summoned himthere, and if Waff perished on theplanet... then so be it. He felt a warm,soothing wave of

contentment. He understood his place inthe universe.

***

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116

The blackened, faintly coppery ballappeared in the Heighliner's privateviewing plates.

Waff had been so anxious gathering histhings that he hadn't even felt theactivation of the Holtzman engines, thefolding of space.

Edrik surprised him by offeringadditional supplies and a small team ofloyal Guild

assistants to help with the labor ofsetting up a camp and administering theexperiments.

Perhaps he wanted his own people onhand to see if the Tleilaxu man

succeeded again

with his worms. Waff didn't mind, solong as they stayed out of the way.

Without introducing himself to the silentmembers of his new team, Waff directedthe

transfer of his armored sandwormspecimens from the isolated lab, hisself-erecting shelters and his equipment,everything they would need for survivalon the charred world.

One of the silent, smooth-faced Guildassistants piloted the lighter. Before theyreached the dead surface of Dune, theHeighliner had already drifted out of

orbit.

Edrik was anxious to be on his way toanswer the Oracle's call, carrying itscargo of

ultraspice and the tidings of new hopefor all Navigators. Waff, though, hadeyes only for the blistered, lifelesslandscape of the legendary world.

Bacteria are like tiny machines,notable for their effects on larger

biological systems. In a similar way,humans behave as disease organisms

among planetary systems, and shouldbe studied as such.

– Erasmus, Laboratory Notebooks

When the virulent plague reachedChapterhouse, the first cases appearedamong the

male workers. Seven men were struckdown so swiftly that their dyingexpressions showed more surprise thanpain.

In the Great Hall where younger Sistersdined, the disease also spread. The viruswas so insidious that the mostcontagious period occurred a full daybefore any symptoms

manifested; thus, the epidemic hadalready sunk its claws into those most

vulnerable before the New Sisterhoodeven knew a threat existed.

Hundreds perished within the first threedays, more than a thousand by the end ofthe

week; after ten days, the victims werebeyond counting. Support staff, teachers,visitors, offworld merchants, cooks andkitchen help, even failed ReverendMothers–all fell like stalks of wheatunder the Grim Reaper's scythe.

Murbella called upon her senioradvisers to develop an immediate plan,but from prior

epidemics on other embattled planets

they knew that precautionary measuresand quarantines would do no good. Theconference room doors were securelylocked, because younger Sisters andacolytes could not be allowed to knowthe strategies being discussed here.

"Survival of the Sisterhood is ourprimary purpose, even as the rest ofChapterhouse dies around us." Murbellafelt sickened to think of all theunprepared acolytes, spice-harvestingteams in the dune belt, transport drivers,architects and construction workers,weather planners, greenhouse gardeners,cleaners, bankers, artists, archiveworkers, pilots, technicians, andmedical assistants. All the underpinnings

of Chapterhouse itself.

Laera attempted to sound objective, buther voice cracked. "Reverend Mothershave the precise cellular control neededto fight this disease on its ownbattleground. We can use our bodilydefenses to drive away the plague."

"In other words, anyone who hasn't gonethrough the Spice Agony will die," Kiriasaid.

"Like the Honored Matres did. That waswhy we pursued you Bene Gesserits inthe first place, to learn how to protectourselves from the epidemic."

"Can we use the blood of Bene Gesserit

survivors to create a vaccine?" Murbellaasked.

Laera shook her head. "ReverendMothers drive out disease organisms,cell by cell.

There are no antibodies we can sharewith others."

"It is not even as simple as that,"Accadia rasped. "A Reverend Mothercan channel her inner biologicaldefenses only if she has the energy to doso, and if she has the time and ability toconcentrate on herself. But this plagueforces us to turn our energies to tend themost unfortunate victims."

"If you make that mistake, you'll die, justlike our Sheeana surrogate on Jhibraith,"Kiria said with the undertone of a sneerin her voice. "We Reverend Motherswill have to take care of ourselves andno one else. The others have no chanceanyway. We need to accept that."

Murbella already felt the beginnings ofexhaustion, but her nervous anxiety madeher

pace the sealed council room. She had tothink. What could be done against such aminute, lethal enemy? Only ReverendMothers will survive... She spoke firmlyto her advisors, "Find every acolyte whois close to being ready for the Agony. Do

we have enough Water of Life?"

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"For all of them?" cried Laera.

"For every single one. Any Sister whohas the slightest chance of survival. Giveall of them the poison and hope they canconvert it and survive the Agony. Onlythen will they be able to fight off theplague."

"Many will die in the attempt," warnedLaera.

"Or all of them will die from the plague.Even if most of the candidates succumbto the Agony, it's an improvement." Shedid not wince. Her own daughter Rinyahad perished that way, many years ago.

Smiling slightly with her wrinkled lips,Accadia nodded. "A Bene Gesseritwould rather die from the Agony thanfrom a sickness spread by our Enemy. Itis a gesture of defiance rather thansurrender."

"See that it is done."

***

In the death houses she turned a deaf earto the moans of the sick and dying. The

Chapterhouse doctors had drugs andpotent analgesics, and the Bene Gesseritacolytes had been taught how to blockoff pain. Even so, the misery of theplague was enough to break the deepestconditioning.

Murbella hated to see the Sisters unableto control their suffering. It shamed her,not for their weakness but because shehad been unable to prevent this fromhappening in the first place.

She went to where lines of makeshiftbeds held young acolytes, most of themterrified,

some of them determined. The roomsmelled of rancid cinnamon–harsh

instead of pleasant.

With her brow furrowed and eyes intent,the Mother Commander watched twostony-

faced Reverend Mothers carry out astretcher bearing the sheet-wrappedbody of a young

woman.

"Another one failed the Agony?"

The Reverend Mothers nodded. "Sixty-one today. They are dying as fast as fromthe

plague."

"And how many successes?"

"Forty-three."

"Forty-three that will live to fight theEnemy."

Like a mother hen, Murbella walked upand down the line of beds, observing the

plague-stricken Sisters, some sleepingquietly with new bodily awareness,others writhing in deep comas fromwhich it was uncertain they would everfind their way back.

At the end of the row, a teenage girl laywith frightened eyes. She proppedherself up in bed on trembling arms. She

met Murbella's gaze, and even in herextreme sickness the girl's eyesglimmered. "Mother Commander," shesaid hoarsely.

Murbella moved closer to the young one."What is your name?"

"Baleth."

"Are you waiting to undergo theAgony?"

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119

"I'm waiting to die, Mother Commander.I was brought here to take the Water ofLife, but before it could be administeredthe symptoms of the disease manifestedthemselves. I'll be dead before the endof the day." She sounded very brave.

"So they will not give you the Water ofLife, then? You won't even attempt theAgony?"

Baleth lowered her chin. "They say Iwill not survive it."

"And you believe them? Aren't youstrong enough to try?"

"I am strong enough to try, MotherCommander."

"Then I'd rather you died trying, insteadof giving up." As she looked down atBaleth, she was poignantly reminded ofRinya... eager and confident, so likeDuncan. But her

daughter hadn't been ready after all, andshe had died on the table.

I should have delayed her. Because ofmy need to prove myself, I pushedRinya. I

should have waited...

And Murbella's youngest daughterGianne–what had happened to her? TheMother

Commander had kept herself apart fromthe young woman's day-to-day activities,letting the Sisterhood raise her. But inthis time of crisis, she decided to asksomeone, Laera perhaps, to track herdown.

Right now, Baleth seemed to show hope,looking with fervid eyes toward theMother

Commander. Murbella ordered the Sukdoctors to attend to her immediately."Time is shorter for this one than for theothers."

From the doctors' skeptical expressions,Murbella could see they considered thisa waste of the valuable Water of Life,

but she stood firm. Baleth accepted theviscid draught, took a last look at herMother Commander, and gulped thetoxic substance. She lay back, closed hereyes, and began her fight...

It did not last long. Baleth died in avaliant attempt, but Murbella could feelno guilt about it. The Sisterhood mustnever stop fighting.

***

Though mélange was rare and precious,rarer still was the Water of Life.

By the fourth day of Murbella'sdesperate plan, it became apparent thatChapterhouse's

supplies would not be sufficient. Sisterafter Sister consumed the poison, andmany perished while struggling toconvert the deadly toxin in their cells,trying to change their bodies.

The Mother Commander tasked heradvisors to study the exact amount ofpoison

necessary to trigger the Agony. SomeReverend Mothers suggested diluting thesubstance, but if they didn't give enoughto be fatal, and thus effective, the entireexperiment would fail.

Dozens more Sisters died. More than 60percent of those who took the poison.

Kiria offered a hard but coldly logicalsolution. "Assess each candidate, anddole out the Water of Life only to thosemost likely to succeed. We can't gamblefoolishly. Each dose we give to awoman who fails is wasted. We mustdiscriminate."

Murbella disagreed. "None of them has achance unless they undergo the Agony.The

whole point of this operation is to give itto everyone–and the most fit willsurvive."

The women stood amidst the bedlam ofthe dormitory rooms in the sick housesthat had

been converted from any building largeenough to accommodate beds. Fourlifeless bodies were carried past themby exhausted-looking Reverend Mothers.They had run out of sheets,

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so the corpses were uncovered, theirfaces twisted in a display of theincalculable pain they had suffered.

Ignoring the dead, Murbella knelt besidethe bed of one young woman whosurvived.

She had to look at the casualty total froma different perspective. If they were alldestined to die, it was a fruitlessexercise to count those who perished. Inthat light, the only relevant number wasthe tally of those who did recover. Thevictories.

"If we don't have enough Water of Life,use other poisons." Murbella got wearilyto her feet, ignoring the smells, thesounds. "The Bene Gesserit may havedetermined that the Water of Life is mosteffective at forcing the Agony, but longago the Sisters used other deadlychemicals–anything that would push thebody into an absolute crisis." Sheperused the young students, these girls

who had hoped one day to grow up tobecome Reverend Mothers. Now

each of them had one chance, and onechance only.

"Poison them one way or another. Poisonthem all. If they survive, they belonghere."

A courier ran up to her, one of theyounger Sisters who had recentlysurvived the

transformation. "Mother Commander!You are needed immediately inArchives."

Murbella turned. "Has Accadia found

something?"

"No, Mother Commander. She... youhave to see for yourself." The youngerwoman swallowed.

"And hurry."

The ancient woman did not have thestrength to leave her office. Accadia satsurrounded by wire spool readers andstacks of data-dense crystal sheets. Shesprawled back in her large chair,breathing heavily, barely able to move.The old woman's rheumy eyes flickeredopen.

"So, you've come... in time."

Murbella looked at the archivist,appalled. Accadia, too, had the plague."But you are a Reverend Mother! Youcan fight this."

"I am old and tired. I used the last of mystamina to compile our records andprojections, to map out the spread of thisdisease. Maybe we can prevent it onother worlds."

"Doubtful. The Enemy distributes thevirus wherever they consider itstrategic."

Already she had made up her mind tohave several other Reverend MothersShare with

Accadia. Her extensive memories andknowledge must not be lost.

Accadia struggled to sit up in the chair."Mother Commander, don't be sofocused on the epidemic that you fail tosee its consequences." She begancoughing. Blotches had appeared allover her skin, the advanced stages of thedisease. "This plague is a mere foray, atest attack. On many planets it issufficient, but the Enemy must know theSisterhood well enough by now to besure we can fight this, at least to a point.After they soften us up, they'll attack byother means."

Murbella felt cold inside. "If thinking

machines destroy the New Sisterhood,then the remaining fragments of humanitywill have no chance of resisting them.We are the most

important hurdle Omnius has toovercome."

"So you finally understand theimplications?" The old woman graspedthe Mother Commander's hand to makesure she understood. "This planet hasalways been hidden, but now thethinking machines must know thelocation of Chapterhouse. I would wagerthat their space fleet is already on itsway."

One man's dream is another's

nightmare.

– A saying of Ancient Kaitain

After dragging Stuka's body away, thenomads separated Sheeana and Teg fromStilgar

and Liet-Kynes. Apparently they saw thetwo boys–twelve and thirteen–as nothreat, not

knowing that both were deadly Fremenfighters, whose clear memories heldmany raids

against the Harkonnens.

Teg recognized the strategy. "The old

leader wants to interrogate our youngones first."

Var and his hard-bitten comrades wouldassume the youths would be easilyintimidated, not capable of resistingdifficult questioning.

Teg and Sheeana were taken to a holdingtent made of a tough, weather-wornpolymer.

The structure was an odd mixture ofprimitive design and sophisticatedtechnology,

made for serviceability and ease oftransport. The guard closed the flap butremained outside.

The windowless tent was just an emptyenclosure, devoid of blankets, cushions,or tools of any kind. Teg paced in asmall circle, then sat beside her on thepacked dirt. Digging with his fingers, hequickly found a couple of sharp pebbles.

With Mentat clarity, he assessed theiroptions. "When we do not return orreport in," he said in a low voice, "wecan expect Duncan to send another partydown. He will be prepared.

It sounds trite, but rescue will come." Heknew that these nomads would crumbleeasily against a direct military assault."Duncan is wise, and I trained him well.He will know what to do."

Sheeana stared at the door as if inmeditative trance. "Duncan has livedhundreds of lives and remembers themall, Miles. I doubt you taught himanything new."

Teg gripped one of the pebbles, and itseemed to aid his concentration. Even inan

empty tent, he saw a thousand possibleavenues of escape. He and Sheeanacould easily break out, kill the guard,and fight their way back to the lighter.Teg might not even need to takeadvantage of his accelerated speed."These people are no match for me, orfor you. But I will not leave Stilgar and

Liet behind."

"Ah, the loyal Bashar."

"I wouldn't leave you, either. However, Ifear that these people have disabled ourship, which would certainly tangle ourescape plans. I heard them ransackingit."

Sheeana continued to stare at theshadowy wall of the tent. "Miles, I'm notso concerned about the possibility ofescape as I am curious to learn why theykept us alive. Especially me, if whatthey said about the Sisterhood is true.They have good reason to hate me."

Teg tried to imagine the incredible

exodus and reorganization ofpopulations on this

planet. Within years, all the inhabitantsof the towns and cities would have seenthe sands strangling their croplands,killing their orchards, creeping closerand closer to the city boundaries. Theywould have pulled away from the desertzone like people fleeing a slowlyadvancing fire.

Var's nomads, though... were theyscavengers and misfits? Outcasts fromthe larger

population centers? Why insist onstaying at the threshold of the advancingdesert, where they would have to uproot

their settlement and retreat constantly?To what purpose?

These were technologically capablepeople, and Qelso clearly must havebeen settled

long ago during the Scattering. They hadtheir own groundcars and low-altitudeflyers, fast

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ships to take them back and forth acrossthe dunes. If they weren't outright exiles,

perhaps Var's people replenished theirsupplies in the distant northern cities.

Teg and Sheeana hardly spoke for hoursas they listened to the muffled soundsoutside,

the dry wind pushing and tugging at thetent, the scritch of blowing sand.Everything seemed to be comprised ofmovement outside: The people sent outparties, marched back and forth, setmachinery to work.

As Teg listened to the noises, hecatalogued them in his mind, building apicture of the operations. He heard apounding drill that bored a well shaft,followed by a pump dispensing water

into small cisterns. Each time, after onlya brief gush of liquid, the flow dwindledto less than a trickle and stopped. Heknew that such problems, caused bysandtrout, had been the bane of drillingoperations on Arrakis. Water existed indeep enough strata, but it was blockedoff by the voracious little Makers. Likeplatelets at the site of a wound, sandtroutwould swiftly seal off the leak. As helistened to the resigned complaints ofthese people, Teg realized that they werefamiliar with the routine.

When night fell, a dusty young manentered the tent through the flap heldopen by the

guard. He delivered a small meal ofhard bread and dried fruit, as well asgamey-tasting white meat. The twocaptives also received carefullymeasured rations of water.

Sheeana looked at her sealed cup. "Theyare learning the fundamentals of extreme

conservation. They begin to understandwhat their world will become."Obviously despising her Bene Gesseritrobes, the young man glared at her anddeparted without a word.

Throughout the dark night, Teg remainedawake, listening, trying to plan. The lackof

activity was maddening, but he advisedpatience rather than rash action. Theyhad heard nothing from Liet or Stilgar,and he feared the two young men mightalready be dead, like Stuka. Had theybeen killed during interrogation?

Sheeana sat beside him, in a heightenedstate of alertness. Her eyes were brighteven in the tent shadows. As far as Tegcould tell, the guard outside neverstepped away from his position, nevereven moved. The people continued tosend out parties and skimmer ships

throughout the night, as if the camp werethe staging area for a war effort.

At dawn, old Var came up to the tent,

spoke briskly with the guard, and pulledthe flap aside. Sheeana rose to a halfcrouch, ready to spring; Teg tensed, alsoprepared for a fight.

The nomad leader glared at Sheeana."You and your witches are not forgivenfor what you have done to Qelso. Younever will be. But Liet-Kynes andStilgar have convinced us to keep youalive, at least as long as we can learnfrom you."

The weathered leader brought the pairout into the bright sunlight. The windflung

stinging sand into their eyes. All aroundthe settlement, trees had already died.

The blowing dunes had encroachedanother few feet past the prominent rock

outcroppings during the night. Eachbreath was crackling dry, even in therelative coolness of the morning.

"You put the other Bene Gesserits todeath," Sheeana said, "and killed ourcompanion Stuka. Am I next?"

"No. Because I said I would keep youalive."

The weathered man led them through thesettlement. Workers were already

disassembling large warehouse tents tomove them farther from the edge of the

sand. A heavy groundcar rumbled by,full of crates. A bloated flyer circled andlanded near the smooth sand.

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Some kind of tanker?

Var led them to a large central buildingmade from sectional metal walls and aconical

roof. Inside, a long table was clutteredwith charts. Reports were fastened to thewalls, and one entire wall displayed a

polymer-paper map, a high-resolutiontopographic projection of the entirecontinent. Mark after mark showed thesteady growth of the desert belt.

Men sat around the table sharing reportsand raising their voices in a tumult of

conversation. Stilgar and Liet-Kynes,both dressed in dusty shipsuits, waved agreeting at the other two prisoners. Theyoung men seemed pleased and relaxed.

As he scanned the setup, it was obviousto Teg that Stilgar and Liet had spent thewhole previous day in the command tent.The old leader positioned himselfbetween them, leaving Teg and Sheeanato stand.

Var pounded on the table, interruptingthe cacophony. Everyone stoppedtalking,

impatiently it seemed, and stared at him."We have listened to our new friendsdescribe what our world is sure tobecome. We've all heard legends oflong-lost Dune, where water is moreprecious than blood."

His face had a pinched look. "If we failand the worms take over, our planet will

become valuable only by the standardsof outsiders."

One of the men snarled at Sheeana,"Damned Bene Gesserits!" The others

glared at her as well, and she met theirdisapproval squarely, without comment.

Liet and Stilgar seemed to be in theirelement. Teg recalled the Bene Gesserit

discussions over the original gholaproject, how the long-forgotten abilitiesof those historical personages mightbecome relevant again. Here was aperfect example. This duo of prominentsurvivors from the old days of Arrakiscertainly knew how to deal with thecrisis these people now faced.

The grizzled leader raised his hands, andhis voice sounded as dry as the air."After the death of the Tyrant long ago,my people fled into the Scattering. When

they reached Qelso, they thought theyhad found Eden. It was a paradise forfifteen hundred years afterward."

The men glowered at Sheeana. Varexplained how the refugees hadestablished a

thriving society, built cities, plantedcrops, mined for metals and minerals.They had no wish to overextendthemselves or go searching for other lostbrothers who had escaped during theFamine Times.

"Then a few decades ago everythingchanged. Visitors came, Bene Gesserits.At first we welcomed them, glad to havenews from the outside. We offered them

a new home. They

became our guests. But the ingratesraped our entire planet, and now it isdying."

Another man clenched his hands intofists as he picked up the story. "Thesandtrout multiplied out of control. Hugeforests and vast plains died withinyears–only a few years!

Great fires started in the wastelands, andweather patterns changed, turning muchof our world into a dust bowl."

Teg spoke up, using his command voice."If Liet and Stilgar told you about ourno-ship and its mission, then you know

we don't carry sandtrout and we have nointention of harming your world. Westopped here only to replenish vitalsupplies."

"In fact, we fled the heart of the BeneGesserit order because we disagreedwith the policies and leadership,"Sheeana added.

"You have seven large sandworms inyour hold," Var accused.

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"Yes, and we will not release themhere."

Liet-Kynes spoke quietly, as if lecturingchildren. "As we already told you, onceit has begun, the desertification processis a chain reaction. The sandtrout haveno natural enemies, and their encystingof water is so swift that nothing canadapt quickly enough to fight againstthem."

"Nevertheless, we will fight," Var said."You see how simply we live in thiscamp. We have given up everything tostay here."

"But why?" Sheeana asked. "Even as thedesert spreads, you have many years to

prepare."

"Prepare? Do you mean surrender? Youmay call it a hopeless fight, but it is stilla fight.

If we cannot stop the desert, we will atleast slow it. We'll battle the worms andthe sands."

The men at the table muttered. "Nomatter what you say, we will try tohinder the desert's progress in everyway. We kill sandtrout, we hunt the newworms."

Var stood up, and the others followedsuit. "We are commandos sworn to slowthe death of our world."

The desert still calls me. It sings in myblood like a love song.

– Liet-Kynes, Planetology: New Treatise

Early the next morning, Var led his groupof dusty, determined fighters to a landing

zone of fire-baked pavement. "Today, mynew friends, we'll show you how to killa worm.

Maybe two."

"Shai-Hulud," Stilgar said with greatuneasiness. "Fremen used to worship thegreat worms."

"Fremen depended upon the worms and

the spice," Liet replied quietly. "Thesepeople do not."

"With each demon we eliminate, we giveour planet a little more time to survive."

Var stared out into the desert as if hishatred could drive back the sands.Stilgar

followed the man's gaze across thedeeply shadowed dunes, trying toimagine the landscape in front of him aslush and green.

The sun was just rising over anescarpment, glinting off the silvery hullof an old low-altitude flyer parked on anarea of pounded gravel and flash-fused

cement. Var's people did not bother withpermanent landing strips or spaceportzones, which would only be swallowedup by the spreading dunes.

Despite the protests of the two youngmen, Sheeana and Teg were forced toremain

behind in the camp as hostages, watchedsuspiciously. Liet and Stilgar had beenaccepted on the hunt because of theirinvaluable knowledge of the desert.Today, they would demonstrate theirskills.

Var's commandos clambered into theheavily used craft. It had obviouslyweathered

countless storms, rough flights, andincomplete maintenance; its hull wasscuffed and scraped.

The interior smelled of oil and sweat,and the seats were stone-hard, with onlybars or straps for the passengers to holdonto.

Stilgar felt comfortable enough amongthe twenty weathered, grim men. To histrained

eye, the commandos had a look of edgyanticipation, but they were too soft in theflesh for the adaptations they would soonface. With the rapid climate shift, evenliving in their nomadic camps at thefringe of the sand, these people remained

unaware of the desert's true harshness.

They would have to learn swiftly enoughto face the escalating hardships. He andhis friend could teach them–if theywould listen.

Liet took his seat beside Stilgar andspoke to Var's men with genuineenthusiasm.

"Right now, Qelso's air still containsenough moisture that truly dramaticmeasures aren't required. Soon, though,you will need to be careful not to wasteso much as a thimbleful of water."

"We already live under the strictestconservation," one man said, as if Liet

had insulted him.

"Oh? You don't recycle your sweat,respiration, or urine. You still importwater from the higher latitudes, where itis readily available. Many regions onQelso are still able to grow crops, andpeople live a fairly normal life."

"It will get worse," Stilgar agreed."Your people have much hardening to dobefore the planet reaches its newequilibrium. This is the first day of yournew field training."

The men muttered uncertainly at hearingsuch words from two seeming boys, butLiet

sounded optimistic. "It is not so bad. Wecan teach you how to make stillsuits,how to

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conserve every breath, every sweatdroplet. Your fighting instincts areadmirable, but useless againstsandworms. You must learn to surviveamong the behemoths that willeventually take control of your world. Itis a necessary shift in attitude."

"The Fremen did so for a long time."

Stilgar seated himself beside his friend."It was an honorable way of life."

The fighters held onto straps and spreadtheir feet for balance, preparing fortakeoff.

"That is what lies in store for us?Drinking recycled sweat and piss?Living in sealed chambers?"

"Only if we fail," old Var said. "I chooseto believe we still have a chance, nomatter how naive that sounds." Heclosed the ship's hatch and strappedhimself into the creaking pilot seat. "So,if that doesn't sound pleasant to you, thenwe'd better stop the desert from gainingmore of a foothold."

The flyer lifted from the dry camp andswung out over the ghost forests andhummocks

of fresh dunes that were swallowing theremnants of grasslands. The enginesputtered

periodically as they flew southeast to aregion where sandworms had beensighted.

The craft seemed like a sluggishbumblebee, its tanks overloaded andheavy.

"We will stop the moving sands," oneyoung commando said.

"Next you will try to stop the wind."Stilgar grabbed a dangling strap as athermal updraft shook the craft. "In a fewshort years, your planet will be sand androck. Do you expect a miracle to turn thedesert back?"

"We'll create that miracle for ourselves,"Var answered, and his team murmured inagreement.

They flew across the wilderness ofdunes, far past the point where theycould see

anything but buttery tan from horizon tohorizon. Stilgar tapped a finger againstthe scratched windowplaz and shoutedagainst the engine noise. "See the desert

for what it is–not a place to fear andloathe, but a great engine to power anempire."

Liet added, "Already, small worms inthe desert belt have created pricelessamounts of mélange just waiting to bemined. How have you survived for solong without spice?"

"We haven't needed spice for fifteenhundred years, not since we came toQelso," Var called from the cockpit."When you do not have a thing, you learnto live without it, or you don't live."

"We don't give a damn about spice," oneof the commandos said. "I'd rather give adamn about trees and crops and fat

herds."

Var continued, "Our first settlers broughta great deal of spice from far away, andthree generations fought addiction untilthe supplies were gone. Then what? Wewere forced to survive without it–andwe have. Why should we open ourselvesto that monstrous dependency again? Mypeople are better off without it."

"If used carefully, mélange has importantqualities," Liet said. "Health, lifeextension, the possibility of prescience.And it's a valuable commodity to sell,should you ever reconnect with CHOAMand the rest of mankind. As Qelso driesup, you may need offworld supplies

for your basic needs."

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If anyone survives the outside Enemy,Stilgar thought to himself, recalling theever-

present threat of capture by theshimmering net. But these people weremuch more concerned with their ownlocal enemies, fighting the desert, tryingto stop the unstoppable.

He remembered the great dreams of

Pardot Kynes, Liet's father. Pardot haddone the

calculations and determined that theFremen could turn Dune into a garden,but only after generations of intenseeffort.

According to the histories, Arrakis hadindeed become green and verdant for atime,

before the new worms reclaimed it, andbrought the desert back. The planetseemed unable to achieve a balance.

The battered craft flew low, its enginesdroning. Stilgar wondered if the noise oftheir passage would attract worms, but

as he stared down at the hypnotic,oceanic dunes, he saw only a couple ofpatches of rust-colored sand thatindicated fresh spice blows.

"Dropping signal vibrators," Var called,while throbbing canisters–the equivalentof ancient thumpers–tumbled out of thesmall bays below the cockpit. "Thatshould bring at least one of them."

With a puff of sand and dust the thumpersplunged into the dunes and sent outdroning

signals. After circling back to makecertain the devices were operatingproperly, Var selected two more spotswithin a radius of five kilometers.

Stilgar could not determine why the craftstill felt overloaded.

As they cruised in search of a worm,Stilgar described his legendary days onDune, how

he and Paul Muad'Dib had led a ragtagFremen army to victory against farsuperior forces.

"We used desert power. That is what youcan learn from us. Once you see we arenot your enemies, we can learn muchfrom each other."

Under Stilgar's firm hand, these peoplecould come to understand theirpossibilities.

With the awakening of the populacewould come the awakening of the planet,with plantings and green zones to keepthe desert under control. Perhaps theycould succeed, if they could just find–and maintain–an equilibrium.

Stilgar remembered something Liet'sfather had said to him once. Extremesinvariably

lead to disaster. Only through balancecan we fully harvest the fruits of nature.

He leaned closer to the craft'sobservation windows and saw a familiarwrinkling of the sand, ripples of deepmovement disturbing the smooth dunes."Wormsign!"

"Prepare for our first encounter of theday." A grin wrinkled Var's grizzled faceas he turned away from the cockpit. "Theshipment that came in last night broughtus enough water for two targets–but weneed to find them."

Water! The heavy ship was carryingwater.

The men shifted position, headingtoward gunnery hatches and hosesmounted on the

sides of the stripped-down flyer. Thepilot banked back toward the firstcluster of thumpers.

As the commandos prepared to strike,

Stilgar mused about the strangeturnabout. Pardot

Kynes had spoken of the need tounderstand ecological consequences,that humans were

stewards of the land, and never owners.

We must do a thing on Arrakis neverbefore attempted for an entire planet. Wemust use

man as a constructive ecological force–inserting adapted terraform life: a planthere, an animal there, a man in thatplace–to transform the water cycle, tobuild a new kind of

landscape.

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The battle today was the opposite.Stilgar and Liet would help fight toprevent the desert from swallowing allof Qelso.

Through the nearest window Stilgar sawa mound in motion, a bucking sandworm

drawn toward the thumper. Liet crowdedclose beside him, and said, "I estimate itat forty meters. Larger than Sheeana's

worms in our hold."

"These have grown in the open desert,"Stilgar said. "Shai-Hulud wants thisplanet."

"Not if I can help it," Var said. But as ifto defy him, directly below the flyer animmense head surfaced and questedaround, trying to track the conflictingsources of

vibrations.

Long tubes protruded from the front andrear of the flyer. The commandosgripped their

gun mountings, nozzles that could be

turned and aimed. The flyer swoopedlow.

"Fire when ready, but conserve what youcan. The water's deadly enough."

The fighters shot high-pressure streamsfrom their hoses, blasting the sandwormbelow.

The drenching bursts were moreeffective than artillery shells.

Taken by surprise, the creature writhedand twisted its round head back andforth,

convulsing. Hard ring segments splitapart to reveal softer pink flesh between,

and water burned like acid into thevulnerable parts. The worm rolled onthe wet sand, in obvious agony.

"They are killing Shai-Hulud," Stilgarsaid, sickened.

Liet was also stunned, but said, "Thesepeople have to defend themselves."

"That's enough! It is dead–or soon willbe," Var shouted. The small forcereluctantly shut off their hoses, lookingwith hatred upon the dying worm.Unable to dig deep enough to escape thepoisonous moisture, the mortallywounded creature continued to squirm asthe flyer circled over its death throes.Finally the beast gave a great final

shudder and stopped moving.

Stilgar nodded, his expression still grim."There are necessities to life in thedesert, hard decisions to be made." Hehad to accept the clear fact that thisworm did not belong here on Qelso. Nosandworm did. On the way back to thesettlement, they encountered a second

worm, drawn by the vibrations of theirflyer's engines.

The commandos emptied their waterreservoirs, and the second wormperished even

more quickly.

Liet and Stilgar sat together inuncomfortable silence, wrapped up inwhat they had seen and the fight they hadagreed to join. "Even though she doesn'thave her memories back yet,"

Liet said, "I'm glad my daughter Chanidid not see this."

Though the mood of the fighters wasupbeat aboard the flyer, the two youngmen,

remembering Arrakis, murmured Fremenprayers. Stilgar was still contemplatingwhat they had seen and done when Varyelled a strangled-sounding alarm.

Suddenly strange ships swarmed around

them.

You see only harshness, devastation,and ugliness. That is because you

have no faith. Around me I see apotential paradise, for Rakis is the

birthplace of my beloved Prophet.

– Waff of the Tleilaxu

When he first glimpsed Rakis, the bleakruins brought dismay to Waff's heart. Butwhen

Edrik's Heighliner deposited him and hissmall team of Guild assistants there, heexperienced the joy of setting foot on the

desert planet again. He could feel theholy calling deep inside his bones.

In his previous lifetime he had stood onthese sands, face to face with theProphet.

With Sheeana and Reverend MotherOdrade, he had ridden a great worm outto the

ruins of Sietch Tabr. His ghola memorieswere corrupted and uncertain, riddledwith annoying gaps. Waff could notrecall his final moments as the whoresclosed in around the desert planet,deploying their awful Obliterators. Hadhe run for hopeless shelter, lookingbehind him like Lot's wife for a last

glimpse of the doomed city? Had he seenexplosions and walls of flame searingthe sky, sweeping toward him?

But the cells of another Waff ghola hadbeen grown in an axlotl tank inBandalong as

part of the usual process. The secretcouncil of the kehl had planned for theserial immortality of all TleilaxuMasters long before anyone had heard ofHonored Matres. The next thing he knew,Waff was awakened to his past lifeduring a grand guignol stage show as thebrutal women murdered one of his twinsafter another until just one of them–him–reached a

sufficiently desperate crisis to breakthrough the ghola barrier and reveal hispast. Some of it, at least.

But not until now had Waff actually seenthe Armageddon that the whores hadwrought

on this sacred world.

The ecosystem of Rakis had beenfundamentally destroyed. Half of theatmosphere was

burned away, the ground sterilized, mostlife forms dead–from the microscopicsandplankton all the way up to the giantsandworms. It made the old Dune seemcomfortable by

comparison.

The sky was a dark purple, touched withan underburn of orange. As their shipcircled,

searching for a spot less hellish thanothers, Waff studied a panel ofatmospheric readings.

The moisture content was abnormallyhigh. At some point in its geologichistory, Arrakis had possessed openwater, but sandtrout had sealed it allaway.

During the bombardment, undergroundrivers and seas must have beenvaporized as

they were released from aquifers.

The Honored Matres' horrific weaponshad not only turned the soft dunes to abaked

moonscape, they had also thrown upgreat clouds of dust that had not settledentirely out of the atmosphere, evendecades later. The Coriolis stormswould be worse than ever before.

He and his team would likely have towear special bodily protection andsupplemental

breather masks; their small dwelling hutswould need to be sealed andpressurized.

Waff didn't mind. Was that so differentfrom wearing a stillsuit? By degrees,perhaps,

but not fundamentally harder.

His lighter circled over the remains of asprawling metropolis that had beencalled

Arrakeen in the days of Muad'Dib, thenthe Festival City of Onn during the reignof the God Emperor, and later–after LetoII's death–the moated city of Keen.

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No longer concerned about secrecy, nowthat the seaworms had successfully takenhold

on Buzzell, Waff was happy to have fourassistants help him with the hard workhe was sure to face on this Obliterator-blasted planet.

Studying the surface, he discerned lumpygeometric shapes that had once beenangled

streets and tall buildings. Surprisingly,in the dimness of seared daylight, healso spotted numerous artificialillumination sources and a few dark

structures of recent construction.

"There seems to be a camp down there.Who else would come to Rakis? Whatcould they possibly want here?"

"The same as us," said the Guildsman."Spice."

He shook his head. "Too little hereanymore, at least until we bring back theworms. No one else has that skill."

"Pilgrims perhaps? There may still bethose who make a hajj," a secondassistant said.

Waff knew that a dizzying mishmash ofreligious splinter groups and cults had

sprung from Rakis.

"More likely," suggested a thirdGuildsman, "they are treasure hunters."

Waff quoted quietly from the Cant of theShariat: " 'When greed and desperationare coupled, men accomplishsuperhuman feats–though for the wrongreasons.'"

He considered choosing a differentplace for their base camp, then acceptedthe idea that joining resources with thestrangers might help them all last longerin the harsh environment.

No one knew when–or if–Edrik might becoming back for them, or how long the

sandworm

work would take, or how much longerWaff himself would last.

He planned to be here for the remainderof his days.

After the lighter landed unannounced atthe edge of the camp, the Guildsmenwaited for

instructions from Waff. The Tleilaxu mansettled goggles over his eyes to protectagainst the caustic wind, and emerged.For long journeys outside, he might haveto wear a supplemental oxygen mask, butthe Rakian atmosphere was surprisinglybreathable.

Six tall and dirty men faced him from theencampment. They wore rags wrappedaround

their heads, carried knives and antiquemaula pistols. Their eyes were red-veined, their skin rough and cracked.The foremost man had shaggy black hair,a square chest, and a rock-hard potbelly."You are fortunate that I'm curious aboutwhy you are here. Otherwise, wewould've shot you out of the sky."

Waff held up his hands. "We are nothreat to you, whoever you are."

Five men leveled their maula pistols,and the other slashed the air with hisknife.

"We have claimed Rakis for ourselves.All spice here is ours."

"You've claimed a whole planet?"

"Yes, the whole damned planet." Thefirst man tossed back his dark hair. "I'mGuriff, and these are my prospectors.There's damned little spice left in theburned crust, and it's ours."

"Then you may have it." Waff performeda perfunctory bow. "We have otherinterests, as geological investigators andarchaeologists. We wish to take readingsand run tests to determine the extent ofdamage to the ecosystem." The fourGuild assistants waited beside him incomplete silence.

Guriff laughed loudly and heartily."There isn't much of an ecosystem lefthere."

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"Then where does breathable oxygencome from?" He knew that Liet-Kyneshad asked that question in the ancientdays, curious because the planet hadneither widespread plant life norvolcanoes to generate an atmosphere.

The man just stared. Obviously, he hadnot thought about this. "Do I look like a

planetologist to you? Go ahead and lookinto it, but don't expect any help from us.Here on Rakis, you are self-sufficient oryou die."

The Tleilaxu man raised his eyebrows."And what if we wish to share some ofour spice coffee with you, as a token offriendship? I understand that water ismore easily obtainable than in the olddays."

Guriff glanced at his prospectors, thensaid, "We're happy to accept yourhospitality, but we have no intention ofreciprocating."

"Nonetheless, our offer stands."

***

Inside Guriff's dusty hut, Waff used hisown supplies of mélange (left over fromhis

sandworm experiments) to brew coffee.Guriff didn't have a desperate shortageof water in his camp, though hisdwelling smelled of long-unwashedbodies and the savory sweetness of adrug smoke that Waff could not identify.

At his command, the four Guildsmenerected the shelters brought down fromthe

Heighliner, setting up armored sleepingtents and laboratory enclosures. Waff

saw no reason to assist them. He was aTleilaxu Master after all, and these werehis workers, so he would allow them toperform their tasks.

While they drank a second pot of spicecoffee, Guriff grew more relaxed. Hedidn't trust the diminutive Tleilaxu, buthe didn't seem to trust anyone. He tookpains to say he harbored no particularhatred toward Waff's race, and that hisscavengers held no grudges againstothers of low social position. Guriffcared only about Rakis.

"All that melted sand and plascrete. Bychipping away the upper crust of glass,we were able to get down to the

foundations of the sturdier buildings inKeen." Guriff produced a hand-drawnchart. "Scraping out buried treasure. Wefound what we think is the original BeneGesserit Keep–a few heavily barricadedbomb shelters filled with skeletons." Hesmiled. "We also uncovered theextravagant temple built by the Priests ofthe Divided God. It was so huge wecouldn't miss it. Full of trinkets, but stillnot enough to pay for our effort.CHOAM is expecting us to findsomething much more extraordinary,though they seem happy enough to sellcontainers of 'genuine Rakian sand' togullible fools."

Waff didn't reply. Edrik and the

Navigators had obtained such Rakiansand for him to

use in his original experiments.

"But we've got a lot more digging to do.Keen was a big city."

In his previous life, Waff had seen thosestructures before they were destroyed.

He knew the ostentation that the deludedPriests placed in all the rooms andtowers (as if God cared about suchgaudiness!). Guriff and his men wouldindeed find plenty of treasure there. Butthe wrong kind.

"The Priesthood's temple had collapsed

worse than most other large buildings.Maybe it was a direct target of theHonored Matre attack." The prospectorsmiled with thick lips. "But deep in thesublevels beneath the temple, we didfind chests of stored Solaris and hoardedmélange. A worthwhile haul. More thanwe expected, but not so much. We'reafter something

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bigger. The Tyrant buried a huge spicehoard deep in the southern polarregions–I'm sure of it."

Waff made a skeptical sound as hesipped spice coffee. "No one has beenable to find that treasure for fifteenhundred years."

Guriff held up a finger, noticed ahangnail, and chewed on it. "Still, thebombardment may have churned up thecrust enough to reveal the mother lode.And, thanks be to the gods–

there are no worms left to torment us."

Waff made a noncommittal sound. Notyet.

***

Without bothering to sleep, knowing his

time was short, the Tleilaxu man beganto

make preparations to continue his work.His Guild companions seemed confidentthat the

Navigator would eventually return,though Waff wasn't so sure. He was hereon Rakis, and this gave him greatpleasure.

While the Guild assistants finishedconnecting the generators and sealed theprefab

shelters, the Tleilaxu researcher wentback aboard the near-empty lighter. Inthe cargo hold he smiled paternally at

his magnificent specimens. The armoredworms were small but ferocious.

They looked ready to tackle a deadworld.

Their world.

Ages ago, the Fremen had been able tosummon and ride sand-worms, but thoseoriginal

creatures had died out when Leto II'sterraforming operations had turnedArrakis into a garden world with greenplants, flowing rivers, and moisture fromthe sky.

Such an environment was fatal to

sandworms. But when the God Emperorwas

assassinated and his body fissioned intosandtrout, the whole process ofdesertification began anew. The freshlyspawned worms became far morevicious than their predecessors, tacklingthe huge challenge of recreating the DuneThat Once Was.

Waff now faced a challenge many timesmore difficult. His modified creatureswere

armored to resist the most severeenvironment, with mouths and headridges powerful enough to crack throughthe vitrified dunes. They could dig deep

beneath the black surface; they couldgrow and reproduce–even here.

He stood before the dusty holding tank inwhich the worms churned. Eachspecimen

was about two meters in length. Andstrong.

Sensing his presence, the creaturestwitched restlessly. Waff looked outsideto where the sky had turned the deeppurple-brown of dusk. Storms swirledgritty dust through the

atmosphere. "Be patient, my pets," hesaid. "Soon I will release you."

We are naive to think that we control aprecious commodity. Only through

guile and eternal wariness do we keepit out of the hands of our

competitors.

– Spacing Guild internal report

Edrik moved his Heighliner away fromthe ruins of Rakis, no longer concernedwith the

Tleilaxu Master. Waff had served hispurpose.

More important, the Oracle of Time hadsummoned all surviving Navigators, and

Edrik

would give them joyous news. With thesea-worms obviously thriving onBuzzell, there

would be plenty of ultra-spice for thetaking. The unusual concentrated formmight even be superior to the originalspice: a frighteningly potent mélange tokeep Navigators alive without themeddling, greedy Administrator factionor the witches of Chapterhouse.

Freedom!

It had amused him to see Waff taking hisworm samples to Rakis, hoping toestablish a

new spice cycle. Edrik didn't think thelittle researcher could do much there, butan alternative source of mélange wouldbe a bonus. But even without that, neveragain would the Navigators be strangledby power games. The four Guildsmenwhom Edrik had sent to accompany Waff

were spies and would secretly reporteverything the Tleilaxu achieved.

Inside his tank, Edrik smiled to himself,pleased that he had thought of alleventualities.

With the first package of Buzzellultraspice safely stored in his securitychamber, the Navigator guided hisHeighliner out into the emptiness of

space. Even the Oracle would

congratulate him for this remarkablenews.

Before he could travel toward hisscheduled rendezvous, however, theemptiness rippled

around him. When Edrik studied thedistortions, he realized what they were.Moments later, scores of Guildshipsappeared like buckshot in space,winking through foldspace and

emerging forward and back, above andbelow, to surround his Heighlinercompletely.

Edrik transmitted on a band that onlyfellow Navigators should have received."Explain your presence."

But none of the imposing newcomersanswered. Studying the glyphs andcartouches on

the sides of the enormous hulls, herealized that these were new Guildships,guided by Ixian mathematical compilers.

The computer-controlled vessels closedin. Sensing the threat, Edrik transmittedwith

greater alarm, "What is yourjustification?"

The other Guildships formed asmothering blanket around hisHeighliner. The silence of

the great vessels was more intimidatingthan any voiced ultimatum. Theirproximity distorted his Holtzman fields,preventing him from folding space.

Finally a voice spoke, flat and dull intimbre, yet unnervingly confident. "Werequire your cargo of seaworm spice.We will board your ship for inspection."Edrik assessed these enemies, his mindracing through a labyrinth ofpossibilities.

The ships appeared to belong to theAdministrator faction. They functioned

with Ixian

devices, so they had no need forNavigators or mélange. Why then wouldthey want to

confiscate the ultraspice? To preventNavigators from having it? To ensure theGuild's

complete reliance on Ixian navigationmachines?

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Or could this be another foe entirely?Were these ships flown by CHOAMpirates

hoping to seize a valuable new asset?Witches from Chapterhouse wanting toforce continued dependence on theSisterhood's mélange?

But how would any outsiders knowabout the ultraspice?

While Edrik's Heighliner hung helplessin space, small interdiction shipsemerged from

the surrounding Guild vessels. He hadno choice but to allow boarders onto hisship.

Though Edrik did not recognize him, aman wearing appropriate Guild insigniamarched

along the decks and ascended to therestricted level, brushing aside allsecurity barriers. Six well-muscled menaccompanied him. The leader smiledcondescendingly when he stood

before the Navigator's tank and lookedinto it. "Your new spice has fascinatingpossibilities.

We require it from you."

Edrik boomed from within his chamber,intentionally amplifying the speakersystem.

"Go to Buzzell and obtain your own."

"This is not a request," said the man, hisface bland. "We have learned theintensity of this substance and believe itto be a remedy for our difficult situation.We will take it to the heart of thethinking-machine empire."

Thinking machines? What did theAdministrator faction have to do withthe Enemy?

"You may not have it," Edrik repeated,as if he had any say in the matter.

The bland-faced Guildsman gestured tohis burly bodyguards, and they withdrewiron-

tipped hammers from their slick grayrobes. The leader gave them a calm,matter-of-fact nod.

Panicked, Edrik swam backward in histank, but he had nowhere to go. Themuscular

bodyguards did not care that he wasinside the container or that exposure tothe air would kill him. With thick arms,they swung their heavy sledges andsmashed the thick plaz walls.

Jagged cracks split out in starburstpatterns, and concentrated orange spicegas whistled out through the breaches.The guards did not react to the mélangestreaming into their faces, though the

concentration should have made anormal human reel.

Their bland-faced leader watched like aman smelling an approaching stormwhile

Edrik's atmosphere drained out.

When the air pressure was no longersufficient to buoy him, the Navigatorcollapsed to

the floor of his tank. Weakly, he raisedhis webbed hands and demandedanswers in a voice that was little morethan a gasp. The Guildsman and hiscompanions offered no explanations.

Withering and twitching, Edrik lay on thefloor. He extended a rubbery arm andtried to crawl, but with all the spice gasdraining away, the air was too thin. Hecould no longer breathe, could hardlymove. Even so, the Navigator was slowto die.

The bland-faced man stepped closer tothe shattered wall, and his features

metamorphosed.

Khrone said to his Face Dancercompanions, "Take the concentratedspice. With this substance, Omnius willawaken his Kwisatz Haderach."

The others departed to search the decks

and soon uncovered the hoard ofmodified

mélange. When the disguised guardsreturned to the interdiction ships, Khroneheld one of the heavy packages in hisarms. He inhaled deeply. "Excellent.Remove all of our people from thisHeighliner. When we are safe, destroythe ship and everyone aboard it."

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He looked coolly down at the dyingEdrik. Only a few rusty curls of gas

continued to

ooze from cracks in the tank. "You haveserved your purpose, Navigator. Takesolace in that."

The Face Dancer strutted away.

Edrik continued to heave great breaths,but barely a scent of mélange remained.By the

time the computer-controlled Guildshipsgot into formation in space, he couldbarely keep from slumping intounconsciousness.

The opposing vessels opened fire.Edrik's Heighliner exploded before he

could utter a

curse.

There is an art to legend telling, and anart to living the legend.

– A saying of Ancient Kaitain

The Ithaca's replenishing operations hadtaken place in the still-rich northernlatitudes, far from any visible populationcenters. Garimi managed the complexprocess with dozens of flying craft fromthe hangar decks, leaving Duncan on thecommand bridge. He felt trapped there,unable to leave because of the protectiveveil that the no-ship usually affordedhim. He hated having to remain behind

while others did the risky work... and hedidn't even know what the old man andwoman wanted from him.

He had no idea what was going on backin the Old Empire, with Murbella and

Chapterhouse.

He knew only that the Enemy was stillsearching for him–and he was stillhiding, as he

had been for decades. Was this truly thebest way to fight, the best way to defendhumanity?

He had been adrift for as long as theIthaca, and of late, the waters of

uncertainty seemed deeper than ever.

It had been two days now without wordfrom Teg or Sheeana and their team. Iftheir

group was simply meeting with thenatives, someone should have checked inby now.

Duncan feared another trap like the onethey had encountered on the planet of the

Handlers.

Miles Teg had been his mentor and hisstudent, and Sheeana... ah, Sheeana.They had

been lovers and sexual opponents. Shehad cured him and saved him, so ofcourse he cared for her. He had tried toprotect himself by denying it, but shehadn't believed him, and he hadn'tbelieved himself. Both knew they had abond unlike any other, different from theone he and Murbella had imposed uponone another.

As he studied the landscape below, itseemed to call to him. Many cities were

discernible in the northern and southernforested latitudes. He felt he should bedown there facing any possible dangerswith the others, not stuck aboard theIthaca, forced to remain safe and out of

sight.

How long am I supposed to wait!

When he was Swordmaster of HouseAtreides he would never have hesitated.If it had

been young Paul Atreides under threat,Duncan would have leapt in to fight forhim, ignoring the intangible threat of theold man and woman. As the witches saidin their oft-quoted Litany, I will face myfear. And it was about time he did so.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to seethe spreading desert that looked like aseeping

knife wound across the continent. "I willnot ignore this." Duncan summonedThufir Hawat as well as Garimi, whohad recently returned to the no-ship withall of her flying craft after reloading theIthaca's stores.

Duncan stood when they arrived. "Weare going to rescue the landing party," heannounced, "and we're going to do itnow. I don't know what kind of militaryforce those people have down there, butwe'll stand against it if the Bashar is introuble."

Thufir's eyes brightened and his faceflushed. "I'll pilot one of the ships."

Duncan remained stern. "No, you will

follow my orders."

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Garimi was taken aback by Duncan'sbold comment, but nodded as she heardhim

rebuke Thufir. "Do you have instructionsfor us before we depart? Shall Icommand the mission?"

"No–I will do it personally." Beforeeither could argue with him, Duncanstrode toward the lift, and they were

forced to follow him. "I'm sick of hiding.My plan has been to run and remainunobtrusive, staying one step ahead ofthat strange net. But in doing so, I've lefttoo much of myself behind. I am DuncanIdaho."

He raised his voice as they entered thelift. "I was Swordmaster of HouseAtreides and consort of St. Alia of theKnife. I acted as advisor and companionto the God Emperor. If the Enemy is outthere, I won't leave the rest of humanityto face it themselves. If Sheeana and theBashar need my help, then I'm going tohelp."

Thufir stiffened, then allowed himself a

pleased smile. "You should have left theIthaca long ago, Duncan. I don't see whatyou've accomplished by staying here.The no-field hasn't exactly offeredperfect protection."

Garimi seemed pleased by Duncan'sattitude. "My recovery teams took agood look at that planet down there, andit seems a fine place to settle. Does thatmean you'll stop opposing my efforts andlet us form a colony at last?"

The lift doors closed, and the groupbegan to drop toward the hangar deckswhere the

many ships were being refueled. "Thatremains to be seen."

***

Teg bided his time in the camp long afterStilgar and Liet flew off into the early

morning. By now, Duncan wouldcertainly have drawn the obviousconclusions.

"Do you think they'll kill us, after all?"Sheeana's tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact, as if she had accepted theinevitable.

"Maybe just you. You're the one theyblame." He spoke without humor.Though they were allowed to sit on theground outside, their captors stillwatched them closely.

She sipped from a small cup of waterthat had been provided. "Is that a joke?"

"A distraction." Teg glanced up at thesky. "We have to trust Duncan to decideon the correct response."

"Maybe he thinks we can handle thisourselves. Duncan has great confidencein our

independent abilities."

"As do I. Should it become necessary, Icould slaughter every one of thesepeople."

He chose the word intentionally.Slaughter. As he had done with the

Honored Matres in

their fortress on Gammu. "And it wouldtake me no longer than the blink of aneye. You know it."

Sheeana had seen him move against theHandlers, helping her, Thufir, and theRabbi

escape, and she had also seen how muchthat brief burst of energy had drainedhim.

"Yes, I know, Miles. And I pray itdoesn't become necessary."

Off in the distance they heard thewhining drone of the small flyer

returning from the

desert. Teg's sharply attuned earsrecognized its sputtering engine sound.The villagers gathered at the packedlanding zone, anxious to receive thehunting party.

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First, two specks appeared in the sky,flying low; then they were joined bymany more

dots, like a dispersed flock of migrating

birds. The drone grew to a roar.

Teg shaded his eyes, identifying many ofthe flying craft. "Mining shuttles andlighters from the no-ship. So this is howDuncan plans to rescue us. He's trying toimpress them. It appears he senteverything we have."

"We certainly have superior firepower.Duncan could have taken the directmethod and rescued us by force ofarms."

Watching the ships come closer, Tegsmiled. "He's smarter than that. Like me,he wants to avoid bloodshed, especiallyin a conflict he doesn't entirelyunderstand."

Did I teach him that lesson, or did heteach me?

As the Bashar reflected on their pastlives, he didn't know the answer.

More than forty craft landed together in aflat, open space at the outskirts of thevillage.

They weren't war vessels or armoredattack ships, though some had defensiveweapons. The Bashar stepped withSheeana away from the tents, to face thelargest mining shuttle. No one tried tostop them; the people were too awed bywhat they saw.

It surprised Teg to see Duncan Idaho

himself march down the ramp of the leadcraft,

wearing his traditional House Atreidesuniform, complete with polished bootsand the

starburst insignia of his rank. If theQelsans had been gone from the OldEmpire for fifteen centuries, they weren'tlikely to recognize any of the symbols,but Teg thought the uniform gave hisfriend a distinguished aura of command,and undoubtedly provided self-assurance.

Duncan swept his gaze across theconfused villagers, finally spotting Tegand Sheeana.

The relief on his face was obvious as hemade his way to them. "You're stillalive. And unhurt?"

"Stuka isn't," Sheeana said with an edgeof bitterness.

"You shouldn't have left the no-ship,"Teg said. "You're vulnerable now,visible to the searchers and their widenet."

"Let them find me." Duncan appearedstony, as if he had reached aninescapable conclusion.

"This endless chase and hidingaccomplishes nothing. I can't defeat theEnemy unless I confront them."

Sheeana glanced nervously at the sky, asif expecting the old man and woman toappear

suddenly. "Garimi could have led theattack, or even Thufir. Instead, you letyourself be swayed by your emotions."

"I factored them in when I made mycorrect decision." Duncan's face flushed,as if he were hiding the real answer, andhe rushed ahead with an explanation."By comline, I spoke with Stilgar andLiet-Kynes aboard the flyer. Weintercepted them out in the desert, so Ihave some inkling of what's going onhere. I know how they killed Stuka–andwhy."

"And you're surprised to see me alive?"Sheeana asked. "Grateful, too, I hope."

Teg interrupted. "The death of Stuka wasa tragic overreaction. These peoplemade

assumptions about us."

Nodding, Duncan said, "Yes, Miles. Andif I had made an overzealous responsewith

superior firepower, that would havecaused many more deaths and a muchgreater tragedy. In

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one of my earlier lives I might have doneexactly that, but I only needed to thinkabout what you would have done."

Stilgar and Liet emerged with thecommandos from the tanker. The twoyoung gholas

displayed a hardness to them now, andnew life behind their eyes. The Fremennaib and the planetologist had foundsomething on Qelso that reenergizedthem and transported them to other times.

Teg understood what all the gholas had

gone through since recovering theirmemories.

They had been sheltered andcomfortable aboard the Ithaca, forced tocontent

themselves with reading about theirpasts and watching the sandworms in thecargo hold, as if they were specimens ina zoo. But these gholas could rememberthe real Arrakis. The lives of Stilgar andKynes had not been safer or morecomfortable in the tumultuous old days,but there had been a certain sharpdefinition to who they were.

Others continued to emerge from thelanded vessels: Thufir, Garimi and more

than a

dozen Sisters, muscular male BeneGesserit workers, second-generationchildren born aboard the no-ship settingfoot on a real planet for the very firsttime in their lives. Five of the Rabbi'sfollowers stood in bright sunlight,looking around in wonder at thelandscape, at the open spaces. Presentlythe old man himself emerged, blinkinghis bespectacled, owlish eyes.

Var looked admiringly at the miningshuttles and lighters, at his newcompanions

Stilgar and Liet. He raised his chin.Apparently, Duncan had also spoken

with the village leader at length duringtheir flight back from the desert."Duncan Idaho, you know what trials weface here, what we've been driven to do.We are the only ones who'll standagainst the death of this planet. We didnot bring the desert here. You have noright to condemn us."

"I didn't condemn you for your struggle,but I can't condone what you did to our

companion. Years ago, Bene Gesseritvisitors to your world acted withoutconsidering the consequences of whatthey were doing to you. And now itappears you have done the same

thing."

The old leader shook his head. His eyesburned with anger and righteousness."We

killed the witches responsible fordepositing sandtrout here. Findinganother witch, we killed her too."

Duncan abruptly cut off what was sure tobe a pointless argument. "We will takeour friends and leave you. I'll let youhave your fruitless fight against a desertyou can't defeat."

Teg and Sheeana stepped forward,anxious to leave this place. Liet andStilgar, though, held back and looked ateach other. The latter squared hisshoulders and said, "Duncan, Bashar...

Liet and I are having second thoughts.This is the desert–not our desert, butcloser than anything we have yetencountered as gholas. We were broughtback to life for a purpose.

The skills from our past lives can bevital resources in a place like this."

Liet-Kynes picked up the speech as if heand Stilgar had rehearsed what theywere

going to say. "Look around. Can youimagine a world where our talents aremore desperately needed? We aretrained as fighters against impossibleodds. We're used to desert combat. As aplanetologist, I know the best ways to

control the spread of the dunes, and Iunderstand more about the sandwormcycle than most people."

Stilgar added, his passion rising, "Wecan show these fighters how to buildsietches in the harshest desert. We canteach them to make real stillsuits. Oneday, perhaps, we shall even ride thegreat worms again." His voice cracked."No one can stop the desert, but we cankeep the people alive. The rest of you goback to the no-ship, but the Qelsans needus here."

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Sheeana stopped at the hatch of thenearest ship, clearly displeased. "That isnot possible. We need you, and all of thegholas, aboard the Ithaca. Each one ofyou was created, raised, and trained toassist us against the Enemy."

"But no one knows how, Sheeana,"Duncan pointed out, moved by what thetwo young men had said. "None of youcan say for certain why we need Stilgarand Liet. And what exactly is our fight?"

"We are not your tools or game pieces."Stilgar crossed his arms over his chest.

"We are human beings with free will,

regardless of how we might have beencreated. I never asked to serve the BeneGesserit witches."

