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Anything moving in that dry expanse was potentially dangerous.
When she returned to the others, she kept her gaze for a time on the glazed
surface of the terminal.
The older Communications acolyte came up to Odrade with a request from Weather.
Odrade scanned it. Concise and inescapable. Nothing sudden about the changes
spelled out in these words. They were asking for more ground equipment. This
did not come with the abruptness of an accidental storm but with Mother
Superior's decision.
Yesterday? Did I decide to phase out the sea only yesterday?
She returned the report to the Communications acolyte and looked beyond her at
the sand-marked glaze.
"Request approved." Then: "It saddens me to see all of those buildings gone
back there."
The acolyte shrugged. She shrugged! Odrade felt like striking her. (And
wouldn't that send upsets rumbling through the Sisterhood!)
Odrade turned her back on the woman.
What could I possibly say to her? We have been on this ground five times the
lifetime of our oldest sisters. And this one shrugs.
Yet . . . by some standards, she knew the Sisterhood's installations had barely
reached maturity. Plaz and plasteel tended to maintain an orderly relationship
between buildings and their settings. Fixed in land and memory. Towns and
cities did not submit easily to other forces . . . except to human whims.
Another natural force.
The concept of respect for age was an odd one, she decided. Humans carried it
inborn. She had seen it in the old Bashar when he spoke of his family holdings
on Lernaeus.
"We thought it fitting to keep my mother's decor."
Continuity. Would a revived ghola revive those feelings as well?
This is where my kind have been.
That took on a peculiar patina when "my kind" were blood-related ancestors.
Look how long we Atreides persisted on Caladan, restoring the old castle,
polishing deep carvings in ancient wood. Whole teams of retainers just to keep
the creaking old place at a level of barely tolerable functionalism.
But those retainers had not thought themselves ill used. There had been a sense
of privilege in their labors. Hands that polished the wood almost caressed it.
"Old. Been with the Atreides a long time now."
People and their artifacts. She felt tool sense as a living part of herself.
"I'm better because of this stick in my hand . . . because of this fire-
sharpened spear to kill my meat . . . because of this shelter against the cold .
. . because of my stone cellar to store our winter food . . . because of this
swift sailing vessel . . . this giant ocean liner . . . this ship of metal and
ceramics that carries me into space . . ."
Those first human venturers into space -- how little they suspected of where the
voyage would extend. How isolated they were in those ancient times! Little
capsules of livable atmosphere linked to cumbersome data sources by primitive
transmission systems. Solitude. Loneliness. Limited opportunity for anything
but surviving. Keep the air washed. Be sure of potable water. Exercise to
prevent the debilitation of weightlessness. Stay active. Healthy mind in a
healthy body. What was a healthy mind, anyway?
"Mother Superior?"
That damned Communications acolyte again!
"Yes?"
"Bellonda says to tell you immediately there has been a messenger from Buzzell.
Strangers came and took all of the Reverend Mothers away."
Odrade whirled. "Her entire message?"
"No, Mother Superior. The strangers are described as commanded by a woman. The
messenger says she had the look of an Honored Matre but was not wearing one of
their robes."
"Nothing from Dortujla or the others?"
"They were not given the opportunity, Mother Superior. The messenger is a
First-Stage acolyte. She came in the small no-ship following explicit orders
from Dortujla."
"Tell Bell that acolyte must not be allowed to leave. She has dangerous
information. I will brief a messenger when I return. It must be a Reverend
Mother. Do you have that?"
"Of course, Mother Superior." Hurt at the suggestion of doubt.
It was happening! Odrade contained her excitement with difficulty.
They have taken the bait. Now . . . are they on the hook?
Dortujla did a dangerous thing depending on an acolyte that way. Knowing
Dortujla, that must be an extremely reliable acolyte. Prepared to kill herself
if captured. I must see this acolyte. She may be ready for the Agony. And
perhaps that's a message Dortujla sends me. It would be like her.
Bell would be incensed, of course. Foolish to depend on someone from a
punishment station!
Odrade summoned a Communications team. "Set up a link with Bellonda."
The portable projector was not as clear as a fixed installation but Bell and her
setting were recognizable.
Sitting at my table as though she owned it. Excellent!
Not giving Bellonda time for one of her outbursts, Odrade said: "Determine if
that messenger acolyte is ready for the Agony."
"She is." Gods below! That was terse for Bell.
"Then see to it. Perhaps she can be our messenger."
"Already have."
"Is she resourceful?"
"Very. "
What in the name of all the devils has happened to Bell? She's acting extremely
odd. Not like her usual self at all. Duncan!
"Oh, and Bell, I want Duncan to have an open link with Archives."
"Did that this morning."
Well, well. Contact with Duncan is having its effect.
"I'll talk to you after I've seen Sheeana."
"Tell Tam she was right."
"About what?"
"Just tell her."
"Very well. I must say, Bell, I couldn't be more satisfied with the way you're
handling matters."
"After the way you've handled me, how could I fail?"
Bellonda was actually smiling as they broke the connection. Odrade turned to
find Tamalane standing behind her.
"Right about what, Tam?"
"That there's more to contacts between Idaho and Sheeana than we've suspected."
Tamalane moved close to Odrade and lowered her voice. "Don't put her in my
chair without discovering what they keep secret."
"I'm aware you knew my intentions, Tam. But . . . am I that transparent?"
"In some things, Dar."
"I'm fortunate to have you as a friend."
"You have other supporters. When the Proctors voted, it was your creativity
that worked for you. 'Inspired' is the way one of' your defenders put it."
"Then you know I'll have Sheeana on the coals quite thoroughly before I make one
of my inspired decisions."
"Of course."
Odrade signaled Communications to remove the projector and went to wait at the
edge of the glassy area.
Creative imagination.
She knew the mixed feelings of her associates.
Creativity!
Always dangerous to entrenched power. Always coming up with something new. New
things could destroy the grip of authority. Even the Bene Gesserit approached
creativity with misgivings. Maintaining an even keel inspired some to shunt
boat-rockers aside. That was an element behind Dortujla's posting. The trouble
was that creative ones tended to welcome backwaters. They called it privacy.
It had taken quite a force to bring Dortujla out.
Be well, Dortujla. Be the best bait we ever used.
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