The Winds of Dune (59 page)

During those agonizing hours, Bronso cast surreptitious glances toward the outbuildings, saw whirlwinds whipping up, great gusting breezes that rattled the tall skeletal trees, winds strong enough to scatter pebbles. A cluster of transient tornadoes circled one particular building, eerie dust devils and pale, swirling winds that appeared and disappeared. His Face Dancer spies had reported strange weather disturbances in the vicinity of Tessia’s conservatory, but they could provide no explanation.

A few capricious winds were not going to bother him. He had waited years for this; finally, the time was nearing.

As the day progressed, the work brought them closer to Tessia’s building, where Medical Sisters prodded her, tested her, tried to understand how she had independently recovered from the guilt-casting. The Face Dancer “Sisters” spread out and busied themselves with supposedly important activities. Nobody had paid attention to their group all day. Bronso had seen to it that the proper papers were filed in the proper places.

The teams moved the large dump box that contained obsolete mulch material. In the gloaming, at the daylight’s most uncertain point, two male workers opened the dump box and removed some of the mulch to create a makeshift nest. From their supply canisters, they swiftly removed thermal insulation, a breather pack, airtight clothes, sealants.

Bronso’s heart pounded; he could feel cold sweat beading on his forehead and dripping down his back as he approached the conservatory building, supposedly to inspect the shrubberies. The strong, random winds gusted again, and shingles on the building fluttered and rattled. A spray of dust and minor debris hissed against the outside walls.

Then the door opened and Tessia stood there in front of him. She looked older; her face was gaunt but her eyes were bright, her lips drawn
back in a smile. “I got your message in the family code, Bronso. Very clever. I’m ready to go.”

He had so much to say to her—but that would come in time, if they succeeded in escaping. There were lost years to recapture in words and memories—too many experiences to describe in fragments. They would start anew. “There is danger getting you out of here, Mother. Are you sure?”

“If I escape or if I die, either way I won’t spend another moment under their control. Humans can endure many things, Bronso—as you know by now—but I am through enduring their abuses.”

The blurred funnel of one of the transparent tornadoes appeared behind her, and a second gained strength, but Tessia seemed unconcerned. The whirlwinds circled and dissipated as she hurried over to the waiting dump box. The Face Dancers clustered close to shield her from view.

“It will be uncomfortable, Mother, but it’s the only way.”

“I’m no stranger to discomfort.” Tessia applied the breather to her face, wrapped herself in the thermal shielding, and climbed into the mulch. The Face Dancer workers connected the life-support systems and gave Tessia instructions.

Her voice was muffled through the face mask, but her eyes never left Bronso’s. “I will put myself into a trance and wait as long as is necessary.”

As the conspirators worked, the tornadoes appeared and reappeared, seeming to gain strength until the group began to attract the attention of other Bene Gesserits, but the Face Dancer women moved in to intercept them.

As soon as the dump box was sealed and Tessia secured, the tornadoes vanished. The air fell still.

They moved the dump box and all their materials and equipment with as much furtive haste as possible. Bronso’s heart did not stop racing until they were safely away from Wallach IX.

No man can be asked to do more than his best, even if he falls short.

—
DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES

N
ow that Jessica had revealed the truth, Gurney understood why Bronso must not be captured. Duncan, though, unaware of any subterfuge, continued to throw himself into the task with all his energy.

While the ghola gathered details, Gurney labored to deflect the search subtly, trying not to get too close to the target. Thankfully, Bronso and his mysterious allies were masters of deception, planting false leads to establish dead-end trails that Gurney methodically followed, knowing they would lead nowhere. He didn’t like to deceive his friend, but his greater loyalty lay with Lady Jessica, and to House Atreides. He understood what Paul wanted, and why—while Duncan did not.

However, the ghola was not only a Swordmaster, but also a Mentat, and not easily fooled. Gurney’s many intentional failures were beginning to make him seem gullible or inept; before long Duncan would undoubtedly stop taking his advice or, worse, grow overtly suspicious.

