Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [29]
Whenever the no-ship folded space, unguided by a Navigator, they risked a disaster. Until now, Duncan’s warnings had been unsupported by outside witnesses, though the Handlers had proved that the threat from the mysterious Enemy was real.
From the ship’s corridors, Yueh heard the shouts of people running to emergency stations. The gossamer stranglehold grew brighter and more powerful, surrounding and infiltrating the whole ship. Surely, everyone could see this!
He felt a shudder through the deck, a disorientation and a slipping as the immense ship folded space. Staring through the conservatory dome, he saw star systems, swirling shapes and colors . . . as if the contents of the universe had been placed in a mixing bowl and stirred.
Suddenly the Ithaca cruised along elsewhere, far from the snares. Duncan’s calm voice came over the intercom. “We are safe again, for the moment.”
“Why did we see the net now and never before?” Jessica asked.
Yueh rubbed his chin, his thoughts in turmoil. “Perhaps the Enemy is using a different sort of net—a stronger one. Or maybe they are testing new ways of tracking and snaring us.”
We must never voice doubt. We must believe utterly that we can win this struggle against our Enemy. But in my darkest times alone in my quarters, I always wonder: Is this truly faith, or is it mere foolishness?
—MOTHER COMMANDER MURBELLA,
private Chapterhouse Archives
When Murbella’s small Missionaria Aggressiva council gathered again, the meeting was tense. In the past year, the Sisterhood had sent seven Sheeana surrogates to refugee camps in order to rally the fighters. The counterfeit Sheeanas had their work cut out for them, convincing fanatics to stand firm in the face of certain defeat.
The seemingly unstoppable Enemy warships proliferated like the heads of a hydra; no matter how many vessels the humans destroyed, more and more appeared. Given millennia to prepare for his final conquest, Omnius had left nothing to chance. The dots on the star charts showed one planet after another falling under the onslaught of thinking machines.
Murbella sat in a hard and uncomfortable seat at the end of the table; most of the others selected furry chairdogs. At the head of the table, Bashar Janess Idaho waited at attention, ready to deliver her report.
“I have news.”
“Good or bad?” Murbella dreaded the answer.
“Judge for yourself.”
Her daughter looked haggard, weary, and considerably older than her years. Having undergone the Spice Agony and extensive Bene Gesserit training, Janess had the ability to slow her body’s changes, not for the sake of appearances, but to keep herself strong and limber. The constant fighting required it. Even so, the unending crisis was taking its toll. Murbella noticed a scar on her daughter’s left cheek and a burn mark on her arm.
The female Bashar’s words were unemotional, but Murbella could feel the turmoil in her clipped voice. “Even before the first Enemy battleships were seen in the Jhibraith system, the machines sent scout probes to disseminate plagues. The people of Jhibraith had already called for an evacuation, but once the first signs of disease appeared, the Guild turned their ships around and refused to come closer. One Heighliner had to be quarantined. Fortunately, the plague was contained within seven isolated frigates inside its hold. All passengers aboard those frigates died, but the rest were saved.”
“What about the planet itself?” Murbella asked.
“The plague spread rapidly across all continents. As expected. The current viral strains are far worse than anything previously encountered, more deadly than even the legendary plagues during the Butlerian Jihad.”
Laera skimmed a Ridulian crystal sheet in front of her. “Jhibraith has a population of three hundred twenty-eight million.”
“Not anymore,” said Kiria.
Janess locked her fingers together, as if to draw strength from her own grip. “One of our Sheeana surrogates was on Jhibraith. As soon as the Guild quarantined the planet, the faux Sheeana rose to her