Sisterhood of Dune (36 page)

Ptolemy knew that their current work would indeed capture the imagination and excitement of Imperial society. Tanks and nutrient vats grew organic circuitry receptors similar to what the cymeks had used to guide mechanical walker bodies with their brains.

Ptolemy and his partner had received substantial funding from the Zenith Council, but Elchan had also bent certain rules to quietly acquire remnants of cymek walkers in order to study them. The Butlerians smashed that kind of technology whenever they saw it, and because most remnants had been destroyed, the scientists had access to very few records or samples of how the thoughtrodes and preservation canisters actually worked. Intact cymek walkers were at a premium. Ptolemy did not ask Elchan about his sources.

The Tlulaxa researcher mused with an undertone of scorn, “Someday, I would like to dissect Manford Torondo’s little brain—to see if there’s any noticeable difference between it and a normal human brain.”

Ptolemy didn’t want to make fun of the Butlerian leader. “That’s unkind.” He remained saddened and disappointed that they had not reached a compromise to benefit everyone. After being back home for a week from the disastrous trip to Lampadas, life had begun to return to normal.

And then the Butlerians came for them.…

Forty ships descended on the rural laboratory complex. With a roaring whine of overloaded suspensor engines, the small vessels swooped down like crows onto fresh carrion. Many of the lab workers had gone home for the day, and the last few ran outside as soon as the tumult began. They fled upon seeing the ships land on the grassy hills, leaving Ptolemy and Dr. Elchan to face the Butlerians.

The sounds were deafening as hatches opened and ramps extended; a group of Swordmasters, along with hundreds of club-wielding civilians, charged out. The two short-statured scientists stared at the unnecessary display of force, their mouths open as if they were unable to believe what they were seeing.

Elchan moaned in dismay. “We can’t run.” They stood alone in front of the main research building.

“This makes no sense!” Ptolemy insisted. “Why would they come here?”

Amid a wash of cheering and anticipation, the legless man appeared, riding in a harness carried on his Swordmaster’s shoulders. Ptolemy had not found the man intimidating when he’d sat behind a small desk on Lampadas; here, though, the mob leader sent shivers down his spine.

“Ptolemy of Zenith,” Manford said, “we have come to help you. Temptation has led you astray. Ambition has lied to you. It is my purpose to see that you are placed on the proper path.”

While the mob leader spoke, exuberant Butlerians chased after the fleeing lab technicians who hadn’t yet managed to escape from the grounds. Manford did nothing to call them back.

“Why are you here?” Ptolemy watched in horror as one of his female workers was tackled by the fanatics, who then pummeled her when she was on the ground. He could no longer see the woman because of the throng around her, but he heard the screams. “Tell them to stop!”

Anari Idaho carried Manford up to the two cowering scientists. Looking down at them from her shoulders, he said, “They have their mission, and I have mine.”

The technician stopped screaming. More Butlerians closed in from the ships, and Elchan was terrified. Ptolemy wanted to comfort his friend, but knew his words would be hollow. “I will notify the council. This … this is a private laboratory.”

The man’s voice was soft and conversational. “Yes, your laboratory. Let’s go inside and see what you’ve been up to.”

Ptolemy didn’t want to let them into the research building, but the Butlerians flowed forward like a tsunami, carrying them back inside. The fanatics spread out inside, smashing the equipment and prototypes, ripping fixtures out, and hurling rocks through windows.

Ptolemy could barely breathe. This was horrifying and surreal, like a hallucinogenic nightmare he could not escape. “I don’t understand!” Tears poured down his face. “I never hurt you. I only meant to help.”

Manford shook his head, showing apparent deep sadness. “I’m offended that you believed I needed help from your vile technology, that you would think me so weak.”

Inside the research facility, Anari Idaho carried Manford so that he could look with grim condemnation at the test beds where artificial limbs and nerve endings were grown, where he could see the analysis machines, and, most damning of all, the three dismantled cymek walkers.

Manford reached down to pick up a rigid plastic hand, then tossed it to the floor in disgust. “Why would you think the human race needs enhancements like this? We need
faith
 … and I have faith in you, Ptolemy of Zenith. That’s why I’m giving you another chance.”

