As Raquella watched, the two Harkonnen sisters performed a series of swift combat moves that Valya had developed with her brother Griffin. The young women struck out at each other and fell back, feinted, advanced, dodging blows with precision, as if this were a complex, well-rehearsed dance. Their movements were fluid, graceful, and lightning fast. They charged at each other; Tula leaped over Valya and went into a smooth roll, while Valya rolled in the opposite direction. Less than ten meters apart, they sprang to their feet, whirled, and charged again, ignoring the gasps and cheers of Sisters watching them.
Raquella considered that Harkonnen genetics might offer intriguing possibilities, but she could not visualize Valya as a breeding mistress — she was too independent, too forceful. This beautiful new girl Tula, on the other hand, might be perfect for the program.
Valya and Tula stood back-to-back and each took one step, then whirled and struck out with hands and feet. A pair of blows struck home, as Valya kicked her sister in the abdomen, receiving a hard chop to the neck in return. Three more times they stood back-to-back, took a step, and whirled on each other. Raquella realized this was their variation of a less-than-deadly duel, in which they tried different attacks each time.
Raquella had already observed Valya’s impressive fighting abilities on Rossak, but her speed and fluidity had improved significantly. Additional Sisterhood training, as well as greater control as a Reverend Mother, had made Valya astonishing. She monitored her muscles, reflexes, and every move she made with precise control. It was obvious that Valya had taught Tula a great deal, because they shared the same instincts and speed. As a fighting team, they could be quite lethal.
When the young women concluded their impromptu demonstration, some of the onlookers asked Valya about her technique, while Tula stood looking quiet and shy. With a glance at the Mother Superior, Valya raised her voice. “When I trained with the Sisterhood, I identified a number of talented fighters in our ranks. Back then, the exercises were informal demonstrations of bodily control, but now they should be more than that.” She wiped perspiration from her brow. “We Sisters know our bodies and our reflexes better than any typical fighter — we can take advantage of that, develop it. We need to be able to defend ourselves against outside threats. Our Sisterhood has already been massacred once.”
Raquella stepped forward. “What are you suggesting?”
Valya flicked dark hair from her eyes. “Remember how easily the Sister Mentats were killed by Imperial troops? They were helpless in the face of brutish soldiers!”
The Mother Superior listened and considered. “The Sisterhood’s mission is to improve human abilities in all our candidates. Training is physical as well as mental, and mental abilities are enhanced by well-honed bodies. I agree, personal combat training would make the Sisterhood stronger.”
“Our enemies definitely won’t expect it.” Valya stood next to her sister as they faced the old woman. “Do we have your permission to show other Sisters our methods?”
“Of course. Each individual contributes to the whole. Develop an instruction routine as you see fit. But first I have a different mission for you.” She extended her arm. “Come, Valya, walk with me.”
As they crossed the grass, Raquella leaned on the younger woman’s arm, though she could have kept her balance without the assistance. The support she needed from Valya was far more than this.
The old woman continued, “On my orders, you were instrumental in hiding our electronic breeding records on Rossak. Although the new Sister Mentats are memorizing the incomplete bound records, that is not sufficient. Even if the records were exhaustive, it would take them far too long to assimilate so much data, one page at a time, and the result would not accomplish our larger goals.”
Valya could see where the discussion was heading, and her eyes flashed with a hungry pride. “You want me to go to Rossak, retrieve the hidden computers, and bring them back to Wallach IX, so we can continue our work on an accelerated scale.” Her lips curved in a grim smile. “That would prove Dorotea and her faction didn’t win.”
Raquella paused at a bench to catch her breath. “Those computers caused the deaths of many Sisters and created a huge schism in the order. But they are necessary, and I refuse to surrender them. Dorotea could never find the computers, never prove they existed, no matter how hard she searched. When we have them again, we must be extremely careful not to let the secret out.”
Valya narrowed her eyes. “I am good at keeping secrets — and at accomplishing what needs to be done. I will bring them back for you, Mother Superior. You can count on me.”
“Yes … yes, I can count on you. Lead a team of our best Sisters to Rossak to retrieve what is ours … and do it soon. We may not have much time.”
Valya was concerned. “Is there a crisis?”
“There is always a crisis. Right now, I am very old, Valya. Old and tired.”
Chapter 15 (Anyone who searches for the meaning)
Anyone who searches for the meaning of life is on a fool’s journey. Human life has no redeeming purpose or value.
— the cymek GENERAL AGAMEMNON, A Time for Titans
On a side street in Arrakis City, Vorian Atreides remained with Captain Phillips in the crowded, noisy gaming den for the better part of an hour. They watched the gamblers, the drug consumers, and those who imbibed potent spice beer or expensive offworld liquors. The dingy place smelled of dust, melange, and a faint background odor of urine from a poorly sealed reclamation chamber. Vor frowned; no true desert worker would be so careless as to let that moisture go to waste. He shuffled his boots to find a more comfortable position for his sore infected toe.
Griffin Harkonnen had frequented places like this, spreading bribes, endangering himself, desperate to find any information about where Vorian Atreides had hidden on the desert world.…
Captain Phillips wanted to eavesdrop on conversations, hoping to find a supplier who could offer a cargo of melange for a better price than Qimmit’s. So far, Phillips had remained silent, but now he caught Vor’s gaze, then nodded over his shoulder. Vor took a careful, casual sip of his spice beer while glancing where the captain had indicated. He spotted Qimmit in the crowd, chatting with miners and Combined Mercantiles businessmen.
“He’s moving in our direction … and not by accident,” Phillips said. “I’ve been watching him inch his way toward us.”
With his dusty stillsuit hood down to reveal his matted, unruly hair, Qimmit glided through the throng, pretending not to look at the two men.
“We won’t need to find an alternate supplier if he decides to lower his price,” the captain continued. “Qimmit is a crafty one, but he’s the least crooked of the possible suppliers. At least he never sells me diluted product.”
“Should we turn our backs on him?” Vor asked. He guessed that Qimmit had never expected them to walk away in the first place, and he wouldn’t want to lose their business to a rival. “To show him he’ll have to work to get us back?”
Phillips clicked his glass against his companion’s, nodded. “A good negotiating ploy, Vorian Kepler.”
Kepler. The alternate surname still jarred Vor. He wished he could tell the captain the full truth, but Vor preferred to remain anonymous.
They were trying to catch the bartender’s attention to order refills when a disingenuous voice said from behind, “If you two are here, then you haven’t found another supplier. Still need a load of spice?”
Vor and the captain turned to face the grinning spice merchant, with their schooners still empty. Phillips appraised the merchant with cool reserve. “We haven’t selected another supplier yet.”