Dune: The Butlerian Jihad (72 page)

Freed at last, the worm dove under the sand, burrowing deep, as if searching for the source of the melange. Selim flailed in the flowing dust and dirt, trying to keep on the surface of the churning dune. The sandworm charged onward like a projectile fired deep into the ground. A spume of sand and spice erupted in its wake, covering everything in sight with a thick layer of rusty grit.

Selim came up gasping. The cloying smell made him dizzy, and he spat out cinnamon sweetness. His face and clothes were covered with sticky spice. He smeared his eyes clear, but only drove the stinging powder deeper.

He finally stood on swaying feet, checking his arm, shoulder, ribs, making certain that no bones had been broken. He seemed miraculously unscathed— another miracle for him.

And another cryptic lesson Buddallah wanted to teach him.

Under the moonlight, all the soft and creamy dunes looked stained with blood, spice thrown in all directions as if by the antics of a capering demon. He had never seen so much in his life.

Lost out here in the open, far from his sanctuary station, Selim began to trudge through the sands. He searched the smooth ground until he found his fallen equipment, a metal spear and a spreader half buried in the sand. If another worm came, he must be ready to mount it.

As he walked, the spice seemed to penetrate him with every step and breath. His eyes had already turned the dark blue of addiction— he had seen it in the reflecting panels back in the botanical research station— but now the melange
engulfed
him. His head began to swim.

Selim finally reached the top of the dune but didn’t even realize it until he had slipped over the crest and tumbled down the loose sand, rolling, scouring the clinging melange from his clothes, his skin. The world around him shifted, opened . . . and revealed its wondrous mysteries. “What is this?” he said aloud, the words echoing in his head.

The dunes shifted like whitecaps on a forgotten sea, swelling, rising, crashing into powder. Worms swam through the parched ocean, enormous denizens like giant predatory fish. Veins of spice flowed with the lifeblood of the desert, hidden beneath the surface, enriching the strata, tended by a complex ecosystem— sandplankton, gelatinous sandtrout . . . and of course the worms, known collectively as
Shai-Hulud
. The name thrummed within his skull, and it felt right. Not Shaitan, but Shai-Hulud. Not the term for a creature, not a description, but the name of a being. A god. A manifestation of Buddallah.

Shai-Hulud!

Then in his vision he saw the spice draining away, vanishing, stolen by parasites that looked like . . . like the starships he had seen in the Arrakis City Spaceport. Workers— offworlders and even Zensunni— scoured the dunes, stealing the melange, taking the treasure of Shai-Hulud and leaving him to suffocate in a dry and lifeless sea. Heavily laden ships departed, stealing the last grains of spice, leaving the people there with their hands outstretched, beseechingly. Soon, immense desert storms swept across the land, stirring up sand and raining it from the sky, like an overwhelming flood inundating the people and the sandworm carcasses. Nothing lived anywhere on the planet. Arrakis became nothing more than a bowl of sand, unstirred and sterile.

Without worms, without people . . . without melange . . .

Selim found himself sitting cross-legged atop a dune under the baking sun of midday. His skin was red and raw, burned from exposure. His lips were cracked. How long had he been there? He felt a terrible suspicion that it had been more than a day.

He struggled to his feet. His arms and legs were as stiff as rusty hinges. Spice powder still clung to his clothes and face, but it no longer seemed to affect him. He had seen too much in his vision, and the nightmarish possibilities had burned most of the melange from his system.

Selim swayed, but kept his balance. The wind whispered around him, stirring feathers of dust from the dune crests. Empty and silent . . . but not dead. Unlike his vision.

Melange held the key to Arrakis, to the sandworms, to life itself. Even the Zensunni did not know all the interconnected webs, but Buddallah had revealed the secret to Selim. Was this his destiny?

He had seen offworlders taking the spice, carrying it far from Arrakis, bleeding the desert world dry. Perhaps he had seen a true vision of the future, or only a warning. Naib Dhartha had driven him out into the sands to die, but Buddallah had saved him for a reason . . . for this?

To protect the desert and the worms? To serve Shai-Hulud? To find the offworlders who would steal the melange from Arrakis?

