Great Schools of Dune 2.5 by Red Plague

Author:Red Plague
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

The VenHold spacefolder, guided by one of the rare and mysterious Navigators, was the swiftest and most reliable means of transportation in the known universe. Even so, Dr. Rohan Zim found the delay agonizing as he waited for the ship to arrive at Walgis.

Ever since hearing about the deadly plague, he had tirelessly rallied the doctors at the new medical facilities on Parmentier. He wanted to save those people, even if they were Butlerians. A mob of the anti-technology fanatics had burned down the longstanding Suk Medical School on Salusa Secundus, and they had demonstrated against medical technology, even against basic surgical advances. The zealots considered sophisticated new prosthetics and artificial organs to be abhorrent. They railed against scientific progress that would have increased food production and saved countless lives.

Dr. Rohan Zim found very little to like about the backward Butlerians. But they were still people, and he had taken a solemn vow when he became a Suk doctor.

Upon receiving approval from Directeur Venport, Zim rushed back to Parmentier, where his people had been working nonstop to manufacture the vital vaccines and treatments for those afflicted. Despite its virulence, the red plague was an old disease, well recognized and mostly eradicated across human-settled planets. The cure existed; it just needed to be delivered to the sick.

The people on Walgis had to agree to the treatment, even if it had a strong basis in technology. Zim had no doubts, though: There was nothing like watching one’s family moan and die in feverish misery to make a person reassess esoteric beliefs.

Dr. Zim and his Suk colleagues had created and packaged one hundred thousand doses of the cure. They would need help distributing and administering the vaccines, but his volunteers would teach others, who would in turn teach even more, and perhaps the red plague would be caught and stopped. Once those hundred thousand doses were delivered, the recovered victims would provide the antibodies to cure the rest. Zim wished his team had been able to begin a week sooner.

Now he joined the other doctors on the observation deck during the final foldspace jump to Walgis. When the Holtzman engines activated, there was only a brief distortion as space folded around the small vessel. The Navigator, in his murky tank of swirling gas, chose a path and guided the ship, and then emerged as ripples in the fabric of the universe smoothed out again, returning them to normal space just outside of Walgis.

One of the doctors pointed out the observation window at a bright dot that grew progressively larger as the spacefolder accelerated toward its destination. As the planet became a discernible disc, they could see bright lights, flickering shapes of large ships in orbit—battleships.

“Those will be the Butlerian vessels,” Zim said. “A quarantine cordon to keep the infected from escaping. In that matter, at least, we can thank Manford Torondo.”

He looked to the wall as his fellow doctors gathered at the observation window. He raised his voice to the VenHold crew, who were listening on the wall pickup.

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