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Sitting across from Sheeana in the otherwise empty interrogation room, Duncan steepled his fingers. "There are two possibilities. Either the saboteur is capable of deceiving a Truthsayer . . . or someone we don't know about is hiding aboard the Ithaca."
IN WELL ORGANIZED teams, the Bene Gesserit blocked off, then sectioned the no-ship's decks, methodically moving from cabin to cabin and chamber to chamber. But it was a formidable task. The Ithaca was the size of a small city, more than a kilometer long and hundreds of decks high, each filled with passages, chambers, and hidden doors.
While trying to guess how someone else might have sneaked aboard, unknown to them, Duncan remembered discovering the mummified remains of Bene Gesserit captives the Honored Matres had tortured to death. That sealed chamber of horrors had gone undetected during the whole time Duncan had been held prisoner inside the ship on the Chapterhouse landing field.
Could someone else--an unknown Honored Matre, perhaps?--have remained hidden aboard for all that time? More than thirty years! It did not seem possible, but the vessel had thousands of work bays, living quarters, corridors, and storage lockers.
Another possibility: During the escape from the planet of the Handlers, several Face Dancers had crashed small fighters into the no-ship's hull. Mangled bodies had been pulled from the wreckage of those ships . . . but could it all have been a ruse? What if some had actually survived those kamikaze crashes and slipped away? Perhaps one or more Face Dancers were lurking in the untraveled passages of the no-ship, looking for ways to strike.
If so, it was imperative to find them.
Teg had already installed hundreds more surveillance imagers at strategic locations, but that was only a stopgap measure at best. The Ithaca was so large that even the best security equipment had thousands of blind spots, and there simply weren't enough personnel to monitor the imagers already in place. It was an impossible task.
Still, they tried.
As Duncan accompanied a group of five searchers, he was reminded of a beating party marching through the tall grass on a big game hunt. He wondered if they would scare a deadly lion out from somewhere in the vastness of the vessel.
Deck after deck was searched, but even with a dozen teams, a complete inspection from the topmost deck to the lowest cargo hold would take a great deal of time, and in the limited searches they conducted, they found nothing. Duncan was exhausted and stressed.
And the murderer--or murderers--remained aboard.
Only two options are before us now: defend ourselves or surrender to the Enemy. But if any of you believes that surrender is a viable option, then we have already lost.
--BASHAR MILES TEG,
speech given before the Pellikor Engagement
Leaving the Obliterators on Ix for the fabricators to study and duplicate, Murbella traveled next to the main Guild shipyards on Junction.
Administrator Rentel Gorus, with long, pale hair and milky eyes, led Murbella among the construction bays, suspensor cranes, conveyors, and assemblers, all of them teeming with workers. The buildings were tall and blocky, the streets serviceable rather than beautiful. Everything on Junction was done on a breathtaking scale. Great lifters hauled components up to the skeletons of gigantic ships, assembling one vessel after another. The air held the bitter tang of hot metal, the chemical residues from welding mismatched components into huge vessels.
Gorus seemed overly proud. "As you can see, we have the facilities you request, Mother Commander, provided the price is right."
"The price will be right." With the New Sisterhood's wealth in melange and soostones, Murbella could meet virtually any demand for payment. "We'll pay you well for every ship you create, every vessel that can be placed into battle, every craft that can stand against the thinking machine army. The end of our civilization is at hand if we don't defeat the thinking machines."
Gorus did not seem intimidated. "Every side in every war believes their conflict is crucial to history. But most often those are delusionary and needlessly alarmist thoughts. This war may be over before you have to resort to such measures."
She scowled. "I don't know what you mean."
"There are other ways to solve the problem. We know that outside forces are sweeping in to many planetary systems. But what do they want? To what will they concede? We believe such discussions are worth pursuing." He blinked his milky eyes.
"What sort of trick is the Guild trying to play on us this time?"
"No trick, just sensibility. Regardless of politics, commerce must continue. Wartime desperation inspires technological innovation, but peace promotes profitability in the long run. Trade will go on, no matter who wins the conflict."
Heighliners had long been the luxury ships of the universe; now Murbella forced the Spacing Guild to devote their shipyards to creating the tools of war. For centuries the Guild's commercial fleet had been stable, and demand for trade steadily increased as people returned from the Scattering. Now, however, with Omnius's fleet wiping out whole populations and sending refugees in panicked flight back into the heart of the Old Empire, CHOAM and the Guild were in turmoil.
A hot wind from the assembly bays blew in Murbella's face, burning her nostrils with the acrid smoke of waste chemicals. A shiver coursed down her spine.
"Our common enemy must be rational," Gorus continued. "We have therefore dispatched emissaries and negotiators out to the war zone. We will find the thinking machines and make our proposal. The Guild would prefer to continue its commerce regardless of the outcome of this disagreement."
Murbella gasped. "Are you insane? Omnius seeks the extermination of all humanity. That includes you."
"You overstate your case, Mother Commander. Some of our emissaries will, I believe, achieve our goal."
In the background, blasts of steam curled up from the stone smokestacks. She ignored the noise and the smell. "You are a consummate fool, Administrator Gorus. Thinking machines do not follow the rules you assume."
"Be that as it may, we feel obligated to try."
"And what is the result so far?"
"Acceptable losses. Our first emissaries have disappeared, but we will continue the effort. We plan for all eventualities--even disaster." Casually, he led her out onto a broad, open field under the half-assembled hulk of a huge ship. "Thus, we are comfortable with extending certain beneficial terms to the New Sisterhood. You have always been a valued customer, but the order you submitted is massive. Even under wartime conditions, you have asked for more ships than we are able to provide."
"Then offer your workers more incentive."
"Ahh, Mother Commander, but will you provide enough incentive to us?"
She bristled. "How can you think solely of profits when the fate of the human race is at stake?"
"Profits determine all our fates." The Administrator gestured casually, as if to encompass the huge assembly of the ships around him.
"We'll pay what you demand, and the Guild Bank will offer us loans if neces
sary. We need those ships, Gorus."
He smiled coolly. "Your credit is good, but we must address another problem. We do not have enough Guild Navigators to man so many new ships. All of the vessels we build for you will have to be equipped with Ixian mathematical compilers, rather than traditional Navigators. Is that acceptable?"
"Provided the ships function as we require, I have no objection. We don't have time to develop and train another population of Navigators."
Obviously pleased, Gorus rubbed his hands together. "Of late, Navigators have proven somewhat intractable, due to the shortage of spice--a shortage which your Sisterhood created, Mother Commander. It is because of you that we had to look for alternatives to Navigators."
"I have no fondness for Navigators, or for your obscene profits. I don't care how the Guild accomplishes it, but we need those ships."
"Of course, Mother Commander, and we shall provide what you wish."
"That is precisely the answer I need."
What is the advantage of prescience if it serves only to reveal our own downfall?
--NAVIGATOR EDRIK,
message to the Oracle of Time
The Guild bureaucrats had the audacity to call Edrik's Heighliner back to the shipyards on Junction. Staring ahead with his milky eyes, Administrator Gorus blithely announced that the Heighliner would be fitted with one of the new Ixian mathematical compilers. "Our spice supply line is undependable. We must be certain each vessel can operate safely if its Navigator fails."
Over the past two years, more and more Guildships had been outfitted with the hated artificial controls. Mathematical compilers! No simple engine or tool could adequately complete the phenomenally complex projections that a Navigator performed. Edrik and his fellows had evolved through immersion in spice, their prescient vision strengthened through the power of melange. There could be no mechanical substitute.