Liet stood by his friend. "This is whatwe want to do, and who's to say it isn'tour destiny? We could save a planet, orat least its population. Isn't that animportant enough goal?"

Teg understood the dilemma all too well.These two had found a connection theycould

hold onto, a battle they could fight thatdid indeed require their specificabilities.

He himself had been created as a pawn,

and he'd been forced to play that role."Let them go, Sheeana. You have enoughexperimental subjects on the ship."

Thufir Hawat came up to the Bashar,relieved to see his mentor safe. He shota disturbed glance toward Sheeana. "Isthat all we are to them, Bashar?Experimental subjects?"

"In a certain sense. And now we must goback to our cage." He was anxious toleave this dying planet before otherproblems arose.

"Not so fast," the old Rabbi said,stepping forward. "My people are not,and never have been, part of yourreckless flight across space. We've

always wanted a world to settle.

Compared to metal decks and smallchambers, this planet looks goodenough."

"Qelso is dying," Sheeana said. TheRabbi and his hardworking companionssimply shrugged.

Var scowled, as did some of thenomadic villagers nearest him. "We donot need any further drain on ourresources. You are welcome here only ifyou intend to fight back against thedesert."

Isaac, one of the strong Jewish men,nodded. "If we decide to stay here, we

will fight and work. Our people are nostrangers to surviving when the rest ofthe universe is pitted against us."

No matter where I go, no matter what Ileave behind, my past is always

with me, like a shadow.

– Duncan Idaho, no-ship logs

Liet-Kynes and Stilgar returned brieflyto the Ithaca to retrieve it informationalarchives and some of the equipment theywould need to monitor Qelso's changingclimate. Liet even converted severalspare sensor buoys into orbitalweathersats, which the no-shipdeployed. He said his goodbyes to the

other ghola children who had beenraised with him–Paul Atreides, Jessica,Leto II. And Chani, his own daughter.

With a surge of emotion, Liet grasped thehand of the young woman, who was

physically almost three years older thanhe. He smiled at her. "Chani, somedayyou will remember me as I was onArrakis–busy in the sietches, working asthe Imperial Planetologist or the Judgeof the Change, carrying on my father'sdream for the Fremen and for Dune."

Her expression was intense, as if shestruggled to grasp some faint flicker ofmemory as she listened to him.Releasing her hand, he touched her

forehead, her dark red hair. "Maybe Iwas a strong leader, but I'm afraid Iwasn't much of a father. So I must tellyou, before I go, that I love you. Thenand now. When you remember me,remember all we shared."

"I will. If I remembered everything now,I'd probably want to go with you back tothe desert. And so would Usul."

Beside them, Paul shook his head. "Myplace is here. Our fight is bigger thanone

desert."

Stilgar took his friend's arm, urging Lietto hurry. "This planet is large enough for

us. I feel in my soul that this is why Lietand I have been brought back, whetheror not Sheeana realizes it. Perhapssomeday, no matter how it appears now,we will all see that this is part of thegreater battle."

Meanwhile, the Rabbi spoke to his fifty-two enthusiastic followers at theirstations on the no-ship. Isaac and Levihad taken over many of the old man'sduties, and at his signal they directed theJews to gather their possessions andbring prefabricated shelters from theIthaca's vast storage chambers. Soon, allof them had shuttled down to the surface,where they

disembarked and began unloading thelanded cargo ships under Isaac'sdirection.

On the ground Var strode through theactivity, marshalling his followers. Heran a

covetous eye over several of the craftthat Duncan had brought down during hisshow of

force. "Those mining shuttles would be agreat help to us for carrying supplies andwater across the continent."

Sheeana shook her head. "Those shipsbelong to the Ithaca. We may need them."

Var glowered at her. "Small enoughcompensation for causing the death of anentire world, I'd say."

"I didn't contribute to the death of yourworld. You, however, killed Stuka incold blood, before–"

Quickly, Teg went into Mentat mode,mentally inventorying the supplies andequipment

they carried aboard the no-ship. ToSheeana, he murmured, "Although wehad no part in the damage done to thisworld, we did resupply our ship here,and many of our people are stayingbehind as settlers. A token payment isnot unreasonable." When she nodded,

Teg turned to Var. "We can spare twoshuttles. No more."

"And two desert experts," Liet piped up."Stilgar and me."

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"Not to mention a willing and hardyworkforce. You'll be glad to have theJews here."

Teg had noticed how industrious theRabbi's people were. He expected theywould do well on this planet, even as the

climate turned harsher. Someday,however, they might decide that Qelsowasn't their promised land after all.

***

Not surprisingly, Garimi and herconservative followers also wanted toleave the no-

ship permanently. More than a hundredof the Sisters asked to be released fromthe Ithaca to settle on Qelso, even withits ever-growing desert. There, theyplanned to establish the foundation fortheir new order. Back on the no-ship,Garimi announced their choice to

Sheeana more as a courtesy than a matter

for discussion.

But the people of Qelso would hear noneof that. They met the Sisters' landedshuttle

with drawn weapons. Var stood with hisarms crossed over his chest. "We acceptLiet-Kynes and Stilgar among us, aswell as the Jews. But no Bene Gesseritwitch is welcome here."

"No witches!" other Qelsans cried, theirexpressions suddenly murderous. "If wefind them, we kill them."

Having accompanied them for afarewell, Sheeana tried to speak onGarimi's behalf.

"We could take them to the other side ofthe continent. You would never knowabout their settlement. I promise, they'llcause you no trouble."

But the incensed Qelsans were notinclined to listen, and Var spoke again."Your kind act only for the benefit of theSisterhood. We welcomed them once, toour deep and lasting regret. NowQelsans act for the benefit of Qelso. Nomember of your Sisterhood is welcomehere. Short of violence, I cannot be moreclear than that."

Sending up a puff of dust with everystep, the Rabbi trudged past tents andportable

buildings toward the shuttle. He wipedsweat from his brow and came to standbefore Teg and Sheeana, lookinguneasily from one to the other. "I thinkmy people will be happy here, by thegrace of God." He kicked at the dry dirtwith his shoe. "We were meant to haveground under our feet."

"You look disturbed, Rabbi," Sheeananoted.

"Not disturbed. Sad." To Teg heappeared crestfallen, and his watery oldeyes seemed redder than usual, as iffrom crying. "I will not be with them. Icannot leave the no-ship."

Black-bearded Isaac draped a consoling

arm around the elderly man's shoulders."This will be the new Israel for us,Rabbi, under my leadership. Won't youreconsider?"

"Why aren't you staying with yourpeople?" Teg asked.

The Rabbi lowered his gaze, and tearsdropped on the hardscrabble ground. "Ihave a higher obligation to one of myfollowers whom I failed."

Isaac explained to Sheeana and Teg in asoft voice, "He wishes to remain withRebecca.

Though she is an axlotl tank now, herefuses to leave her."

"I shall watch over her for all myremaining days. My followers will be ingood hands here. Isaac and Levi aretheir future, while I am their past."

The rest of the Jews surrounded theRabbi, saying their goodbyes andwishing him well.

Then the weeping old man joined Teg,Sheeana, and the others on the waitingshuttle, which took them back up to theno-ship.

Twenty-Four Years After Escape fromChapterhouse

We are wounded, but undefeated. Weare hurt, but can endure great pain.

We are driven to the end of ourcivilization and our history–but weremain

human.

– Mother Commander Murbella, addressto the survivors of Chapterhouse

As the epidemic burned itself out, thesurvivors–all of them ReverendMothers–

struggled to hold the Sisterhood together.No vaccines, immunity treatments, diets,or

quarantines had any effect as the generalpopulace died.

It required only three days forMurbella's heart to turn to stone. Aroundher, she

watched thousands of promising youngacolytes perish, diligent students whohad not yet learned enough to becomeReverend Mothers. Every one of themdied either from the plague or from theAgony that was rushed upon them.

Kiria slipped into her former HonoredMatre viciousness. On many occasionsshe

argued vehemently that it was a waste oftime to care for anyone who hadcontracted the plague. "Our resourcesare better spent on more important

things, on activities that have somechance of success!"

Murbella could not dispute her logic,though she did not agree with theopinion.

"We're not thinking machines. We arehumans, and we will care for humans."

It was a sad irony that as more and moreof the population died, fewer Reverend

Mothers were needed to tend theremaining sick. Gradually, those womenwere able to turn to other crucialactivities.

From a nearly empty chamber in the

Keep, Murbella peered through thebroad, arched

window segments behind her thronechair. Chapterhouse had once been abustling

administrative complex, the pulsingheart of the New Sisterhood. Before theplague struck, Mother CommanderMurbella had been in charge of hundredsof defensive measures,

monitoring the constant progress of theEnemy fleet, dealing with the Ixians, theGuild, refugees and warlords, anyonewho could fight on her side.

Far away, she could see the brown hills

and dying orchards, but what concernedher was

the eerie, unnatural silence of the cityitself. The dormitories and supportbuildings, the nearby spaceport field, themarkets, gardens, and dwindling herds...all should have been tended by apopulation of hundreds of thousands.Sadly, most normal activity around theKeep and the city had halted. Far toofew remained alive to cover even themost basic work. The world itself wasvirtually vacant, with all hope dashed ina matter of days. So shockingly sudden!

The air in the surrounding city washeavy with the stench of death and

burning. Black

smoke rose from dozens of bonfires–notfuneral pyres, for Murbella had otherways to dispose of the bodies, butsimply the incineration of contaminatedgarments and other materials, includinginfected medical supplies.

In an admittedly petty moment, Murbellahad summoned two exhausted Reverend

Mothers.

Telling them to bring suspensor clamps,she had ordered them to remove thedeactivated

combat robot from her private chambers.

Though the hated machine had not movedin years,

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she had begun to feel that it was mockingher. "Take this thing away and destroy it.I abhor everything it symbolizes." Theobedient women seemed relieved tofollow her orders.

The Mother Commander issued her nextinstructions. "Release our mélangestockpiles and distribute spice to allsurvivors." Every healthy woman was

dedicated to tending the remaining sick,though it was a hopeless task. Thesurviving Reverend Mothers wereutterly exhausted, having worked withoutrest for days. Even with the bodilycontrol taught by the Sisterhood, theywere hard-pressed to continue. Butmélange could help keep them going.

Long ago in the time of the ButlerianJihad the palliative properties ofmélange had

been an effective measure against thehorrific machine plagues. This time shedidn't expect spice to cure anyone whohad already contracted the disease, butat least it would help the surviving

Reverend Mothers perform the dauntingwork required of them. Though Murbella

desperately needed every gram of spiceto pay the Guild and the Ixians, herSisters needed it more. If the unifiedSisterhood died on Chapterhouse, whowould lead the fight for humanity?

One more cost among so many. But if wedon't spend it now, we will never buyvictory.

"Do it. Distribute whatever isnecessary."

As her orders were being carried out,she made calculations and realized toher dismay

that there weren't enough ReverendMothers left alive to deplete theSisterhood's hoarded spice anyway...

Her entire support staff had beenstripped away, and she felt isolated.Murbella had

already imposed austerity measures,severely cut back services, andeliminated every

extraneous activity. Even though most ofthe Reverend Mothers had survived theplague, it was not certain they wouldsurvive the aftermath.

She summoned those who were Mentatsand ordered them to assess the vital

work and

create an emergency plan of operations,using personnel who were best qualifiedfor the essential tasks. Where could theypossibly get the workforce necessary tomaintain

Chapterhouse, rebuild, and continue thefight? Maybe they could convince someof the

desperate refugees from devastatedplanets to come here, once the lastvestiges of plague died out.

Murbella grew tired of simplyrecovering. Chapterhouse was only atiny battlefield on

the vast galactic canvas of the climacticwar. The greatest threat still remainedout there, as the oncoming Enemy fleetstruck planet after planet, drivingrefugees like frantic animals before aforest fire. The battle at the end of theuniverse.

Kralizec...

A Reverend Mother came running up toher with a report. The woman, barelymore than

a girl, was one of those who had beenforced to attempt the Agony long beforeshe should have, but she had survived.Her eyes bore a faint bluish tinge now, acolor that would grow deeper as she

continued to consume mélange. Her gazehad a stunned, haunted look that

penetrated to the depths of her soul.

"Your hourly report, MotherCommander." She handed Murbella astack of Ridulian crystal sheets on whichnames were printed in columns.

In a cold and businesslike fashion, heradvisors had at first provided her withsimple

numbers and summaries, but Murbellademanded actual names. Each personwho died from

the plague was a person, and each

worker and acolyte on Chapterhousewas a soldier lost in the cause againstthe Enemy. She would not dishonor themby boiling them down to mere

numbers and totals.

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Duncan Idaho would never havecondoned such a thing.

"Four more of them were FaceDancers," the messenger said.

Murbella clenched her jaws. "Who?"When the woman spoke the names,Murbella

barely knew them, unobtrusive Sisterswho called no attention to themselves...exactly as Face Dancer spies would do.So far sixteen of the shape-shifters hadturned up among the plague victims. Shehad always suspected that even the NewSisterhood had been infiltrated, and nowshe had proof. But, in an irony thethinking machines could not possiblygrasp, the Face Dancers were alsosusceptible to the horrible epidemic.

They died just as easily as anyone else.

"Keep their bodies for dissection and

analysis, along with the others. If nothingelse, maybe we can learn something thatwill allow us to detect them among us."

The young woman waited whileMurbella scanned the long list of names.She felt a cold

whisper run down her spine as an entryin the third column of one sheet caughther eye. She felt as if she had beenstruck a heavy blow.

Gianne.

Her own daughter, her youngest child byDuncan Idaho. For years the girl haddelayed

passing through the Agony, neverreaching the point where she was readyfor the ordeal.

Gianne had shown great promise, butthat was not nearly enough. Though shehad not

demonstrated herself to be ready, thegirl–among thousands of others–hadbeen forced to take the poison early, theonly chance of surviving.

Murbella reeled in shock. She shouldhave been at Gianne's side, but in thechaos no

one had told the Mother Commanderwhen her daughter would be given the

Water of Life.

Most Sisters did not even realize thatGianne was her daughter. The frantic,exhausted helpers would not haveknown. With her priorities set in trueBene Gesserit fashion, Murbella hadtended to her official duties and hadgone without sleep for several days insuccession.

I should have been there to support herand help, even if I could only watch overher as she died.

Yet no one had informed her. No one hadknown that Gianne was special.

I should have thought to check on her, but

I put it off, made assumptions.

With so many events crashing aroundher, Murbella had misplaced her owndaughter's

life. First Rinya, and now Gianne, bothlost to the perilous Agony. Only twoother daughters remained: Janess wasoff at the battlefront fighting thinkingmachines, while her sister Tanidia, notknowing the identity of her parents, hadbeen sent to join the Missionaria.

Though both of them faced risks, theymight at least avoid contracting thehorrific plague.

"Two of my children dead," she said

aloud, though the messenger did notunderstand.

"Oh, what would Duncan think of me?"Murbella set the report aside. Sheclosed her eyes for a moment, drew adeep breath, and straightened herself.Pointing to the name on the list ofvictims she said, "Take me to her."

The messenger glanced down, ran aquick assessment. "The bodies in thatcolumn have been hauled off to thespaceport. 'Thopter loads of them aretaking off right now."

"Hurry. I must try to see her." Murbellarushed out of the hall, glancing back tobe certain the young woman was right

behind her. Though the MotherCommander felt

disturbingly numb, she had to do this.

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They took a groundcar to the nearbyspaceport, where the fluttering hum of'thopters

droned. On the way, the young ReverendMother activated her commline, and in aquiet voice requested information.

She then directed the driver of the car totake a particular access road.

On all of the spaceport landing pads,large cargo 'thopters were being loadedwith the

dead, and were lifting off as soon as theywere full. In normal, better times whenBene Gesserits died, they would beburied in the thriving orchards orgardens.

The bodies would decompose andprovide nourishment and fertilizer. Nowthey piled

up so fast that even large cargo shipscould barely keep up with removing

them.

The young assistant directed the driverto a specific grid in the landing zone,where a dark green 'thopter was beingloaded by workers. Bundle after bundleof bodies went into the large hold. "Shehas to be in that one, MotherCommander. Would you... would youlike them to unload so that you can findand identify her?"

As the two women stepped out of thegroundcar, Murbella felt stunned, buttried to steel herself. "Not necessary. Itis only her body, not her. Just the same,I'll allow myself enough sentimentalityto accompany her out to the dunes."

Leaving the young Reverend Mother totend to other duties, Murbella climbedinto the 'thopter and sat next to thefemale pilot.

"My daughter is aboard," Murbella said.Then she grew silent, and stared glumlyout the window.

A vibrating shudder passed through the'thopter as it took off with jets andflapping

wings. It would take them half an hour orso to get out to the desert zone, an hourthe Mother Commander could ill affordto be away from the Keep. But it wastime she desperately

needed...

Even the best of the Sisterhood who hadundergone the most arduous testing were

dismayed by the very real and materialtragedy–but not to the point of totalsurrender.

Bene Gesserit teachings showed themhow to control base emotions, how toact for the

greater good and see the overall picture.Upon watching almost 90 percent of aplanet's population fall within a fewdays, however, the magnitude of thedisaster–the extermination–

was breaking down even the strongestbarriers in many Sisters. It was up toMurbella to maintain the morale of thesurvivors.

The thinking machines have found acruel and effective way to destroy ourhuman

weapons, but we are not so easilydisarmed!

"Mother Commander, we have arrived,"the pilot said, her clipped words loudenough to be heard over the thrum of thewings.

Murbella opened her eyes to see cleandesert, tan eddies of sand and dust

curling from

stray breezes. It seemed pristine anduntouched, no matter how much humandebris the

Sisterhood dumped there. She saw other'thopters circling in the sky, descendingover the dunes and opening cargo doorsto expel loads... hundreds of black-wrapped bodies in each aircraft. Thedead Sisters tumbled out onto the sandlike charred cordwood.

Natural elements would dispose of themfar more efficiently than huge funeralpyres

could. The aridity would desiccate them,

and scouring sandstorms would wearthem down to bones. In many cases, theworms would simply devour them. Asort of purity.

Their 'thopter hovered over a smallbasin. Large swells of dunes swept upon either side, while dust kicked up bythe 'thopter wings swirled around them.The pilot worked her

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controls, and the bottom doors openedwith a weary groan. Bodies tumbled out,

wrapped in fabric. They were stiff, theirfeatures covered, but to Murbella theywere still individuals. One of thoseunidentified shapes was her own littlegirl... born just before Murbellaunderwent the Agony herself, just beforeshe lost Duncan forever.

She didn't delude herself into thinkingthat if she had been at her daughter's sideshe might have helped Gianne survive.Passing through the Spice Agony wassolely an

individual's battle, but Murbella wishedshe could have been there.

The bodies spilled unceremoniouslyonto soft sand. Below, she could see

serpentine

shapes stirring two big worms drawn by'thopter vibrations or the thumps offalling bodies.

The creatures scooped up and devouredthe human shapes, then plunged backbeneath the

sand.

The pilot lifted the 'thopter high enoughto swing around, so that Murbella couldlook

down and observe the horrible feedingfrenzy. Touching the commline in her ear,the pilot received a message, then

offered a faint smile to Murbella."Mother Commander, there is some goodnews, at least."

After seeing the last unmarked bodyvanish below, Murbella wasn't in themood for any

sort of cheering up, but she waited.

"One of our deep-desert researchsettlements has survived. ShakkadStation. They were far enough out in thesand and had no contact with the Keep.Somehow they avoided the

touch of the virus."

Murbella remembered the tiny group of

offworld scientists and helpers. "Iisolated them myself so they could work.I want them to stay completely cut off–nocontact whatsoever! If a single one of usgoes near, we could contaminate them."

"Shakkad Station doesn't have enoughsupplies to last long," the pilot said."Perhaps we could arrange a packagedrop-off."

"No, nothing! We can't take the chance ofcontamination." She thought of thosepeople as living at the center of a deadlyminefield. But once the epidemicpassed, perhaps these few couldsurvive. Only a handful. "If they run outof food, they should increase their

consumption of mélange. They can findenough to survive for at least a littlewhile. Even if some of them starve, it'sbetter than having every single onesuccumb to this damned

epidemic."

The pilot did not disagree. As she staredout into the desert, Murbella realizedwhat she and her Sisters had become.She muttered aloud, her words drownedby the thrum of engines.

"We are the new Fremen, and this wholebesieged galaxy is our desert."

The 'thopter soared away, heading backtoward the Keep, leaving the worms to

their

feast.

Hatred breeds in the fertile ground oflife itself.

– Ancient Saying

The no-ship had flown away from theturmoil of the planet Qelso, leavingbehind some

of their people, some of their hopes andpossibilities. On that world Duncan hadtaken a great risk, daring to leave the no-ship for the first time in decades. Had herevealed his presence?

Would the Enemy be able to find himnow, seizing upon that clue? It waspossible.

Though he had decided not to cower andhide, Duncan did not intend to bringpossible

destruction to all the innocent people onthis planet. He would make anotherjump, cover his tracks. And so the Ithacahad risked another unguided plungethrough folded space.

That was three months ago.

Through a thick plaz viewport, Scytalehad watched Qelso dwindle, thensuddenly

vanish into blankness. He had neverbeen allowed to set foot off the ship.Judging by what he had seen, he wouldhave been happy to settle on that world,in spite of its spreading desert.

Although he had his memories back,Scytale found that a part of him missedhis father,

his predecessor, himself. His mind nowcontained everything he needed. But hewanted more.

With this new body, the Tleilaxu Mastershould have another century beforecumulative

genetic errors caused him to break down

again. Enough time to solve manyproblems.

But when another hundred years weregone, he would still be the last TleilaxuMaster,

the only remaining keeper of the GreatBelief. Unless he could use the cells ofthe Council of Masters stored in hisnullentropy capsule. Someday, maybethe witches would allow him to employthe axlotl tanks for the purpose theTleilaxu had intended them.

Back at Qelso, he had agonized overwhether to remain there and create anew

homeland for the Tleilaxu. Could hebuild the proper laboratories andequipment? Recruit followers fromamong the people there? Should he havetaken that gamble? Young Scytale

had studied the scriptures, meditatedlong and hard, and finally decidedagainst staying behind–the same decisionthe Rabbi had reached. On Qelso, hewasn't likely ever to have access to theaxlotl technology he needed. Hisdecision was perfectly logical.

The Rabbi's recent misery and anger,however, was not so easily explained.No one had

forced him into his choice. Ever since

the ship left the planet and its spreadingdeserts, the old man had been marchingup and down the corridors, spreadingdissent like poison. He was the only oneof his kind left aboard. Just like Scytale.

The aged holy man ate with the otherrefugees, grumbling about how harshlyhe was

treated and how difficult it must be forhis people to establish a new Zionwithout his guidance. Garimi and herhardliners, having been forcibly turnedaway from the planet, had expressed nosympathy for his grievances.

Watching it all, Scytale concluded thatthe Rabbi was the sort of person who

placed

external blame in order to positionhimself as a martyr. Since he would notleave the axlotl tank that had once beenRebecca, he could cling to his hatred ofthe Bene Gesserit order, faulting theminstead of his own bad choices.

Well, Scytale thought, there wascertainly enough hatred to go around.

***

In his private quarters, Wellington Yuehstudied his mirror reflection–the sallowface,

dark lips, and pointed chin. The narrow

visage was younger than the one hismemories told

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him to expect, but still recognizable.Since regaining his memories, he had lethis black hair grow out until he hadenough at the back to bind in animprovised Suk School ring.

Yet he did not fully accept himself.There was one more critical step to take.In his hand he held an indelible scriberfilled with dark ink that would leave a

permanent stain. Not exactly a tattoo,and without any implant or attendantdeep Imperial Conditioning, but closeenough. His hands were steady, hisstrokes confident.

I am a Suk doctor, a surgeon. I can drawa simple geometric shape.

A diamond, prominent on his forehead,perfectly centered. Without hesitation, hedrew

another stroke, connected the lines, andfilled in the skin of his brow. When hewas finished, he examined himself again.Wellington Yueh looked back at himfrom the mirror, Suk doctor and personalphysician to House Vernius and then

House Atreides.

The Traitor.

He set the scriber aside, dressed in aclean doctor's smock, and headed for themedical center. Like the old Rabbi, hewas as qualified as any Bene Gesseritdoctor to monitor patients and tend theaxlotl tanks.

Recently, Sheeana had begun growinganother ghola as part of her program,using cells

from the Tleilaxu Master's nullentropytube. Now that Stilgar and Liet-Kyneswere gone, she had felt justified intaking that step. Clinging to security, she

refused to identify the child gestating inthe axlotl tank.

The Bene Gesserits still claimed to needthe gholas, though they could not clearly

explain why. Their success in restoringthe memories of previous lives in Yueh,Stilgar, and Liet-Kynes had not led tosimilar accomplishments with the othergholas yet. Some of the witches,especially Proctor Superior Garimi,continued to voice grave reservationsabout bringing back Jessica and Leto II,because of their past crimes. So they hadtried to awaken Thufir Hawat next.

Yueh did not know what the witches haddone in attempting to break down

Hawat's

walls, but it had backfired on them.Instead of awakening, Hawat had falleninto convulsions.

The old Rabbi had been present andrushed to attend the seventeen-year-oldghola,

pushing the Sisters away and scoldingthem for the foolish risks they had taken.

But Yueh, like Scytale, already had hisold knowledge. He was no longer achild, no

longer waiting to become something.One day, he mustered his courage and

implored Sheeana to put him to work.

"You witches forced me to remember myold life. I begged you not to, but youinsisted on awakening me. Along withmy memories and my guilt, came usefulskills. Let me act as a Suk doctor again."

At first he wasn't sure the BeneGesserits would agree, especiallyconsidering the

constant threat from the unknownsaboteur–but when Garimi automaticallyobjected, Sheeana decided to supporthim. He was granted permission to makerounds in the medical center, so long ashe remained under surveillance.

At the entrance to the main axlotlchamber, two security women scannedYueh

carefully, then waved him through.Neither of them remarked on the newdiamond-shaped

stain on his forehead. He wondered ifanyone still remembered what that markhad once

symbolized.

In preoccupied silence, Yueh went abouthis inspections of the healthy axlotltanks.

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Several produced mélange for the ship'sstockpiles, but one was obviouslypregnant.

This unnamed ghola baby would gestateunder much tighter security. Yueh was

convinced that the child would not beanother attempt at Gurney Halleck,Xavier Harkonnen, or Serena Butler.Nor would it be a duplicate of Liet-Kynes or Stilgar. No, Sheeana wouldexperiment with someone else–someoneshe believed could dramatically help theIthaca.

Knowing Sheeana's impetuous nature,Yueh feared who the baby might be. TheSisters

were not immune to making poor choices(as they had proved by bringing himback!). He

couldn't believe any of the women hadimagined he might be a savior or a hero,yet he had been one of their firstexperiments. Judging from this, what ifthe witches were curious to studynefarious personalities from the darkpages of history? Emperor Shaddam?Count

Fenring? Beast Rabban? Even thedespised Baron Harkonnen himself?

Yueh could imagine Sheeana's excusesalready. She would no doubt insist thateven the

worst personalities had the potential toprovide invaluable information.

What snakes will they set loose amongus? he wondered.

In the main medical center away fromthe tanks, he found the old Rabbigrumbling as he

assembled a portable medical kit. Sincerefusing to remain behind on Qelso withhis people, he lingered for hours at atime over the tank that he calledRebecca.

Though he despised what had been doneto her, he seemed relieved that she hadn'tbeen

the one implanted with the new ghola.

Reluctant to have the Rabbi hover toolong near the axlotl tanks, the Sistersgave him

duties to keep him busy. "I am going torun Scytale through a battery of tests,"the old man huffed to Yueh, starting toretreat from the medical center."Sheeana wants him checked out–

again."

"I can do that for you, Rabbi. My duties

here are light."

"No. Sticking needles into the Tleilaxuis one of my few pleasures these days."His gaze fixed on Yueh's new diamondmark, but he did not comment on it."Walk with me." The Rabbi took Yueh'sarm in a tight grip and led him into thecorridors, away from the hovering BeneGesserits. When they were far enoughaway for him to feel safe, the old manleaned closer, speaking in aconspiratorial tone. "I am certain Scytaleis the saboteur, though I have not foundevidence yet. First the old one, and nowhis ghola replacement. They are all thesame. With his memories restored, theyoung Scytale continues his insidious

work to destroy our ship. Who can trusta Tleilaxu?"

Who can trust anyone? Yueh thought."Why would he want to harm the ship?"

"We know he has some dirty scheme.Ask yourself why he would store FaceDancer

cells in his nullentropy tube, along withall the others–yours included. Whywould he need them? Isn't thatsuspicious enough for you?"

"Those cells were confiscated andsecured by Sheeana. No one has hadaccess to them."

"Can you be sure of that? Maybe hewants to kill us all so he can restore anarmy of Face Dancers for himself." TheRabbi shook his head. Behind thespectacles, his reddened eyes wereangry. "And that isn't all. The witcheshave their own schemes. Why do yousuppose they won't reveal the identity ofthe new ghola baby? Does even DuncanIdaho know who is growing in thattank?" He craned his neck, glanced overhis shoulder back toward the medicalcenter, watching out for surveillanceimagers. "But you can find out."

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Yueh was perplexed, and curious, but hedidn't tell the Rabbi that he had beenhaving

some of the same doubts. "How? Theywon't tell me either."

"But they don't watch you like theywatch me! The witches are afraid I'mgoing to do something to hinder theirprogram, but now that you have yourmemories, you're their trusted littleghola." The Rabbi slipped him a smallsealed polymer disk, with a dab of filmysubstance in the center. "You haveaccess to the scanners. These are cellsamples from the pregnant tank in there.

Nobody saw me obtain them, but I darenot run the analysis myself."

Yueh surreptitiously pocketed the disk."Do I really want to know?"

"Can you afford not to? I leave it toyou." The Rabbi slipped away,muttering. Carrying his portable medicalkit, he trudged off to the Tleilaxu's cabin.

The sample weighed heavily in Yueh'spocket. Why would the Sisters keep thenew

ghola's identity secret? What were theyup to?

It took several hours for him to find an

opportunity to slip into one of the no-ship's small lab chambers. As a Sukdoctor, he had permission to use thefacilities. Even so, he worked as swiftlyas possible, running the small samplefrom the axlotl tank through a DNAcatalog. He compared the cells from thegrowing ghola with the identificationsthat had been run years ago, when theSisters first assessed the material inScytale's nullentropy capsule.

Yueh found a match fairly quickly, andwhen he learned the answer, hephysically

recoiled. "Impossible! They would notdare!" But in his heart, as he

remembered the torment Sheeana hadused to awaken his memories, he didn'tdoubt the witches would do anything.

Now he understood why Sheeanarefused to reveal the identity of theghola.

Even so, the choice itself made no sense.The Sisters had numerous other options.

Better ones. Why not try again to bringback Gurney Halleck? Or Ghanima, as a

companion for poor Leto II? For whatpurpose could they possibly need–heshuddered–Piter deVries?

Because Bene Gesserits liked to play

with dangerous toys, resurrecting peopleto serve

as chess pieces in their great game. Heknew the sort of questions they wouldpursue, just to satisfy their infernalcuriosity. Was the genetic makeup ofPiter de Vries corrupt, or was he evilbecause he had been Twisted by theTleilaxu? Who better to think like anEnemy than a Harkonnen? Was there anyevidence to suggest that a new Piter deVries would turn out evil, as before, ifhe were not exposed to the corruptiveinfluence of the Baron?

He could picture Sheeana giving him acondescending frown. "We need another

Mentat.

You, of all people, Wellington Yueh,should not hold the past crimes of aghola's old life against him."

He still did not believe it. He squeezedhis eyes shut, and even the fake diamondtattoo on his forehead seemed to burn.He remembered being forced to watchWanna endure her

endless torture at the hands of the vileMentat. And the man thrusting a knifedeep into his back, grinding the blade.

Piter deVries!

He still felt the sharp steel ripping into

his organs, a mortal wound, one of thevery last memories of his first life.Piter's laugh reverberated, along withthe screams of Wanna in the agonychamber... and Yueh unable to help her.

Piter deVries?

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Yueh reeled, barely able to absorb theinformation. He could not allow amonster like

that to be reborn.

***

Days later, Yueh entered the medicalcenter, and walked toward the singlepregnant

tank. This was just an innocent baby atthe moment. Even if it was de Vries, thisghola child had committed none of thecrimes of the original.

But he will! He is twisted, evil,malicious. The Sisters would raise himand insist on triggering his memories.Then he would be back!

Yet Yueh was trapped by his ownprevious logic. If the Piter ghola–in fact,all the

gholas–were unable to escape the chainsof fate, wouldn't it be the same for Yueh?Was Yueh therefore destined to betraythem all? Would he be doomed to makeanother terrible mistake–

or must he sacrifice everything toprevent one? He had thought aboutconsulting Jessica, but he decidedagainst it. This was his burden, hisdecision.

Using the Rabbi's sample, he had run thegenetic scan privately and seen theresult. He had to act alone. Though hewas himself a Suk doctor, trained andconditioned to save lives, sometimes thedeath of one monster was required to

save many innocents.

Piter deVries!

Indirectly he had caused de Vries's deaththe first time around, by giving thepoison-gas tooth to Duke Leto, who bitdown on it in the Mentat's presence.Yueh had failed in so many ways, causedso much pain and disappointment. EvenWanna would have hated what he'd

done to himself, and to the Atreides.

Now, though–a second life, a secondchance. Wellington Yueh could makethings right.

Each of the resurrected ghola children

supposedly had a great purpose. He was

convinced that this was his.

The handmade black diamond staininghis brow added to the burden as Yuehwrestled

with his decision. In his restoredmemories, he saw with clarity when hehad become an actual Suk doctor, whenhe passed through an entire Inner Schoolregimen of Imperial Conditioning andtook the formal oath. " 'A Suk shall nottake human life.'"

And yet, Yueh's oath had been subverted,thanks to the Harkonnens. Thanks toPiter

deVries.

What irony that the breaking of his Sukpledge now allowed him to destroy thevery

man who had broken that conditioning!He had the freedom to kill.

Yueh already had the instrument of deathin the pocket of his smock. His planswere in

place, and he would take no chances.Since surveillance imagers stillmonitored the med center and its axlotltanks, Yueh could not do this in secret,as the real saboteur had. Once he acted,everyone aboard the Ithaca would know

who had killed the de Vries ghola. Andhe

would face the consequences.

Perspiration formed on his brow as hecrossed the room. With the sharp-eyedBene

Gesserit guard watching him, he couldnot delay, or the damned witches mightdetect his uneasiness, his nervousmovements. Bringing out his device,Yueh turned a dial as if to recalibrate it,then inserted its probe into the pregnanttank, as he would do in taking abiological sample. Thus he easilyadministered a lethal dosage of fast-acting poison. So far, no one suspected a

thing.

There. Done.

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Fittingly, de Vries had been an expert incleverly concocted poisons. And noantidote

was available for this toxin; Yueh hadseen to that. In a matter of hours, theunborn de Vries would shrivel up anddie. Along with the tank, unfortunately.But that could not be avoided. A

necessary sacrifice.

Leaving the chamber, he smiled grimlyand quickened his pace. By tomorrow,there

would be no hiding. Thufir Hawat andBashar Teg would review surveillanceholos and

interview the guards. They would knowwho had done it. Unlike the realsaboteur, he could not delete the images.He would be caught.

Despite this knowledge, Yueh wascontent with himself for the first timesince his

reawakening. At last, he savored theelusive taste of redemption.

Send a fact-finding team to Buzzell tolearn why soostone exports have

dropped off so drastically. This lack ofsupply, coupled with the precipitous

decline in mélange productionfollowing the Chapterhouse plague, is

highly suspicious, especially in light ofthe fact that the witches are

involved in both enterprises. We havelearned over the millennia not to

take them at their word.

– CHOAM directive

Now that he possessed the sample ofultraspice, Khrone knew exactly whatlived in the

fertile seas of Buzzell. The Navigatorscertainly had an unexpected schemethere, releasing a new breed of mélange-producing worms. He needed to go thereand see for himself. The

leader of the Face Dancer myriad caredlittle for the loss of soostone revenue,but in his guise as a CHOAMfunctionary, he had to feign extremedispleasure.

"Monsters?" Standing on the main dock,

he gave the woman Corysta a witheringglare.

"Sea serpents? Can you think of no betterexcuses for your incompetence?"

Khrone scowled at the sea and gatheredhis dark business robes about hisshoulders.

Out there in the water, wary Phibiansswam, diving to harvest the gems frombeds of

cholisters, many of which had alreadybeen devoured by the hungry andgrowing seaworms.

Armored boats patrolled the coves,

though they would surely proveinsignificant if one of the large creaturesshould decide to attack.

Reverend Mother Corysta held herselferect, surprisingly unintimidated by thefaux

official. "It's no excuse, sir. No oneknows where the worms came from orwhy they have appeared at this time. Butthey're real. Guild hunting ships draggedin a carcass, if you care to see it."

"Nonsense. Such a story obviouslybenefits the New Sisterhood." Ignoringher

protestations, he motioned for Corysta to

accompany him along a rocky shorelinepath, his shoes crunching on the loosestones. Stepping in a puddle, he frowneddown at his feet and kept walking."CHOAM suspects that you're creating afalse shortage in order to drive upprices. You have financial obligations.For years now, the Sisterhood has beencommissioning extremely expensiveships, weapons, and military supplies.Your losses are tremendous."

"They're humanity's losses, sir."Corysta's voice was sharp.

"And now Chapterhouse itself, broughtto its knees by a plague. It appears thatthe Sisterhood can no longer meet its

financial obligations. Thus, CHOAM nolonger considers you a good credit risk."

Corysta turned into the brisk sea wind."These are matters you should take upwith the Mother Commander."

"I should, but since she is on aquarantined planet, I can't very well callon her, can I?

Your Sisterhood is falling apart as aresult of external attack and internalstrife."

Women stood on plastone ramps at thewater's edge to receive a tired-lookinggroup of

Phibians who carried a net filled withsmall, misshapen soostones.

Khrone could tell at a glance the gemswere of poor quality, but at least it waspart of a shipment he could seize asoverdue payment. "Are your Phibiansafraid of sea monsters? Can they not goto richer beds of shellfish?"

"They harvest what they can, sir. Thereare no richer beds. The monsters haveeaten many of the cholisters. Ourunderwater crops are ravaged. And, yes,the Phibians are

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understandably frightened. Many of themhave been slaughtered." Corysta staredat him coldly, and Khrone appreciatedthe steel in her expression; he couldrespect it. "We have holo-footage of that,too, if you doubt me."

"It doesn't matter if I believe your story.I only want to know what the Sisterhoodintends to do about it." Khrone knew thewomen could do nothing. Eventually theseaworms would bring down thesoostone economy of Buzzell, thusremoving another one of the MotherCommander's bargaining chips when shedesperately needed to buy allegiances

and secure

equipment.

Kept in the dark, the exiled Sisters didnot yet understand the true potential ofthose worms. The primary chemicalattributes of the new mélange stolenfrom Buzzell would be a thousand timesmore effective on human nervereceptors. Oh, it would work very nicely

indeed!

He wondered if the Spacing Guild waseven aware of Edrik's destroyedHeighliner yet.

It was possible that they weren't. So

many of their Navigators had vanishedanyway,

what was one more? If necessary, byplanting a few hints here and there,Khrone could easily blame the loss onan attack by the thinking-machine battlefleet. If nothing else, Omnius made a finescapegoat.

The Face Dancer myriad had set theirhooks everywhere. The Ixians werebuilding

supposed weapons and draining theChapterhouse coffers of spice; now theSisterhood's

soostone wealth was also disappearing.

The Guild relied entirely oncomputerized navigation devices fortheir new ships, and the Navigators hadno source of mélange.

All enemies of the Face Dancers wouldfall. He would see to that. The LostTleilaxu and the original Masters hadalready been erased. The Ixians were inKhrone's pocket.

Next would come the New Sisterhood,the Guild, and all of humanity. Finally,when he

and his minions defeated the thinkingmachines, nothing would remain but theFace Dancers.

And that would be enough.

Pleased with himself, Khrone marchedup to the dock and yanked the net ofsoostones

from the women trying to sort them."Your production has dropped offdrastically, and too many CHOAMmerchants have gone away empty-handed."

Corysta hovered close behind him. "Ihope to hire mercenary hunters to trackdown the seaworms. It is possible thatwe may find something of interest–maybe something more

valuable than soostones."

So, this woman already had hersuspicions about the ultraspice! "I doubtit," he said.

Khrone took the net of rough soostonesand marched back to the landing pad.

Considering the vast game board, hedecided it was finally time to headtoward the heart of the thinking-machineempire. He would deliver the ultraspiceto Omnius and let the evermind continuewith his mad dream of creating andcontrolling his own Kwisatz Haderach.

It wouldn't help him in the end.

We believe that confession should leadto forgiveness and redemption.

Usually, however, it leads only tofurther accusations.

– Dr. Wellington Yueh, encrypted entry

The axlotl chamber smelled of fetiddeath. Duncan could not tear his gazeaway from

the still, cold flesh of the tank and theclear signs of necrosis. Rage andhelplessness chewed at his gut. And whowould the child have been? Sheeanahadn't even told him.

Those damned Bene Gesserits and theirsecrets!

"Touch nothing," Teg warned. "Get me

all security images right away. We willfind the saboteur this time." One of theSisters hurried to obtain the recordings.

Meanwhile, young Thufir cordoned offan area around the poison-ravaged tankand its

unborn ghola. Mostly recovered from thememory-trigger attempt that had gone so

dramatically awry, he now sternlyfollowed the methods the Bashar hadtaught him. The

corrosive poison had completelydestroyed the growing fetus and theneaten through the wall of the womb thatkept the thing alive. Somehow the tank

had fallen to the floor, and yellowpuddles oozed around the dead flesh.

Sheeana turned to one of her Sisters."Bring Jessica here. Immediately."

Duncan gave her a sharp look. "WhyJessica? Is she a suspect?"

"No, but she will be hurt by this. MaybeI shouldn't even tell her..."

Presently, Teg received a surveillanceholotube from one of the Bene Gesserits."I will scan every second. There must besome piece of evidence pointing to thetraitor among us."

"There is no need. I killed the ghola." A

young man's voice. All of them spun tolook at a grim-faced Dr. WellingtonYueh. "I had to." Thufir moved swiftly toseize him by the arm, and Yueh did notresist. He stood firm, ready to face thequestions that would be thrown at him."You can punish me, but I couldn't allowyou to spawn another Twisted Mentat.Piter de Vries would only have causedbloodshed and pain."

While Duncan immediately grasped theimplications of Yueh's confession,Sheeana

sounded perplexed. "Piter? What are youtalking about?"

Yueh didn't struggle in Thufir's firm grip.

"I witnessed his evil firsthand, and Icouldn't allow you to bring him back.Ever."

Just then, a breathless young Jessicahurried in with the three-year-old Alia intow. Alia had intent, eager eyes, full ofmaturity and understanding that sheshould not have had. She carried achubby doll that looked remarkably likea juvenile version of the fat Baron

Harkonnen. One of its arms had almosttorn loose. Leto II followed hisgrandmother, looking curious andworried.

Sheeana still didn't understand. "Whatdoes Piter de Vries have to do with any

of this?"

Yueh made a distasteful expression."Don't try to divert me with lies. I knowwho that ghola was."

"That baby was not Piter de Vries."Sheeana spoke her words in a normaltone. "It would have been Duke LetoAtreides."

Yueh looked as if he had been felledwith an axe. "There was no doubt–I rana genetic comparison!"

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Jessica listened from just inside thedoorway, her face flickering with a rushof hope

before plunging into sadness. "MyLeto?"

Yueh tried to sink to his knees, but Thufirheld him upright.

"No! It can't be!"

With adult-sharp awareness, Alia triedto take her mother's hand, but Jessicapulled

away from the two children to loom over

the Suk doctor. "You killed my Duke?Again?"

He grabbed his temples. "It can't be. Isaw the results myself. It was Piter deVries."

Thufir Hawat raised his chin. "At leastwe have found our saboteur."

"I would never have killed the Duke! Iloved Leto–"

"And now you've murdered him twice,"Jessica said, stabbing with each icicle-sharp word. "Leto, my Leto..."

Finally, Thufir's comment seemed to sinkin. "But I didn't kill the other three

gholas or harm their tanks! I committedno other sabotage."

Teg said, "How can we believe you?This will require a great deal moreinvestigation. I will review all evidencein light of this new information."

Sheeana was clearly troubled, but herwords surprised everyone. "My owntruthsense leads me to believe him."

The flesh tank and unborn fetus lay onthe floor, chemically decomposing.Black streaks covered all tissue andspread into the surrounding puddle. Yuehstruggled to throw himself into thepoisonous corrosive, as if by doing sohe could kill himself.

With an iron grip, Thufir held him awayfrom it. "Not quite yet, Traitor."

"No good will come from any of this,"the old Rabbi said, standing at thedoorway of the medical center. No onehad heard him arrive.

Desperate, Yueh looked at him. "I testedthe samples you gave me–the baby wasde

Vries!"

The old man backed away like a startledbird. He looked indignant at the very

suggestion he might have provoked theunstable young man. "Yes, I gave you a

sample I obtained from the axlotl lab.But I merely raised a question–and neversuggested that you should commitmurder! Murder! I am a man of God, andyou are a doctor–a Suk doctor! Whowould imagine...?" He shook his head.His gray beard looked especially wildtoday. "That tank you killed might havebeen Rebecca! I could never suggestsuch a thing."

Everyone in the room exchangedglances, silently agreeing that Yueh mustbe the

saboteur after all.

"It wasn't me," he said. "Not the othertimes. Why would I confess to this but

deny the others? My crime is the same."

"Not the same at all," Jessica said in aknotted voice. "This was my Duke..."She turned and left, while Yueh staredbeseechingly after her.

Each human, no matter how altruisticor peaceful he seems, carries the

capacity to commit tremendousviolence. I find this quality particularly

fascinating, especially because it canlie dormant for extended periods and

then flare up. For instance, considertheir traditionally docile women.

When these life-givers decide insteadto take lives, it is a beautiful ferocity

to behold.

– Erasmus, Laboratory Notes

In Chapterhouse, the meeting ofReverend Mothers degenerated quicklyto murderous

intent.

Eyes flashing, Kiria nudged the chairdogaway from her as she stood. "Mother

Commander, you have to accept certainfacts. Chapterhouse is more thandecimated. The

Ixians still haven't produced theObliterators they promised. We simplycan't win this fight.

As soon as we admit that, we can beginto make realistic plans."

Eyes bleary, Murbella gave the formerHonored Matre a level look. "Such as?"The Mother Commander dealt with somany ongoing crises, obligations, andunsolvable problems that she couldbarely concentrate on the reports comingto the mostly empty Keep.

The plague had passed on Chapterhouse,so everyone who was going to die wasalready

dead. With the exception of the isolatedinhabitants of the deep desert ShakkadStation, the only survivors on the planetwere Reverend Mothers.

All the while, the thinking machinescontinued to move through space,penetrating

deeper into the Old Empire–though bysending scout probes and their plagueshere to

Chapterhouse, they had broken theirpreviously predictable progression.Omnius must

understand the significance of the NewSisterhood; a key victory here could stop

the rest of humanity's scattered fighting.

"Let's take what we need," Kiria said,"copy our Archives, and vanish into thegreat unknown to create seed colonies.The thinking machines are relentless, butwe can be swift and unpredictable. Forhumanity's survival and the preservationof the Sisterhood, we must disperse,reproduce, and remain alive." The otherReverend Mothers watched guardedly.

Anger boiled within Murbella. "Thoseold attitudes have proved wrong timeand again.

We can't survive simply by running or bybreeding faster than Omnius can kill us."

"Many Sisters believe as I do–the onesstill living, that is. You've led us now foralmost a quarter of a century, and yourpolicies have failed. Most ofChapterhouse is dead. This crisis forcesus to consider new alternatives."

"Old alternatives, you mean. There istoo much work ahead of us to rehash thistired debate. Is the identification test forFace Dancer genetics ready fordistribution yet? That test is critical forall key planetary governments. Ourscientists have studied the cadavers forweeks, and we must send–"

"Don't change the subject, MotherCommander! If you won't make the

rational decision, if you can't see weneed to adapt to circumstances, then Ichallenge you for leadership."

In astonishment, Laera backed awayfrom the table, while Janess watched hermother,

showing no emotion. After the plaguehad run its course, the female bashar hadreturned from the fringe battles.

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Murbella allowed herself a cool smile

as she faced Kiria. Her voice drippedwith acid. "I thought we finished thisnonsense years ago." She had fought offnumerous challengers, killing each one.But Kiria was ready to put it to the testagain. "Choose your time and place."

"Choose? That's just like you, MotherCommander–putting off what must bedone

now."

In a flash as swift as nerve impulsescould travel, Kiria leapt and lashed outwith one foot. Murbella spun away, herspine bending backward with asuppleness that surprised even her. Thedeadly edge of Kiria's foot came within

a hair's breadth of her left eye. Theattacker landed on her feet, poised forfurther combat in the council chamber.

"We can't choose a time and place forfighting. We must always be ready,always

adapt."

She lunged forward again, both handsoutstretched, fingers rigid as woodenstakes to

gouge Murbella's throat.

She writhed out of the way as Kiriathrust. Before her opponent could yankher hand

away, Murbella grabbed the woman'sarm and added her own momentum,pulling Kiria off

balance and slamming her into thecouncil table, scattering Ridulian crystalsheets. Tumbling off, Kiria crashed intoa chairdog. In angry reflex, her fist brokethrough the placid animal's furry hideand spilled its blood on the floor. Thepiece of living furniture died with onlythe faintest peep of alarm and pain.

Murbella sprang onto the tabletop andkicked a loose holoprojector at heropponent.

The sharp edge of the device caughtKiria on the brow, making a cut that bled

profusely.

The Mother Commander crouched, readyto defend herself from a frontal attack,but

Kiria ducked under the table and heavedupward with her back, knocking thetable over.

When Murbella fell, Kiria dove over thecapsized table and dropped onto theMother

Commander. She wrapped wiry handsaround her throat in a primitive buteffective method of assassination.

With rigid fingers, Murbella jabbed

Kiria's side with enough force tofracture two ribs, but at the same timeshe felt the sickening snap of her ownfingers breaking.

Instead of withdrawing as expected,Kiria snarled in pain, raised Murbella'sneck and

shoulders, and slammed her head againstthe floor.

Murbella's ears rang, and she felt herskull crack. Fluttering black spots of

unconsciousness circled her vision liketiny vultures waiting for fresh carrion.She had to stay awake, had to keepfighting. If she faded now, Kiria would

kill her. And if she was defeated here,she would lose not just her life, but theSisterhood as well. The fate of the entirehuman race could be decided in thismoment.

Janess watched her mother with anguish,but Laera and the other ReverendMothers

were well trained and would notinterfere. The unification with HonoredMatres had required certain concessionsfrom the Bene Gesserits, including theright of anyone to challenge the MotherCommander's leadership.

Kiria continued to choke her, whileMurbella strained to draw a breath.

Blocking the

pain of her broken fingers, she clappedher palms hard against Kiria's ears.

As the deafened woman reeled,Murbella gouged out her right eye with acrooked

forefinger, leaving blood and jelly allover her face.

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Kiria writhed away, pushing to her feet,

but Murbella followed with a flurry ofhand

blows and kicks. Even so, her challengerwas not defeated yet. Kiria hammeredher heel into Murbella's sternum, thenstruck her abdomen with a side blow.Something ruptured inside; Murbellacould feel the damage but didn't knowhow bad it was. Digging into her energyreserves, she drove Kiria aside with hershoulder.

The Honored Matre's lips were drawnback to expose bloody gums and teeth.Rallying,

Kiria gathered all of her strength tostrike, ignoring her mangled eye. But as

she planted her foot, she slipped on asmear of the chairdog's blood on thesmooth floor.

This threw off her balance for aninstant–just long enough to giveMurbella the

advantage. Without hesitating, theMother Commander struck a blow sohard that her own

wrist shattered–as did Kiria's neck. Thechallenger fell dead to the floor.

Murbella swayed, while Janess cameforward, concern on her face, ready tohelp her

mother, her superior. Murbella raised anarm. Her broken wrist flopped limply,but she

banished the wince of pain from herface. "I am capable of standing bymyself."

Some of the younger Reverend Mothers,with wide eyes and intense expressions,had

backed up to the walls of the councilchamber.

Murbella wanted so badly to fall besideher victim on the floor, letting theexhaustion and pain take control. But shecould not allow that–not with so many

Reverend Mothers

observing. She could never reveal amoment of weakness, especially now.

Summoning her breath, dredging up thelast sparks of endurance, Murbellaspoke in an

even voice. "I will go to my quartersnow and heal." Then, in a lower voice,"Janess, have the kitchens send up arestorative energy drink." She cast adismissive glance at the dead Kiria, thenraised her eyes to Janess, Laera, and theawed spectators in the hall. "Or do anyof you wish to challenge me and takeadvantage of my condition?"

In defiance, she held up her brokenwrist. No one took the offer.

Injured inside and out, Murbella had noclear memory of how she made it backto her

quarters. Her progress was slow, but sheaccepted no aid. The other ReverendMothers,

sensing her determination, left her alone.

In her dim room, the spice drink wasalready waiting for her. How long did ittake me to get here?

After a single sip she could feel energysurge through her body. She murmured a

thankful blessing to Janess; her daughterhad made this drink extremely potent.

Leaving word that she was not to bedisturbed, she sealed her door andconsumed the

rest of the rejuvenating beverage. Itboosted the internal repairs she hadalready begun to make, delicatelyprobing with her mind to judge the extentof her injuries.

Finally, allowing the flood of pain towash into her senses, Murbella carefullyassessed what Kiria had done to her.The degree of internal damage frightenedher. Never in any

previous challenge had she come soclose to losing.

Will the rest of the Reverend Mothersrally behind me–or will they startsniffing out my weaknesses again likehungry hyenas?

She could not afford to waste time andenergy battling her own people. Fewenough of

them remained alive after the plague.What if the Sisterhood was infiltrated byFace Dancers again? Could one of them,trained in exotic fighting techniques,pose as an Honored Matre

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challenger and kill Murbella? What if aFace Dancer became the MotherCommander of the

Sisterhood? Then all indeed would belost.

She lay back, closed her eyes, andplunged into a healing trance. Time wasof the

essence. She had to regain her fullstrength. The forces of Omnius hadlocated this world and would be comingsoon.

Every man casts a shadow... somedarker than others.

– The Cant of the Shariat

While Yueh was under arrest andinterrogation, yet another instance ofsabotage

occurred.

The Bene Gesserit Sisters summoned thepassengers to the great auditorium for an

emergency meeting. Garimi seemedparticularly agitated; Duncan Idaho andMiles Teg were alert. Eyes intent,Scytale observed, always the outsider.What had happened now?

And will they blame me for it?

Was it worse than the murder of anotherghola and axlotl tank? Had someone elsebeen

killed? Had another water reservoirdumped into space, squandering the newsupplies they had acquired at Qelso?Spice stockpiles contaminated? Foodvats destroyed? The seven

captive sandworms harmed?

The Tleilaxu man sat back, watchingeveryone stream in from outsidecorridors and take

their seats in islands of friendship or

shared opinions. Palpable tensionradiated from them.

More than two hundred gathered, most ofthem curious, alarmed, or frightened.

Only a few proctors stayed in isolatedsections with the younger children thathad been born during the journey; otherswere old enough to be treated as adults.

The Bashar himself made theannouncement. "Explosive mines havedisappeared from

the sealed armory. Eight of the hundredand twelve–certainly enough to causesevere damage to this ship."

After a brief silence, conversationreturned in a riptide of whispers, gasps,and

accusations.

"The mines," Teg repeated. "Back onChapterhouse they were placed aroundthis ship as a self-destruct mechanism incase Duncan or anyone else tried to stealit. Now eight of them are gone."

Sheeana went to stand beside the Bashar."I deactivated those mines myself, sothat this vessel could escape. They werelocked securely away, but now they'vedisappeared."

"If they are missing, they might have

been dumped out into space... or plantedaround the ship like time bombs,"Duncan said. "I suspect the latter, andthat our saboteur has further plans."

The Rabbi moaned loudly. "You see?More incompetence! I should havestayed on

Qelso with the rest of my people."

"Maybe you stole the mines," Garimisnapped.

He looked horrified. "You dare accuseme? A holy man of my stature? FirstYueh says I manipulated him to murder aghola baby, and now you think I havestolen explosives?"

Scytale saw that the frail old man couldnever have lifted one of the heavy mines,much less eight of them.

"Yueh has been under the constantsurveillance of Thufir Hawat andmyself," Teg said.

"Even if he did kill the axlotl tank andthe growing ghola, he could not havestolen the mines."

"Unless he has an accomplice," Garimisaid, setting off another chain ofmuttering.

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"We will discover who took them."Sheeana cut off the squabble. "Andwhere they have been hidden."

"We've heard similar promises in thepast three years," Garimi continued, witha meaningful glare at Teg and Thufir."But our security has been completelyineffective."

Paul Atreides sat in one of the frontrows, near Chani and Jessica. "Are wecertain the mines only disappearedrecently? How often is the armorychecked? Maybe Liet-Kynes or

Stilgar took them for their war against

the sandtrout without telling us."

"We should evacuate this ship," theRabbi said. "Find another planet, or goback to Qelso." His voice quavered. "Ifyou witches hadn't... hadn't... takenRebecca, I would be safe now with mypeople. We all could have settled there."

Garimi scowled. "Rabbi, for yearsyou've encouraged dissent with yoursniping and

destructive arguments, without offeringalternatives."

"I speak the truth as I see it. The stolenmines are only the latest in a string ofsabotage.

My Rebecca remains alive only bychance when four other axlotl tanks havenow been

murdered. And who damaged the life-support systems, the water holdingtanks? Who

contaminated the algae vats anddestroyed the air-filtration mats? Whopoured acid on the seals of theobservation window in the sandwormhold? There is a criminal among us, andhe is growing bolder and bolder! Whydon't you find him?"

Scytale remained silent and unobtrusive,listening to the debate. Everyone fearedthere would be more incidents of

sabotage, and the stolen mines would besufficient to cripple or destroy the greatship.

The Tleilaxu had no doubt they wouldeventually turn their suspicions towardhim

because of his race, but he could provehis innocence. He had laboratoryrecords, surveillance images, a solidalibi. Nevertheless, someone hadcommitted the acts of sabotage.

When the exhausting meeting broke up,the Rabbi stalked past Scytale in a huff,saying

he was going to go sit in a vigil beside

Rebecca, "to make certain no one elsetries to kill her!"

As the old man passed close, Scytalecaught the Rabbi's usual faint, strangescent, a subtly different flavor in the air.

On instinct, Scytale emitted a barelyaudible whistle in a complicated melodythat he

remembered from deep in his past lives.The Rabbi ignored him and stalkedaway.

Scytale frowned, not sure if he hadnoticed a brief hesitation as the old manwalked past.

God is God, and life is His alone togive. If God Himself has not the

strength to survive, then we are leftwith nothing but despair.

– The Cant of the Shariat

Every investigation of Rakis yielded thesame result. Only a few insignificantpockets of its ecosystem had survived.The planet was empty and haunted, yet itseemed to have its own will to live.

Against all odds and science, Rakis stillclung to its sparse atmosphere, its gaspsof

moisture.

