Dune

“I merely tell what they believe. They see taxation as evidence of the drift, taking away free energy that might create more new things. A sensitized person detects it, they say.”

“And these . . . these Honored Matres?”

“They fit the pattern. Power-closed government intent on making all potential challengers ineffectual. Screen out the bright ones. Blunt intelligence.”

A tiny beeping sound came from the machinery area. Joshua was past them before they could stand. He bent over the screen that revealed events on the surface.

“They are back,” he said. “See! They dig in the ashes directly above us.”

“Have they found us?” The Rabbi sounded almost relieved.

Joshua watched the screen.

Rebecca placed her head beside his, studying the diggers—ten men with that dreaming look in their eyes of those who had been bonded to Honored Matres.

“They only dig at random,” Rebecca said, straightening.

“You’re sure?” Joshua stood and looked into her face, seeking secret confirmation.

Any Bene Gesserit could see it.

“Look for yourself.” She gestured at the screen. “They are leaving. They go to the sligsty now.”

“Where they belong,” the Rabbi muttered.

Making workable choices occurs in a crucible of informative mistakes. Thus Intelligence accepts fallibility. And when absolute (infallible) choices are not known, Intelligence takes chances with limited data in an arena where mistakes are not only possible but also necessary.

—DARWI ODRADE

Mother Superior did not just board an outgoing lighter and transfer to any convenient no-ship. There were plans, arrangements, strategies—contingencies on contingencies.

It took eight hectic days. Timing with Teg had to be precise. Consultations with Murbella ate up hours. Murbella had to know what she faced.

Discover their Achilles’ heel, Murbella, and you have it all. Stay on the observation ship when Teg attacks but watch carefully.

Odrade took detailed advice from all who could help. Then came the vital-signs implant with encrypting to transmit her secret observations. A no-ship and long-range lighter had to be refitted, crew chosen by Teg.

Bellonda muttered and growled until Odrade intervened.

“You are distracting me! Is that your intent? Weaken me?” It was late morning four days before departure and they were temporarily alone in the workroom. Weather clear but unseasonably cold and air an ochre tinge from a dust storm that had blown across Central in the night.

“Convocation was a mistake!” Bellonda needed her parting shot.

Odrade found herself snapping back at Bellonda, who had become a bit too caustic. “Necessary!”

“To you, maybe! Saying goodbye to your family. Now, you leave us here taking in each other’s laundry.”

“Did you just come up here to complain about the Convocation?”

“I don’t like your latest comments on Honored Matres! You should have consulted us before spreading—”

“They’re parasites, Bell! It’s time we made that clear: a known weakness. And what does a body do when afflicted by parasites?” Odrade delivered this with a broad grin.

“Dar, when you assume this . . . this pseudo-humorous pose, I would like to throttle you!”

“Would you smile as you did it, Bell?”

“Damn you, Dar! One of these days . . .”

“We don’t have many more days together, Bell, and that’s what’s eating you. Answer my question.”

“Answer it yourself!”

“The body welcomes periodic delousing. Even addicts dream of freedom.”

“Ahhhhh.” A Mentat peered from Bellonda’s eyes. “You think addiction to Honored Matres could be made painful?”

“In spite of your dreadful inability at humor, you still can function.”

A cruel smile flexed Bellonda’s mouth.

“I’ve managed to amuse you,” Odrade said.

“Let me discuss this with Tam. She has a better head for strategy. Although . . . Sharing softened her.”

When Bellonda had gone, Odrade leaned back and laughed quietly. Softened! “Don’t go soft tomorrow, Dar, when you Share.” The Mentat stumbles on logic and misses the heart. She sees the process and worries about failure. What do we do if . . . We open windows, Bell, and let in common sense. Even hilarity. Puts more serious matters in perspective. Poor Bell, my flawed Sister. Always something to occupy your nervousness.

Odrade left Central on departure morning much entangled in her thinking—an introspective mood, worried by what she had learned Sharing with Murbella and Sheeana.

I’m being self-indulgent.

That offered no relief. Her thoughts were framed by Other Memory and almost cynical fatalism.

Queen bees swarming?