Dune

As though nothing untoward had happened, Jessica walked alone down the ramp, avoiding her daughter, singling out Stilgar for concentrated attention. The black beard which fanned out across the neck of his stillsuit hood like a wild delta contained flecks of grey, but his eyes carried that same whiteless intensity they’d presented to her on their first encounter in the desert. Stilgar knew what had just occurred, and approved. Here stood a true Fremen Naib, a leader of men and capable of bloody decisions. His first words were completely in character.

“Welcome home, My Lady. It’s always a pleasure to see direct and effective action.”

Jessica allowed herself a tiny smile. “Close the port, Stil. No one leaves until we’ve questioned those we took.”

“It’s already done, My Lady,” Stilgar said. “Gurney’s man and I planned this together.”

“Those were your men, then, the ones who helped.”

“Some of them, My Lady.”

She read the hidden reservations, nodded. “You studied me pretty well in those old days, Stil.”

“As you once were at pains to tell me, My Lady, one observes the survivors and learns from them.”

Alia stepped forward then and Stilgar stood aside while Jessica confronted her daughter.

Knowing there was no way to hide what she had learned, Jessica did not even try concealment. Alia could read the minutiae when she needed, could read as well as any adept of the Sisterhood. She would already know by Jessica’s behavior what had been seen and interpreted. They were enemies for whom the word mortal touched only the surface.

Alia chose anger as the easiest and most proper reaction.

“How dare you plan an action such as this without consulting me?” she demanded, pushing her face close to Jessica’s.

Jessica spoke mildly: “As you’ve just heard, Gurney didn’t even let me in on the whole plan. It was thought . . .”

“And you, Stilgar!” Alia said, rounding on him. “To whom are you loyal?”

“My oath is to Muad’Dib’s children,” Stilgar said, speaking stiffly. “We have removed a threat to them.”

“And why doesn’t that fill you with joy . . . daughter?” Jessica asked.

Alia blinked, glanced once at her mother, suppressed the inner tempest, and even managed a straight-toothed smile. “I am filled with joy . . . mother,” she said. And to her own surprise, Alia found that she was happy, experiencing a terrible delight that it was all out in the open at last between herself and her mother. The moment she had dreaded was past and the power balance had not really been changed. “We will discuss this in more detail at a more convenient time,” Alia said, speaking both to her mother and Stilgar.

“But of course,” Jessica said, turning with a movement of dismissal to face the Princess Irulan.

For a few brief heartbeats, Jessica and the Princess stood silently studying each other—two Bene Gesserits who had broken with the Sisterhood for the same reason: love . . . both of them for love of men who now were dead. This Princess had loved Paul in vain, becoming his wife but not his mate. And now she lived only for the children given to Paul by his Fremen concubine, Chani.

Jessica spoke first: “Where are my grandchildren?”

“At Sietch Tabr.”

“Too dangerous for them here; I understand.”

Irulan permitted herself a faint nod. She had observed the interchange between Jessica and Alia, but put upon it an interpretation for which Alia had prepared her. “Jessica has returned to the Sisterhood and we both know they have plans for Paul’s children.” Irulan had never been the most accomplished adept in the Bene Gesserit—valuable more for the fact that she was a daughter of Shaddam IV than for any other reason; often too proud to exert herself in extending her capabilities. Now she chose sides with an abruptness which did no credit to her training.

“Really, Jessica,” Irulan said, “the Royal Council should have been consulted. It was wrong of you to work only through—”

“Am I to believe none of you trust Stilgar?” Jessica asked.

Irulan possessed the wit to realize there could be no answer to such a question. She was glad that the priestly delegates, unable to contain their impatience any longer, pressed forward. She exchanged a glance with Alia, thinking: Jessica’s as haughty and certain of herself as ever! A Bene Gesserit axiom arose unbidden in her mind, though: “The haughty do but build castle walls behind which they try to hide their doubts and fears.” Could that be true of Jessica? Surely not. Then it must be a pose. But for what purpose? The question disturbed Irulan.