Frank Herbert - Dune Book 5 - Heretics of Dune

by Frank Herbert

  Two bodies slumped in death.

  Painfully, Waff disentangled himself from the chair and righted it as he got to his feet. His thigh throbbed. A fraction of a meter more and she would have broken his thigh! He realized that her reaction had not been mediated by her central nervous system. As with some insects, attack could be initiated by the required muscle system. That development would have to be investigated!

  His Face Dancer accomplice was listening at the open hatch. She stepped aside to allow the entry of another Face Dancer in the guise of an Ixian guard.

  Waff massaged his injured thigh while his Face Dancers disrobed the dead women. The one who copied the Ixian put her head to that of the dead old Honored Matre. Things moved swiftly after that. Presently, there was no Ixian guard, only a faithful copy of the old Honored Matre and a younger Honored Matre attendant. Another pseudo-Ixian entered and copied the younger Honored Matre. Soon, there were only ashes where dead flesh had been. A new Honored Matre scooped the ashes into a bag and concealed it beneath her robe.

  Waff made a careful examination of the room. The consequences of discovery made him shudder. Such arrogance as he had seen here came from obviously awesome powers. Those powers must be probed. He detained the Face Dancer who had copied the old one.

  "You have printed her?"

  "Yes, Master. Her waking memories were still alive when I copied."

  "Transfer to her." He gestured to the one who had been an Ixian guard. They touched foreheads for a few heartbeats then parted.

  "It is done," said the older one.

  "How many other copies of these Honored Matres have we made?"

  "Four, Master."

  "None of them detected?"

  "None, Master."

  "Those four must return to the heartland of these Honored Matres and learn all there is to know about them. One of those four must get back to us with what is learned."

  "That is impossible, Master."

  "Impossible?"

  "They have cut themselves off from their source. This is their way, Master. They are a new cell and have established themselves on Gammu."

  "But surely we could. . ."

  "Your pardon, Master. The coordinates of their place in the Scattering were contained only in a no-ship's workings and have been erased."

  "Their tracks are completely covered?" There was dismay in his voice.

  "Completely, Master."

  Disaster! He was forced to rein in his thoughts from a sudden frenzied darting. "They must not learn what we have done here," he muttered.

  "They will not learn from us, Master."

  "What talents have they developed? What powers? Quickly!"

  "They are what you would expect from a Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit but without the melange memories."

  "You're sure?"

  "There is no hint of it. As you know, Master, we --

  "Yes, yes. I know." He waved her to silence. "But the old one was so arrogant, so . . ."

  "Your pardon, Master, but time presses. These Honored Matres have perfected the pleasures of sex far beyond that developed by any others."

  "So it's true what our informants said."

  "They went back to the primitive Tantric and developed their own ways of sexual stimulation, Master. Through this, they accept the worship of their followers."

  "Worship." He breathed the word. "Are they superior to the Breeding Mistresses of the Sisterhood?"

  "The Honored Matres believe so, Master. Shall we demon --"

  "No!" Waff dropped his elfin mask at this discovery and assumed the expression of a dominant Master. The Face Dancers nodded their heads in submission. A look of glee came over Waff's face. The returned Tleilaxu of the Scattering reported truthfully! By a simple mind-print he had confirmed this new weapon of his people!

  "What are your orders, Master?" the old one asked.

  Waff resumed his elfin mask. "We will explore these matters only when we have returned to the Tleilaxu core at Bandalong. Meanwhile, even a Master does not give orders to an Honored Matre. You are my masters until we are free of prying eyes."

  "Of course, Master. Shall I now convey your orders to the others outside?"

  "Yes, and these are my orders: This no-ship must never return to Gammu. It must vanish without a trace. No survivors."

  "It will be done, Master."

  Technology, in common with many other activities, tends toward avoidance of risks by investors. Uncertainty is ruled out if possible. Capital investment follows this rule, since people generally prefer the predictable. Few recognize how destructive this can be, how it imposes severe limits on variability and thus makes whole populations fatally vulnerable to the shocking ways our universe can throw the dice.

  -Assessment of Ix, Bene Gesserit Archives

  On the morning after that initial test in the desert, Sheeana awoke in the priestly complex to find her bed surrounded by white-robed people.

  Priests and priestesses!

  "She's awake," a priestess said.

  Fear gripped Sheeana. She clutched the bed covers close to her chin while she stared out at those intent faces. Were they going to abandon her in the desert again? She had slept the sleep of exhaustion in the softest bed with the cleanest linen she had experienced in her eight years but she knew everything the priests did could have a double meaning. They were not to be trusted!

