Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [136]
Omnius interrupted, “And, on a greater scale, our largest battleships are closing in on human defenders in their Old Empire. We will conquer Chapterhouse soon, but that is only one of many simultaneous targets.”
“It should be quite a spectacular battle.” Erasmus sounded more dry than eager.
The evermind was stern. “Triumph will be assured as soon as the proper conditions are met, according to our mathematical prophecies. Success is imminent.”
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 precious than melange. Even the wealthiest man cannot buy more minutes to put into each hour.
—DUKE LETO ATREIDES,
last message from Caladan
A gossamer net of jeweled colors closed around the Ithaca. The no-ship’s engines strained, but could not break away. Scrambling to reassert control over the helm and drag themselves free of the strange bonds, Duncan powered up the Holtzman engines, preparing to rip a hole through the glimmering mesh. It was their only way out.
Glaring at the dead Face Dancer on the deck, Sheeana ordered two Sisters nearby, “Remove that thing from the navigation bridge!” Within moments, the women carried away the limp and bloody shape-shifter.
Now that the net was visible to them all, Duncan focused his Mentat awareness to study the woven grid that ensnared them. He searched frantically for holes or weak spots in the powerful structure, but found nothing to suggest the slightest defect, no frayed point that might allow them to escape.
He would try brute force, then.
Years ago, he had broken free of the net by using the Holtzman engines in ways they had never been designed to function, flying the Ithaca at just the proper angle and speed to penetrate the fabric of space. It had reminded him of a Swordmaster’s move, using a slow blade against 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 the multicolored strands, tore several, and then picked up speed. “We’re breaking free!”
Duncan felt a brief moment of hope, a surge of triumph.
An explosion rocked the ship, followed by another, and another. Vibrations and shock waves rang through the hull and decks as if some titan were smashing the vessel with a great hammer. The navigation bridge shuddered.
Holding his chair, Duncan called up diagnostic maps. “What was that? Is the Enemy firing on us?”
The detonations threw Teg to the floor, but he scrambled back to his feet and gripped the console for balance. “The stolen mines! I think we just found them.” His words tumbled out in a rush. “Either Thufir or the Rabbi must have set them to go off—” As if to confirm his speculation, another explosion rocked the deck, much closer than before.
The Ithaca reeled out of control, its engines paralyzed. The deck tilted, as artificial gravity generators were knocked offline. Duncan felt a sickening disorientation as the vessel spun off axis.
The shimmering net grew brighter, tightening like a noose.
Finally, out in the distance, Enemy ships drew into view, like hunters approaching a trap they had set. Duncan stared at the external screens. Who had pursued them for so long? Face Dancers? Some vicious, unknown race? What could be frightening enough to drive the Honored Matres back into the Old Empire?
“The bastards think they have us.” Duncan made a fist.
“Don’t they?” Looking up from his status screens, the Bashar was dismayed by the severe damage indicators lighting up sections of the vessel like fireworks displays. “The mines have ruined our most vital systems, and we’re dead in space.”
Using Mentat focus, Duncan studied the panels on his command console. The intricate displays showed the strangling net all around them. He jabbed his finger toward a knot in the diagram, an area of pulsing, flickering electronic signals. At first glance the tangle seemed no different from the rest of the interconnected strands,