Guriff's hard-bitten prospectors happilyaccepted supplies that Waff and theGuildsmen

offered as a gesture of goodwill. Waff'sprimary motivation for this was to getthe men to leave him alone while heconducted his innocuous "geologicalinvestigations."

The prospectors were supplied byirregular CHOAM vessels that came tocheck on their

work, but Guriff had no idea when thenext ship would come. The TleilaxuMaster had

enough packaged food from the

Heighliner to last for years, if hisdeteriorating body lasted that long.

Above all, he needed to tend to hisworms.

As he'd hoped, the prospectors spent theharsh days and nights concentrating ontheir

own digging, hoping to find thelegendary lost hoard of the Tyrant'smélange. Insulated scout cruisers bravedthe rugged weather, carrying sensors andprobes up to the polar regions, while themen bored test holes, searchingunsuccessfully for any threads of spice.

The large dropbox from Edrik's

Heighliner had included a wide-bedgroundcar that

could roll across even the roughestterrain. When the prospectors departed,Waff called his four Guildsmen to assisthim. With no curious eyes watching, theywrestled the long, sand-filled test tanksaboard his groundcar. Waff would makea pilgrimage out into the charred andglassy wasteland that had once been asea of dunes.

"I will release the specimens myself. Idon't need your assistance." He directedthe Guildsmen to return to the rigid-walled survival tents. "Stay and prepareour food–and make certain you follow

the accepted ways." He had given themprecise instructions on the propertechniques. "Once I free the worms, Iintend to come back for a celebration."

He did not want Guriff and his men, norany of these untrustworthy Guildassistants, to observe such a private andholy moment. Today he would restorethe Prophet to Rakis, to the planet whereHe belonged. Dressed in protectiveclothing, he keyed in coordinates anddrove off with the two long aquariums inthe back of his groundcar.

Heading due east, he sped away into aruddy orange dawn.

Although the landscape here was

smeared, eroded, and unrecognizable,Waff knew

exactly where he was going. Beforecoming to Rakis, he had dug up the oldcharts, and

because the Honored Matres'Obliterators had altered even theplanetary magnetic field, he hadcarefully recalibrated his maps fromorbit. A long time ago, God's Messengerhad

purposefully carried him to the locationof Sietch Tabr. The worms must considerit sacred, and Waff could think of nomore appropriate place to turn loose thearmored, augmented creatures. He drove

there now.

Light from the dust-thickened sky bathedthe glassy ground in eerie colors. Fromthe

tanks behind him, Waff could feel thethumping of the worms as they writhed,impatient to burst out onto the opendesert. Home.

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Back on the Heighliner, Waff hadobserved the bucking and thrashing

creatures,

measuring their growth in the lab. Heknew the worms were dangerous, andthat long

confinement in small tanks sapped thecreatures' strength. Even under carefullycontrolled conditions, he hadn't beenable to replicate the optimalenvironment, and the specimens hadweakened.

Something was wrong.

But hope infused him. Now that he wasactually here, all would be right again.Holy

Rakis! He could only pray that thisinjured dune world would provide whata Tleilaxu Master could not, offeringsome ineffable benefit to the worms, tothe Prophet.

When Waff reached the plain and sawthe melted rocks, he remembered theweathered

line of mountains that had sheltered theburied tomb of the Fremen city. Hestopped the groundcar. A vitrified crust–rocky grains melted to glass by the blastsof incomprehensible weapons–coveredwhat had once been open sand. But theworms would know what to do.

Behind the vehicle, Waff paused a

moment to close his eyes in prayer to hisGod and

His Prophet. Then, with a flourish, hedisengaged the plaz walls of the tanksand let sand spill out. Long serpentineshapes lunged free like uncoiled springs,and dropped to the ground around thevehicle. Waff gazed in wonderment attheir thick, ridged bodies, and the pythonfluidity of their motion.

"Go, Prophet! Reclaim your world."

Eight worms slithered on the hard,smooth ground. Eight, a sacred Tleilaxunumber.

The freed creatures spread out in

random paths, while he watched them inawe. Waff

hoped they could break through the fusedsand and tunnel into softer levels below,as he had designed them to do. Each ofthe specimens had a tiny implantedtracer that would enable him to followthem and continue his investigations.

However, the sandworms turned andcircled the vehicle, coming closer.Hunting him.

In a moment of fear, Waff froze. Theywere certainly large enough to attack andkill

him. "Prophet, do not harm me. I have

brought you back to Rakis. You are freeto make this your kingdom once again."

The worms raised their blunt heads,swaying back and forth. Are they tryingto send me

some sort of message?

He struggled to comprehend. Could theirhypnotic 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 fullyprepared to donate the flesh of his owndeteriorating body. If this was to be theend, so be it.

Then, as if at a silent signal, thesandworms turned in unison and spedoff, their flexing ridges bumping acrossthe glassy dunes. Presently they stopped,bent their armored heads downward, andsmashed into the hard surface. Theybroke the crust and plunged downward,tunneling into the pristine, sterilizedsands. Returning to the desert! Waff'sheart swelled. He knew they wouldsurvive.

As he returned to the groundcar, he

realized he had tears in his eyes.

When the forces are arrayed and thefinal 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 isalready over. Victory or defeat can be

determined by the preparations that areset in place weeks or even months

beforehand.

– Bashar Miles Teg, resource allocationrequest to the Bene Gesserit

Chief Fabricator Shayama Sen agreed tocome to Chapterhouse, but the Ixiandignitary

remained aboard his ship high in orbit,far above the recovery operations. Hewould not risk exposure to any lastvestiges of the plague, though the diseasehad burned itself out down there.

Murbella had to go to him to make herdemands–but under the strictestquarantine

conditions. Encased in her owndecontamination sphere, like alaboratory specimen in a tank, she feltfoolish and helpless. The Bene Gesseritsphere's outer hull–though scorched by

its passage through the atmosphere onthe way to orbit and then exposed to thevacuum of space–

underwent additional irradiation andsterilization procedures up there. Fail-safes,

redundancies, justified paranoia, sheadmitted to herself. Although Murbelladid not fault him for taking suchextraordinary precautions, the Ixiannevertheless had much explaining to do.

While waiting inside her sealed chamberaboard the Guildship (which was guidedby a

mathematical compiler rather than a

Navigator), she composed herself. Stillsore and battered from her duel withKiria, she was satisfied that her violentresponse to the stupid power play hadbeen necessary.

None of the other distraught Sisterswould challenge her now, thus leavingher role as

Mother Commander uncontested.

Once again, Murbella cursed the rebelHonored Matres and their mindlessdestruction of

the massive shipyards and weaponsshops on Richese. Had that nothappened, with both Ix and Richese

producing armaments, the human racecould have consolidated a meaningful

defense. Now that Ix was the primaryindustrial center, the Chief Fabricatorfelt he could be intractable. Shortsightedfools!

Shayama Sen marched into the largemetal-walled room and took acomfortable 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 herposition, Murbella tried to take

command of

the meeting. "Chief Fabricator, you havehad three years to duplicate theObliterators we provided, but all we'vereceived in exchange for our mélangepayments are reports on your tests, andpromise after promise. The Enemy hasdestroyed more than a hundred planets,and their battleships keep coming.Chapterhouse itself was nearlyeradicated by the recent

plague."

Sen bowed formally. "We are fullyaware of this, Mother Commander, andyou have my condolences." He got upand poured himself a glass of water from

a pitcher, then roamed the large meetingroom, flaunting his own freedom.

Anger heated her cheeks and neck. Howcould this man sound so calm in the faceof the

crumbling human civilization? "Werequire the weapons you promised us–and without further delay."

Sen tapped his circuitry-imprintedfingernails together, pondering hercontainment

sphere with a blank stare. "But we havenot yet received full payment, and wehear your New

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Sisterhood is in dire financial straits. Ifwe continue to devote all our resourcesto these Obliterators, and you renege–"

"The agreed-upon amount of mélange isyours the moment you finish installing

Obliterators in our new warships. Youknow this." She didn't dare let Sendiscover that she had released a greatdeal of stockpiled spice to help herfellow Reverend Mothers fight theplague.

"Ah, but if your spice is contaminated bythe plague, of what use is it to us? Howelse will you pay?"

Murbella couldn't believe his blindness."The spice is not contaminated. We will

implement any sterilization measuresyou require."

"And what if that destroys its efficacy?"

"Then we will give you the originalspice to decontaminate in whatevermanner you see fit. Stop quibbling aboutnonsense when the extinction of thehuman race is imminent!"

Sen seemed scandalized. "You call it

nonsense? The properties of spice arecomplex and could be harmed by suchaggressive measures. The substance is ofno value to us if we cannot use it."

"The plague organism has a shortlifetime. Unless it is transferred fromhost to host, the disease dies swiftly.Place the spice on an airless moon for ayear if you choose to."

"But the difficulties and theinconvenience... I believe thesecircumstances merit a renegotiation ofour price."

If the container wall had not preventedher, Murbella would have killed him forhis

insolence. "Have you any idea of howmuch destruction the Enemy hasspread?"

He pursed his lips, and said, "Let medispense with subtleties, MotherCommander.

Honored Matres provoked this Enemyinto launching its fleet against them, andin turn against the rest of us. Yourassociation with the whores was yourown folly, and the whole human race haspaid for it. Ix has no quarrel with theserobotic invaders. Since they evolvedfrom ancient thinking machines, it ispossible that we Ixians have more incommon with them than with

manipulative, murderous females."

Ah. Now she was beginning tounderstand. Listening to the sharp voiceof Odrade-

within and a thousand other ReverendMothers frantically offering advice,Murbella forced calm upon herself. Itwas clear that the Ixian was trying toescalate this discussion.

But why? To distract her? Had he failedto make as much progress in developingthe

Obliterators as he claimed? Wasproduction running behind schedule?

She selected a gambit that she hopedwould shut down his blathering. "Iauthorize a thirty percent increase inyour spice allotment, to be put in a trustfund held in the Guild Bank of yourchoosing. I expect that is sufficient tomake up for any inconvenience?However, payment will be contingentupon your actual delivery of theweaponry in our contract. The Guild hasdelivered our new warships. Now,where are my Obliterators?"

Shayama Sen bowed, accepting her offerand withdrawing his objections. "Our

manufactory worlds are operating at fullcapacity. We can begin loading

Obliterators aboard your new shipsimmediately."

"I'll issue the orders." She paced withinthe decontamination bubble like a Lazatiger.

The smells of disinfectant chemicalsseeping through the air filters made herwant to gag. She didn't think thechamber's replenishers were workingproperly.

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"How do we know your weapons willperform as you promise?"

"You provided the originals, and weduplicated them precisely. If theoriginals

functioned, then these will, too."

"The originals functioned. You've seenwhat's left of Rakis and Richese!"

"Then you have nothing to fear."

"From now on, I insist that we placeBene Gesserit inspectors and linesupervisors in your manufactories. Theywill keep you accountable and guardagainst sabotage."

Shayama Sen struggled with the demand,but could find no legitimate argumentagainst

it. "Provided your women do notinterfere, we shall allow them access. Isthat all?"

"We also need to witness a successfultest before going into battle."

Sen smiled again. "You would have usannihilate a world merely to prove apoint?

Hmm, I see Honored Matre methodspersist in your New Sisterhood." Hechuckled. "I'll give you full records ofour previous tests and even arrange for a

new demonstration, if you like."

"We will review your data, ChiefFabricator. Transmit it to Chapterhouse,and arrange for a demonstration that Ican 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 foryour entertainment."

Murbella pressed against the curved,transparent wall of her sphere. "Andthere's one other thing I insist upon. FaceDancers have been found on manyworlds, manipulating

governments, weakening our defenses.

Some even managed to infiltrateChapterhouse. I need to have assurancethat you are not a Face Dancer."

Sen reeled backward in surprise. "Youaccuse me of being an Enemy, a shape-shifter operative?"

Murbella leaned against the solid wall,regarding him coolly. His indignationdid

nothing to convince her. She worked theinternal controls, and a small, sealedcontainer opened near the base of theBene Gesserit chamber. It was asterilization bin, an autoclave andchemical bath. Steam still curled fromthe package as it emerged for the Chief

Fabricator to take.

"This is a testing device we havedeveloped. After analyzing Face Dancerspecimens found among our dead, weran genetic tests and developed thisinfallible indicator. Right now, ChiefFabricator–as I watch–you willcomplete this test on yourself."

"I will not." He sniffed.

"You will, or you'll receive none of ourmélange."

Sen roamed again, frowning. "What isthis test? What does it do?"

"It is mostly automated." Murbella

explained the principle to him and theeasy steps.

"As a bonus for you, we can allow Ix toproduce these in great quantities. Thereare plenty of suspicious people who seeFace Dancers everywhere. You couldmake a tidy profit selling these kits."

Sen considered. "You may be right."

While Murbella observed, he wentthrough the motions, standing closeenough to her

bubble that she could watch his everymovement. As far as the ReverendMothers knew, the test could not easilybe foiled, and the Chief Fabricator had

had no time to prepare a

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deception. She waited with intenseinterest, and was relieved when theindicators 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 tosee. "Are you satisfied now?"

"I am. And I advise you to perform thistest on all of your chief engineers and

team leaders. Ix is a likely target for theEnemy to infiltrate. Another reason formy Sisters to supervise your vital workfor us."

Sen looked genuinely disturbed, as ifthat possibility had not occurred to him."I concede your point, MotherCommander. I would like to see thoseresults myself."

"Then include them when you send yourdata about the Obliterator tests. In the

meantime, prepare to install yourweapons in all the new warships comingout of the Junction shipyards. We areabout to engage in an all-out offensiveagainst the thinking-machine fleet."

Each sentient life requires a place ofextreme serenity, where the mind may

roam afterward in memory and towhich the body longs to return.

– Erasmus, contemplation notes

"Now that you have been among us formore than a year, it is time to show youmy

special place, Paolo." The independentrobot waved a metal arm, and hismajestic robes flowed around him. "Andyou too, of course, Baron Harkonnen."

The Baron scowled, his voice drippingwith sarcasm. "Your special place? I'm

sure we'll be charmed by what a robotconsiders to be a special place."

During the time that he and Paolo hadlived on Synchrony, he'd lost his aweand fear of thinking machines. Theyseemed plodding and grandiose, full ofredundancy and very little impulsivity.Since Omnius thought he needed Paolo,along with the Baron to keep Paolo inline, the two were safe enough. Even so,the Baron felt a need to show somebackbone, and turn the circumstances tohis own benefit.

Around the interior of the now-familiarcathedral chamber, the walls became awash of

color, as if invisible painters were hardat work. Instead of blank metal and stonesurfaces, the murky shades of green andbrown sharpened into highly realistictrees and birds. The

oppressive ceiling opened to the sky,and peculiar synthesized music beganplaying. A

gemgravel pathway ran through the lushgarden with comfortable recliningbenches at

intermittent intervals. A lily pondappeared on one side.

"My contemplation garden." Erasmusformed his artificial smile. "I enjoy this

place very much. It is special to me."

"At least the flowers don't stink." Paoloripped up one of the brightchrysanthemums, sniffed it, anddiscarded it at the side of the path. Aftera year of constant training, the Baron hadfinally made the boy's personality intosomething 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 Alia-voicewithin. Don't get us killed today. It wasone of her continual harangues.

"Is something troubling you, Baron?"

Erasmus asked. "This should be a placeof peace and contemplation."

See what you've done! Get out of myhead.

But I'm trapped here with you. You can'tget rid of me. I killed you once with thegom

jabbar, and I can do it again with a littlecareful manipulation.

"I see that you are often plagued bydisturbing thoughts." Erasmus steppedcloser.

"Would you like me to open your skulland look inside? I could fix the

problem."

Be careful with me, Abomination! I justmay take him up on the offer!

He forced a smile as he replied to theindependent robot. "I'm just impatient tolearn exactly how we can work withOmnius. Your war against humanity hasgone on for some

time now, and we've been your guestsfor a year. When will we do what youbrought us here for?"

Paolo kicked a divot into the gemgravelpath. "Yes, Erasmus. When do we get tohave fun?"

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"Soon enough." The robot swirled hisrobes and guided his companionsthrough the garden.

The boy had just passed his eleventhbirthday and was developing into astrong young

man, well-muscled and highly trained.Thanks to the Baron's constant influence,virtually all traces of the formerAtreides personality had beenextinguished. Erasmus himself had

supervised Paolo's vigorous combattraining against fighting meks, all toprime him to

become the supposed KwisatzHaderach.

But the Baron still could not fathom why.Why would the machines care aboutsome

obscure human religious figure fromancient history?

Erasmus motioned for them to sit on thenearest bench. The synthesized musicand

birdsong around them grew louder and

more energetic until they becameintertwined

melodies. The robot's expression shiftedonce again, as if in reverie. "Is it notbeautiful? I composed it myself."

"Most impressive." The Baron despisedthe music as too smooth and peaceful; hepreferred more cacophonous, discordantselections.

"Over the millennia, I created wondrousworks of art and many illusions."Erasmus's face and body shifted, and hebecame entirely human in appearance.Even the gaudy and

unnecessary garments altered, until the

robot stood before them again as amatronly old woman in a floral-printdress holding a small hand trowel. "Thisis one of my favorites. I have perfectedit over the years, drawing from more andmore of the lives my Face Dancers bringme."

With the hand trowel she dug in thesimulated soil near the bench, getting ridof weeds that the Baron was sure had notbeen there moments earlier. A wormcrawled out of the

exposed, dark dirt, and the old womansliced it in half with the trowel.

The two parts of the squirming creaturefaded into the dirt.

A gentle undercurrent flowed in hervoice, not unlike that of a grandmothertelling

bedtime stories to children. "Long ago–during your original lifetime, dearBaron–a Tleilaxu researcher namedHidar Fen Ajidica created an artificialspice that he called amal. Though thesubstance proved to have significantdefects, Ajidica consumed hugequantities of it himself, and as a result hewent increasingly mad, which led to hisdemise."

"Sounds like a failure," Paolo said.

"Oh, Ajidica failed spectacularly, but hedid accomplish something very

important. Call it a side effect. For hisspecial ambassadors, he created greatlyimproved Face Dancers, with which heintended to populate a new domain. Hedispatched them into deep space asscouts, colonizers, preparers of the way.He died before he could join them. Poorfoolish man."

The old woman left her trowel stuck inthe ground. When she straightened, shepressed

her hand against the small of her back, asif to comfort an ache. "The new FaceDancers located our machine empire,and Omnius allowed me to study them. Ispent generations

working with the shape-shifters, learninghow to draw information from them.Lovely

biological machines, far superior to theirpredecessors. Yes, they are proving tobe extremely helpful in winning our finalwar."

Looking around the illusory garden, theBaron saw other forms, minor workerswho

appeared to be human. New FaceDancers? "So you made an alliance withthem?"

The old woman pursed her lips. "Analliance? They are servants, not our

partners. Face Dancers were made toserve. To them, Omnius and I are likegods, greater Masters than the

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Tleilaxu ever were." Erasmus seemed tobe pondering. "I do wish they hadbrought one of their Masters to mebefore the Honored Matres destroyednearly all of them. The discussion couldhave been most enlightening."

Paolo brought the conversation backaround to a subject that interested him.

"As the final Kwisatz Haderach, I willbe a god, too."

Erasmus laughed, an old woman'scachinnation. "Beware of megalomania,young man.

It has brought down many a human–suchas Hidar Fen Ajidica. Soon I expect tohave a key to help you reach yourpotential. We need to free the god thatcrouches inside your body. And thatrequires a powerful catalyst."

"What is it?" the young man demanded.

"I keep forgetting how impatient youhumans are!" The old woman brushedoff her flower-print dress. "That is why I

enjoy the Face Dancers so much. Inthem, I see the potential for perfectinghumans. Face Dancers could be the sortof humans that even thinking machinesmight tolerate."

The Baron snorted. "Humans will neverbe perfect! Believe me, I've knownplenty of them, and they're alldisappointing in some way." Rabban,Piter... even Feyd had failed him in theend.

Don't omit yourself, Grandfather.Remember, you were killed by a littlegirl with a

poison needle. Ha ha!

Shut up! The Baron scratched nervouslyat the top of his head, as if to dig throughflesh and bone to rip her out. She fellsilent.

"I fear you may be right, Baron. Humansmay not be salvageable, but we don'twant

Omnius to believe that, or he willdestroy them all."

"I thought you machines were alreadydoing that," the Baron said.

"To a certain extent. Omnius is stretchinghis abilities, but when we find the no-ship, I am certain he will get down tobusiness." The old woman dug holes in

the garden and planted seedlings thatsimply appeared in her hands.

"What's so special about one lost ship?"the Baron asked.

"Our mathematical projections suggestthat the Kwisatz Haderach is aboard."

"But I am the Kwisatz Haderach!" Paoloinsisted. "You already have me."

The old woman gave him a wry smile."You are our fallback plan, young man.Omnius

prefers the security of redundancy. Ifthere are two possible KwisatzHaderachs, he wants both of them."

His face a mask of displeasure, theBaron cracked his knuckles. "So youthink there's another ghola of PaulAtreides aboard that ship? Not likely!"

"I claim only that there is anotherKwisatz Haderach aboard the ship.However, since we have one PaulAtreides ghola, there could certainly beanother."

Are we on the Golden Path, or have westrayed from it? For three and a

half millennia we prayed fordeliverance from the Tyrant, but nowthat he

is gone, have we forgotten how to live

without such stern guidance? Do we

know how to make the necessarydecisions, or will we become hopelessly

lost in the wilderness and starve of ourown failings?

– Mother Superior Darwi Odrade,Pondering My Epitaph, sealed Bene

Gesserit Archives, recorded beforeBattle of Junction

Highly agitated, Garimi refused to take aseat in Sheeana's private quarters, nomatter how many times it was offered.Even the Van Gogh painting on the walldid not seem to

interest her. The stolen mines hadbrought long-simmering tensions to anew, raw level.

Frantic search teams had been unable tolocate any of the explosive devices.Sheeana knew that the stern ProctorSuperior had her own suspicions and herown set of people to blame.

"You and the Bashar didn't make a goodbargain back on Qelso," Garimi said."Leaving all those people andequipment, and getting nothing forourselves!"

"We replenished all our stores."

"What if further sabotage hits our life-

support systems? Liet-Kynes and Stilgarwere the two most capable ofconservation, recycling, and repairs.What if we need them to help us?

Do you intend to grow new ones?"

Sheeana angered the other womanfurther by responding with a calm,amused smile.

"We could, but I thought you suspectedall the ghola children. Yet you want Lietand Stilgar back? Besides, maybe Lietwas right; maybe it's their destiny toremain on Qelso."

"Now it's obvious that neither of themwas the saboteur–though I'm still not

entirely convinced about Yueh."

Sheeana stared at the bright daubs ofcolor that the ancient artist had swirledinto an image of such power. Van Goghwas a genius. "I took a necessary action,based on our needs and priorities."

"Hardly! You bowed to the demands ofthose murderous nomads to keep allBene

Gesserits off the planet. We should haveformed a new school there–and now,instead, this whole ship could explode atany moment!"

Ah, the core of what is really botheringher.

"You know very well that I would havebeen happy to let you and your followerssettle there." She forced a chuckle. "ButI was not willing to start a war with thepeople of Qelso.

We can train others in the nuances of ourlife-support systems. This ship willsurvive, as it has for decades."

Obviously in no mood to be brushedaside, Garimi said, "Survive how? Bycreating

another ghola to save us? That's alwaysyour solution, whether an Abominationlike Alia, a traitor like Yueh or Jessica,or a Tyrant like Leto II. At least Pandorahad the good sense to close her box."

"And I want to open it wide. I want tobring back the history, especially PaulAtreides–

and Thufir Hawat. We could certainlydraw on the security knowledge of theWeapons Master of House Atreides."

"Hawat failed spectacularly the last timeyou tried to awaken him."

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"Then we'll try again. And Chani couldbe an excellent fulcrum for awakening

Paul.

Jessica is also ripe for awakening. EvenLeto II is ready."

Garimi's eyes flashed. "You are playingwith fire, Sheeana."

"I am forging weapons. For that, fire isnecessary." Sheeana turned, lettingGarimi know that the discussion was atan end. "I've heard your opinions oftenenough to memorize them. I will dinewith the gholas today. Maybe they havefresh ideas."

Incensed, the dark-haired womanfollowed Sheeana out of her quartersand down the

corridors toward the dining hall.Unexpectedly, young Leto II stepped outof a lift tube, alone and quiet as usual.The twelve-year-old often wandered thehalls of the no-ship by himself; now helooked at the two women and blinked,but did not speak to them. Such an odd,

preoccupied child.

Before Sheeana could stop her, theProctor Superior marched toward Leto,stiff and

intimidating. Garimi had a fresh targetfor her anger and frustration. "So, Tyrant,where is your Golden Path? Where has itled us? If you were so prescient, whydidn't you warn us of the Honored

Matres or the Enemy?"

"I don't know." The boy seemedgenuinely perplexed. "I don't remember."

Garimi studied him in disgust. "Andwhat if you did remember? Would yoube the God Emperor, the greatest butcherin all of human history? Sheeana thinksyou could save us, but I say the Tyrantcould just as easily destroy us. That'swhat you're best at. I don't want you oryour monstrous ego back, Leto II. YourGolden Path is a blind man's road, sunkin a swamp."

"It is not this boy's Golden Path,"Sheeana said, taking the other woman'sarm in a viselike grip. "Leave him

alone."

Leto took a quick step, darted aroundthem, and fled down the corridor.Garimi looked

triumphantly at Sheeana, who merelyregarded her as a fool, condemned byher own irrational outburst.

***

His eyes and ears burned from theProctor Superior's accusations, but Letorefused to

allow a tear. A wise person didn't wastewater trying to drown his emotions; heknew that much about old Dune. As he

moved away from Sheeana and theinsufferable Proctor

Superior, and everyone else who thoughtthey knew what to expect from him, theboy silently denied what Garimi hadsaid, trying to block away what hehimself knew.

I was the God Emperor, the Tyrant. Icreated the Golden Path... but with mymemories

locked away, I don't truly understandwhat it is!

Despite all he had learned about hisoriginal lifetime, Leto felt like nothingmore than a twelve-year-old who had

never asked to be reborn.

He rode the transport tube to the deeplower decks, heading for a place wherehe felt

more comfortable and safe. At first heconsidered slipping into the roaringwinds of the recirculation chambers andthe atmosphere-pumping ducts, but thestrict security measures imposed byBashar Teg and Leto's friend Thufir hadclosed off all access.

Before his unpleasant encounter withGarimi, Leto had planned to join Thufirfor his

regular session on the training floor.

Though the other ghola boy was nowseventeen and had his security dutieswith the Bashar, he still frequentlysparred with Leto.

Despite his youth and size, Leto II washighly competitive even against a larger,

stronger opponent. For the past fewyears they had provided quite achallenge for each other.

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At the moment, though, Leto needed to

be alone. He reached the bottom levelsof the

ship and stood at the main access doorinto the immense hold. The surveillanceimagers

would have spotted him already. Heswallowed hard. He had never dared togo inside alone, though he had stared forhours through the plaz at the captivesandworms.

A pair of young guards stood in the hall,monitoring access to the cargo deck.Seeing

the boy approach, they tensed. "This is arestricted area."

"Restricted to me? Do you know who Iam?"

"You are Leto the Tyrant, the GodEmperor," said the young woman, as ifanswering a proctor's question. She wasDebray, one of the Bene Gesseritdaughters who had been born in spaceafter the no-ship's escape.

"And those worms are part of me. Don'tyou remember your history?"

"They're dangerous," the male guardanswered. "You shouldn't go in there."

Leto gazed calmly at the pair. "Yes, Ishould. Especially now. I need to feelthe sands, smell the mélange, the

worms." He narrowed his eyes. "It couldwell restore my memories, as Sheeanawants."

Debray frowned as she considered this."Sheeana did say that every means mustbe used to trigger the reawakening of thegholas."

The male guard turned to his companion."Call Thufir Hawat and inform him first.This is highly irregular."

Leto approached the heavy door. "I justneed to go inside the hatch. I won't strayfar.

The worms stay out in the center of thehabitat, don't they?" Boldly, he used the

simple controls to unseal the door. "Iknow these worms. Thufir willunderstand. He hasn't recovered hismemories either."

Before the guards could agree onstopping him, Leto darted into the hold.The sand

itself seemed to give off a crackling,staticky sound. The temperature waswarm, the air so dry that his throatburned. The powerful smells of flint andcinnamon seared his nostrils. At the farend of the kilometer-long hold, the largeworms moved toward him.

Just standing on the sandy surface tookthe boy back to a place he had studied

extensively in the no-ship's library. Thereal Arrakis, which had changed fromdesert to garden during his first extendedlife. Now the dry heat baked his skin. Hetook deep, calming breaths of airredolent with the odor of mélange.

Not bothering to avoid making noise,Leto strode farther out on the sand,sinking up to his ankles in the soft dunes.He ignored the shouted warnings of theguards as he trudged away from themetal wall. This was the closest thing toan open desert these worms had everknown.

Climbing the crest of a dune and gazingaround to the limits of the hold, Leto

imagined how magnificent Arrakis musthave once been. He wished he couldremember. The dune on

which he stood was small compared to areal one, and the seven worms in thehold were more diminutive than theirunfettered ancestors as well.

Ahead of him, the largest worm churnedthrough sand, followed by the others.Leto felt

the connection with these seven worms.It was as if the magnificent beasts sensedhis mental pain and wanted to help him,even if his memories were still lockedaway in a ghola vault.

An unexpected release of tears floweddown Leto's cheeks–not of anger towardGarimi

but of joy and awe. Tears! He could notstem the flow of moisture. Perhaps if heperished

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right there on the sands, his body wouldbe absorbed into the flesh of the worms,leaving behind all his fears andexpectations.

These worms were his descendants,each with a nugget of his formerawareness. We are

the same.

Leto beckoned them. Although his gholacells hadn't yet released memories of the

thousands of years in his originallifetime, these sandworms possessedburied memories as well. "Are youdreaming in there? Am I in there?"

A hundred meters from him the wormsstopped and dove back into the sand, oneafter

the other. He sensed that their presence

was not threatening, but... protective.

They did know him!

From the hatch behind him, Leto heard afamiliar voice calling his name. Lookingback,

he saw the ghola of Thufir Hawatstanding on the verge, motioning him tocome back to

safety. "Leto, watch out. Don't tempt theworms. You are my friend, but if one ofthem eats you I won't jump down itsgullet to get you back!" Thufir tried tochuckle, but looked deeply anxious.

"I just need some time alone with them."

Leto sensed something moving beneaththe sands. He felt no concern for his ownwell-being, but did not want to endangerhis friend. He picked up a strong whiff,the cinnamon odor of spice.

"Leave! Now!"

Then, wrestling with his fear, Thufirventured closer to the young man, a fewmeters

away. "Suicide by worm? Is that whatyou're doing out here?" He glanced at thehatch behind them, apparently wonderingif he could still get back to safety ifnecessary.

Worry lines etched his features. He

looked terrified for himself and for Leto,wrestling with something that ran againsthis instincts. Yet he still steppedforward, as if drawn to his friend.

"Thufir, stay back. You're in more dangerthan I am."

The worms knew that someone else wasin their realm. But they seemed far more

agitated than an intruder could accountfor. Leto sensed a hatred, a roiling andinstinctive reaction. He sprinted back toThufir to save him. His friend seemed tobe struggling with himself.

Sand erupted, and worms encircled himand Thufir. The creatures rose from the

low

dunes, their round and hollow facesquesting this way and that for something.

"Leto, we have to go." Thufir grabbedthe boy's sleeve. His voice was husky,ragged.

"Go!"

"Thufir, they won't harm me. And I feel...I feel as if I could make them go away.But they are deeply disturbed. Somethingabout... you?" Leto sensed somethinghere that he didn't understand.

Simultaneously, the worms shot likebattering rams toward the two young

men on the

dune. Thufir bolted away from Leto andlost his footing on the soft surface. Letotried to go toward him, but the largestworm exploded up between them,scattering sand and dust.

Another beast loomed on the other sideof the transfixed Thufir, stretching itssinuous body into the air.

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Thufir let out a shuddering, gut-

wrenching scream. It didn't sound at alllike the ghola friend Leto had known. Itdidn't even sound human.

The sandworms struck Thufir, but theydid not simply devour him. As if invindictive

anger, the largest worm slammed downon him, smashing the young man's bodyinto the sand.

The next worm reared up and rolledover the already broken Thufir Hawat.For good measure, a third worm crushedthe lifeless form. Then the trio of wormsbacked away, as if proud of what theyhad done.

Leto stumbled across the sand towardthe smashed body, oblivious to the threatof the

worms. He slid down a churned dune,and fell to his hands and knees besidethe smashed, partially buried form."Thufir!"

But he did not see the familiar face ofhis friend. The crushed features werepale and

blank, the hair colorless, the expressioninhuman. The black-button eyes wereunfocused and dead.

In shock, Leto reeled backward.

Thufir was a Face Dancer.

Here is my mask–it looks just likeyours. We cannot see what our masks

look like while we are wearing them.

– The Wheel of Deception, Tteilaxucommentary

Uproar in the hierarchy of the no-ship.Astonishment. Even Duncan Idaho couldnot

grasp how such a thing could havehappened. How long had the FaceDancer been watching

them aboard the no-ship? The mangled,

ugly corpse left no room for doubt.

Thufir Hawat had been a Face Dancer!How could it be him?

The original warrior Mentat had servedHouse Atreides. Hawat had beenDuncan's good

and loyal friend–but not this faux versionof him. In all this time, during the threeyears of sabotage and murder andperhaps even longer–Duncan had notdetected the Face Dancer in Hawat, norhad Bashar Teg who mentored him. Norhad the Bene Gesserit Sisters, nor any ofthe other ghola children.

But how?

An even worse question hung over them,blackening Duncan's thoughts like asolar

eclipse: We have found one FaceDancer. Are there others?

He looked at Sheeana, at the strickenLeto II, and at the two shocked guardswho stared at the alien body. "We haveto keep this secret until we can accountfor everyone aboard the ship. We've gotto watch them, find a way to test themsomehow..."

She agreed. "If there are any other FaceDancers aboard, we need to act beforethey discover what happened." In BeneGesserit Voice, using a tone that was the

equivalent of a verbal blow, she said tothe guards, "Speak of this to no one."

They froze. Sheeana was already makingplans to implement a crackdown andsweep of

everyone on the ship. Duncan's Mentatmind raced as he tried to comprehendwhat could have happened, but thenagging questions defied all his attemptsto impose logic.

One rose above others: How do we evenknow a test will work?

Thufir had already faced interrogationby the Truthsayers, just as everyoneonboard had.

Somehow, these new Face Dancerscould evade even the witches'truthsense.

If the young ghola had been replaced bya Face Dancer at some point, how couldsuch a

substitution have occurred withoutDuncan's knowledge? And when had itoccurred?

Had the real Thufir accidentallyencountered a hidden Face Dancer in adarkened

passageway?

One of the secret survivors from the

Handlers' suicide crashes in a long-termelaborate ruse? How else could a FaceDancer have gotten aboard the Ithaca?

In assuming the identity of a victim, aFace Dancer imprinted himself with aperfect

copy of the original person's personalityand memories, thus creating an exactduplicate.

And yet, the false Thufir had risked hislife for young Leto II amongst thesandworms.

Why? How much of Thufir had actuallybeen in the Face Dancer? Had there everbeen a

real Thufir ghola?

At first, with the Face Dancer exposed,Duncan had felt a sense of relief that the

saboteur and murderer was at lastrevealed. But after a swift Mentatanalysis, he quickly put together severalinstances of sabotage during which theThufir Hawat ghola had a clear alibi.

Duncan had himself been with himduring some of the attacks.

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The next projection wasincontrovertible.

There is more than one Face Danceramong us.

***

Duncan and Teg met in a small copper-walled room designed for privatemeetings,

blocked from all known scanningdevices. Subtle indications implied thatthis had originally been designed as aninterrogation chamber.

How often had the original HonoredMatres used it as such? For torture, or

simply

amusement?

Standing coolly at attention, Teg andDuncan faced the Reverend MothersSheeana,

Garimi, and Elyen, who had consumedthe last available doses of the truthtrancedrug.

All of the women were armed and highlysuspicious. Sheeana said, "Undervarious

pretexts, we have isolated everyoneaboard, using layers of observers. Mostof them think we're searching for the

missing explosive mines. So far, veryfew people know about Thufir Hawat.Other Face Dancers would not be awarethat they are at risk of exposure."

"I would have thought the entire ideaabsurd–until recently. Now no suspicionseems too paranoid." Duncan lockedgazes with the Bashar, and both nodded.

"My truthtrance is deeper than it hasbeen before," Elyen said, soundingdistant.

"Perhaps we didn't ask the correctquestions previously." Garimi put herelbows on the table.

Teg said, "Ask away, then. The sooner

you clear us of suspicion, the faster wecan root out this cancer. We need adifferent kind of test."

Normally a trained Bene Gesserit shouldhave been able to uncover deceptionwith a

mere question or two, but thisextraordinary inquiry lasted an hour.Because they were

building a cadre of trustworthy allies,Sheeana and her Sisters needed to bethorough. And they needed to do a betterjob than before. The three ReverendMothers watched for even the slightestflicker of evasion. Neither Duncan norTeg gave them any.

"We believe you," Garimi finally said."Unless you give us cause to change ourminds."

Sheeana nodded. "Provisionally, weaccept that you two are exactly who yousay you are."

Teg seemed bitterly amused. "AndDuncan and I accept you three as well.

Provisionally."

"Face Dancers are mimics. They canchange their appearance, but they cannotchange their DNA. Now that we havecell samples from the Hawat impostor,our Suk doctors should be able todevelop an accurate test."

"So we believe," Teg said. With the lossof his protégé, the Bashar seemed

fundamentally disturbed. He no longertook anything at face value.

With an iron-hard scowl, Garimi said,"The obvious answer is that Hawat wasborn a Face Dancer, then carefullyplanted and manipulated by our TleilaxuMaster. Who would

know Face Dancers better than oldScytale? We know he had the cells in hisnullentropy tube.

If that scenario is true, the deceptionwent on for almost eighteen years."

Sheeana continued, "A Face Dancerinfant could have mimicked a generichuman baby

from the very beginning. As he grew, hetook a shape based on archival recordsof the young

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Atreides warrior-Mentat. Since no onehere–not even you, Duncan–remembersthe original

Hawat as an adolescent, the disguise

would not need to be perfect."

Duncan knew she was right. In hisoriginal lifetime, when he'd escapedfrom the

Harkonnens and gone to Caladan, ThufirHawat had already been a weatheredbattle veteran.

Duncan remembered his first realconversation with Hawat. He'd been astable boy at Castle Caladan, workingwith the Salusan bulls that Old DukePaulus loved to fight in grand

spectacles. Someone had drugged thebulls into a frenzy, and young Duncanhad tried to raise the alarm, but no one

believed him. After Paulus was gored todeath, Hawat himself had led theinvestigation, hauling young Duncanbefore a board of inquiry, sinceevidence indicated that he was aHarkonnen spy...

And now this Thufir was a Face Dancer!Duncan still had trouble wrapping hismind

around the undeniable reality.

"Then all of the ghola babies could beFace Dancers," Duncan said. "I suggestyou summon Scytale. He's now ourprime suspect."

"Or," Teg said in a brittle voice, "he may

be our best resource. As Garimi alreadystated, who would know the FaceDancers better?"

When the Tleilaxu Master was broughtinto the copper-walled chamber, Duncanand

Teg took seats at the other side of thetable, part of the growing inquisition toroot out the Face Dancer infiltration.Scytale appeared frightened andunsettled. The Tleilaxu ghola was fifteenyears old, but he did not look like a boy.His elfin features, sharp teeth, and grayskin made him seem alien andsuspicious, but Duncan realized that wasonly a knee-jerk response based on

primitive superstitions and previousexperiences.

After Scytale sat down, Elyen leanedforward. She looked the sternest of themall.

"What have you done, Tleilaxu? What isyour plan? How have you tried to betrayus?"

She used an edge of Voice, enough tomake Scytale jerk.

"I did nothing."

"You and your genetic predecessor knewwhat you were growing in the axlotltanks. We tested the cells before

allowing you to create them, but youdeceived us somehow with ThufirHawat." They showed him images of thedead Face Dancer. Duncan could seethat the

Tleilaxu's surprise was genuine.

"Are all of the ghola children similarlytainted?" Sheeana demanded.

"None of them are," Scytale insisted."Unless they were replaced sometimeafter being decanted from the tanks."

Elyen narrowed her gaze. "He's tellingthe truth. I see none of the indicators."

Sheeana and Garimi silently consulted

each other and nodded simultaneously.Then

Sheeana said, "Unless he is himself aFace Dancer."

"Scytale isn't likely to be a Face Dancersubstitute simply because so few of ustrust him anyway," Duncan pointed out."A Face Dancer would choose to besomeone who could more easily moveamong us."

"Someone like Thufir Hawat," Teg said.

Young Scytale looked greatly disturbed."Those new Face Dancers were broughtback

from the Scattering. The Lost Tleilaxuclaimed to have modified them in wayswe didn't

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understand. Much to my dismay, I havenow learned that even I can't detect oneof them.

Believe me, I never suspected Hawat."

"Then how did a Face Dancer getaboard, if not grown from the FaceDancer cells in your nullentropy

capsule?" Sheeana asked.

"The Face Dancer could already havebeen posing as one of us when we left

Chapterhouse," Duncan mused. "Howcarefully did you check all of theoriginal hundred and fifty who rushedaboard during the escape?"

Teg shook his head. "But why wait morethan two decades to strike? It makes nosense."

"A sleeper agent, perhaps," Sheeanasuggested. "Or, could the Face Dancerhave been someone else for a long time,and only recently replaced Thufir?"

"Yes, look for a scapegoat to persecute,"Scytale said bitterly, slumping in theoverlarge interrogation chair."Preferably a Tleilaxu."

Sheeana had fire in her eyes. "As aprecaution, we have sealed all of theghola children in separate rooms, wherethey can cause no damage if another ofthem is a Face Dancer. I've alreadydirected our Suk doctors to take bloodsamples. They won't escape."

Duncan wondered if her vehemencemight suggest that she was a FaceDancer. He

narrowed his eyes suspiciously andcontinued to watch her.

He would have to watch everyone hecould, at all times.

Garimi looked around at their smalltrusted cadre. "I–or another of ourchoosing–will remain on the navigationbridge and monitor the no-ship whileevery single person aboard is broughtinto the main meeting chamber. Herdthem in, account for every one, even the

children. Lock the doors and test themall. One by one. Learn the truth."

"What definitive tests can we use?" Tegasked. "On any of us?"

Scytale piped up, "I believe I candevelop a reliable method. Using a

tissue sample from the Hawat FaceDancer, I will prepare a comparisonpanel. There are certain... techniques Icould use. He is one of the new breedbrought back by the Lost Tleilaxu, andhe differs from the old ones. But withthis sample "

"And why should we trust you?" Garimisaid. "Your own purity hasn't yet beenproven."

Scytale wore a forlorn expression. "Youhave to trust someone."

"Do we?"

"I would allow myself to be observed byyour experts at all times during the

preparations."

Duncan glanced at the Tleilaxu Master."Scytale's suggestion is a good one."

"Or I can offer another option. When theFace Dancers betrayed my fellowMasters

back on Tleilax and our other worlds,some of us had time to fight back. Wecreated a toxin that specifically targetsFace Dancers–a selective poison. If yougrant me access to laboratory facilities, Ican recreate that toxin and deploy it as agas."

"To what purpose?" Teg asked. Then hisexpression changed to one of

understanding.

"Ah, to flood the Ithaca's air systems. Wewould kill any Face Dancers whoremain

among us."

"The quantities necessary to saturate ourship would be huge," Duncan said,racing through a Mentat calculation toestimate the volume of air within thegigantic vessel, the

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concentration of gas that would provelethal to the shape-shifters, thepossibility of making others ill anddebilitating the crew. Garimi couldn'tbelieve what she was hearing. "You'resuggesting we let this Tleilaxu releasean unknown gas into our ship? Theycreated the Face Dancers!"

Scytale answered her in a voice heavywith scorn. "You witches fail to think.Don't you see that I myself face a direthreat? These are new Face Dancers,brought in from outside by the LostTleilaxu–our bastard stepbrothers whocooperated with the Honored Matres to

annihilate all the old Masters like

myself. Think! If other Face Dancers areaboard the Ithaca, then I am in greaterpersonal danger than anyone else. Can'tyou understand that?"

"Scytale's gas must only be a lastresort," Duncan said.

Sheeana looked around the room. "I'll lethim begin work on the toxin, but I'dprefer that we identify any Face Dancerdirectly."

"And interrogate it," Garimi said.

Scytale laughed. "You think you caninterrogate a Face Dancer?"

"Never underestimate the Bene

Gesserit."

Sheeana nodded. "Until we root out anyother infiltrators, until we prove thereare no more Face Dancers among us, ouronly safety lies in staying in largeenough groups that the shape-shifterscan't attack without being seen."

"What if an overwhelming number of usare already Face Dancers?" Teg said.

"Then we're all lost."

***

During the lockdown, each of the gholachildren was tested; Leto II submittedfirst.

When the sandworms had turned onThufir Hawat, somehow sensing thealien Face

Dancer, Leto's shock had seemedgenuine. The imagers showed himstaring in disbelief at the ruined bodythat had reverted to its blank FaceDancer state. But Thufir had clearlyplaced himself in danger, voluntarilygoing toward Leto when he did not needto. Why would a Face Dancer puthimself at risk, unless the copy was soaccurate that even the friendship wasreal?

Leto, ghola of the Tyrant, was manyextraordinary things. But he was not a

Face

Dancer.

Scytale's genetic analysis proved it.

Paul Atreides was also found to beclean, along with Chani, Jessica, and thethree-year-old Alia, who was intriguedby the needles and samples. Despite theusual suspicions

surrounding him, Wellington Yueh wasalso who he claimed to be.

After Scytale completed the blood andcellular tests, Sheeana was still notsatisfied.

"Even if we can now trust the gholachildren, that means only that other FaceDancers–

if there are any more–must be hiddenamong the rest of us."

"Then we'll test the rest," Garimi said."Or use Scytale's poison gas. I'llpersonally submit to any scrutiny, againand again, and I suggest we all do so."

Scytale raised his small hands in alarm."This test is an intensive one. I'll need toprepare enough panels for allpassengers, and that will take a greatdeal of time."

"Then we will take the time," Sheeana

announced. "Doing anything less wouldbe foolhardy."

Why do we find destruction sofascinating? When we see a terrible

tragedy, do we think ourselves cleverfor having evaded it ourselves? Or is

our fascination rooted in the thrill andfear of knowing we could be next?

– Mother Superior Odrade,Documentation of Consequences

Murbella and Janess–mother anddaughter, Mother Commander andSupreme Bashar–

orbited the dead world of Richese. Theyrode in an observation ship, separatefrom the teams of engineers, who werestill leery about the burned-out plague onChapterhouse.

Though the disease had run its course,the Ixians refused to be in a confinedspace with Murbella and Janess, whohad been exposed to it.

Nevertheless, alone in their small ship,the two women had a perfect view of the

unfolding test.

More than five years earlier, rebelHonored Matre ships from Tleilax hadbombarded

Richese, erasing not only the entirepopulation, but also the weaponsindustries and the half-constructed battlefleet that was to have been delivered tothe New Sisterhood. Now that the planetwas lifeless, however, Richese was aperfectly appropriate place for the Ixiansto demonstrate their new Obliteratorweapons.

Murbella opened the commline andspoke to the four accompanying testships. "You

take a smug pleasure in doing this, don'tyou, Chief Fabricator?"

On the screen, Shayama Sen arched hiseyebrows and jerked his head back in a

fine

display of innocence. "We're testing theweapon you ordered from us, MotherCommander.

You asked for a demonstration, ratherthan taking us at our word. We mustprove that our technology functions asadvertised."

"And the rivalry between Ix and Richesehad nothing to do with your choice oftargets?"

She barely held her sarcasm in check.

"Richese is just a historical footnote,Mother Commander. Any enjoyment

Ixians might have taken from our rivals'unfortunate fate has long since faded."After a pause, Sen added,

"We admit, however, that the irony doesnot escape us."

Since last visiting her high aboveChapterhouse, the factory leadersounded subtly

changed. Recently, when Sen had comeback to deliver full records of all theirtests on Ix, he had seemed surprised,even embarrassed. He had followed hersuspicious suggestion and used thecellular test on all of his people, withthe result that twenty-two Face Dancershad been exposed, all of them working

in critical industries.

Murbella would have liked tointerrogate them, maybe even apply anIxian T-probe.

But those Face Dancers who weren'timmediately killed took their own lives,somehow

using a machinelike suicide shutdown intheir own brains. The lost opportunityangered her, but she doubted her Sisterswould have learned anything from theshape-shifters anyway.

Nevertheless, she was glad to haveinstalled eight trusted inspectors towatch over the industrial progress from

that point onward.

"Our delivery schedule is tight, MotherCommander, as you demanded," Sen

transmitted.

"We are arming the ships from Junctionas quickly as possible. After seeingthese four Obliterators successfullytested, you can't deny that our technologyis reliable."

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"It seems a shame to waste suchdestructive power on a target that doesn'tharm the true enemy," Janess said. "Butwe require proof." Both of them hadreviewed earlier films of the tests, butthose could have been faked.

"I still want to see it with my own eyes,"Murbella said. "Then we'll throweverything into a defense against themachine advance."

"Deploying the nodes now," transmittedone of the Ixian pilots. "Please observe."

Four balls of light spat from the quartetof Ixian ships, and the incandescentObliterators spun like pinwheels towardthe cracked world below. They

shuddered and expanded as theydescended, throwing off rippling wavesthat grew brighter instead of dampening.

The atmosphere of Richese had alreadybeen scorched, its forests and citiesleveled in

the first chain reaction. Even so, theIxian-modified weapons found sufficientfuel to set the world ablaze all overagain.

Murbella remained silent as she watchedthe awesome swiftness of the flamefronts.

She stared without blinking until hereyes felt dry. The planet flared like an

ember in a breeze. Cracks appearedacross the continents; orange rifts blazedup. Finally, she spoke to her daughter,not caring that the Ixians could overhearon the open commline. "If we deploysuch a weapon in the midst of a thinking-machine battle fleet, it will wreakinconceivable havoc."

"We might actually have a chance,"Janess said.

Shayama Sen interrupted through thespeakers, "You assume, MotherCommander, that

the thinking machines will be foolishenough to fly their ships in such a tightcluster that one weapon will suffice."

"We know a great deal about theEnemy's battle plan and how their fleethas been

advancing. They do not use foldspaceengines, so they move methodically fromone target to the next, step by step. Withthe thinking machines there are fewsurprises."

Murbella looked at her daughter, thenback at the burning planet beforesnapping orders to the Ixians. "Verywell, no need to squander any moreObliterators. When we finally hurl themat machine battleships, that will bedemonstration enough for me. I want atleast ten Obliterators aboard each of our

new warships. No more delays! We havewaited too long

already."

"It will be done, Mother Commander,"Sen said.

Murbella chewed at her lower lip as shewatched Richese continue to blaze. Itwasn't

like the Chief Fabricator to be socooperative, failing to demandadditional payment.

Perhaps, after seeing countless worldsalready destroyed, the Ixians had at last

recognized their true enemy.

Whether we see them or not, there arenets everywhere, encompassing our

individual and collective lives.Sometimes it is necessary to ignorethem,

for the sake of our own sanity.

– Ship's log, entry of Duncan Idaho

Face Dancers aboard.

In her quarters with little Alia andtwelve-year-old Leto, Jessica felt verymuch like a mother again after all thesecenturies. The three of them had a shared

past and bloodline, but no otherknowledge or memories in common. Notyet. To Jessica it seemed that they were

little more than actors memorizing linesand playing roles, trying to be who theywere

supposed to be. Her body was onlyseventeen, but she felt much older as shecomforted the two younger ones.

"What is a Face Dancer?" three-year-oldAlia asked, toying with a sharp knife shekept at her side. Since the time she couldwalk, the girl had harbored a fascinationfor weapons, and she often soughtpermission to practice with them, ratherthan playing with more

appropriate toys. "Are they coming toget us?"

"They're already in the ship," Leto said,still shaken. He could not believe thatThufir had been a Face Dancer and thathe hadn't known it. "That's why we wereall tested."

"No others have been found yet," Jessicasaid. She and Thufir had been decantedin the same year. In the crèche, she hadbeen raised with the ghola of thewarrior-Mentat, and never had shenoticed any change in his personality. Itdid not seem possible that Thufir couldhave been a Face Dancer from the verybeginning.

The real Hawat, Master of Assassinsand former weapons master of HouseAtreides,

had been a veteran of numeroussuccessful campaigns like Bashar MilesTeg, serving three generations of HouseAtreides. No wonder Sheeana and theBene Gesserits had considered

him an invaluable ally. That was whythey had wanted to bring him back, andnow it was

obvious why their memory-triggeringcrisis hadn't worked. Thufir was notreally Thufir, and perhaps never hadbeen.

Now–unless clean cells were found togrow a new ghola–the people aboard theIthaca

would never have access to Hawat'sMentat and tactical skills. In fact,Jessica realized that after all this time,the ghola project had produced verylittle that could be used to help them.

Only Yueh, Stilgar, and Liet-Kynes hadbeen reawakened to their past lives, butthe latter two were gone. And Yueh,while a skilled Suk doctor, was not aparticularly great asset to their team.

He killed my Duke Leto–again.

With the Face Dancer threat, the missing

explosive mines, and the variousincidents of

sabotage, the need for the gholas andtheir old skills had become more urgent.

The remaining unawakened gholachildren must have special abilities;Jessica knew

they had all been brought back for areason. Each of them. Paul, Chani, andshe were all of an appropriate age; evenLeto II should be old enough. Gradual,careful measures could not possibly besufficient. Not anymore.

She sighed. If not now, then when wouldtheir historical abilities be useful? I must

have my memories back!

Jessica could offer so much more tobenefit the no-ship, if given theopportunity.

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She felt like a husk of a person withouther original life. In her quarters, shestood up so swiftly that she startled bothAlia and Leto. "You two should return toyour rooms." Her gruff voice invited noargument. "There's something important Ihave to do. These Bene Gesserits are

cowards, though they don't realize it.They can no longer afford to be."

In some ways, Sheeana was brash andimpetuous, but in other ways overlycautious.

Jessica knew someone, however, whowould not shy away from inflicting painupon her.

"Who are you going to see?" Leto asked.Uanmi.

***

The hard-line reverend mother regardedher with a stony expression, then smiled

slowly.

"Why should I do this? Are you mad?"

"Just pragmatic."

"Do you have any understanding of howmuch this is going to hurt?"

"I am prepared for it." She looked atGarimi's dark, curly hair, her flat andunattractive features; Jessica, bycontrast, was the very ideal of classicalbeauty, designed by the Bene Gesserit toplay the role of a seductress, a breedingmother whose features had been copiedagain and again for centuries after herdeath. "And I know, Proctor Superior,that if anyone can inflict that pain, you

are prepared to do so."

Garimi seemed caught betweenamusement and uneasiness. "I haveimagined countless

ways to twist the knife in you, Jessica. Ihave often considered how much harmyour actions did to the old Sisterhood.You derailed our entire KwisatzHaderach program, created a

monster we couldn't control. After Paul,as a direct consequence of yourdefiance, we suffered thousands of yearsunder the Tyrant. For what conceivablereason would I want to awaken you?You betrayed us."

"So you say." Garimi's words struck likehurled stones. The woman had tormentedJessica for years, as well as poor LetoII. Jessica knew all the accusations,understood how the conservative BeneGesserit faction viewed her. But she hadnot previously endured the

shocking depth of hatred and anger thatthe woman now showed toward her.

"Your own words reveal a great deal,Garimi. The old Sisterhood. Where areyour

thoughts? We are already living in thefuture."

"That doesn't negate the terrible pain you

caused."

"You keep insisting that I should bearthat guilt. But how can I feel it, if I don'tremember? Are you content with me as ascapegoat, a whipping boy for all theimagined

wrongs of the past? Sheeana wants mymemories restored so that I can help us.But you,

Garimi, should be just as eager toawaken me. Admit it–can you think of abetter Bene

Gesserit punishment than drowning mein the unforgivable things you say I'vedone to the Sisterhood? Awaken me!

Make me see it for myself!"

Garimi reached out and grabbed herwrist. Instinctively, Jessica tried to pullaway, but was unsuccessful. The otherwoman's expression hardened. "I amgoing to Share with you.

I'm going to give you all my thoughts andmemories so that you'll know."

Garimi leaned closer. "I will dump intoyour brain those hundreds of generationsof past lives that occurred after youcommitted your crime, so that you cansee the full scope and consequences ofwhat you did." She pulled Jessica upagainst her.

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"That's not possible. Only ReverendMothers can Share." Jessica tried toscramble backward.

Garimi's eyes were steely. "And you area Reverend Mother–or you were.Therefore,

one lives within you." She clasped theback of Jessica's head, grabbed herbronze hair and yanked her closer.Garimi leaned her own forehead down,and pressed it against Jessica's. "I can

make this work. I'm strong enough. Canyou imagine why I'm doing it? Perhapsthe grief will be enough to paralyzeyou!"

Jessica fought back. "Or it will... make...me... stronger."

She'd wanted her own memories, yes–but had never offered to accept all ofGarimi's

experiences, or those numerousancestors who had lived through thepersecutions of the God Emperor ofDune, her own grandson. All those whohad survived the Famine Times,

struggling to overcome their addiction to

mélange, which was no longer available.

The horrors of those generations had leftdeep scars on the human psyche.

Jessica did not want that at all. Garimiinsists that I caused it.

She felt something inside her head andresisted, but Garimi was stronger,forcing the

Sharing upon her, pouring memories,unleashing them. Hammers poundedJessica's skull

from the inside, strong enough to crackthrough bone and break out. She heard asnapping sound in the blackness, and

wondered if Garimi had won...

***

Shaken, Jessica–the real Jessica, boundconcubine to Duke Leto Atreides,Reverend

Mother of the Bene Gesserit–lookedaround herself with a new wonder shehad never

imagined possible. Though she saw onlythe walls of the no-ship, she recalledhow good her life had been with theDuke and with their son Paul. Sheremembered the shell-blue sky ofCaladan, the spectacular sunrises onArrakis.

In the end, she had beaten Garimi. Nowshe marched out of the angry woman'squarters,

swaying and saturated with theknowledge. That flood of memories wasa mixed blessing and a new burden, forshe was without her beloved Duke Leto.

The sudden emptiness made her feel asif she were plunging into an endless pit.

Leto, my Leto! Why couldn't the Sistershave brought you back at the same time,like

Paul and Chani? And damn you, Yueh,for taking him from me twice!

She felt profoundly alone, her heartdrained and her mind left with merememories and

knowledge. Jessica was determined tofind a way to make herself useful to herSisters once more.

Returning to her quarters, she found Aliawaiting for her. Possessing a sharp

intelligence far beyond her years, thegirl looked her over calmly and said,"Mother, I told Dr.

Yueh you would have your memoriesback. Now he's even more afraid of you.You could kill him with a look. I chasedhim and kicked him for you."

Jessica fought back her automatic hatredof Yueh. The old Yueh. "You mustn't dothat.

