Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [139]
Duncan stood from the pilot’s chair and gestured to the controls. “Your prescience is as good as mine, Miles. Probably better, with your Atreides bloodline. You’ve never given me reason to doubt your competence. Go ahead and guide us there.” His offer was sincere.
Teg’s expression became uncertain, but he accepted the console. He could feel Duncan’s confidence and acceptance, and it reminded him of his past military campaigns. As the old Bashar, he had led swarms of men to their deaths. They had accepted his tactics. More often than not, he had found a way to make violence unnecessary, and his men had come to think of his abilities as nearly supernatural. Even when he failed, his men died knowing that if even the great Bashar could not succeed, then the problem itself must be utterly unsolvable.
Studying the projections around him, Teg tried to get a feel for the space in which they roamed. In planning for this, before coming to the navigation bridge, he had consumed four days’ ration of spice. Again, he had to do the impossible.
As the spice worked through him, he called up coordinates, letting the doubling vision of his innate prescience guide him. He would take the vessel where it needed to be. Without second-guessing himself or performing a backup navigational calculation, he lurched the Ithaca into the void. The Holtzman engines folded space, plucked them from one part of the galaxy and deposited them somewhere else. . . .
Teg delivered the no-ship to an unremarkable solar system with a yellow sun, two gas giant planets and three smaller rocky worlds closer to the star, but nothing within the habitable life zone. The readings were completely blank.
And yet his prescience had taken him to this place. For a reason . . . For the better part of an hour, he continued to study the empty orbits, probing with his intense senses, sure that his ability had not led them astray.
After the activation of the Holtzman engines, Sheeana had come to the navigation bridge, afraid that the net had located them again. Now she waited anxiously to see what he had found. She did not discount the Bashar’s certainty.
“There’s nothing here, Miles.” Duncan leaned over his shoulder to study the same screens.
Though unable to disprove the statement, Teg did not agree with it. “No . . . wait a moment.” His gaze blurred, and suddenly he spotted it—not with his real vision but with a dark and isolated corner of his mind. The potential had been stored deep in his complex genetics, awakened through the devastating T-probe torture that had also unlocked his ability to move at incredible speed. The instinctive capacity to see no-ships was another talent Teg had carefully guarded from the Bene Gesserits, afraid of what they might do to him.
The no-field he beheld now, however, was larger than the most mammoth ship he had ever seen. Much larger.
“Something’s there.” As he guided the no-ship closer, he sensed no danger, only a deep mystery. The orbital zone wasn’t as empty as he had at first thought. The silent blot was merely an illusion, a blurry shroud large enough to cover a whole planet. A whole planet!
“I see nothing.” Sheeana looked at Duncan, who shook his head.
“No, trust me.” Fortunately, the guise of the no-field was not perfect, and as Teg struggled to think of a likely sounding explanation, the field flickered, and a speckle of sky appeared for an instant before it was quickly covered again.
Duncan saw it, too. “He’s right.” He gave Teg an awed and questioning glance. “How did you know?”
“The Bashar has Atreides genes, Duncan. You should know by now not to underestimate them,” Sheeana said.
As their ship approached, the planetary no-field flickered one more time to give a tantalizing glimpse of an entirely hidden world, a splash of sky, green-brown continents. Teg did not take his eyes from the screen. “A network of satellites generating no-fields would explain it. But the field is either flawed or degenerating.”
The no-ship approached the world that wasn’t there. Duncan sank back in