Chapterhouse: Dune

Lucilla would have liked something to eat. They had not fed her in three days and she was forced to suppress hunger pangs. Small sips of water from a literjon left in the cage helped but that was almost empty. The servants who had brought her had laughed at her request for food. "Futars like lean meat!"



It was the absence of melange that plagued her most. She had begun to feel the first withdrawal pains that morning.



I shall have to kill myself soon.



The Lampadas horde pleaded for her to endure. Be brave. What if that wild Reverend Mother fails us?



Spider Queen. That is what Odrade calls this woman.



Great Honored Matre continued to study her, hand to chin. It was a weak chin. In a face without positive features, the negative attracted the gaze.



"You will lose in the end, you know," Great Honored Matre said.



"Whistling past the graveyard," Lucilla said and then had to explain the expression.



There was a polite show of interest on Great Honored Matre's face. How interesting.



"Any of my aides would have killed you immediately for saying that. This is one of the reasons we are alone. I am curious why you would say such a thing?"



Lucilla glanced at the squatting Futar. "Futars did not occur overnight. They were genetically created from wild animal stock for one purpose."



"Careful!" Orange flamed in Great Honored Matre's eyes.



"Generations of development went into the creation of the Futars," Lucilla said.



"We hunt them for our pleasure!"



"And the hunter becomes the hunted."



Great Honored Matre leaped to her feet, eyes completely orange. The Futar became agitated and began whining. This calmed the woman. Slowly, she sank back into her chair. One hand gestured at the caged Futar. "It's all right, darling. You'll eat soon and then I'll rub your back."



The Futar resumed its purring.



"So you think we came back here as refugees," Great Honored Matre said. "Yes! Don't try to deny it."



"Worms often turn," Lucilla said.



"Worms? You mean like those monstrosities we destroyed on Rakis?"



It was tempting to prod this Honored Matre and evoke the dramatic response. Alarm her enough and she would certainly kill.



Please, Sister! the Lampadas horde begged. Endure.



You think I can escape from this place? That silenced them, except for one faint protest. Remember! We are the ancient doll: seven times down, eight times up. It came with a rocking image of a small red doll, grinning Buddha face and hands clasped over its fat belly.



"You're obviously referring to the revenants of the God Emperor," Lucilla said. " I had something else in mind."



Great Honored Matre took her time considering this. The orange faded from her eyes.



She's playing with me, Lucilla thought. She intends to kill me and feed me to her pet.



But think of the tactical information you could provide if we did escape!



We! But there was no avoiding the accuracy of that protest. They had brought her cage from the lighter while it was still daylight. Approaches to the Spider Queen's lair were well planned for difficult access but the planning amused Lucilla. Very ancient, out-of-date planning. Narrow places in the approach lanes with observation turrets projecting from the ground like dull gray mushrooms appearing at the proper places on their mycelium. Sharp turns at critical points. No ordinary ground vehicle could negotiate such turns at speed.



There was mention of this in Teg's critique of junction, she recalled. Nonsense defenses. One had only to bring in heavy equipment or go over such crude installations another way and the things were isolated. Linked underground, naturally, but that could be disrupted by explosives. Ligate them, cut them off from their source, and they would fall piecemeal. No more precious energy coming down your tube, idiots! Visible sense of security and Honored Matres kept it. For reassurance! Their defenders must spend a great deal of energy on useless displays to give these women a false sense of security.



The hallways! Remember the hallways.



Yes, the hallways in this gigantic building were enormous, the better to accommodate giant tanks in which Guild Navigators were forced to live groundside. Ventilation systems low along the halls to take out and reclaim spilled melange gas. She could imagine hatches thumping open and closed with disturbing reverberations. Guildsmen never seemed to mind loud noises. Energy transmission lines for mobile suspensors were thick black snakes winding across passages and into every room she had glimpsed. Wouldn't do to keep a Navigator from snooping any place he desired.



Many of the people she had seen wore guide pulsers. Even Honored Matres. So they got lost here. Everything under the one giant mound of a roof with its phallic towers. The new residents found this attractive. Heavily insulated from the crude outdoors (where none of the important people go anyway except to kill things or watch the slaves at their amusing work and play). Through much of it, she had seen a shabbiness that said minimal expenditure on maintenance. They are not changing much. Teg's ground plan is still accurate.



See how valuable your observations could be?



Great Honored Matre stirred from her reverie. "It is just possible that I could permit you to live. Provided you satisfy some of my curiosity."



"How do you know I won't respond to your curiosity with a flow of pure shit?"