Ptolemy held his breath, confused. He could still hear the mayhem, the destruction in this building and outside, throughout the complex. He wanted to vomit. Beside him, Elchan was paralyzed with fear, shuddering, utterly silent; he seemed to have grasped a fundamental fact that Ptolemy still could not comprehend.

Manford frowned. “I’m afraid, however, that your Tlulaxa associate has fallen too far into damnation. We can’t save him—but we can allow him to be part of your education. Maybe you’ll be enlightened after all.”

Elchan wailed and tried to escape, but two of the zealots caught him and pushed him back toward Manford and Anari. The Swordmaster drew her blade and with a single stroke hacked off his prosthetic left arm, severing it below the shoulder, at the seam where actual flesh met the artificial nerve endings. The victim cried out as he looked down at his stump, where nutrient fluid leaked out, pumped by the hydraulics. Blood also flowed from the stump of his arm, gushing from an artery.

Ptolemy tried to help him, but he was restrained by strong arms. His heart was pounding, and he had trouble breathing. He met the terrified gaze of his friend, but for only an instant before Elchan slumped to the floor and appeared to pass out.

“Now at least he can die as a human,” Manford said. “The mind of man is holy.”

“The mind of man is holy,” the others murmured, and Manford gestured for them to leave. One of the Swordmasters dragged Ptolemy outside, but they left Elchan inside the lab, apparently to bleed to death. This wasn’t real, made no sense. Ptolemy refused to believe the events were happening.

After they’d retreated to the grassy grounds outside the research complex, Manford’s followers hurled incendiary bombs through the already smashed windows, and set fire to the place.

“Stop this!” Ptolemy screamed. “Let Elchan out! You can’t do this to a human being! He is my friend—”

“He’s not worth saving,” Manford explained, then ignored Ptolemy’s increasingly desperate pleas. The flames rose higher. Ptolemy saw his companion appear at one of the windows and try to get out, but the Butlerians rushed forward with clubs and bashed at him until he cowered inside and vanished.

The fire reached the roof, and then met the flammable nutrient fluids inside. Small explosions popped from laboratory to laboratory. Ptolemy could hear his friend screaming.

“Stop this!” He sobbed and fell to his knees. Tears poured down his face. He held his head in his hands, shaking. “Stop this, please…”

Manford wore a satisfied smile, while Anari Idaho had no expression whatsoever. She grabbed Ptolemy by the hair, pulled his head up, and forced him to watch the laboratory burn.

“We have granted you a gift,” Manford said, “and I have faith that you will learn from this. Let me quote from one of the Erasmus journals that I have studied. The descriptions are too horrifying for most people, but you need to hear it: ‘The humans continue to fight us like children throwing a tantrum,’ Erasmus wrote, ‘but our technology is superior. With our developments, our adaptability, and our persistence, we will always win. Humans are irrelevant … but I have to admit, they are interesting.’”

Manford closed his eyes, as if to dispel the distaste. “I hope you have learned the error of your attitude, Ptolemy of Zenith. We will pray for you.”

*   *   *

ON ZENITH, THE
fire burned itself out in a few hours, but by that time the Butlerian ships were long gone, leaving Ptolemy to stare at the smoldering wreckage and listen to the heartrending silence. Manford Torondo and his followers had stayed until Dr. Elchan stopped screaming … and he had screamed for a long time.

Surveying the charred wreckage, Ptolemy felt he had lost everything—except for his knowledge and scientific curiosity. The barbarians had not taken everything from him. He huddled there on the grassy hill, so deep in thought it was like a trance, pondering exactly what he would do next. He developed a plan, a detailed plan.

He stood straight, wiped his reddened eyes, and tried to regain his foothold on reality. It was as if the laws of physics had changed all around him, and he had to restructure his fundamental beliefs.

He didn’t dare go to his brothers and sisters, recruit them to speak out and throw their imaginations against the Butlerians—he would not expose them to the risk, because the savages would come to their laboratories as well, lock his siblings inside, burn them to death. No, he had his brain … his greatest tool, his greatest weapon.

The Butlerians had crushed and discarded him, murdered his best friend, and left him defeated, but Ptolemy was not done. Manford had no idea of the enemy he had created this day.