He had no choice, now that God had touched him. He must find those people— and stop them.

A
s the
Dream Voyager
approached the Gamma Waiping star system and Salusa Secundus, Serena Butler swelled with eagerness and relief to be back home, oscillating between her deep desire to see Xavier Harkonnen again and her dread of what she must tell him.

Startling her, a small maintenance drone moved out of its alcove on a preprogrammed check-path, scuttling under control panels and oblivious to the new masters of the
Dream Voyager
. Serena saw the little robot and suddenly focused her anger. Snatching up the small machine by a leg, she hurled it against the metal deck.

The red drone squirmed, automatically trying to avoid further damage, but Serena smashed it until its casing broke open, oozing gelcircuitry fluid like blood onto the floor. With a final twitch, its components fell still.

“If only destroying all thinking machines could be that simple,” she said grimly, imagining Erasmus lying there destroyed instead of the hapless maintenance drone.

“It will be simple enough, if we can mobilize the willpower of the human race,” said Iblis Ginjo.

Though Iblis had tried to console her during the long flight, Serena actually found herself confiding more in Vorian. She’d had several weeks now to work through her shock and grief, and her conversations with the sympathetic young man had in some measure helped. Vor was a good listener. Iblis asked many questions about the nobles, the League Worlds, the politics, while Vor paid more attention to the people Serena wanted to talk about: her son, her parents, her sister Octa, and especially Xavier.

When Serena spoke of Xavier Harkonnen, Vor realized with a start that Xavier had been the League military officer who had stood against the
Dream Voyager
when he and Seurat tried to exchange the Omnius update on Giedi Prime. “I . . . look forward to meeting him,” Vor said in a voice that held no enthusiasm at all.

Serena had told them about her impetuous and ill-advised plan to restore the shield-transmitting towers on Giedi Prime, when League politics had caused excuses and delays.

“At least thinking machines don’t have such bureaucracy,” Iblis said. “You risked a great deal, knowing how cumbersome and conservative your government must be.”

Serena smiled wistfully, showing a hint of her lost strength. “I knew Xavier would come. He would find a way.”

Though Vor found it painful, he listened while she talked about how much she still loved Xavier, describing the betrothal celebration at the Butler estate, the bristleback hunt, her humanitarian work in the League. She told stories about Xavier’s military prowess, his work shoring up the defenses of other human worlds, and his desperate action during the cymek attack on Zimia that had saved Salusa Secundus.

Uncomfortable, Vor remembered the completely different versions of such stories he had heard from his father. Agamemnon did not recall the defeat in the same terms . . . but now Vor knew that the cymek general was prone to lying, or at least to wild exaggeration. He could no longer believe anything his father said.

“Still,” Serena said, hanging her head, “I allowed myself to be captured and my crew to be killed by Barbarossa. I am entirely to blame for placing myself in danger at Giedi Prime, not even knowing that I carried Xavier’s child. And I shouldn’t have taunted Erasmus, pushed him.” She shuddered. “I underestimated his capacity for cruelty. How can Xavier ever forgive me? Our son is dead.”

Iblis tried to comfort her. “Vorian Atreides and I will tell the League of Nobles how the machines treat their slaves. No one will ever blame you.”

“I blame myself,” she said. “There’s no way around it.”

Vor longed to help her, but was not sure what to say or do. When he touched her arm gently, she turned away. Vor could not help it that he wasn’t the man she wanted beside her right now.

He envied this mysterious Xavier Harkonnen and wanted to earn his own place in Serena’s heart. He had abandoned his father, turned from everything he had known in the Synchronized Worlds, betrayed the Titans and Omnius. Even so, he had no right to ask for any emotional payment in return.

“If your Xavier is the man you believe he is, then surely he will welcome you back home with compassion and forgiveness?”

Seeing Vor’s expression, Serena said more calmly, “Yes, he is capable of that— but am
I
the person he believed I was?”

Yes, and more
, Vor thought, but did not say so aloud.

“You’ll be home before long,” he said, seeing Serena’s expression glow with a new life. “I’m sure it’ll be all right, as soon as you are with him again. And if you ever need anyone else to talk to, I . . .” His voice trailed off to an awkward silence.

