'Wherever we stand, we are only stewards.'
'A useless viewpoint.' Hesitant, questioning why Mother Superior chose this moment to say such things.
'I hear Honored Matres talking through you. They gave you greedy dreams, Murbella.'
'So you say!' Deeply resentful.
'Honored Matres think they can buy infinite security: a small planet, you know, with plenty of subservient population.'
Murbella produced a grimace.
'More planets!' Odrade snapped. 'Always more and more and more! That's why they come swarming back.'
'Poor pickings in this Old Empire.'
'Excellent, Murbella! You're beginning to think like one of us.'
'And that makes me a nothing!'
'Neither fish nor fowl, but your own true self? Even there, you're only a steward. Beware, Murbella! If you think you own something, that's like walking on quicksand.'
This got a puzzled frown. Something would have to be done about the way Murbella allowed her emotions to play so openly on her face. It was permissible here, but someday...
'So nothing is safely owned. So what!' Bitter, bitter.
'You speak some of the right words but I don't think you've yet found a place in yourself where you can endure for your lifetime.'
'Until an enemy finds me and slaughters me?'
Honored Matre training clings like glue! But she spoke to Duncan the other night in a way that tells me she is ready. The Van Gogh painting, I do believe, has sensitized her. I heard it in her voice. I must review that record.
'Who would slaughter you, Murbella?'
'You'll never withstand an Honored Matre attack!'
'I've already stated the basic fact that concerns us: No place is eternally safe.'
'Another of your useless damned lessons!'
In the Acolyte Hall, Odrade recalled she had not found time to review that comeye record of Duncan and Murbella. A sigh almost escaped her. She covered it with a cough. Never do to let the young women see disturbance in Mother Superior.
To the desert and Sheeana! Inspection tour as soon as I can make time for it. Time!
Again, the acolyte seated beside Odrade made that throat noise. Odrade watched peripherally - blond, short black dress trimmed in white - Intermediate Third Stage. No movement of the head toward Odrade, no sidelong glances.
This is what I will find on my inspection tour: Fears. And in the landscape, those things we always see when we run out of time: trees left uncut because woodcutters have gone - dragooned into our Scattering, gone to their graves, gone to unknown places, perhaps even to peonage. Will I see architectural Fancies becoming attractive because they are incomplete, builders departed? No. We don't go in much for Fancies.
Other Memory held examples she wished she might find: old buildings more beautiful because they were unfinished. The builder bankrupt, an owner angered at his mistress... Some things were more interesting because of that: old walls, old ruins. Time sculpture.
What would Bell say if I ordered a Fancy in my favorite orchard?
The acolyte beside Odrade said: 'Mother Superior?'
Excellent! They so seldom find the courage.
'Yes?' Faint questioning. This had better be important. Would she hear?
She heard. 'I intrude, Mother Superior, because of the urgency and because I know your interest in the orchards.'
Superb! This acolyte had thick legs but that did not extend to her mind. Odrade stared at her silently.
'I am the one making the map for your bedchamber, Mother Superior.'
So this was a reliable adept, a person trusted with work for Mother Superior. Even better.
'Will I have my map soon?'
'Two days, Mother Superior. I am adjusting projection overlays where I will mark the desert's daily growth.'
A brief nod. That had been in the original order: an acolyte to keep the map current. Odrade wanted to awaken each morning, her imagination ignited by that changing view, the first thing impressed on awareness at arising.
'I put a report in your workroom this morning, Mother Superior. 'Orchard Management.' Perhaps you did not see it.'
Odrade had seen only the label. She had been late coming from exercises, anxious to visit Murbella. So much depended on Murbella!
'The plantations around Central must either be abandoned or action taken to sustain them,' the acolyte said. 'That's the gist of the report.'
'Repeat the report verbatim.'
Night fell and the room lights brightened as Odrade listened. Concise. Terse even. The report carried a note of admonishment Odrade recognized as originating with Bellonda. No Archival signature but Weather's warnings went through Archives and this acolyte had lifted some of the original words.
The acolyte fell silent, report concluded.
How do I respond? Orchards, pastures and vineyards were not merely a buffer against alien intrusions, pleasant decorations on the landscape. They supported Chapterhouse morale and tables.
They support my morale.
How quietly this acolyte waited. Curly blond hair and round face. Pleasing countenance, though the mouth was wide. Food remained on her plate but she was not eating. Hands folded in her lap. I am here to serve you, Mother Superior.
While Odrade composed her response, memory intruded - an old incident simulflowing over immediate observations. She remembered her ornithopter training course. Two acolyte students with instructor at midday high over the wetlands of Lampadas. She had been paired with as inept an acolyte as could have been accepted by the Sisterhood. Obviously a gene-choice. The Breeding Mistresses wanted her for a characteristic to be passed along to offspring. It certainly wasn't emotional balance or intelligence! Odrade remembered the name: Linchine.
Linchine had shouted at their instructor: 'I am going to fly this damned 'thopter!'
And all the while a whirling sky and landscape of trees and marshy lakeshore dizzied them. That was how it seemed: us stationary and the world moving. Linchine doing the wrong thing every time. Each movement created worse gyrations.
The instructor cut her out of the system by pulling the disconnect only he could reach. He did not speak until they were flying straight and level.
'No way are you ever going to fly this, lady. Not ever! You don't have the right reactions. You have to begin training those into someone like you before puberty.'
'I am! I am! I'll fly this damned thing.' Hands jerking at the useless controls.
'You're washed out, lady. Grounded!'
Odrade breathed easier, realizing she had known all along that Linchine might kill them.
Whirling toward Odrade in the rear, Linchine screamed: 'Tell him! Tell him he must obey a Bene Gesserit!'
Addressing the fact that Odrade, several years ahead of Linchine, already displayed a commanding presence.
Odrade sat in silence, features immobile.
Silence is often the best thing to say, some Bene Gesserit humorist had scrawled on a washroom mirror. Odrade found that good advice then and later.
Recalling herself to the needs of the acolyte in the dining hall, Odrade wondered why that old memory had come of itself. Such things seldom happened without purpose. Not silence now, certainly. Humor? Yes! That was
