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when they emerged from their car. Odrade had vetoed a walk through what
remained of orchards and vineyards.
Leaving for the last time? The question in Bellonda's eyes as she said goodbye.
In Sheeana's worried frown.
Does Mother Superior accept my decision?
Provisionally, Sheeana. Provisionally. But I have not warned Murbella. So . .
. perhaps I do share Tam's judgment.
Dortujla, in the van of Odrade's party, was withdrawn.
Understandable. She has been there . . . and watched her Sisters eaten.
Courage, Sister! We are not yet defeated.
Only Murbella had appeared to take this in stride but she was thinking ahead to
Odrade's encounter with the Spider Queen.
Have I armed Mother Superior sufficiently? Does she know in her guts how very
dangerous this will be?
Odrade pushed such thoughts aside. There were things to do on the crossing.
None of them more important than gathering her energies. Honored Matres could
be analyzed almost out of reality, but the actual confrontation would be played
as it came -- a jazz performance. She liked the idea of jazz although the music
distracted her with its antique flavors and the dips into wildness. Jazz spoke
about life, though. No two performances ever identical. Players reacted to
what was received from the others: jazz.
Feed us with jazz.
Air and space travel did not often concern itself with weather. Bludgeon your
way through transitory interferences. Depend on Weather Control to provide
launch windows through storms and cloud cover. Desert planets were an exception
and that would have to be entered into Chapterhouse equations before long. Many
changes, including return to Fremen mortuary practices. Bodies rendered for
water and potash.
Odrade spoke of this as they waited for transport up to the ship. That wide
cummerbund of hot, dry land expanding around the planet's equator would begin
generating dangerous winds before long. One day, there would be coreolis
storms: a blast-furnace from the desert interior with speeds in hundreds of
kilometers an hour. Dune had seen winds of more than seven hundred kmh. Even
space lighters took notice of such force. Air travel would be subject to the
constant whims of surface conditions. And frail human flesh must find whatever
shelter it could.
As we always have.
The lounge at the Flat was old. Stone inside and out, their first major
building material here. Spartan slingchairs and low tables of molded plaz were
more recent. Economy could not be ignored even for Mother Superior.
The lighter arrived in a dusty maelstrom. No nonsense about suspensor
cushioning. This would be a quick lift with uncomfortable gees but not high
enough to damage flesh.
Odrade felt almost disembodied as she said her final farewells and turned
Chapterhouse over to a triumvirate of Sheeana, Murbella, and Bellonda. One last
word: "Don't interfere with Teg. And I don't want anything nasty happening to
Duncan. Hear me, Bell?"
All of the wonderful technological things they could accomplish and they still
could not keep a thick sandstorm from almost blinding them as they lifted.
Odrade closed her eyes and accepted the fact that she was not to get a last low-
level overview of her beloved planet. She awoke to the thump of docking.
Buzzcar waiting in a corridor just beyond the lock. A humming traverse to their
quarters. Tamalane, Dortujla, and the acolyte servant maintained silence,
respecting Mother Superior's desire to be with her own thoughts.
The quarters, at least, were familiar, standard on Bene Gesserit ships: a small
sitting-dining room in elemental plaz of uniform light green; smaller sleeping
chamber with walls in the same color and a single hard cot. They knew Mother
Superior's preferences. Odrade glanced into a usiform bath and toilet.
Standard facilities. Adjoining quarters for Tam and Dortujla were similar.
Time later to look at the ship's refittings.
All essentials had been provided. Including unobtrusive elements of
psychological support: subdued colors, familiar furnishings, a setting to
disturb none of her mental processes. She gave orders for departure before
returning to her sitting-dining room.
Food was waiting on a low table -- blue fruit, sweet and plummy, a savory yellow
spread on bread tailored to her energy needs. Very good. She watched the
assigned acolyte at her self-effacing work arranging Mother Superior's effects.
The name evaded Odrade for a second, then: Suipol. A dark little thing with a
round, calm face and manners to match. Not one of our brightest but guaranteed
efficient.
It struck Odrade suddenly that these assignments had an element of callousness
in them. A small entourage, not to offend Honored Matres. And keep our losses
to a minimum.
"Have you unpacked all of my things, Suipol?"
"Yes, Mother Superior." Very proud of having been chosen for this important
assignment. It showed in her walk as she left.
There are some things you cannot unpack for me, Suipol. I carry those in my
head.
No Bene Gesserit from Chapterhouse ever left the planet without taking along a
certain amount of chauvinism. Other places were never quite as beautiful, never
quite as serene, never as pleasant a habitat.
But this is the Chapterhouse that was.
It was an aspect of the desert transformation she had never before viewed in
quite that way. Chapterhouse was removing itself. Going away, never to return,
at least not in the lifetimes of those who knew it now. It was like being
abandoned by a beloved parent-disdainfully and with malice.
You are no longer important to me, child.
On the way to becoming a Reverend Mother, they were taught early that travel
could provide a peaceful byway for rest. Odrade fully intended to take
advantage of this and told her companions immediately after eating, "Spare me
details."
Suipol was sent to summon Tamalane. Odrade spoke in Tam's own terse meter.
"Inspect the refitting and tell me what I should see. Take Dortujla."
"Good head, that one." High praise from Tam.
"When we're through, isolate me as much as possible."
During part of the crossing, Odrade strapped herself into the webbing of her cot
and occupied herself composing what she thought of as a last will and testament.
Who would be executor?
Murbella was her personal choice, especially after the Sharing with Sheeana.
Still . . . the Dune waif remained a potent candidate if this venture to
Junction failed.
Some assumed any Reverend Mother could serve if responsibility fell on her. But
not in these times. Not with this trap set. Honored Matres were unlikely to
avoid the pitfall.
If we've judged them correctly. And Murbella's data says we've done our best.
The opening is there for Honored Matres to enter, and oh, how inviting it will
appear. They won't see the dead end until they're well into it. Too late!
But what if we fail?
Survivors (if any) would hold Odrade in contempt.
I have often felt diminished but never an object of contempt. Yet the decisions
I made may never be accepted by my Sisters. At least, I make no excuses . . . [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]