Dune

Sitting at my table as though she owned it. Excellent!

Not giving Bellonda time for one of her outbursts, Odrade said: “Determine if that messenger acolyte is ready for the Agony.”

“She is.” Gods below! That was terse for Bell.

“Then see to it. Perhaps she can be our messenger.”

“Already have.”

“Is she resourceful?”

“Very.”

What in the name of all the devils has happened to Bell? She’s acting extremely odd. Not like her usual self at all. Duncan!

“Oh, and Bell, I want Duncan to have an open link with Archives.”

“Did that this morning.”

Well, well. Contact with Duncan is having its effect.

“I’ll talk to you after I’ve seen Sheeana.”

“Tell Tam she was right.”

“About what?”

“Just tell her.”

“Very well. I must say, Bell, I couldn’t be more satisfied with the way you’re handling matters.”

“After the way you’ve handled me, how could I fail?”

Bellonda was actually smiling as they broke the connection. Odrade turned to find Tamalane standing behind her.

“Right about what, Tam?”

“That there’s more to contacts between Idaho and Sheeana than we’ve suspected.” Tamalane moved close to Odrade and lowered her voice. “Don’t put her in my chair without discovering what they keep secret.”

“I’m aware you knew my intentions, Tam. But . . . am I that transparent?”

“In some things, Dar.”

“I’m fortunate to have you as a friend.”

“You have other supporters. When the Proctors voted, it was your creativity that worked for you. ‘Inspired’ is the way one of your defenders put it.”

“Then you know I’ll have Sheeana on the coals quite thoroughly before I make one of my inspired decisions.”

“Of course.”

Odrade signaled Communications to remove the projector and went to wait at the edge of the glassy area.

Creative imagination.

She knew the mixed feelings of her associates.

Creativity!

Always dangerous to entrenched power. Always coming up with something new. New things could destroy the grip of authority. Even the Bene Gesserit approached creativity with misgivings. Maintaining an even keel inspired some to shunt boat-rockers aside. That was an element behind Dortujla’s posting. The trouble was that creative ones tended to welcome backwaters. They called it privacy. It had taken quite a force to bring Dortujla out.

Be well, Dortujla. Be the best bait we ever used.

The ’thopters came then—sixteen of them, pilots showing displeasure at this added assignment after all the trouble they had been through. Moving whole communities!

In a fragile mood, Odrade watched the ’thopters settle to the hard-glazed surface, wing fans folding back into pod sleeves—each craft like a sleeping insect.

An insect designed in its own likeness by a mad robot.

When they were airborne, Streggi once more seated beside Odrade, Streggi asked: “Will we see sandworms?”

“Possibly. But there are no reports of them yet.”

Streggi sat back, disappointed by the answer but unable to lever it into another question. Truth could be upsetting at times and they had such high expectations invested in this evolutionary gamble, Odrade thought.

Else why destroy everything we loved on Chapterhouse?

Simulflow intruded with an image of a long-ago sign arching over a narrow entry to a pink brick building: HOSPITAL FOR INCURABLE DISEASES.

Was that where the Sisterhood found itself? Or was it that they tolerated too many failures? Intrusive Other Memory had to have its purpose.

Failures?

Odrade searched it out: If it comes, we must think of Murbella as a Sister. Not that their captive Honored Matre was an incurable failure. But she was a misfit and undergoing the deep training at a very late age.

How quiet they were all around her, everyone looking out at windswept sand—whaleback dunes giving way at times to dry wavelets. Early afternoon sun had just begun to provide sufficient sidelighting to define near vistas. Dust obscured the horizon ahead.

Odrade curled up in her seat and slept. I’ve seen this before. I survived Dune.

The stir as they came down and circled over Sheeana’s Desert Watch Center awakened her.