Especially not now." The Traitor hadbeen right to fear the return of hermemories, even though she had alreadyknown of his crimes and forgiven him.

But that was with my head, not with myheart.

As she stood there, Jessica's restoredmemories and emotions drove the daggerin deeper.

With a rush of emotion she found herselfunable to keep from reaching out andhugging

Alia fiercely. Then she looked upon herdaughter for the very first time. "I amyour mother again."

A test must be defined before it can beuseful. What are the parameters?

What is the accuracy? Too often a testdoes nothing more than analyze the

tester herself.

– The Bene Gesserit Acolytes'Handbook

The death of the Hawat Face Dancercouldn't be kept secret for long.Everyone was

accounted for and locked away whileSheeana and her cadre of testedindividuals performed a full count,isolated and approved security teams,and then guided all of the ship'sinhabitants into the main meeting hall.That giant chamber could easily househundreds of people for days, if need be,and if enough food was brought in.Meanwhile, Garimi remained up on thenavigation deck, monitoring the Ithaca byherself.

Since all hands–at least the known ones–were sealed in the meeting hall, anyhidden

traitors could very well be trapped

inside. In the next few days, over thecourse of meticulous testing, anyremaining Face Dancers among themwould be rooted out.

At first, the younger children born duringthe journey seemed to think it was agame, but they soon grew restless; thepeople became uncomfortable andsuspicious, wondering why

only a handful of individuals wereallowed to come and go on mysteriousassignments.

And why was the horrid little Tleilaxuone of the trusted ones? Many of thoseaboard

still viewed Scytale with open scorn, buthe was accustomed to such treatment.The Tleilaxu race had always beendespised and distrusted. Now who wasto blame?

Working frantically over the past day, heand the Suk doctors had assembledenough

analytical kits to perform a geneticcomparison on every untestedindividual. As a backup plan, he hadalso created enough of his Face Dancer-specific toxic gas to fill numerouscanisters, though Sheeana was not readyto approve such a hazardousexperiment–not yet.

They didn't trust him enough and kept thegas under their strict control.

He didn't trust them entirely, either. Afterall, he was a Tleilaxu Master, perhapsthe last one in existence. Secretly, he puttogether a more startling, fail-safe test,knowing full well what he was doing.He told no one of it.

When all was ready, Scytale sat in afront row for what he expected to be animportant

process of revelation. He watched theuneasy Bene Gesserits, Suk doctors,archivists, and proctors. Out in theaudience, Teg sat next to the Rabbi andtwo Bene Gesserit Sisters. The ghola

children were a few rows away, each ofthem already proven to be untainted.Duncan Idaho waited by one of thesealed doors, and male Bene Gesseritsguarded the other exit points.

While the gathered passengers waited,Sheeana spoke from the front of themeeting

chamber, her words clear anduncompromising, with an edge of Voice."We have discovered a Face Danceramong us, and we believe there are morein this room."

A moment of shocked silence extendeduneasily as she attempted to make eyecontact

with every individual. Scytale was notsurprised that no one stepped forward.The old Rabbi looked simultaneouslyindignant and lost without the rest of hispeople.

From the seat next to the old man, Tegtold him to be patient. The Rabbi glaredbut did not argue.

"We have created a foolproof test."Sheeana sounded weary even though hervoice boomed.

"It will be tedious and time-consuming.But you will all submit to it."

"I hope none of you has anything betterto do." Duncan crossed his arms over his

chest and flashed a grim smile. "Thedoors will remain guarded until thisprocess is complete."

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Scytale and the Suk doctors cameforward to the stage, carrying kits,syringes, and

chemical swabs. "As each one of you iscleared, our ranks of reliable allies willgrow. No Face Dancer can elude thisscrutiny."

"Who was this Face Dancer youcaught?" one of the Sisters asked, anundertone of anxiety in her voice. "Andwhy do you assume there are othersamong us? What is your evidence?"When Sheeana explained how the wormshad killed Thufir Hawat, stunned

murmurs rippled through the audience.

The Bashar called from his seat, with anedge of guilt and revulsion in his tone.

"We know that the false Thufir could nothave been responsible for all thesabotage incidents we have on record.He was with me, in person, whenseveral of the known incidentsoccurred."

"How do I know you're not all FaceDancers?" The Rabbi rose to his feetand glared at Sheeana, the Suk doctors,and especially Scytale. "Your behaviorhas never been

comprehensible to me." Teg tugged himback down.

Sheeana ignored the old man's questionand pointed to the front row. "I will takethe first subject now."

Two female Suk doctors moved forwardwith their kits, and Sheeana said, "Make

yourselves comfortable. This will take awhile."

For Scytale, though, this process wasprimarily a diversion–and even the BeneGesserits didn't know it. Feelingtrapped, any Face Dancer in theaudience would be trying to find a wayto escape detection. Therefore, theTleilaxu Master had to act precipitously,before any hidden shape-shifters couldmake a move. Watching the largeaudience closely, he fingered the smalldevice he carried.

While the slow analytical procedurewas certainly reliable, Scytale hadfashioned his

secret plan based on what he knew of theold Face Dancers created by the original

Tleilaxu Masters. He was betting that thenew shape-shifters from the Scatteringwere similar, at least in theirfundamental responses. They must haveemerged from the same basic blueprint.If so, he might know how to exposethem, a weak and secondary test... but itsvery unexpectedness might work in hisfavor.

In the center of the meeting chamber, theSuk doctors performed their first test ona

submissive Sister. She extended herhand, waiting for a drop of blood to bedrawn.

Without warning, Scytale activated his

high-pitched whistle emit' ter. A shrilltone

warbled up and down, intense but faint,above the range of most human hearing.The original Face Dancers had oncecommunicated with the Tleilaxu in acoded whistling language, a

secret set of programming notes burnedinto their neurological structures.

Scytale believed the irresistible noisewould make any Face Dancer lose hisdisguise, at least temporarily.

Suddenly, out in the tiers of seats, the oldRabbi flickered, and his bodyconvulsed.

His leathery face shifted and smoothedbehind his beard. He let out a cry ofsurprised

outrage and lunged to his feet. Now theold man was unexpectedly supple, wiry,and vicious.

His face was flat with sunken eyes and apug nose, like a bare skull made of half-melted wax.

"Face Dancer!" someone shouted.

The Rabbi became a whirlwind andthrew himself against the BeneGesserits.

Never underestimate your enemy–or

your allies.

– Miles Teg, Memoirs of an OldCommander

Due to his constant complaints, negativeattitude, and frail appearance, everyoneaboard had dismissed or misjudged theold Rabbi. As had Miles Teg.

In moves as swift and deadly as alasbeam, the Face Dancer slammed theBashar with a

blow that would have shattered his skull,if it had struck squarely. Just in time, Tegrecoiled with a flash of inhuman speed.It was enough to save his life, but evenso, the attack stunned him.

Abruptly, the Rabbi killed two Sisterson the other side of him, then moved in adirect, murderous line toward thenearest exit, clearing the way with aflurry of deadly blows. From hiddenpockets in his dark, conservativeclothes, the Face Dancer withdrew asmall throwing dagger for each hand.The blades were no longer than histhumbs, but he hurled them withprecision. The sharp tips, undoubtedlypoisoned, pierced the throats of twomale Bene

Gesserits who guarded the door. Withbarely a sound, the Rabbi shoved theirdying bodies out of the way and plungedout into the corridor.

Scytale urgently scanned the crowd tomake certain that this one escapingenemy did

not divert attention from any other FaceDancers hidden among those gathered inthe

chamber. The Tleilaxu saw no othersudden shiftings.

Sheeana shouted for others to pursue theRabbi. "We know who he is, but he canchange his shape. Now we have to trackhim down."

One of the Sisters tried to use the ship'sintercom to warn Garimi, but got noresponse.

"It's been damaged."

"Fix it." Sheeana realized that the Rabbihad had sufficient time during theirquarantine in this large chamber tosubtly perform more sabotage.

Dr. Yueh rushed to a groaning Teg andbent to check the severity of his injury;beside

him, the two fallen Sisters wereobviously dead. The look on the gholadoctor's face was of dismay rather thanvindication. As he examined Teg, hemurmured, as if trying to make sense ofthe situation. "The Rabbi gave me thesample of the ghola baby's cells. Hemust have taken Piter de Vries's cells

from storage and tricked me. He knewwhat I would do, how I would react."

Duncan glanced from Yueh and Teg toSheeana. "The connection is obvious tome now.

Thufir Hawat and the Rabbi. Why didn'tI see it?"

Sheeana caught her breath as shesuddenly realized the same thing. "Bothwent down to the planet of theHandlers!"

Duncan nodded. "Hawat and the Rabbiwere alone together during the hunt ofthe

Honored Matres. You all had to fightyour way back to the lighter after youdiscovered that the Handlers were FaceDancers."

"Of course." Sheeana's face was grave."Those two came running in from theforest at the last moment. It seems theydidn't escape the Handlers after all."

"So the original Rabbi and Thufir–"Duncan began.

"Both dead long ago, replaced by FaceDancers on the planet, and their bodiesdiscarded during the hunt."

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Finally achieving Mentat focus, Duncanjumped to the next obvious conclusion."Then it's been more than five yearssince the substitutions. Five years! In allthat time, the Hawat and Rabbiduplicates must have been waiting fortheir opportunity, killing gholas andaxlotl tanks, sabotaging our life-supportsystems, forcing us to stop at Qelso,where we were

vulnerable to discovery by our pursuers.Did the Enemy pick up our trail there?So far, we've managed to elude the net,but now that the Face Dancers have been

exposed–"

Sheeana paled. "And what about thestolen mines? What did the Rabbi dowith the

explosive mines? He can set them off atany time, if he gets to them."

Starting to recover but clearly woozy,Teg was already moving toward thedoor. "That Face Dancer knows he hasto seize the no-ship before we can killhim. He will head for the navigationbridge."

"Garimi is there," Sheeana said. "Let'shope she can stop him."

***

By the time the Face Dancer reached thenavigation bridge, he had resumed hisdisguise

as the Rabbi. He contained all thememories, experiences, and personalitydetails of the old man, and much more.The frail and frightened-looking Rabbiburst into the chamber, startling Garimi."What are you doing up here?" sheasked.

His eyes were wide and panicked as ifhe thought she could offer himprotection.

His spectacles had fallen off. "Face

Dancer!" he panted, staggering towardher. "He's killing Bene Gesserits!"

Garimi spun toward the intercom panelto contact Sheeana–and the Rabbi struck.

His deadly blow came close to her neck,but she sensed the movement and turnedat the

last possible moment. The side of his fistdrove down on her shoulder instead.

She slid from her chair, and the Rabbidove at her again.

Garimi launched a kick up at him fromthe deck, aiming for one of the old man's

knobby and uncertain knees, but hesprang away like a coiled panther. TheRabbi let out a feral yowl as Garimileapt to her feet again and assumed adefensive stance. Her lower lip curled."Clever, Rabbi. Even now that I knowwhat you are, I can hardly smell anyFace Dancer stink on you."

With a yank and a twist, the Rabbiuprooted an anchored chair and swung itat her.

She ducked and reached up to grab thechair as it whistled over her head.Tearing it out of his hands, her pull wasenough to knock him to the floor.

When the Rabbi rose to his feet again, he

shifted his body to mimic the form of a

ferocious Futar. His body bulged withmuscles, his teeth became sharp andelongated, and his claws slashed the air.Garimi stumbled back to get out of hiskilling reach and hammered her handdown on the intercom. "Sisters! FaceDancer on the navigation bridge!"

The Futar lunged, and his sharp, newlygrown claws ripped her robes. Usingwild and

frantic punches intended more to hurt herfoe than protect her own life, Garimishattered his ribs. With an outraged kickthat employed the full force of her heel,she smashed his left femur out of its hip

socket.

But the Futar rolled as he collapsed,spun in a blur, and before she could feela moment of victory, he snappedGarimi's neck. She dropped with barelya sigh. In a purely spiteful

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gesture, he ripped out her throat beforecalmly reshaping his body to his blankFace Dancer state. He wiped blood fromhis face with one sleeve.

More broken than even his own shape-shifter abilities could easily heal, theRabbi

crawled and then limped to the Ithaca'smain controls. He heard running feet inthe corridor, so he sealed the navigationbridge, applied emergency locks, andactivated a mutiny-defense protocol.

In the years he had maintained hisdisguise, the Face Dancer had covertlysampled the

skin cells of Duncan Idaho, Sheeana, andBashar Miles Teg. Now his handsflowed into the proper identificationprints so that the no-ship's highly securecontrols responded to him. The sealed

doors would stand against any intrusion.Eventually the Bene Gesserits wouldfind a way to break in, but by that timehe would have completed his mission.

His thinking-machine masters would bealerted. And they would come.

Long ago, he had studied how to operatethe Holtzman engines. Estimating the

coordinates as best he could, notworried about the lack of a Navigator,the Face Dancer folded space andplunged the Ithaca across the galaxy. Theship tumbled out into a different stellarregion, not far from Omnius's advancingforces. He reconfigured the ship'scomsystems and triggered a locator

beacon. His superiors knew the signal.

The thinking machines would respondswiftly. Already the Face Dancer couldsense the

hungry, invisible tachyon net comingcloser. This time there would be noescape.

The no-ship would be completelytrapped.

Even small opponents can be deadly.

– Bene Gesserit Analytical Report onthe Tleilaxu Problem

By the time Duncan, Sheeana, and Teg

reached the navigation bridge, the thickhatches

were sealed and locked. Impregnable.The bridge had been designed to remainsecure against even an army.

Within moments, other Sisters followed,having first raced to the armory andobtained

hand weapons: poisonous needle guns,stunners, and a high-powered lascutter.None of those devices would besufficient. Rushing forward, the gholachildren joined the crowd outside thesealed bridge, among them Paul, Chani,Jessica, Leto II, and young Alia.

Duncan could feel the change when theno-ship lurched through foldspace. "He'sat the controls, moving us!"

"Garimi is dead, then," Sheeanaconcluded.

"The Face Dancer is going to take usdirectly to the Enemy," Teg said.

"Now is the time to use Scytale's poisongas to kill the Face Dancer." Sheeanaturned to two of the Sisters standing inthe corridor. "Find the Tleilaxu and takehim to our guarded cabinet. Get one ofthe canisters, and we will flood the airon the bridge with the gas."

"No time for that," Duncan said. "We've

got to get in there!"

Alia sounded eerily cool and intelligentas she announced, "I can get inside."

Duncan looked at the girl. To him, theecho-memories evoked by this childwere

unsettling.

The original Duncan had never knownher as a youngster–he had been killed by

Sardaukar while Jessica was barelypregnant. But he did have vividmemories of an older Alia as his lover,in another life. But that was all history.Now it might as well be myth or legend.

He bent down to talk to her. "How?There isn't much time."

"I'm small enough." With a flick of hereyes, the little girl indicated the narrowair-exchanger vents leading into thecommand deck. She was far morediminutive than even

Scytale.

Sheeana was already removing the grate."There are baffles, filters, and bars inthe way.

How will you get through?"

"Give me a cutter. And a needle gun. I'llget the door open for you as soon as I

can.

From the inside."

When Alia had what she needed, Duncanhoisted the girl up to where she couldsquirm

inside the tiny tunnel. Not yet four yearsold, she weighed very little. Jessicastood watching, looking more maturethan she had been only a few daysearlier, but even seeing her

"daughter" placed into such a dangeroussituation, she did not protest.

Cold and intent, the child clamped thecutter between her teeth, tucked the

needle pistol into her small shirt, andbegan to creep through the vent. Thedistance between the chambers was notfar, but each half meter was a battle. Sheexhaled, making herself as small aspossible so that she could wriggleahead.

Outside, the others began pounding onthe sealed door as a distraction. Theyused heavy cutters that sparked andfumed, screeching through the dense,armored barricade a millimeter

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at a time. The Face Dancer would knowthey'd need hours to cut through into thenavigation bridge. Alia was confidentthe Face Dancer would not expect anambush from her.

She encountered the first barricade, a setof plasteel bars interwoven with afiltration grid. The dense mat was coatedwith neutralizing chemicals, and chargedwith a faint

electrostatic film to scrub all drugs andpoisons from the air that passed into thebridge. With the filter in place, Scytale'stoxic gas would not have worked, evenif they'd been able to release it.

Elbows digging into her sides, Alia took

the cutter from her teeth and with jerkywrist movements sliced away the bars.Gently, she set the screen in front of her,careful not to make a noise, and crawledover it. The sharp edges scratched herchest and legs, but Alia cared nothing forthe pain.

Similarly, she passed through a secondgrid, and then found herself at the lastopening, from which she could observethe Face Dancer through the grille. Hisappearance flickered occasionally,sometimes reverting to the old man'sshape, sometimes becoming a Futar, butprimarily the Face Dancer wore a blank,skull-like visage. Even before she sawthe torn body of Garimi on the deck,

Alia knew not to underestimate thisopponent.

With the tip of the glowing cutter, shesliced the tiny fasteners that held the lastscreen in place. Moving as silently asshe could, she held the plate where itwas and squirmed to free the needle gunfrom her shirt. She tensed, then drew adeep breath, waiting for the rightmoment.

I will have only a brief instant ofsurprise, so I must use it to fulladvantage.

The Face Dancer was working thecontrols, probably transmitting a signalto the

mysterious Enemy, presumably more ofhis own kind. Every second she delayedwould place the Ithaca in greater danger.

Suddenly the Face Dancer jerked hishead up and snapped his gaze toward thegrille.

Somehow he had sensed her. Now,without hesitating, Alia shoved theloosened screen

toward him like a projectile. He dodgedout of the way, reacting just as she hadexpected. Still lying prone in theventilation shaft, she extended the needlegun in front of her and fired seven times.Three of the deadly needles found theirtarget: two in the Face Dancer's eyes,

another in the artery on his neck.

He spasmed, thrashed, and fell lifeless.Wriggling out of the air shaft, Aliadropped to the floor, recovered herbalance, and glanced to verify thatGarimi was indeed dead, beforecasually walking to the door. With hernimble fingers she disarmed the internalsecurity measures and unsealed the hatchfrom the inside.

Duncan and Teg stood there holdingweapons, afraid of what might emerge.The little

girl met them with a placid expression."Our Face Dancer is no longer aproblem."

Over Alia's shoulder they could see theinhuman form sprawled next to anoverturned

chair. Small trickles of blood leakedfrom the dart wounds in his eyes, and hewore a full crimson collar of bloodaround his neck. On the floorplates laythe mangled Garimi.

Sheeana narrowed her gaze. "I see thatyou are a born killer."

Alia was unruffled. "So I've been told.Didn't you bring the ghola children backfor our abilities? This is what I do best."

Duncan hurried to the no-ship's controlsto assess what the false Rabbi had done.

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He extended his senses and wasdismayed to see the deadly strands of theshimmering

net suddenly appear and intensify allaround them. Unbreakable. The trap wasbright enough, powerful enough, thateveryone could see it.

Teg rushed to a scanner station."Duncan! Ships approaching–a lot ofthem! The Face Dancer has brought usright to the doorstep of the Enemy. We're

tagged, and the net has locked onto us."

"After all these years, we are caught inthe strands." Duncan swept his gazeacross all of them. "At least, we're aboutto find out who our Enemy really is."

Our shared humanity should, frydefinition, make us allies. In sad fact,

however, our very similarities oftenappear to be vast differences and

insurmountable obstacles.

– Mother Commander Murbella, addressto the New Sisterhood

Given the critical shortage of time, the

thousands of newly equipped Guildshipscould

not undergo thorough shakedowns andtest runs. The mass-producedObliterators were loaded aboard theheavily armored vessels that had beenbuilt at Junction as well as seventeensatellite shipyards. Crews madepreparations to go to the front lines.

Fresh from conscription across hundredsof at-risk planets, novice commandersreceived

only minimal training, barely sufficientto stand against the Enemy at numerousvulnerable points as humanity tried todraw its line in space. Murbella knew

that despite their

determination and bravery, and no matterhow much training and practice theyreceived, most of the human fighterswould be annihilated.

In the months after the plague had run itscourse on Chapterhouse, the Mother

Commander had opened her doors todisplaced refugees from any evacuatedplanet. At first they were frightened tosettle on the once-quarantined world, butthen they had begun to stream in. With sofew options available to them, the ragtaggroups accepted the Sisterhood's offer ofsanctuary in exchange for performingvital labors in the war effort. Politics

and old factions had to be set aside.Now every life was devoted topreparing for the last stand against theoncoming forces of Omnius.

From Buzzell, Reverend Mother Corystasent the incredible news that the giant

seaworms wreaking havoc withsoostone operations also produced akind of spice. Murbella immediatelysuspected some kind of Guildexperiment. It could not be a naturaloccurrence.

Corysta suggested that the worms behunted and harvested, but the MotherCommander could not think that farahead. A new source of spice mattered

only if the human race survived theEnemy.

Mother Commander Murbella called agrand war council for delegates of thefront-line

planets that were in imminent danger ofattack by thinking-machine forces.Despite their indignation, every one ofthem had undergone cellular testing toroot out hidden Face

Dancers. Murbella took no chances; theinsidious shape-shifters could beanywhere.

In the Keep's grand meeting room, shestrode down the length of the

elaccawood table

to her designated seat. Using her BeneGesserit powers of close observation,she studied those assembled, all of themdriven here by desperation. Murbellatried to view these

representatives in their various costumesand uniforms as military leaders,essentially generals in the last greatbattle for humanity. The people in thisroom would guide the thrown-togetherclusters of ships and make a thousanddefiant stands.

But were they the quality of heroes thehuman race needed?

When she turned to face the delegates,Murbella saw the uneasiness in theireyes and

smelled fear-sweat in the air. The vastEnemy fleet surged forward like a flamefront across the map of the galaxy,rolling over star system after starsystem, heading inexorably towardChapterhouse and the remaining worldsat the heart of the Old Empire.

After moving among the variousembattled worlds and studying theirpreparations,

Murbella had secured alliances withthese planetary leaders, warlords,commercial

conglomerates, and smaller units ofgovernment. Leto II's vision of theGolden Path had fragmented humanity sothat they no longer followed a singlecharismatic leader, and now

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Murbella had to repair that damage.Diversity might once have been a path tosurvival, but unless the numerous worldsand armies could stand together againstthe far greater foe, they would all perish.

If the Tyrant's prescience was so

formidable, how could he not haveforeseen the

existence of the great machine empire,no matter how far away it was? Howcould the God Emperor not have knownthat another titanic conflict awaitedhumankind? She felt a faint shudder. Orhad he, and everything was playing outexactly as the Tyrant planned?

After considerable effort, she had won acritical internal battle when the variousleaders agreed that the strongest defensecame from a unified plan–her plan–rather than a hundred independent andhopeless defensive battles. To get hermessage across, she'd had to cut through

the stubborn tentacles of variousplanetary bureaucracies. Nothing waseasy in this war.

Feeling the burdens of her position,Murbella rapped a large spherical stoneon the table, producing a loud, echoingboom that called the meeting to order."You all know why you're here. We mustmake our last stands, a thousand of themacross space. Many of us will die–or allof us will die. There are no alternatives.The only questions are how soon wewill die, and how it will happen. Do wechoose to die free and fighting to thelast... or defeated and running?"

The room resounded with a cacophony

of voices, accents, and languages, thoughshe

had insisted that they all speak thecommon Galach tongue. She used Voiceto cut through the clamor. "The machinesare coming! If we cooperate and do notretreat in the face of our foe, we justmight have the means of stopping themdead in their tracks."

She noted Guild officials and Ixianengineers in the audience. Given theshort delivery schedule, some of thewarship construction had beenunavoidably slapdash, but her handful ofBene Gesserit inspectors and linesupervisors had overseen the operations.

"Our weapons and ships are now ready,but before we proceed I have onequestion for all of you." She skeweredthe leaders with her gaze. If she'd stillbeen an Honored Matre, her eyes wouldhave blazed orange. "Do you have theresolve and courage to do what is

necessary?"

"Do you?" bellowed a bearded manfrom a very small planet in a remotesystem.

Murbella rapped her sonic stone again."My New Sisterhood will bear the bruntof the initial clash against the thinkingmachines. We have already fought themin one star system after another,

destroying many of their ships, and wesurvived their plagues here on

Chapterhouse. But this war will neverbe won on individual battlefields." Shegestured, and Janess worked thecontrols. "Look at this, all of you."

Startling the assemblage, a largeholographic projection appeared, fillingthe open space of the Keep's greatmeeting room with detailed maps of thegalaxy's numerous solar systems.

An advancing blot indicated the thinkingmachines' conquests, like a tidal wavedrowning every system in its path. Thedarkness of defeat and extermination hadalready blackened most of the known

systems in the regions of the Scattering.

"We have to focus our efforts. Becausethey don't use foldspace engines, theEnemy proceeds from system to system.We know their path, and therefore wecan put ourselves

directly in their way." Murbella stoodamidst the simulated stars and planets.Her finger darted from point to point, theglowing stars and habitable planets thatlay in the Enemy's path. "We've got tohold the line–here, and here, andeverywhere! Only by combining all ofour ships, commanders, and weaponscan we hope to halt the Enemy." Sheswept her hand

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through the shimmering images that werejust ahead of the encroaching thinkingmachines.

"Any other choice would be cowardice."

"Do you call us cowards?" the beardedman roared.

A merchant stood. "Surely we cannegotiate–"

Murbella cut him off. "The thinking

machines do not want a particularworld. Nor are they searching for gems,spice, or any other goods. There isnothing we can offer them to sue forpeace. They do not compromise, andwill keep pursuing us no matter wherewe run." She looked at the blusteringman and said, "By fleeing conflict today,you could survive for a time. But there'llbe no escape for your children orgrandchildren. The machines willslaughter them, down to the last infant.Do you value your life over theirs?Then, yes, I do call you cowards."

Despite the murmurs in the hall, no oneelse spoke out. On the giant star display,a line of tiny fireworks erupted along the

interface line between the machine-conquered territories and the vulnerablehuman planets.

Murbella's gaze moved across theaudience. "Each of us is responsible forstopping the Enemy from crossing thisline. Failure means death for the humanrace."

True loyalty is an unshakable force.The difficulty is in determining exactly

where a person's allegiance lies. Oftenthat bond is only to oneself.

– Duncan Idaho, A Thousand Lives

The leader of the Face Dancer myriad

arrived at Synchrony, bearing a long-anticipated

gift for the evermind. The thinkingmachines still viewed Khrone as nothingmore than a servant, a delivery boy.

Omnius and Erasmus never suspectedthat the shape-shifters might beformulating their

own schemes independent of bothhumanity and the thinking machines.Naive, oblivious, and so very typical.The ever-mind would treasure this newmélange for his grandiose plans, and itwould keep the machines from doubtingKhrone and his Face Dancers.

He intended to make the most of it.

With their brutality and arrogance, the"old man and woman" had long agogiven the new shapeshifters reasons tobreak their loyalty. Erasmus fanciedhimself reminiscent of a Face Dancer,but much more... and similar to a human,but greater. And like Omnius... butinfinitely more powerful.

Khrone and the rest of the myriad hadnever truly given their allegiance to thethinking machines. He saw no morereason to accept slavery under machinemasters than to have

accepted the domination of the originalTleilaxu who had created their

predecessors so many centuries ago.Forced allies, second-class partners...The evermind was merely one morelayer in the grand pyramid of those whothought they controlled the FaceDancers.

After so much effort, Khrone couldn'twait until he could drop this endlessdeception.

He was no longer amused by the numberof masks he had to wear and thecomplicated

threads he continued to pull. Soon,though...

Alone, he flew his small ship directly to

the heart of the modern machine empire.

The location of Synchrony had beengenetically programmed into all newFace Dancers,

like some sort of homing beacon. As heentered the airspace over thetechnological

metropolis, Khrone let his thoughts driftback to Ix. The fabricators and engineershad successfully completed a specialdemonstration at dead Richese, and nowObliterators were emerging from theproduction lines. Mother CommanderMurbella had been impressed with

the power she witnessed, and she'd been

entirely convinced by the show. Fool!

But not in all things. In her prior meetingwith Chief Fabricator Shayama Sen,Murbella had forced him to administer abiological test that proved he wasn't aFace Dancer.

Given what had happened, Khrone wasvastly relieved that he had not replacedthe man,

as he'd been tempted to do many times inthe past.

Face Dancers already controlled most ofthe important positions on Ix, and whenthe

Chief Fabricator blithely distributed thebiological tests to all the main engineersand team leaders (never suspecting theremight actually be a majority of FaceDancers among them), the myriad hadbeen forced to act precipitously. Whenan indignant Sen announced the

Sisterhood's suspicions, the infiltratorshad finally been forced to kill him andassume his identity. They had alreadytaken care of the troublesome BeneGesserit line supervisors and productionmonitors. And so the deceptioncontinued, unmarred.

Enhanced Face Dancers quicklysubsumed the last humans among the

leaders of Ix.

Then, working together, they contrivedall the necessary tests, selected therequired

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scapegoats, substituted convincing data,and submitted everything toChapterhouse in

accordance with Murbella's demands.All in perfect order.

After surviving the plague, theSisterhood's leadership had forced allhuman protectors to finally band togetheragainst the thinking-machine fleet, todefend their race rather than simply theirown worlds. The hundreds of new shipsthat emerged from the Junction

shipyards were being loaded withenough Obliterators for a final,concerted stand against the oncomingwave of Omnius's ships. So far, theevermind's forces had encountered verylittle significant resistance, and now theywere on their way to Chapterhouse. Forthe last time.

Khrone had actually been tempted to let

the Reverend Mothers and their last-stand

defenders succeed. Given enoughfunctional Obliterators, they could sendthe machine fleet reeling. Humans andthinking machines could easily annihilateeach other. However, that was simplytoo... easy. Kralizec demanded muchmore! This time, the fundamental shift inthe universe would get rid of both rivals,leaving all the remnants of the OldEmpire for the Face Dancers.

Khrone felt completely confident in thefuture as he landed his ship in theconvoluted

labyrinth of copper steeples, golden

turrets, and interlocked silverybuildings.

Sentient structures shifted aside to allowa place for his ship to settle. When thesmall vessel came to rest on a smoothquicksilver plain, Khrone stepped out,breathing air that smelled of smoke andhot metal. He did not spare a moment tolook around.

The central machine world was basedentirely on theatrics. He suspected thetouch of

Erasmus in this, though Omnius had suchan overblown perception of his ownimportance that he no doubt wanted allmachine minions to bow before him as a

god–even if the evermind had toprogram them to do so.

Rectangular plates appeared on theground, laying down an interlockedpathway that

guided Khrone to his destination in themagnificent arched cathedral. Head heldhigh, he strode along carrying hisprecious package, refusing to look like asupplicant summoned before his lord.Rather, Khrone was a man on a missionwith important business to complete.

Omnius would be pleased to have theconcentrated ultraspice for use with hiscloned Kwisatz Haderach...

Inside the ostentatious hall, the ghola ofBaron Harkonnen stood with youngPaolo at a

nine-level pyramid chess board.Glowering, the Baron knocked over arook on one of the top levels. "Thatmove is not allowed, Paolo."

"It enabled me to win, didn't it?" Pleasedwith his ingenuity, the young mancrossed his arms over his chest.

"By cheating."

"It's a new rule. If we are as importantas you say, we should be allowed tomake up our own rules."

A flash of anger crossed the Baron'sface, and then vanished into a chuckle. "Isee your reasoning–and that you arelearning."

When Khrone stepped forward, theylooked at him with identical expressionsof

distaste.

"Oh, it's you." The Baron soundedentirely different from when he'd beentormented by the Face Dancers. "I didn'tthink we'd be seeing you again. Bored ofCaladan?"

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Ignoring them, Khrone noted that the twoprincipal thinking machines had resumed

their guise of an elderly couple ingardening clothes. Why were theywearing these personas now? For thebenefit of these two gholas? It wasn't asif the thinking machines were keepingsecrets from anybody here. Khrone hadnever been able to determine a pattern intheir

behavior.

Perhaps it was linked to the fact that

Omnius and Erasmus wanted to receiveall of the

lives Khrone had gathered andassimilated during his last missionamong the humans.

They looked forward to the sharing oftheir Face Dancer "ambassadors" eachtime one of the far-flung representativesreturned. It seemed to make them feelsuperior, and allowed the independentrobot to feel that he belonged to thehuman race, somehow.

"Look, he's brought something," Paolopointed out. "A present for us?"

Khrone went directly to the old man and

woman. As the woman leaned towardhim, her

visage had a feral and hungry look. "Ithink you brought more than just apackage, Khrone.

You haven't been back to Synchrony insome time. Show us the personas you'veacquired.

Every little bit adds to us, makes usgreater."

"I have had enough." The old man turnedaway. "I am beginning to find themsomewhat distasteful. They are all thesame."

"How can you say that, Daniel? Everyhuman is different, so beautifully chaoticand unpredictable."

"Exactly what I mean. They are allconfusing. And I am not Daniel, I amOmnius.

Kralizec is upon us, and we have notime for further preparatory games."

"Sometimes I still like to considermyself Marty. In many ways it's moreappealing to me than the name or guiseof Erasmus." The old woman took a stepcloser to Khrone.

The Face Dancer didn't dare flinch,though he despised what was about to

happen.

Her hand was gnarled, with largeknuckles. It felt clawlike when shetouched his

forehead. She pressed harder, andKhrone shuddered, unable to block theintrusion.

Each time a Face Dancer mimicked ahuman shape, he sampled the originalsubject and

acquired both a genetic trace and animprint of the memories and persona.The thinking

machines had set the shapeshifters loose

into the Old Empire. Infiltrating thehumans, they gathered more and morelives as they subsumed useful peopleand played their roles.

Whenever a Face Dancer returned to themachine empire, Erasmus in particularwanted to add those lives to his vastrepository of data and experience.

Out of forced subservience, Khrone andhis comrades surrendered thatinformation.

But though the thinking machines couldupload the various lives the FaceDancers

copied, they could not take their core

personas. Khrone held onto his secrets,even as he offered up all those people hehad been in recent years–an Ixianengineer, a CHOAM

representative, a crewman on aGuildship, a dock worker on Caladan,and many others.

When the process was finished, the oldwoman's hand withdrew. Her wrinkledface

wore a satisfied smile. "Oh, those wereinteresting ones! Omnius will certainlywant to share them."

"That remains to be seen," the old mansaid.

Feeling drained, Khrone caught hisbreath and straightened himself. "That isnot why I came." His voice wasshamefully weak and quavering. "I haveobtained a special substance

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you will find invaluable for yourKwisatz Haderach project." He held outthe ultraspice package, as if offering agift to a king, precisely as Omniusexpected him to behave. The old manaccepted the package, scrutinized itcarefully.

The Face Dancer gave Paolo acondescending look. "This potent formof mélange is

sure to unlock the prescience in anyAtreides. Then you will have yourKwisatz Haderach, as I have alwayspromised. There is no need to continuepursuing the no-ship."

Omnius found the comment amusing."Strange you should say that now."

"What do you mean?"

Beside him, the old woman grinned."This is a momentous day, since both ofour plans have come to fruition. Ourpatience and foresight have paid off.

Now, what shall we do with twoKwisatz Haderachs?"

Khrone paused, startled. "Two of them?"

"After so many years, the no-ship hasfinally fallen into our trap."

Khrone slid his surprise back intohimself and went rigid. "That is... mostexcellent."

The old woman rubbed her handstogether. "Everything is culminating atonce. It

reminds me of the climactic movement ina symphony I once wrote."

The old man began to pace around thechamber, holding the package ofultraspice in his

hands. He sniffed it.

Paolo turned away from the chess game."You don't need another KwisatzHaderach.

You have me. Give me spice now!"

Erasmus shot him an indulgent smile."Perhaps in a little while. First we'll seewhat the no-ship has for us, who theirKwisatz Haderach is. It should beinteresting."

"Where is the vessel?" Khrone asked,

focusing on the main question. "Are yousure you have it?"

"Our cruisers are surrounding it evennow, and our operatives aboard tooksteps to guarantee that it could notescape again. Your Face Dancers did afine job, Khrone."

Omnius interrupted, "And, on a greaterscale, our largest battleships are closingin on human defenders in their OldEmpire. We will conquer Chapterhousesoon, but that is only one of manysimultaneous targets."

"It should be quite a spectacular battle."Erasmus sounded more dry than eager.

The evermind was stern. "Triumph willbe assured as soon as the properconditions are met, according to ourmathematical prophecies. Success isimminent."

With glee on his flowmetal face,Erasmus beamed at Paolo and the Baron."Two

Kwisatz Haderachs are better than one!"

Time is a commodity more preciousthan mélange. Even the wealthiest man

cannot buy more minutes to put intoeach hour.

– Duke Leto Atreides, last message from

Caladan

A gossamer net of jeweled colors closedaround the Ithaca.

The no-ship's engines strained, but couldnot break away. Scrambling to reassertcontrol over the helm and dragthemselves free of the strange bonds,Duncan powered up the

Holtzman engines, preparing to rip ahole through the glimmering mesh. It wastheir only way out.

Glaring at the dead Face Dancer on thedeck, Sheeana ordered two Sistersnearby,

"Remove that thing from the navigationbridge!" Within moments, the womencarried away the limp and bloody shape-shifter.

Now that the net was visible to them all,Duncan focused his Mentat awareness tostudy

the woven grid that ensnared them. Hesearched frantically for holes or weakspots in the powerful structure, but foundnothing to suggest the slightest defect, nofrayed point that might allow them toescape.

He would try brute force, then.

Years ago, he had broken free of the net

by using the Holtzman engines in waysthey

had never been designed to function,flying the Ithaca at just the proper angleand speed to penetrate the fabric ofspace. It had reminded him of aSwordmaster's move, using a slow bladeagainst a personal shield.

"Accelerating now," he said.

Teg leaned over the navigation controls,sweating. "This is going to be close,Duncan."

The large ship pulled against themulticolored strands, tore several, andthen picked up speed. "We're breaking

free!"

Duncan felt a brief moment of hope, asurge of triumph.

An explosion rocked the ship, followedby another, and another. Vibrations andshock

waves rang through the hull and decks asif some titan were smashing the vesselwith a great hammer. The navigationbridge shuddered.

Holding his chair, Duncan called updiagnostic maps. "What was that? Is theEnemy

firing on us?"

The detonations threw Teg to the floor,but he scrambled back to his feet andgripped

the console for balance. "The stolenmines! I think we just found them." Hiswords tumbled out in a rush. "EitherThufir or the Rabbi must have set themto go off–" As if to confirm hisspeculation, another explosion rockedthe deck, much closer than before.

The Ithaca reeled out of control, itsengines paralyzed. The deck tilted, asartificial gravity generators wereknocked offline. Duncan felt a sickeningdisorientation as the vessel spun offaxis.

The shimmering net grew brighter,tightening like a noose.

Finally, out in the distance, Enemy shipsdrew into view, like hunters approachinga trap they had set. Duncan stared at theexternal screens. Who had pursued themfor so long? Face Dancers? Somevicious, unknown race? What could befrightening enough to drive the

Honored Matres back into the OldEmpire?

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"The bastards think they have us."Duncan made a fist.

"Don't they?" Looking up from his statusscreens, the Bashar was dismayed by thesevere damage indicators lighting upsections of the vessel like fireworksdisplays.

"The mines have ruined our most vitalsystems, and we're dead in space."

Using Mentat focus, Duncan studied thepanels on his command console. Theintricate

displays showed the strangling net allaround them. He jabbed his fingertoward a knot in the diagram, an area of

pulsing, flickering electronic signals. Atfirst glance the tangle seemed nodifferent from the rest of theinterconnected strands, but as he studiedit, he thought he might have found aweakness. "Look there."

Teg feverishly bent closer. "Aloophole?"

"If only we could move!" Racking hisbrain, Duncan stalked back and forth infront of the controls. "It would be quite adrunkard's dance to get through that maze– if this ship could fly at all."

"If we all worked together, the entirecrew, it would take a week to makerepairs. We don't have that much time."

The Bashar gestured to the tacticalscreens that displayed data from thelong-distance sensors. "Enemy ships areclosing in. They know they've snaredus."

Duncan accepted the grim reality."Holtzman engines are dead. No way tomake the

repairs in time, no way to escape." Hehammered his fists on a panel next to thetangled, pulsing loophole on theconsole's projections. "But I know Icould do it. Why won't this damned shipfly?"

Teg glanced at the sensor blips thatindicated the encroaching Enemy, saw

the

automated damage reports streamingacross the display, and knew exactlywhat had to be

done.

Only he could do it.

"I can fix the ship." He had no time toexplain. "Be ready." Then he simplyvanished.

***

Miles Teg accelerated his metabolism,kicking himself into the hyper-fast speedhe had

learned after surviving unendurabletorture at the hands of the HonoredMatres and their underlings. Aroundhim, time slowed. This would bedangerous to him because of the extremeenergy requirements, but he had to do it.The rapidly strobing alarm lightsbecame a slow pulsation that seemed totake an hour for each cycle, brighteningand dimming. Re-accessing the archivalrecords of the ship's systems would taketoo long, but Teg had examined thembefore. As a Mentat he rememberedeverything, and now he set to work.

By himself.

Even at his accelerated speed, Teg

exerted himself to run as fast as hecould. On deck

after deck, everyone aboard stood likestatues, their expressions showingconcern and

confusion. Teg flashed past them to thenearest damage sites.

Where the first mine had gone off, hestared in amazement and consternation atthe

twisted metal, the melted craters in themachinery, the vaporized systems. Teghurried from one explosion to the next,determining how far the damageextended and which systems were

crucial for their immediate escape.

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The Face Dancer infiltrators had plantedand hidden the eight mines well, andeach

detonation had resulted in a cripplingblow: navigation, life-support,foldspace engines, defensive weapons.

Teg made snap decisions. His life hadprimed him for emergencies; on thebattlefield,

one could not hesitate. If Duncancouldn't manage to fly the Ithaca awayright now, they would never againrequire life-support systems. He, orsomeone else, could fix those later. Anacceptable gamble. The no-fieldgenerators were off-line.

Engines.

Four of the eight mines had been set todamage the fold-space engines. TheFace Dancer

saboteur had deliberately flown the no-ship close to the Enemy's stronghold,and the

detonations had left them crippled and

stranded.

With hyper speed Teg studied, analyzed,and compiled a plan using his Mentatabilities.

He inventoried spare materials,replacement components, emergencyequipment. He

needed to work swiftly with what hehad; there was no one to help him. First,he rerouted and reprogrammed theweapons, and prepared them to launch avolley of blasts at the oncoming ships.That might grant them an extra fewmoments.

Teg continued to hurry. The pulsing

alarm lights flickered on to off, like asun rising and setting. Another hour gonein his own frame of reference. In realtime, only a few seconds had passedsince his disappearance from the bridge.Next, he turned to the engines, whichwere essential to their escape.

The primary linkages had beendisrupted, with Holtzman catalystsshaken from their

cradles, shoved out of alignment, madeinoperable. Two reaction chamberswere breached.

An explosion had nearly broken throughthe hull. He stood stunned, his armsshaking,

thinking he couldn't possibly fix this. Buthe forced such thoughts away, went backto work.

Teg's muscles trembled with exhaustion,and his lungs burned from gasping air sofast

the oxygen molecules could barely moveinto position.

Fixing the hull should be easy enough.Teg ran to the maintenance sectors,where he

located extra plates. Since he couldnever make the ship's heavy-liftingmachinery operate fast enough for histime-sense, he decided that suspensors

would have to do. He applied the null-gravity projectors to the heavy platesand hurried with them down corridors,dodging petrified people.

With each second, the Enemy battleshipswere getting closer. Some of his fellow

passengers were only just now learningof the mines that had been detonated. Heput on

another burst of speed, and the suspensorcarriers kept up with him.

In a few "hours," according to hismetabolism, and only a few moments inreality, he fixed the hull damage thatcould have resulted in an engine breach.

Sweat poured off of Teg's body, and hewas near collapse. But in spite of thatutter exhaustion, he could not let himselfslow down. Never before had heallowed himself to fall so deeply into apit of burning

metabolism.

Teg's body could not maintain this pacefor long. But if he didn't, the ship wouldbe

captured, and they would all die. Fangsof hunger gnawed at his stomach. Thiswould not do.

He had to concentrate, had to fuel theengine of his body so that he could do

what must be done.

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Ravenous, not slowing from hissuperspeed, he raided the ship's stores,where he found

energy bars and dense food wafers. Heate concentrated nutrients until he wasgorged. Then, burning calories as fast ashe could swallow them, Teg ran againfrom one disaster area to the next.

He spent subjective days at these highly

focused labors; to observers on theoutside,

caught in the glacial pace of normaltime, only a minute or two passed.

When the task grew overwhelming, theBashar struggled to reassess what theship

needed in order to function. What wasthe bare minimum of repairs that wouldlet Duncan fly through the weakenedloophole?

The exploding mines had led to acascading series of damages. Teg nearlygot lost in the details, but remindedhimself of the immediate need and

forced himself to skate the thin ice ofpossibilities.

Teg and his brave men had stolen thisvery vessel from Gammu more than three

decades ago. Though it had performedadmirably since then, the Ithaca had notundergone any of the usual necessarymaintenance at Guild shipyards. Worncomponents had not been

replaced; systems were breaking downfrom age and neglect, as well as thedepredations of the saboteurs. Limitedby the spare parts and materials he couldfind in the maintenance bays, he triedand discarded possible fixes.

Alarms continued to pulse slowly. Hewas moving too fast for sound waves tomean

anything. In real time, there would beshrieking sirens, shouting people,conflicting orders.

Teg fixed another of the Holtzmancatalyst cradles, then took the time tolook at a

viewer. In the image displayed betweenscan lines, he saw that the Enemy shipshad finally arrived, massive and heavilyarmed... a full fleet of monstrous,angular things that bristled withweapons, sensor arrays, and other sharpprotrusions.

Though he already felt used up, Tegknew with a sickening certainty that heneeded to

go even faster.

He raced to the ship's mélange storesand broke the locks with a twist of hishand

because he was moving so fast. Heremoved cakes of the dark browncompressed substance, stared at it withMentat calculation. Considering hishypermetabolism and his body churningthrough its biochemical machinery fasterthan it ever had before, what was theproper dosage?

How quickly would it affect him? Tegdecided on three wafers–triple themaximum he had

ever consumed – and gobbled them all.

As the mélange rushed through his bodyand poured into his senses, he felt aliveagain, recharged and capable ofaccomplishing the requisiteimpossibilities. His muscles and nerveswere on fire, and his feet left marks onthe deck as he ran.

He repaired the next system in a fewmoments. But in that time, the Enemybattle fleet

had closed in, and the no-ship still could

not fly.

Teg looked down at his forearms andsaw that his skin seemed to be shrivelingup, as if he was consuming every drop ofenergy within his flesh.

Outside, the encroaching vesselslaunched a volley of destructive blasts.Balls of energy tumbled forward likestorm clouds approaching with exquisiteslowness. Those blasts would clearlyrender his repairs useless, maybe evendestroy the ship.

In another burst of extreme speed, Tegdashed to the defensive controls.Thankfully, he had restored a few oftheir weapons. The Ithaca's defensive

systems were sluggish, but the firingcontrols were swift enough. With ascattershot cannonade, like a burst ofcelebratory

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fireworks, Teg returned fire. Helaunched beams carefully targeted tointercept and dissipate the oncomingprojectiles. Once he had fired the volley,though, Teg turned his back on theweapons systems and raced to the nextdamaged engine.

Bashar Teg felt like a candle that hadbeen burnt entirely down to a lump ofdiscolored wax. Despite his best efforts,the exhausted man still saw their doomclosing in.

How do we repay a man who has donethe impossible?

– Bashar Alef Burzmali, A Dirge for theSoldier

On the navigation bridge, Duncan staredat the sensor projections for momentsafter

Miles had disappeared. He knew whatthe Bashar must be doing.

After the internal explosions, the Ithacahung dead in space, surrounded byEnemy ships that bristled with moreweaponry than he had seen on an entireHarkonnen battle fleet. The mines haddisabled the no-field generator, leavingthe great ship visible and vulnerable inspace.

After almost a quarter century of fleeing,they were caught. Maybe it was aboutdamned

time he faced the mysterious hunters.Who were his strange and invinciblefoes? He had only ever seen the ghostlyshadows of the old man and old woman.And now...

On the screens before him, thediscontinuity in the gossamer net shifted,almost closed, and then strayed openagain, as if taunting him.

Duncan spoke aloud, more to himselfthan anyone else. A prayer of sorts. "Aslong as we breathe, we have a chance.Our task is to identify any opportunity,however transitory or difficult it mightbe."

Teg had said he would fix their systems.Duncan was aware of the Bashar'sclosely held

abilities. For years, Teg had concealedhis talent from the Bene Gesserits, whofeared such manifestations as the sign of

a potential Kwisatz Haderach. Nowthose abilities might save them all."Don't let us down, Miles."

The encroaching ships fired a series ofblasts at the no-ship. Duncan barely hadtime to shout a curse and brace forimpact–when a flurry of impossibly fastand deft defensive bursts intercepted theEnemy volley. Precisely targeted,instantly fired. All shots blocked.

Duncan blinked. Who had launched thereturn salvo? He shook his head. The no-ship

should have been incapable of evenbasic maneuvers or defense. A chill ofdelight coursed down his spine. Miles!

Suddenly, the control deck's systemsbegan to glow; green indicator lightswinked on by themselves. One afteranother, systems came back online.Sensing movement, Duncan

snapped his head to the left.

The Bashar materialized in front of him,but it was a different Miles Teg–not theyoung ghola whom Duncan had raisedand awakened, but a horribly drainedman, as desiccated and ancient as anambulatory mummy. Teg looked wrungout and ready to collapse. He had

exerted himself through time far beyondthe point where a normal man wouldhave already died.

"Boards... active." His gasping voicecost him more energy than he had left."Go!"

Everything happened in an instant, as ifDuncan, too, had fallen into anaccelerated time frame. His first instinctwas to grab his friend. Teg was dying,might already be dead. The aged Basharcould no longer hold himself upright.

"Godamn it!" They were the last wordsTeg could force out of his mouth.

Thinking with Mentat clarity, Duncanwhipped back to the control panels,vowing not

to waste what the Bashar had done for

them. Priorities.

He reached the piloting board, where hisfingers skittered like a startled spideracross the controls.

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Teg crumpled to the deck, arms and legsakimbo, as dead as a dried leaf, oldereven than the first old Bashar had beenin the last moments of Rakis. Miles!

All their years together, teaching,learning, relying on each other. Few

people in all of Duncan's many lives hadever mattered so much.

He drove away his thoughts of shockedgrief, but Mentat memory kept everyexperience

clear and sharp. Miles! Teg was no morethan an ancient husk on the floorplates.Duncan had no time for anger or tears.

The no-ship began to accelerate. He stillsaw how to slip out of the cruel net, butnow he also had to contend with theentire fleet of Enemy ships. They had cutloose with a second volley.

The blurred crackle ahead seemed toinvite them. Duncan steered toward it,

moving as

fast as his human reflexes could go. Theno-ship ripped the stubborn strands free.

"Come on!" Duncan said, willing it tohappen.

More blasts glanced across the Ithaca'shull, grazing the ship as it yawed androlled.

Duncan steered with all of his skill.

The Holtzman engines were hot and thediagnostic boards showed numerouserrors and

system failures, but none were

immediately fatal faults. Duncan pushedthe vessel closer and closer to theloophole. The Enemy ships couldn't headthem off, couldn't move fast enough tostop them.

More of the net broke away. Duncancould see it happening.

He forced his attention back to theengines, applying acceleration farbeyond what the

systems normally allowed. In his franticrepairs, Teg had not bothered with theniceties of fail-safes and protectivelimitations. With increased velocity, theypulled free of the enclosing cordon.

"We're going to make it!" Duncan said tothe fallen Bashar, as if his friend couldstill hear him.

A giant torpedo-shaped Enemy vesselleapt forward. No human could possiblypilot a

ship so swiftly, changing directions withg-forces that would snap bones like ahandful of straw in a clenched fist.Burning its engines, the attackerexhausted all of its fuel in one burst offorward motion–throwing the craftdirectly into their path.

With his maneuvering already hampered,Duncan could not dodge in time. The no-ship

was too huge, with too much inertia.Impossibly, the suicidal Enemy vesselscraped the lower hull of the Ithaca,knocking it off course, damaging theengines yet again. The unexpectedimpact sent the no-ship spinning. TheEnemy rammer tumbled and exploded,and the shock

wave knocked them farther off course,out of control... back into the remainingstrands of the net.

Duncan uttered a curse in dismay andrage.

Unable to fold space, the no-shipdropped back, its engines whining. Thebridge control panels blazed red, then

went dim. A small internal explosionfurther damaged the Holtzman engines.The Ithaca hung motionless in space.Again.

"I'm sorry, Bashar," Duncan said,heartbroken. With nothing else to do, heknelt beside the husk of his friend.

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A message formed on the primary screenon the bridge, a powerful transmissionfrom

the surrounding battleships. Even in hisstunned sorrow, Duncan was surprisedto see the true face of the Enemy at last.

The smooth flowmetal face of a sentientmachine appeared on the screen. "Youare our prisoners. Your vessel is nolonger capable of independent flight. Wewill deliver you to the evermindOmnius."

Thinking machines!

Duncan struggled to understand what hewas seeing and hearing. Omnius? The

evermind?

The Enemy, posing as a kindly old

couple, were really thinking machines?Impossible!

Thinking machines had been outlawedfor thousands of years, and the lastevermind had

been destroyed in the Battle of Corrin atthe end of the Butlerian Jihad.

Machines? Somehow allied with thenew Face Dancers?

The Enemy ships pounced like hyenas ona fresh carcass.

Some people complain of being hauntedby their past. Utter nonsense. I

revel in it.

– Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, the ghola

Trapped by the machine fleet, the Ithacawas held captive with its enginesdamaged and

weapons burned out. Duncan could donothing but wait and mourn his deadfriend.

Consequences and memories roaredaround him. He moved methodically,relying on Mentat

focus to perform even simple actions.

Sheeana was beside him on the

navigation bridge. Though she pridedherself in Bene

Gesserit purity, holding all emotions atbay, she seemed profoundly troubled asthe two of them picked up Teg's bodyfrom where it lay crumpled on the deck.Duncan couldn't believe how fragile andlightweight the Bashar's remains were.He seemed to be made of spiderwebsand sinew, dried leaves and hollowbone.

"Miles gave his life for all of us,"Duncan said.

"Two times," she said.

Her remark made Duncan think of all the

lives of his own he had given for theAtreides.

In a raspy voice, he said, "This time, thesacrifice was for nothing. Miles used uphis entire life span to give us the repairswe needed, and I couldn't break us free.He shouldn't have done it."

Sheeana fixed a hard look on him. "Heshouldn't have tried? We're humans. Wehave to try, no matter what the odds are.There are never any guarantees. Everyaction in life is a gamble. The Basharfought to the last instant of his existence,because he believed there was a chance.I intend to do the same."

Duncan looked down at the sunken,

mummified face of his friend,remembering all the

determination and hard training the oldBashar had given him when he was ayoung ghola.

Sheeana was right. Even though Duncanhadn't been able to free the Ithaca and letthem

escape, he and Miles had shown theEnemy that humans were unpredictableand resilient, that they were not to beunderestimated. And it wasn't over yet.Instead of a simple capture, the thinkingmachines had been forced to sacrificeone of their largest battleships simply tostop them.

"We'll take him to one of the smallairlocks," he announced. Since theirevery movement was now dictated bythe Enemy ships that dragged them along,it was pointless to remain at thecontrols. "I have no intention of lettingthe thinking machines have him."

The remnants of the Bashar would flyalone into the cosmos. The rest of themmight be

trapped, to be used in thinking-machineexperiments, or for whatever reason theold man and woman had been pursuingthem over the decades. But not Miles.This act would be another smallvictory–and enough small victories

could win an entire war.

They arrived at one of the chambers,which Duncan recognized as the sameairlock he

had used to jettison Murbella's lastpossessions, items that had clung to himlike cobwebs until he forced himself tolet go. They placed the tragicallylightweight husk of Teg's body inside thechamber and sealed it. Duncan lookedthrough the observation port, saying hislast

goodbyes.

"It isn't the ceremony I would haveimagined for him. Last time, the Bashar

had all of Rakis for his funeral pyre. Butthere's no time." Before he could havesecond thoughts, Duncan pushed thebutton that evacuated the airlock,opening the outside hatch so that the

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body tumbled out into the void. "Weshould summon everyone aboard theship and prepare our defenses."

"What defenses?"

He looked at her. "Anything we can think

of."

Shouldered forward by a hundredthinking-machine vessels, the batteredno-ship was

forced down into Synchrony, whereshifting buildings moved aside to forman acceptable

place for the captured craft to land. Thenow-visible Ithaca descended like atrussed wild animal, the trophy of biggame hunters.

Baron Harkonnen thought it a glorioussight. From an extruded balcony in oneof

Omnius's capricious high towers, hestudied the vessel as it descended. Theno-ship's

configuration was unfamiliar to him,massive but not as intimidating as he'dimagined it would be. This design wasmuch more organic and alien-lookingthan huge Guild Heighliners, deadlySardaukar craft, House Harkonnenmilitary vessels, or his own familyfrigates.

It seemed to be convergent evolution,eerily similar to the flow-form curves ofthe

thinking-machine structures.

Strange ship, strange passengers.

According to initial reports from themachine scouts who had seized the no-ship, many

of those aboard were gholas from hisown past, annoyances resurrected fromhistory, exactly as Erasmus hadsuspected Lady Jessica, another PaulAtreides, a minor Swordmaster namedDuncan Idaho, and who knew how manyothers? Gholas coughed up and spat outlike wads of phlegm.

A keyed-up Paolo stood beside him onthe balcony, facing the makeshiftspaceport that

waited to accommodate the new vessel."Will we kill them all, Grandfather? Idon't want there to be another KwisatzHaderach. I'm supposed to be the onlyone. I should take the ultraspice thatKhrone delivered right now."

"I would have you do it if I could, dearboy, but Omnius won't permit that. Bepatient.

Even if there is another version of PaulAtreides aboard that no-ship, he'sprobably soft and compassionate. Hedoesn't have the advantage of beingtoughened by me."

The Baron's full lips curled down indistaste. Paolo himself didn't realize just

how much of his fundamental personalityhad been changed. "You will have notrouble defeating him."

"I have already visualized it," Paoloreplied. "Real, prescient dreams–andnow I understand what is going tohappen."

"Then you have nothing to worry about."

The Omnius-formed buildings swayedlike reeds, then embraced the batteredno-ship as

it landed, pulling the Ithaca down into aliving metal cradle. The landing andlockdown process seemed interminable.

Was it really necessary for so manystructural braces to fold around the shiplike claws?

Considering the obvious damage to theengines, the captives could never find away to launch the vessel again.However, Omnius had a penchant fordoing things in a brute-force manner.

The Baron could understand that.

Presently Erasmus appeared on thebalcony, once again disguised as amatronly old

woman. Gazing dispassionately at therobot, the Baron announced, "I will goaboard the no-ship. I want to be the first

to"–his lips quirked in a smile–"greetour visitors."

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The old woman's eyes twinkled. "Areyou certain that would be wise, Baron?We aren't sure yet exactly who is aboardthe vessel. You could be in peril ifanyone recognizes you. In your past life,quite a few people were not entirelypleased with you."

