During the construction of the special arboretum, Sheeana had done her best to find out what their original home with the Handlers had been like, but the Futars offered few details. Their vocabulary was quite limited. When they said 'trees,' she could not get them to describe the size or species. Instead, she resorted to showing them images until they finally grew excited, pointing to a tall, silver-barked aspen. Now, after ensuring that the nearby corridors and lift tubes were empty of distractions or threats, Sheeana took the tense beast-man to the observation chamber above the sand-filled hold.
Hrrm paced warily along beside her. The Honored Matres had abused him so terribly that he was reluctant to extend trust, but in the years since Sheeana had begun visiting the Futars, Hrrm had come to accept her.
In order to draw information out of them, Sheeana decided she needed to make a stronger impression. Although it went against her usual principles, she decided to portray herself as the Missionaria Protectiva did—as a religious figure who wielded mystical powers. The Futars would see her in a different light. Perhaps if she could impress Hrrm, he would answer the same questions, but in a more useful manner. The Futars were too simple and direct to keep secrets, but they plainly did not comprehend the implications of the things they understood.
Inside the observation chamber, the Futar stepped closer to the plaz window and looked down toward the sand inside the cargo hold. His pupils dilated and his nostrils flared when he saw movement there, the stirring dunes. One of the large sandworms rose up, its cavernous mouth yawning open as sand streamed from its rings. The blind head of a second worm rose, as if the creatures could sense Sheeana's presence high above them.
Hrrm backed away, his lips curling in a half snarl. His breathing sounded like a growl. 'Monsters.'
'Yes. My monsters.' The Futar seemed confused and intimidated. Hrrm could not take his eyes from the worms. 'My monsters,' she repeated. 'You stay here, and watch.'
Sheeana slipped away from the chamber and code-locked the door behind her before taking a lift directly down to the cargo hold level. She opened the hatch and stepped out onto the temperature-controlled sands under artificial-yellow sunlight. The sandworms came toward her, shaking the hold with their weight and friction. Unafraid, Sheeana marched out and climbed up the dunes to face them.
With a burst of sand, the largest worm rose up, followed by a second one beside it, and a third behind her. Sheeana stared up toward the small, dark observation window through which she hoped Hrrm would be watching her with awe.
She ran toward the nearest worm, and the giant backed away, scuttling through the sand. She ran at another, and it also retreated; then she stood in the middle and began to twirl. She waved her hands at the worms and began swaying back and forth in a lissome dance. The worms followed, weaving and swaying.
Around her she could smell fresh spice, the bitter yet stimulating aroma that had no other natural origin. The worms circled her like sycophants. Finally Sheeana collapsed onto the sand and let them continue their circling, until all seven of the creatures reared up around her, and she dismissed them.
Turning tail, the creatures rippled through the contained dunes, leaving her.
Sheeana struggled to her feet, brushed herself off, and went to the hatch. By now, Hrrm should be sufficiently impressed.
When she reentered the observation chamber, the Futar turned to her, then backed away and raised his face, baring his own throat in a gesture of submission. Sheeana felt the warmth of the moment thrill through her. 'My monsters,' she said.
'You stronger than bad women,' Hrrm said.
'Yes, stronger than Honored Matres.'
The beast-man seemed to force the words from his throat. 'Better than… Handlers.'
Sheeana pounced. 'Who are the Handlers?'
'Handlers.'
'Where are they? Who are they?'
'Handlers… control Futars.'
'What are Futars?' She needed to know more, needed to pin him down. There were too many questions about what the whores had brought from the Scattering and how they were all connected to the Outside Enemy.
'We are Futars,' Hrrm said, sounding indignant. 'Not fish people.'
Ah, an intriguing new nugget of information. 'Fish people?'
'Phibians.' Hrrm growled with disgust. His mouth had trouble forming the word.
Sheeana frowned, imagining a modification that combined amphibious genes with humans, the same way feline DNA had been used to create Futars. Hybrids. 'Did the Handlers create Phibians?'
'Handlers made Futars. We are Futars.'
'Did they also create Phibians?'
Hrrm seemed to grow angry. 'Handlers made Futars. Kill Honored Matres.'
Sheeana fell silent, processing the information. The chromosomal tinkering that had created Futars might be similar to what was used to breed aquatic-dwelling 'Phibians.' While the Handlers had used those techniques to breed creatures who would target Honored Matres, someone else had made Phibians. To what purpose?
She wondered if Lost Tleilaxu from the Scattering had sold their skills to the highest bidder. If the Futars hated Phibians, then were the 'fish people' somehow allied with the Honored Matres? Or was Sheeana simply reading too much into the crude utterances of the beast-man?
'Who are the Handlers?' she said again.
'You better,' Hrrm answered. It was all the response she could get. Though he looked at her in a different way, Sheeana had achieved no insights or vital information. Just clues, without the necessary context.
She took him back to his holding cell and turned him loose among the other Futars. She didn't know how well they communicated with one another, but she was certain Hrrm would share what he had learned. He would tell his fellows about the woman who controlled the worms.
3
The best method of attack is to make a quick kill. Always be ready to strike your opponent's jugular. If you want to provide a performance, be a dancer.
When the Enemy came, the New Sisterhood would not fight every battle alone.
Murbella refused to allow that. Though there was no central leadership in the disjointed civilizations of the Old Empire, she vowed that she would compel those civilizations to participate. They could not he allowed to sit on the sidelines when so much was at stake for humanity.
Under the instruction of her daughter Janess, as well as the veteran bashar Wikki Aztin, the Sisterhood's deadliest fighters were being trained, but Murbella needed access to powerful weapons, and a great many of them.
Therefore, she went to Richese, the primary competitor of Ix.
After Murbella's small shuttle landed in the main Richesian commercial complex, the Factory Commissioner arrived to meet her. He was a short man with a round face, close-cropped hair, and a sincere-looking smile that he could mount on his face at will. Two women and three men accompanied him, all wearing identical smart-looking business attire. They carried projection pads and easily revised papers, contracts, price lists. 'The New Sisterhood wishes to do business with you, Commissioner. Please show me everything you have in the way of weaponry— offensive and defensive.'
Beaming, the round-faced man reached forward to clasp her hand, which she reluctantly allowed him to shake. 'Richese is glad to be of service, Mother Commander. We can manufacture anything from a dagger to a fleet of battleships. Are you interested in explosives, hand weapons, projectile launchers? We have defensive space mines that can be hidden by no-fields.
Please tell me, what is your particular need?'
Murbella met him with a hard gaze. 'Everything. We're going to need the whole list.'