Vulgarity amused Great Honored Matre. She almost laughed. Apparently no one had ever warned her to beware of the Bene Gesserit when they resorted to vulgarity. The motivation for it was sure to be something distressing. No Voice, eh? She thinks that's my only resource? Great Honored Matre had said enough and reacted enough to give any Reverend Mother a sure handle on her. Body and speech signals always carried more information than was necessary for comprehension. There was inevitable extra information to be sampled.



"Do you find us attractive?" Great Honored Matre asked.



Odd question. "People from the Scattering all possess a certain attraction." Let her think I've seen many of them, including her enemies. "You're exotic, meaning strange and new."



"And our sexual prowess?"



"There's an aura to that, naturally. Exciting and magnetic to some."



"But not to you."



Go for the chin! It was a suggestion from the horde. Why not?



"I've been studying your chin, Great Honored Matre."



"You have?" Surprised.



"It's obviously your childhood chin and you should be proud of that youthful remembrance."



Not pleased at all but unable to show it. Hit the chin again.



"I'll bet your lovers often kiss your chin," Lucilla said.



Angry now and still unable to vent it. Threaten me, will you! Warn me not to use Voice!



"Kiss chin," the Futar said.



"I said later, darling. Now will you shut up!"



Taking it out on her poor pet.



"But you have questions you want to ask me," Lucilla said. Sweetness itself. Another warning signal to the knowledgeable. I'm one of those who pours sugar syrup over everything. "How nice! Such a pleasant time when we're with you. Isn't that beautiful! Weren't you clever to get it so cheaply! Easily. Quickly." Supply your own adverb.



Great Honored Matre was a moment composing herself. She sensed that she had been placed at a disadvantage but could not say how. She covered the moment with an enigmatic smile, then: "But I said I would release you." She pressed something on the side of her chair and a section of the tubular cage swung aside, taking the shigawire netting with it. In the same instant, a low chair lifted from a panel in the floor directly in front of her and not a pace away.



Lucilla seated herself in the chair, knees almost touching her inquisitor. Feet. Remember they kill with their feet. She flexed her fingers, realizing then that she had been gripping her hands into fists. Damn the tensions!



"You should have some food and drink," Great Honored Matre said. She pushed something else on the side of her chair. A tray came up beside Lucilla - plate, spoon, a glass brimming with red liquid. Showing off her toys.



Lucilla picked up the glass.



Poison? Smell it first.



She sampled the drink. Stimtea and melange! I'm hungry.



Lucilla returned an empty glass to the tray. The stim on her tongue smelled sharply of melange. What is she doing? Wooing me? Lucilla felt a flow of relief at the spice. The plate proved to hold beans in a piquant sauce. She ate it all after sampling the first bite for unwanted additives. Garlic in the sauce. She was hung up for the barest fraction of a second on Memory of this ingredient - adjunct to fine cooking, specific against werewolves, potent treatment for flatulence.



"You find our food pleasant?"



Lucilla wiped her chin. "Very good. You are to be complimented on your chef." Never compliment the chef in a private establishment. Chefs can be replaced. Hostess is irreplaceable. "A nice touch with garlic."



"We've been studying some of the library salvaged from Lampadas." Gloating: See what you lost? "So little of interest buried in all of that prattle."



Does she want you to be her librarian? Lucilla waited silently.



"Some of my aides think there may be clues to your witches' nest there or, at least, a way to eliminate you quickly. So many languages!"



Does she need a translator? Be blunt!



"What interests you?"



"Very little. Who could possibly need accounts of the Butlerian Jihad?"



"They destroyed libraries, too."



"Don't patronize me!"



She's sharper than we thought. Keep it blunt.



"I thought I was the object of patronage."



"Listen to me, witch! You think you can be ruthless in defense of your nest but you do not understand what it is to be ruthless."



"I don't think you have yet told me how I can satisfy your curiosity. "



"It's your science we want, witch!" She pitched her voice lower. "Let us be reasonable. With your help we could achieve utopia."



And conquer all of your enemies and achieve orgasm every time.



"You think science holds the keys to utopia?"



"And better organization for our affairs."



Remember: Bureaucracy elevates conformity... Make that elevates "fatal stupidity" to the status of religion.



"Paradox, Great Honored Matre. Science must be innovative. It brings change. That's why science and bureaucracy fight a constant war."



Does she know her roots?



"But think of the power! Think of what you could control!" She doesn't know.



Honored Matre assumptions about control fascinated Lucilla. You controlled your universe; you did not balance with it. You looked outward, never inward. You did not train yourself to sense your own subtle responses, you produced muscles (forces, powers) to overcome everything you defined as an obstacle. Were these women blind?



When Lucilla did not speak, Honored Matre said: "We found much in the library about the Bene Tleilax.