  "Did you sleep well?" It was the priestess who had spoken first. She was a gray-haired older woman, her face framed in a white cowl with purple trim. The old eyes were watery but alert. Pale blue. The nose was an upturned stub above a narrow mouth and outjutting chin.

  "Will you speak to us?" the woman persisted. "I am Cania, your night attendant. Remember? I helped you into your bed."

  At least, the tone of voice was reassuring. Sheeana sat up and took a better look at these people. They were afraid! A desert child's nose could detect the telltale pheromones. To Sheeana, it was a simple, straightforward observation: That smell equals fear.

  "You thought you would hurt me," she said. "Why did you do that?"

  The people around her exchanged looks of consternation.

  Sheeana's fear dissipated. She had sensed the new order of things and yesterday's trial in the desert meant more change. She recalled how subservient the older woman . . . Cania? She had been almost groveling the previous night. Sheeana would learn in time that any person who lived through the decision to die evolved a new emotional balance. Fears were transitory. This new condition was interesting.

  Cania's voice trembled when she responded: "Truly, Child of God, we did not intend harm."

  Sheeana straightened the bedcovers on her lap. "My name is Sheeana." That was desert politeness. Cania already had produced a name. "Who are these others?"

  "They will be sent away if you don't want them . . . Sheeana." Cania indicated a florid-faced woman at her left dressed in a robe similar to her own. "All except Alhosa, of course. She is your day attendant."

  Alhosa curtsied at the introduction.

  Sheeana stared up at a face puffy with waterfat, heavy features in a nimbus of fluffy blond hair. Shifting her attention abruptly, Sheeana looked at the men in the group. They watched her with heavy-lidded intentness, some with looks of trembling suspicion. The fear smell was strong.

  Priests!

  "Send them away." Sheeana waved a hand at the priests. "They are haram!" It was the gutter word, the lowest term of all for that which was most evil.

  The priests recoiled in shock.

  "Begone!" Cania commanded. There was no mistaking the look of malevolent glee on her face. Cania had not been included among the vile ones. But these priests clearly stood among those labeled as haram! They must have done something hideous for God to send a child-priestess to chastise them. Cania could believe it of priests. They had seldom treated her the way she deserved.

  Like chastened bedogs, the priests bowed themselves backward and left Sheeana's chamber. Among those who went out into the hallway wa
s a historian-locutor named Dromind, a dark man with a busy mind that tended to fasten onto ideas like the beak of a carrion bird onto a morsel of meat. When the chamber door closed behind them, Dromind told his trembling companions that the name Sheeana was a modern form of the ancient name, Siona.

  "You all know Siona's place in the histories," he said. "She served Shai-hulud in His transformation from human shape into the Divided God."

  Stiros, a wrinkled older priest with dark lips and pale, glistening eyes, looked wonderingly at Dromind. "That is extremely curious," Stiros said. "The Oral Histories claim that Siona was instrumental in His translation from the One into the Many. Sheeana. Do you think. . ."

  "Let us not forget the Hadi Benotto translation of God's own holy words," another priest interrupted. "Shai-hulud referred many times to Siona."

  "Not always with favor," Stiros reminded them. "Remember her full name: Siona Ibn Fuad al-Seyefa Atreides."

  "Atreides," another priest whispered.

  "We must study her with care," Dromind said.

  A young acolyte-messenger hurried up the hallway to the group and sought among them until he spied Stiros. "Stiros," the messenger said, "you must clear this hallway immediately."

  "Why?" It was an indignant voice from the press of the rejected priests.

  "She is to be moved into the High Priest's quarters," the messenger said.

  "By whose orders?" Stiros demanded.

  "High Priest Tuek himself says this," the messenger said. "They have been listening." He waved a hand vaguely toward the direction from which he had come.

  All of the group in the hall understood. Rooms could be shaped to send voices from them into other places. There were always listeners.

  "What have they heard?" Stiros demanded. His old voice quavered.

  "She asked if her quarters were the best. They are about to move her and she must not find any of you out here."

  "But what are we to do?" Stiros asked.

  "Study her," Dromind said.

  The hall was cleared immediately and all of them began the process of studying Sheeana. The pattern born here would print itself on all of their lives over the subsequent years. The routine that took shape around Sheeana produced changes felt in the farthest reaches of the Divided God's influence. Two words ignited the change: "Study her."

  How naive she was, the priests thought. How curiously naive. But she could read and she displayed an intense interest in the Holy Books she found in Tuek's quarters. Her quarters now.

  All was propitiation from the highest to the lowest. Tuek moved into the quarters of his chief assistant and the bumping process moved downward. Fabricators waited upon Sheeana and measured her. The finest stillsuit was fashioned for her. She acquired new robes of priestly gold and white with purple trim.