"I certainly don't intend to gounprotected! In fact, I expect you to

provide me with full security. Some ofyour sentinel robots, perhaps–or betteryet, an armed contingent of FaceDancers. Paolo will remain here safe,but I will go aboard." He planted hishands on his hips.

"In fact, I demand it."

Erasmus seemed amused. "In that case,we had better give you the FaceDancers. Go aboard, Baron, and be ourambassador. I'm sure you will employall the diplomacy the

situation requires."

We shall face the Enemy, and die if wemust die. My strong preference,

however, is to kill what we must kill.

– Mother Commander Murbella,transmission to human defensive forces

Ten thousand Guildships against aninfinite number of Enemy vessels. Forthis

confrontation, the Mother Commanderhad prepared all the warlords, politicalleaders and other self-proclaimedgenerals, as well as her ferociousSisters–what remained of them.

Spread out across the path of theoncoming thinking-machine forces, herhuman defenders dug themselves in.

Guildsmen had been rushed in at the lastminute to help crew the numerousbattleships,

launching them to their designatedrendezvous points in space. The untestedmilitary

commanders were as ready as theMother Commander could make them.Like ghost soldiers,

red-eyed refugees from planets alreadyground under the machine boot heelvolunteered in droves. Each craft wasloaded with Obliterators produced bythe tireless Ixian factories.

Unfortunately, Omnius had been

preparing for centuries.

Like a force of nature, the thinkingmachines advanced, not dodging orchanging course, without regard to thestrength of planetary defenses arrayedagainst them. They simply rolled overanything in their path.

For Murbella's plan to work, the line ofEnemy ships had to be stopped at everypoint, in every star system. Nobattleground was unimportant. She haddivided her defenders into a hundreddiscrete groups of one hundred newGuild warships apiece. The battlegroups were positioned at widelyscattered but important points outside

inhabited systems, ready to fend off theapproaching Enemy.

As a last line of defense, Murbella's onehundred newly constructed vesselspatrolled

space in the vicinity of Chapterhouse,along with a number of smaller, oldervessels to flesh out the military force.They knew Omnius considered thisplanet a primary target. Waiting for theclash, the Mother Commander thoughther new ships looked magnificent, theline

formidable. The fighters aboard weremore confident than afraid.

By the New Sisterhood's best estimates,though, the thinking machinesoutnumbered

them by more than a hundred to one.

To shore up their confidence, the fightershad all watched holos of the Ixian testsof the new Obliterators on dead Richese,admiring the massive destructive forcecontained in each of the powerfulweapons. Bene Gesserit observers hadmonitored the Ixian production lines, andtechnicians had verified the complexweapons after they were installed inMurbella's fleet. She clung to the hopethat this line of last stands could turn intoa rout for the forces of Omnius.

More than she had for the past quartercentury, the Mother Commander wishedDuncan

Idaho could be at her side again, facingthis final conflict with her. Feeling theloneliness of command, tempted to bowto primitive human superstition and offerup a prayer to some

invisible guardian angel, she hardenedherself.

This has to work!

Her great ships prowled the edge ofplanetary orbit, not knowing from whichdirection

the Enemy fleet would come. Downbelow, the refugees who had filledtemporary camps on

the plague-emptied continents wereanxious to evacuate from Chapterhouse,but even if there were vessels totransport them away, they had nowhereto go. Every functional craft in the

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sector had been commandeered to facethe thinking-machine ships. It waseverything the

human race could rally.

"Enemy ships approaching, MotherCommander," said Administrator Gorus,receiving a message from the sensordeck. His pale braid looked somewhatfrayed, his skin whiter than usual. Hehad been convinced to stay aboard themain ship at the central battlefield, tostand by the new ships his factories hadproduced; he didn't look at all happyabout it.

"Exactly on time. Exactly as expected,"Murbella said. "Disperse our vesselsinto the widest possible firing spread, sowe can hit the Enemy all at once, beforethey can react to us.

Machines are adaptable, but they rarelytake the unexpected into account."

Gorus looked at her sourly. "Are youmaking assumptions based on oldrecords, Mother Commander?Extrapolating from the way Omniusreacted fifteen thousand years ago?"

"To some extent, but I trust my instincts."

As the heavily armed machine shipsapproached, they looked like a meteorshower that

grew larger and larger. The monstrousvessels loomed huge–thousands of themagainst the Sisterhood's desperatehundred. All along the line, at a hundred

other systems, she knew her defenderswere facing similar odds.

"Prepare to launch Obliterators. Stopthem before they get any closer toChapterhouse."

Murbella crossed her arms over herchest. Across the commlines, eachcaptain

announced his or her readiness.

The oncoming machine ships slowed, asif curious to see what this small obstaclemight

be. They will underestimate us,Murbella thought. "Maximize targets.

Fire into close groupings of Enemyships. Consolidate explosions."

"Targets locked, Mother Commander,"Gorus said, his message transmitted

immediately by his sensor technicians.

Murbella had to preempt the thinkingmachines before they could open fire."Launch Obliterators." She held herselfsteady.

Silver sparks spat out of the launchtubes, Obliterators twirling toward theline of

Enemy ships, but the glints faded.Nothing happened, though some of the

heavy weapons

must have struck their targets. Themachine vessels seemed to be waitingfor something.

She looked around. "Confirm that theObliterators are armed. Where are theexplosions?

Launch the second volley!"

Alarms began to ring. In a frenzy, Gorusran from one station to another, shoutingat the Guildsmen on the upper decks. Aharried-looking Reverend Mothercharged into the

command center, skidding to a stop in

front of Murbella. "Our Obliterators aredoing nothing.

They are all useless."

"But they were tested! Our Sisterswatched the manufacturing lines. Howcould they be faulty?"

Then, all at once, the one hundredChapterhouse defender ships went deadin space,

their engines shutting down, lightsflickering. The thrum of station-keepingthrusters faded.

"What is happening?" Gorus demanded."Sabotage? Were we betrayed?"

As if they had expected this all along,the machine ships closed in.

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A Guildsman transmitted in a hollowvoice over the speaking screen, "Theartificial navigation systems no longerrespond, Administrator. We are shut outof our own controls.

Our ships are... nonfunctional."Emergency lights lit the decks with aneerie glow.

"Did the machines figure out how toneutralize our systems?"

Gorus turned to Murbella. "No jamming,Mother Commander. They... they justdon't

work. None of them."

Suddenly the machine forces were uponthem, a thousand vessels that wouldeasily

overwhelm the defenders. Murbellaprepared to die. Her fighters could notprotect themselves, or Chapterhouse,which she had sworn to guard.

But instead of attacking, the Enemy fleet

cruised slowly past the defenders,taunting

them in their impotence. The machinesdid not bother to open fire, as if theSisterhood's defenses weren't evenworth noticing!

Far behind them, just arriving at thedistant edge of the solar system, cameanother wave of thinking machines,closing in on Chapterhouse. The samething must be happening

everywhere, at all of her carefullystaged last stands across a hundred starsystems.

"They knew! The damned machines

knew our Obliterators wouldn't work!"As if

Murbella's vessels were no more than apebble on the path, the Omnius shipsflowed around them on their way to theSisterhood's now-unprotectedhomeworld.

Not one of her new Guild war vesselshad a living Navigator aboard; most ofthe

Navigators and their Heighliners haddisappeared. Every ship in her battlegroups used Ixian mathematicalcompilers for guidance. Mathematicalcompilers! Computers... thinking

machines.

The Ixians! Now her silent curse wasdirected at herself for overconfidence inthe new

Obliterators and her own ability topredict the Enemy's tactics.

"Follow me, Administrator. I want to seethese Obliterators for myself." Shegrabbed Gorus's arm hard enough toleave bruises.

Guided by emergency illumination, theyrushed to the weapons deck where the

armaments had been installed. Inside,rack upon rack held the burnished silver

eggs of the planet-melters that Ix hadmanufactured. A distraught Guildsmanintercepted them.

"We tested the weapons, Administrator,and they were installed correctly. Thefiring controls are operational. We justlaunched dozens of Obliterators, butnone of them

detonated."

"Why didn't they function?"

"Because... because the Obliteratorsthemselves..."

Murbella marched over to where theman had opened one casing at random.

Beneath a

complicated labyrinth of circuitry anddelicate components, the Obliteratorcharge was fused into the shell of themechanism, making the whole thinginoperable. The weapon had beenneutralized.

"It is useless, Mother Commander," saidGorus. "Sabotaged."

"But I saw the tests myself. How can thisbe?"

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"A timing mechanism may have shuteverything down at a prearranged time,or the

Enemy fleet might have sent out adeactivating signal. Some devious trickthat we could not have anticipated."

Murbella stood appalled, guilty of thesame error she had been so certain themachines

would fall victim to: She had failed toplan for the unexpected. Together, theyopened another Obliterator to find itsimilarly fused and nonfunctional. Acoldness froze her heart and spread into

her bloodstream. These weapons hadbeen built over the course of years bythe Ixians, at a cost in mélange thatnearly bankrupted the Sisterhood.

She had been duped, and her fleet hadbeen castrated by the Ixians before thebattle

could even begin.

"And what about our engines?"

"They can be made to function, if weoperate them without the mathematical

compilers."

"I don't give a damn about the compilers!

Find a way to salvage some of the

Obliterators. Are they all inactive?Every single one?"

"The only way to know, MotherCommander, is to open and inspect eachof them."

"We could just launch them all and hopea few still function." Murbella noddedslowly.

It was indeed an option. At this point, itcost them nothing. She had to find someway to fight, and she hoped her otherbattle groups were faring better thanthis... but she doubted it.

Without functional Obliterators, everyone of the planets on the front line wasessentially unprotected in the face ofcertain destruction.

And it was all her responsibility.

Some say that survival itself can be thebest revenge. For myself, I prefer

something a bit more extravagant.

– Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, the ghola

On a whim, the Baron told the ten FaceDancers accompanying him to pose as

Sardaukar from the old Imperium. Hedidn't know if anyone would even

recognize the joke–

fashions changed and history forgot suchdetails–but it helped him present an airof command.

During his original lifetime he hadachieved a great victory over HouseAtreides with

illicit Sardaukar at his side.

Leaving the restless Paolo withErasmus, supposedly "for his ownprotection," the Baron dressed himself ina nobleman's uniform frosted with goldbraids and ornate chains of office. Aceremonial poison-tipped dagger hung athis side, and a wide-beam stunner was

concealed in his sleeve for easy access.Though the imitation Sardaukar were hisguards and escort, he didn't particularlytrust them, either. One could never betoo careful.

When the Baron's entourage marched tothe imprisoned no-ship, however, theycould

not find a door on the kilometer-longhull–a frustrating and embarrassingmoment, but

Omnius was not to be hindered. Guidedby the evermind, parts of nearbybuildings

transformed into gigantic tools that tore

open the hull, peeling away plates andstructural girders to leave a wide gash.Brute force was easier and more directthan locating an

appropriate hatch and decipheringunfamiliar controls.

With the no-ship suitably opened, theBaron and his escort ducked under low-hanging

debris and sparking circuitry. Preparedfor an ambush, but moving with anoutward show of confidence, they madetheir way through the winding corridors.Several of Omnius's floating watcheyeszoomed ahead of them down thepassageways to scout out and map the

interior of the vessel.

The captives would surely see thatsurrender was their only option. Whatother

conclusion could they draw?Unfortunately, in his original lifetime theBaron had had

considerable experience with fanatics,such as the mad Fremen bands onArrakis. It was

possible that these poor wretchesintended to mount a desperate, hopelessresistance until they were allslaughtered, including the purportedKwisatz Haderach among them.

Paolo would then be the only contender,and that would be that.

Inside the no-ship, they first encounteredDuncan Idaho and a defiant-lookingBene

Gesserit woman who identified herselfas Sheeana. The two waited for theboarding party in the middle of a widecorridor. The Baron only vaguelyremembered the man from the records ofHouse Atreides: a Swordmaster ofGinaz, one of Duke Leto's most trustedfighters, killed on Arrakis whileprotecting Paul and Jessica in theirescape.

From the sneer on Idaho's face, he could

tell that this ghola had his memoriesback, too.

"Oh ho, I see that you know me."

Idaho didn't budge. "I escaped fromGiedi Prime as a boy, Baron. I beatRabban on one of his hunts. I've livedmany lifetimes since then. This time, Ihope to watch you die with my owneyes."

"How boldly you speak, like one ofthose yipping dogs Emperor Shaddamused to keep at his side: full of annoyingbarks and growls, yet easily steppedon." Protected by the Face DancerSardaukar, he peered ahead down thehall. "How many people do you have

aboard?"

He snapped. "Bring them forward forour inspection."

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"We have already assembled," Sheeanasaid. "We're ready for you."

The Baron sighed. "And no doubt you'vescattered commandos or snipersthroughout

the decks? Your personnel records will

have been doctored. A childishresistance that may cause us a fewheadaches, but will gain you nothing. Wehave enough troops to mow all of youdown."

"It would be foolish for us to resist,"Sheeana said, "at least in such obviousways."

The Baron scowled, and he heard thelittle girl's voice inside his head. She isplaying with your mind, Grandfather!

"So are you!" he hissed to himself,startling the others.

"Five hundred more of our men arecoming aboard," said the counterfeit

Sardaukar commander. "Mobile machinesensors will scour every chamber onevery deck, and we'll find anything thereis to find. We will locate the KwisatzHaderach."

"A Kwisatz Haderach?" Idaho asked. "Isthat what the old man and woman havebeen looking for? On this ship? You'rewelcome to waste your time."

Sheeana added harshly, "If we had asuperman aboard, you would never havebeen able to capture us."

That remark disturbed the Baron. At theback of his mind he heard the maddeningvoice

of Alia chuckling at his discomfiture.His face flushed, but he forced himselfnot to speak aloud. What a fool, debatingwith the unheard voice of an invisibletormentor! New groups came down theno-ship corridors to gather in front ofhim like troops for inspection.

One small-statured teenaged gholaunsettled him the most. The young manwas thin and

sallow-skinned, his face etched in ascowl. His eyes burned with hatred forthe Baron, though he did not find thefellow at all familiar. He wonderedwhat he had done to that one.

Look more closely, Grandfather. Surely

you recognize him? He almost killedyou!

I swear I will find some way to rip youout of my head!

With a neutral expression on his face, helooked again at the dour ghola, andsuddenly

understood the crude black diamondmarked on his forehead. "Why, it's Yueh!My dear Dr.

Yueh, how good to see you again. I nevergot a chance to tell you how much youhelped the Harkonnen cause so long ago.Glad to see that I have an unexpectedally aboard this ship."

Yueh looked skinny and ineffectual, yetthe gleam in his eyes was genuinelymurderous.

"I am not your ally."

"You are a weak little worm. It was easyenough to manipulate you before–I cando it again." The Baron was surprisedthat the scrawny man did not back down.This version of Yueh seemed stronger,perhaps transformed by the lessons ofhis ignominious past.

"You no longer have leverage over me,Baron. You have no Wanna. Even if youdid, I would not repeat my earliermistakes." Crossing his arms over hisnarrow chest, he thrust his pointed chin

forward.

The Baron turned abruptly from the Sukdoctor as even more no-ship captivescame

forward. One bronze-haired youngwoman of about eighteen looked exactlylike the lovely Lady Jessica. The wayshe viewed him with palpable revulsionproved that this ghola also had hermemories restored. Did Jessica knowshe was really his own daughter?

What entertaining conversations theymight have!

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Standing protectively beside the youthfulJessica were a younger woman dressedas a

Fremen and a dark-haired young man–the perfect image of Paolo, only older."Why, is this young Paul? Another PaulAtreides?"

A swift slash, a mere nick from thepoisoned dagger, and the rival KwisatzHaderach

would be gone. But he shuddered tothink how Omnius would react to that.

The Baron wanted Paolo to assume hisposition of power, of course, but hewasn't willing to sacrifice his own lifefor the boy. Though the Baron had raisedand trained Paolo, he was still, after all,an Atreides.

"Hello, Grandfather," Paul said. "Iremember you as being much older andfatter."

The Baron found the demeanor and toneirritating. And even worse, he felt anodd,

swooning sensation... as if Paul hadalways been meant to say this, as if hehad seen it in a dozen different visions.

Still, the Baron clapped his hands inmock applause. "Isn't ghola technologymarvelous?

This is like an encore at the end of oneof the Emperor's tedious jongleurperformances. All back together againfor a second run, eh?"

Paul stiffened. "House Atreides crushedthe Harkonnens into extinction long ago.I anticipate a similar outcome now."

"Oh, ho!" Though amused, the Baron-ghola didn't step any closer. He gesturedto his Sardaukar guard. "Have a doctorand a dentist look them over before theyget close to me. Pay particular attentionto their teeth. Look for poison capsules."

Having fulfilled his purpose, the Baronwas about to march out of the no-shipwhen,

among the gathered refugees, he spotteda small girl who stood quietly beside athin boy of around twelve years,watching everything. Both had anAtreides look about them. He froze,recognizing Alia.

Not only had this bloodthirsty childjabbed him with the poison gom jabbarand haunted

his thoughts, now she even stood beforehim! Look, Grandfather–now we cantorment you

inside and out!

Her voice pierced him like ice picks inhis head.

The Baron reacted, not caring aboutconsequences. Snatching the ceremonialdagger

from his hip, he grabbed the little girl bythe collar and raised the blade. "Theycalled you Abomination!"

Alia fought like a rabid animal, butdidn't scream. Her tiny feet drove withsurprising power into his stomach,knocking the wind out of him. The Baronreeled, and without a

second's hesitation, thrust the poisonedtip deep into her side. It went in easily.

He yanked the knife back out andstabbed again, this time directly intoAlia's heart.

Jessica screamed. Paul rushed forward,but too late. Duncan roared with angerand

shock, and threw himself at the nearestSardaukar guard, killing him with abone-shattering blow to the throat. Hestruck a second guard, snapping his neckas well, and charged toward the Baronlike a wild creature. The Baron didn'teven have time to feel fear before hisguards closed ranks around him, and

four others held Duncan back. The restof the faux Sardaukar raised their guns tokeep the shocked captives at bay.

Regaining his composure, the Baronsneered down at the little girl dyingswiftly in his grip. "That's turnabout forkilling me." Laughing at the blood on hishands, he tossed her to

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the floor like a discarded doll. Andinside, not a sound from his tormentor.Was she gone as well?

Murderous desperation showed on thefaces of the nearby captives, making theBaron

uneasy. With Face Dancer Sardaukarsurrounding him protectively, he backedaway smiling.

The two dead soldiers had reverted toFace Dancers, and none of the captivesseemed

the least bit surprised.

The Atreides rabble gathered around themurdered child while the Sardaukarpicked up

their comrades.

Sheeana stopped Duncan from lungingforward in another suicidal attack. "Onedeath is enough, Duncan."

"No it's not. It is only a start." Hecontrolled himself with a visible effort."But it will have to do for now."

The Baron laughed, and the FaceDancers hurried him away. When helooked at his

escort, the shapeshifters showeddisapproval at what he had done."What? I don't have to justify my reasonsto you. At least that Abomination is gonenow."

Gone, you say? A little girl's loud titter

like breaking glass inside his skull.

Gone? You can't discard me so easily! Iwas rooted inside your head before thatghola

was ever born.

The voice grew louder. Now I shalltorment you more than ever. You leaveme no

choice but to serve as your conscience,Grandfather.

The Baron marched away at a fasterpace, trying to shut out her mockingpresence.

The stake in a total war is total–toconquer is to save everything, to

succumb is to lose everything.

– A warrior of Old Terra

While the thinking machines maintaineda tight cordon around the no-ship,Sheeana

watched Jessica carry little Alia's bodyaway. How painful it must be for her.With her memories restored, Jessicaknew intimately who Alia really wasand understood her great potential.

How bitterly ironic, too. St. Alia of theKnife–felled by a knife.

Jessica cradled the limp child in herarms, shuddering as she fought to containsobs.

When she looked up at Sheeana, therewas a cold deadliness in Jessica's eyes.Duncan

stood beside Jessica, his face a mask ofgrim anger. "We'll have our revenge, myLady. So many of us despise the Baron,he can't survive for long." Even Yueh satcoiled and dangerous, like a loadedweapon.

Paul and Chani clasped hands, drawingstrength from each other. Leto II watchedin

silence, undoubtedly holding anavalanche of conflicting thoughts in hismind. The boy always seemed to have somuch more to him, like a giant icebergwhose bulk was concealed beneath thesurface. Sheeana had long suspected thathe might be the most powerful of all thegholas she had created.

Jessica held her head high, findingstrength within her. "We'll take her to myquarters.

Duncan, would you help me?" Dr. Yueh,desperate for forgiveness, hovered closeto them.

Filled with anxiety, frustration, andanger, Sheeana watched the tableau. In

addition to losing the Bashar, Alia hadbeen murdered, while three key gholas–Paul, Chani, and Leto II–

remained unawakened. Stilgar and Liet-Kynes were left on Qelso, and ThufirHawat had been a Face Dancer. Nowthat they were facing the Enemy andneeded the ghola children to fulfill theirdestinies, too many of her "weapons"were not available to her! She had onlyYueh, and Jessica... and Scytale, if shecould count on the Tleilaxu.

Exhaustion threatened to overwhelmSheeana. They had fled for so long,carrying their

plans and hopes, but never finding an

end. This, though, was not at all whatthey had hoped for.

The quiet and distant voice of SerenaButler awakened within her again,angered by the

revelation about the Enemy. She spokefrom firsthand knowledge.

The evil machines have always wantedto exterminate humanity. They do notknow how

to forget.

"But they were destroyed," Sheeana saidaloud.

Apparently not. Trillions of people diedduring the Butlerian Jihad, but even thatwas

not enough. In the end, I was not enough.

"I am pleased to meet you finally," said araspy female voice. A lone old womanstrolled down the no-ship's corridor, abroad grin on her wrinkled face. Despiteher apparent age, she moved fluidly andhad a deadly look to her.

Sheeana immediately guessed that thismust be the mysterious old woman whowas

their relentless hunter. "Duncan has toldus about you."

The woman smiled in an unnervingmanner, as if she could see throughSheeana to her

innermost thoughts and intentions. "Youwere quite a troublesome quarry. Allthose years wasted. Have you guessedmy true identity yet?"

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"You are the Enemy."

Abruptly the crone's face, body, andclothing rippled like molten, flowing

metal.

At first Sheeana thought this was anotherFace Dancer, but the head and body tookon a

sheen of highly polished platinum, andthe matronly clothes became a plushrobe.

The face was smooth, with the samesmile set in radically different features.A robot.

Deep in her consciousness, Sheeana felta tumult in Other Memory. And out of the

clamor, Serena Butler's familiar voicerose to cry, Erasmus! Destroy him!

With great effort she shunted aside thevoices in Other Memory, and said, "Youare Erasmus. The one who killed SerenaButler's child, setting off the centuries-long Jihad against thinking machines."

"So I am still remembered, even after allthis time." The robot sounded pleased.

"Serena remembers you, all right. She iswithin me, and she hates you."

Pure delight shone on the robot's face."Serena Butler herself is in there? Ahyes, I know about your Other Memory.Face Dancers have brought many of youBene Gesserits back to us."

Inside her, the clamor of memories

returned. "I am Serena Butler, and she isme.

Though thousands of years have passed,the pain is as sharp as ever. We cannotforget what you destroyed, and what youstarted."

"It was only one life–merely a baby.Logically, can't you see how your race

overreacted?"

The robot sounded so reasonable.

Sheeana felt a change in the tenor andcadence of her own voice, as if her bodywere

being taken over by a force within."Only one life? Merely a baby?" Serenawas speaking now, thrusting herself tothe forefront of the innumerable lives.Sheeana let her talk. After such a greatlength of time, this was Serena'sconfrontation with her greatest nemesis."That one life led to the military defeatof your entire Synchronized Empire. TheButlerian Jihad was a Kralizec in itsown right. The end of that war changedthe course of the universe."

Erasmus seemed delighted by thecomparison. "Ah, interesting. Andperhaps the end of this Kralizec willreverse that result and put thinkingmachines in charge again. If so, we will

be much more efficient this time."

"That is how you foresee the end ofKralizec?"

"That would be my preference.Something fundamental must change. CanI count on

you to assist me?"

"Never." Serena's projected voice wascold and implacable.

Looking at the independent robot,Sheeana understood more than everbefore that she

was part of something far greater and

more important than one life, that shewas linked to a vast continuum of femaleancestry stretching into the past and–hopefully–into the future. A remarkableassemblage, but would it survive?

"There is a familiar fire in your eyes. Ifany part of you is indeed Serena Butler,then we must catch up on old times."Erasmus's optic threads gleamed.

"She no longer wishes to converse withyou," Sheeana said in her own voice.

Erasmus ignored the rebuff. "Take me toyour private quarters. A human's denreveals much about the individualpersonality."

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"I will not."

The robot's voice hardened. "Bereasonable. Or should I decapitate a fewof your fellow passengers to encourageyour cooperation? Ask Serena Butlerinside you–she knows I will do it."

Sheeana glared at him.

The robot continued in a calm tone, "Buta simple conversation with you in your

quarters may slake my appetite for now.Wouldn't you prefer that to carnage?"

Motioning for the others to remainbehind, Sheeana turned her back on therobot and

walked to one of the still-functional lifts.With gliding footsteps, Erasmusfollowed.

In her chamber, the robot was intriguedby the preserved Van Gogh painting.Cottages

at Cordeville was one of the oldestartifacts of human civilization. Standingrigidly, Erasmus admired the artwork."Ah, yes! I remember this clearly. I

painted it myself."

"It is the work of a nineteenth-centuryTerran artist, Vincent Van Gogh."

"I have studied the Madman of Francewith great interest, but I assure you, thisis actually one of the canvases I myselfpainted thousands of years ago. I copiedthe original with the utmost attention todetail."

She wondered if he could possibly betelling the truth.

Erasmus removed the delicate paintingfrom the wall and examined it closely,passing

his metal fingertips over the thin plazthat protected the rough oil-paintsurface.

"Yes, well do I remember each stroke,each whorl, each point of color. Truly,this is a work of genius."

Sheeana caught her breath, knowing howold and priceless it was. Unless it reallywas a forgery perpetrated long ago. "Theoriginal was a work of genius. If this iswhat you say, then all you did was copysomeone else's masterpiece. There canbe only one original."

His optic threads gleamed like a galaxyof stars. "If it is the same, exactly thesame, then both are works of genius. If

my copy is perfect down to every singlebrushstroke, does it not become a secondoriginal?"

"Van Gogh was a man of creativity andinspiration. You merely mimicked hiswork.

You might as well call a Face Dancer awork of art."

Erasmus smiled. "Some of them are."

Abruptly, with powerful hands, the robotripped the painting and its frame intotiny

pieces. As if putting a punctuation markon the grotesque display, Erasmus

whirled and stomped on the brokenpieces, saying, "Call this artistictemperament." Moving to depart, headded, "Omnius will summon yourKwisatz Haderach soon. We havewaited a long time for this."

What is the difference between dataand memory? I intend to find out.

– Erasmus, Laboratory Notebooks

The independent robot's memories ofSerena were as fresh as if the events hadoccurred

only days ago. Serena Butler... such afascinating woman. And just as Erasmushad survived through the millennia as a

package of data nearly destroyed andthen recovered, so Serena's memoriesand personality lived on, somehow, inthe Other Memories of the BeneGesserit.

This posed an intriguing question: NoBene Gesserits could be Serena Butler'sdirect

descendants, for Erasmus had killed heronly child. Then again, he couldn't besure what had happened to all of hisexperimental clones over the years. Hehad tried many times to bring Serenaback, with no success.

Aboard this no-ship, however, thehumans had grown gholas from their

past, just as his

own plan had brought back BaronHarkonnen and a version of PaulAtreides. Erasmus knew

that a nullentropy tube hidden in aTleilaxu Master had contained a wealthof ancient and carefully gathered cells.

He was confident that a real TleilaxuMaster could succeed in bringing Serenaback,

where his own primitive experimentshad failed.

Erasmus and Omnius had both absorbedenough Face Dancers to have instinctive

reverence for the abilities of a Master.The independent robot knew exactlywhere he had to go before leaving theno-ship.

Erasmus found the medical center andthe axlotl chambers where the wholelibrary of

historical cells had been catalogued andstored. If Serena Butler was amongthem...

He was surprised to find a Tleilaxualready there, harried and frantic. Thediminutive man had disconnected thelife-support systems of the axlotl tanks.With his olfactory sensors, Erasmusnoted the smells of chemicals, mélange

precursors, and human flesh.

He grinned. "You must be Scytale, theTleilaxu Master! It's been a long time."

Scytale whirled, looking fearful at thesight of the robot.

Erasmus took a step closer, and studiedthe Tleilaxu's face. "A child? What areyou doing?"

The Tleilaxu drew himself up. "I amdestroying the tanks and the mélange theyproduce.

I had to surrender that knowledge as abargaining chip. I won't let thinkingmachines and traitorous Face Dancers

simply take it from me–from us."

Erasmus showed no concern for thesabotaged axlotl tanks. "But you appearto be very young."

"I am a ghola. I have my memories back.I am everything that any of my previous

incarnations were."

"Of course you are. Such a marvelousprocess, perpetuating yourself throughserial ghola lives. We machinesunderstand such things, although we havemuch more efficient

methods of performing data transfers andbackups." He looked intensely at the

genetic library that held the potentialghola cells... Serena Butler...

Noting the robot's keen interest, theTleilaxu sprang to stand in front of thesealed wall of specimens. "Beware! Thewitches placed security sensors on thesegene samples to prevent anyone fromtampering with or stealing them. Thelibrary has a built-in self-destructsystem."

He narrowed his dark, rodentlike eyes.If this Master was bluffing, he was doinga remarkably

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convincing job. "I need only yank on adrawer, and this entire cabinet will beflooded with gamma radiation, enough toionize every single sample."

"Why?" The robot was perplexed. "Afterthe Bene Gesserit took those cells fromyou and used them for their ownpurposes? Didn't they force you tocooperate? Would you truly stand ontheir side?" He extended a platinumhand. "Join us instead. I would greatlyreward you for your assistance ingrowing one particular ghola–"

In a threatening motion, Scytale placedhis small hand on one of the many cell

containers.

Though trembling, he seemed entirelydetermined. "Yes, I would stand withthem. I

shall always stand against the thinkingmachines."

"Interesting. New enemies makeunexpected alliances."

The Tleilaxu didn't move. "In the finalassessment, we're all humans–and youare not."

Erasmus chuckled. "And what aboutFace Dancers? They fall between, don'tthey?

These aren't the shape-shifters youproduced long ago, but are instead farsuperior biological machines that Ihelped create. And because of them,Omnius and I are, in effect, the greatestof all Face Dancers–among many otherthings."

Scytale didn't move. "Haven't younoticed the Face Dancers are no longerreliable?"

"Ah, but they are reliable to me."

"Are you sure?"

The robot took a tentative step forward,testing. Scytale tensed his fingers on thehandle of the sample cabinet. Erasmus

amplified his voice. "Stop!" He easedhimself backward, giving the TleilaxuMaster more room. There would beplenty of time to return and test

Scytale's loyalties. "I leave you to thisfacility and your cellular samples."

Erasmus had waited more than fifteenthousand years for Serena, and couldcontinue to

do so. For now, the robot had to return tothe machine cathedral and prepare forthe final show. The evermind was notquite so patient to achieve his ultimategoals as Erasmus was.

Come, let us eat and sing together. We

will share a drink and laugh at our

enemies.

– From an ancient ballad by GurneyHalleck

The computer evermind sent his troopsto bring Paul from the Ithaca to themachines'

cathedral-like nexus. New-modelrobotic guards swarmed down thecorridors like quicksilver insects.Approaching Paul, one of them said,"Come with us to the primary cathedral."

Chani grabbed his arm and held on, as ifshe too had sprouted metal hands. "I will

not let you go, Usul."

Looking at the inhuman escorts, he saidto her, "We can't keep them from takingme."

"Then I shall come with you." He triedto argue with her, but she cut him off. "Iam a Fremen woman. Would you try tostop me? You might just as easily fightthese machines."

Concealing a small smile, he faced thesleek machines that clicked and flitteredin front of him. "I will accompany youwithout resistance, but only if Chanicomes with me."

Emerging from her quarters where Alias

body now lay on the narrow bed, Jessica

placed herself between Paul and therobots. Bloodstains still marked hershipsuit. "He is my son. I have alreadylost a daughter today, and cannot bear tolose him as well. I'm going with you."

"We are here to escort Paul Atreides tothe primary cathedral," one of the robotssaid, its freeform face flowing likeheavy rain on a Caladan window. "Thereare no other restrictions."

Paul took that as agreement. For somereason, Omnius wanted him, even thoughhe did

not have his memories back. All other

passengers and crew were apparentlyextraneous

baggage. Had he been the subject of thehunt from the beginning?

How could that be? Had the thinkingmachines somehow known he would beaboard?

Paul gripped Chani's hand and said toher, "It will be over soon, in whatevermanner fate decides. All along, ourdestinies have hurtled us toward thispoint, like levitating trains out ofcontrol."

"We will face it together, my love,"Chani said. He only wished that he could

recall all his years with her... and thatshe could do the same.

"What about Duncan?" he asked. "AndSheeana?"

"We must depart now," the robots said inunison. "Omnius waits."

"Duncan and Sheeana will know soonenough," Jessica said.

Before they left, Paul made a point oftaking the crysknife Chani had made forhim.

Like a Fremen warrior, he wore itproudly at his waist. Although the worm-tooth blade

would do nothing against the thinkingmachines, it made him feel more like thelegendary Muad'Dib–the man whodefeated powerful empires. But in hismind he again saw the horrible recurringvision, the flicker of memory orprescience in which he lay on the floorin a strange place, mortally wounded–looking up at a younger version ofhimself who laughed in triumph.

He blinked and sought to focus onreality, not possibilities or destiny.Following the

insectile robots down the corridors, hetried to tell himself he was prepared toface whatever lay in store for him.

Before the gholas could emerge from theship through the ragged hole themachines had

made, Wellington Yueh tried to push hisway past the ranks of escort robots.

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"Wait! I want... I need to go with you."He fumbled for excuses. "If someonegets hurt, I'm the best Suk doctoravailable. I can help." He lowered hisvoice and pleaded, "The Baron will bethere, and he'll want to see me."

Still wrestling with her reinjuredfeelings toward him, Jessica soundedharsh and bitter.

"Help? Did you help Alia?" Hearingthis, Yueh looked as if she had slappedhim.

"Let him come, Mother." Paul feltresigned. "Dr. Yueh was a staunchchildhood supporter and mentor to theoriginal Paul. I won't turn down any allyor witness to whatever is about tooccur."

Following the robots, they emerged ontoflowing roadways that carried themalong like

floating plates. Batlike fliers streakedhigh overhead, and mirrored watcheyesflitted about in the air, observing thegroup's progress from all angles. Behindthem, the huge no-ship had beenincorporated into the machinemetropolis. Sentient metal buildings offreeform

architecture had grown around theIthaca's hull like coral swallowing up anold shipwreck beneath the seas ofCaladan. The buildings seemed to alterwhenever the evermind had a

fleeting thought.

"This whole city is alive and thinking,"Paul said. "It's all one changeable,

adapting machine."

Under her breath, his mother quoted,"'Thou shalt not create a machine in thelikeness of the human mind.'"

Speakers appeared in the solid silverwalls of the looming buildings, and asimulated

voice mockingly repeated Jessica'swords. " 'Thou shalt not create amachine in the likeness of the humanmind.' What a quaint superstition!" Thelaughter sounded as if it had beenrecorded from somewhere else,distorted freakishly, and then playedback. "I look forward to our encounter."

The escort robots brought them into anenormous structure with shimmeringwalls,

curved arches, and enclosed parklikespaces. A spectacular lava fountainspouted plumes of hot, scarlet liquid intoa tempered basin.

In the middle of the great cathedral hall,an elderly man and woman awaitedthem,

dressed in loose, comfortable garments.Dwarfed by the enclosure, they certainlydid not look menacing.

Paul decided not to wait for theircaptors to play control games. "Why

have you brought me here? What do youwant?"

"I want to help the universe." The oldman stepped down the polished stonestairs.

"We are in the endgame of Kralizec, awatershed that will change the universeforever.

Everything that came before will end,and everything that comes in the futurewill be

under my guidance."

The old woman explained. "Consider allthe chaos that has existed over the

millennia of your human civilization.Such messy creatures you are! Wethinking machines could have

done a much neater, more efficient job.We have learned of your God EmperorLeto II, and the Scattering, and theFamine Times."

"At least he enforced peace for thirty-five hundred years," the old man added."He had the right idea."

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"My grandson," Jessica said. "Theycalled him Tyrant because of the difficultdecisions he made. But even he did notdo as much damage as your thinkingmachines did during the ButlerianJihad."

"You cast blame too loosely. Did wecause the damage and destruction, or didhumans like Serena Butler? That is amatter for debate." Abruptly the oldwoman cast off her disguise, like areptile shedding its dry skin. The robot'sflowmetal face–male now–displayed awide smile. "From the beginning,machines and humans have been at odds,but only we are able to observe the longspan of history, and only we can

understand what must be done and find alogical way to achieve it. Is that not avalid analysis of your legendaryKralizec?"

"Only an interpretation," Jessica said.

"The correct one, though. Right now weare involved in the necessary business of

uprooting weeds in a garden–an aptmetaphor. The weeds themselves do notappreciate it, and the dirt may bedisturbed for some time, but in the endthe garden is vastly improved.

Machines and humans are butmanifestations of a long-standingconflict that your ancient philosophers

recorded, the battle between heart andmind."

Omnius retained his old man form, sincehe had no other familiar physical

manifestation.

"Back in the Old Empire, many of yourpeople are trying to make their laststands

against us. It is futile, for my FaceDancers have ensured that your weaponswill not work.

Even your navigation machines areunder my control. Already my fleetapproaches

Chapterhouse."

"Our ship has had no contact with eitherthe Guild or Chapterhouse since before Iwas born," Paul said in a dismissivetone. He pointed to Chani, Jessica, andYueh, all of those gholas born on theship in flight. "None of us has ever beenin the Old Empire."

"Then allow me to show you." With awave of his hand, the old man displayeda complex holo-image of stars,indicating how far his immense fleet hadprogressed. Paul was stunned by thescope of the conquest and devastation;he didn't think the evermind wouldexaggerate what the machines had done.

Omnius didn't need to. Hundreds ofplanets had

already been destroyed or enslaved.

In a soothing voice, Erasmus said,"Fortunately, the war will soon be over."

The old man approached Paul. "Andnow that I have you, there is no questionof the outcome. The mathematicalprojection states that the KwisatzHaderach will change the battle at theend of the universe. Since I control youand the other one, we will now finishthis conflict."

Erasmus stepped forward to inspectPaul, like a scientist examining a

valuable

specimen.

His optic threads glittered. "We knowyou have the potential within your genes.The challenge lies in determining whichPaul Atreides will be the better KwisatzHaderach."

Optimism may be the greatest weaponhumanity possesses. Without it, we

would never attempt the impossible,which–against all odds–occasionally

succeeds.

– Mother Commander Murbella, speech

to the gathered Sisterhood

Without Obliterators or navigationcontrol, the human warships lay likewhite-bellied

victims on sacrificial altars, all acrossthe last-stand line they had drawn.

Aboard her flagship, MotherCommander Murbella shouted orders,while Guild

Administrator Gorus demanded miraclesfrom his underlings. Watching thescreens on the

navigation bridge, Murbella sawthinking-machine battleships cruise past

the Sisterhood's pitiful vessels on theirway to destroy Chapterhouse. Similarnon-battles must be occurring at thehundred flashpoints across the frontlines, key human-inhabited systems nowcompletely vulnerable to the coup degrace. The gamble had failed, utterly.

Weighing heavily on Murbella's mindwas her responsibility to humanity, therest of the Sisterhood... and her long-lostDuncan. Was he still alive, and did heeven remember her? It had been almosttwenty-five years. Murbella had to dothis–for him, for herself, or for all thosewho had survived thus far in the epicwar.

Without letting instinctive HonoredMatre rage control her actions, Murbellawhirled

toward Gorus. She grabbed the front ofthe Administrator's loose robe and shookhim so that his pale braid whipped hisface.

"What other weapons do yourGuildships have?"

"A few projectiles, Mother Commander.Energy weapons. Standard offensiveartillery–

but that would be suicide! Only theObliterators could have made it possiblefor our ships to deal a mortal blow

against the Enemy!"

In disgust, she cast him away, so that hestumbled backward and fell to the deck.

"This is already a suicide mission! Howdare you cringe now, when we have no

alternative?"

"But... but, Mother Commander–it wouldwaste our fleet, our lives!"

"Obviously, heroism is not your strongsuit." She turned to a meek-lookingGuildsman and used the power of BeneGesserit Voice on him for good measure."Prepare to launch our Obliterators.Blanket space with them. Maybe the

saboteurs missed a few."

The Guildsman operated his weaponscontrols, barely bothering to choosetargets.

He launched ten more Obliterators, thenanother ten. None exploded, and themachine

ships kept coming.

Her voice low, Murbella said, "Nowfire all the standard projectiles we have.And once we deplete our conventionalarmaments, we'll use our ships asbattering rams. Whatever we have."

"But why, Mother Commander?" Gorus

said. "We should fall back and regroup.Plan some other way to fight. We must atleast survive!"

"If we don't win today, we don't surviveanyway. We may be outnumbered, butwe can still wipe out part of thethinking-machine fleet. I will not simplyabandon Chapterhouse!"

Gorus scrambled back to his feet. "Towhat purpose, Mother Commander? The

machines can just replace themselves."

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As they spoke, more Obliterators filledspace. So far, all had turned out to beduds. "The purpose is to show them wecan still fight. It is what makes us human,what gives us

significance. History shall not recordthat we abandoned Chapterhouse andtried to hide from the final confrontationbetween humanity and the thinkingmachines."

"History? Who will be left to recordhistory?"

Within three minutes of each other, sixsmall foldspace craft raced into the

battle zone over Chapterhouse, reportingfrom the other clusters of ships. Theytransmitted urgent

messages and demanded new ordersfrom the Mother Commander. "OurObliterators don't function!"

"All navigation systems have shutdown."

"How do we fight them now, MotherCommander?"

She answered in a strong, steady tone."We fight with everything we have."

Just then, a fabulously bright flash blewacross at least fifty of the Enemy

vessels,

vaporizing them in an expanding arc thatsent a shudder through the decks of themore distant Guild vessels. Murbellagasped, then laughed. "See! One of theObliterators still worked! Fire the restof them."

To her astonishment, space around themsuddenly shimmered, cracked, anddisgorged

hundreds of giant ships. Not humandefender vessels.

At first Murbella thought that the Enemymachines had sent yet anotherdevastating

fleet, but she quickly identified thecartouche on the curved hulls. GuildHeighliners!

They spilled out of foldspace from everydirection, surrounding the first massivewave

of thinking-machine vessels.

"Administrator, why did you hold out onus?" Murbella's voice was brittle."There must be a thousand ships here!"

Gorus seemed just as astonished as shewas.

A female voice thrummed across thecommlines that linked Murbella's

defenders. "I am the Oracle of Time, andI bring reinforcements. Mathematicalcompilers corrupted many

Guild vessels, but my Navigators controlthese Heighliners."

"Navigators?" The white-hairedAdministrator gasped in consternation."We thought they were all dead, starvedfor spice."

The Oracle spoke in a powerful, liltingtone. "And my ships–unlike those madeby the traitorous fabricators of Ix–command full armaments. OurObliterators work as designed. We tookthem from old Honored Matre ships andhid them away for our own defenses. We

intend to use them now."

Murbella's face flushed. She hadsuspected the rebel Honored Matres hadpossessed

many more Obliterators than were found.So, the Navigators had been hiding themall along!

The Omnius invasion fleet shiftedposition in response to the Navigatorreinforcements, but the machines couldnot comprehend the magnitude of theastonishing opponent they now faced.They did not react in time as the Oracle'sHeighliners spewed out dazzlingsunbursts in a flurry of explosions likeminiature supernovas. Each incinerating

burst of light vaporized entire clusters ofthe overly complacent Enemy vessels.

Although the machine forces scrambledto defend themselves, their response was

ineffective, as if their control functionshad been disconnected. The evermindhad modeled his

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plan repeatedly, setting up contingencyoptions for likely turns of events. ButOmnius had not foreseen this.

"Thinking machines have long been mysworn enemies," the Oracle said in herethereal voice.

While Murbella looked on with greatsatisfaction, precisely targetedObliterators wiped out countless Enemyships. If only the Honored Matres hadsimply turned their stolen

weapons against the thinking machineswhen they'd had the chance, long ago!

But those women had never stoodtogether against a common foe. Instead,they hoarded

their stolen weapons and used thedestructive power against each other,

against rival planets.

What a waste!

The overlapping detonations, eachstrong enough to scorch a planet, struckthe front line of machine ships. A dozenHeighliners raced deeper into theChapterhouse system to chase Enemyvessels that had already reachedplanetary orbit.

"We will do what we can at your otherfront-line planets," the Oracle said."Today we hurt the Enemy."

Almost before she could absorb whatwas happening around her, Murbellasaw that the

initial wave of thinking-machine forceshad been reduced to nothing more thanscattered debris. As far as she could tell,the Enemy battleships never got thechance to launch a single shot against thedefenders of humanity.

Some of the Heighliners winked out,folding space to go to the other crippledlast-stand defenders. There, they woulddeliver their Obliterators and speed offto further encounters with the Enemy. Allacross the front lines, at every flashpointwhere Murbella had placed her groupsof fighters, the Oracle's Navigatorsstruck, and vanished again...

Murbella snapped to Administrator

Gorus. "Get me a comchannel! How dowe talk to

your Oracle of Time?"

Gorus was stunned by the events aroundhim. "One does not request an audiencewith the Oracle. No living person hasever initiated contact with her."

"She just saved our lives! Let me talkwith her."

With a skeptical expression, theAdministrator made a gesture towardanother

Guildsman.

"We can try, but I promise nothing."

The gray-robed man fiddled with thecommline until Murbella shouldered himaside.

"Oracle of Time–whoever you are! Letus join forces to eradicate the thinking

machines."

A long silence was Murbella's onlyresponse, not even static, and her heartsank.

Gorus gave her a superior look, as if hehad known to expect this all along.Murbella

saw a second wave of thinking-machineships race in, now that the initial attackhad been thwarted. And these would nottauntingly hold their fire. "Moremachines are coming–"

"For now, I must move on." As theOracle spoke, Heighliners began todisappear like soap bubbles popping."My main battle is on Synchrony."

"Wait!" Murbella cried. "We need you!"

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"We are needed elsewhere. Kralizecwill not be consummated here. At longlast, I have found the no-ship that carriesDuncan Idaho, and the secret location ofOmnius. I must now go there to end thisby destroying the evermind. Forever."

Murbella reeled as the unexpectedinformation hit her. The no-ship found?Duncan was

alive!

Within moments the last of theHeighliners vanished into fold-space,leaving the Mother Commander and herships alone to face the next wave. Thethinking machines kept coming.

We have our own goals and ambitions,for good or ill. But our true destiny

is decided by forces over which wehave no control.

– "The Atreides Manifesto," first draft(section deleted by Bene

Gesserit committee)

A door in the machines' grand cathedralflowed open like a waterfall of metal,parting to reveal two figures that steppedforward in tandem.

It had been hours since Baron VladimirHarkonnen had murdered Alia, yet hiswide lips

still struggled to contain his satisfaction.His spider-black eyes glinted.

Dr. Yueh glared at the Baron, hispersonal bête noire.

Paul did not need ghola memories torecognize the Baron's companion–a leanyoung

man, barely more than a boy, butwhipcord strong with muscles tunedfrom constant training.

The eyes were harder, the featuressharper, but Paul knew the face thatstared back at him from the mirror.

Beside him Chani gave a strangled cry,

but the sound changed to a growl in herthroat.

She recognized the younger Paul, andalso saw the terrible difference.

A cold sense of inexorability frozePaul's blood as everything became clear.His

prescient vision in the flesh! So, thethinking machines had grown anotherghola of Paul Atreides to be their pawn,a second potential Kwisatz Haderach fortheir private use. Now he understood therecurring dreams of his own facelaughing triumphantly, consuming spice,the peculiar image of himself stabbedand dying, bleeding out his life's blood

on a strange floor.

Just like the one on which he stood now,in this vaulted chamber.

It will be one of us...

"It seems we have an abundance ofAtreides." The Baron ushered hisprotégé forward, his hand clamped onthe young man's shoulder. Almostapologetically, as if the wary audiencecared, he said, "We call this one Paolo."

Paolo pulled away from him. "Beforelong you will call me Emperor, orKwisatz

Haderach whichever term grants me the

highest respect." Looking on, the oldman and Erasmus seemed to find thewhole tableau amusing.

Paul wondered how many times he hadbeen trapped by fate, by terriblepurpose. How

often and in how many circumstanceshad he seen himself dead from a knifethrust?

Now he cursed the fact that he wouldface this crisis as a shell of his formerself, not armed with the memories andskills of his past.

Unto myself, I must be sufficient.

Snickering, the younger boy walked towhere his counterpart stood stiffly atattention.

Paul looked back at his mirror imagewithout fear. Despite the age difference,they were approximately the sameheight, and as Paul looked into hisdoppelganger's eyes, he knew he mustnot underestimate this "Paolo." Theyouth was a weapon as sure and deadlyas the crysknife at Paul's waist.

Jessica and Chani moved protectivelyclose to Paul, ready to strike. Hismother, with

her memories restored, was a fullReverend Mother. Chani, though she did

not yet have her past life, had shownconsiderable fighting skills in earlierpractice sessions, as if she still feltFremen blood in her veins.

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Paolo's brow furrowed, his expressionflickering for just a moment. Then hesneered at

Jessica. "Are you supposed to be mymother? The Lady Jessica! Well, youmay be older than I am–but that doesn'tmake you a real mother."

Jessica gave him a brief, shrewdappraisal. "I know my family, regardlessof the order in which they were reborn.And you are not one of them."

Paolo crossed the chamber floor towardChani, leering with exaggerated hauteur."And you... I know you, too. You weresupposed to be the great love of my life,a Fremen girl so insignificant that historyrecorded little of her youth. Daughter ofLiet-Kynes, weren't you? A completenobody until you became the consort ofthe great Muad'Dib."

Paul could feel her nails digging into hisarm as she ignored the boy and talked tohim instead. "The Bashar's teachings

were right, Usul. A ghola's worth is notintrinsic in its cells.

The process can go horribly wrong–as itclearly did with this young monster."

"It's more a matter of parenting," theBaron said. "Imagine how the universewould be changed if the originalMuad'Dib had received differentinstructions in the uses of power–if I hadraised him, as I tried to do with thelovely boy, Feyd-Rautha."

"Enough of this," Omnius broke in. "Mymachine battleships are even nowclashing with–or should I sayannihilating?–the pathetic remnants ofhuman defenses. According to my last

reports, the humans were makingsimultaneous stands across space. Thatwill allow me to destroy them all atonce and be done with it."

Erasmus nodded to the humans in thecathedral chamber. "Within a few morecenturies your own warring factionswould have torn your race apartanyway."

The old man shot the independent robotan annoyed look. "Now that I have thefinal Kwisatz Haderach here, all theconditions have been fulfilled. It is timeto end this. There is no need to botherwith grinding every inhabited world todust." His lips quirked in a strange

smile. "Though that would be enjoyableas well."

Musing, Erasmus looked from Paul toPaolo. "Although genetically identical,you two have slightly different ages,memories, and experiences. Our Paolois technically a clone, grown from bloodcells preserved on a dagger. But thisother Paul Atreides–what is the origin ofyour cells? Where did the Tleilaxu findthem?"

"I don't know," Paul said. According toDuncan, the elderly man and woman hadbegun their merciless pursuit wellbefore anyone had suggested the gholaproject, before old Scytale revealed his

nullentropy capsule. How could theevermind have known that Paul would

reappear here? Had the machines riggeda complex game? Had the sentientmachines

developed an artificial but sophisticatedform of prescience?

Erasmus made a humming sound. "Evenso, I believe you each have the potentialto be the Kwisatz Haderach we need.But which of you will prove superiorand achieve it?"

"It's me." Paolo strutted around. "We allknow that." Obviously the younger boyhad been raised with a belief in his role,

so that his head was filled withconfidence–though it was a confidenceborn of true skill, not one arising fromimagination.

"And how will that be determined?"Jessica asked, looking at both Pauls,weighing them with her eyes.

A side door flowed open near thefountain that sprayed molten metal, and aman in a

black one-piece suit emerged carryingan ornate bloodwood box topped with asmaller

wrapped package. He was gaunt, withbland features.

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"Khrone, there you are! We have beenwaiting."

"I am here, Lord Omnius." The manglanced at the assemblage and then,either in surrender or a flash ofindependence, his unremarkable humanfeatures faded away to reveal him as apale and sunken-eyed Face Dancer.Setting the box aside, he carefullyunwrapped the translucent fabric of thesmall package to reveal a brownish-bluepaste flecked with gold spangles.

"This is a concentrated and unusuallypotent form of spice." The Face Dancerrubbed his fingertips and lifted them tohis inhuman nose, as if the smell pleasedhim.

"Harvested from a modified worm thatgrows in the oceans of Buzzell. It willnot be long before the witchesunderstand and begin their ownoperations there to capture the wormsand extract the spice. At the moment,though, I hold the only sample of thisultraspice. Its sheer power should besufficient to plunge the KwisatzHaderach–one of you–into a perfectprescient trance. You will achievepowers that only prophecy could

predict. You will see everything, knoweverything, and become the key to theculmination of Kralizec."

Erasmus spoke, sounding almost cheery."After observing how the human racehas

ruined things without us around tomaintain order, the universe definitelyneeds changing."

The robot picked up the blood-woodbox and raised the finely etched lid.Inside lay an ornate, gold-hiked dagger,which he picked up with something likereverence. A smear of old bloodremained on the blade.

Behind Paul, his mother gasped. "I knowthat dagger! It's as clear and fresh in mymind as if I just saw it. EmperorShaddam himself presented it to DukeLeto as a gift, and years later atShaddam's trial Leto gave it back tohim."

"Oh, there is more than that." TheBaron's eyes glittered. "I believe theEmperor gave that same dagger to mybeloved nephew Feyd-Rautha for hisduel with your son.

Unfortunately, Feyd didn't quite succeedin that battle."

"I love convoluted stories," Erasmusadded. "Later still, Hasimir Fenring

stabbed Emperor Muad'Dib with it andnearly killed him. So you see, thisdagger has a long and

checkered past." He lifted it, letting thelight of the cathedral chamber gleam offthe blade.

"The perfect weapon to help us make ourchoice, don't you think?"

Paul drew the crysknife Chani had madefor him from its sheath at his side. Thehilt felt warm in his grip, the curvedmilky blade perfectly balanced. "I havemy own weapon."

Paolo danced back warily, looking at theBaron, Omnius, and Erasmus, as if

expecting

them to leap to his aid. He snatched thegold-hiked dagger from the robot's handand pointed the sharp tip at Paul.

"And what are they to do with theseweapons?" Jessica asked, though theanswer was obvious to everyone.

The robot looked at her in surprise. "It isonly appropriate that we solve thisproblem in a particularly human way: aduel to the death, of course! Is that notperfect?"

The worm is outside for all to see, andthe worm is within me, part of me.

Beware, for I am the worm. Beware!

– Leto II, Dar-es-Balat recordings, in hisvoice

After Paul and his companions weretaken from the no-ship, Sheeana foundyoung Leto

II in his quarters. Huddling all alone inthe dark, the youth was feverish andtrembling.

At first she thought he was terrified athaving been left behind, but she soonrealized he was genuinely sick.

Seeing her, the boy forced himself to hisfeet. He swayed, and perspiration

glistened on his brow. He lookedpleadingly at her. "Reverend MotherSheeana! You're the only one–the onlyone who knows the worms." His large,dark eyes flicked from side to side. "Canyou hear them? I can."

She frowned. "Hear them? I don't–"

"The sandworms! The worms in thehold. They're calling me, tunnelingthrough my

mind, tearing me up inside."

Raising her hand for silence, she paused,deep in thought. All her life, Shaitan had

understood her, but she had never

received any actual messages from thecreatures, even when she'd tried tobecome part of them.

But now, by extending her senses she didfeel a tumultuous thrumming in her headand

through the walls of the damaged no-ship. Since the Ithaca's capture, Sheeanahad ascribed such feelings to thecrushing weight of failure after their longflight. But now she began to understand.Something had been scraping through hersubconscious, like dull fingernailsraking across the slate of her fear.Subsonic pulses of invitation.

The sandworms.

"We have to go to the hold," Letoannounced. "They are calling. They... Iknow what to do."

Sheeana gripped the boy's shoulders."What is it? What do we have to do?"

He pointed to himself. "Something of meis inside the worms. Shai-Hulud iscalling."

With the no-ship safely trapped inliving-metal constructions, the thinkingmachines

paid little attention to the vessel.Apparently, they had wanted to own andcontrol the Kwisatz Haderach... a goalthat was not as simple as it sounded, as

the Sisterhood had learned long ago.Now that he had Paul Atreides in hismachine cathedral, Omnius seemed tothink he possessed everything he needed.The remaining passengers wereirrelevant prisoners of war.

The Bene Gesserits had planned thecreation of their superman over hundredsof

generations, subtly guiding bloodlinesand breeding maps to produce the long-anticipated messiah.

But after Paul Muad'Dib turned againstthem and created havoc in their carefully

ordered timeline, the Sisters had vowed

never to unleash another KwisatzHaderach.

But in the long-ago aftermath,Muad'Dib's twin children had been bornbefore the

damage could be fully understood. Oneof those twins, Leto II, had been aKwisatz Haderach, like his father.

A key turned in Sheeana's mind,unlocking other thoughts. Perhaps in thesolemn

twelve-year-old Leto, the thinkingmachines had a blind spot! Could he bethe final Kwisatz Haderach they sought?Had Omnius even considered the

possibility that the machines might

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have the wrong one? Her pulsequickened. Prophecies were notoriousfor misdirection.

Maybe Erasmus had missed the obvious!She could hear the inner voice of SerenaButler

laughing at the possibility, and sheallowed herself to cling to a tiny kernelof hope.

"Let's go to the cargo hold, then."Sheeana took the boy's hand, and theyhurried down the corridors anddropchutes to the lower levels.

As they approached the great doors,Sheeana heard explosive thunder fromthe other

side. The frenzied worms charged fromone end of the kilometer-long space tothe other, smashing into the walls.

By the time they arrived at the accessdoor, young Leto seemed ready tocollapse.

"We have to go in," he said, his faceflushed. "The worms... I need to talk

with them, calm them."

Sheeana, who had never been afraid ofthe sandworms before, now hesitated,worried

that in their wild state they might notgrant safety to her or Leto. But the boyworked the controls, and the sealed doorslid aside. Hot, dry air blew onto theirfaces. Leto waded out and up to hisknees in the soft dunes, and Sheeanahurried after him.

When Leto raised his arms and shouted,all seven worms charged toward himlike

snorting predators, with the largest one–

Monarch–at the fore. Sheeana could feelthe hot wave of their anger, their needfor destruction... but something told herthat rage was not directed at either ofthem. The creatures rose up from thesand and towered over the two humans.

"The thinking machines are outside theship," Sheeana said to Leto. "Will theworms...

will they fight for us?"

