Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [97]
“My daughter is aboard,” Murbella said. Then she grew silent, and stared glumly out the window.
A vibrating shudder passed through the ’thopter as it took off with jets and flapping wings. It would take them half an hour or so to get out to the desert zone, an hour the Mother Commander could ill afford to be away from the Keep. But it was time she desperately needed. . . .
Even the best of the Sisterhood who had undergone the most arduous testing were dismayed by the very real and material tragedy—but not to the point of total surrender. Bene Gesserit teachings showed them how to control base emotions, how to act for the greater good and see the overall picture. Upon watching almost 90 percent of a planet’s population fall within a few days, however, the magnitude of the disaster—the extermination—was breaking down even the strongest barriers in many Sisters. It was up to Murbella to maintain the morale of the survivors.
The thinking machines have found a cruel and effective way to destroy our human weapons, but we are not so easily disarmed!
“Mother Commander, we have arrived,” the pilot said, her clipped words loud enough to be heard over the thrum of the wings.
Murbella opened her eyes to see clean desert, tan eddies of sand and dust curling from stray breezes. It seemed pristine and untouched, no matter how much human debris the Sisterhood dumped there. She saw other ’thopters circling in the sky, descending over the dunes and opening cargo doors to expel loads . . . hundreds of black-wrapped bodies in each aircraft. The dead Sisters tumbled out onto the sand like charred cordwood.
Natural elements would dispose of them far more efficiently than huge funeral pyres could. The aridity would desiccate them, and scouring sandstorms would wear them down to bones. In many cases, the worms would simply devour them. A sort of purity.
Their ’thopter hovered over a small basin. Large swells of dunes swept up on either side, while dust kicked up by the ’thopter wings swirled around them. The pilot worked her controls, and the bottom doors opened with a weary groan. Bodies tumbled out, wrapped in fabric. They were stiff, their features covered, but to Murbella they were still individuals. One of those unidentified shapes was her own little girl . . . born just before Murbella underwent the Agony herself, just before she lost Duncan forever.
She didn’t delude herself into thinking that if she had been at her daughter’s side she might have helped Gianne survive. Passing through the Spice Agony was solely an individual’s battle, but Murbella wished she could have been there.
The bodies spilled unceremoniously onto soft sand. Below, she could see serpentine shapes stirring—two big worms drawn by ’thopter vibrations or the thumps of falling bodies. The creatures scooped up and devoured the human shapes, then plunged back beneath the sand.
The pilot lifted the ’thopter high enough to swing around, so that Murbella could look down and observe the horrible feeding frenzy. Touching the commline in her ear, the pilot received a message, then offered a faint smile to Murbella. “Mother Commander, there is some good news, at least.”
After seeing the last unmarked body vanish below, Murbella wasn’t in the mood for any sort of cheering up, but she waited.
“One of our deep-desert research settlements has survived. Shakkad Station. They were far enough out in the sand and had no contact with the Keep. Somehow they avoided the touch of the virus.”
Murbella remembered the tiny group of offworld scientists and helpers. “I isolated them myself so they could work. I want them to stay completely cut off—no contact whatsoever! If a single one of us goes near, we could contaminate them.”
“Shakkad Station doesn’t have enough supplies to last long,” the pilot said. “Perhaps we could arrange a package drop-off.”
“No, nothing!