Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

The voices grew quieter and quieter, until she heard nothing.

Pushing the annoying experience aside, Valya went to her bedchambers to retire. She felt strong and confident.

Though she was the Mother Superior, she occupied only Spartan quarters that had previously belonged to Raquella. Like her predecessor, she didn’t need opulence or comforts, although she reminded herself that House Harkonnen was entitled to such things. Thanks to her relentless work behind the scenes, her family would have that wealth and influence again.

She got into her nightclothes. Then, intending to calm her thoughts before going to bed, she sat in a hard chair, to gaze through the open window at the nighttime sky. She heard a much quieter swirl of voices surrounding her, but this time she had the strength to push them back.

“I’m going to sleep in a little while,” she announced in a firm, calm voice. “You won’t bother me in my dreams, or disturb me anymore when I am awake—because if you do, I will destroy the Sisterhood. I will kill every last Reverend Mother, including myself, and when that is accomplished, all of you will vanish. You will have no outlets whatsoever for your displeasure, no human minds to occupy with your presence.” She smiled to herself. “You say I am good at killing, and I don’t deny that. All of you are physically dead, but you aren’t completely dead, are you? With my expertise at killing, I can totally eliminate you.”

The voices diminished, but only a little.

She spoke over them. “From this point forward, you are only to emerge if you have something to say that will help me advance the interests of the Sisterhood. I do have the interests of the Sisterhood at heart, and I alone have the strength to take it to the next level. I know this, and you know it. You also know now that it is dangerous to displease me.”

The voices grew very quiet, with only a few outlying mutterings.

“Like living Sisters,” Valya said, “you are under my command. All of you, whatever you are, whoever you are, and whatever experiences you have had in life, you will do as I say. Every one of you will cooperate with me … or you will die in a way that has never happened to you before. From this moment forward, you only exist at my pleasure.”

The voices grew entirely quiet. She could not even hear a low background hum of hushed awe. They had seen what she accomplished, and what she could accomplish … and Valya felt certain they were impressed. And fearful of her.

She allowed herself a smile, then—feeling more satisfied than she had expected—she climbed into bed and fell into a deep and rejuvenating sleep.

As they hunted for Tula Harkonnen on Chusuk, Vor knew they might face significant danger on this world, yet the potential reward—justice for Orry—outweighed any such concerns. But even if they were successful, would that be the end of the feud?

Wary and alert, he and Willem sat at a table in a crowded performance hall, surrounded by young dancers, hypnotic music, lights, and show-smoke. Occasionally eager partners tried to coax the two men out onto the dance floor. As part of his act, so as not to draw attention, handsome Willem let himself be swept away, even though he did not know the traditional dance steps.

He often behaved in an aloof manner with strangers, reminding Vor much of himself as a younger man, but Vor could also see that during the weeks the two had spent on Chusuk searching, Willem had grown close to a pretty brunette who found his helpless clumsiness endearing. Though Willem was coy toward her, even standoffish at times, Vor watched the attraction build between the two young people, as if a magnetic force were pulling them together—and seeing this made Vor sad rather than happy. It made him think of lost possibilities … Nevertheless, it was a night filled with bright music, laughter, and a haze of pheromones.

While Willem danced with the young woman he liked the most, Vor never dropped his guard, never stopped watching for their quarry.

After arriving on Chusuk, the two men had asked discreet questions, built around a story that instantly generated trust; they showed happy images of Tula from Orry’s wedding day, and the tale of a runaway bride inspired sympathy, but few useful answers. Some people claimed to have seen a young woman who resembled Tula in the square playing a baliset, but Vor and Willem had not been able to find her; just recently, two helpful witnesses had even said she occasionally went to this performance hall. Could it be her?

Despite spending several evenings here, the two had seen no sign of her, but they kept watching.

Willem blended right in—young, dashing, and fun-loving, although Vor knew he had a hardened core beneath his friendly exterior. Now Vor let himself be led out onto the floor by a laughing redhead, only half listening to her clever conversation as he kept moving, scanning the crowd. Attractive, she appeared to be in her late thirties, and would have no idea how old Vor really was—more than two hundred years of age, from a strange procedure his cymek father, Agamemnon, had administered to him in his youth.

Tula was somewhere on Chusuk—probably in this very city, and she might have been seen in this place. He could not be sure if she guessed they were hunting for her, but she did know what Vor and Willem looked like. They had again disguised their features as best they could, but Tula Harkonnen had been trained in the Sisterhood, and Vor would never underestimate her abilities.

They had to find her first, and get her before she got them.

The music rose and skirled. The local musicians used an assortment of unique instruments, including a small harpsie that put out a grandiose sound, a trumpetta played by three men at side-by-side mouthpieces, and a number of stringed balisets, for which the master craftsmen of Chusuk were famed.

The band stage was flanked by warm pools of water, where shimmer-suited couples cavorted in a splashing ritual of aquatic foreplay that usually led them to rooms in the back. These lissome swimmers also provided entertainment for the more lethargic audience members.

Here in the performance hall, few gave the two men a second glance, although Vor did notice a pair of statuesque women eyeing them steadily. He supposed that offworlders would naturally be seen as exotic. Those women, though, did not flirt or ask either of the two to dance.

If Vor and Willem ever did find their quarry, they would certainly be remembered around here. Vor didn’t think of himself as a cold-blooded killer, but after living for more than two centuries and participating in a decades-long war, his hands were by no means clean. He had made up his mind to deal with this himself, even though Willem wanted to kill Tula with his own hands. Instead, Vor would do what was necessary—not for the pleasure, because he would feel none of that. No, if they could not manage to get away, he would take the fall, instead of Willem, who had most of his life ahead of him. Vor had nothing left to lose.

But first they needed to find her.

When the music paused again, the two men made their way back to the table, sweating from the dance. Willem stayed close to his date, a young woman named Harmona. She was thin and quite pretty, with a heart-shaped face and long black hair secured by a jeweled clasp on one side. Willem wore a dashing uniform for travel, altered from one of the air-rescue garments he’d worn on Caladan. Vor’s redheaded dance partner left him to find a more attentive companion, and as soon as the music started again, Harmona pulled Willem back out to the floor.