"You joined them for many projects, witch. Multiple projects: how to nullify a no-ship's invisibility, how to penetrate the secrets of the living cell, your Missionaria Protectiva, and something called 'The Language of God.' "



Lucilla produced a tight smile. Did they fear there might be a real god out there somewhere? Give her a little taste! Be candid.



"We joined the Tleilaxu in nothing. Your people misinterpret what they found. You worry about being patronized? How do you think God would feel about it? We plant protective religions to help us. That is the Missionaria's function. The Tleilaxu have only one religion."



"You organize religions?"



"Not quite. The organizational approach to religion is always apologetic. We do not apologize."



"You are beginning to bore me. Why did we find so little about the God Emperor?" Pouncing!



"Perhaps your people destroyed it."



"Ahhhh, then you do have an interest in him."



And so do you, Madame Spider!



"I would have presumed, Great Honored Matre, that Leto II and his Golden Path were subjects of study at many of your academic centers."



That was cruel!



"We have no academic centers!"



"I find your interest in him surprising."



"Casual interest, no more."



And that Futar sprang from an oak tree struck by lightning!



"We call his Golden Path 'the paper chase.' He blew it into the infinite winds and said: 'See? There is where it goes.' That's the Scattering."



"Some prefer to call it the Seeking."



"Could he really predict our future? Is that what interests you?"



Bullseye!



Great Honored Matre coughed into her hand.



"We say Muad'Dib created a future. Leto II un-created it."



"But if I could know..."



"Please! Great Honored Matre! People who demand that the oracle predict their lives really want to know where the treasure is hidden."



"But of course!"



"Know your entire future and nothing will ever surprise you? Is that it?"



"In so many words."



"You don't want the future, you want now extended forever."



"I could not have said it better."



"And you said I bored you!"



"What?"



Orange in her eyes. Careful.



"Never another surprise? What could be more boring?"



"Ahhhh... Oh! But that's not what I mean."



"Then I'm afraid I do not understand what you want, Great Honored Matre."



"No matter. We'll return to it tomorrow."



Reprieve!



Great Honored Matre stood. "Back into your cage."



"Eat?" The Futar sounded plaintive.



" I have some wonderful food for you downstairs, darling. Then I'll rub your back."



Lucilla entered her cage. Great Honored Matre threw a chair cushion in after her. "Use that against the shigawire. See how kind I can be?"



The cage door sealed with a click.



The Futar in its cage slid back into the wall. The panel snapped closed over it.



"They get so restless when they're hungry," Great Honored Matre said. She opened the door to the room and turned to contemplate Lucilla for a moment. "You will not be disturbed here. I am refusing permission for anyone else to enter this room."



Many things we do naturally become difficult only when we try to make them intellectual subjects. It is possible to know so much about a subject that you become totally ignorant.



- Mentat Text Two (dicto)



Periodically, Odrade went for dinner with acolytes and their Proctor-Watchers, the most immediate warders in this mind-prison from which many would never be released.



What the acolytes thought and did really informed the depths of Mother Superior's consciousness on how well Chapterhouse functioned. Acolytes responded from their moods and forebodings more directly than Reverend Mothers. Full Sisters got very good at not being seen at their worst. They did not try to conceal essentials, but anyone could walk in an orchard or close a door and be out of the view of watchdogs.



Not so the acolytes.



There was little slack time in Central these days. Even the dining halls had their constant streams of occupants no matter the hour. Workshifts were staggered and it was easy for a Reverend Mother to adjust her circadian rhythms to off-beat time. Odrade could not waste energy on such adjustments. At the evening meal, she paused at the door to the Acolyte Hall and heard the sudden hush.



Even the way they conveyed food to their mouths said something. Where did the eyes go as the chopsticks progressed mouthward? Was it a quick stab and a rapid chew before a convulsive swallow? That was a one to watch. She was brewing upsets. And that thoughtful one over there who looked at each mouthful as though wondering how they hid the poison in such slop? A creative mind behind those eyes. Test her for a more sensitive position.



Odrade entered the hall.



The floor had a large checkerboard pattern, black and white plaz, virtually unscratchable. Acolytes said the pattern was for Reverend Mothers to use as a game board: "Place one of us here and another over there and some along that central line. Move them thus - winner take all."



Odrade took a seat near the corner of a table beside the western windows. The acolytes made room for her, their movements quietly unobtrusive.



This hall was part of the oldest construction on Chapterhouse. Built of wood with clear-span beams overhead, enormously thick and heavy things finished in dull black. They were some twenty-five meters long without a joint. Somewhere on Chapterhouse there was a grove of genetically tailored oaks reaching up to sunlight in their carefully tended plantations. Trees going up thirty meters at least without a limb, and more than two meters through the boles. They had been planted when this hall was built, replacements for these beams when age weakened them. Nineteen hundred SY the beams were supposed to endure.



