Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

“I refuse to believe this!” Valya stared at her sister in complete revulsion.

Vor felt no sympathy for the iron-handed Sisterhood leader, nor for gullible young Tula. All he could think of was the blood-spattered bed and the innocent, slaughtered Orry. “You didn’t show any regret when you scrawled your words on the wall in his blood.”

“Valya told me what to write,” Tula said. “I just delivered the message.”

Though Willem still pointed the projectile weapon at her, his hands trembled now. Tula continued to gaze at her sister, as if the young Atreides were not there at all. She pressed a hand against the ragged shoulder wound as she said, “Valya, you know I’m not lying when I say I am pregnant. And you know it is Orry’s child.”

Standing among the Sisters, Cindel nodded, but Valya did not even look in the Truthsayer’s direction. The Mother Superior was white, her eyes narrowed, her breathing fast. Vor thought she might even lash out and kill Tula herself—and he would have to stop her. Not to protect Tula … but for the baby. An Atreides baby.

Ignoring her sister and the other female commandos, Tula dropped the dagger on the rocky ground with a punctuating clatter. She climbed to her feet and faced Willem, spread her arms. “Get it over with, if that is what you need to do. For Orry’s sake, take me as a sacrifice, and then be done with this. For the Harkonnens and the Atreides.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Valya said, and the words struck Willem like a slap. “She is carrying his baby.” She screamed at the sky, “My own sister is carrying an Atreides child!”

Still poised to spring, Vor spoke a warning to Willem, who kept his weapon pointed at Tula’s head, “Take great care to make the correct decision here. If you kill Tula, you could be killing your own brother’s child.” His gut also told him that Tula was telling the truth, and that it was not a trick. It was too real; her expressions and behavior were too real. She was with child. Vor did not want Atreides blood on their hands—and Valya didn’t want to spill Harkonnen blood.

He took a cautious step toward the young Mother Superior, thinking there might be another way out of this. “I am the one you want. I’m the one you’ve always wanted. I caused Abulurd’s downfall after the Battle of Corrin and forced his exile to Lankiveil. I was there when your brother Griffin died, even if I did not kill him. End your vendetta against the Atreides here and now, and take it out on me instead. After this, give Willem the freedom to live his own life—so that your sister and her child can be safe.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Valya’s eyes were steely.

Vor gave her a cold smile. “We still have something to settle.” He felt no fear, paid no attention to the other Sister commandos who had come here to kill them, didn’t care about Korla or the fascinated scavengers watching the scene now. “I will face you here—as Griffin and I once faced each other in the sietch on Arrakis, before we put aside our differences. But I need assurances of Willem’s safety.”

The Queen of Trash interrupted them. “I’ll make the arrangements on his behalf. Vorian Atreides did well enough with us here, even saved some of our own. We’ll see that young Willem leaves unharmed, with no interference from these women.”

The Sisters had a chartered spacefolder in orbit, and with the New Voyager, Vor had his own way off the planet, if he survived. Korla would see that Willem made his way to Salusa Secundus—but Vor had to defeat Valya first.

Willem finally holstered his weapon, and Tula nearly collapsed from her bleeding wound. While Vor and Valya continued to face each other like hair-trigger weapons, one of the commando Sisters applied a field-dressing medpack to Tula’s injury. The lean, older Sister looked up and gave her assessment. “She needs more care than I can give her here, Mother Superior Valya. We need to get her back up to the main ship.”

“Not yet,” Valya said. She turned once more toward Vorian. “She will want to watch this. She needs to see it.”

Vorian’s world focused on his deadly opponent, and he crouched, ready to fight for his life. He reconsidered the wisdom of that, because he knew that even if he defeated Valya Harkonnen here, even if it was a fair fight in front of witnesses, he was sure she would want revenge after all … that she might never let Willem live his life in peace.

“I am the one you blame for all that has gone wrong with House Harkonnen,” Vor said in a strong voice, hammering the point home. “I am responsible for everything—isn’t that the conclusion you reached? If my life is the only payment you’ll accept for that debt, then come and take it.”

He saw only one way that the Harkonnens would ever relent. He had been prepared for this all along.

In a lightning-fast move, Valya lashed out and struck him, knocking him off his feet. He scrambled back up, but she was a dervish, unleashing years of pent-up hatred and blame. He counterattacked, but could hardly land a blow against her. When he did strike a hard blow in her midsection, she brushed it off and redoubled her attack. Her fighting skills were far superior to Griffin’s, and obviously superior to his own.

Coughing blood, Vor looked up and saw a murderous glint in Valya’s dark eyes. He spoke through bloody lips, “When you kill me, will you finally be satisfied? Will each of our Houses be whole again?” He needed to make her see the folly of her obsession. He was like a man on his deathbed, trying to right a lifetime of wrongs, real or perceived.

“Stop this, Valya,” Tula pleaded. She looked gray-skinned, and the right half of her dark suit was soaked with blood.

But Valya came at him again.

From blow after blow, Vor saw red static around his vision. His head rang as she smashed her open palms against his temples, but they were not mortal blows. In the roar inside his ears, he could hear the Corrin scavengers shouting, calling for him to beat her. He was certain Valya intended to kill him. If he just allowed it, he could end this feud. He’d had a long life, and he was weary in so many ways.

Valya slammed him down to the rubble, threw herself on top of his prone form, pummeling him. He used all his skills to block her repeated attempts at a deathblow, but his energy was waning. Pain erupted from a dozen different injuries, any one of them nearly crippling.

On one side, Willem was shouting in dismay.

Valya knew the most lethal places to strike a human body. She was hurting him intentionally, trying to make him suffer, short of killing him. Finally, he sensed her whole body change, and she coiled for the final deathblow. She would strike like a sledgehammer and cave in his skull.

And Vor was ready for it.

Emperor Roderick’s sudden salvo took the crews aboard the damaged VenHold ships by surprise. Kinetic projectiles slammed against enhanced shields, and even though they failed to penetrate, the avalanche of explosive shells overloaded some of the shield generators that had been under repair since the battle of Lampadas.

As the barriers wavered, Emperor Roderick sat on his command bridge, flanked by Truthsayer Fielle and Admiral Harte. “Continue the bombardment on those ships. Their systems will fail soon, if we can keep firing.” He turned to Harte. “With our inventory of projectiles, how long can we sustain the barrage at this intensity?”

The Admiral asked a young officer on the bridge, who responded, “We planned for this, Sire. Our ships carry weaponry that is disproportionate to their model. We can continue at this constant rate for seven hours. I cannot say whether that will be sufficient.”