Consider human life: We are animals, yet are expected to be so much more. Although honor requires us to make altruistic decisions, even acting for the benefit of other people keeps coming back to self interest, no matter how much one attempts to conceal it.

—
REVEREND MOTHER RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL
,
On the Human Condition

Sister Ingrid had an inquisitive mind, to her detriment.

Earlier, while undergoing training among the Butlerians on Lampadas, her instructors had commented on this, and had praised her for it—to an extent, so long as she didn’t ask the wrong questions. Such inquisitiveness enabled her to excel in certain subjects that interested her, such as chemistry and human physiology, but one teacher had scolded her for getting distracted by irrelevant interests. Ingrid realized that she often spent so much time on ancillary issues that she neglected the rigid curriculum.

At the recommendation of Sister Dorotea, she had applied for training among the Sisterhood on Rossak to escape the Lampadas schools that she found increasingly tedious. According to Dorotea, the Sisterhood would provide new stimulation for her active mind.

In recent days, the thought of secret computers hidden on Rossak by corrupted Sisters had kept her awake at night. Another acolyte had whispered the idea, and many of the mature acolytes fixated on the titillating prospect, but Ingrid remained skeptical. The gossiper had no proof, not even a convincing argument, and Ingrid had not found her to be overly perceptive; it wasn’t likely she would notice details that Ingrid had not.

Still, such a horrific idea had to be taken seriously. She had learned that much from Manford Torondo. For safety’s sake, Ingrid would assume the rumor to be true until she learned otherwise. If she could find proof, Sister Dorotea would help root out the thinking machines and cleanse the Sisterhood.

When she mentioned the idea, Dorotea grew equally concerned. “Let me ask questions. Much has changed here since I was assigned to Salusa, but I hope the Reverend Mother hasn’t gone that far astray.”

Ingrid, though, wasn’t content to dismiss the idea and wait for someone else to deliver the answers. She realized that if Dorotea asked too many questions, and of the wrong people, the Sisterhood might bury its secrets even deeper.

Thinking machines were seductive, and one or two Sisters might have concocted an ill-advised justification to use computers. “Machine Apologists,” as they were known in the Imperium. But for Ingrid, there were no subtleties, no fine lines or gray areas: Thinking machines, under any guise, had to be eliminated.

The cliff city was large, complicated, and mostly empty. She searched in areas that appeared to be shut down and barricaded, where signs prohibited entry. A Sister was expected to follow rules, but she was also expected to think, to question.

And Ingrid questioned. The most likely place seemed to be in the restricted chambers that held all the breeding records.

In the predawn darkness, she slipped around the barricade guarding the steep uphill path that led along the cliff face to the restricted caves. Her eyes adjusted to the starlight as she picked her way upward, seeing indications that it was well traveled.

When she was high above the trails frequented by instructors and students in the school, she glimpsed a glow ahead of her on the trail, someone descending, guided by a furtive handlight. Ingrid pulled herself into a rock crack flanked by two large boulders and waited, holding her breath.

An old woman in the white robe of a Sorceress moved past with a swift but painstaking gait, and Ingrid recognized Karee Marques. Sister Dorotea had begun to work on the old Sorceress’s chemical investigations in her laboratory on the jungle floor. Ingrid wondered why the aged woman would be up here in the dead of night. Considering the restricted upper caves, it was likely something to do with the breeding records.

After Karee had toiled down the path to the inhabited section of the cliff city, Ingrid sprinted up to the highest point on the steep trail, feeling a new vigor. Below, the jungle continued to hum and simmer, while overhead a new veil of clouds obscured many of the stars. Ingrid turned slowly around, studying the trail, the boulders, the drop-off, using her imagination to guess what Karee might have been doing.

When she reached the top of the bluff, she saw no sign of the monitor Sisters she had seen stationed at the cave opening during daylight hours—they were gone for the night, just as she’d hoped. The entrance into the restricted tunnels looked dark and forbidding.

For a few minutes, Ingrid hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Within an hour, colors would paint the sky with dawn, and she still had no answers. Before long, her fellow Sisters would be stirring in the inhabited portion of the cliff city, moving about on the lower trails and balconies, and inside the tunnels.