How carefully the acolytes around her watched Mother Superior without ever appearing to look directly at her.



Odrade turned her head to peer out the western windows at the sunset. Dust again. The spreading intrusion from the desert inflamed the setting sun and set it glowing like a distant ember that might explode into uncontrollable fire at any instant.



Odrade suppressed a sigh. Thoughts such as these recreated her nightmare: the chasm... the tightrope. She knew if she closed her eyes she would feel herself swaying on the rope. The hunter with the axe was nearer!



Acolytes eating close by stirred nervously as though they sensed her disquiet. Perhaps they did. Odrade heard the movement of fabrics and this dragged her out of her nightmare. She had become sensitized to a new note in the sounds of Central. There was a grating noise behind the most commonplace movements - that chair being shifted behind her... and the opening of that kitchen door. Rasping grit. Cleaning crews complained of sand and "the damnable dust."



Odrade stared out the window at the source of that irritation: wind from the south. A dull haze, something between tan and earth brown, drew a curtain across the horizon. After the wind, dustings of its deposits would be found in building corners and on lee sides of hills. There was a flinty aroma to it, something alkaline that irritated the nostrils.



She looked down at the table as a serving acolyte placed her meal in front of her.



Odrade found herself enjoying this change from quick meals in her workroom and private dining room. When she ate alone up there, acolytes brought food so quietly and cleared away with such silent efficiency that sometimes she was surprised to find everything gone. Here, dining was bustle and conversation. In her quarters, Chef Duana might come in clucking, "You are not eating enough." Odrade generally heeded such admonitions. Watchdogs had their uses.



Tonight's meal was sligpork in a sauce of soy and molasses, minimal melange, a touch of basil and lemon. Fresh green beans cooked al dente with peppers. Dark red grape juice to drink. She took a bite of sligpork with anticipation and found it passable, a bit overcooked for her taste. Acolyte chefs had not missed it by much.



Then why this feeling of too many such meals?



She swallowed and hypersensitivity identified additives. This food was not here just to replenish Mother Superior's energy. Someone in the kitchen had asked for her day's nutrition list and adjusted this plate accordingly.



Food is a trap, she thought. More addictions. She did not like the cunning ways Chapterhouse chefs concealed things they put in the food "for the good of the diners." They knew, of course, that a Reverend Mother could identify ingredients and adjust metabolism within her limits. They were watching her right now, wondering how Mother Superior would judge tonight's menu.



As she ate, she listened to the other diners. None intruded on her - not physically or vocally. Sounds returned almost to what they had been before her entrance. Waggling tongues always changed their tone slightly when she entered and resumed at lower volume.



An unspoken question lay in all of those busy minds around her:



Why is she here tonight?



Odrade sensed quiet awe in some nearby diners, a reaction Mother Superior sometimes employed to her advantage. Awe with an edge on it. Acolytes whispered among themselves (so the Proctors reported), "She has Taraza." They meant Odrade possessed her late predecessor as Primary. The two of them were a historical pair, required study for postulants.



Dar and Tar, already a legend.



Even Bellonda (dear old vicious Bell) came at Odrade obliquely because of this. Few frontal attacks, very little blaring in her accusatory arguments. Taraza was credited with saving the Sisterhood. That silenced much opposition. Taraza had said Honored Matres were essentially barbarians and their violence, although not totally deflectable, could be guided into bloody displays. Events had more or less verified this.



Correct up to a point, Tar. None of us anticipated the extent of their violence.



Taraza's classical veronica (how apt the bullring image) had aimed the Honored Matres into such episodes of carnage that the universe was mordant with potential supporters of their brutalized victims.



How do I defend us?



It was not so much that defensive plans were inadequate. They could become irrelevant.



That, of course, is what I seek. We must be purified and made ready for a supreme effort.



Bellonda had sneered at that idea. "For our demise? Is that why we must be purified?"



Bellonda would be ambivalent when she discovered what Mother Superior planned. Bellonda-vicious would applaud. Bellonda-Mentat would argue for delay "until a more propitious moment. "



But I will seek my own peculiar way despite what my Sisters think.



And many Sisters thought Odrade quite the strangest Mother Superior they had ever accepted. Elevated more with the left hand than with the right. Taraza Primary. I was there when you died, Tar. No one else to gather your persona. Elevation by accident?



Many disapproved of Odrade. But when opposition arose, back they went to "Taraza Primary - the best Mother Superior in our history."



