Lucilla pursed her lips and once more scanned the room. The old woman had been reduced greatly in importance. 'I am glad I do not have to kill you,' Lucilla said.
The old woman's jaw drooped open in a parody of surprise while spittle dripped from her lips.
This was a descendant of Fremen? Lucilla let her revulsion come out in a long shudder. This mendicant bit of flotsam had been shaped from a people who walked tall and proud, a people who died bravely. This one would die whining.
'Please trust me,' the hag whined and fled the room.
'Why did you do that?' Burzmali demanded. 'These are the ones who will get us to Rakis!'
She merely looked at him, recognizing the fear in his question. It was fear for her.
But I did not imprint him back there, she thought.
With a sense of shock she realized that Burzmali had recognized hate in her. I hate them! she thought. I hate the people of this planet!
That was a dangerous emotion for a Reverend Mother. Still it burned in her. This planet had changed her in a way she did not want. She did not want the realization that such things could be. Intellectual understanding was one thing; experience was another.
Damn them!
But they already were damned.
Her chest pained her. Frustration! There was no escaping this new awareness. What had happened to these people?
People?
The shells were here but they no longer could be called fully alive. Dangerous, though. Supremely dangerous.
'We must rest while we can,' Burzmali said.
'I do not have to earn my money?' she demanded.
Burzmali paled. 'What we did was necessary! We were lucky and were not stopped but it could have happened!'
'And this place is safe?'
'As safe as I can make it. Everyone here has been screened by me or by my people.'
Lucilla found a long couch that smelled of old perfumes and composed herself there to scour her emotions of the dangerous hate. Where hate entered, love might follow! She heard Burzmali stretching out to rest on cushions against a nearby wall. Soon, he was breathing deeply, but sleep evaded Lucilla. She kept sensing crowds of memories, things thrust forward by the Others who shared her inner storerooms of thinking. Abruptly, inner vision gave her a glimpse of a street and faces, people moving in bright sunlight. It took a moment for her to realize that she saw all of this from a peculiar angle - that she was being cradled in someone's arms. She knew then that this was one of her own personal memories. She could place the one who held her, feel the warm heartbeat next to a warm cheek.
Lucilla tasted the salt of her own tears.
She realized then that Gammu had touched her more deeply than any experience since her first days in the Bene Gesserit schools.
Concealed behind strong barriers the heart becomes ice.
- Darwi Odrade, Argument in Council
It was a group filled with fierce tensions: Taraza (wearing secret mail under her robe and mindful of the other precautions she had taken), Odrade (certain that there could be violence and consequently wary), Sheeana (thoroughly briefed on the probabilities here and shielded behind three Security Mothers who moved with her like fleshly armor), Waff (worried that his reason might have been clouded by some mysterious Bene Gesserit artifice), the false Tuek (giving every evidence that he was about to erupt in rage), and nine of Tuek's Rakian counselors (each angrily engaged in seeking ascendancy for self or family).
In addition, five guardian acolytes, bred and trained by the Sisterhood for physical violence, stayed close to Taraza. Waff moved with an equal number of new Face Dancers.
They had convened in the penthouse atop the Dar-es-Balat Museum. It was a long room with a wall of plaz facing west across a roof garden of lacy greenery. The interior was furnished with soft divans and was decorated with artful displays from the Tyrant's no-room.
Odrade had argued against including Sheeana but Taraza remained adamant. The girl's effect on Waff and some of the priesthood represented an overwhelming advantage for the Bene Gesserit.
There were dolban screens over the long wall of windows to keep out the worst glare of a westering sun. That the room faced west said something to Odrade. The windows looked into the land of gloaming where Shai-hulud took his repose. It was a room focused on the past, on death.
She admired the dolbans in front of her. They were flat black slats ten molecules wide and rotating in a transparent liquid medium. Set automatically, the best Ixian dolbans admitted a predetermined level of light without much diminishing the view. Artists and antique dealers preferred them to polarizing systems, Odrade knew, because they admitted a full spectrum of available light. Their installation spoke of the uses to which this room was put - a display case for the best of the God Emperor's hoard. Yes - there was a gown that had been worn by his intended bride.
The priestly counselors were arguing fiercely among themselves at one end of the room, ignoring the false Tuek. Taraza stood nearby listening. Her expression said she thought the priests fools.
Waff stood with his Face Dancer entourage near the wide entrance door. His attention shifted from Sheeana to Odrade to Taraza and only occasionally to the arguing priests. Every movement Waff made betrayed his uncertainties. Would the Bene Gesserit really support him? Could they together override Rakian opposition by peaceful means?
Sheeana and her shielding escort came to stand beside Odrade. The girl still showed stringy muscles, Odrade observed, but she was filling out and the muscles had taken on a recognizable Bene Gesserit definition. The high planes of her cheekbones had grown softer under that olive skin, the brown eyes more liquid, but there were still red sunstreaks in her brown hair. The attention she spared for the arguing priests said she was assessing what had been revealed to her in the briefing.
'Will they really fight?' she whispered.
'Listen to them,' Odrade said.
'What will the Mother Superior do?'
'Watch her carefully.'
Both of them looked at Taraza standing in her group of muscular acolytes. Taraza now looked amused as she continued to observe the priests.
The Rakian group had started their argument out in the roof garden. They had brought it inside as the shadows lengthened. They breathed angrily, muttering sometimes and then raising their voices. Did they not see how the mimic Tuek watched them?
Odrade returned her attention to the horizon visible beyond the roof garden: not another sign of life out there in the desert. Any direction you looked outward from Dar-es-Balat showed empty sand. People born and raised here had a different view of life and their planet than most of those priestly counselors. This was not the Rakis of green belts and watered oases, which abounded in the higher latitudes like flowered fingers pointing into the long desert tracks. Out from Dar-es-Balat was the meridian desert that stretched like a cummerbund around the entire planet.
'I have heard enough of this nonsense!' the false Tuek exploded. He pushed one of the counselors roughly aside and strode into the middle of the arguing group, pivoting to stare into each face. 'Are you all mad?'
One of the priests (It was old Albertus, by the gods!) looked across the room at Waff and called out: 'Ser Waff! Will you please control your Face Dancer?'
Waff hesitated and then moved toward the disputants, his entourage close behind.
The false Tuek whirled and pointed a finger at Waff: 'You! Stay where you are! I will brook no Tleilaxu interference! Your conspiracy is quite clear to me!'
Odrade had been watching Waff as the mimic Tuek spoke. Surprise! The Bene Tleilax Master had never before
