any threat. What is ours is ours. You may not enter!
Scytale recognized a parental posturing in this, a maternal view of humankind: 'Behave or we will punish you!' And Bene Gesserit punishments certainly were to be avoided.
As Odrade continued to demand more than he would give, Scytale fastened his attention on a typical he felt sure was true: They cannot love. But he was forced to agree. Neither love nor hate were purely rational. He thought of such emotions as a dark fountain shadowing the air all around, a primitive gusher that sprayed unsuspecting humans.
How this woman does chatter! He watched her, not really listening. What were their flaws? Was it a weakness that they avoided music? Did they fear the secret play on emotions? The aversion appeared to be heavily conditioned, but the conditioning did not always succeed. In his many lives he had seen witches appear to enjoy music. When he questioned Odrade, she became quite heated, and he suspected a deliberate display to mislead him.
'We cannot let ourselves be distracted!'
'Don't you ever replay great musical performances in memory? I'm told that in ancient times... '
'Of what use is music played on instruments no longer known to most people?'
'Oh? What instruments are those?'
'Where would you find a piano?' Still in that false anger. 'Terrible instruments to tune and even more difficult to play.'
How prettily she protests. 'I've never heard of this... this... piano, did you say? Is it like the baliset?'
'Distant cousins. But it could only be tuned to an approximate key. An idiosyncracy of the instrument.'
'Why do you single out this... this piano?'
'Because I sometimes think it too bad we no longer have it. Producing perfection from imperfection is, after all, the highest of art forms.'
Perfection from imperfections! She was trying to distract him with Zensunni words, feeding the illusion that these witches shared his Great Belief. He had been warned many times about this peculiarity of Bene Gesserit bargaining. They approached everything from an oblique angle, revealing only at the last instant what they really sought. But he knew what they bargained for here. She wanted all of his knowledge and sought to pay nothing. Still, how tempting her words were.
Scytale felt a deep wariness. Her words fitted themselves so neatly into her claim that the Bene Gesserit sought only to perfect human society. So she thought she could teach him! Another typical: 'They see themselves as teachers.'
When he expressed doubt of this claim, she said, 'Naturally we build up pressures in societies we influence. We do it that we may direct those pressures.'
'I find this discordant,' he complained.
'Why Master Scytale! It's a very common pattern. Governments often do this to produce violence against chosen targets. You did it yourselves! And see where it got you.'
So she dares claim the Tleilaxu brought this calamity on themselves!
'We follow the lesson of the Great Messenger,' she said, using the Islamiyat for the Prophet Leto II. The words sounded alien on her lips, but he was taken aback. She knew how all Tleilaxu revered the Prophet.
But I have heard these women call Him Tyrant!
Still speaking Islamiyat, she demanded, 'Was it not His goal to divert violence, producing a lesson of value to all?'
Does she joke about the Great Belief?
'That is why we accepted him,' she said. 'He did not play by our rules but he played for our goal.'
She dared say she accepted the Prophet!
He did not challenge her, although the provocation was great. A delicate thing, a Reverend Mother's view of herself and her behavior. He suspected they constantly readjusted this view, never bouncing far in any direction. No self-hate, no self-love. Confidence, yes. Maddening self-confidence. But that did not require hate or love. Only a cool head, every judgment ready for correction, just as she claimed. It would seldom require praise. A job well done? Well, what else did you expect?
'Bene Gesserit training strengthens the character.' That was Folk Wisdom's most popular typical.
He tried to start an argument with her on this. 'Isn't Honored Matres' conditioning the same as yours? Look at Murbella!'
'Is it generalities you want, Scytale?' Was that amusement in her tone?
'A collision between two conditioning systems, isn't that a good way to view this confrontation?' he ventured.
'And the more powerful will emerge victorious, of course.'
Definitely sneering!
'Isn't that how it always works?' His anger not well bridled.
'Must a Bene Gesserit remind a Tleilaxu that subtleties are another kind of weapon? Have you not practiced deception? A feigned weakness to deflect your enemies and lead them into traps? Vulnerabilities can be created.'
Of course! She knows about the eons of Tleilaxu deception, creating an image of inept stupidities.
'So that's how you expect to deal with our foes?'
'We intend to punish them, Scytale.'
Such implacable determination!
New things he learned about the Bene Gesserit filled him with misgivings.
Odrade, taking him for a well-guarded afternoon stroll in the cold winter outside the ship (burly Proctors just a pace behind), stopped to watch a small procession coming from Central. Five Bene Gesserit women, two of them acolytes by their white-trimmed robes, but the other three in an unrelieved gray not known to him. They wheeled a cart into one of the orchards. A frigid wind blew across them. A few old leaves whipped from the dark branches. The cart bore a long bundle shrouded in white. A body? It was the right shape.
When he asked, Odrade regaled him with an account of Bene Gesserit burial practices.
If there was a body to bury, it was done with the casual dispatch he now witnessed. No Reverend Mother ever had an obituary or wanted time-wasting rituals. Did her memory not live on in her Sisters?
He started to argue that this was irreverent but she cut him off.
'Given the phenomenon of death, all attachments in life are temporary! We modify that somewhat in Other Memory. You did a similar thing, Scytale. And now we incorporate some of your abilities in our bag of tricks. Oh, yes! That's the way we think of such knowledge. It merely modifies the pattern.'
'An irreverent practice!'
'Nothing irreverent about it. Into the dirt they go where, at least, they can become fertilizer.' And she continued to describe the scene without giving him a chance for further protests.
They had this regular routine he now observed, she said. A large mechanical auger was wheeled into the orchard, where it drilled a suitable hole in the earth. The corpse, bound in that cheap cloth, was buried vertically and an orchard tree planted over it. Orchards were laid out in grid patterns, a cenotaph at one corner where the locations of burials were recorded. He saw the cenotaph when she pointed it out, a square green thing about three meters high.
'I think that body's being buried at about C-21,' she said, watching the auger at work while the burial team waited, leaning against the cart. 'That one will fertilize an apple tree.' She sounded ungodly happy about it!
As they watched the auger withdraw and the cart being tipped, the body sliding into the hole, Odrade began to hum.
Scytale was surprised. 'You said the Bene Gesserit avoided music.'
'Just an old ditty.'
The Bene Gesserit remained a puzzle and, more than ever, he saw the weakness of typicals. How could you bargain with people whose patterns did not follow an acceptable path? You might think you understood them and then they shot off in a new direction. They were untypical! Trying to understand them disrupted his sense of order. He was certain he had not received anything real in all of this bargaining. A bit more freedom that was actually the illusion of freedom. Nothing he really wanted came from this cold-faced witch! It was tantalizing to try piecing together any substance from what he knew about the Bene Gesserit. There was, for instance, the claim they did