As the hijacked update ship approached Salusa Secundus, the fabled world that epitomized free humanity, he gazed down at the green continents, the blue seas, the wispy clouds in the atmosphere. His doubts faded, and though his heart ached, his hopes grew higher. Truly, it looked like a paradise.

Iblis Ginjo peered through a viewing window. His mind seemed to be racing with possibilities. But he sat up abruptly in alarm. “We have a reception committee! Looks like fast combat ships!”

“The picket line must have detected us when we entered the system,” Serena said. “Those are ground-launched kindjals, from bases in Zimia.”

As the fast and maneuverable Salusan Militia fighters surrounded the
Dream Voyager
, they bombarded the update ship with threats and instructions. “Enemy ship, surrender and prepare to be boarded.” Several warning explosions rippled across their bow.

Vor made no threatening move, remembering how similar ships had already damaged the vessel at Giedi Prime. “We are humans who escaped from Omnius, and wish to land in peace,” he transmitted. “We’ve stolen this ship from Earth.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard that one before,” said one of the kindjal pilots. Vor realized that he had used such a ruse himself. “Why shouldn’t we just turn you into a cloud of space dust?” The kindjals flew close, arming their weapons.

“It may interest you to know that we have Serena Butler aboard, the daughter of the League Viceroy.” Vor gave a grim smile. “Her father would not be pleased if you blew us into space dust. Neither would Xavier Harkonnen, since his fiancée has been through so much just to come back to him.”

Determined, Serena took the communication controls. “It’s true. This is Serena Butler. Since this is a robot ship, please deactivate the scrambler shields to allow us safe passage, then escort us to Zimia. Inform the Viceroy and Tercero Harkonnen to meet us at the spaceport.”

The long silence that hung on the channel told Vor that a furious debate must be occurring on private lines. Finally, the squadron commander said, “
Segundo
Harkonnen is out on patrol and will not return for two days. Viceroy Butler is already on his way with an honor guard. Follow me— and do not deviate from the path.”

Vor acknowledged, then took a deep, concerned breath. Now he had to fly with his own guidance skills and no assistance from the onboard gelcircuitry computers. The vessel’s own cooperative guidance and automated response systems had always aided him in the event of an emergency. “Serena, Iblis— both of you strap in and hold on.”

“Is there a problem?” Iblis asked, seeing Vor’s uneasiness.

“Only that I’ve never done this before.”

The
Dream Voyager
rocked in turbulence as it passed through high winds and a thin cloud cover, until it broke through into clear sky. The kindjals paced them closely, just off the update ship’s short wings. Sunlight slanted into the interior through overhead portholes, forming distorted shadows on the decks and bulkheads.

Vor set the
Dream Voyager
down gently in the designated zone, in the crowded spaceport. Despite the challenge, he had flown the vessel perfectly. Seurat would have been proud of him.

Elated, Iblis Ginjo rose to his feet as the low hum of the engines fell silent. “At last! Salusa Secundus.” He looked at Vor. “For rescuing the Viceroy’s daughter, they will welcome us with red carpets and flowers.”

When he released the hatch and breathed Salusan air for the first time, Vor Atreides tried to identify the difference, wondering if he could detect an elusive scent of freedom. “Don’t expect carpets or flowers just yet,” he said.

He saw a military squad approaching the ship with weapons drawn. The soldiers, dressed in gold-and-silver League uniforms, formed ranks at the bottom of the ramp. Behind them came two intimidating-looking women with white hair, pale skin, and long black robes.

Serena stood between the two former trustees of the thinking machines, taking their arms protectively in hers. Together, the three of them stepped out into dazzling sunlight.

While the Militia soldiers kept their weapons ready, they deferred to the tall, grim women. The chief Sorceress looked at the new arrivals with a gaze so intense and intimidating that she reminded Vorian of one of the Titans. “Are you spies of Omnius?” she said, stepping closer to them.

Serena recognized the Sorceress of Rossak, but knew that she herself must have changed considerably in her year and a half of captivity. “Zufa Cenva, we were colleagues.” Her voice hitched. “I have come home. Do you not recognize me?”