would they cause such appalling destruction? For that matter, who are the Honored Matres? Where did they come from, and how did they provoke such wrath?'
'You yourself were an Honored Matre. Do your Other Memories give you no clues?'
Murbella gritted her teeth. She had tried and tried, with no success. 'I can study the course of the Bene Gesserit lines I have acquired, but not the Honored Matres. Their past is a black wall before my eyes. Each time I delve into it, I reach an impassable barrier. Either the Honored Matres do not know their own origins, or it is such a terrible secret that they have managed to block it completely.'
'I've heard that is true for all of our Honored Matres who have passed through the Spice Agony.'
'Every one.' Murbella had received the same answer again and again. The origins of the Honored Matres, and of the Enemy, were no more than dim myths in their past. Honored Matres had never been reflective, pondering consequences or tracing events back to first principals. Now, it seemed they would all suffer for it.
'You will have to find the information some other way, Mother Commander. If we discover any clues while reproducing the Lampadas library, I will inform you.'
Murbella thanked her, yet sensed that the information she needed did not lie here.
SHORTLY BEFORE JANESS decided to undergo the Spice Agony—three years after her twin sister had failed—the Mother Commander went to her room in the acolytes' barracks.
'I deceived myself about Rinya's chances in the ordeal.' The words did not come easily to Murbella. 'I never dreamed that a daughter of mine and Duncan's could possibly fail. My old Honored Matre hubris showed itself.'
'This daughter won't fail, Mother Commander,' Janess said, sitting straight.
'I have trained hard, and I am as ready as anyone can be. I am frightened, yes, but only enough to maintain my edge.'
'Honored Matres believe there is no place for fear,' Murbella mused. 'They do not consider that one can be strengthened by admitting weakness, instead of trying to hide it or bulldoze your way over it.'
' 'If you do not face your weaknesses, how do you know where to be strong?' I read that quote in the archival writings of Duncan Idaho.'
Over the years, Janess had studied the many lives of Duncan Idaho. Though she would never meet her father, she had learned much from the combat techniques of the great Swordmaster of House Atreides, classic fighting abilities that had been recorded and passed on to others.
Setting aside the distraction of Duncan, Murbella looked down at her oldest surviving daughter. 'You don't need my help. I can see it in your eyes.
Tomorrow you face the Spice Agony.' She rose and prepared to go. 'I have been looking for someone whose loyalties and skills I can trust completely. After tomorrow, I believe you will be that person.'
5
No land or sea or planet is forever. Wherever we stand, we are only stewards.
Carrying two passengers, the ornithopter flew over the newborn desert and rock formations, heading away from Chapterhouse Keep. Looking back from her wide seat in the rear compartment, Bellonda watched the rings of dying crops and orchards disappear behind the dunes. From the small cabin ahead of her, Doria controlled the aircraft. The brash former Honored Matre rarely let Bellonda pilot a 'thopter, though she was certainly competent. The two spoke little during their hours of flying.
Farther south, the barren regions continued to expand as the planet itself dried up. Over the course of nearly seventeen years, the water-hoarding sandtrout had drained the large sea, leaving a dust bowl and an ever-widening arid band. Before long, all of Chapterhouse would become another Dune.
If any of us survives to see it, Bellonda thought. The Enemy will find us, and all our worlds, sooner or later. She was not superstitious, nor an alarmist, but the conclusion was a Mentat certainty.
Both women wore plain black singlesuits designed for permeability and cooling.
Since the assassination attempt at the gathering, Murbella had made the uniform dress code mandatory across the New Sisterhood, no longer allowing the women to flaunt their different origins. 'During times of peace and prosperity, freedom and diversity are considered absolute rights,' Murbella said. 'With a monumental crisis facing us, however, such concepts become disruptive and self-indulgent.'
Every Sister on Chapterhouse now wore a black singlesuit, without any obvious identifiers of whether she originated from the Honored Matres or Bene Gesserits. Unlike the heavy, concealing Bene Gesserit robes, the fine mesh of the formfitting fabric hid none of Bellonda's lumpy bulk.
I look like the Baron Harkonnen, she thought. She felt an odd sort of pleasure whenever the ferally lean Doria looked at her with disgust.
The former Honored Matre was in a foul mood because she didn't want to go on this inspection trip— especially not with Bellonda. In perverse response, the Reverend Mother made an effort to be overly cheery.
No matter how much Bellonda tried to deny it, the two of them had similar personalities: both obstinate and fiercely loyal to their respective factions, yet grudgingly acknowledging the greater purpose of the New Sisterhood.
Bellonda, always quick to notice flaws, had never hesitated to criticize Mother Superior Odrade either. Doria was similar in her own way, unafraid of pointing out faults in the Honored Matres. Both women tried to hold on to the outdated ways of their respective organizations. As the new Spice Operations Directors, she and Doria shared stewardship of the fledgling desert.
Bellonda wiped perspiration from her brow. They were almost to the desert, and with each passing moment, the heat outside increased. She raised her voice above the drone of the 'thopter's wings. 'You and I should make the best of this trip—for the good of the Sisterhood.'
'You make the best of it.' Doria shouted her sarcasm. 'For the good of the Sisterhood.'
Bellonda grabbed a safety strap as the ornithopter passed through turbulence.
'You are mistaken if you think I agree entirely with what the Mother Commander is doing. I never thought her mongrel alliance would survive the first year, much less six.' Scowling, Doria steadied the controls. 'That does not make us in any way alike.'
Below, patches of sand and dust swirled, temporarily obscuring the ground. The dunes were encroaching on a line of already dead trees. Comparing the coordinates on a bulkhead screen with her notebook, Bellonda estimated that the desert had advanced by almost fifty kilometers in only a few months. More sand meant more territory for the growing worms, and consequently more spice.
Murbella would be pleased.
When the air currents smoothed, Bellonda spotted an interesting exposed rock formation that had previously been obscured by thick forest. On a sheer side of the rock, she saw a magnificent splash of primitive paintings in red and yellow ochre that had somehow endured the passage of time. She had heard of these ancient sites, supposedly indications of the mysterious, vanished Muadru people from millennia past, but she had never seen evidence of them before. It surprised her that the lost race had reached this obscure planet. What had drawn them all the way out here?
Not surprisingly, Doria showed no interest whatsoever in the archaeological oddity.
Presently the aircraft landed on a flat section of rock, near one of the first worm observatories Odrade had established. The small, blocky structure towered above them as they disembarked. When the 'thopter's canopy opened and the two stepped out onto the drifting dunes near Desert Watch Station, Bellonda felt perspiration at her temples and in the small of her back, despite the cooling properties of the black singlesuit.
She took a long sniff. The parched landscape smelled dead with all the vegetation and soil gone. This desert band was dry enough for sandworms to grow, though it had not yet achieved the flinty, sterile cleanness of the real desert on lost Rakis.
Taking a lift tube to the top of the station tower, Bellonda and Doria entered the reinforced observatory. In
