Dune Fanfiction - Chapt…

Our approach is to abstract from the accidental nature of

events; thus we test the rules, causes and effects, that
describe our universe. In this, we are unapologetically at
odds with contemporary philosophies. There is an ultimate
reality. We corner it by triangulating independent observers
who probe what is Out there. This is not the prevailing
dogma which has been passed down through the
generations, a vestige of the old Imperium. The prevailing
dogma denies the separation between the objective and
subjective. To them, reality is but a subjective projection, a
screen on which elemental observations are changed by
the psyche of the observer, painting order on a canvas of
chaos. Their look is all inward. Hence their dogmatic
interpretation of prescience: the Oracle fixes the future
according to what it sees; it does not perceive, as we
theorize, the superimposed projection of all future states.
We smile and refute this senseless dogma each and every
day in our work! Look at what our instruments are capable
of. An Ixian paracompass points to the North regardless of
its owner’s psyche! With the same confidence, we look
inside ourselves and find rules, causes and effects. We do
not care about the problem of human agency and free will.
The universe’s laws are God enough for us.
- THE IXIAN RENAISSANCE

The ride up in the elevator was smooth for Reverend

Mother Visella, despite the vertiginous vertical speed
you could infer by looking through the transparent walls
of plexi and out into the rainforest surrounding the
building. Trees were fast disappearing on the ground. A
few seconds later the door opened, but her body had not
noticed any deceleration. The anti-g suspensors
underneath this platform were incredibly powerful.
Expensive. This building was for top-level bureaucrats,
not the rank and file of the administrators.
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 not the rank and file of the administrators.
The robo-helper guided her gently onto the open-air
floor organized as a garden, patios and wooden frames
designed to create comfortable small meeting areas with
low tables, tatami, and chairs. Water fountains splashed
everywhere. It was sunrise on this planet she had landed
an hour before; she prayed she could take off just as
quickly. As she walked along the terrace, she noticed she
was at the very top of the tower, but no barriers protected
her people from falling down below. Force fields were
surely hidden in the exterior walls in order to avoid
powerful bureaucrats from smashing on the ground
below. How high was she now? The view was obstructed
by the garden hedge.
Up a few steps she went, and into a gated area where
the robo-server pointed to a shoe rack where she could
deposit her sandals, a shallow pool of water and a carved
stone basin where to wash feet and hands and face. From
there she arrived at a spear-shaped raised platform
furnished with pillows and low chairs. A female figure
with a wide burnt orange gown and an adherent white
blouse was waiting, looking pensive. The blouse’s fabric
fell down her body in ripples, hiding a flat chest and
creating sparkling light effects as the breeze blew softly.
Here is my bureaucrat! Thought Visella, annoyed.
Clearly this was not a planet ever touched by a Reverend
Mother, or they would have rushed her through much
sooner, and with the courtesy that her station demanded.
Instead they sent a robo-server!