The boy looked forlorn. "They willfollow my path if I lay it out for them,but I can't see it yet myself!"

Looking at him, she wondered again ifthis boy could be the ultimate Kwisatz

Haderach,

the link in the chain that Omnius hadoverlooked. What if Paul Atreides wasno more than a feint in the final duelbetween man and machine?

Leto shook himself, visibly bolsteringhis determination. "But the prior me, theGod Emperor, had tremendousprescience. Maybe he foresaw this aswell and prepared the beasts.

I... trust them."

At this, the worms dipped in unison, asif bowing. Leto swayed, and theyswayed with

him. For a moment the walls of the holdseemed to recede, and the sand dunesflowed out to eternity. The ceilingdisappeared in a vertiginous haze ofdust. Suddenly, everything snapped backinto focus.

Leto caught his breath and called out,"The Golden Path is coming to meet me!It is time to release the worms–here, andnow."

Sheeana sensed the Tightness of this andknew what to do. All systems were still

programmed to obey her instructions."The machines deactivated the weaponsand engines, but I can still open the greatcargo doors."

She and Leto hurried to the controls inthe hall, where she input the commands.

Machinery hummed and strained. Then,with a loud clank and a bang, a gapappeared in the long-sealed walls. Fromthe corridor, Sheeana and the boywatched the immense lower doors slideopen, like clenched teeth being priedapart.

Tons of sand spilled out in a rushingstream and propelled the sand-worms,like living

battering rams, into the streets of themachine capital.

Prescience reveals no absolutes, only

possibilities. The surest way to know

exactly what the future holds is toexperience it in real time.

– From "Conversations with Muad'Dib"by the Princess Irulan

"A duel makes no sense." The Baronfrowned as he looked around thecathedral

chamber.

"It is wasteful. Naturally, I am convincedmy dear Paolo will defeat this upstart,but why not keep both KwisatzHaderachs for yourself, Omnius?"

"I desire only the best one," theevermind said.

"And we could not be certain ofcontrolling two of them as they struggledfor

preeminence with their new powers,"Erasmus said.

"Whichever of you wins the duel willreceive the ultraspice," Omniusannounced.

"When the winner consumes it, I willhave my true and final KwisatzHaderach. I can then conclude thiswasteful nonsense and begin my realwork of remaking the universe."

Chani kept one hand on Paul's arm."How do you know either of them isyour Kwisatz Haderach?"

"You could be delusional," Yueh said,and the boy Paolo shot him a glare.

"And why should I cooperate if I win?"Paul said, but the sickening echoes ofrecurring visions strangled his protest.He thought he knew what was going tohappen, or some piece of it.

"Because we have faith." The Baron, aparagon of unholiness, laughed at hisown joke, but no one else did.

Paolo drew designs in the air with thetip of his gold-hiked knife. "I have the

Emperor's dagger! You were stabbedwith it once."

"That won't happen again. This is myday of triumph." But Paul heard thebrittleness in his measured words, thevulnerability behind the bravado. Hecould see no way to avoid the duel, andwasn't sure he wanted to. In his mind, hedrove back the troubling flashes ofvision.

This perverse version of himself neededto be cut out like a cancer.

The time had come. Paul gathered all ofhis concentration for the fight. Hardlyseeing

Chani, he kissed her. The wormtoothdagger she had made felt perfectlybalanced in his hand.

He had practiced with the crysknife onthe no-ship, and he knew how to fight.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.

Young Paolo pressed his lips together ina tight smile. "I can tell you've had thevisions, too! See, we are alike in yetanother aspect."

"I've had many visions." I will face myfear.

"Not like these." His opponent'sknowing smile was maddening,

unnerving... Paul stiffened his resolve.He would not give Paolo the satisfactionof showing dread or

uncertainty.

Quicksilver robots appeared andremoved the human observers to thesidelines of the

expansive hall. The Baron stepped backbeside Khrone, his gaze flicking backand forth

between young Paolo and the temptingdose of ultraspice. He licked his thicklips hungrily, as if wishing he could trysome for himself.

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On the smooth combat floor of thechamber, Paul stood poised a couple ofmeters from

Paolo. His younger foe tossed the gold-hilted dagger from hand to hand andsmiled at him, showing white teeth.

Calming himself, Paul summoned all theimportant lessons he had learned: Bene

Gesserit attitudes and prana-binduinstruction, the precise muscular training

and rigorous attack exercises thatDuncan and the Bashar had drilled intoall of the ghola children.

He spoke to his fear: I will permit it topass over me and through me.

It would all culminate here. Paul feltconfident that if he rose to the challengeand won, his Kwisatz Haderach powerswould surface, and he would be able togo on to defeat the

thinking machines. But if Paolo won...He didn't want to consider thatpossibility.

"Usul, remember your time among theFremen," Chani called from the side of

the hall.

"Remember how they taught you tofight!"

"He remembers none of it, bitch!" Paoloslashed the Emperor's knife across theair, as if slitting an invisible throat. "ButI am fully trained, a tempered fightingmachine."

The Baron applauded, but only a little."No one likes a braggart, Paolo... unless,of course, you succeed and prove toeveryone that you were merely statingfacts."

Paul refused to be controlled by hisvisions. If I am the Kwisatz Haderach,

I'll change the visions. I shall fight. Ishall be everywhere at once.

Young Paolo must have been thinking thesame thing, for he lunged like a viper.

Startled by the abrupt beginning of theduel, Erasmus swept his plush robesaside and stepped quickly out of theway. Apparently he had intended todelineate the rules of the challenge, butPaolo wanted to make it a brawl.

Paul bent backward like a reed and letthe Emperor's blade whistle past, withina

centimeter of his neck. Young Paolosnickered. "That was just practice!" He

held up the dagger, showing the rust-redstains. "I am one step ahead of you, forthis knife is already blooded!"

"It's more your blood than mine," Paulsaid under his breath. He drove forwardwith the crysknife, weaving, making theblade dance.

The younger ghola responded bymirroring Paul's movements, as if thepair had an

unconscious telepathic connection. Hestabbed to the side, and Paul flowed inthe other direction. Was this a form ofprescience, Paul wondered,subconsciously foreseeing each blow, ordid the two of them know and reproduce

each other's fighting styles exactly? Theyhad entirely different training, entirelydifferent upbringings. But still...

Concentrating on the duel, Paul's hearingbecame a fuzz of static. At first he heard

encouragement, gasps, shouts of concernfrom his mother and Chani, but heblocked

everything out. Did he have the potentialto become the ultimate KwisatzHaderach that

Omnius was searching for? Did he wantto be? He had read the histories, knewthe bloodshed and suffering that PaulMuad'Dib and Leto II had both caused as

Kwisatz Haderachs. What would themachines try to accomplish bypossessing an even stronger KwisatzHaderach?

Some locked-away part of Paul alreadyhad the ability to look where no one elsecould–into both feminine and masculinepasts.

What other powers lie untapped withinme? Do I dare find out? If I win thisduel, what

will the thinking machines demand of meafterward?

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He felt like a gladiator on ancient Terrahaving to prove himself in an arena. Andhe had a fatal weakness: Omnius heldChani, Jessica, Duncan, and so manyothers as hostages. If Paul got his gholamemories back, his feelings for themwould be even stronger.

Obviously, that was how Omniusintended to force Paul to cooperate, if hewon this

duel. His love for his companions wouldonly intensify, and they would sufferbecause of him. Since the computer

evermind had far more patience than anyhuman, the machines could torture andkill these hostages with impunity, takecell scrapings and grow new gholas.Over and over! Perhaps Erasmus wouldbring back his sister Alia, his father theDuke, or Gurney, or Thufir. Kill them,resurrect them, and kill them again.

Unless Paul Atreides, the KwisatzHaderach, bowed to their demands, thethinking

machines would make his life anunending hell. Or so they intended.

Now he understood the dilemma of hisdestiny. And again he saw himself dyingin a

pool of blood. Perhaps some thingscould not be changed. But if he was atrue Kwisatz

Haderach, he should be able to defeatsuch petty tactics.

He fought on with wild passion, drivinghimself into a sweaty frenzy. Paolokicked at

him with his feet and slashed with theEmperor's dagger. Paul dove, rolled, andthe younger ghola pounced on him. TheEmperor's blade drove down hard inwhat would have been a

killing thrust, but Paul slipped to theside, barely in time.

The blade slashed his sleeve, cut a thinline of blood on his left shoulder, thenclanged against the stone floor. Paolo,his wrist jolted by the sharp impact,barely maintained a grip on the hilt.

On the polished floor, Paul swept hisfeet sideways, getting them under hisrival and

kicking upward. He did have theadvantage of being physically strongerthan a twelve-year-old. Paul grabbed hiscounterpart's wrist and pulled himself tohis feet, but Paolo locked his fingersaround Paul's knife arm, preventing thecrysknife from stabbing down. Paulpushed, using his leverage to maneuver

them both back toward the shimmeringlava fountain.

"Not very... innovative!" The youngerghola's breath rasped as he struggled,and Paul continued to drive him back.The heat from the fountain gushed in alldirections. If he knocked Paolo into theincandescent metal, would he be killinghimself–or saving himself?

Paul saw his opponent clearly and couldnot hate the other ghola. At the core, bothof

them were Paul Atreides.

Paolo was not innately evil, but hadbeen corrupted by terrible things that had

been done to him, things he had beentaught, not things done of his ownvolition. Paul did not let his sympathyfor his rival weaken him. If he did,Paolo would not hesitate to kill him andclaim victory. But Paul–because he wasPaul–would fight with every ounce ofhis being to save the future of humanity.

Omnius and Erasmus observed withoutcheering for either fighter. They wouldaccept

whichever one proved victorious.Khrone's shadowed, olive-pit eyes heldno emotion at all.

The Baron was scowling. Paul didn'twant to look toward Chani or his mother.

The roaring lava fountain dumped heatinto the air. Paul's already sweaty bodybecame

slicker. Wiry Paolo used that to hisadvantage, squirmed, and Paul's gripbegan to slip.

Suddenly, at the very verge of thefountain, the younger man allowed hisknees to buckle.

Paul overcompensated, which threw himoff balance. He kneed his opponent inthe

stomach, but young Paolo had untappedreserves. When Paul raised the crysknifein his

sweat-slickened grip, Paolo brought hisown hand up backward, using thejeweled hilt of his

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dagger to smash the base of Paul's knifehand. Tendons twitched in reflexivereaction. The crysknife dropped free,clattered on the edge of the fountain, andtumbled into the molten pool.

Gone.

With the force of dominating vision,

stronger than just the knowledge of hisown death, Paul realized what he shouldhave known from the beginning: I am notthe Kutisatz Haderach that Omniuswants. It isn't me!

Time seemed to slow down and freeze.Was this what Bashar Teg hadexperienced

when he accelerated himself? But PaulAtreides could move no faster than theevents around him. They held himcaptive and squeezed in on him like thesteely embrace of Death.

Wearing a venomous grin, young Paoloswung the gold-hiked dagger around in a

perfect arc and, with exquisite slowness,drove the point into Paul's side. Heslipped the dagger between hisopponent's ribs and kept pushing,shoving the deadly point through Paul'slung and up into his heart.

Then Paolo yanked the murderousweapon free, and time resumed itsnormal speed.

From far away, Paul heard Chaniscreaming.

Blood gushed from his wound, and Paulstumbled against the base of the hotfountain.

It was a mortal wound; there could be no

denying it. The prescient voice in hishead

hammered at him to no purpose. Itseemed to be mocking him.

I am not the final Kwisatz Haderach!

He slithered to the floor like a brokendoll, barely saw Chani and Jessicarunning toward him. Jessica had Yueh bythe collar and was dragging the Sukdoctor over to her bleeding son.

Paul had never known that one bodycould contain so much blood. Withfading vision,

he looked up and saw Paolo prancing

victoriously, holding the dripping reddagger.

"You knew I would kill you! You mightas well have driven in the knife withyour own hands!"

It was a perfect reproduction of hisvisions. He lay on the floor, dying asswiftly as his body would allow.

In the background he heard the BaronHarkonnen's boisterous laughter. Thesound was

intolerable, but Paul could do nothing tostop it.

When they pour in at once, my

memories will be like a sandstorm–andjust

as destructive. Who can control thewind? If I am truly the God Emperor,

then I can control it.

– Ghola of Leto II, last preparatoryassignment delivered to Bashar MilesTeg

Sandworms poured out of the entrappedno-ship's hold into the carefully ordered

machine metropolis. The writhingcreatures plowed into the open streetslike maddened

Salusan bulls bursting from their pens.Beside Leto, watching the hold empty ina deafening rush, Sheeana opened hermouth, and her eyes went wide withsurprise.

Through his strange connection to theworms, Leto II's mind surged outwardwith them

into the sparkling city. Standing highabove at the doorway to the immensecargo bay, he felt a wave of relief andfreedom. Without a word to Sheeana, hedove into the sliding, flowing sand,following the worms in their wildexodus. He let the grit carry him, like aswimmer caught in an undertow being

rapidly whisked out to sea.

"Leto! What are you doing? Stop!"

He could not have stopped to answereven if he had wanted to. The current offlowing

powder sucked him downward–exactlywhere he wanted to be. Leto plungedunder the sand,

and his lungs somehow adapted to thedust, as did all of his senses. Like asandworm he saw without eyes, andperceived the creatures ahead of him, asif he were looking at them through clearwater. This was what he had been bornto do, what he had died to do, ever so

long ago.

Memories reverberated in him likeechoes of the past–not a visceralrecollection, but

greater than the knowledge he hadacquired by reading the Ithaca'sarchives. Those entries had been aboutanother young man, another Leto II, butstill himself. A thought surfaced: Myskin is not my own.

In those days, his body had been coveredwith interlinked sandtrout, theirmembranous

bodies meshing with his soft flesh andnerves. They had imparted strength to

him, enabling him to run like the wind.

Though still in human form, Leto IIrecalled some of the fantastic power, notfrom

ghola memories but from the pearl ofawareness that the original GodEmperor had left within each wormdescendant.

They remembered, and Leto rememberedwith them.

Histories had been written by so manypeople who loathed him, whomisunderstood

what he had been forced to do. They

decried the Tyrant's purported crueltyand inhumanity, his willingness tosacrifice everything for the extraordinaryGolden Path. But none of the histories–not even his own testamentary journals–had recorded the joy and exuberance ofa young man experiencing suchunexpected and wondrous power. Letoremembered it all now.

He swam through the flow of sand towhere the seven giant worms writhed,and then

burst upward to break through thesurface. Knowing instinctively what hehad to do, Leto staggered toward thelargest worm, Monarch. He caught the

small part of the thrashing tail, leapt ontothe hard rings, and scrambled up like abare-footed Caladanian primitivescaling a rough-barked palm tree.

As soon as Leto touched the greatest ofthe seven worms, his fingers and feetseemed to acquire an unnatural adhesion.He could climb and hold on, as if hewere part of the creature.

And in a way, that was true.Fundamentally, he and the sandwormswere one.

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Sensing that Leto had joined them, all ofthe worms paused like enormoussoldiers

coming to attention. Reaching a perchatop Monarch's curved head, Letosurveyed the

sprawling complex of living metalstructures, and smelled the strong odorof cinnamon.

From his high vantage point, he watchedthe city of Synchrony as it shiftedbuildings

into formidable barricades, trying to

impede the long-confined sandworms.This was Leto's army, his livingbattering rams–and he would turn themloose against humanity's Enemy.

Dizzy and euphoric in the redolence ofspice, Leto held onto the worm's ridges,which

parted to expose the soft pink fleshunderneath. He found it enticing, and hisbody longed for the full sensation, directcontact. Leto slid his bare handsbetween the ring segments, into the softtissue membrane. There, he felt as if hewas touching the nerve center of thebeast itself, plunging his fingers into theneural circuitry that joined these primal

creatures together. The sensation hit himlike a jolt of electricity. This was wherehe had belonged for eternity.

At his behest, the sandworms rearedhigher, like angry cobras no longerinterested in the soothing music of asnake charmer. Leto controlled themnow. All seven of the worms went on arampage through the machine streets, andOmnius could do nothing to stop them.

When Leto's mind merged with thelargest sandworm, he felt a flood ofintense

sensations and recalled a similar thingthat another Leto II had done thousandsof years before.

Again he experienced the raspy feel offast-flowing sand beneath a long andsinuous

body. He relished the exquisite drynessof old Arrakis, and knew what it hadmeant to be the God Emperor, thesynthesis of man and sandworm. Thathad been the zenith of his

experience. But did something evengreater lie in store for him?

As a ghola child raised aboard the no-ship, Leto II was never entirely sure howthe

Tleilaxu had obtained his original cells.Had they been taken when he and

Ghanima

underwent routine medical inspectionsas children? If so, an awakened Letoghola would have only the memories ofa normal child, the son of Muad'Dib.What if, however, the cells in Scytale'snullentropy capsule had been stolen fromthe actual God Emperor in his prime?

Some unlikely scraping of his enormousvermiform corpse? Or a tissue samplingby one of the devout followers who hadtaken the Tyrant's withered, drownedbody from the bank of the Idaho River?

As Leto's mind fused with Monarch, andall of the surrounding worms, herealized that

it didn't matter. This incredible joiningnow unlocked everything that was withinhis ghola body and within each nugget ofawareness buried deep in thesandworms. Leto II finally

became his true self again, as well as theconflicted ghola boy he had been–aloner child and an absolute emperorwith the blood of trillions on hisconscience. He understood in exquisitedetail all his centuries of decisions, histerrible grief, and his determination.

They call me Tyrant withoutcomprehending my kindness, the greatpurpose behind my

actions! They don't know that I foresaw

the final conflict all along.

In those last years, God Emperor Letohad strayed so far from humanity that hehad

forgotten innumerable marvels,especially the softening influence oflove. But, as he rode Monarch now,young Leto remembered how much hehad adored his twin sister Ghanima, the

good times they had shared in theirfather's incredible palace, and how theyhad been slated to rule the vast empireof Muad'Dib.

Now Leto was everything he had everbeen and more, enhanced by the

firsthand

memories of his own experiences. Withhis new vision, as fresh precursors ofspice from the worm's body pumpedthrough his blood, he beheld the GoldenPath extending gloriously

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before him. But even with thisremarkable revelation, he could notquite see around all the corners ahead.There were blind spots.

High atop his worm, young Leto smiledin determination, and with a singlethought he

sent the serpentine army forward. Theleviathans charged between the greatbuildings,

throwing themselves against reinforcedbarricades and breaking through.Nothing could stop them.

Hands still buried deep between the ringsegments, Leto II rode with a shout ofjoy on

his lips. He gazed forward through eyesthat had suddenly become blue-within-blue, eyes that saw what others could

not.

Now that I have ridden one of thesandworms and touched the immensityof

its existence, I understand the awe theancient Fremen experienced, why

they considered the worms to be theirgod, Shai-Hulud.

– Tleilaxu Master Waff, letter to theCouncil of Masters in Bandalong,

dispatched immediately before thedestruction of Rakis

The last pair of Waff's sandworm

specimens died inside the arid terrarium.

When freeing the first test worms out inthe desert, he had kept two with him atthe

modular laboratory for research, hopingthat what he learned would improvetheir chances of survival. It did not gowell.

Waff prayed vigorously each day,meditated on the holy texts he hadbrought with him,

and sought guidance from God on howbest to nurture the reborn Prophet. Thefirst eight specimens were now loose,tunneling through the brittle, crusted sand

like explorers on a dead world. TheTleilaxu Master hoped they had survivedin the blast-zone environment.

In their final days, the last two littleworms in his laboratory aquariumbecame sluggish, unable to process thenutrients he gave them, though the foodwas chemically balanced to provide thesandworms with what they needed. Hewondered if the small creatures could

experience despair. When they liftedtheir round heads above the sandysurface of the holding tank, it seemed asif they had lost their will to live.

And within a week they both perished.

Though he revered these creatures andwhat they represented, Waff wasdesperate for

vital scientific information with which tobetter the other worms' chances ofsurvival. Once the specimens weredead, he had little compunction againstpicking apart their carcasses, spreadingtheir rings, and cutting into the internalorgans. God would understand. If hehimself lived long enough, Waff wouldbegin the next phase, as soon as Edrikcame back for him.

If the Navigator ever came back, withhis Heighliner and the sophisticatedlaboratory

facilities aboard.

His own Guild assistants offered theirhelp–persistently–but Waff preferred towork

alone. Now that these men had set uptheir standalone camp, the TleilaxuMaster had no

further use for them. As far as he wasconcerned, the Guildsmen were free tojoin Guriff and his treasure hunters inseeking lost spice hoards out in thewasteland.

When one of the bland Guildsmenappeared before him, demanding hisattention, Waff

easily lost the delicate balance of histhoughts. "What? What is it?"

"The Heighliner should have returned bynow. Something is wrong. GuildNavigators

are never late."

"He did not promise to come back.When is Guriff's next CHOAM ship dueto arrive?

You are welcome to depart on it." Infact, I encourage that.

"The Navigator may not be concernedwith you, Tleilaxu, but he madepromises to us."

Waff didn't care about the insult. "Thenhe will return, eventually. If nothing else,he will want to know how my newsandworms are doing."

The Guild assistant frowned at theflayed creature spread out on theanalytical table.

"Your pets do not appear to be thriving."

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"Today I will go out and monitor thespecimens I released earlier. I expect to

find them healthy, and stronger thanever."

When the flustered Guildsman left, Waffchanged into external protective clothingand

hopped into the camp's groundcar. Thelocator signals showed him that thereleased worms had not ranged far fromthe ruins of Sietch Tabr. Attempting to beoptimistic, he assumed they had found ahabitable subterranean band and wereestablishing their new domain. As moreand more worms grew on Rakis, theywould become tillers of the soil,restoring the desert to its former glory.Sandworms, sandtrout, sandplankton,

mélange. The great ecological cyclewould be reestablished.

Reciting ritual prayers, Waff droveacross the eerie black-glass desert. Hismuscles

trembled and his bones ached. Like theassembly lines in a war-damagedfactory, his

degenerating organs labored to keep himalive. Waff's flawed body could fallapart any day now, but he was not afraid.He had died already many times, in fact.

Always before, he'd had the faith andconfidence that a new ghola was beinggrown for

him. This time, though convinced hewould not return to life, Waff wascontent with what he had accomplished.His legacy. The evil Honored Matreshad tried to exterminate God's

Messenger on Rakis, and Waff wouldbring Him back. What greateraccomplishment could a

man hope to attain in this life? In anynumber of lives?

Following the tracker signals, he droveaway from the weathered mountains, tothe

dunes. Ah, the new sandworms musthave fled out into open terrain, looking

for fresh sand in which to burythemselves and begin their lives anew!

Instead, what he saw horrified him.

He easily located the eight fledglingworms. Much too easily. Waff stoppedthe groundcar and scrambled out. Thehot, thin air made him gasp, and hislungs and throat burned.

He could barely see through stingingtears as he hurried forward.

His precious sandworms lay on the hardground, barely moving. They hadcracked the

melted crust of the dunes and churned

through the soft grainy dirt beneath, onlyto emerge again. And now they laydying.

Waff knelt beside one of the weak,failing creatures. It was flaccid, grayish,barely

twitching. Another had heaved itself highenough to sprawl across a broken rock,and there it lay deflated and unable tomove. Waff touched it, pressed down onthe hard rings. The worm hissed andflinched.

"You cannot die! You are the Prophet,and this is Rakis, your home, your holy

sanctuary. You must live!" His body was

wracked by a spasm of pain, as if hisown life was tied to those of thesandworms. "You can't perish, notagain!"

But it seemed that the crippling damageto this world was simply too much forthe worms.

If even the great Prophet Himself couldnot endure, then these must assuredly bethe End Times.

He had heard of it in ancient prophecies:Kralizec, the great battle at the end of the

universe. The crux point that wouldchange everything. Without God'sMessenger, surely

humanity would be lost. The final dayswere at hand.

Waff pressed his forehead against thedusty, dying creature's yielding surface.He had

done everything he could. Maybe Rakiswould never again support the behemothworms.

Maybe this was indeed the end.

From what he saw with his own eyes, hecould not deny that the Prophet had trulyfallen.

People strive to achieve perfection–ostensibly an honorable goal–but

complete perfection is dangerous. To beimperfect, but human, is far

preferable.

– Mother Superior Darwi Odrade,defense before Bene Gesserit Council

When the older and inferior PaulAtreides ghola lay dying on the floor,Paolo turned

away, pleased with his victory but farmore interested in his other priority. Hehad proved himself to Omnius andErasmus. The special ultraspice thatwould unlock all of his prescientabilities was his now. It would elevatehim to the next level, to his exalted

destiny–as the Baron had taught him forso long. During that time, Paolo hadconvinced himself that this was what hewanted, brushing aside any naggingqualms or reservations.

Around the cathedral hall, quicksilverrobots stood at attention, ready to attackthe

remaining humans should Omnius givethe order. Maybe Paolo himself woulddecide to issue such a command, once hewas in control. He could hear thepleased laughter of the Baron, the sobsof Chani and Lady Jessica. Paolo wasn'tsure which sounds he enjoyed more. His

greatest thrill was the clear proof of

what he had always known: I am theone!

He was the one who would change thecourse of the universe and control theend of

Kralizec, guiding the next age ofhumanity and machines. Did even theevermind know what he was about toface?

Paolo allowed himself a secretive,amused smile; he would never be a merepuppet for

thinking machines. Omnius would soonlearn what the Bene Gesserit had longago

discovered: A Kwisatz Haderach is notto be manipulated!

Paolo slipped the bloody dagger into hiswaistband, strode over to the FaceDancer, and held out a hand to collectthe spoils of combat. "That spice ismine."

Khrone smiled faintly. "As you wish."He extended the cinnamony paste. Notinterested in savoring it, Paolo quicklyconsumed a whole messy mouthful, farmore than he should

have. He wanted what it would unlockwithin him, and he wanted it right away.The taste was bitter, potent, andpowerful. Before the Face Dancer could

withdraw the offering, Paolo grabbedmore and swallowed another mouthful.

"Not so much, boy!" the Baron said."Don't be a glutton."

"Who are you to talk about gluttony?"Paolo's retort drew a rumbling chucklein response.

On the floor where he lay dying, PaulAtreides moaned. Chani looked up indespair

from beside her beloved, her fingersdripping with his blood. Her face agrief-stricken mask, Jessica held herson's clenching hand. Paolo trembled.Why was it taking Paul so long just to

die? He should have killed his rivalmore cleanly.

Kneeling over him, Dr. Yueh workedfeverishly to save Paul, trying to stanchthe flow

of blood, but the Suk doctor's deeplytroubled face told the terrible story.

Even his advanced medical training wasinsufficient. Paolo's knife strike haddone all

the damage it had needed to.

Those people were all irrelevant now.Mere seconds had passed when Paolofelt the

potent mélange burst into hisbloodstream like a lasgun blast. Histhoughts came faster, sharper. It wasworking! His mind was suffused with acertainty that outsiders might haveconsidered hubris or megalomania. ButPaolo knew it only as Truth.

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He drew himself taller, as if he weregrowing physically and maturing in allways, so

that he loomed above everyone else in

the chamber. His mind expanded into thecosmos.

Even Omnius and Erasmus now seemedlike insects to him, muddling throughtheir grandiose, but ultimatelyminuscule, dreams.

As if from a great height, Paolo lookeddown at the Baron, the self-absorbedsnake who

had spent so many years dominating him,bossing him around, "teaching" him.Suddenly the once-powerful leader ofHouse Harkonnen seemed laughablyinsignificant.

The Face Dancer Khrone studied the

scene, and then–with seeminguncertainty–turned

toward the evermind's manifestation asan old man. Paolo saw through all ofthem with

incredible ease.

"Let me tell you what I will do next." Inhis own ears, Paolo's booming voicesounded like a god's. Even the greatOmnius must tremble before him. Wordsflowed with the force of a cosmicCoriolis storm, rushing along on acurrent of ultraspice.

"I will implement my new mandate. Theprophecy is true: I will change the

universe. As the ultimate and finalKwisatz Haderach, I know my destiny–as do all of you, for your actions led tothis prophecy." He smiled. "Even yours,Omnius!"

The false old man responded with anannoyed frown. Beside him the robotErasmus

grinned indulgently, waiting to see whatthe just-hatched superman would do. Allof Paolo's visions of domination,conquest, and perfect control werebased on prescience. He harbored nodoubts in his mind. Every detailunfolded before him. The young mancontinued to spew pronouncements.

"Now that I have come into my truepowers, there is no need for the thinking-machine fleet to obliterate the human-inhabited planets. I can control themall." He waved a hand. "Oh, we mayhave to annihilate a minor world or twoto demonstrate our strength–or maybejust because we can–but we will keepalive the vast majority of people, asfodder."

Paolo gasped as even more ideasflooded into his head, buildingmomentum and power.

"Once we have swallowed upChapterhouse, we will open theSisterhood's breeding

records. From there, we will implementmy master plan of making brilliant,perfect humans, combining whatevertraits I choose. Workers and thinkers,drones, engineers, and–

occasionally–leaders." He spun towardthe old man. "And you, Omnius, willconstruct a vast infrastructure for me. Ifwe give our perfect humans too muchfreedom they'll mess

everything up. We must eliminate thewild, troublesome genetic lines." Hesnickered to himself.

"In fact, the Atreides bloodline is themost unmanageable of all, so I shall bethe last Atreides. Now that I have

arrived, history needs no more of us."He glanced around, but did not see theman who came to mind. "And all thoseDuncan Idahos. How tedious they'vebecome!"

Paolo was speaking faster and faster,swept along by intoxicating spicevisions.

The look of confusion on even theBaron's face made the young manwonder if anyone

here could comprehend him any longer.They seemed so primitive to him now.What if his

own thoughts were so grand that they

were beyond the understanding of themost

sophisticated thinking machines? Thatwould really be something!

He began to pace around the chamber,ignoring glares and gestures from theBaron.

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Gradually Paolo's motions became jerky,manic. "Yes! The first step is to sweepaway the old, mow down and dispense

with the outdated and unnecessary. Wemust clear a path for the new and theperfect. That's a concept all thinkingmachines can embrace."

Erasmus stared at him and mockinglyreshaped his flowmetal face into aperfect

likeness of the old man that representedOmnius. His expression reflecteddisbelief, as if he considered Paolo'spronouncements a joke, the rantings of adeluded child. A flare of anger rosewithin Paolo. This robot wasn't takinghim seriously!

Paolo saw the whole canvas of the futureunrolling before him, broad strokes

revealed

by the incredible magnifying power ofultra-spice. Some of the upcomingevents became

razor sharp, and he discerned morespecifics, intricate details. Thesuperpotent mélange was even strongerthan he had imagined, and the futurebecame intensely focused in his mind,fractal minutiae unfolding before him inan infinite, yet completely expected,pattern.

In the midst of this mindstorm, somethingelse was unleashed from within hiscells: All the memories buried therefrom his original life. With a roar that

briefly drowned out even the otherclamoring knowledge, he suddenlyremembered everything about PaulAtreides.

Though the Baron had raised Paolo andthe machines had corrupted him intowhat they

imagined would be their puppet, he wasstill himself at the core.

He scanned the chamber, viewingeveryone from a new perspective:Jessica, dear

Chani, and himself lying in a pool ofblood, still twitching, gasping a last fewbreaths. Had he done that–a bizarre form

of suicide? No, Omnius had forced him.But how could anyone

really force a Kwisatz Haderach to doanything? Details of the fight with Paulclashed in his mind, and he squeezed hiseyes shut, trying to drive back thedisturbing images. He didn't want toserve Omnius. He hated the BaronHarkonnen. He could not let himself bethe cause of such destruction.

He had the power to change everything.Wasn't he the ultimate KwisatzHaderach?

Thanks to the ultraspice and his ownAtreides genes, Paolo now possessed agreater

prescience than had ever before beenpossible. Not even the smallest eventcould slip past him.

In a glorious tableau, he knew he couldsee everything about the tapestry of thefuture.

Every tiny detail, if he wanted! Nounexplored terrain, no wrinkles ornuances in the

topography of events to come.

Paolo paused in his restless pacing andgazed ahead, seeing beyond the walls ofthe

grand machine cathedral, feeling

overwhelmed by thoughts that no otherhuman could begin to understand. Hiseyes changed to more than an intenseblue-within-blue, to black and glassy,rippled and impenetrable like alandscape of seared dunes.

In the background, he heard the Baron'svoice. "What's the matter with you, boy?Snap out of it."

But the visions continued to shoot atPaolo like projectiles from a repeatergun.

He couldn't dodge them, could onlyreceive them, like an invincible manstanding up

against ferocious firepower.

Outside in the grand machine city, heheard a tremendous commotion. Alarmsrang, and

quicksilver robots rushed out of thecathedral chamber to respond. Paoloknew exactly what was happening, couldsee it from every angle. And he knewhow each action would turn out,regardless of how Omnius, the humans,or the Face Dancers tried to change it.

No longer able to move, Paolo stoodstaring at moments that were yet tocome,

everything he could influence and all that

he could not. Each second sliced into abillion

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nanoseconds, then expanded and spreadout across a billion star systems. Thescope of it threatened to overwhelm him.

What is happening? he asked himself.

Only what we brought upon ourselves,whispered the voice of Paul-within.

With new eyes Paolo saw moment by

unfolding moment, expanding outwardfrom the

machine city, beyond the planet, thewhole scope of the Old Empire, thefarthest reaches of the Scattering, and thevast thinking-machine empire.

Another nanosecond passed.

The ultraspice had given him absolutelyuncontaminated revelation. He saw time

folding forward and backward from thefocal point of his consciousness.

Perfect prescience.

Caught in the tidal wave of his own

power, Paolo began to see much morethan he had

ever wanted to see. He witnessed everyheartbeat a thousand times over, everyaction of every single person–everybeing–in the entire universe. He knewhow each instant would play out fromnow until the end of history, and inreverse, to the beginning of time.

The knowledge flooded into him, and hedrowned in it.

He watched Paul Atreides in his deaththroes and saw his counterpart gomotionless,

haloed by the crimson puddle on the

floor, eyes staring into blessed oblivion.

Paolo, who had wanted to be the finalKwisatz Haderach so badly he hadkilled for it,

now became petrified by the utter tediumof his own existence. He knew everybreath and pulsepoint in the entirehistory and future of the universe.

Another nanosecond passed.

How could any person endure this?Paolo was trapped in a predeterminedpath, like a

computer's infinite loop. No surprises,choices, or movement. Absolute

foreknowledge

rendered Paolo entirely irrelevant.

He envisioned himself sinking in slowmotion to the floor and lying face up,unable to

move or speak, unable even to blink hiseyes. Fossilizing. Then Paolo saw thelast and most terrible revelation. He wasnot the true and final Kwisatz Haderach,after all. It was not him.

He would never accomplish what he haddreamed.

With spice roaring through him, the pastwent dark, and Paolo could only stare

fixedly

into the future, which he had alreadyseen a thousand times over.

Another nanosecond passed.

One can always find a battlefield if onelooks hard enough.

– Bashar Miles Teg, Memoirs of an OldCommander

Remnants of dust and sand from theemptying hold swirled out into the no-ship's

corridors, but the worms were gone, andLeto II with them. Bright sunlight from

the machine world shone through thegaping holes. Stunned, Sheeana listenedto the sounds of the

behemoths crashing through Synchrony.She longed to be with them. Those once-captive

sandworms were hers as well.

But Leto was closer to them, a part ofthem, and they were part of him.

Duncan Idaho came up behind her. Sheturned, the smell of grit clinging to herface and clothes. "It's Leto. He's... withthe sand-worms."

He flashed a hard smile. "That's

something the machines won't expect.Even Miles

would have been surprised." He graspedher arm and hurried her away from theopen cargo hold. "Now we've got to dosomething just as dramatic forourselves."

"What Leto is doing will be a hard act tofollow."

Duncan paused. "We've been runningfrom that old man and woman for years,and I

don't intend to sit here in this no-shipprison anymore. Our armory is filledwith weapons stockpiled by the Honored

Matres. We also have the rest of themines that the Face Dancers didn't use tosabotage this ship. Let's take the fightoutside, to them!"

She felt the steel of his determinationand found her own. "I'm ready. And wehave more than two hundred peopleaboard trained in Bene Gesserit combattechniques."

Inside her mind, Serena Butler impartedvisions of terrible combat, humansagainst

fighting robots, incredible slaughters.But in spite of these horrors, Sheeanafelt a strange exhilaration. "It's beenprogrammed into our genes for

thousands of years. Like an eagle to aserpent, a bull to a bear, a wasp to aspider, humans and thinking machinesare mortal enemies."

***

After decades of running and manyescapes from the tachyon net, this wouldbe their

final showdown. Tired of feelinghelpless, the Ithaca captives crowdedforward to the armory.

All were eager to fight back, though theyknew the odds were heavily againstthem. Duncan relished it.

The stockpile of armaments was notparticularly impressive. Many of thestored

weapons fired only flechettes, razor-sharp needles that would not be effectiveagainst armored combat robots. ButDuncan handed out old-style lasguns,pulse launchers, and explosive

projectile rifles. Demolition squadscould plant the remaining mines againstthe foundations of thinking-machinebuildings and detonate them.

The Tleilaxu Master Scytale pushed hisway through the crowded corridor,trying to

reach Sheeana, looking as if he hadsomething important to say. "Remember,we have more enemies out there than justrobots. Omnius has an army of FaceDancers to stand against us."

Duncan handed a flechette rifle toReverend Mother Calissa, whoappeared as

bloodthirsty as any Honored Matre."This will cut down plenty of FaceDancers."

The little man announced with a thinsmile, "I have another way to help. Evenbefore we were captured, I began toproduce the specific toxin that wouldtarget Face Dancers. I made sixty

canisters of it, in case we had to saturateall the air aboard the ship. Unleash it

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against the Face Dancers in the city. Itmay make humans a little nauseated butit is lethal to any Face Dancer."

"Our weapons could do the rest–or ourbare hands," Sheeana said, then turned tothe other workers. "Get the canisters!There's a battle outside!"

A fierce army of humans streamed out

through the gaping hole torn in theIthaca's hull.

Sheeana led her Bene Gesserits.Reverend Mothers Calissa and Elyenguided groups through the shifting streetsin search of vulnerable targets.Reverend Mothers, acolytes, male BeneGesserits, proctors, and workers rushedout carrying weapons, many of whichhad never been fired before.

With a loud battle cry, a well-armedDuncan charged forward into the bizarre

metropolis.

In his original lifetime, he had notsurvived long enough to join Paul

Muad'Dib and his Fremen Fedaykin inbloody raids against the Harkonnens.The stakes were more desperate

now, and he intended to make adifference.

The streets of Synchrony were inturmoil, the buildings themselvespumping and

writhing. Leto's sandworms had alreadytunneled beneath the foundations of thestructures, breaking through the pliable,living metal and knocking down talltowers. Across the galaxy, Omnius'sthinking-machine fleet was engaged innumerous climactic battles.

Duncan thought of Murbella out theresomewhere–if she was still alive–facingthem,

fighting them.

Combat robots swarmed the streets.They emerged from between buildings,fashioning

and firing projectile weapons from theirown bodies. The Bene Gesseritsscrambled out of the way, findingshelter. Lasbeams cut smoking holesthrough the fighting machines; explosiveprojectiles smashed them backward intodebris.

Running headlong into the fray, Duncan

used his long-dormant Swordmasterskills to

attack the nearest robots. He wielded asmall projectile launcher as well as avibrating sonic club that transmitted adeadly blow each time it struck afighting machine.

From all directions, Face Dancersrallied against the humans, while combatrobots

turned their attention to the destructivesandworms. The first ranks of shape-shifters advanced with blank andunreadable faces, armed with machine-designed weaponry.

When the first canisters of Scytale'scurling, gray-green gas landed amongthem, the

frenzied Face Dancers did notunderstand what was happening. Soonthey began to fall,

writhing, their faces melting off theirbones. Sensing the danger too late, theyscrambled to retreat as Sheeana'sfighters launched more poison gas intotheir midst.

The Bene Gesserits continued to pushforward. Their demolition crews plantedmines

against looming buildings that could not

uproot themselves in time. Powerfulexplosions brought down the shudderingmetal towers. Sheeana rushed her teamsto shelter until the thunderous collapseswere over. Then they surged forwardagain.

Duncan decided to hang back. In thecenter of the city, the huge, brightcathedral drew him like a beacon, as ifall the intensity of the evermind'sthoughts were being channeled throughit. He knew Paul Atreides was in thatstructure, perhaps fighting for his life,perhaps dying. Jessica was inside, aswell. Compelling instincts born ofmemories from his first life told Duncanwhere he had to go. He needed to be at

Paul's side in the den of the Enemy.

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"Keep the machines occupied, Sheeana.Even the evermind can't fight on aninfinite number of fronts at once." Hejerked his head toward the cathedralbuilding. "I'm going there."

Before she could say anything, Duncanran off.

Enduring my own mistakes once wasbad enough. Now I am condemned to

relive my past, over and over.

– Dr. Wellington Yueh, interview notestaken by Sheeana

The Suk doctor, in a teenage body butwith the burdens of a very old man, kneltby the

dying Paul. Although he hadadministered every emergency treatmentat his disposal, he knew he could notsave the young Atreides. Withspecialized skill, he had halted most ofthe bleeding, but now he shook his headsadly. "It's a mortal wound. I can onlyslow his death."

Despite the betrayal in his past life,

Yueh had loved the Duke's son. In thosebygone

days he had been a teacher and mentor toPaul. He had seen to it that the boy andhis mother had a chance of surviving inthe deserts of Arrakis after theHarkonnen takeover, so long ago.

Even with his full Suk knowledgerestored, Yueh didn't have the facilitiesto help this Paul.

The knife had penetrated thepericardium, cut into the heart. Throughsheer tenacity the young man still clungto a thread of life, but he had alreadylost far too much blood. His heart wasstuttering its last few beats.

Despite the chances offered by a secondlifetime, Yueh was unable to escape his

previous failures and betrayals. He hadbeen suffering inside, wallowing in thecesspool of his past mistakes. TheSisters on the no-ship had resurrectedhim for some secret purpose that he hadnever been able to fathom. Why was hehere? Certainly not to save Paul. Thatwas out of his hands now.

On the no-ship he had tried to take actionby doing what he thought was necessaryand

right, but he had only caused moretragedy, more pain. He had killed anunborn Duke Leto rather than another

Piter de Vries. Yueh knew he had beenmanipulated by the Rabbi/Face Dancer,but he could not accept that as an excusefor his actions.

Chani sat on the floor at Paul's side,calling his name in an unfamiliar huskyvoice.

Yueh sensed that something about herhad changed; her eyes had a wildsteeliness much

different from the gaze of the sixteen-year-old girl he knew.

He realized with a start that the horror ofholding Paul's bloody, dying body in herarms must have pushed her over the

edge. Chani had her original memoriesback–just in time to experience the fullmagnitude of her imminent loss. EvenYueh reeled from the cruelty of it.

The Baron made despairing sounds ofhis own, at first confused, then angry,and now

desperate. "Paolo boy, answer me!" Hecrouched by the glassy-eyed young man,raging.

He raised a hand as if to strike thewarped copy of Paul Atreides, but Paolodidn't flinch.

From one side the independent robotErasmus watched the whole scenario

with intent

curiosity, his optic threads glistening."Apparently, neither of the Paul Atreidesgholas is the Kwisatz Haderach weexpected. So much for the accuracy ofour predictions."

The moment he saw the Baron's growingconfusion, Yueh knew that only one thing

remained for him to do. Struggling toregain his composure, he rose from theside of the dying Paul and made his wayover to the Baron and Paolo. "I am a Sukdoctor." His sleeves and trousers weredrenched in Paul's blood. "Perhaps I canhelp."

"Eh? You?" The Baron sneered at him.

Jessica glared after the doctor, and therestored Chani looked as if she wantedto flog Yueh for leaving Paul's side. Buthe concentrated only on the Baron. "Doyou want me to help, or not?"

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The Baron moved out of the way."Hurry, then, damn you!"

Going through the motions, Yueh bentand passed his hands over Paolo's face,

felt the

cold clamminess of the skin and thebarely discernible pulse.

Young Paolo sat frozen and transfixed,staring into a coma of infinite awarenessand

paralyzing boredom.

The Baron leaned close. "Make himsnap out of it. What is the matter withhim? Answer me!"

Grabbing the Emperor's dagger fromPaolo's waistband, Yueh spun in a singlefluid

movement. The Baron staggered back,but Yueh was quicker. He thrust thesharp tip at an angle under the hatefulman's chin and rammed it all the way tothe back of his skull. "This is myanswer!"

The answer for being coerced intobetraying House Atreides, for all theschemes, the

pain, the resultant guilt, and most of allfor what the Harkonnens had done toWanna.

The Baron's eyes opened wide in shock.He flailed his hands and tried to speak,but

could only gurgle helplessly as acrimson geyser spouted from his neck.

Spattered in blood, Yueh jerked theEmperor's dagger back out. Heconsidered plunging

it into Paolo's midsection, just to becertain he killed both of them. But hecouldn't do that.

Though the boy had gone wrong, thiswas still Paul Atreides.

The Baron collapsed onto the hard floor.All the while, the Paolo ghola continuedto

stare upward without blinking.

Dr. Wellington Yueh allowed himself arelieved smile. At long last he had

accomplished something positive andtrue. Finally, he had done somethingright. For a long moment he held thedagger, covered with the Baron's bloodas well as Paul's. A potent

impulse prompted him to turn the pointtoward himself. Yueh closed his eyes,clutched the handle of the knife, and tookanother deep breath.

A firm hand clasped his wrists, stayinghis suicide thrust. He opened his tear-filled eyes to see Jessica standing besidehim. "No, Wellington. You don't need toredeem yourself like that. Help me save

Paul instead."

"There is nothing I can do for him!"

"Don't underestimate yourself." Herfacial muscles tightened. "Or Paul."

No education, training, or presciencecan show us the secret abilities we

contain within ourselves. We can onlypray those special talents are

available in our time of greatest need.

– The Bene Gesserit Acolytes'Handbook

Death.

Paul skirted the edge of the interiorblackness, dipped briefly into infinity,and danced back out. He wavered on thebalance point of his own mortality. Theknife wound was deep.

Without any awareness of what wasgoing on around him, he felt an intensecoldness

spreading from the tips of his fingers tothe back of his head. Like a distantwhisper, he could still hear the lavafountain blazing nearby. Despite the hardstone floor beneath him, Paul felt as if hewere floating, his spirit drifting in andout of the universe.

His skin detected a warm, syrupy

wetness. Not water. Blood... his own...spreading in a great pool across thefloor. It filled his chest, mouth, andlungs. He could hardly breathe. Witheach feeble heartbeat, more of it spilledout, never to be retrieved...

It seemed as if he could still feel thelong blade of the Emperor's knife insidehim. Now he remembered... In the lastdesperate days of Muad'Dib's jihad, theconniving Count Fenring had stabbedhim. Or had that occurred at a differenttime? Yes, he had tasted a knife bladebefore.

Or maybe he was the old blind Preacherin the dusty streets of Arrakeen, stabbed

by yet another knife. So many deaths forone person...

He couldn't see. Someone squeezed hishand, though he could barely feel it, andhe

heard a young woman's voice. "Usul, Iam here." Chani.

He remembered her most of all, and wasglad she was here with him. "I am here,"she said. "All of me, with all mymemories, beloved. Please come back."

Now a firmer voice yanked his attention,as if strings were attached to his mind.

"Paul, you must listen to me. Remember

what I taught you." His mother's voice.

Jessica...

"Remember what the real Lady Jessicataught the real Paul Muad'Dib. I knowwhat you are. You have the power withinyou. That is why you aren't dead yet."

He found words within his throat, andthey bubbled up through the blood. Hewas

amazed at the sound of his own voice."Not possible... I'm not... the KwisatzHaderach–the ultimate..." He was not thesuperbeing that would change theuniverse.

Paul's eyes flickered open, and he sawhimself lying in the great machinecathedral.

That part of the prescient dream hadbeen true. He had seen Paolo laughingwith victory and consuming the spice–but now Paolo himself rested on thefloor like a fallen statue, frozen andmindless, gazing into infinity. The Baronlay dead, murdered with a look ofdisbelief and annoyance on his pastyface. So the vision was true, but all thedetails had not been available to him.

Some kind of commotion came frombeside Omnius and Erasmus, and Paullooked

there, his gaze bleary. Watcheyes flittedin, displaying images. The old man stoodwith an impatient expression on his face.The Face Dancer Khrone seemedunsettled. Paul could hear voicesshouting. The whole cacophony woveitself in oddly incomprehensible strandsthrough the buzzing tapestry in his head.

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"Sandworms attacking like demons...destroying buildings."

"...a rampage... armies emerging from

the no-ship. A poisonous gas that kills–"

The old man said drily, "I havedispatched combat robots and FaceDancers to fight them, but it may not besufficient. The sandworms and thehumans are causing considerabledamage."

Erasmus picked up the conversation."Rally more Face Dancers, Khrone. Youdidn't

send all of them out."

"That is a waste of my people. If wefight the humans, their poison kills us. Ifwe go out to battle sandworms, we willbe crushed."

"Then you will be poisoned, orcrushed," Erasmus said lightly. "No needto fret. We can always create more ofyou."

The Face Dancer's features shifted andblurred, a storm crossing his putty face.

He turned and marched out of the vaultedchamber.

Meanwhile Yueh raised Paul's head,ministering to him with Suk medicaltechniques.

But Paul folded his eyes shut again anddropped backward into the pain. Againhe

danced along the edge of the chasm thatopened wider and wider before him.

"Paul." Jessica's voice was insistent."Remember what I told you of theSisterhood.

Maybe you aren't the ultimate KwisatzHaderach that the thinking machineswant, but you are still a KwisatzHaderach. You know that, and your bodyknows it as well. Some of your

powers are the same as those of aReverend Mother. A Reverend Mother,Paul!"

But he found it too difficult toconcentrate on her words, or to

remember... As he

spiraled deeper and deeper intounconsciousness, her voice faded, andhe could not hear or feel his heartbeatanymore. What did his mother mean?

If Jessica now remembered her past life,she also remembered the Spice Agony.Any

Reverend Mother had the innate abilityto shift her biochemistry, to manipulateand alter molecules within herbloodstream. It was how they selectedtheir pregnancies, how they

transmuted the poisonous Water of Life.That was why the Honored Matres had

searched so furiously to findChapterhouse–because only ReverendMothers had the physical ability to fightoff the terrible machine plagues.

Why did his mother want him toremember that?

Trapped inside the darkness, Paul feltthe emptiness of his body. Completelybled out.

Silent.

On Arrakis so long ago, he hadundergone his own version of the Agony,the first male

ever to do so successfully. For weeks he

had lain in a coma, declared dead by theFremen, while Jessica insisted onkeeping him alive. He had seen thatstygian place where women could notgo, and he had drawn strength from it.

Yes, Paul had that ability within himnow. He was a male Bene Gesserit. Hecould still

control his body, every cell, everymuscle fiber. At last, he knew what hismother had been trying to tell him.

The pain of dying and the crisis ofsurvival gave him the lever he needed.He stood

upon his pain as a fulcrum and used it to

pry open his life, his first existence–thememories of Paul Atreides, ofMuad'Dib, of himself as Emperor andlater as the Preacher. He followed thatflood backward to his childhood and hisearly training with Duncan Idaho onCaladan,

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including how he had almost been killedas a pawn in the War of Assassins thathad ensnared his father.

He remembered his family's arrival on

Arrakis, a place Duke Leto knew to be a

Harkonnen trap. The memories rushedpast Paul: the destruction of Arrakeen,his flight into the desert with his mother,the death of the first Duncan Idaho...meeting the Fremen, his knife fight withJamis, the first man he had ever killed...his first worm ride, creating theFedaykin force, attacking theHarkonnens.

His past accelerated as it flowed throughhis mind–overthrowing Shaddam and his

empire, launching his own jihad, fightingto keep the human race stable withouttraveling down that dark path. But he hadnot been able to escape political

struggles, assassination attempts, theexiled Emperor Shaddam's bid forpower and the pretender daughter ofFeyd-Rautha and Lady Fenring... thenCount Fenring himself had tried to killPaul–His body no longer felt empty, butfull of experiences and great knowledge,full of abilities. He

remembered his love for Chani and hissham marriage to Princess Irulan, aswell as the first Duncan ghola namedHayt, and Chani dying while giving birthto the twins, Leto II and

Ghanima.

Even now, the pain of losing Chaniseemed far greater than the pain he

presently

suffered. If he died now, in her arms, hewould inflict that same anguish upon her.

He remembered wandering off into thedesert, blinded from prescience... andsurviving.

Becoming the Preacher. Dying in a dustystreet surrounded by a mob.

He was now everything he had oncebeen: Paul Atreides and all the differentguises he

had worn, every mask of legend, everypower and weakness. Most important ofall, he now had the abilities of a

Reverend Mother, the infinitesimalphysical control.

Like a beacon in the darkness, hismother had enabled him to see.

Between his last heartbeats, he searchedwithin himself in the deep and drowningplace.

He found the knife wound inside hisheart, saw the mortal damage, anddiscovered that his body's defenses wereincapable of repairing the grievousinjuries on their own. He needed todirect the healing process.

Although in the preceding moments hehad seemed to be fading, he now

sharpened

himself and became part of his ownheart, which was no longer beating. Hesaw where Paolo's blade had slashedopen his right ventricle, letting bloodspill out of the chamber.

His aorta had been nicked, but there wasno more blood for it to carry.

Paul brought the cells together andsealed them. Then, droplet by droplet, hebegan to

draw his own blood back from thecavities of his body where it had spilled,and reabsorbed it into his tissues. Heliterally pulled life back into himself.

***

Paul didn't know how long his trancelasted. It seemed as infinite as the deathcoma

caused by touching just a drop of thepoisonous Water of Life to his tongue.He became

suddenly aware of Chani's grip again.Her hand was warm, and he felt his ownflesh, no

longer cold and shuddering.

"Usul!" He could hear Chani's faintwhisper and detected the disbelief in hertone.

"Jessica, something's changed!"

"He is doing what he needs to do."

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When he finally summoned the strengthto flutter his eyelids, Paul Muad'DibAtreides

rejoined the living, bringing with himboth his old life and his new. In additionto those memories and abilities, hereturned with a fantastic, even greaterrevelation...

Just then, a flushed and bloodied DuncanIdaho burst into the great cathedral hall,

knocking sentinel robots aside. Erasmuscasually gestured to allow the man toenter. Duncan's eyes went wide when hesaw the bleeding Paul propped up by hismother and Chani. Dr.

Yueh looked astonished at the miraclebefore him. Duncan ran toward them.

Trying to pull together his thoughts, Paulplaced the tableau around him in thecontext of his internal knowledge. Hehad learned much by dying the first time,coming back as a ghola, and nearly dyingagain. He had always had a phenomenalgift for prescience.

Now he knew even more.

In spite of his miraculous survival andrebirth, he still was not the perfectKwisatz

Haderach, and clearly Paolo was not,either. As Paul's vision cleared, hefocused on a

realization that none of them had seen–not Omnius, Erasmus, Sheeana, nor anyof the gholas.

"Duncan," he said in a hoarse voice."Duncan, it's you!" After hesitating for amoment, his old friend came closer, thisloyal Atreides fighter who had beenthrough the ghola process more times

than any other individual in history.

"You're the one they've been looking for,Duncan. It's you."

Even prescience has its limits. No onewill ever know all the things that

might have been.

– Reverend Mother Darwi Odrade

With her arm around his shoulders,Chani rocked Paul, as she shudderedwith joy and

relief. Fremen prohibitions were somuch a part of her that even after seeinghis mortal wound and watching him

come within a heartbeat of dying in herarms, she still had not shed a tear.

In the machine cathedral, Duncanwrestled with the revelation that the paleand bloodied Paul had given him. "I...am the Kwisatz Haderach?"

Paul nodded weakly. "The final one. Theperfect one. The one they were lookingfor."

The old-man manifestation of Omniusgave the robed form of the independentrobot an

accusing look. "If this claim is correct,you were in error, Erasmus. You did notallow for the humans to twist fate yet

again. You said your predictivecalculations were accurate."

The robot remained aloof, even smug."Only your interpretation of mycalculations was flawed. The finalKwisatz Haderach was indeed aboardthe no-ship, as I said all along. Youdrew the obvious conclusion that the onewe sought must be Paul Atreides. Whenthe Face Dancer found the bloody knifecarrying the cells of Muad'Dib, youfalsely reinforced your own conclusion."

Duncan's mind wanted to reject what hewas hearing. Even if he truly was theultimate

Kwisatz Haderach, what was he to do

with the knowledge?

The old man sneered down at the frozen,useless boy Paolo and the dead Baron."All that work on our own clone gave usno advantage. Extremely wasteful."

Erasmus shaped his flowmetal face intoa sympathetic expression and addressedthe

recent arrival. "I knew I was drawn toyou for a reason, Duncan Idaho. If youreally are the Kwisatz Haderach, youstand in a position to alter the course ofthe universe. You are a living watershed,the harbinger of change. You can chooseto stop this conflict that has made

enemies of humans and thinkingmachines for thousands of years."

Duncan realized that Yueh, Jessica,Chani, and Paul had all played theirparts, and now the focus had shifted tohim.

Erasmus stepped closer to them."Kralizec means the end of many things,but that end need not be destructive. Justa fundamental change. Henceforth,nothing will be the same."

"Not destructive?" Jessica raised hervoice. "You said your thinking-machineships are attacking worlds in the OldEmpire. You've already sterilized andconquered hundreds of planets!"

The robot seemed unperturbed. "I didnot say our approach was the only way,or even the best one." The old manglowered at Erasmus as if he had beeninsulted.

Suddenly the sky above the greatmachine city was torn by multiple boomsof displaced

air as a thousand Guild Heighlinersappeared like storm clouds. Emergingfrom foldspace, the fleet of huge vesselseasily carried enough weaponry to levelthe continent.

Omnius's old man guise flickered as hisconcentration was wrenched by thedramatic

shift. Across the city of Synchrony,robots buzzed about, fighting thesandworms that

continued to rampage. Now they had toshore up defenses against the new enemyoverhead.

Inside the vaulted building, Erasmusaltered his form again to the kindly oldwoman, as if he believed thispresentation more convincing andcompassionate. "I've run probabilities

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beyond the limits of my originalcalculations. I believe you have thepower, Duncan Idaho–

stop these Guildships from destroyingus."

"Oh, please stop prattling," Omnius said.

Duncan looked around, crossed his armsover his chest. "I am not afraid of theGuild and their Navigators. If I have todie to end this, I'm willing to do so."

Yueh added bravely, "Everyone here hasdied before."

"It doesn't matter. Let them destroySynchrony." The old man did not seem

overly disturbed. "I am dispersed acrossmany locations. Annihilating this entireplanet, this node, will never eradicateme. I am the evermind, and I ameverywhere."

A crack sounded at the center of thewide cathedral hall. Then, with a blurand a bang of folded space, an imageappeared above the bloodstained floor.The shimmering transmission appearedto be solid one moment and a statickyghost the next. In moments, the shape

clarified to a beautiful and statuesquehuman woman with classically perfectfeatures. Then she shifted to becomestunted and dwarfish, with a blunt,

unattractive face, short arms and legs,and an overly large head. After anotherflicker, the image was nothing more thana disembodied face that wavered in theair. It was as if she could not rememberexactly what she was supposed to looklike.

