Odrade floated up out of the Other Memories and lifted her gaze to look across the room into the shadowy niche where the bust of a woman could be discerned in the low light of the room's glowglobes. The bust remained a vague shape in its shadows but Odrade knew that face well: Chenoeh, guardian symbol of Chapter House.
'There but for the grace of God...'
Every sister who came through the spice agony (as Chenoeh had not) said or thought that same thing, but what did it really mean? Careful breeding and careful training produced the successful ones in sufficient numbers. Where was the hand of God in that? God certainly was not the worm they had brought from Rakis. Was the presence of God felt only in the successes of the Sisterhood?
I fall prey to the pretensions of my own Missionaria Protectiva!
She knew that these were similar to thoughts and questions that had been heard in this room on countless occasions. Bootless! Still, she could not bring herself to remove that guardian bust from the niche where it had reposed for so long.
I am not superstitious, she told herself. I am not a compulsive person. This is a matter of tradition. Such things have a value well known to us.
Certainly, no bust of me will ever be so honored.
She thought of Waff and his Face Dancers dead with Miles Teg in the terrible destruction of Rakis. It did not do to dwell on the bloody attrition being suffered in the Old Empire. Better to think about the muscles of retribution being created by the blundering violence of the Honored Matres.
Teg knew!
The recently concluded Council session had subsided in fatigue without firm conclusions. Odrade counted herself lucky to have diverted attention into a few immediate concerns dear to them all.
The punishments: Those had occupied them for a time. Historical precedents fleshed out the Archival analyses to a satisfying form. Those assemblages of humans who allied themselves with the Honored Matres were in for some shocks.
Ix would certainly overextend itself. They had not the slightest appreciation of how competition from the Scattering would crush them.
The Guild would be shunted aside and made to pay dearly for its melange and its machinery. Guild and Ix, thrown together, would fall together.
The Fish Speakers could be mostly ignored. Satellites of Ix, they were already fading into a past that humans would abandon.
And the Bene Tleilax. Ah, yes, the Tleilaxu. Waff had succumbed to the Honored Mattes. He had never admitted it but the truth was plain. 'Just once and with one of my own Face Dancers.'
Odrade smiled grimly, remembering her father's bitter kiss.
I will have another niche made, she thought. I will commission another bust: Miles Teg, the Great Heretic!
Lucilla's suspicions about Teg were disquieting, though. Had he been prescient at last and able to see the no- ships? Well, the Breeding Mistresses could explore those suspicions.
'We have laagered up!' Bellonda accused.
They all knew the meaning of that word: they had retreated into a fortress position for the long night of the whores.
Odrade realized she did not much care for Bellonda, the way she laughed occasionally to expose those wide, blunt teeth.
They had discussed the cell samples from Sheeana for a long time. The 'proof of Siona' was there. She had the ancestry that shielded her from prescience and could leave the no-ship.
Duncan was an unknown.
Odrade turned her thoughts to the ghola out there in the grounded no-ship. Lifting herself from the chair, she crossed to the dark window and looked in the direction of the distant landing field.
Did they dare risk releasing Duncan from the shielding of that ship? The cell studies said he was a mixture of many Idaho gholas - some descendant of Siona. But what of the taint from the original?
No. He must remain confined.
And what of Murbella? - pregnant Murbella? An Honored Matre dishonored.
'The Tleilaxu intended for me to kill the Imprinter,' Duncan said.
'Will you try to kill the whore?' That was Lucilla's question.
'She is not an Imprinter,' Duncan said.
The Council had discussed at length the possible nature of the bonding between Duncan and Murbella. Lucilla maintained there was no bonding at all, that the two remained wary opponents.
'Best not to risk putting them together.'
The sexual prowess of the whores would have to be studied at length, though. Perhaps a meeting between Duncan and Murbella in the no-ship could be risked. With careful protective measures, of course.
Lastly, she thought about the worm in the no-ship's hold - a worm nearing the moment of its metamorphosis. A small earth-dammed basin filled with melange awaited that worm. When the moment came, it would be lured out by Sheeana into the bath of melange and water. The resulting sandtrout could then begin their long transformation.
You were right, father. It was so simple when you looked at it clearly.
No need to seek a desert planet for the worms. The sandtrout would create their own habitat for Shai-hulud. It was not pleasant to think of Chapter House Planet transformed into vast areas of wasteland but it had to be done.
The 'Last Will and Testament of Miles Teg,' which he had planted in the no-ship's submolecular storage systems, could not be discredited. Even Bellonda agreed to that.
Chapter House required a complete revision of all its historical records. A new look had been demanded of them by what Teg had seen of the Lost Ones - the whores from the Scattering.
'You seldom learn the names of the truly wealthy and powerful. You see only their spokesmen. The political arena makes a few exceptions to this but does not reveal the full power structure.'
The Mentat philosopher had chewed deep into everything they accepted and what he disgorged did not agree with Archival dependence upon 'our inviolate summations.'
We knew it, Miles, we just never faced up to it. We're all going to be digging in our Other Memories for the next few generations.
Fixed data, storage systems could not be trusted.
'If you destroy most copies, time will take care of the rest.'
How Archives had raged at that telling pronouncement by the Bashar!
'The writing of history is largely a process of diversion. Most historical accounts divert attention from the secret influences around the recorded events.'
That was the one that had brought down Bellonda. She had taken it up on her own, admitting: 'The few histories that escape this restrictive process vanish into obscurity through obvious processes.'
Teg had listed some of the processes: 'Destruction of as many copies as possible, burying the too revealing accounts in ridicule, ignoring them in the centers of education, insuring that they are not quoted elsewhere and, in some cases, elimination of the authors.'
Not to mention the scapegoat process that brought death to more than one messenger bearing unwelcome news, Odrade thought. She recalled an ancient ruler who kept a pikestaff handy with which to kill messengers who brought bad news.
'We have a, good base of information upon which to build a better understanding of our past,' Odrade had argued. 'We've always known that what was at stake in conflicts was the determination of who would control the wealth or its equivalent.'
Maybe it was not a real 'noble purpose' but it would do for the time being.
I am avoiding the central issue, she thought.
Something would have to be done about Duncan Idaho and they all knew it.
With a sigh, Odrade summoned a 'thopter and prepared herself for the short trip to the no-ship.
Duncan's prison was at least comfortable, Odrade thought when she entered it. This had been the ship commander's quarters lately occupied by Miles Teg. There were still signs of his presence here - a small holostat projector revealing a scene of his home on Lernaeus; the stately old house, the long lawn, the river. Teg had left a