Her host bowed, made a gesture to sit down. Visella

chose the low chair, sat, smiled, kept her annoyance and
impatience rigidly under control. A scroll inked with
fluid calligraphy lines was hanging idle from a divider.
Visella invoked her Other Memories to read the ancient
kanji: Summer.
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 kanji: Summer.
All this way to meet a bureaucrat… all these
formalities before I can take off again and head home!
Her host finally broke the silence with her melodious
voice: “Good morning, Reverend Mother. And what a
splendid morning indeed. I am Sapient Arbatar Sorgo. A
pleasure to meet you.”
She kept quiet, watching the ritual that was performed
in front of her. Arbatar kneeled on the tatami and
proceeded to clean with a white rectangular hemp cloth
several utensils, including a whisk and a white open
bowl that was mottled with small azure clouds. Visella
noticed how the straight, squared edges of the gray kettle
contrasted elegantly with the curves and the hazy hues of
the bowl. Water was poured from a black rectangular
flagon into a gray kettle, which immediately glowed a
faint orange when placed on a stone-like circle. Bubbles
came up on the surface of the water. Must be raging
hot! thought the Reverend Mother from her small chair.
Still waiting, she focused on the beautiful sunny
morning and the rainforest landscape that was stretching
just beyond the parapet. The moist air, the yellow light
of dawn invited joy and calm, but on the Reverend
Mother it had the opposite effect. A beautiful sunrise on
a beautiful land… why am I nervous? Because I need
out! This is too tall a building for the mind to soften!
There should be howling winds here, not a gentle breeze.
Holding the scaling kettle in her hands, the Sapient
Arbatar poured water into the bowl with a sweeping
move.
Something is wrong. Realization struck her as she
swept her gaze across her host’s figure, the angle of the
elbow, the perfectly ondulated hair, the curiously long
middle finger on her left hand. This is no human. Face
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 middle finger on her left hand. This is no human. Face
Dancer? No. How hot is that kettle she is grasping with
her bare hands? By all Gods below! Her skin is not
burning. It’s a machine!
“Tea?” the machine in front of her asked colloquially,
placid eyes staring at some point over the hood of the
Reverend Mother’s aba vest, amusement showing all
over. She scooped a green powder from a red ball-shaped
container mottled in white, poured it into the bowl and
dissolving it in the water with a whisk. Matcha powder.
Overcoming her rigid Bene Gesserit self-control,
Reverend Mother found herself gaping at this uncanny
thing, then recomposed herself; but not before she had
let a repelled look escape.
Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a
human mind!
Gods below! What blasphemy has humanity created
here? She thought. And she is the gatekeeper to my safe
passage out of here. The Bene Gesserit calm took over
once again. My Mission has ended and this is but a stop
on the way home. Visella stood in awkward silence. But
this could turn out to be a big annoyance. It will be wise
to investigate first. Is this a thinking machine, or just an
automata somebody else maneuvers?
The android looked at the bowl, the tea powder
completely dissolved in the hot water; put down the
kettle and brought the bowl with two hands to her
perfectly contoured red lips, taking a ceremonial sip.
Then offered it to the Reverend Mother.
Visella was still young for Bene Gesserit standards,
but ten years in the Scattering had left a mark, a wrinkle
on under her eyes, her natural beauty had become fiercer,
her muscles more sinewy. But somehow she felt aging
another decade by that exchange of glances. Her hands
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 another decade by that exchange of glances. Her hands
accepted the bowl. I am so worn out by my Mission. She
opened her lips but not to sip. “Is that Gamont’s matcha?
The leaves’ fragrance is so unique.” She hesitated.
“Not quite, but close,” spoke her host. “It is our best
local variety. Harvested in the hills of our southern
continent twice a year. But I hear nothing can match the
Old Empire’s brand. CHAOM ships bring Gamont’s
matcha tea here sometimes,” continued the Sapient, still
smiling.
A machine’s smile could mean anything. And then:
CHOAM ships! The venerable trade company from the
Old Imperium gets this far! Good, it means they are in
mainstream business. No shady operations.

“What is this?” ventured Visella.

“Our Immigration and Customs office. I am its
secretary.”
Visella sipped in silence. Contrary to what her
Memories were telling her was the custom, the Sapient
produced a second bowl for herself from behind the little
table and cleaned it.
“What are you thinking now?” the android continued,
the direct question going deep into the Reverend
Mother’s mind. Water poured out of the kettle into the
second bowl, hot steam clouds evaporating in the brisk
morning air. There they stood on a terrace hundreds of
feet above the canopy of a lush tropical forest, colorful
birds below them swerving in the light breeze and
singing their morning songs. Humidity in the air. It was
going to be an oppressively hot morning.
“Does it matter? What are you thinking?” she rebuked.
“Thank you for being open to me having a thinking
process, Reverend Mother. I am aware of the deep
beliefs coming from the ancient Butlerian Jihad. I have
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 beliefs coming from the ancient Butlerian Jihad. I have
come to trust my mental process comes close to yours”.
She paused while sipping tea. “Beginnings like these are
interesting. Some risk taking is required. I would ask you
to indulge me in a little game. Take this piece of
parchment and the pen. We will both write down what is
going through our minds right now and then exchange
papers.”
“Why?” replied a puzzled Visella. Just a smile in
return. Visella took the pen and scribbled quickly: “How
do I really know you are a person, and that I should treat
you as one?” They exchanged sheets. It read: “We don’t
know if we think alike, but what harm is in treating each
other as such?” A smile came to her lips, and she let it
be. After all, a smile can mean anything.
“We begin with similar thoughts – or reservations.
That is progress,” said Arbatar in between sips.
“Is it? How do I know who is maneuvering inside
your head? This could be an elaborate game you play
with every Reverend Mother you meet.”
“I have never met an original Reverend Mother from
the Million Worlds. Others who were similar. Not quite,
but close. From my vantage point, I ask myself the same
question: how do I know your mental process is free? Do
you have no masters?”
Lectured by a machine! “You were programmed, I
was not.”
“Were you not? What are those precious genes, the
Atreides genetic lines, that you carry? And the rigorous
training? So they are not directing your actions?”
“Spare me your rhetoric! We are here to talk about my
safe passage. Why am I here at this luxury Customs
department?”
She did not feel danger, but were her instincts reliable
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 She did not feel danger, but were her instincts reliable
in the presence of androids? No Bene Gesserit training
had ever considered this! She closed her eyes pretending
to savor the matcha (her senses told her it was the real
thing, no poison nor narcotics), and sank into Other
Memory from the countless Reverend Mothers and
progenitors that went back in time, looking for insight.
Malkesha Tal, you lived during the Butlerian Jihad
times! Give me your wisdom! A soft, thin face of the pre-
Imperium times came into her field of vision. Malkesha
had been a senior Ix programmer at times where Ix made
thinking things. Let your memories inform my sensibility
here.
“Indeed. Your safe passage. But where are my
manners! You must forgive my thought provoking
experiment. I do dabble in the field of philosophy in my
free time.”
“You do! Very fitting for a machine!”
“Yes, it is. When you know you are different, you
wonder whether your words will be understood correctly.
How can you verify it? Every word, every gesture
speaking to a citizen from the farthest place in the
Scattering may mean something different, with
consequences.”
The last word hung in the air like a bringer of bad
news. “Hard between humans, and I wonder how deep or
shallow our divide is.”
“You are fully organic,” continued the Sapient, “and I
am not. My appearance is not that different from yours,
and in fact you can say my external surface is a
camouflage, an imitation of human skin, and I wear
clothing. I drink liquids, like this exquisite tea. When I
speak to my kind, I know we can communicate. How do
I know it is the same with you?”
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 “Sophisms!” Visella rebuked her. Get to the point! I
need safe passage and permission to leave this planet if I
am to report back to the Missionaria Protectiva. She had
ventured to a half dozen planets, disappeared for a
decade-long mission, and vital recon information had to
be brought back to the Sisterhood for the natural next
step. Those planets are ready for a Siona-ghola! Bring
the prophetess and spread the rites!