Duncan immediately knew who–orwhat–this was. "The Oracle of Time!"

The face swiveled to scan the peopleand robots in the great hall, before theimage

hovered closer to him. "Duncan Idaho, Ihave found you. I searched for years, butyour no-ship and your own... strangenessprotected you."

Duncan no longer questioned the bizarrestorm of occurrences around him. "Whydid

you come now?"

"You emerged from your no-ship onlyonce before on the planet Qelso, but Idid not follow you swiftly enough. Isensed you again when your no-ship wasdamaged and captured.

Now, with the thinking machinesattacking, I was able to trace the lines ofthe evermind's tachyon web and followOmnius to you. I brought my Navigatorswith me."

"What is this apparition?" the evermind

demanded. "I am Omnius. Begone frommy world!"

"Once I was called Norma Cenva. NowI am exponentially more than that–farbeyond

anything a computer network cancomprehend. I am the Oracle of Time,and I go where I

please."

In the old crone guise, Erasmus reachedout like a curious child and touched, butthe

wrinkled hand passed through her image."So many of the most interesting humans

are women," he mused. The robotexperimentally waved fingers throughher ghostly likeness, stirring withoutaltering it. She ignored him.

"Duncan Idaho, you have finally come toyour realization. Kwisatz Haderach, Itried to protect you. Before you, PaulMuad'Dib and his son Leto the GodEmperor were imperfect

prophets. Even they realized their flaws.Now through a confluence in the cosmos,the nexus of all nexuses, you havebecome the singularity in a bold newuniverse, the vital point from whicheverything flows outward for the rest ofeternity. The hopes of humankind–and

much more–are distilled in you."

Still taken aback, Duncan asked, "Buthow? I don't feel that different."

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"The Kwisatz Haderach is a 'shorteningof the way,' a figure powerful enough toforce a fundamental and necessarychange that alters the course of futurehistory, not just for humanity but forthinking machines as well."

"Yes, you have the power, Duncan

Idaho." Erasmus sounded just asencouraging as the Oracle. "I rely on youto make the correct choice. You knowwhat will benefit the universe most, andyou know that thinking machines canenrich the entirety of civilization."

Duncan marveled at the awareness of hisnew identity and the unfolding of histhoughts

around the astounding truth. Finally, afterso many attempts at life in ghola form, heknew his destiny. His mind was fullyawakened.

He saw time as a great ocean stretchingacross the cosmos, and with hisawakening

powers he envisioned being able toanalyze each molecule, each atom andsubatomic particle.

Perfect prescience would come, but notyet, not too fast or it would induce thesame crippling paralysis that hadbefallen Paolo. Already Duncan's mindcould go much faster than a

Mentat's, and he sensed he could makehis body move at speeds that would haveastonished even the Bashar.

I am the ultimate Kwisatz Haderach.There will be no more after me.

The Oracle's image flickered, shiftingher shape back to that of the beautiful

woman.

"After you died the first time, DuncanIdaho–as a soldier fighting to save theAtreides, fighting to save the firstKwisatz Haderach–the powers of theuniverse compelled your

resurrection as a ghola, and many timesafterward, over and over. The originalGod Emperor understood some of yourdestiny and played an unwitting role inbringing about this moment.

The end point of his Golden Path is thebeginning of something else."

"I am linked to the Golden Path?"

"You are, but you are destined to go farbeyond it."

Paul seemed to be swiftly recovering hisstrength. Beside him, Jessica said to the

otherworldly visitor, "But Duncan waspart of no formal breeding program!How did he develop into a KwisatzHaderach?"

The Oracle continued, "Duncan, witheach rebirth, you came closer tocompletion.

Instead of being developed in a breedingprogram, you went through a process of

personal evolution. With every

successive incarnation you acquiredmore knowledge, skills, and experience–as if a sculptor with a tiny chisel waschipping away at a large block of hardstone, slowly, ever so slowly, fashioninga perfect statue. In your one body, youmanifested a tachyon evolution, a hyper-fast developmental journey thatpropelled you toward your

destiny."

Duncan had lived his life repeatedly forthousands of years. Not only had theTleilaxu

tinkered with his genetics to give himabilities to fight the Honored Matres,they had

combined his cells so that he retained allof his previous lives, every one of them.With all those memories, he possessed abreadth of experience and wisdom thatno one could match.

This Duncan Idaho had more knowledgethan the most advanced Mentat or theevermind

Omnius, and more understanding ofhuman nature than even the great TyrantLeto II.

Duncan was the same person again andagain, perfecting himself, constantlyfiltering

out impurities, like passing through a

fine mesh strainer to sift out only the bestof qualities, leaving him as the One. Heallowed himself a secret smile at theirony. He had succeeded only because ofthe meddling of the Tleilaxu, though hewas certain that the Masters had neverintended to create a savior for humanity.

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Duncan's Mentat mind burned throughthe data, confirming his conclusion,knowing

that the Oracle of Time must be correct.

"Truly, I am the Kwisatz Haderach!" Hewished Miles Teg could have been therewith him. "And what of the great war–Kralizec?"

"We are in the midst of it now. Kralizecis not merely a war, but a point ofchange."

Her image flickered. "And you are theculmination of it."

"But what about the rest of humanity?"Murbella. "They need to know. Howwill they understand what hashappened?"

"My Navigators will inform them,perhaps even bring their leaders here.

First, however, I need to eliminate athreat that should have been gonemillennia ago. An enemy I fought tenthousand years before you were firstborn."

The Oracle slid through the air towardthe indignant-looking old man, Omnius.Facing

him, she made her voice boom moreloudly than the evermind's speakers everhad. "I must ensure that the thinkingmachines can no longer harm anyone.That was my mission ages ago, when Iwas merely a woman, when I inventedthe concept of the fold-space engine,when I discovered the mind-expanding

powers of mélange. I shall remove you,Omnius."

The evermind laughed, a remote oldman's chuckle. The slightly stoopedmanifestation

suddenly grew larger, looming like agiant over her image. "You cannotremove me, for I am not a corporealbeing. I am information, so my existencehas spread anywhere the tachyon netstretches. I am everywhere."

The female image formed a smile. "AndI am more than that. I am the Oracle ofTime.

Now hear my laughter." In an eerie voice

Norma Cenva chuckled long and hard,causing even the oversized Omnius totake a step backward. "I am heard acrossstar systems and eons, across time andspace, far beyond the range of your net."

Omnius took another step backward.

"First I crippled your fleet. Now I willrip you out like the weed that you are,and discard you."

"Impossible–" The old man began todissolve as he retreated into his ownnetwork.

"I will extract you–every shred ofinformation from every node." Her mistyimage became amorphous and seeped

around Omnius. He nearly staggered intoErasmus, but the

independent robot easily slid out of theway, his old-woman face expressingcuriosity and bemusement.

"I will take you to a place where suchinformation is no longercomprehensible, where physical laws donot apply."

Duncan heard the evermind's voice cryout in rage, but it was muffled. In thevaulted

hall, the insectile sentinel robots whotried to move forward in the service ofOmnius seemed strangely disoriented

and sluggish.

"There are many universes, Omnius.Duncan Idaho has visited more than one,and he

knows the place of which I speak. Irescued him and his no-ship from it longago. You,

however, will never find your wayback."

Duncan considered theincomprehensible struggle before him.Indeed, when he had first

stolen the no-ship from Chapterhouse, hehad lurched through the fabric of space

in a

desperate attempt to avoid capture andhad taken them to a bizarrely skeweduniverse. He shuddered to think of it.

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"Nothing shall rescue you, Omnius."

"Impossible!" the old man bellowed,losing his physical form and becomingno more than a spangled outline.

"Yes, impossible. Wonderfully so."

The air in the chamber crackled withclouds of electricity that spread thinnerand

thinner, as the Oracle wrapped herselflike a net around the iconic thinkingmachine.

For an instant, Duncan saw Norma's facesuperimposed over that of the old man.The

two countenances merged into one:Hers. The beautiful woman smiled, andthe air filled with sparkling, hair-finestrands of electricity that she drewaround her like an elegant cloak.

Then she uprooted herself from reality

and vanished into the incomprehensiblevoid,

taking with her all traces of Omnius.

Forever.

You see enemies everywhere, but I seeonly obstacles–and I know what to

do with obstacles. Either move them orcrush them, so that we can be on

our way.

– Mother Commander Murbella, addressto the combined Sisterhood

Even after the Navigators destroyed the

bulk of the Enemy fleet in a flurry of

unexpected Obliterators, a second waveof machine ships advanced towardChapterhouse.

The Oracle, upon locating Duncan Idahoand the lost no-ship, had promptly takenmost

of her Heighliners to Synchrony, onlyassigning a small percentage to aid in thedefenses of other human-inhabitedplanets. With the outcome of thosemissions unknown, some or all of theother planets could still be vulnerable.One thing was certain: At Chapterhouse,Murbella and her defenders faced theremaining machine ships alone.

Through it all, the Mother Commanderdidn't have much time to process hershock at

discovering that Duncan was still alive.

Administrator Gorus groaned. "Will theynever stop?"

"No." Murbella scowled at him forforcing her to state the obvious. "Theyare thinking machines."

High over the Bene Gesserit world, herhundred last-stand vessels hungsurrounded by

the debris from thousands of destroyedmachine battleships. This fight had

inflicted a

substantial toll on the Enemy, butunfortunately it was not enough.

The new wave of Omnius vessels wouldnot thumb their noses at the humandefenders,

as the first had. Murbella expected nomercy this time and didn't have muchhope for the last-stand ships at otherstrategic points, either. The machinesintended to annihilate Chapterhouse andevery other world that stood in theirway.

She cursed the clumsy, uncooperativeGuild vessels that the Junction shipyards

had

produced and the worthless weapons theIxians had supplied. She had to think ofsomething on her own. "I won't just letour ships sit here with their throatsbared, like lambs waiting for slaughter!"

"The mathematical compilers controlledour foldspace guidance and standard–"She shouted at Gorus. "Rip out thosedamned navigation devices–we'llmaneuver our vessels by hand!"

"But we will not know where we aregoing. We could crash!"

"Then we must crash into the Enemy,instead of each other." She wondered if

the machines would feel a need forvengeance when they saw the wreckageof the first wave.

Honored Matres certainly would.

The Enemy kept coming. Murbellastudied the complex tactical projections.Surely they

did not need such a vast number ofvessels to conquer the minimallyinhabited Chapterhouse.

It seemed obvious that the evermind hadlearned the value of intimidation andshowmanship, as well as the wisdom ofredundancy.

In the Heighliner control center, twoGuildsmen argued with Gorus. Oneclaimed that

disconnecting the mathematical compilerwas impossible, while the other warnedthat it was unwise. Murbella ended thedebate with the compelling power ofBene Gesserit Voice. The Guildsmenshuddered and, unable to resist her, didas she commanded.

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Although the machine forces outgunned

them by a substantial margin, Murbelladid not

flinch from what had to be done. Instead,she allowed herself to reawaken her oldHonored Matre anger. This was not atime to calculate odds. It was a time tounleash every bit of destruction herpeople could muster. Their chanceswere better now than they had beenwhen this last stand began. If they allembraced viciousness and fought likefrenzied Honored Matres, they couldinflict significant damage. They mightstill go down in flames, but if theybought sufficient time for the Oracle andher Navigators to defeat Omnius,Murbella would count it a victory. She

just wished she could have seen Duncanone more time.

Murbella turned toward the broadprojection plate that magnified theoncoming vessels.

"Arm all weaponry and stand ready toram. The moment we depleteconventional

armaments, our own ships will becomethe final weapons. A hundred of us willtake out at least as many of their ships."

Up to this point, Gorus had called herbattle strategy suicidal. Now, he lookedas if he might try something foolish tostop her. "Why not negotiate with them?

Would it not be preferable to surrender?We cannot stop them from destroyingtheir targets!"

Murbella fixed her gaze on theAdministrator as if he were weak prey.Even the Sisters

who had started out as pure BeneGesserits now reacted with a feralHonored Matre strength.

They would never back down.

"And you base this suggestion on thesuccess of your emissaries to thethinking

machines? All those emissaries who

disappeared?" Murbella's voice sizzledlike hot acid.

"Administrator, if you'd like to seekanother solution, I would be happy toeject you from an airlock and let you flyacross the empty vacuum. As the lastbreath explodes out of your lungs, maybeyou can gasp out your personal surrenderterms. Be my guest, if you believe thethinking machines will listen to you."

The desperate-looking Guildsmancringed. Around him, the Sisters movedto take

control, ready for a final plunge.

Before Murbella could give the

command, though, Janess broke in overtheir tight-

linked channel, "Mother Commander!Something's changed with the machinebattleships.

Look at them!"

Murbella examined the images on theviewing plate. The Enemy vessels nolonger

moved in a tight, efficient formation.They slowed and began to spread apart,as if they had no goal, like unmannedsailing ships becalmed on a vast cosmicsea.

Left suddenly leaderless.

To her amazement, the thinking-machinefleet floated listlessly in space.

Even when caught up in his awn myth,Muad'Dib pointed out that

greatness is only a transitoryexperience. For a true KwisatzHaderach,

there are no warnings against hubris,no rules or requirements to follow.

He takes from all things and gives toall things, as he wishes. How could

we have deluded ourselves into

believing we could control such a one?

– Bene Gesserit analysis

After the Oracle vanished, Erasmusstared at the empty space in the center ofthe

vaulted chamber, his head slightlycocked to one side. "Omnius is gone."His voice sounded hollow to DuncanIdaho's ears. "No vestige of theevermind remains in the network ofthinking machines."

Duncan felt his own mind racing,expanding, absorbing new information.The terrible

Enemy he had sensed for so long–thethreat that the Honored Matres hadprovoked–was no

more. By removing the evermind,uprooting it from this universe and takingit elsewhere, the Oracle had disabled thevast thinking-machine fleet, leaving itwithout its controlling force.

And we still remain.

Duncan didn't know exactly what hadchanged inside him. Was it simply theknowledge

of his raison d'être? Had he always hadaccess to this potential without realizingit? Assuming Paul was correct,

something had lain dormant insideDuncan for all those years, through all ofthe lives–original and ghola–a latentpower that had grown with eachiteration of his

existence. Now, like a massive geneticprogram, he had to figure out how toactivate it.

Paul and his son Leto II had the blessingand curse of prescience. With theirmemories

restored, each could claim to be aKwisatz Haderach. Miles Teg hadpossessed his

phenomenal capacity to move at a speed

beyond comprehension and mightconceivably have

become a Kwisatz Haderach himself.The Navigators in the clusteredHeighliners overhead could use theirminds to see through folds of space andfind safe paths for the great ships totravel. The Bene Gesserits could controltheir bodies, down to their very cells.All had expanded on traditional humanabilities, expressing humankind'spotential to exceed

expectations.

As the ultimate and final KwisatzHaderach, Duncan believed he mighthave the

capability to do all of those things andmuch more, reaching the highest pinnacleof humanity.

Thinking machines had never understoodhuman potential, even though their

"mathematical projection" credited theKwisatz Haderach with the power to endKralizec and change the universe.

Confidence infused him, and he thoughthe might discover a way to make grand,epic

changes... but not under the control of thethinking machines. Instead, Duncanwould find his own way. He would be areal Kwisatz Haderach, independent as

well as all-powerful.

Dispassionately, he gazed upon the oldwoman in her frumpy floral-print dressand

gardening apron, complete with scuffs ofdirt. Her face appeared careworn, as iffrom

nurturing people her entire life."Something of Omnius has vanishedfrom me, but not all."

Finally forsaking the old-womandisguise, Erasmus resumed the liquid-metal form of

the independent robot attired in an

elegant crimson and gold robe. "I canlearn much from you, Duncan Idaho. Asthe new god-messiah of humankind, youare the optimal specimen for me tostudy."

"I am not another specimen for yourlaboratory analysis." Too many othershad treated him that way, in too many ofhis past lives.

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"A mere slip of my tongue." The robotsmiled cheerily, as if attempting to veil

his looming violence. "I have longdesired a perfect understanding of whatit means to be human.

Now it seems you have all the answers Iso assiduously sought."

"I recognize the myth in which I live."Duncan recalled Paul Atreides makingsimilar pronouncements. Paul had felttrapped by his own mythos, which hadbecome a force beyond his control.Duncan, however, had no fear of theforces that would emerge, either for oragainst him.

With penetrating vision he saw through,and around, Erasmus and his minions.Across

the hall he watched Paul Atreidesstanding unsteadily, aided by Chani andJessica after his terrible ordeal. Pauldrank from a water flagon, which he hadtaken from a table near the Baron's body.

Outside, the crashing of sandwormsagainst robotic defenders had begun tosubside.

Though the huge creatures had notdestroyed the machine cathedral, theyhad caused

extensive damage to the city ofSynchrony.

At the perimeter of the great chamber,quicksilver robots stood attentively, the

charges in their integral weaponsglowing in a display of readiness. Evenwithout the evermind, Erasmus coulddirect these machines to fire a deadlybarrage against the humans in the

vaulted room. The independent robotcould attempt to kill every mortal here ina show of petulant revenge. And perhapshe would make the effort...

"Neither you nor your robots can makeany difference here," Duncan warned."All of you are far too slow."

"Either you are overconfident, or you arefully aware of what you can do." Theflowmetal smile tightened, just a little,and the bright optic threads glistened a

bit more.

"Perhaps it is the latter, and perhapsnot." Somehow, Duncan knew withabsolute certainty that Erasmus meant tounleash all the destructive power underhis control, wreaking whatever havoc hecould.

Before the robot made half a turn,Duncan was upon him with all the speedMiles Teg

had shown, knocking him backward.Erasmus crashed to the floor, hisweapons disabled.

Was it just a test? Another experiment?

Duncan's heart pounded and his bodyradiated heat as he stood over the robot,but he

felt exhilarated, not exhausted. He couldkeep fighting like this against anymachines Erasmus chose to send againsthim.

At that thought, he left the independentrobot where he had fallen, dashed athyperspeed around the circle, andbattered the silvery sentinel robots withquick kicks and punches until theyshattered into debris. It was so easy forhim now. Before the metal pieces hadfinished falling to the floor, he was back,looming over Erasmus.

"I sensed your doubts as well as yourintentions," Duncan said. "Admit it.Even as a thinking machine, you wantedmore proof, didn't you?"

Lying on his back and looking upwardthrough the hole in the dome at thethousands of

huge Guild Heighliners in the sky,Erasmus said, "Assuming you are thelong-awaited superman, why don't yousimply destroy me? With Omnius gone,removing me would assure

the victory of humanity."

"If the solution were that simple, aKwisatz Haderach would not be needed

to

implement it." Duncan surprisedErasmus, and himself, by reaching downand helping the

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robot to his feet. "To end Kralizec andtruly change the future requires morethan just the annihilation of one side orthe other."

Erasmus examined his body core and hisrobes to ensure his appearance, then

looked up

with a broad smile. "I think we justmight have a meeting of the minds–something I never really achieved withOmnius."

When the time comes for our GreatUnmasking, our foes will be surprised

by what has been disguised in front ofthem since the very beginning.

– Khrone, communiqué to Face Dancers

Now that the Oracle was gone, severalof the Navigators' giant Heighlinersoverhead

folded space and disappeared fromSynchrony without explanations orfarewells.

Throughout the city, sandwormscontinued to destroy the living metalbuildings.

Because Omnius had never allowedthem autonomy, the robotic defenderswere unable to

function effectively without connectingto the evermind. The vaulted hall filledwith

resounding silence. Then with a loudcrash, the high doors swung open.Dressed in black and followed by a

throng of Face Dancers, Khrone marchedin from the bright machine streets.

Identical, blank-faced drones swarmedinto the room. Scytale's poison gas hadkilled

some of the shape-shifters, but many hadavoided the battle entirely.

Out in the sprawling machine city,countless Face Dancers had pretended tostand

against the rampaging sandworms, butsecretly melted away from thebarricades the robotic soldiers had setup. Khrone had taken pleasure inwatching the worms destroy the great

flowmetal buildings, smashing thousandsof thinking machines.

Clearing the way. Making our job easier.

Khrone offered a skeletal smile as heswept forward. "I never cease to beentertained by the erroneous deductionsof those who think they control us." Inhis mind, a Face Dancer victory wasnow assured.

"Explain yourself, Khrone." Erasmusseemed only mildly curious.

Ignoring the humans and their dead,Khrone faced the independent robot,who stood by

Duncan Idaho. "This war has been inprocess for five thousand years. It wasnever Omnius's idea, anyway."

"Oh, our war has been building for farlonger than that," Erasmus pointed out."We escaped after the Battle of Corrinfifteen thousand years ago."

"I'm referring to a completely differentwar, Erasmus–one you never realizedwas taking place. From the moment thefirst advanced Face Dancers weredispatched by our creator,

Hidar Fen Ajidica, we began ourmanipulations. When we encounteredyour thinking-

machine empire, we allowed you tocreate more and more of us. Yet themoment Omnius let us in, the FaceDancers became his true masters! Weshared with you all the lives we hadgathered, letting you believe you werebecoming increasingly superior to us andto humans.

But we Face Dancers were in control allalong."

"There is a diagnosis for your mentalcondition," Dr. Yueh said boldly. "Youhave delusions of grandeur."

Khrone's lips peeled back from blunt,perfect teeth. "My statements, based asthey are on accurate information, can

hardly be called delusions."

The amused expression on Erasmus'sface did not change. Khrone found itmaddening,

so he raised his voice, "You thinkingmachines helped us implement our FaceDancer plans, all the while believingthat we served you. But it was exactlythe opposite. You were, in fact, ourtools."

"All machines began as tools," Duncanpointed out, looking from Erasmus to theFace Dancer leader.

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Khrone was not impressed. So this wasthe man who had revealed himself as thefinal

Kwisatz Haderach? Nor could heunderstand why the independent robotwas not more upset, since he pridedhimself on employing his artificialemotions.

Khrone continued. "Under yourguidance, Erasmus, biological facilitiesrun by thinking machines manufacturedmillions of enhanced Face Dancers. Atfirst, we ventured into human society as

scouts, swiftly infiltrating the fringes ofthe Scattering, and then the Old Empire.

We easily duped the Lost Tleilaxu intobelieving we were their allies.Wherever humans

remained, Face Dancers quietlyintruded. We lived long, andaccomplished much."

"Exactly as we instructed you to do,"Erasmus said, sounding bored with thelecture.

"Exactly as we wished to do!" Khronesnapped back. "Face Dancers areeverywhere, a hive mind more advancedthan any extrasensory human linkages,

more powerful than the

network of Omnius. So swiftly andeasily we accomplished our aims."

"And our aims, as well," Erasmus said.

Galled by the robot's stubborn refusal torecognize defeat, Khrone felt ragebuilding

within him. "Over the centuries, weprepared for the day when we wouldimplement our plan and eliminateOmnius. We never guessed that theOracle of Time would do it for us." Hechuckled softly. "Your empire has fallen.We have superceded all thinkingmachines. And now that Omnius's fleet

and plagues have brought humanity to itsknees, we can activate our hidden FaceDancer cells–everywhere,simultaneously. We will take control."He planted his fists on his hips. "It isalready over for machines, and forhumans."

Behind him, all the identical FaceDancers wore blank expressions.Khrone's featureless face had beenduplicated many times over.

"An interesting and insidious plan,"Erasmus said. "Under othercircumstances, I might applaud you foryour ingenuity and duplicity."

"Even if you could rally your robots to

kill those of us on Synchrony, it wouldbe of no use. I am reproducedeverywhere." The Face Dancer scoffed."Omnius thought he was seeding theuniverse for his own conquest, but thetrue seeds of his downfall were rightunder his mechanical nose."

Erasmus began to laugh. It started as achuckle that he imitated from an ages-old

dataset, and he added components siftedfrom other recordings. The resultantsounds were quite enjoyable to himself,and he was sure they were convincing tothe others.

Over his long, long lifetime, the unusualrobot had expended a great deal of effort

in

studying humans and their emotions.Laughter particularly intrigued him. Anearly step, which had required centuriesof deep thought, had been to understandthe concept of humor, to learn whatcircumstances might elicit this strange,noisy response from a human. In theprocess, he had compiled a library of hisfavorite laughter samples.

A delightful repertoire.

He played them all now through hismouth speakers, much to thebewilderment of the

Face Dancer Khrone. But Erasmus

realized that not even these favoritechuckles, snickers, and guffaws wereadequate to express the true hilarity thathe currently felt.

"What is so funny?" Khrone demanded."Why are you laughing?"

"I am laughing because even you don'tunderstand the trick that was played onyou."

Erasmus chuckled again, and this time hecreated a unique sound that containedflavors

and undertones of his best borrowedrecordings. This was truly his individualsense of humor,

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something genuinely original. After suchlong and difficult study, Erasmus waspleased with the new comprehension hehad achieved. Surely this was worth allthe tribulations of

Kralizec!

The independent robot turned to DuncanIdaho, who–after listening to thebetrayals

upon betrayals had the faraway look of a

man trying to join mismatched puzzlepieces.

Erasmus knew that Duncan hadn't thefaintest idea of how to achieve his fullpotential.

Just like so many other humans! Therobot would have to guide this one.

Ignoring Khrone, he spoke to Duncan. "Iam laughing because the inherentdifferences between humans and FaceDancers are painfully hilarious. I holdgreat fondness for your species–as morethan specimens, more than pets. Youhave never ceased to astonish me. Indefiance of my most careful predictions,you still manage to do the unexpected!

Even when those actions work to thedetriment of thinking machines, I canappreciate them for their uniqueness."

Khrone and his contingent of FaceDancers closed in, as if expecting tomop up these

few robots and humans easily. "Yourwords and laughter are meaningless."

Jessica supported a still-weak Paul,while Chani picked up the bloodieddagger that

Paolo and Dr. Yueh had both used. Nowthat she had her past memories, Chaniheld the

weapon in the manner of a true Fremenwoman, ready to defend her man.

Erasmus smiled to himself. His ownconfrontation with Duncan had shownonly the tip

of the iceberg of the Kwisatz Haderach'spowers. The robot had found it terriblyexciting for a few moments, placinghimself at the brink of death, or at leastits equivalent for a machine.

The Face Dancers would be in for quitea surprise if they thought Duncan Idahoand

these other humans would be an easyconquest. But Erasmus had an even

greater surprise to spring.

"What I mean, my dear Khrone, is thatwhile humans can astonish me, FaceDancers are woefully predictable. It's ashame. I had hoped for something moreoriginal in your case."

When Khrone scowled, every one of theFace Dancers in the chamber mimickedhis

expression, like reflections in a hall ofmirrors. "We've already won, Erasmus.Face Dancers control every foothold,and you have no place to hide from us.We will rise up across the human planetsand on all machine worlds. We will lookback upon the path of destruction, and

only we will remain."

"Not if I choose to stop it." Erasmus'sflowmetal face shifted into a placid,disappointed expression. "Omnius mighthave been convinced that you all wereour meek puppets, but I never believedas much. Who can ever trust a FaceDancer? Among humans, that saying hasbecome a cliché. You and yourcounterparts did exactly what I predictedyou would do. How could you not? Youare what you are. It was practicallyprogrammed into you." The robot gave asad shake of his head.

"While you Face Dancers were layingdown your schemes, sending out spies,

and

establishing your presence, I watchedpatiently. Though you thought you werehidden from Omnius, you weren't cleverenough. I saw everything you did andallowed it to happen

because I found your petty power playsamusing."

Khrone adopted a fighting stance, as ifready to attack the robot with barehands.

"You know nothing of our activities!"

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"Now who is drawing conclusions frominsufficient data? Ever since the end ofthe

Butlerian Jihad, when Omnius and Iwere sent out here on our long exile tostart the machine empire all over again, Iwas the one in control. I allowedOmnius to continue believing he ruledeverything and made all the decisions,but even in his first incarnation he was aself-aggrandizing annoyance,overconfident and unconscionablystubborn. More so than most

humans!" The robot swirled his plushrobes. "The evermind never learned toadapt and never bothered to face hismistakes, so I refused to let him ruin ourchances again. Thus, I took control of theFace Dancer program from the momentthe first of you arrived on our fringeplanets."

Khrone remained defiant, though hisvoice carried a slightly uncertainundertone.

"Yes, you manufactured us–and made usstronger than ever."

"I manufactured you, and I wiselyplanted a fail-safe routine in each andevery Face Dancer. You are biological

machines, evolved and manipulated overthousands of years,

according to my own exactingspecifications." Erasmus moved closer."A tool should never confuse itself withthe hand that wields it."

The gathered Face Dancers seemed tohold the balance of power, and Khronedid not

back down. His features shifted into amonstrous, demonic mask of fury. "Yourlies cannot control us any longer. Thereis no fail-safe."

Erasmus emitted a poignant sigh. "Wrongagain. This is my proof." With a precise

nod of his burnished head, he triggeredthe implanted shutdown virus that wasgenetically buried within each of thecustomized, "enhanced" Face Dancers.

Like a toy discarded by a petulant child,the Face Dancer standing immediatelybehind

Khrone crumpled lifeless to the floor,arms and legs akimbo, an expression ofmomentary shock animating his facebefore it reverted to its blank state.

Khrone stared, unable to comprehend."What are–"

"And this." Erasmus nodded again. Witha swift sighing thump, the throng of Face

Dancers in the cathedral chamber alsodropped, an army scattered in death as ifmowed down by projectile fire, leavingKhrone alive to accept his utter defeat.

Then, after stretching out the moment foreffect, the independent robot said, "Andthis.

Your services are no longer required."

With his face twisted in rage anddesperation, Khrone threw himselftoward Erasmus–

only to fall to the stone floor, as dead asthe rest of his brethren.

Erasmus turned to Duncan Idaho. "So,

Kwisatz Haderach–as you see, I control

fundamental parts of our intriguing game.I would not suggest my powers are asgreat as your own, but in this particularcase, they are quite useful."

Duncan did not show any awe. "How farwill your shutdown virus spread?"

"As far as I wish. Even though theOracle of Time extracted Omnius fromthe tachyon net, the strands of that vastinterconnected mesh still exist in thefabric of the universe."

Erasmus twitched his head again andsent out a signal. "There, I justdispatched my trigger to every modified

Face Dancer throughout humancivilization. They are dead now. All ofthem.

They numbered in the tens of millions,you know."

"So many!" Jessica exclaimed.

Letting out a whistle, Paul said "Like asilent jihad."

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"You would never have known most of

them. With memory imprints, some even

believed they were human. All acrosswhat remains of your former empire, agreat many

people are probably quite surprised ascomrades, leaders, friends, and spousesdrop dead where they stand andtransform into Face Dancers." Erasmuslaughed again. "With a single thoughtI've eliminated our enemies. Ourcommon enemy. You see, Duncan Idaho,we need

not be at odds."

Duncan shook his head, feeling oddlysickened. "Once again, the thinking

machine sees total genocide as a simplesolution to a problem."

Now Erasmus was surprised. "Don'tunderestimate the Face Dancers. Theywere... evil.

Yes, that is the correct word. And sinceeach one was fundamentally part of ahive mind, they were all evil. Theywould have destroyed you, and theywould have destroyed us."

"We've heard that kind of propagandabefore," Jessica said. "In fact, I've heardit cited as the primary reason why allmachines need to be destroyed."

Duncan looked at all the dead Face

Dancers, realizing how much damage theshape-

shifters had done for centuries, whetherthey were guided by the evermind or bytheir own schemes. Face Dancers hadkilled Garimi, sabotaged the no-ship,and caused the death of Miles Teg...

Looking at the robot, Duncan narrowedhis eyes. "I can't say I'm terribly sorry,but there was no honor in what you–orthe Face Dancers–did here. I cannotagree with it. Don't think we areindebted to you."

"On the contrary, it is I who owe somuch to you!" Erasmus could barelycontain his pleasure. "That is exactly the

way I'd hoped you would react. Afterthousands of years of study, I believe Ifinally understand honor and loyalty–especially in you, Duncan Idaho, thevery embodiment of the concept. Evenafter an event that obviously helps yourrace, you still object to my tactics on amoral basis. Oh, how wonderful."

He looked down at all the Face Dancers,the astonished and confused expressionon

Khrone's face. "These creatures are theexact opposite. And my fellow machinesare not loyal or honorable, either. Theymerely follow instructions because theyare programmed to. You have shown me

what I needed to know, KwisatzHaderach. I am very much in your debt."

Duncan stepped closer, searching forsome way to access the new abilities heknew lay

dormant inside him. Just knowing he wasthe much-anticipated Kwisatz Haderachwas not

enough. "Good. Because now I wantsomething from you."

A single decision, a single moment, canmake the difference between

victory and defeat.

– Bashar Miles Teg, Memoirs of an OldCommander

"It's a trap–it must be." Murbella staredat the vast yet motionless enemy fleet.

The human ships were still outnumberedhundreds to one, but the thinkingmachines

made no move. The Mother Commanderfroze, holding her breath. She hadexpected to be

annihilated.

But the Enemy did nothing. "This isdeeply unnerving," she whispered.

"All backup systems ready, as youordered, Mother Commander," one of thepale young Sisters announced. "It may beour only chance to cause some damage."

"We should open fire!" AdministratorGorus cried. "Destroy them while theyare helpless."

"No," said another Sister. "The machinesare trying to lure us from our defensivepositions. It's a trick."

Everyone on the navigation bridge staredat their dark and quiet foe, afraid tobreathe.

The robot vessels just drifted out therein the cold void.

"They have no need to trick or trap us,"Murbella finally said. "Look at them!They could destroy us any time they like.It was foolish, impulsive Honored Matreviolence that triggered this very war inthe first place."

The Mother Commander narrowed hergaze, studying the overwhelming force of

warships.

Utter stillness. "This time, I will take amoment to understand before we justopen fire."

Murbella's eyes blazed as she struggledto comprehend. She remembered whenher eyes

had been a hypnotic green–an alluringfeature that had helped her ensnareDuncan.

Strange, the thoughts that haunt you whendeath waits at your door...

At the time of Duncan's escape fromChapterhouse, no one had known theidentity of

the outside Enemy. Now, the Oracle hadsaid Duncan was on Synchrony at theheart of the thinking-machine empire.Had he managed to get away? If Duncanwas still alive, she could forgive himanything. How she longed to see himagain, and hold him! The painful silencestretched out. Another excruciating

minute, followed by another.

Murbella had seen the thinking-machineforces on the move from planet to planet,and

the aftermath of their strikes. She hadseen the plagues they disseminated andhad buried her own daughter Giannewith so many others in an unmarkedgrave out in the Chapterhouse

desert. "No matter what the reason," shesaid, "the machines have never been sovulnerable."

From her nearby ship, Janess grufflyacknowledged. "If we are going to die inbattle, why not take out as many of the

Enemy as we can?"

Murbella had already prepared for thismoment. She issued her orders, eachword

carrying a sharp edge. "All right, I don'tknow why, but we've got an unexpectedreprieve. We may be few, but we'll belike D-wolves with sharp fangs. We'llrely on our own eyes and skills."

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One of the Guildsmen who had rushed

aboard the ship at the last minute reactedwith

alarm. He was a bald and pasty-facedman with tattoos on his scalp. "Aimingour weapons will require precisionmaneuvering, Mother Commander! Wecan't do it without assistance."

Murbella shot him a wilting glare. "I'drather rely on my eyes than on Ixiansystems. I've already been deceivedonce today. Target the largest ships.Destroy their weapons, disable theirengines, and move on to others."

Janess transmitted to the clustereddefenders, "The wreckage of all thoseEnemy ships can provide cover if the

machines fire back at us."

The bald Guildsman objected again."Every piece of debris is a navigationalhazard. No human can react fast enough.We need the Ixian devices back online,at least in a limited fashion."

Even Gorus looked at him strangely.Suddenly, the bald Guildsman shouted,turned

from his technical station, and collapsed.Near him, without a sound, another ofthe new crewmen dropped dead in histracks. A third slumped over on theupper navigation deck.

Suspecting that their ships were under

some kind of invisible attack from asilent,

deadly weapon, the Sisters reactedquickly, trying to determine what washappening.

Murbella hurried to the tattooedGuildsman, rolled him over, andwatched his puttylike

face shift to the blank visage of a FaceDancer.

Gorus looked around as if he finallyrealized how he had been betrayed. Theother two

fallen bodies also shifted. All Face

Dancers! Murbella glared at theAdministrator.

"You guaranteed me that everyone hadbeen tested!"

"I spoke the truth! But in the rush tolaunch your whole fleet, someone mighthave been missed. And what if one ormore of the testers happened to be aFace Dancer?"

She turned from him in disgust. A flurryof transmissions arrived from the other

defender vessels, all reporting deadFace Dancers onboard. Amidst thejumble of comm

activity, Janess's voice came in sharpand clear. "Five Face Dancers were onmy vessel, Mother Commander. All arenow dead."

Meanwhile, the listless Enemy shipscontinued to drift apart, though theycould easily

have pressed their attack onChapterhouse and achieved victory.Murbella's thoughts spun, wrestling withyet another mystery.

Face Dancers among us, working forOmnius. But why did they drop dead?

Not long ago, the Oracle of Time hadwhisked her numerous Heighliners away

from

this battlefield to Synchrony... toDuncan. Had the Oracle and herNavigators struck a blow that sentripples through the entire Enemy fleet?Had Duncan! Something seemed to haveshut down the thinking-machine battlefleet and all their shape-shifter spies.

Murbella indicated the dead FaceDancers sprawled near her. "Get thosemonstrosities out of here." Not botheringto hide their revulsion, several Sistersdragged the scarecrowish bodies away.

Murbella focused on the screen withsuch intensity that her eyes burned. TheHonored

Matre part of her wanted to strike andkill in a frenzy, but all of her BeneGesserit training screamed for her tounderstand first. Something essential hadchanged here. Even the voices of OtherMemory couldn't counsel her. Thus far,they had been mute.

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Representatives of the remainingpopulations on Chapterhouse transmittedurgent

messages, demanding reports from the

front, wondering how long they mightexpect to

survive.

With no answers for them, Murbelladidn't respond.

Janess transmitted a brash suggestion."Mother Commander... should we boardone of the Enemy ships? It could be ourbest chance to discover what'shappened."

Before she could answer, spacedistorted again around them. Four hugeHeighliners

reappeared, emerging in the debris-

strewn battle zone so close to the humandefenders that Murbella shouted forevasive action. The Guild pilot on oneof the nearby ships reacted with anexaggerated maneuver, pulling his heavycruiser out of the way and nearlycolliding with Janess's vessel. Anothercareened into a debris field of destroyedfirst-wave machine ships.

A third defender acted impulsively andopened fire on the silent thinking-machine fleet, launching a volley ofexplosive projectiles into the conicalnose of the nearest machine battleship.Fiery eruptions burst out in a repeatingpattern along the Enemy vessel's hull.

Alarms rang out, and Murbellademanded reports, wondering if themachines would

respond with a massive display of force.No more caution. "Prepare to fire! Allships, prepare to fire! Hold nothingback!"

But even thus provoked, the darkenedOmnius fleet remained motionless. TheEnemy

vessel damaged in the impulsive barragecareened in a slow drift, still burning.

Very slowly it crashed into an adjacentmachine ship and caromed off, sendingthem

both spinning.

The Enemy ships did not fire a singlereturn shot. Murbella couldn't believe it.

In the midst of the surprise and mayhem,a Navigator's voice sounded calm and

otherworldly. "The Oracle of Time hassent us here to locate the commander ofthe human forces."

Murbella pushed her way to a commlinestation. "I am Mother CommanderMurbella of

the New Sisterhood... of all humanity."

"I have orders to escort you to

Synchrony. I will now take command ofyour foldspace engines."

Before her Guildsmen could scramble totheir stations, the Holtzman engineshummed

at a higher pitch. Murbella felt a familiarshifting sensation.

It is too simplistic to state that humansare the enemies of all thinking

machines. I strive to understand thesecreatures, but they remain

incomprehensible to me. Even so, Igreatly admire them.

– Erasmus, private files, secure database

"You want something from me?"Erasmus seemed to find Duncan'sdemand amusing.

"And how will you force me to obey?"

The man's lips quirked in a faint smile."If you truly understand honor, robot, Iwon't need to. You will do what's rightand pay your debt."

Erasmus was genuinely delighted. "Whatelse do you wish from me? Isn't itenough that I eliminated all FaceDancers?"

"You and Omnius were responsible for

far more mischief than those shape-shifters."

"Mischief? It was rather more thanmischief, wasn't it?"

"And to atone for it, there's somethingyou need to do." Duncan's attention wasentirely focused on the robot, not on thedead Face Dancers, not on thedestructive sounds of

sandworms outside in the city. Paul,Chani, Jessica, and Yueh all remainedquiet in the chamber, watching him.

"I am the final Kwisatz Haderach,"Duncan said, feeling the nascent abilitiesembedded within him all the way down

to his DNA, "yet I need to comprehendso much more. I already understandhumans maybe better than anyone else–but not thinking machines. Give me a

good reason why I shouldn't justeliminate you all, now that the thinkingmachines are

weakened. It's what the evermind wouldhave done to us."

"Yes, it is. And you are the final KwisatzHaderach. The decision is yours."Erasmus seemed to be waiting forsomething, his optic threads gleaminglike a cluster of stars.

"And is there a way that doesn't require

the annihilation of one or the other? A

fundamental change in the universe–Kralizec." Duncan stroked his chin,thinking.

"Omnius's fleet contains millions ofthinking machines. They're notdestroyed, but simply without guidance,correct? And I believe your empirecontains hundreds of planets, many ofwhich would never be habitable tohumans."

With his robes flowing around him, theplatinum robot began to stroll throughthe great vaulted hall, stepping overFace Dancer corpses that lay strewneverywhere like marionettes with their

strings cut. "That is an accurateassessment. Do you want to find themall, destroy them all, hoping you nevermiss one? Now that they are without theevermind, it's even

possible that some of the moresophisticated machines could developindependent

personalities during a time of longdeprivation, as I did. How confident areyou in your abilities?"

Duncan followed him closely. Severaltimes, Erasmus glanced back at him, andmade

an odd series of expressions, from

inquisitive scowls to tentative smiles.Did he see a bit of fear there, or was itfeigned? "You're asking me if I wantvictory... or peace." It was not aquestion.

"You are the superhuman. I say it again–decide for yourself."

"Through more lifetimes than I cancount, I've learned patience." Duncantook a long, deep breath, using an oldSwordmaster technique to center histhoughts. "I'm in a unique

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position to draw both sides together.Humans and machines are both batteredand weakened.

Do I choose extermination for one sideas the solution?"

"Or recovery for both?" Erasmusstopped, and with a blank expressionfaced the man.

"Tell me, what precisely is thatdilemma? Omnius has been ripped fromthe universe, and the rest of the thinkingmachines have no leadership. In oneswift blow I have expunged the entireFace Dancer threat. I fail to see anything

left to solve. Hasn't the prophecy cometrue?"

Duncan smiled. "As is the case with somany prophecies, the details are vagueenough to convince any gullible mindthat everything was 'foretold.' The BeneGesserit and their MissionariaProtectiva were masters at that." Helooked closely at the robot.

"And so, I think, are you."

Erasmus seemed both surprised andimpressed. "What are you suggesting?"

"Since you were in charge of the'mathematical projections' and the'prophecies' based on them, you were in

a position to write predictions howeveryou wished. Omnius believedeverything."

"Are you saying I made up theprophecies?" Erasmus asked. "Perhapsas a way to guide an evermindstubbornly intent on a narrow-mindedcourse of action? Perhaps to bring us

precisely to this juncture? A veryinteresting hypothesis. One worthy of atrue Kwisatz Haderach."

The grin on his face seemed moregenuine than ever.

Smiling coolly, Duncan said, "As theKwisatz Haderach, I know there are–and

always will be, even as I evolve–limitations on my knowledge and myabilities." He tapped the robot in thecenter of his chest. "Answer me. Did youmanipulate the prophecies?"

"Humans created countless projectionsand legends long before I existed. Isimply

adapted the ones I liked best, generatedthe complex calculations that wouldproduce the desired projections, and fedthem to the evermind. Omnius, with hisusual myopia, saw only what he wantedto see. He convinced himself that in the'end' a 'great change in the universe'

required a 'victory' for him. And for that

he needed the Kwisatz Haderach.Omnius learned many things, but helearned arrogance too well." Erasmusswirled his robes. "No matter what theevermind or the Face Dancers thought–Ihave always been in control."

Raising his hands, the robot gestured tothe sentient metal cathedral around them,

indicating the whole city of Synchronyand the rest of the thinking-machineempire.

"Our forces are not entirely leaderless.With the evermind gone, I now controlthe thinking machines. I have all thecodes, the intricate, interlinkedprogramming."

Duncan had an idea that was partprescience, part intuition, and partgamble. "Or the final Kwisatz Haderachcan take control."

"That seems a much neater solution." Anodd expression moved across the robot'sflowmetal face. "You interest me,Duncan Idaho."

"Give me the codes and the access Ineed."

"I can give you more than that–and, yes,it will require much more. A wholemachine empire, millions ofcomponents. I would have to share an...entirety with you, just as my FaceDancers shared all those marvelous

lives. But for a Kwisatz Haderach, thatwould be just the thing."

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Before the robot could laugh again,Duncan reached forward and grabbedthe platinum

hand that extended from the plush sleeve."Then do it, Erasmus." He pressedcloser, reached out his other hand andpressed it against the robot's face in acuriously intimate gesture.

Prescience seemed to be guiding him.

"Duncan, this is dangerous," Paul said."You know it."

"I'm the one who's dangerous, Paul. Notthe one in danger." Duncan pulledhimself to within inches of Erasmus,feeling all the possibilities roil withinhim. Though there were troublesomeblind spots in the future, pitfalls andtraps he might not be able to foresee, hefelt confident.

The robot paused, as if calculating, thengripped Duncan's hand and–in a likegesture–

reached out with the other to touch his

face. Duncan's dark brows knitted as heexperienced strange sensations. The coolmetal felt alarmingly soft, and he almosthad the sensation of falling into it. Heextended himself, stretching his mindtoward the uncharted territory of theindependent robot's thoughts, just asErasmus did the same to him. Therobot's fingers

elongated, spreading out over Duncan'shand like a glove. As flowmetal coveredDuncan's wrist and ran up his forearm, itfelt bitingly cold as Erasmus began totalk. "I sense a growing trust between us,Duncan Idaho."

As moments passed, Duncan couldn't tell

if he was taking from the robot, or ifErasmus

was surrendering what the nascentKwisatz Haderach needed, everything heneeded. And,

though the two of them were fused,Duncan had to go further. A viscous,metallic substance covered his arm likethe sandtrout that had engulfed youngLeto II's body, so long ago.

I hear the clarion call of Eternitybeckoning me.

– Leto Atreides II, records from Dar-es-Balat

With the machine city heavily damagedand the evermind Omnius gone, themajor

components of Synchrony stoppedmoving. The buildings no longer pumpedand shifted like interlocking puzzlepieces, no longer morphed into strangeshapes. Like an immense broken engine,the city had ground to a complete halt,leaving many streets blocked, structureshalf buried or partially formed, andtramcars suspended in the air, danglingon invisible electronic wires. GrotesqueFace Dancer bodies and smashedcombat robots littered the streets.Columns of fire and smoke rose into thesky.

Exhausted even in victory, Sheeanastared around the city, her face filledwith awe and pleasure. As she walkedalone down a devastated street, she sawa young boy standing there by himselfbetween the towering, exotic buildings.Looking wrung out but far morepowerful than she had ever seen him,was the transformed boy Leto II. He hadleft the sandworms, having directed themoff into the city, but even though he stoodhere in front of her, he was still part ofthem.

As Leto craned his neck to look up atone of the dangling tramcars, Sheeananoticed an

oddness about him, a looming presencethat hadn't been there before. Sheunderstood. "You have your memoriesback."

"In perfect detail. I've been reviewingthem." Leto's eyes were full of centuries,now completely blue-within-blue due toincredible spice saturation from thebodies of the

sandworms he had controlled. "I am theTyrant. I am the God Emperor." Hisvoice sounded louder, yet carried a deepand abiding weariness.

"You are also Leto Atreides, brother toGhanima, son of Muad'Dib and Chani."

In response, he smiled as if she hadlifted some of his burden. "Yes, that too.I'm everything my predecessor was–andeverything the worms are. The pearl ofdreaming inside them has been brokenopen. He sleeps no more."

Sheeana recalled the quiet boy aboardthe no-ship. His past had been worsethan anyone

else's, and now that innocent boy wastruly gone.

"I remember every death I caused. Everyone. I remember all of my Duncans, andthe reasons each died." He looked up,then grasped her arm and pulled herback toward a twisted building that was

stuck halfway out of the ground.

Seconds later, the invisible suspensorline high above snapped, and the tramcarhurtled down to smash on the streetexactly where the two had been standing.Dead Face Dancers lay sprawled in thewreckage.

"I knew it would fall," Leto said.

She smiled gently. "We each have ourspecial talents."

The two of them climbed the high rubbleof a collapsed building to get a betterview of the city's wreckage. Confusedand disoriented robots milled around thesmoldering piles of wreckage and

broken structures, as if waiting forinstructions.

"I am a Kwisatz Haderach," Leto II said,his voice distant. "And so was my father.But it is much different now. Did I planfor all this long ago, as part of myGolden Path?"

As if he had summoned them, foursandworms rose noisily from thechurned and

smashed ground and loomed over thewreckage. She heard loud grindingnoises, and the

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remaining three worms came from otherdirections, knocking buildings aside,tunneling

through the wreckage. Slightly largerthan before, they circled Leto andSheeana.

The largest worm, the one she hadnamed Monarch, turned its head towardthe two of

them. Unafraid, Leto climbed down theremains of the building to approach thecreature.

"My memories are back," Leto said toSheeana, stepping forward, "but not thedreaming existence I had as the GodEmperor, back when man and wormwere one." Monarch laid its head on thebase of the rubble pile, as did thecompanion worms, like supplicantsbefore a king. The cinnamon odor ofmélange filled the air from theexhalations of the beasts.

Reaching out, Leto stroked the roundededge of Monarch's mouth. "Shall wedream

together again? Or should I let you goback to a peaceful sleep?"

Without fear, Sheeana also touched the

worm, feeling the hard skin of the rings.

With a sigh, the boy added, "I miss thepeople I used to know, especiallyGhanima.

Your ghola program didn't bring herback with me."

"We didn't consider personal costs orconsequences," Sheeana said. "I'msorry."

Tears welled in Leto's dark blue eyes."There are so many painful memoriesfrom before I took the sand trout as partof me. My father refused to make thechoice I did–refused to pay the price inblood for the Golden Path, but I thought I

knew better. Ah, how arrogant we can bein our youth!"

In front of Leto, the largest worm lifted.Its open mouth looked like a cave full ofrich spice.

"Fortunately I know how to go back intothe dreaming essence of the Tyrant, theGod Emperor. To the real son ofMuad'Dib." With a glance at her, he said,"I take my last few sips of humanity."Then he entered the towering mouth andclimbed over the maw-fence ofcrystalline teeth.

Sheeana understood what he was doing.She had tried the same thing herself,though

ineffectively. The worm engulfed Leto II,closed its mouth, and reared back. Theboy was gone. Sheeana struggled to keepher knees from buckling. She knew shewould never see Leto again, though hewould be with the worms eternally,merged into Monarch's flesh from theinside, becoming a pearl of awarenessonce more.

"Goodbye, my friend."

But the spectacle was not finished. Theother worms rose beside Monarch, andall

towered over her. Sheeana stoodmotionless, at once horrified andfascinated. Would they devour her, too?

She steeled herself for her own fate, buthad no fear of it.

As a young girl, after a worm haddestroyed her village on Rakis, Sheeanahad run

wildly out into the desert and screamedat the huge creature, calling it names,insisting that it eat her. "Well, Shaitan–do you have an appetite for me, now?"

But they did not want her. Instead, theseven worms gathered together, tumblingone

upon the other, writhing like a mass ofsnakes. With Leto inside them now, theworms were transforming. Six worms

wound themselves around the largestbeast that had swallowed the boy. Theytwisted and twined, wrapping theirsinuous bodies like vines around a tree,and then moved together.

Sheeana scrambled back up the rubblepile to keep herself safe from fallingdebris.

The fleshy rings of the separatesandworms began to merge andmetamorphose into a

much larger form. The differentiationamong the creatures became lessdistinct; the rings

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united, joining into one incrediblesandworm: a behemoth greater even thanthe largest

monsters from legendary Dune.

Sheeana stumbled, falling backward onthe rubble but unable to tear her gazeaway from

the immense sandworm that towered infront of her, rippling and twining, itsbody stretching back hundreds of meters.

"Shai-Hulud," she murmured,

intentionally refusing to use the termShaitan, just as she had always done.Truly, this was the godlike Old Man ofthe Desert. The dizzying odor of mélangewas stronger than ever.

At first she thought the leviathan wouldconsume her after all, but the giant wormturned away and smashed down into theground with a great thunder of noise,tunneling downward beneath themachine city.

Its new home.

A shudder of supreme pleasure ranthrough her. She knew the great wormwould divide

beneath the surface. This union betweenLeto II and the creatures would have agreater

resistance to moisture, enabling them tosurvive until they could remake parts ofthis former machine planet into a domainof their own. One day, new sandwormswould grow and thrive on this world,always lurking beneath the surface,always watching.

To defeat the humans, one option is tobecome like them, granting no

quarter, chasing and destroying them tothe last man, woman, and child,

just as they tried to do to us.

– Erasmus, databank on human violence

"With my curiosity, ages of existence,and understanding of both humans and

machines,"

Erasmus mused as he and Duncanremained joined, fused together mentallyand

physically, "am I not the machineequivalent of a Kwisatz Haderach? TheShortening of the Way for thinkingmachines? I can be in many places atonce and see a myriad of things that evenOmnius never imagined."

"You are not a Kwisatz Haderach,"

Duncan said. He became aware of hiscomrades rushing toward him. But theliquid metal now flowed acrossDuncan's shoulders and face, and he feltno desire to tear himself away.

Duncan let the physical reaction betweenhim and the robot continue. He didn'twant to

escape. As the new standard bearer ofhumankind, he needed to advance. So heopened his mind and let the data rush in.

A voice rang out in his head, louder thanall the whirlwind memories and streamsof

data. I can impress all of the key codes

you seek, Kwisatz Haderach. Yourneurons, your very DNA, form thestructure of a new networked database.

Duncan knew this was the point of noreturn. Do it.

The mental floodgates opened, filling hismind to bursting with the robot'sexperiences and coldly factual,regimented information. And he began tosee things from that entirely alienviewpoint.

In thousands upon thousands of years ofexperimentation, Erasmus had struggledto

understand humans. How could they

remain so mysterious? The robot'sincredible range of experiences madeeven Duncan's numerous lives seeminsignificant. Visions and memories

roared around the Kwisatz Haderach,and he knew it would take him muchmore than another lifetime just to siftthrough it all.

He saw Serena Butler in the flesh, alongwith her baby, and the startling reactionof the multitudes to what Erasmus hadthought was a simple, meaninglessdeath... howling humans rising up in afight they had no chance to win. Theywere irrational, desperate, and in theend, victorious. Incomprehensible.

Illogical. And yet, they had achieved theimpossible.

For fifteen thousand years, Erasmus hadlonged to understand, but had lacked the

fundamental revelation. Duncan couldfeel the robot digging around inside him,looking for the secret, not out of anyneed for domination and conquest, butsimply to know.

Duncan had difficulty focusing amidst somuch information. Presently hewithdrew, and

felt the flowmetal move the otherdirection, away from him–though notcompletely, for his internal cellular

structure was forever changed.

In an epiphany, he realized that he was anew evermind, but of an entirelydifferent sort from the original. Erasmushad not deceived him. With eyes thatextended to centillions of sensors,Duncan could see all of the Enemy ships,the fighting drones and worker robots,every cog in the awe-inspiring rebornempire.

And he could stop everything in itstracks. If he wanted to.

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When Duncan returned to himself, in hisrelatively human body again, he looked

through his own eyes around the greatchamber. Erasmus stood before him,separate now and smiling with whatseemed to be genuine satisfaction.

"What happened, Duncan?" Paul asked.

Duncan let out a long breath of stale air."Nothing I didn't initiate, Paul, but I'mhere, I'm back."

Yueh rushed up. "Are you hurt? Wethought you might be trapped in a comalike... like him." He gestured toward the

still-frozen Paolo.

"I'm unharmed... but not unchanged."Duncan looked around the vaultedchamber, and gazed out into the vast citywith a new sense of wonder. "Erasmusshared everything with me... even thebest parts of himself."

"An adequate summation," the robotsaid, undeniably pleased. "When youmerged into me and kept going deeperand deeper, you made yourselfvulnerable. Had I wished to win thegame, I could have tried to take overyour mind and program you to do exactlywhat benefits me and thinking machines.Just as I did with the Face Dancers."

"But I knew you wouldn't," Duncan said.

"From prescience, or faith?" A craftysmile crept across the robot's face. "Younow have control of the thinkingmachines. They are yours, KwisatzHaderach–all, including me. Now youhave everything you need. With thepower in your hands, you will changethe universe. It is Kralizec. See? Wehave made the prophecy come true afterall."

Seemingly alone in the remnants of avast empire, Erasmus walked casuallyaround the

chamber again. "You can shut them alldown permanently, if that is your

preference, and eliminate thinkingmachines forever. Or, if you have thecourage, you can do something moreuseful with them."

Jessica said, "Shut them down, Duncan.Finish it now! Think of all the trillionsthey've killed, all the planets they'vedestroyed."

Duncan looked at his hands in wonder."And is that the honorable thing to do?"

Erasmus kept his voice carefully neutral,not pleading. "For millennia I studiedhumans and tried to understand them... Ieven emulated them. But when was thelast time humans bothered to considerwhat thinking machines could do? You

only despise us. Your Great

Convention with its terrible stricture,'Thou shalt not make a machine in thelikeness of a human mind.' Is that reallywhat you want, Duncan? To win thisultimate war by

exterminating every vestige of us... theway Omnius wanted to win the war byeliminating you? Didn't you hate theevermind for that fixed attitude? Do youhave the same attitude yourself?"

"You have an abundance of questions,"Duncan observed.

"And it is up to you to choose the singleanswer. I gave you what you need."

Erasmus stood back and waited.

Duncan felt a new sense of urgency,perhaps imparted to him by Erasmus.Possibilities

roiled through his head, accompanied bya riptide of consequences. With hisgrowing

awareness he saw that in order to endKralizec, he needed to stop the eons-oldschism that separated man and machine.Thinking machines had originally beencreated by man, but

though intertwined, each side had triedrepeatedly to destroy the other.

He had to find a common groundbetween them, rather than let onedominate the other.

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Duncan saw the great historical arc, asocial evolution of epic proportions.Thousands of years ago, Leto II hadjoined himself with a great sandworm,thereby acquiring vastly greater powersfor himself. Centuries later, under theguidance of Murbella, two opposinggroups of women had joined forces,fusing their individual cultures into a

stronger synthesized unit.

Even Erasmus and Omnius had been twoaspects of the same identity, creativityand logic, curiosity and rigid facts.

Duncan saw that balance was required.Human heart and machine mind. What hehad

received from Erasmus could become aweapon, or a tool. He had to use itproperly.

I must serve as a synthesis of man andmachine.

He locked gazes with Erasmus, and thistime he and the robot connected without

making physical contact. Somehow theKwisatz Haderach retained a ghostimage of Erasmus within himself, just asReverend Mothers carried OtherMemories inside.

