Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [198]
For long moments the unlikely pair stood together without speaking. Grateful just to have him there, Jessica finally said, “Long ago when you were with us at Castle Caladan, I cared for you. You always kept your life private, and when you betrayed us, I hated you more than I thought possible.”
He hung his head. “I would throw myself upon a knife ten thousand times if I could take back the deeds I’ve done and erase the pain I’ve caused, my Lady.”
“History can only move forward, Wellington, not backward.”
“Oh? We’ve been dredged out of the dustbins of history, haven’t we?”
On old Arrakis, the Fremen had made a solemn ritual of recovering a body’s water in a deathstill and sharing it among the tribe. On Caladan, the tradition had been a funeral pyre or an ocean burial. While the Ithaca wandered through space, their dead had been ceremoniously ejected into the void.
Using stain-free fabric from the no-ship’s sheets, they wrapped Alia’s small, frail body. Here in the post-Omnius machine city, however, Jessica wasn’t sure how best to honor her daughter. “We don’t really have a funeral tradition anymore, so I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ll do what we must. The symbols don’t matter, but the thought does.”
LONG AFTER THE last echoes of the battle on Synchrony had died away and survivors from the no-ship ventured out to discover the new face of the universe, Jessica and Yueh joined Paul, Chani, and Duncan in their own private funeral procession. Paul and Jessica carried the tiny wrapped body out into the streets where the sandworms had caused so much damage, where explosions in the battle against the Face Dancers had destroyed countless structures.
“Such a tiny body . . . and so much lost potential,” Paul said. “I miss my sister terribly, even though I didn’t get to know her this time as well as I would have liked.”
Duncan led the group, shunting aside his other responsibilities for the time being. “I don’t remember the original little girl, but I remember the woman. She hurt me and loved me, and I loved her passionately.”
They didn’t have far to walk. Jessica had selected a particular broken tower, a slumped, thin pyramid that would serve as an appropriate grave marker. Jessica and Paul said their goodbyes during the procession, so that when they reached the collapsed structure they carried the girl inside through a lopsided trapezoidal opening, pushed debris aside to clear a space for her, and laid Alia Atreides on the smooth metal floor. Then Jessica stood over the wrapped child, saying another quiet farewell. Paul grasped his mother’s hand, and she squeezed back.
After a lingering, painful silence, she turned and spoke to Duncan. “We’ve done all we need to do.”
“I’ll take care of the rest,” Duncan said. When they had withdrawn from the fallen pyramid, Duncan raised his hands, fingers splayed, and his face took on a distant expression. The metalform buildings around them began to tremble and sway, growing and curving. The remnants of the pyramid folded around Alia’s body and reinforced the walls, drawing polished alloys from other structures. Like a magnificent crystal and quicksilver monument, the ruined spire then rose heavenward. The rapidly growing tower crackled and clanged like mechanical thunder as flowmetal streamed upward. Its curves and angles were streamlined, its polished surfaces perfectly reflective.
Duncan guided the semisentient structures with greater care and focus than the evermind ever had. When he was finished, he had created a tomb, a memorial, a work of art that would amaze anyone who looked upon it.
It left a mark on Synchrony that could never compare with the mark her daughter’s loss left on Jessica’s heart.
Some problems are best solved with an optimistic approach. Optimism shines a light on alternatives that are otherwise not visible.
—SHEEANA,
Reflections on the New Order
In the aftermath, the humans in Synchrony gradually began to believe that their race would survive.
When Sheeana looked at Duncan, he seemed strangely distant, though that was to