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Dortujla showed her first strong emotion, deep revulsion that drew her mouth
into a tight line.
It was a pattern the Sisterhood had long recognized: the inevitable failure of
slavery and peonage. You created a reservoir of hate. Implacable enemies. If
you had no hope of exterminating all of these enemies, you dared not try.
Temper your efforts by the sure awareness that oppression will make your enemies
strong. The oppressed will have their day and heaven help the oppressor when
that day comes. It was a two-edged blade. The oppressed always learned from
and copied the oppressor. When the tables were turned, the stage was set for
another round of revenge and violence -- roles reversed. And reversed and
reversed ad nauseam.
"Will they never mature?" Odrade asked.
Dortujla had no answer but she did have an immediate suggestion. "I must return
to Buzzell."
Odrade considered this. Once more, the banished Reverend Mother was ahead of
Mother Superior. As disagreeable as the decision was, they both knew it as
their best move. Futars and Handlers would return. More important, with a
planet Honored Matres desired, odds were high that visitors from the Scattering
had been observed. Honored Matres would have to make a move and that move could
reveal much about them.
"Of course, they think Buzzell is bait for a trap," Odrade said. " I could let
it be known that I was banished by my Sisters," Dortujla said. "It can be
verified."
"Use yourself as bait?"
"Mother Superior, what if they could be tempted into a parley?"
"With us?" What a startling idea!
"I know their history is not one of reasonable negotiations but still . . . "
"It's brilliant! But let us make it even more enticing. Say I am convinced I
must come to them with a proposal for submission of the Bene Gesserit."
"Mother Superior!"
"I have no intention of surrendering. But what better way to get them to talk?"
"Buzzell is not a good place for a meeting. Our facilities are very poor."
"They are on junction in force. If they suggested junction as a meeting place,
could you let yourself be persuaded?"
"It would take careful planning, Mother Superior."
"Oh, very careful." Odrade's fingers flickered in her console. "Yes, tonight,"
she said answering a visible question, and then, speaking to Dortujla across the
cluttered worktable: "I want you to meet with my Council and others before you
return. We will brief you thoroughly but I give you my personal assurance you
will have an open assignment. The important thing is to get them to a meeting
on junction . . . and I hope you know how much I dislike using you as bait. "
When Dortujla remained deep in thought and not responding, Odrade said: "They
may ignore our overtures and wipe you out. Still, you're the best bait we
have."
Dortujla showed she still had her sense of humor. "I don't much like the idea
of dangling on a hook myself, Mother Superior. Please keep a firm grip on the
line." She stood and with a worried look at the work on Odrade's table, said:
"You have so much to do and I fear I have kept you far past lunch."
"We will dine here together, Sister. For the moment, you are more important
than anything else."
All states are abstractions.
-Octun Politicus, BG Archives
Lucilla cautioned herself not to assume too familiar a feeling about this acid-
green room and the recurring presence of Great Honored Matre. This was
junction, stronghold of the ones who sought extermination of the Rene Gesserit.
This was the enemy. Day seventeen.
The infallible mental clock that had been set ticking during the Spice Agony
told her she had adapted to the planet's circadian rhythms. Awake at dawn. No
telling when she would be fed. Honored Matre confined her to one meal a day.
And always that Futar in its cage. A reminder: Both of you in cages. This is
how we treat dangerous animals. We may let them out occasionally to stretch
their legs and give us pleasure but back to the cage afterward.
Minimal amounts of melange in the food. Not being parsimonious. Not with their
wealth. A small show of "what could be yours if you would only be reasonable."
When will she come today?
Great Honored Matre arrivals had no set time. Random appearances to confuse the
captive? Probably. There would be other demands on a commander's time. Fit
the dangerous pet into the regular schedule wherever you could.
I may be dangerous, Spider Lady, but I am not your pet.
Lucilla felt the presence of scanning devices, things that did more than provide
stimulus for eyes. These looked into flesh, probing for concealed weapons, for
the functioning of organs. Does she have strange implants? What about
additional organs surgically added to her body?
None of those, Madame Spider. We rely on things that come with birth.
Lucilla knew her greatest immediate danger -- that she would feel inadequate in
such a setting. Her captors had her at a terrible disadvantage but they had not
destroyed her Bene Gesserit capabilities. She could will herself to die before
the shere in her body was depleted to the point of betrayal. She still had her
mind . . . and the horde from Lampadas.
The Futar panel opened and it came sliding out in its cage. So Spider Queen was
on her way. Displaying threat ahead of her as usual. Early today. Earlier
than ever.
"Good morning, Futar." Lucilla spoke with a merry lilt.
The Futar looked at her but did not speak.
"You must hate it in that cage," Lucilla said.
"Not like cage."
She had already determined that these creatures possessed a degree of language
facility but the extent of it still eluded her.
"I suppose she keeps you hungry, too. Would you like to eat me?"
"Eat." Definite show of interest.
"I wish I were your Handler."
"You Handler?"
"Would you obey me if I were?"
Spider Queen's heavy chair lifted from its concealment under the floor. No sign
of her yet but it had to be assumed she listened to these conversations.
The Futar stared at Lucilla with peculiar intensity.
"Do Handlers keep you caged and hungry?"
"Handler?" Clear inflections of a question.
"I want you to kill Great Honored Matre." That would be no surprise to them.
"Kill Dama!"
"And eat her."
"Dama poison." Dejected.
Ooooh. Isn't that an interesting bit of information!
"She's not poison. Her meat is the same as mine."
The Futar approached her to the cage's limits. The left hand peeled down its
lower lip. Angry redness of a scar there, appearance of a burn.
"See poison," it said, dropping its hand.
I wonder how she did that? No smell of poison about her. Human flesh plus
adrenaline-based drug to produce orange eyes in response to anger . . . and
those other responses Murbella revealed. A sense of absolute superiority.
How far did Futar comprehension go? "Was it a bitter poison?" The Futar
grimaced and spat.
Action faster and more powerful than words.
"Do you hate Dama?"
Bared canines.
"Do you fear her?"
Smile.
"Then why don't you kill her?"
"You not Handler."
It requires a kill command from a Handler!
Great Honored Matre entered and sank into her chair. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]