Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [21]
Deck after deck was searched, but even with a dozen teams, a complete inspection from the topmost deck to the lowest cargo hold would take a great deal of time, and in the limited searches they conducted, they found nothing. Duncan was exhausted and stressed.
And the murderer—or murderers—remained aboard.
Only two options are before us now: defend ourselves or surrender to the Enemy. But if any of you believes that surrender is a viable option, then we have already lost.
—BASHAR MILES TEG,
speech given before the Pellikor Engagement
Leaving the Obliterators on Ix for the fabricators to study and duplicate, Murbella traveled next to the main Guild shipyards on Junction.
Administrator Rentel Gorus, with long, pale hair and milky eyes, led Murbella among the construction bays, suspensor cranes, conveyors, and assemblers, all of them teeming with workers. The buildings were tall and blocky, the streets serviceable rather than beautiful. Everything on Junction was done on a breathtaking scale. Great lifters hauled components up to the skeletons of gigantic ships, assembling one vessel after another. The air held the bitter tang of hot metal, the chemical residues from welding mismatched components into huge vessels.
Gorus seemed overly proud. “As you can see, we have the facilities you request, Mother Commander, provided the price is right.”
“The price will be right.” With the New Sisterhood’s wealth in melange and soostones, Murbella could meet virtually any demand for payment. “We’ll pay you well for every ship you create, every vessel that can be placed into battle, every craft that can stand against the thinking machine army. The end of our civilization is at hand if we don’t defeat the thinking machines.”
Gorus did not seem intimidated. “Every side in every war believes their conflict is crucial to history. But most often those are delusionary and needlessly alarmist thoughts. This war may be over before you have to resort to such measures.”
She scowled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“There are other ways to solve the problem. We know that outside forces are sweeping in to many planetary systems. But what do they want? To what will they concede? We believe such discussions are worth pursuing.” He blinked his milky eyes.
“What sort of trick is the Guild trying to play on us this time?”
“No trick, just sensibility. Regardless of politics, commerce must continue. Wartime desperation inspires technological innovation, but peace promotes profitability in the long run. Trade will go on, no matter who wins the conflict.”
Heighliners had long been the luxury ships of the universe; now Murbella forced the Spacing Guild to devote their shipyards to creating the tools of war. For centuries the Guild’s commercial fleet had been stable, and demand for trade steadily increased as people returned from the Scattering. Now, however, with Omnius’s fleet wiping out whole populations and sending refugees in panicked flight back into the heart of the Old Empire, CHOAM and the Guild were in turmoil.
A hot wind from the assembly bays blew in Murbella’s face, burning her nostrils with the acrid smoke of waste chemicals. A shiver coursed down her spine.
“Our common enemy must be rational,” Gorus continued. “We have therefore dispatched emissaries and negotiators out to the war zone. We will find the thinking machines and make our proposal. The Guild would prefer to continue its commerce regardless of the outcome of this disagreement.”
Murbella gasped. “Are you insane? Omnius seeks the extermination of all humanity. That includes you.”
“You overstate your case, Mother Commander. Some of our emissaries will, I believe, achieve our goal.”
In the background, blasts of steam curled up from the stone smokestacks. She ignored the noise and the smell. “You are a consummate fool, Administrator Gorus. Thinking machines do not follow the rules you assume.”
“Be that as it may, we feel