Gurney paced their headquarters chamber in the Arrakeen citadel. “Face Dancers are Tleilaxu creations, so Bronso must have some sort of business arrangement with the Bene Tleilax. Maybe we should go to Thalim and interrogate some Tleilaxu Masters.”

Duncan shook his head. “The Bene Tleilax hate House Vernius for ousting them from Ix, and the feeling is reciprocated. That is bound to be another dead end.”

Since the ghola also had his own unsettling connections with the Tleilaxu, Gurney wondered if he could be reluctant to return to their worlds. “At least it’s a new approach. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”

“I have another approach,” Duncan said. “We can search among the Wayku aboard Guild Heighliners. We know the one named Ennzyn has a previous connection with Bronso Vernius. Find that one, and we might get some answers.”

Gurney concealed his alarm as best he could. “It’s been, what—nineteen years since the boys ran away? How do we even know Ennzyn is still working for the Guild?”

“Because the Wayku are forbidden to disembark on any planetary surface. He cannot have gone anywhere. And we know the Wayku are involved with Bronso because you and Lady Jessica observed them distributing the seditious literature during your passage to Arrakis.”

“Ah, so we did.” At the time, though, Gurney had not been aware of what he knew now.

Boarding the next Guildship that arrived at Arrakis, Duncan and Gurney marched to the restricted decks bearing authorization documents signed by the Regent Alia herself. The cowed Guild security officials led them to a suite of windowless office cabins where sallow-skinned administrators sat at a row of desks. Though the administrators showed no enthusiasm for the task, the Guild knew the source of their spice and knew not to interfere.

One administrator gave a brief bow, not rising from behind his desk. “We will provide complete access to our personnel data, but we have very little information about individual Wayku employees. They have lived aboard Guildships for many, many centuries. They are . . . company assets, like equipment.”

Gurney scowled. “Gods below, man! Even your equipment has serial numbers.”

The Guildsman pondered for a moment, then left the chamber. He returned a short time later with printed records, shigawire reels, and crystal-etched documents. “Perhaps the information you seek is here.”

To Gurney the task seemed hopeless—and thankfully so—but Duncan dove into the records with dogged determination, dropping into Mentat focus to scan the considerable amount of data.

An hour went by, then two, then three, while Gurney waited patiently. Finally, Duncan rose behind the pile of documents on the table. His ghola face held a satisfied smile, though his metal eyes were unreadable. “I’ve found him, Gurney. I know which ship carries Ennzyn. We will command the Navigator to divert this vessel so that we may intercept it.”

Gurney’s heart was heavy, but he pretended to be pleased.

Inside a chamber hidden in the deep desert, Bronso Vernius examined the tiny silver capsule that he had just removed from the back of his mother’s neck. Hours before, at the Carthag Spaceport, he had discovered it with a scanner and had disabled it electronically.

An Ixian locator beacon. The very fact of its existence angered him. “Part of their testing, Mother. While you were comatose, maybe even when you were pregnant with your unwanted babies, the witches implanted a tracker.”

Tessia pressed a healing pad over the wound on her neck. “I always wondered why that spot itched.” She gave him a gentle smile. “You sound surprised. Do not underestimate the Bene Gesserit. Many of their monitoring devices were merely to study me. I was their experimental animal.”

“And their brood mare.”

“No matter how many other offspring they forced me to bear, you are my only true son, Bronso.” She patted his arm. “And you have freed me. I’m safe now, with you.”

He frowned. “You are never truly safe with me, Mother. There’s been a price on my head for years. But we’re here on Dune now, so there’s a chance. We have important allies.” Bronso placed the capsule on the hard plazcrete floor, and smashed it with the heel of his boot.

The Heighliner carrying Ennzyn was forcibly delayed in orbit above Balut, its next stop, and the Guild offered no explanations to the numerous passengers aboard. As soon as the second Guildship arrived, Duncan and Gurney shuttled across, aided by Guild security.

Following his companion, Gurney’s mind spun. After so many years, he couldn’t believe that Ennzyn truly had any continuing contact with Bronso, yet the Ixian obviously had supporters amongst the Wayku. What better place to start than with Ennzyn? It made perfect sense, and he saw no way he could divert Duncan’s attention.