Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [64]
The young woman seemed ashamed. “The proctors suggest that I would benefit from more focus and concentration.”
“Then devote yourself to that. We need every Reverend Mother we can find.” She glanced at the ominous combat robot. “The war has worsened.”
MURBELLA REALIZED SHE could not rest, could not waste the time. She demanded to see her advisors, Kiria, Janess, Laera, and Accadia. The women arrived, expecting a meeting, but Murbella herded them out of the Keep. “Prepare a ’thopter. We leave immediately for the desert belt.”
Carrying a stack of reports, Laera did not react well to the news. “But Mother Commander, you’ve been gone so long. Many documents await your attention. You have to make decisions, give proper—”
“I decide the priorities.”
Kiria, looking scornful, bit her words back when she noted the Mother Commander’s complete seriousness. They all crowded aboard an empty ornithopter, then waited for the tedious takeoff preparations. Murbella wouldn’t sit still for a moment. “If I don’t get a pilot, I’ll fly this damned thing myself.” A young male pilot was quickly brought to her.
As the ’thopter took off, she finally turned to her advisors and explained, “The Guild demands an exorbitant payment for all the warships we have under construction. Ix already accepts payments only in melange, and now that soostones from Buzzell are no longer economically viable, everything hinges on spice. That is our only coin significant enough to appease the Guild.”
“Appease them?” Kiria snapped. “What madness is this? We should conquer them and force them to produce the weapons and vessels we need. Are we the only ones who understand the threat? Thinking machines are coming!”
Janess was astonished by the other woman’s suggestion. “Attacking the Guild would create open civil warfare at a time when we can least afford it.”
“Do we have enough resources to spend on these ships?” asked Laera. “Our credit has already been strained past its limits with the Guild Bank.”
“We all face a common enemy,” old Accadia said. “Surely, the Guild and Ix would be willing—”
Murbella clenched her hands. “This has nothing to do with altruism or greed. Despite the best intentions, resources and raw materials do not appear like rainbows after a storm. Populations must be fed, ships must be fueled, energy must be produced and expended. Money is only a symbol, but economics is the engine that drives the whole machine. The piper must be paid.”
The ’thopter raced across the sky, buffeted by dry winds and blown dust long before they saw the desert. Murbella gazed out the curved window, sure that dunes had not extended this far across the continent the last time she’d visited the desert. It was a spreading antiflood, total dryness sweeping outward in waves. At the heart of the desert, the worms grew and reproduced, keeping the cycle going in a perpetually increasing spiral.
The Mother Commander turned to the woman behind her. “Laera, I require a complete assessment of our spice-harvesting operations. I need to know numbers. How many long tons of melange do we gather? How much do we have in our stockpiles, and how much is available for export?”
“We produce enough to meet our needs, Mother Commander. Our investment continues to go into expanding the operations, but our expenditures have increased dramatically.”
Kiria muttered a bitter comment about the Ixians and their endless bills.
“We may need to bring in outside workers,” Janess pointed out. “These obstacles can be overcome.”
The ’thopter swooped toward a chimney-plume of dust and sand thrown up by a harvester. Around it, like wolves circling a wounded animal, several sandworms approached the vibrations. Already the operations were beginning to wrap up, with miners rushing and carryalls hovering to snatch the heavy machinery away as soon as worms ventured too close.
Murbella said, “Squeeze the desert, wring out every gram