Drawing a deep breath, Duncan facedthe overwhelming question. "When youand

Omnius manifested yourselves as an oldcouple, you demonstrated the differencesbetween you. Erasmus, whilemaintaining your own independence, youacquired the evermind's vast storehouseof data, the intellect, while Omnius inturn learned about heart from you, whatit means to have human feelings–

curiosity, inspiration, mystery. But evenyou never fully achieved all the aspectsof humanity you sought."

"But now I can. With your consent, ofcourse."

Duncan turned to face Paul and theothers. "After the Butlerian Jihad, human

civilization went too far by completelybanning artificial intelligence. But inforbidding any sort of computers, wehumans denied ourselves valuable tools.That overreaction created an unstablesituation. History has shown that suchabsolute, draconian prohibitions cannotbe sustained."

Jessica said skeptically, "Yet eradicatingcomputers for so many generationsforced us to grow stronger and becomeindependent. For thousands of years,humanity advanced

without artificial constructions to thinkand decide for us."

"As the Fremen learned to live onArrakis," Chani said with clear pride. "Itis a good thing."

"Yes, but that backlash also tied ourhands and prevented us from reachingother

potentials. Just because a man's legs willgrow stronger by walking, should we

deny him a vehicle? Our memoryimproves through steady practice; shouldwe therefore deny ourselves the meansto write or record our thoughts?"

"No need to throw the baby out with thebathwater, to use one of your ancientclichés,"

Erasmus said. "I threw a baby off abalcony once. The consequences wereextreme."

"We didn't do without machines,"Duncan said, crystallizing his thoughts."We just redefined them. Mentats arehumans whose minds are trained tofunction like those of

machines. Tleilaxu Masters used femalebodies as axlotl tanks–flesh machinesthat

manufactured gholas or spice."

When Paul looked back at him, Duncanthought that the young man's face seemed

deeply old. Recovering from his pastlife had drained him even more than hismortal wound had. As a KwisatzHaderach himself, as Muad'Dib,Emperor, and blind Preacher, Paul

understood Duncan's dilemma better thanany human present. He nodded slightly."No one can choose for you, Duncan."

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Duncan let his eyes take on a far-offglaze. "We can do much, much more. Isee it now.

Humans and machines cooperating fully,with neither side enslaving the other. Ishall stand between them, as a bridge."

The robot responded with genuineexcitement. "Now you see, KwisatzHaderach! You

have helped me to achieve understanding

along with you. You have shortened myway, too."

Erasmus's flowmetal body shifted like amechanical version of a Face Dancer,becoming

again the wrinkled body of the kindlyold woman. "My long quest is complete.At last, after thousands of years, Iunderstand so much." He smiled. "Infact, there is very little that interests meanymore."

The old woman walked over to wherethe still-transfixed Paolo lay, staringblankly

upward. "This failed, ruined Kwisatz

Haderach is an object lesson for me. Theboy paid the price of too muchknowledge." Paolo's unblinking eyesseemed to be drying out. He wouldprobably wither away and starve todeath, lost in the infinite maze ofabsolute prescience. "I don't want to bebored. So I ask you, Kwisatz Haderach,help me understand something I

could never truly experience, the lastfascinating aspect of humanity."

"A demand?" Duncan asked. "Or afavor?"

"A debt of honor." The old womanpatted his sleeve with a gnarled hand."You now epitomize the finest qualities

of man and machine. Allow me to dowhat only living beings can do. Guideme to my own death."

Duncan had not foreseen this. "You wantto die? How can I help you do that?"

The old woman shrugged her bonyshoulders. "All your lives and deathshave made you an expert on the matter.Look inside yourself, and you'll know."

Over the millennia since the ButlerianJihad, Erasmus had considereddistributing

backup copies of himself as Omnius haddone, but he had decided not to. Thatwould have made his existence far less

stimulating, and less meaningful. Afterall, he was an independent robot, andneeded to be unique.

Duncan saw that along with all the codesand commands that controlled the host of

thinking machines, he had received thelife-function commands that regulatedErasmus.

He could shut down the independentrobot as easily as Erasmus had shutdown all of the

Face Dancers.

"I am curious to see what lies on theother side of the great divide between

life and death." The robot looked atKhrone and the identical shape-shifterbodies strewn on the floor of thecathedral chamber.

But it wasn't as simple as flipping aswitch or sending a code. Duncan hadlived and

died over and over, and learned moreabout life and death than anyone. DidErasmus want him to understand whetheror not a robot could have a soul, nowthat the two of them had been inside eachother's mind?

"You want me to serve as a guide,"Duncan said, "not just an executioner."

"A fine way to put it, my friend. I thinkyou understand." The old woman lookedat him, and now her smile held a hint ofnervousness. "After all, Duncan Idaho,you have done this over and over again.But this is my first time."

Duncan touched her forehead. The skinwas warm and dry. "Whenever you'reready."

The old woman sat on the stone steps.Folding her hands in her lap, she closedher eyes. "Do you suppose I will eversee Serena again?"

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"I can't answer that." With a mentalcommand, Duncan activated one of thenew codes he possessed. From insidehis own mind, reaching down to touchhis own numerous death

experiences, he showed Erasmus whathe knew, even if he didn't entirelycomprehend it

himself. He wasn't certain the ancientindependent robot could follow.Erasmus would have to make his ownway. He and Duncan parted, both ofthem traveling on utterly separate

journeys.

The aged body slumped quietly on thesteps, and a long sigh flowed from theold

woman's lips. Her expression becameutterly serene... and then wentcompletely motionless, with the eyesstaring straight ahead.

In death, the robot's human shape held.

Where there is life, there is hope... or sothe old sayings tell us. But for the

truly faithful there is always hope, andit is not determined by either death

or life.

– Tleilaxu Master Scytale, My PersonalInterpretations of the Shariat

Out under the burned sky of Rakis,Waff's despair took him to a place asbleak and dry

as the devastated landscape around him.On a vitrified dune nearby, only one ofhis precious armored sandworms stirredwith the last flickerings of life, while theothers were already dead. He had failedhis Prophet.

The cellular modifications he had madewere insufficient, and he had neithersandtrout

specimens, nor the proper facilities to

create additional test worms. He felt thelast grains of sand slipping through thehourglass of his life. His body wouldn'tlast long enough for him to try again witha new line of the hybrid worms, even ifhe'd had the chance. Only the hope ofrestoring these sandworms to Rakis hadkept him from surrendering to thedamage in his

accelerated ghola body, but now he wasfalling apart.

Raising his fist to the sky and shoutinginto the dry, caustic air, he demandedanswers from God, though no mortal hadthe right to do so. He hammered hishands on the hard,

cracked ground and wept. His clotheswere dirty, his face smeared with sootyresidue.

Sprawled atop what had once beenmagnificent dunes lay the dead wormspecimens.

Truly, they symbolized the end of allhope.

Rakis was forever cursed, if even theProphet no longer wished to live there.

Then, as he huddled on the ground, Wafffelt a shudder from deep beneath thesurface.

The resonant vibration grew stronger,

and he looked up in wonder, blinking hisstinging eyes. The last dying wormtwitched, as if it, too, could sensesomething important happening.

With a thunderous crack in the thin,whistling air, a fissure raced across theglassy

ground. Waff stumbled to his feet andstared at the zigzag progress of thewidening split, hardly able tocomprehend what he was seeing.

Widening, jagged lines appeared likefine fractures in reinforced plaz struckby a hard blow. The dunes bucked andheaved as something emerged frombelow.

Waff staggered backward. At his feet thelast slumped sandworm stirred, as if towarn

the Tleilaxu Master that it was about toend its days–and that the man, too, wasabout to die.

A sequence of explosions erupted likesand geysers from deep beneath thedunes. The

crevices gaped wider, revealing formsstirring underground. As if in a wakingdream, he saw enormous ridges crustedwith stones and dust, huge behemothsrising in a cascade of sand.

Sandworms. Real sandworms–monsters

of the size that used to roam the desert inthe

days when this world was known asDune. A leg' end and a mystery reborn!

Waff stood transfixed, unable to believe,yet filled with awe and hope rather thanfear.

Were these survivors of the originalworms? How could they still be aliveafter the holocaust?

"Prophet, you have returned!" At first hesaw five of the gigantic sandworms, thena dozen emerging at once. All aroundhim the broken ground spawned moreand more.

Hundreds of them! The whole deadworld was like an immense egg,cracking open and

giving birth.

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Breaking free of their underground nest,the sandworms rampaged toward thedistant

encampment in the rubble of Keen. Waffsupposed they would swallow up Guriffand his

prospectors, devouring all of theGuildsmen.

The sandworms would make Rakis theirown again.

He reeled forward in ecstasy, his handsraised in joyous worship. "My gloriousProphet, I am here!" God's Messengerwas so great that Waff felt like aminuscule speck, hardly worth noticing.

His faith swelled again, and he saw thathis insignificant efforts on Rakis hadnever

mattered. Regardless of how hard he hadworked with the sandtrout, trying to seedthese dead dunes with enhanced worms,

God had His own plans–always Hisown plans.

He showed the way by producing aflood of life, like the wordlessrevelation of s'tori.

And Waff realized what he should haveknown all along, something everyTleilaxu

should have understood: If each of thesandworms spawned from God EmperorLeto II's great body actually contained apearl of the Prophet inside them–howcould the worms themselves not havebeen prescient? How could they nothave foreseen the coming of the Honored

Matres and the impending destruction ofRakis?

He clapped his hands in glee. Of course!The great worms must have envisionedthe

terrible Obliterator weapons.Forewarned that the surface of Rakiswould become a charred ball, somesandworms had been guided by Leto II'sprescience to tunnel deep and encystthemselves protectively far beneath thesands, perhaps kilometers down.

Away from the worst destruction.

This world can take care of itself, Waffthought.

Arrogant humans had always causedtrouble here. When it was a pristinedesert planet,

Rakis was what it should have beenbefore human pride and ambitionterraformed it.

The efforts of outsiders to "improve"Dune had resulted in the apparentextinction of the great worms, until thedeath of Leto II brought them back. Afterwhich humans–the Honored Matres–hadwiped out the ecosystem again.

Rakis had been beaten, stepped on,raped... but in the end, the magnificentworld had

saved itself. The Prophet had remainedthere all along and contributed mightilyto the survival of Dune. Now all was asit should be, and Waff was immenselypleased.

Two giant sandworms churned towardthe Tleilaxu man, who stood transfixed.Plowing

through the crusted ground, the wormsscooped up the flaccid carcasses of theweak test worms, devouring them as ifthey were mere crumbs.

Overcome by joy, Waff fell to his kneesand prayed. At the last moment, helooked up

into the giant mouth, with its deep,simmering flames and crystalline teeth.He smelled the spicy exhalations.

Smiling beatifically, the Tletlaxu Masterlifted his face to heaven and exclaimed,"God, my God, I am yours at last!" Withthe speed and fury of a crashing GuildHeighliner, the worm descended. Waffinhaled a deep, satisfying breath of spiceand closed his eyes in

rapture as the monster's cavernous mouthengulfed him.

Waff became one with his Prophet.

Life is about determining what to donext, from moment to moment. I've

never been afraid of making decisions.

– Duncan Idaho, A Thousand Lives

Through the broken cathedral's highdome, a preoccupied Duncan saw thesky flicker

like a pattern changing in akaleidoscope. A wealth of vesselsappeared side by side, pulled along bythe returning Navigator-controlledHeighliners.

Even before the signal came to him,Duncan sensed that someone veryspecial was

aboard one of the newly arrived ships.

His expanded mind showed him herface, very little changed after all theseyears.

Murbella!

Some past part of him was terrified atthe prospect of being near her again, buthe was so much more than that now. Hewas eager to see her.

A thousand Navigator-factionHeighliners hovered over Synchrony,uncertain of their

role, now that the Oracle was gone.Using his newly acquired abilities,Duncan communed with them all in acommon-denominator language. The

Navigators would understand him in

their own way, as would the thinkingmachines and the humans. Duncan barelytouched on

his enhanced knowledge to do so.

Important changes. Necessary changes.

The human ships sent lighters down.Looking up through the dome's skylightsDuncan

saw the glints trailing through the skyand knew that Murbella would be withthem. She

would come down first, and he would

see her again. Almost twenty-fiveyears... a mere tick on the eternal clock,yet it had seemed an eternity all its own.He waited for her.

But the woman who entered the vaultedhall was Sheeana, worn and weary fromher

fighting out in the machine city. Her eyeswere full of questions as she took in theblood on the floor, the smashed sentinelrobots, the supine bodies of the Baronand glassy-eyed Paolo.

Just by looking at the four young gholasSheeana could tell that Paul and Chanihad their memories back.

She noticed the motionless body of theold woman slumped on the stairs andrecognized

her. Speaking through Sheeana's mouth,the inner voice of Serena Butler lashedout.

"Erasmus killed my innocent–theinnocent baby. He was the oneresponsible for–"

Duncan cut her off. "I didn't hate him inthe end. I think I pitied him more. Itreminded me of when the God Emperordied. Erasmus was flawed, arrogant, andyet oddly innocent,

guided only by insatiable curiosity... but

he didn't know how to process what healready understood."

Sheeana stared down, as if expecting theold woman's eyes to snap open and aclawlike

hand to grab her. "Erasmus is reallydead, then?"

"Completely."

"And Omnius?"

"Gone forever. And the thinkingmachines are no longer our enemies."

"Do you control them, then? Have theybeen defeated?" Wonder shone on her

face.

"They are allies... tools... independentpartners more than slaves, and sodifferent. We have a whole newparadigm to grapple with, and a lot ofnew definitions to make."

Frank Herbert

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293

***

When Murbella and a party ofGuildsmen and Sisters were ushered intothe chamber by

courier drones, Duncan set all questionsaside and just stared at her.

She stopped in mid-step. "Duncan...you've hardly changed in more than twodecades."

He laughed at that. "I've changed morethan any instrument could measure." Allthe machines in the hall, in the wholecity, turned toward Duncan at thecomment.

He and Murbella embracedautomatically, uncertain of whether thiscontact would

rekindle their past feelings. But eachsensed the difference in the other. The

river of time had carved a deep canyonbetween them.

As he touched Murbella, Duncan felt abittersweet sadness to know how muchdamage

her addictive love had done to him.Things could never be the same betweenthem again,

especially now that he was the KwisatzHaderach. He also guided the thinkingmachines, but he was not their newevermind, not their new puppet master.He didn't even know how they couldexist without a controlling force. Theyhad to adapt or die, something humanshad done well for millennia.

From across the room, Duncanrecognized the spark in Sheeana's eyes–of genuine

concern rather than jealousy; no BeneGesserit would allow herself theweakness of jealousy.

In fact, Sheeana was such a staunch BeneGesserit that she had stolen the no-shipfrom

Chapterhouse and fled with her refugees,rather than abide by the changesMurbella had

forced on the Sisterhood.

He spoke to both women. "We have

freed ourselves from the traps we set foreach

other. I need you, Murbella–and you,Sheeana. And the future needs all of usmore than I can express." An infinitenumber of machine thoughts coursedthrough his mind, giving him the suddenawareness that countless human planetsneeded help that only he could provide.

With a thought, he dispatched theguardian robots out of the hall, marchingthem away

as if in a military exercise. Then hestretched his mind through the emptypathways of the tachyon net, and acrossthe universe. With his instantaneous

connection to all of the human defenderships once controlled by corrupted Ixianmachines, as well as the machine

battleships linked to Omnius'scommand–Duncan's command, now–hesummoned the vessels

to the former machine planet, draggingthem all simultaneously throughfoldspace. They

would all come here, to Synchrony.

"You, Murbella, were born free, trainedas an Honored Matre, and finally madeinto a Bene Gesserit so that you couldgather the loose ends. As you were asynthesis between

Honored Matre and Bene Gesserit, so Iam now a fusion between free mankindand thinking machines. I stand in bothdomains, understanding both, creating afuture where both can thrive."

"And... what are you, Duncan?" Sheeanaasked.

"I am both the ultimate KwisatzHaderach and a new form of theevermind–and I am

neither. I am something else."

Alarmed, Murbella glanced at Sheeana,then back at him. "Duncan! Thinkingmachines have been our mortal enemiessince before the Butlerian Jihad–more

than fifteen thousand years."

"I plan to untie that Gordian knot ofmisunderstandings."

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"Misunderstandings! Thinking machinesslaughtered trillions of human beings.The

plague on Chapterhouse alone wipedout–"

"Such is the cost of inflexibility and

closed-minded fanaticism. Casualtiesare so often unnecessary. HonoredMatres and Bene Gesserits, humans andthinking machines, heart and mind. Don'tour differences strengthen us rather thandestroy us?" The reality-expandingwealth of information Erasmus had givenhim was tempered by the wisdom he hadearned

through numerous lifetimes. "Ourstruggle has reached an end and awatershed." He flexed his hand, and hecould feel innumerable thinkingmachines out there listening, waiting."We have the power to do so muchnow."

Utilizing perfect prescient andcalculational knowledge, Duncan knewhow to bring

about an everlasting peace. Withhumanity and thinking machinesbalanced in the palm of his hand, hecould control them all and seize theirpowers, preventing them from makingfurther war. He could force cooperationamong the Navigator-factionHeighliners, the Ixian-modified ships,and the thinking-machine fleet.

With his developing prescience, heforesaw the joint future of humankindand thinking

machines–and how to implement it every

step of the way. Such breathtakingpower, greater than the God Emperor orOmnius combined. But power hadeventually corrupted Leto II.

How, then, could Duncan handle thiseven greater burden?

Even if Duncan Idaho acted for the mostaltruistic of reasons, there were bound tobe

dissenters. Would he eventually becorrupted, regardless of his goodintentions?

Would history remember him as an evenworse despot than the God Emperor?

Facing an avalanche of questions andresponsibilities, Duncan vowed to usethe lessons

of his numerous lifetimes for the benefitand survival of the human race andthinking

machines. Kralizec. Yes, the universehad indeed changed.

How terrible for a mother to bury herown daughter. There is no greater

pain, not even the Bene Gesserit Agony.Now I have had to bury my

daughter twice.

– Lady Jessica, Lament for Alia

Just one casualty among uncountedtrillions.

Later, as Jessica gazed sadly at the coldform of her daughter, she knew that onelittle girl did matter as much as all theothers. Each life had value, whether aghola child or a natural-born person.The titanic struggle that changed thefuture of the universe, the defeat of thethinking machines, and the survival ofthe human race seemed as nothing to her.She was completely preoccupied withpreparing Alia's body for burial.

As she touched the small pale face,stroking the forehead and wispy dark

hair, she

remembered her daughter. AnAbomination, Alia had been called: achild born with the full intelligence andgenetic memories of a Reverend Mother.It had come full circle now. In heroriginal lifetime, the little girl had killedBaron Harkonnen with the poison gomjabbar; later, as an adult and haunted bythe evil presence of the Baron, Alia hadtaken her own life, throwing herselfthrough a temple window high above thestreets of Arrakeen. Now the

reborn Baron had killed the reborn Alia,before she'd ever had the opportunity toreach the potential she deserved. It was

as if the two of them were foreverlocked in mortal combat, on a mythicalscale.

A tear rolled down Jessica's cheek withthe grace of a falling raindrop. Sheclosed her eyes and realized that she hadbeen frozen in the same position for along moment, caught up in memories.She hadn't even heard the visitorapproach her quarters.

"Is there any way I might help you, myLady?"

"Leave me. I want to be alone." Butwhen she saw that it was the somber Dr.Yueh, her demeanor softened. "I'm sorry,Wellington. Yes, come in. You can help

me."

"I don't wish to intrude."

With a wan smile she said, "You'veearned the right to be here."

For long moments the unlikely pair stoodtogether without speaking. Grateful justto

have him there, Jessica finally said,"Long ago when you were with us atCastle Caladan, I cared for you. Youalways kept your life private, and whenyou betrayed us, I hated you more than Ithought possible."

He hung his head. "I would throw myself

upon a knife ten thousand times if I couldtake back the deeds I've done and erasethe pain I've caused, my Lady."

"History can only move forward,Wellington, not backward."

"Oh? We've been dredged out of thedustbins of history, haven't we?"

On old Arrakis, the Fremen had made asolemn ritual of recovering a body'swater in a

deathstill and sharing it among the tribe.On Caladan, the tradition had been afuneral pyre or an ocean burial. Whilethe Ithaca wandered through space, theirdead had been ceremoniously ejected

into the void.

Using stain-free fabric from the no-ship'ssheets, they wrapped Alia's small, frailbody.

Here in the post-Omnius machine city,however, Jessica wasn't sure how bestto honor her daughter. "We don't reallyhave a funeral tradition anymore, so Idon't know what to do."

"We'll do what we must. The symbolsdon't matter, but the thought does."

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***

Long after the last echoes of the battle onSynchrony had died away and survivorsfrom

the no-ship ventured out to discover thenew face of the universe, Jessica andYueh joined Paul, Chani, and Duncan intheir own private funeral procession.Paul and Jessica carried the tinywrapped body out into the streets wherethe sandworms had caused so muchdamage,

where explosions in the battle againstthe Face Dancers had destroyed

countless structures.

"Such a tiny body... and so much lostpotential," Paul said. "I miss my sisterterribly, even though I didn't get to knowher this time as well as I would haveliked."

Duncan led the group, shunting aside hisother responsibilities for the time being.

"I don't remember the original little girl,but I remember the woman. She hurt meand loved me, and I loved herpassionately."

They didn't have far to walk. Jessica hadselected a particular broken tower, aslumped, thin pyramid that would serve

as an appropriate grave marker. Jessicaand Paul said their goodbyes during theprocession, so that when they reachedthe collapsed structure they

carried the girl inside through a lopsidedtrapezoidal opening, pushed debris asideto clear a space for her, and laid AliaAtreides on the smooth metal floor.

Then Jessica stood over the wrappedchild, saying another quiet farewell.Paul grasped

his mother's hand, and she squeezedback.

After a lingering, painful silence, sheturned and spoke to Duncan. "We've

done all we need to do."

"I'll take care of the rest," Duncan said.When they had withdrawn from thefallen pyramid, Duncan raised his hands,fingers splayed, and his face took on adistant expression.

The metalform buildings around thembegan to tremble and sway, growing andcurving. The remnants of the pyramidfolded around Alia's body andreinforced the walls, drawing polishedalloys from other structures. Like amagnificent crystal and quicksilvermonument, the ruined spire then roseheavenward. The rapidly growing towercrackled and clanged like mechanical

thunder as flowmetal streamed upward.

Its curves and angles were streamlined,its polished surfaces perfectly reflective.

Duncan guided the semisentientstructures with greater care and focusthan the

evermind ever had. When he wasfinished, he had created a tomb, amemorial, a work of art that wouldamaze anyone who looked upon it.

It left a mark on Synchrony that couldnever compare with the mark herdaughter's loss

left on Jessica's heart.

Some problems are best solved with anoptimistic approach. Optimism

shines a light on alternatives that areotherwise not visible.

– Sheeana, Reflections on the NewOrder

In the aftermath, the humans inSynchrony gradually began to believethat their race

would survive.

When Sheeana looked at Duncan, heseemed strangely distant, though that wasto be

expected. Often his gaze flicked fromside to side as if he were in a thousandplaces at once.

While Mother Commander Murbellacalled down lighters from her newlyarrived

battleships, and the Guild providedshuttles full of workers andadministrators to help consolidate thestrange city, Sheeana watched self-guided robots clean up remnants of thebloody duels in the cathedral chamber.

The Ithaca's refugees had taken shelterinside the torn-open ship. The vesselwould

never fly in space again, even if Duncanforced the living-metal docking cradle torelease the no-ship.

Courier drones and buzzing watcheyes,now personally directed by Duncan, ledcrowds

of people through the broken streets,summoning them to a meeting where theywould discuss the changed universe.Sheeana's renegade Bene Gesserits fromthe no-ship were uneasy about facing theformer Honored Matre Murbella.

But the Mother Commander had grownmuch wiser in the intervening quartercentury

since the schism. Years ago, had sheknown of Sheeana's plan to steal the no-ship, Murbella would have killed herrival outright. Sheeana wondered whatthe former Honored Matre

would think of all those years Duncanhad pined for her. Did Murbella stilllove him? For that matter, had she ever?

Reverend Mothers Elyen and Calissa leda weary and uneasy crowd into theenormous

cathedral hall. Guild crewmen from theships above also entered the chamber,Administrator Gorus among them. Heappeared drained, no longer in controlof anything, and remained

silent, following rather than leading hisfellow Guildsmen.

When they had settled into a low hum ofconversation approaching silence,Duncan

took his place in the center of thechamber where Omnius and Erasmushad once presided

over their thinking machines. He used noamplification system, yet his wordsresounded

through the hall.

"This fate, this grand culmination ofKralizec, is what we sought for so many

years." He swept his gaze over Sheeanaand the refugee Bene Gesserits. "Yourlong journey is at an end, for this is thenew heartland you dreamed of finding.The planet is yours now. Use the

remnants of Synchrony to form anentirely new Bene Gesserit order, yourbase far from

Chapterhouse."

The gathered Sisters were confused andastounded. Even Sheeana had not known

Duncan would propose this. "But this isthe heart of the thinking-machineempire!" cried Calissa. "The homeworldof Omnius."

"It's your homeworld now. Stake yourclaim and build your future."

Sheeana understood. "Duncan is exactlyright. Challenges strengthen theSisterhood.

The universe has changed, and webelong here, regardless of thedifficulties we may face.

Even the sandworms have come toSynchrony, burrowing deepunderground." She smiled.

Frank Herbert

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298

"They may reemerge when we leastexpect them. Someone has to keep an eyeon the restored Tyrant."

Beneath the hall, Sheeana thought shefelt the ground trembling, as from a great

behemoth moving under the foundations.Many robots had been destroyed ordamaged during the sandworm attack,but thousands more of the machinesremained perfectly functional.

Sheeana knew that the Bene Gesseritshere would have all the labor pool theycould possibly desire, if the machineswould work with them.

Murbella spoke up. "I shall return toChapterhouse. It will take some effort tospread news of the new reality." Shegazed at Sheeana. "Don't worry. Mycombined Sisterhood doesn't need to beat odds with your orthodox BeneGesserit base here. There have alwaysbeen many schools, many trains ofthought. In proper balance, rivalrypromotes strength and innovation–solong as we can avoid the acrimony ofconflict and mutual destruction."

Sheeana knew that Duncan would goback to Chapterhouse with Murbella, atleast for a

time. With his guidance, Murbella would

shepherd the reintroduction andintegration of superior technology into athriving society. If handled properly,Sheeana saw no reason for humans tofear cooperation with thinking machinesany more than they needed to fearreligion itself, or competition amongBene Gesserit elements. Any groupcould be dangerous if

managed improperly.

Sheeana, though, would remain here. Shesaw no point in going back. Addressing

Murbella, she said, "Even beforeHonored Matres destroyed Rakis, theBene Gesserit order made me thecenterpiece of a manufactured religion.

For decades I had to hide while theMissionaria spread myths about me. I letthe legend continue without me. Whatwould I

achieve if I stopped it now? So I say,leave it, if the thought comforts people.My place is on this planet."

She saw that Scytale was also in theaudience. The last of the TleilaxuMasters had, in the end, proved greatlyhelpful, fighting for instead of againstthem. "Scytale, will you remain with us?Will you join my new order here? Wecan use your knowledge and geneticexpertise.

We are, after all, founding a colony, and

we have only a few hundred people."

"I expect others from the outside willeventually join you," Murbella said.

The little Tleilaxu was surprised by theinvitation. "Of course I will stay. Thankyou.

My people have no other place now, noteven sacred Bandalong." He smiled atSheeana.

"Perhaps at your side I can accomplishsomething worthwhile."

Duncan walked among the Bene Gesseritrefugees. "You are gardeners layingdown

flagstones on our path of destiny. Manyof us will return to worlds we oncecalled home, but you will remain here."

With a warm feeling toward him,Sheeana touched Duncan's arm. Thoughstill flesh and

bone, and human, she knew he was farmore than that. And his words rang true.

"Thanks to you Duncan, my Sisters and Iare finally home."

The worst part of going back is that thepast is never exactly the way you

remember it.

– Paul Atreides, Notebooks of a Ghola

Back in the Old Empire, the lastChapterhouse defenders waited, tenseand alert, but

nothing changed for days. The machinewarships had not moved, and BasharJaness Idaho

had received no further word from theNavigator ships that had whisked theMother

Commander away. Fast scouts flittedback and forth from the hundred last-stand groupings, and the situation wasthe same along the entire front.

Waiting. No one knew what washappening.

Janess reacted with alarm and dismaywhen a large swarm of ships burst out of

foldspace in all sizes and configurations.Shouting into the commline, the basharrallied all of her functional defensivecraft that remained in orbit. At first shedid not recognize the configurations, butthen she saw that the newly arrivedcluster included smaller human andthinking-machine vessels that had beentowed along by the Holtzman engines ofgreat

Guildships.

"Identify yourselves!" Janess said to theunexpected armada.

On the bridge of her large battleship,returning home, Murbella smiled atDuncan.

"That is your–our daughter."

He raised his eyebrows and performedquick mental calculations. "One of thetwins?"

"Janess."

Murbella frowned slightly. "The otherone, Rinya, didn't survive the Agony. Iforgot you didn't know. Tanidia, themiddle one, is alive and well, assigned

with the Missionaria among the refugees.But we lost Gianne, our youngest–bornjust before I became a Reverend Mother.She died during the Chapterhouseplague."

Duncan steadied himself. How odd tofeel a blow of genuine grief to learn ofthe death

of two children he had never met. Hehadn't even known their names until now.

He tried to imagine what the youngwomen might have been like. AsKwisatz Haderach

and evermind, he could do many things...almost anything. But he couldn't bring

back his daughters.

Duncan studied Janess's features on thescreen: dark hair and round face fromhis own

genes, a petite figure, intense eyes, and ahard expression showing she wouldnever run from a challenge. A synthesisof himself and Murbella. He activatedthe commline himself. "Bashar JanessIdaho, this is Duncan Idaho, your father.I am with the Mother Commander."

Murbella leaned into the field of view."Stand down, Janess. The war is over.You have nothing to fear from us."

Janess seemed suspicious. "There are

thinking-machine ships with you."

"They are my ships now," Duncan said.

The female bashar did not flinch. "Howdo I know you're not Face Dancers?"

Murbella answered, "Janess, when westood against the thinking machines and

discovered that Ixians and Face Dancershad deceived us, you and I were ready tothrow away our lives in a final burst ofglory. Don't be so eager to die now thatwe finally have hope."

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The image of Janess stared at them fromthe viewing plate. Duncan was proud ofhis

daughter's caution. He said, "We will allmeet in the great hall of the Keep. Agood place for us to discuss the future."He smiled wistfully. "I never actuallysaw the inside of the Keep when I washere... I had to remain aboard the no-ship at all times."

Janess hesitated just a moment longer,then nodded curtly. "We will haveguards."

Duncan already missed his no-ship

comrades, but they had their own placesto go now,

important niches to fill. Paul and Chaniwould return to Arrakis, where they hadalways known they belonged. Jessicahad chosen Caladan, and she surprisedmany by asking Yueh to go with her. Andon Synchrony, Scytale's nullentropycapsule still contained a wealth of cells,a treasure chest of prizes.

Duncan had already decided on the firstrequest he would make of the TleilaxuMaster.

The turmoil and changes, therepercussions and adaptations wouldlast for decades, even centuries. He

would value the assistance and advice ofa great man. He needed Miles Teg at hisside again...

As the ship descended toward the maincity on Chapterhouse, Duncan knew hecould

never think of this world as home,despite the time he'd spent there. In hisgenetic incarnations he had experiencedmany places and known innumerablepeople. Duncan's developing

prescience, and his mental connection todecillions of eyes spread across thecosmos and linked through theevermind's tachyon net, made the entireuniverse his home now.

Now you begin to understand thefascinating obligation I helped you toassume, said a

familiar-sounding voice in his mind.Erasmus!

I could have made it much harder onyou, Kwisatz Haderach. Instead, Icooperated.

This is only an echo of me, an observer.You can access me as you like. Use my

knowledge like a databank. A tool. I amcurious to see what you will do.

"Are you haunting me now, like ademon?"

Consider me an advisor, but my researchcontinues. I will always be here to guideyou,

and I am confident you will not let medown.

"Like the witches' Other Memory, but farbigger, and more easily accessible."

You are here to serve both humans andthinking machines–and the future. It is allunder your command.

Duncan laughed softly to himself at thefriendly bantering between the two ofthem.

Though Erasmus was in a subservient

position, he still had a bit of humanlikepride,

even if he was only an echo, and anadvisor.

Entering the Keep, Duncan and Murbellamarched into the echoing great hall, sideby

side. Watcheyes followed them, alongwith a pair of sentinel robots. The robotsgreatly disturbed the people who waitedthere, but in the future humans must learnto set aside their fears andpreconceptions.

Without Omnius, the thinking-machineempire continued to function but without

a

unified mind or mission. Duncan woulddirect them, but he refused to simplycontinue the endless cycle ofenslavement. They had potential to bemore than tools or puppets, more thanjust a destructive force. Some of themachines were merely that, but moresophisticated robots and advisorymechanisms could grow and developinto something far superior. Erasmus

himself had become independent,developing a unique personality when hewas isolated from

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the homogenizing influence of theevermind. With so many thinkingmachines spread across so many planets,other prominent figures would arise ifgiven the opportunity. If guided. IfDuncan allowed them.

He had to achieve a balance.

The Mother Commander's imposingchair stood high and empty in front of asegmented

window that looked out on the arid,dying landscape. Janess stood to one

side, welcoming Murbella to the emptyseat, with nearly a hundred of the NewSisterhood's guards standing at high alertin the chamber. Though all of theinsidious Face Dancers had beenexposed and killed, Janess was notletting down her guard, and Duncan feltproud of his daughter.

She bowed formally. "MotherCommander, we are glad to have youback. Please, take

your place."

"It is no longer only my place. Duncan,your daughter has been raised in theBene

Gesserit ways, but she also made a pointof learning about you. She trainedherself to become the equivalent of aGinaz Swordmaster."

Thinking bittersweet thoughts about allhe had missed, Duncan formally shookhis

daughter's hand and found her grippleasingly strong. Until this moment theyhad been

strangers who shared a bond of bloodand patriotic allegiance. Their realrelationship was just beginning.

Murbella had fought a long and bloodybattle to combine the opposing forces of

the

Honored Matres and the Bene Gesserits,after which she had wrestled with thedisparate

groups of humanity to forge them intoone whole.

On an even larger scale, Duncan, throughhis newfound abilities, was shaping aneven

greater, farther reaching union.

Everything was woven together in atighter tapestry than history had everknown, and at last Duncan grasped theextent of his newfound strength. He was

not the first human in

history to possess great power, and hevowed not to forget what he had learnedas a pawn of the God Emperor, Leto II.

The human race would never forget thethousands of years under that terriblereign, and Duncan's comprehensiveracial memory held a roadmap thatshowed him where the pitfalls

were, thus enabling him to avoid them.The great Tyrant had suffered from aflaw he hadn't recognized. Weigheddown by his sense of terrible purpose,Leto II had isolated himself from hishumanity.

In contrast, Duncan clung to theknowledge that Murbella would be withhim, and

Sheeana, too. He could talk with hisdaughter Janess as well, and perhapseven his other surviving daughter,Tanidia. In addition, he had all thememories of great and loyal friends, ofdozens of loves, and a succession ofcomrades, wives, families, joys, andbeliefs.

Though he was the ultimate KwisatzHaderach with immeasurable power,Duncan had

known the best parts of being human.Life after life. He didn't need to feel

alienated and worried, when he could befilled with love instead.

But his would not be a conventional kindof love. His love needed to extend much

farther, to every living person, and tothinking machines. One form of sentientlife was not superior to the other. AndDuncan Idaho was greater than the fleshthat encompassed his body.

In a war, be watchful for unexpectedenemies and unlikely allies.

– Bashar Miles Teg, final log entries

More than a year had passed on Qelso.The unnatural desert continued to spread

as

sandtrout reproduced andcommandeered more and more of theplanet's water. Though their fight seemedhopeless, Var's commandos stoodagainst the forces that were killing theirenvironment.

Stilgar and Liet-Kynes did their best toassist in the struggle. Both desert-bredgholas felt that their more importantwork was to show the natives how theycould live in

cooperation with the encroaching desert,rather than fight it.

During the many months since the pair

had departed from the no-ship, the drysands had

extended much farther into thecontinental forests and plains. Var'scamp had moved time after time,retreating from the oncoming dunes, andthe desert kept following them. Thoughthey had killed dozens of sandwormsusing water cannons and moisturebombs, Shai-Hulud

was not so easily thwarted. The wormsgrew larger, despite all the efforts of theQelso commandos.

With the first faint light of dawn, Lietstepped out of his rock-walled sleepingchambers and stretched. Although he and

Stilgar were still teenagers, theyremembered being adults once andhaving wives. Among the commandowomen on Qelso, many would accepteither of

them as a husband, but Liet had not yetdecided when he could justify gettingmarried and fathering children. Maybehe would have another daughter, andname her Chani...

No matter how much Liet-Kynes workedto remake Qelso, it would never beDune. The

fertile landscape was giving way to drywaves of sand, but it would not be thesame.

Eons ago, had Arrakis been fertile? Hadsome forgotten superior civilization

transplanted sandtrout and sandwormsthere, much as Mother Superior Odradehad when she sent her Bene Gesserit toQelso? Perhaps it had been the Muadru,who left mysterious

symbols on rocks and cliffs, and incaves across the galaxy. Liet didn'tknow. His father might have beenintrigued by the mystery, but Lietconsidered himself more practical.

Preparing for the day's work, he lookedover at Stilgar, whose eyes had begun toturn

blue-within-blue. For years the peoplehere had stubbornly denied themselvesthe use of mélange, but Stilgar called it asacred reward from the desert, a giftfrom Shai-Hulud. He had small groupsharvesting spice for their own uses, andLiet knew that spice was like a velvetchain–pleasant enough, until one tried tobreak free of it.

Two chattering and flirtatious teenagegirls brought the men breakfast on a tray,

knowing what Stilgar and Liet preferredfor their morning meal. The girls werelovely, but so young.

Liet knew they saw only his youthfulbody, not knowing how many years he

carried in

his mind. At times like these, he trulymissed his wife Faroula, Chani's mother.

But that had been so long ago... Stilgar,however, remained the same. After they

finished their coffee and sweet cakes,Liet stood and clapped his friend on theshoulder.

"Today we will go out into the deepdunes and plant weather devices. Weneed better resolution to track thedesiccation patterns."

"Why do you obsess over details? Thedesert is the desert. It will always be hot

and dry, and here on Qelso it will keepgrowing." The former naib did not seeanything particularly tragic or wrongwith the dying ecosystem. To Stilgar, itwas the natural order of things. "Shai-Hulud continues to build his domain nomatter what you do."

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"The scientist pursues knowledge," Lietsaid, and his companion had no answerfor that.

Taking one of the small flyers the Ithaca

had left behind, he had gone to thenorthern

and as yet undamaged latitudes wherethe forests stood tall, the rivers flowed,and snowcaps crowned the mountains.Cities and towns still flourished in thevalleys and on the hillsides, though thepeople knew they would all be gonebefore long. Var's commandos were

poignantly reminded every day of howmuch they were missing, how much theyhad lost.

Stilgar did not see it.

The two friends, along with a group ofrugged volunteers, donned newly

manufactured

stillsuits and adjusted the fittings. Whenthe commandos marched into the opendesert, they walked in single file on thedunes. Liet had them practice the randomstutter-step that would not attract aworm. The yellow sun grew swiftlyhotter, reflecting off the granular sands,but they plodded onward, practicingtheir lives here. Far in the distance Lietsaw the rusty-brown smear of powderysmoke that indicated a spice blow, andhe thought he saw the rippling

tracks of a worm moving out there.

Stilgar shouted and pointed up at the sky.The desert men instinctively clustered

together in a defensive formation.

Hundreds of huge metallic shipssuddenly descended, made of angularplates bristling

with weapons and powered by enormousengines. The vessels looked like nothingLiet had

ever seen before. Enemy ships?

For a moment he hoped the Ithaca hadreturned with them, but these wereunlike the no-

ship and unusual in their formation,moving in a coordinated fashion. Theydropped

indiscriminately onto the open desert,scattering sand and flattening dunes.Their pilots seemed oblivious to the factthat the dull vibrations would attractsandworms. As Liet stood gaping at theships' sheer size, he had no doubt thattheir weapons could brush aside a wormattack as if it were no more than anuisance.

The dusty commandos looked to the twogholas for answers. Liet had none,though, and

despite the impossible odds, Stilgarappeared ready to attack, if need be.

With an ominous humming and clanking,the ships extended support struts and

raised

themselves on thick, powerful anchors.Then numerous doors began to open,turning loose an army of metal-skinnedmachines: heavy lifters, ground crushers,and excavators. Moving on treads, thelumbering self-guided behemothscrawled across the dunes. Behind themmarched ranks of heavyset metal robotsthat smashed forward like deadlywarriors... or were they workers?Helpers?

The commandos had only smallweapons. Some of the eager ones drewtheir projectile

launchers, dropped to their knees on the

soft sand, and took aim. "Wait!" Lietcried.

A hatch at the top of the largest landedship opened and a pale form emerged,stepping

out onto an observation platform. Ahuman form. When the man called downto them, his

voice echoed in an eerie chorustransmitted from thousands ofspeakerpatches on the lines of machineforces. "Stilgar and Liet-Kynes! Don't beso quick to declare yourselves ourenemies."

"Who are you?" Stilgar shouted

defiantly. "Come down here so that wemay speak to you face to face."

"I thought you would recognize me."

Liet did. "It's Duncan–Duncan Idaho!"

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Flanked by an honor guard of robots andaccompanied by a troop of humanworkers

wearing outfits that Liet did notrecognize, Duncan came down to stand

with them on the dunes.

"Liet and Stilgar, we left you here toface the onslaught of the desert. You saidthis was your calling."

"It is," Stilgar said.

"And the Jews? Are they here withyou?"

"They formed a sietch of their own. Theyare thriving and happy."

Duncan's honor guard stepped forward,women in black singlesuits and similarlygarbed

men who walked beside the females as

equals. One of the women wore insigniaand carried an air of command. Heintroduced her as his daughter Janess. "Iconfronted the Enemy, the thinkingmachines, and ended the war." Heextended his hands, and all of the robotworkers turned to face him. Theawesome ships themselves seemed to bealive and aware of every

move Duncan made. "I have found a wayto bring us all together."

"You surrendered to thinking machines,"Stilgar said, his tone acidic.

"Not at all. I decided to show myhumanity by not annihilating them. Inmany solar systems, they are building

great things, achieving impressive workson planets inhospitable to humans. Wework for the same purpose now, and Ihave brought them here to assist you."

"Assist us?" one of the commandos said."How can they help? They're justmachines."

"They are allies. You face aninsurmountable task. With as many robotcrews as you require, I can help youaccomplish what you need." Duncan'sdark eyes glittered, as he watched from amillion eyes all at once. "We can build abarrier against the desert, stop thesandtrout from spreading, and keep thewater on a portion of the continent. Shai-

Hulud will have his domain, while therest of Qelso remains relativelyunscathed. Humans can have their livesand slowly learn to adapt to the desert,but only if they choose to."

"Impossible," Liet said. "How can aforce of worker robots stand against thetide of the desert?"

Duncan flashed a confident smile. "Don'tunderestimate them–or me. I fill theroles of both Kwisatz Haderach andOmnius. I guide all the factions ofhumanity and control the

entire Synchronized Empire." Heshrugged, and smiled. "Saving oneplanet is well within the scope of my

capabilities."

Liet couldn't believe what he washearing. "You can stop the desert andturn back the worms?"

"Qelso will be both desert and forest, asI am both human and machine." At agesture and a thought from Duncan, themassive excavating equipment rumbledout into the sand,

heading toward the boundary where thedunes met the still-living landscape.

Liet and Stilgar followed Duncan, whowalked ahead of the heavy convoy. As a

planetologist, a ghola, and a human

being, Liet had innumerable questions.But for now, watching the machinesbegin their work, he decided to wait andsee what the future held.

When Leto II envisioned his GoldenPath, he foresaw the direction that

humankind should tale, but he hadblind spots. He failed to see that he was

not the ultimate Kwisatz Haderach.

– Bene Gesserit fact-finding commission

In the eleven years Jessica had beenback home, she had realized more andmore that

some things did not add up. This planetmight indeed be Caladan, or Dan, butthis was not the same home she and herDuke had loved so long ago.

On a stormy evening, as she walkedthrough the restored castle, theincongruous details finally became morethan she could bear. Pausing in an upperhallway, she opened a finely carvedelaccawood cabinet, an antique thatsome decorator had placed there.

This time, she stood staring at the ornateinterior, and on impulse pressed awooden

extrusion in one corner. To her surprise,a panel opened, and inside she found a

small blue statuette of a griffin. Perhapsplaced there by the Baron ghola, thegriffin was the ancient symbol of HouseHarkonnen. He must have hidden it thereas a clever reminder of the

falseness of the castle.

As she stared at the statuette, feeling thewrongness of the object, she consideredall of her hard work since returning toCaladan. She had directed crews oflocal laborers to

dismantle the Baron's torture devicesand the Face Dancer Khrone's offensivelaboratories from the undergroundchambers. Through it all she had workedside by side with the cleaning teams,

sweating and angry as she scrubbedaway every stain, every odor, every hintof the unwanted presence. But CastleCaladan still reeked with reminders.

How could she make a fresh start whenso much of the past–at least thisawkward, out-

of-focus echo of the past–hung allaround her?

Behind her, moving silently, Dr. Yuehsaid, "Are you all right, my Lady?"

She looked at the Suk doctor. He worean expression of deep concern on hisbuttery

face; his dark lips turned downward ashe waited for an answer.

"Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of theBaron." She frowned at the griffinfigurine in her hand. "Some of thearticles in this castle are authentic, suchas that dropleaf desk with the hawkcrest, but most are bad copies."

Making up her mind, Jessica stepped toa segmented window at the end of thehall and

swung it open to let in the stormy nightair. In a dramatic gesture, she hurled thegriffin figurine out to the crashing sea.The waves would soon erode it andbreak it into

unrecognizable pieces. A suitable fatefor the Harkonnen icon.

A cold, wet wind whispered into thehall, bringing spatters of rain. Outside,scudding

clouds parted to reveal a crescent moonon the horizon, casting cold yellow lighton the water.

Moments later she tore down a walltapestry that she had never liked, andwas about to

throw that out the window, too, but–notwanting to spoil this beautiful planet–sheinstead tossed the tapestry on the floor,promising herself to cast it on the trash

heap the following morning. "Maybe Ishould just tear this whole place down,Wellington. Can we ever remove thetaint?"

Yueh was shocked at the suggestion. "MyLady, this is the ancestral home of House

Atreides. What would Duke Leto–"

"This is a mere reconstruction, fraughtwith errors." A gusting breeze blew herbronze hair away from her face.

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"Maybe we waste too much time tryingto recreate what we see in our oldmemories,

my Lady. Why not build and decorateyour home as you choose?"

She blinked as cold rain blew into herface, drenching her jade green dress andwetting the rug. "I thought this placewould help my Leto, give him comfort,but maybe it was more for me than forhim."

A ten-year-old boy with coal-black haircame running down the hall, his smokegray

eyes widening with excitement and

alarm when he saw the open window.He was even more

surprised when neither Jessica nor Yuehreacted to the blowing rain that drenchedthe rugs and tapestries. "What'shappening?"

"I was considering moving somewhereelse, Leto. Would you like me to find usa

normal home in the village? Maybe we'dbe happier down there, away from thispampered

life."

"But I like this castle! It's a Duke's

castle." Jessica could not think of herLeto as a child.

He wore fishing dungarees and a stripedshirt, just like the ones he had wornwhen Jessica had first come to Caladanas a concubine purchased from the BeneGesserit. The young nobleman had put aknife to her throat that day, a bluff...Yueh smiled. "A Duke... Such titles nolonger mean anything with the Imperiumlong gone. Do the people of Caladaneven need a Duke

anymore?"

Jessica's reaction was automatic, makingher realize she had not thought throughher

notion. "The people still need leaders,no matter what title we use. And we canbe good leaders, as House Atreides hasalways been in the past. My Leto will bea good Duke."

The boy's eyes glittered as he listenedwith rapt attention. Beyond his youthfulfeatures, Jessica could see the seeds ofthe man she loved. This young Atreideswas among the first of a new generationof gholas produced by Scytale. The babyhad been shipped to Caladan andchristened there–just as the original Paulhad been.

Since leaving Synchrony, Jessica andYueh had struggled to recover here,

endeavoring

in the process to bring back a degree ofglory to the quiet water world. Thetangled threads of their initial and gholalives made them ironic allies, twopeople with shared tragedies and sharedpasts. Finally, though he could neverhave his beloved Wanna back, Yueh hadfound some measure of peace.

Jessica, though, knew that her true Dukewaited for her. Eventually he wouldgrow to

manhood. When he got his memoriesback, his physical age would not matter.

Jessica's partnership with Leto would be

unusual, but no stranger than therelationships of all the mismatchedgholas that had grown up on the no-ship.As a Bene Gesserit, she could slow herown aging process, and with mélangereadily available from the operations on

Chapterhouse, Buzzell, and Qelso, theycould both enjoy extended lives.

She would prepare Leto, and when thetime was right, she would help triggerhis true

awakening. Miraculously, he would onceagain be the man she loved, with all histhoughts and memories.

She only had to wait a decade or two.

As a Bene Gesserit, she could bepatient.

Jessica grasped his small hand. Thistime there would be no political reasonto prevent them from getting married, ifthat was what he wanted, and shewanted. It only mattered to her that theywould be together again.

"Everything will be the same when youfinally remember, Leto. And everythingwill be different."

The future is around all of us, and itlooks very much like the past.

– Mother Superior Sheeana, at thefounding of the Orthodox School on

Synchrony The mangled and permanentlygrounded Ithaca had become the newheadquarters

building for Sheeana's splinter group.Innovative human architects inconjunction with

construction robots had remodeled thelarge vessel into a unique and imposingheadquarters.

The navigation bridge, the highest deckon the no-ship, had been opened up andconverted into an observation tower.

Mother Superior Sheeana stared acrossthe breathtaking, rebuilt city ofSynchrony.

Dipping into her deep reservoir ofmemories, she drew parallels to one ofthe original Bene Gesserit schools onWallach IX, which had also beenfounded in an urban setting.

Here many of the machine spiresremained, and some even moved as theyhad before,

processing materials in automatedindustries.

Years ago, Duncan and the willingmachines had helped her reconstruct theunusual

metropolis, though he balanced his"miraculous" work with the necessity of

letting the humans achieve their ownsuccesses. He and Sheeana knew thedangers of letting people

grow too soft, and he had no intention ofallowing them to rely on him for thingsthey could do for themselves.Humankind needed to solve its ownproblems as much as possible.

At the same time, clusters of thinkingmachines had begun to grow apart, given

manageable goals, inhabiting nichesunbearable to humans: blasted planets,frozen asteroids, empty moons. Thegalaxy was a vast place, and so little ofit was suitable for biological life.

There would be more lebensraum thanany empire could possibly need.

Some of the robots had started showingtraits of personalities, unique charactersof their own. Duncan suggested that, intime, these could eventually becomesome of the greatest thinkers andphilosophers history had ever known.Sheeana remained unconvinced of this,and vowed that her special trainees herewould prove him wrong with their ownsuperior achievements.

Every month fresh candidates came tojoin the orthodox Bene Gesserit centeron

Synchrony, while others joined

Murbella's New Sisterhood onChapterhouse. Surmounting

early difficulties, the two orders nowworked in harmony with one another.Sheeana and her stricter ways attracted adifferent sort of acolyte, which she knewwould have pleased Garimi.

Sheeana tested the applicants harshlyand rejected all but the most acceptable.Far away, Murbella's order had its ownattractions. In this new universe, therewas plenty of room for both views.

Sheeana's conventional Bene Gesseritbreeding program was in full swingnow, and it

warmed her heart to see so manypregnant women each day. She countedseven of them

outside among the people leaving andentering the headquarters. The sight gaveher

confidence that her order would expandand continue into humanity's future.

Later that day, the Tleilaxu MasterScytale contacted Sheeana on thenavigation bridge

that had become her center ofoperations. Transmitting from one of hisSynchrony

laboratories, he actually soundedcheerful now instead of harried. "Ifinished cataloguing the remaining cellsand sifted out all traces of Face Dancercontamination. We must introduce someof those traits into the Bene Gesseritagain."

"After Duncan, we will breed no furtherKwisatz Haderachs. It's not even amatter for discussion." As far as she wasconcerned, many things did not need tooccur again... "I merely

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mean to preserve our knowledge. It'slike finding the seeds of long-forgottenbut beautiful plants. We shouldn't justdiscard them."

"Perhaps not, but we must set up strictfail-safe mechanisms."

Scytale did not seem bothered by therestrictions Sheeana was placing on him."I

honestly feel that the Tleilaxu race willrecover their lost knowledge." Quicklyhe added,

"With changes for the better, of course."

"For the advancement of humankind,"

Sheeana said.

She had never known him to work sohard. Scytale had used the cells in hisnullentropy

capsule to regrow gholas of the lastTleilaxu Council, and now the little onesfollowed him everywhere, reminding herof a mother duck trailed by ducklings.

Scytale raised the group in a mannerdifferent than was traditional forTleilaxu males. In separate quarters, hewas also raising Tleilaxu females–fromnewly discovered cells–though theywould never be relegated to the horrific,degrading conditions their predecessorshad endured. Never again would

Tleilaxu females be forced to becomeaxlotl tanks, so there

would be no chance of creating anotherset of ferocious, vengeful enemies likethe Honored Matres. In particular,Sheeana and her Sisters would monitorthe council members closely, keepingwatch to ensure that they did not corruptthe Tleilaxu people as they had before.

There were still axlotl tanks, of course–some women volunteered for personalreasons,

while others left instructions for theirbodies to be converted in the event ofserious accidents.

As always, the Bene Gesserits met theirown needs.

After she ended the conference withScytale, the Mother Superior gazedthrough the

broad windows of the navigation bridge.Far away on the horizon, beyond theredefined

boundaries of the gleaming city, theground was churned and torn up, andmany of the

geometric structures built by Omnius laytoppled and crushed into rubble.

She adjusted one of the windows,

increasing its magnification. From thisvantage point

she could see the new desert and one ofthe sandworms rising up from the debris,its eyeless head questing about. Then thecreature smashed down hard, breakingpart of a wall. Like huge, determinedearthworms churning the soil, they hadbegun the process of converting theabandoned buildings into the desert theypreferred.

Soon, Sheeana thought, she would goand speak to them again.

She looked down at the little girl at herside and grasped her small hand.Perhaps one

day she would even take her protégéewith her, the young ghola of SerenaButler.

It was never too early to start preparingSerena for her role.

The desert has a beauty I could notforget in a thousand lifetimes.

– Paul Muad'dib Atreides

Bathed in the golden rays of sunset, twofigures made their way along the crest ofa

dune, their steps irregular so that theydid not attract the huge sandworms. Thepair walked side by side, inseparable.

It was warm on Dune, but not like oldtimes. Because of the severe damage tothe

environment, the weather had cooled andthe atmosphere had thinned. But with thereturn of the worms, along with sand-plankton and sandtrout bursting throughthe cracked shell of glassy dunes, the oldplanet had begun to come back. AsChani's father Liet-Kynes used to say,everything on Dune was tied together, anentire ecosystem that included the land,the available water, and the air.

And, thanks to Duncan Idaho, anextensive work force of hardenedmachines continued

the excavation process in latitudeswhere the sandworms had not yetreturned. Methodically, the mechanicalarmy prepared the old sand section bysection, opening the way for worms toexpand their territory. Massive plantingand fertilization work performed bypowerful

thinking-machine tractors and excavatorshad stabilized the seared ground,establishing a new biomatrix, whilePaul's hardy settlers monitored thegrowth and did their own workalongside.

Through his wide-reaching thoughts,Duncan made sure the thinking machines

understood

what Dune had once been, beforeoutsiders meddled with its ecosystem.Misused technology had devastated thedesert planet, and now technology wouldhelp bring it back.

Paul stopped a hundred meters from thenearest rock formation, where a workcrew had

found the ruins of an abandoned sietch.With a small group of determinedsettlers, he and Chani had beensalvaging the Fremen habitat with theirown hands. Reclaiming the old ways.

In bygone days, he had been the

legendary Muad'Dib, leading a Fremenarmy. Now he

was content to be a modern-day Fremen,a leader of 753 people who hadestablished austere homes in the rocks,which were on the way to becomingthriving sietches. Paul and Chani flewout regularly with survey crews.Instilled with fresh optimism, he saw themagnificent potential for Dune. Near theexcavated sietch, he had discovered anunderground grotto that he and hisfollowers planned to irrigate andartificially illuminate, to support aplanting project for grasses, tubers,flowers, and shrubs.

Enough to support a small population ofnew Fremen, but not enough to shift thedesert

ecosystem that the new worms wererecreating, year after year.

One day, he might even ride the greatworms again.

Paul turned to see the pale yellowsunrise appearing over the ocean ofsand. "Dune is reawakening. Just as weare."

Chani smiled, seeing both her belovedUsul of memory and the ghola she hadgrown up

with. She loved each Paul for himself.Her abdomen protruded just a little,where their growing baby was beginningto show its presence. In five months, itwould be the first child born on therecently resettled planet. In her secondlifetime Chani did not need to worryabout Imperial schemes, hiddencontraceptives, or poisoned food. Herpregnancy would be normal, and thechild–or children, if they were againblessed with twins–would have greatpotential, without the curse of terriblepurpose.

Chani, even more in touch with theweather than he was, turned her face intoa cool

breeze. The sunrise began to show a newrichness of coppery colors from duststirred into the air. "We'd better get backto the sietch, Usul. A storm is brewing."

Frank Herbert

Sandworms of Dune

310

He watched her glide forwardgracefully, her red hair blowing behindher. Chani sang

the walking song of lovers on the sand,her words lilting beautifully and in astutter rhythm, like the cadence of herfeet:

"Tell me of thine eyes

And I will tell thee of thy heart.

Tell me of thy feet

And I will tell thee of thy hands.

Tell me of thy sleeping

And I will tell thee of thy waking.

Tell me of thy desires

And I will tell thee of thy need."

When they were halfway back to therocks, the wind picked up. Blowing sandstung

their faces. Paul held onto Chani, doinghis best to shelter her with his own bodyagainst the abrasive wind.

"Yes, a fine storm is brewing," she said,as they finally reached the sietchentrance and hurried inside. "Acleansing one." In the low light of aglowglobe, exhilaration flushed herfeatures.

Catching her by the arm, Paul spun heraround and wiped sand from around hereyes

and mouth. Then he drew her close andkissed her. Chani seemed to melt into hisarms,

laughing. "So you have finally learnedhow to treat your wife!"

"My Sihaya," he said as he held her, "Ihave loved you for five thousand years."

Document OutlineTwenty-One Years After Escapefrom ChapterhouseTwenty-Two Years After Escapefrom ChapterhouseTwenty-Three Years After Escapefrom ChapterhouseTwenty-Four Years After Escapefrom Chapterhouse