Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [65]
“Beast Rabban was given the same task long ago, during the days of Muad’Dib,” said Accadia. “And he failed in a spectacular fashion.”
“Rabban did not have the Sisterhood behind him.” She could see Laera, Janess, and Kiria all making silent mental calculations. How many workers could be diverted to the desert zone? How many offplanet prospectors and treasure hunters could they allow on Chapterhouse? And how much spice would be enough to keep Guild and Ixian engineers producing the desperately needed ships and weapons?
The male pilot, having been silent until now, said, “While we are out here, Mother Commander, shall I take you to our desert research station? The planetology crew is studying the sandworm cycle, the spread of desert, and the parameters necessary for the most effective spice harvest.”
“ ‘Understanding is required before success is possible,’ ” Laera said, quoting directly from the old Orange Catholic Bible.
“Yes, let me inspect this station. Research is necessary, but in times like these it must be practical research. We have no time for frivolous studies concocted by the whim of an offworld scientist.”
The pilot banked the ’thopter and accelerated far out into the open desert. On the horizon, a lumpy, black ridge showed a reef of buried rock, a safe bastion where worms could not go.
Shakkad Station had been named after Shakkad the Wise, a ruler from days before the Butlerian Jihad. Nearly lost in the mists of legend, Shakkad’s chemist had been the first man in history to recognize the geriatric properties of melange. Now, far from Chapterhouse Keep or any outside interference, a group of fifty scientists, Sisters, and their support staff lived and worked. They set up weather-testing devices, traveled out onto the dunes to measure chemical changes during spice blows and monitor the growth and movement of sandworms.
When the ’thopter settled onto a flat cliff outcropping that served as a makeshift landing pad, a group of scientists came out to meet them. Dusty and windblown, a survey team was just returning from the edges of the desert where they had set out sampling poles and weather-testing instruments. They wore stillsuits, exact reproductions of those once used by the Fremen.
A majority of the scientists at Shakkad Station were men, and several of the older ones had made brief expeditions to charred Rakis itself. Three decades had passed since the ecological destruction of the desert planet, and by now few experts could claim firsthand knowledge of the sandworms or original conditions on Dune.
“How may we assist you, Mother Commander?” asked the station manager, an offworlder who pushed dusty protective goggles up onto his forehead. The man’s owlish eyes had already begun to turn a faint blue. Spice had been in his diet every day since his arrival at the outpost. His body gave off an unpleasant sour odor, as if he had taken his assignment in the waterless belt with particular seriousness, even to the point of foregoing regular bathing.
“Assist us by getting more melange,” Murbella answered bluntly.
“Do your teams have everything they need?” Laera asked. “Do you require additional supplies or workers?”
“No, no. We just want solitude and the freedom to work. Oh, and time.”
“I can give you the first two. But time is a commodity none of us has.”
We can conquer our enemy, of course, but is it worthwhile to achieve victory without understanding the flaws of our opponent? Such an analysis is the most interesting part.
—ERASMUS,
Laboratory Notebooks
The machine-based cathedral on Synchrony was a mere manifestation of what the rest of the galaxy might become. Omnius was pleased at the progress the thinking-machine fleet had made in the past few years, conquering one system after another, but Erasmus knew that so much more remained to do.
The voice of Omnius boomed much louder than necessary, as he sometimes liked to do. “The New Sisterhood offers the strongest resistance to us, but I know how to defeat them. Scouts have verified the secret location of Chapterhouse, and I have