Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [17]
“Scan the security images,” Sheeana said. “The killer can’t hide.”
Thufir looked embarrassed, as well as angry and so very young. “I already checked. The security imagers were deactivated, intentionally, but there must be other evidence.”
“All of us were attacked, not just these axlotl tanks.” Duncan’s anger was plain as he turned toward young Thufir. “The Bashar has cited several previous incidents that he believes may be sabotage.”
“Those were never proved,” Thufir said. “They could have been mechanical breakdowns, systems fatigue, natural failures.”
Paul’s voice was ice as he took a last, lingering look at the infant that would have been Gurney Halleck. “This was no natural failure.”
Then Paul’s legs went suddenly rubbery. Dizziness rose around him, and his consciousness blurred. As Chani rushed to grab him, he reeled, lost his footing, and hit his head hard on the deck. For a moment blackness enveloped him, a gloom that brightened into a frightening vision. Paul Atreides had seen it before, but he didn’t know if it was memory or prescience.
He saw himself lying on the floor in a spacious, unknown place. A knife wound deep inside him sucked out his life. A mortal wound. His life’s blood poured onto the floor, and his vision turned to dark static. Gazing up, he saw his own young face looking back at him, laughing. “I have killed you!”
Chani was shaking him, shouting into his ear. “Usul! Usul, look at me!”
He felt the touch of her hand on his own, and when his vision cleared he saw another concerned face. For a moment he thought it was Gurney Halleck, complete with an inkvine scar on his jawline, the glass-splinter eyes, the wispy blond hair.
The image shifted, and he realized it was the black-haired Duncan Idaho. Another old friend and guardian. “Will you protect me from danger, Duncan?” Paul’s voice hitched. “As you vowed to do when I was a child? Gurney is no longer able.”
“Yes, Master Paul. Always.”
The Honored Matres clearly devised their own name for themselves, for no one else would ever apply the term “honor” after seeing their cowardly, self-serving actions. Most people have a very different way of referring to those women.
—MOTHER COMMANDER MURBELLA,
assessment of past and present strengths
Weapons and battleships were as important as air and food during these supposed End Times. Murbella knew she would have to change the way she approached the problem, but she had never expected such resistance from her own Sisterhood.
With both anger and disdain, Kiria cried, “You offer them Obliterators, Mother Commander? We can’t just hand over such destructive weapons to Ix.”
She had no patience for this. “Who else will build them for us? Holding secrets among ourselves only benefits the Enemy. You know as well as I do that only the Ixians can decipher the technology and manufacture great quantities for the coming war. Therefore, Ix must have full access. There is no other answer.”
Many worlds were building their own gigantic fleets, armoring every ship they could find, working on new weapon designs, but nothing had so far proved even remotely effective against the Enemy. The technology of the thinking machines was unsurpassed. But with a supply of new Obliterators, Murbella could turn the machines’ own destructive power against them.
After snatching the weapons from fringe machine outposts centuries ago, the Honored Matres could have formed an impenetrable line and hurled Obliterators at the oncoming Enemy. If they had stood together for the common good, they could have prevented this whole problem. Instead, those Honored Matres had fled.
Thinking about the hidden history she had excavated from deep within Other Memory, Murbella continued to be annoyed at those ancestors. They had taken the weapons, used them without understanding them, and depleted most of their stockpiles in their petty revenge against the hated Tleilaxu. Yes, many generations earlier the Tleilaxu had