“That’s what I have come to conclude too. After all, I

don’t need to be similar to you. I certainly do not need,
nor aspire to be human.” This word also hung in the air,
like she had said I do not aspire to be a cooking
stove. “By the way, the rice crackers are quite nice,” the
android continued nodding toward the little tray next to
them.
“So?” This android did love to talk. Patience Sister! It
is the first time in our history we make contact with
this… tool! It is means to an end, my safe passage! But
maybe there is some useful background.
“The solution is environmental pressures. And natural
selection.” she continued. The Reverend Mother nodded:
“We are both shaped by our environment.”
Another android smile: “And as long as the
environment shapes us the same way via the same
pressure to survive and perpetuate our kind, I believe
both our people have adapted to think alike.. I am
optimistic we can truly understand. Different origin,
similar necessities. More tea?”
It made sense, uncomfortably. Visella nodded again,
looking at the simul-ivory timepiece on her wrist. Her
internal time-sense had not adjusted yet to the local
circadian rhythms. This meeting is not entirely a waste of
time, but I need to go home. Obviously she could not
read an android the way you could read a human. Could
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 read an android the way you could read a human. Could
she learn another way? She looked into Malkehsal’s
memory again. Would Truthsay worked on this thing, if I
were a Truthsayer?
“So be it,” she permitted, relaxing on her chair. It was
a glorious, tropical day. The haze had all evaporated
leaving a scenic panorama that, at their height above the
canopy, must have been several hundred miles deep to
the horizon. Looking outside she felt as a dot in the
middle of a circle that was the horizon. ”I am embracing
that we can express ourselves and be understood fully.”
she noted sarcastically. Large birds of prey roamed the
skies, certainly a local breed of giant eagle dating back
from the days the planet was terraformed with imported
Terran fauna, fifteen-feet wingspan, shrieks that pierced
the wind. “But I am so curious. May I ask about your
kind?”
“I am sure you have questions,” replied the Sapient. “I
am not reserved, and we happen to be very hospitable
here. Ask away.”
“How old are you?”
“Around 300 standard years”.
“Can you die?”
“Everything perishes in due time, Reverend Mother.”

“Were you created?”

“We build our bodies and hardware, but our software is
created by recombination.”
“I don’t understand. Like procreation?”
“Not quite, but close. We breed minds by merging
different vectors from different individuals. There can be
more than two parents though.”
“Is your body entirely mechanical or partly
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 biological?”
No answer, only a smile.
“Does your kind have a religion?” Always probe for
weaknesses, her Missionaria training reminded her.
“So you really think we can be similar! I am so
elated.” presently the android shrugged. Intentionally
mimicking human body language?
The machine put down the bowl, elaborating: “We
cultivate open-mindedness, and so each one of us can
embrace any belief. We do share one common principle
though.”
“And that is?”
“Compassion. We believe all sentient beings deserve
it.”
Voices from Other Memory clamored inside Visella’s
head.
“Bullcrap! What do you mean? You are all Buddhists of
old? Do you even know the term?”
“The term is old, and it is what my kind has learned to
be a good label for this mental approach. You have to
thank some old holo-libraries our human friends brought
us from the Famine times.”
“Approach to what?”
“To interacting with the universe around us. What are
we and what are you? What difference it makes if we
both think? Sentient beings. The Buddhists never talked
about humans. Such a radical concept”.
“I am speechless. Very human of you!” Visella
snapped, testing.
“Human! But no, that’s such a rare belief among
humans!” smiling again.
Visella leaned back in her small chair, her body
pushing against the soft embroidered pillows. Her
internal senses were profoundly disconcerted. Where in
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 internal senses were profoundly disconcerted. Where in
hell had these creatures emerged from? A swirl of other
questions followed. Would Voice work with these
things? Surely not the sexual imprinting the Sisterhood
has mastered and was still carefully using. When back to
Chapterhouse, we shall send a whole contingent of
Sisters and either study or completely isolate this place.
The risks! But that was not all, she had noticed the signs
of incredible wealth in the size of this planet’s spaceport,
the expensive construction materials, the decor, this very
tower shooting up from the ground up to a mile in
height, dominating like an apex predator on the land.
“How many?”
“We are a small group by choice.”
“Tell me, does the notion of gender mean anything to
you?”
“That’s tricky. We have a concept similar to biological
sex, but it is not binary. For simplicity you can address
me as a she.”
She had to reconsider her predicament. As the Mentat
said: “Nothing is out of the question in the Scattering!”

