Dune

But these were real bodies, real pains, real deaths. Bene Gesserit sensitivities forced her to regret the waste.

Is this how it was for my parents caught in the sweep?

Metaphors from Other Memory vanished. She saw Junction then as she knew Teg must see it. Bloody violence, familiar in memory and yet new. She saw attackers advancing, heard them.

Woman’s voice, distinct with shock: “That bush screamed at me!”

Another voice, male: “No telling where some of this originated. That sticky stuff burns your skin.”

Murbella heard action on the far side of the Citadel but it grew eerily quiet around Teg’s position. She saw his troops flitting through shadows, closing in on the tower. There was Teg on Streggi’s shoulders. He took a moment to stare up at the façade confronting them about half a klick away. She chose a projection that looked where he looked. Motion behind windows there.

Where were the mysterious last-ditch weapons Honored Matres were supposed to possess?

What will he do now?

Teg had lost his Command Pod to a laser hit outside the main engagement area. The pod lay on its side behind him and he sat astride Streggi’s shoulders in a patch of screening bushes, some still smoldering. He had lost his comboard with the pod but retained the silvery horseshoe of his comlink, although it was crippled without the pod’s amplifiers. Communications specialists crouched nearby, jittering because they had lost close contact with the action.

The battle beyond the buildings grew louder. He heard hoarse shouts, the high hissing of burners and the lower buzz of large lasguns mingled with tinny zip-zips of hand weapons. Somewhere off there to his left was a thrum-thrum he recognized as heavy armor in trouble. A scraping sound with it, metal agony. Energy system damaged in that one. It was dragging itself over the ground, probably making a mess of the gardens.

Haker, Teg’s personal aide, came dodging down the lane behind the Bashar.

Streggi noticed him first and turned without warning, forcing Teg to look at the man. Haker, dark and muscular, with heavy eyebrows (sweat-dampened now) stopped directly in front of Teg and spoke before fully regaining his breath.

“We have the last pockets bottled up, Bashar.”

Haker raised his voice to override the battle sounds and a buzzing squawker over his left shoulder producing low conversations, battle urgency in clipped tones.

“The far perimeter?” Teg demanded.

“Mop up in half an hour, no more. You should get out of here, Bashar. Mother Superior warned us to keep you out of needless danger.”

Teg gestured at his useless pod. “Why don’t I have a Communications backup?”

“A big laze got both backups in the same burn as they were coming in.”

“They were together?”

Haker heard the anger. “Sir, they were . . .”

“No important equipment is sent in together. I’ll want to know who disobeyed orders.” The quiet voice from immature vocal cords carried more menace than a shout.

“Yes, Bashar.” Strictly obedient and no sign from Haker that the mistake was his own.

Damn! “How soon will replacements arrive?”

“Five minutes.”

“Get my reserve pod in here as fast as you can.” Teg touched Streggi’s neck with a knee.

Haker spoke before she could turn. “Bashar, they got the reserve, too. I’ve ordered another.”

Teg repressed a sigh. These things happened in battle but he didn’t like depending on primitive coms. “We’ll set up here. Get more squawkers.” They, at least, had the range.

Haker glanced at the greenery around them. “Here?”

“I don’t like the look of those buildings up ahead. That tower commands this area. And they must have underground access. I would.”

“There’s nothing on the . . .”

“My memory layout doesn’t include that tower. Get sonics in here to check the ground. I want our plan brought up to the minute with secure information.”

Haker’s squawker came alive with an override voice: “Bashar! Is the Bashar available?”

Streggi moved him next to Haker without being told. Teg took the squawker, whistling his code as he grabbed it.

“Bashar, it’s a mess at the Flat. About a hundred of them tried to lift and ran into our screen. No survivors.”

“Any sign of Mother Superior or her Spider Queen?”

“Negative. We can’t tell. I mean it’s a real mess. Shall I screen a view?”

“Get me a dispatch. And keep looking for Odrade!”

“I tell you nothing survived here, Bashar.” There was a click and a low hum, then another voice: “Dispatch.”

Teg brought his voice-print coder from beneath his chin and barked quick orders. “Scramble a hammership over the Citadel. Put the scene at the Landing Flat and their other disasters on open relay. All bands. Make sure they can see it. Announce no survivors at the Flat.”

The double click of received-confirmed broke the link. Haker said: “Do you really think you can terrify them?”

“Educate them.” He repeated Odrade’s parting words: “Their education has been sadly neglected.”