Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [148]
The stake in a total war is total—to conquer is to save everything, to succumb is to lose everything.
—a warrior of Old Terra
While the thinking machines maintained a tight cordon around the no-ship, Sheeana watched Jessica carry little Alia’s body away. How painful it must be for her. With her memories restored, Jessica knew intimately who Alia really was and understood her great potential. How bitterly ironic, too. St. Alia of the Knife—felled by a knife.
Jessica cradled the limp child in her arms, shuddering as she fought to contain sobs. When she looked up at Sheeana, there was a cold deadliness in Jessica’s eyes. Duncan stood beside Jessica, his face a mask of grim anger. “We’ll have our revenge, my Lady. So many of us despise the Baron, he can’t survive for long.” Even Yueh sat coiled and dangerous, like a loaded weapon.
Paul and Chani clasped hands, drawing strength from each other. Leto II watched in silence, undoubtedly holding an avalanche of conflicting thoughts in his mind. The boy always seemed to have so much more to him, like a giant iceberg whose bulk was concealed beneath the surface. Sheeana had long suspected that he might be the most powerful of all the gholas she had created.
Jessica held her head high, finding strength within her. “We’ll take her to my quarters. Duncan, would you help me?” Dr. Yueh, desperate for forgiveness, hovered close to them.
Filled with anxiety, frustration, and anger, Sheeana watched the tableau. In addition to losing the Bashar, Alia had been murdered, while three key gholas—Paul, Chani, and Leto II—remained unawakened. Stilgar and Liet-Kynes were left on Qelso, and Thufir Hawat had been a Face Dancer. Now that they were facing the Enemy and needed the ghola children to fulfill their destinies, too many of her “weapons” were not available to her! She had only Yueh, and Jessica . . . and Scytale, if she could count on the Tleilaxu.
Exhaustion threatened to overwhelm Sheeana. They had fled for so long, carrying their plans and hopes, but never finding an end. This, though, was not at all what they had hoped for.
The quiet and distant voice of Serena Butler awakened within her again, angered by the revelation about the Enemy. She spoke from firsthand knowledge. The evil machines have always wanted to exterminate humanity. They do not know how to forget.
“But they were destroyed,” Sheeana said aloud.
Apparently not. Trillions of people died during the Butlerian Jihad, but even that was not enough. In the end, I was not enough.
“I am pleased to meet you finally,” said a raspy female voice. A lone old woman strolled down the no-ship’s corridor, a broad grin on her wrinkled face. Despite her apparent age, she moved fluidly and had a deadly look to her.
Sheeana immediately guessed that this must be the mysterious old woman who was their relentless hunter. “Duncan has told us about you.”
The woman smiled in an unnerving manner, as if she could see through Sheeana to her innermost thoughts and intentions. “You were quite a troublesome quarry. All those years wasted. Have you guessed my true identity yet?”
“You are the Enemy.”
Abruptly the crone’s face, body, and clothing rippled like molten, flowing metal. At first Sheeana thought this was another Face Dancer, but the head and body took on a sheen of highly polished platinum, and the matronly clothes became a plush robe. The face was smooth, with the same smile set in radically different features. A robot.
Deep in her consciousness, Sheeana felt a tumult in Other Memory. And out of the clamor, Serena Butler’s familiar voice rose to cry, Erasmus! Destroy him!
With great effort she shunted aside the voices in Other Memory, and said, “You are Erasmus. The one who killed Serena Butler’s child, setting off the centuries-long Jihad against thinking machines.”
“So I am still remembered, even after all this time.” The robot sounded pleased.
“Serena remembers you, all right. She is within me, and she hates you.”
Pure delight shone on the robot’s face. “Serena Butler herself is in there? Ah yes, I know about