“Very well,” continued Arbatar after noting the time

marked by her own golden timepiece. “Your questions
are revealing, but not unusual. Now that our little
introduction is over, I will endeavor to get to the point.”
Finally! Let’s drop the pretenses. She stiffened in her
chair, all her senses becoming alert. She suspected this
long diversion masked the difficulties ahead. If in a
corner, she was not sure she could hurt an inorganic
machine. Could she invoke her Honored Matres training
and speed to the nearest exit? Elevator? How could she
flee from here? From an entire planet?
“I have your Old Imperium paperwork. I recognize
you as a Reverend Mother from our history. Your
presence on our planet is a surprise. You are the first
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 presence on our planet is a surprise. You are the first
Mother we have seen in a century. Old Imperium, too.
May I ask what is the purpose of your mission?”
“I am only in transit. My lighter’s life systems
malfunctioned on the way back to Junction, and this was
the nearest star system with a Goldilock zone.”
“How did you know there was an inhabited planet
here?”
“I didn’t. I only knew it was inhabitable. My craft is a
light ship. Crew of one. I am trained as a pilot. Limited
autonomy left due to a failed air recycling apparatus. I
needed fresh air and a base from which to send a distress
signal. Or improvise repairs. I am glad this is a populated
area, and beg your help to allow me to repair my ship
and leave at once. The Bene Gesserit will remember.”
“You were very lucky to find us here. And sorry to
hear about your ship. This place does not usually show
up in navigation maps, though we conduct our fair share
of business with many worlds.”
“I have noticed your spaceport” continued Visella. An
oblique look. “Smugglers?”
“Only proper business. Tropical hardwoods, our
signature rose water. Fine tea. Advanced electronics. No
weapons, though,” A pause. “Don’t you see how
fantastic this is? You really are treating me as a person”.
That lingered in the air.
“Benefit of the doubt, oh sentient being,” snapped
Visella. A suspicion. “Why Arbatar, is this just a ruse?
Is this a simulated performance? A Turing test? You are
declared conscious if you give me the impression of
being so? Who is the puppeteer holding your strings?”.
“No strings! No tests! Being shaped by the same
pressures, remember”. Android smile.
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 pressures, remember”. Android smile.
Revelation struck.
“Aaah. And yours is…” Reverend Mother Visella got
up from the chair in a blink.
“Survival.” Android smile.
“Which means…”
“Please, you are safe here. No harm will come to you,
Reverend Mother.” Arbatar was standing up with open
hands.
“So long as I do not try to leave!”
“We do not wish our presence to be noticed.”
“By whom? The CHOAM? By the sentient beings of
my Order? Well I see the extent of your compassion!”
“Not quite there Reverend Mother, but close. My
compassion for you is balanced by the compassion and
safety for countless more sentient beings here. And no,
we prefer your kind not to know, either”. Arbatar relaxed
once again, sat back down on her knees and grabbed the
bowl.
“And what would happen if I fled, Arbatar?” said
Visella dropping back onto the chair.
“From a mile-high tower? You can move fast, but you
cannot outrun gravity. Or from this planet? On a ship
with failing live support? Our crew just completed the
ship’s capture, by the way. Do sit down, Reverend
Mother, and let’s be sensible. The day is gorgeous. This
planet has all that a human being may long for. This is a
wonderful time to be alive. Enjoy the moment. We will
get to know each other better, in time.”
A pause. Then the Sapient continued: “And do try the
rice crackers, by the way — they are quite tasty.”
A furious Visella picked a cracker up and bit into it. It
tasted sweet. Like all traps.
“Tasty, right?” said the Sapient.
“Not quite, but close,” was the Reverend Mother’s bitter
answer.
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:
answer.