  People began avoiding historian-locutor Dromind. He took to buttonholing his fellows and expounding the history of the original Siona as though this said something important about the present bearer of the ancient name.

  "Siona was the mate of the Holy Duncan Idaho," Dromind reminded anyone who would listen. "Their descendants are everywhere."

  "Indeed? Pardon me for not listening further but I am really on an urgent errand."

  At first, Tuek was more patient with Dromind. The history was interesting and its lessons obvious. "God has sent us a new Siona," Tuek said. "All should be clear."

  Dromind went away and returned with more tidbits from the past. "The accounts from Dar-es-Balat take on a new meaning now," Dromind told his High Priest. "Should we not make further tests and comparisons of this child?"

  Dromind had braced the High Priest immediately after breakfast. The remains of Tuek's meal still occupied the serving table on the balcony. Through the open window, they could hear stirrings overhead in Sheeana's quarters.

  Tuek put a cautioning finger to his lips and spoke in a hushed voice. "The Holy Child goes of her own choice to the desert." He went to a wall map and pointed to an area southwest of Keen. "Apparently this is an area that interests her or . . . I should say, calls her."

  "I am told she makes frequent use of dictionaries," Dromind said. "Surely, that cannot be a --"

  "She is testing us," Tuek said. "Do not be fooled."

  "But Lord Tuek, she asks the most childish questions of Cania and Alhosa."

  "Do you question my judgment, Dromind?"

  Belatedly, Dromind realized he had overstepped the proper bounds. He fell silent but his expression said many more words were compressed within him.

  "God has sent her to weed out some evil that has crept into the ranks of the anointed," Tuek said. "Go! Pray and ask your self if that evil has lodged itself within you."

  When Dromind had gone, Tuek summoned a trusted aide. "Where is the Holy Child?"

  "She has gone out into the desert, Lord, to commune with her Father."

  "To the southwest?"

  "Yes, Lord."

  "Dromind must be taken far out to the east and left on the sand. Plant several thumpers to make sure he never returns."

  "Dromind, Lord?"

  "Dromind."

  Even after Dromind was translated into the Mouth of God, the priests continued to follow his original injunction. They studied Sheeana.

  Sheeana also studied.

  Gradually, so gradually that she could not identify the point of transition, she recognized her great power over those around her. At first, it was a game, a continual Children's Day with adults jumping to obey each childish whim. But it appeared that no whim was too difficult.

  Did she require a rare fruit for her table?

  The fruit was served to her on a golden dish.

  Did she glimpse a child far below on the teeming streets and require that child as a playmate?

  That child was hustled up to Sheeana's temple quarters. When fear and shock passed, the child might even join in some game, which the priests and priestesses observed intently. Innocent skipping about on the rooftop garden, giggling whispers -- all were subjected to intense analysis. Sheeana found the awe of such children a burden. She seldom called the same child back to her, preferring to learn new things from new playmates.

  The priests achieved no consensus about the innocence of such encounters. The playmates were put through fearful interrogation until Sheeana discovered this and raged at her guardians.

  Inevitably, word of Sheeana spread throughout Rakis and off-planet. The Sisterhood's reports accumulated. The years passed in a kind of sublimely autocratic routine -- feeding Sheeana's curiosity. It was a curiosity that appeared to have no limits. None of those among the immediate attendants thought of this as education: Sheeana teaching the priests of Rakis and they teaching her. The Bene Gesserit, however, observed this aspect of Sheeana's life at once and watched it closely.

  "She is in good hands. Leave her there until she is ready for us," Taraza ordered. "Keep a defense force on constant alert and see that I get regular reports."

  Not once did Sheeana reveal her true origins nor what Shaitan had done to her family and neighbors. That was a private thing between Shaitan and herself. She thought of her silence as payment for having been spared.

  Some things paled for Sheeana. She made fewer trips into the desert. Curiosity continued but it became obvious that an explanation of Shaitan's behavior toward her might not be found on the open sand. And although she knew there were embassies of other powers on Rakis, the Bene Gesserit spies among her attendants made sure that Sheeana did not express too much interest in the Sisterhood. Soothing answers to dampen such interest were provided and metered out to Sheeana as required.

  The message from Taraza to her observers on Rakis was direct and pointed: "The generations of preparation have become the years of refinement. We will move only at the proper moment. There is no longer any doubt that this child is the one."

  In my estimation, more misery has been created by reformers than by any other force in human history. Show me someone who says "Something must be done!" and I will
show you a head full of vicious intentions that have no other outlet. What we must strive for always! is to find the natural flow and go with it.

  -The Reverend Mother Taraza, Conversational Record, BG File GSXXMAT9