On her restless prowlings through Central (infrequent these days but more intense because of that), Odrade looked for signs of slackness and especially for areas of responsibility that were running too smoothly.
The Senior Watchdog had her own watchwords: 'Show me a completely smooth operation and I'll show you someone who's covering mistakes. Real boats rock.'
She said this often and it became an identifying phrase the Sisters (and even some acolytes) employed to comment on Mother Superior.
'Real boats rock.' Soft chuckles.
Bellonda accompanied Odrade on today's early morning inspection, not mentioning that 'once a month' had been stretched to 'once every two months' - if that. This inspection was a week past the mark. Bell wanted to use this time for warnings about Idaho. And she had dragged Tamalane along although Tam was supposed to be reviewing Proctor performance at this hour.
Two against one? Odrade wondered. She did not think Bell or Tam suspected what Mother Superior intended. Well, it would come out, as had Taraza's plan. In its own time, eh, Tar?
Down the corridors they stalked, black robes swishing with urgency, eyes missing little. It was all familiar and yet they looked for things that were new. Odrade carried her Ear-C over her left shoulder like a misplaced diving weight. Never be out of communication range these days.
Behind the scenes in any Bene Gesserit center were the support facilities: clinic-hospital, kitchen, morgue, garbage control, reclamation systems (attached to sewage and garbage), transport and communications, kitchen provisioning, training and physical maintenance halls, schools for acolytes and postulants, quarters for all of the denominations, meeting centers, testing facilities and much more. Personnel often changed because of the Scattering and movement of people into new responsibilities, all according to subtle Bene Gesserit awareness. But tasks and places for them remained.
As they strode swiftly from one area to another, Odrade spoke of the Sisterhood Scattering, not trying to hide her dismay at 'the atomic family' they had become.
'I find it difficult to contemplate humankind spreading into an unlimited universe,' Tam said. 'The possibilities...'
'Infinite numbers game.' Odrade stepped across a broken curb. 'That should be repaired. We've been playing the infinity game since we learned to jump Foldspace.'
There was no joy in Bellonda. 'It's not a game!'
Odrade could appreciate Bellonda's feelings. We have never seen empty space. Always more galaxies. Tam's right. It's daunting when you focus on that Golden Path.
Memories of explorations gave the Sisterhood a statistical handle on it but little else. So many habitable planets in a given assemblage and, among those, an expected additional number that could be terraformed.
'What's evolving out there?' Tamalane demanded.
A question they could not answer. Ask what Infinity might produce and the only answer possible was, 'Anything.'
Any good, any evil; any god, any devil.
'What if Honored Matres are fleeing something?' Odrade asked. 'Interesting possibility?'
'These speculations are useless,' Bellonda muttered. 'We don't even know if Foldspace introduces us to one universe or many... or even an infinite number of expanding and collapsing bubbles.'
'Did the Tyrant understand this any better than we do?' Tamalane asked.
They paused while Odrade looked into a room where five Advanced acolytes and a Proctor studied a projection of regional melange stores. The crystal holding the information performed an intricate dance in the projector, bouncing on its beam like a ball on a fountain. Odrade saw the summation and turned away before scowling. Tam and Bell did not see Odrade's expression. We will have to start limiting access to melange data. Too depressing to morale.
Administration! It all came back to Mother Superior. Delegate heavily to only the same people and you fell into bureaucracy.
Odrade knew she depended too much on her inner sense of administration. A system frequently tested and revised, using automation only where essential. 'The machinery' they called it. By the time they became Reverend Mothers, all of them had some sensitivity to 'the machinery' and tended to use it without question thereafter. There lay the danger. Odrade pressed for constant improvements (even tiny ones) to introduce change into their activities. Randomness! No absolute patterns that others could find and use against them. One person might not see such shifts in a lifetime but differences over longer periods were sure to be measurable.
Odrade's party came down to ground level and onto the major thoroughfare of Central. 'The Way,' Sisters called it. An in-joke, referring to the training regimen popularly known as 'The Bene Gesserit Way.'
The Way reached from the square beside Odrade's tower to the southern outskirts of the urban area - straight as a lasgun beam, almost twelve klicks of tall buildings and low ones. The low ones all had something in common: they had been built strong enough to expand upward.
Odrade flagged an open transporter with empty seats and the three of them crowded into a space where they could continue to talk. Frontage on The Way carried an old-fashioned appeal, Odrade thought. Buildings such as these with their tall rectangular windows of insulating plaz had framed Bene Gesserit 'Ways' through much of the Sisterhood's history. Down the center ran a line of elms genetically tailored for height and narrow profile. Birds nested in them and the morning was bright with flitting spots of red and orange - orioles, tanagers.
Is it dangerously patterned for us to prefer this familiar setting?
Odrade led them off the transporter at Tipsy Trail, thinking how Bene Gesserit humor came out in curious names. Waggish in the streets. Tipsy Trail because the foundation of one building had subsided slightly, giving that structure a curiously drunken appearance. The one member of the group stepping out of line.
Like Mother Superior. Only they don't know it yet.
Her Ear-C buzzed as they came to Tower Lane. 'Mother Superior?' It was Streggi. Without stopping, Odrade signaled that she was on-line. 'You asked for a report on Murbella. Suk Central says she is fit for assigned classes.'
'Then assign her.' They continued down Tower Lane: all one-story buildings.
Odrade spared a brief glance for the low buildings on both sides of the street. A two-story addition was being made to one of them. Might be a real Tower Lane here someday and the joke (such as it was) abandoned.
It was argued that naming was just a convenience anyway and they might as well enjoy this venture into what was a delicate subject for the Sisterhood.
Odrade stopped abruptly on a busy walkway and turned to her companions. 'What would you say if I suggested we name streets and places after departed Sisters?'
'You're full of nonsense today!' Bellonda accused.
'They are not departed,' Tamalane said.
Odrade resumed her prowling walk. She had expected that. Bell's thoughts could almost be heard. We carry the 'departed' around in Other Memory!
Odrade wanted no argument here in the open but she thought her idea had merit. Some Sisters died without Sharing. Major Memory Lines were duplicated but you lost a thread and its terminated carrier. Schwangyu of the Gammu Keep had gone that way, killed by attacking Honored Matres. Plenty of memories remained to carry her good qualities... and complexities. One hesitated to say her mistakes taught more than her successes.
Bellonda increased her pace to walk beside Odrade in a relatively empty stretch. 'I must speak of Idaho. A Mentat, yes, but those multiple memories. Supremely dangerous!'
They were passing a morgue, the strong smell of antiseptics even in the street. The arched doorway stood open.
'Who died?' Odrade asked, ignoring Bellonda's anxiety.
'A Proctor from Section Four and an orchard maintenance man,' Tamalane said. Tam always knew.
Bellonda was furious at being ignored and made no attempt to hide it. 'Will you two stick to the point?'
'What is the point?' Odrade asked. Very mild.
They emerged on the south terrace and stopped at the stone rail to look over the plantations - vineyards and orchards. The morning light had a dusty haze in it not at all like the mists created of moisture.
'You know the point!' Bell would not be deflected.
Odrade stared at the vista, pressing herself against the stones. The railing was frigid. That mist out there was