Amusing! Taraza Within was the quickest to laugh and ask: Why don't you tell them about my mistakes, Dar? Especially about how I misjudged you.



Odrade chewed reflectively on a bite of sligpork. I'm overdue for a visit to Sheeana. South into the desert and that soon. Sheeana must be made ready to replace Tam.



The changing landscape loomed large in Odrade's thoughts. More than fifteen hundred years of Bene Gesserit occupancy on Chapterhouse. Signs of us everywhere. Not just in special groves or vineyards and orchards. What it must be doing to the collective psyche, seeing such changes come over their familiar land.



The acolyte seated beside Odrade made a soft throat-clearing sound. Was she about to address Mother Superior? A rare occurrence. The young woman continued to eat without speaking.



Odrade's thoughts returned to the prospective journey into the desert. Sheeana must have no forewarning. I must be sure she is the one we need. There were questions for Sheeana to answer.



Odrade knew what she would find on inspection stops en route. In Sisters, in plant and animal life, in the very foundations of Chapterhouse, she would see changes gross and changes subtle, things to wrench at Mother Superior's vaunted serenity. Even Murbella, never out of the no-ship, sensed these changes.



Only that morning, seated with her back to her console, Murbella had listened with new attentiveness to Odrade standing over her. Edgy alertness in the captive Honored Matre. Her voice betrayed doubts and unbalanced judgments.



"All is transient, Mother Superior?"



"That is knowledge impressed on you by Other Memory. No planet, no land or sea, no part of any land or sea is here forever."



"A morbid thought!" Rejection.



"Wherever we stand, we are only stewards."



"A useless viewpoint." Hesitant, questioning why Mother Superior chose this moment to say such things.



"I hear Honored Matres talking through you. They gave you greedy dreams, Murbella."



"So you say!" Deeply resentful.



"Honored Matres think they can buy infinite security: a small planet, you know, with plenty of subservient population."



Murbella produced a grimace.



"More planets!" Odrade snapped. "Always more and more and more! That's why they come swarming back."



"Poor pickings in this Old Empire."



"Excellent, Murbella! You're beginning to think like one of us."



"And that makes me a nothing!"



"Neither fish nor fowl, but your own true self? Even there, you're only a steward. Beware, Murbella! If you think you own something, that's like walking on quicksand."



This got a puzzled frown. Something would have to be done about the way Murbella allowed her emotions to play so openly on her face. It was permissible here, but someday...



"So nothing is safely owned. So what!" Bitter, bitter.



"You speak some of the right words but I don't think you've yet found a place in yourself where you can endure for your lifetime."



"Until an enemy finds me and slaughters me?"



Honored Matre training clings like glue! But she spoke to Duncan the other night in a way that tells me she is ready. The Van Gogh painting, I do believe, has sensitized her. I heard it in her voice. I must review that record.



"Who would slaughter you, Murbella?"



"You'll never withstand an Honored Matre attack!"



"I've already stated the basic fact that concerns us: No place is eternally safe."



"Another of your useless damned lessons!"



In the Acolyte Hall, Odrade recalled she had not found time to review that comeye record of Duncan and Murbella. A sigh almost escaped her. She covered it with a cough. Never do to let the young women see disturbance in Mother Superior.



To the desert and Sheeana! Inspection tour as soon as I can make time for it. Time!



Again, the acolyte seated beside Odrade made that throat noise. Odrade watched peripherally - blond, short black dress trimmed in white - Intermediate Third Stage. No movement of the head toward Odrade, no sidelong glances.



This is what I will find on my inspection tour: Fears. And in the landscape, those things we always see when we run out of time: trees left uncut because woodcutters have gone - dragooned into our Scattering, gone to their graves, gone to unknown places, perhaps even to peonage. Will I see architectural Fancies becoming attractive because they are incomplete, builders departed? No. We don't go in much for Fancies.



Other Memory held examples she wished she might find: old buildings more beautiful because they were unfinished. The builder bankrupt, an owner angered at his mistress... Some things were more interesting because of that: old walls, old ruins. Time sculpture.



What would Bell say if I ordered a Fancy in my favorite orchard?



The acolyte beside Odrade said: "Mother Superior?"



Excellent! They so seldom find the courage.



"Yes?" Faint questioning. This had better be important. Would she hear?



She heard. "I intrude, Mother Superior, because of the urgency and because I know your interest in the orchards."



Superb! This acolyte had thick legs but that did not extend to her mind. Odrade stared at her silently.



"I am the one making the map for your bedchamber, Mother Superior."



So this was a reliable adept, a person trusted with work for Mother Superior. Even better.



"Will I have my map soon?"