Dune

What is really happening out there in that world open to the sky?

The bits Odrade told him about events filled him with dread and a trapped feeling. No place to run! Am I wise to share my fears with Sheeana? Murbella merely laughed. “I will protect you, love. Honored Matres won’t hurt me.” Another false dream.

But Sheeana . . . how quickly she had picked up the hand-language and entered the spirit of his conspiracy. Conspiracy? No . . . I doubt that any Reverend Mother will act against her Sisters. Even the Lady Jessica went back to them in the end. But I don’t ask Sheeana to act against the Sisterhood, only that she protect us from Murbella’s folly.

The enormous powers of the hunters made only the destruction predictable. A Mentat had but to look at their disruptive violence. They brought something else as well, something hinting at matters out there in the Scattering. What were these Futars Odrade mentioned with such casualness? Part human, part beast? That had been Lucilla’s guess. And where is Lucilla?

He found himself presently in the Great Hold, the kilometer-long cargo space where they had carried the last giant sandworm of Dune, bringing it to Chapterhouse. The area still smelled of spice and sand, filling his mind with long-ago and the dead far away. He knew why he came so often to the Great Hold, doing it sometimes without even thinking, as he had just done. It both attracted and repelled. The illusion of unlimited space with traces of dust, sand, and spice carried the nostalgia of lost freedoms. But there was another side. This is where it always happened to him.

Will it happen today?

Without warning, the sense of being in the Great Hold would vanish. Then . . . the net shimmering in a molten sky. He was aware when the vision came that he was not really seeing a net. His mind translated what the senses could not define.

A shimmering net undulating like an infinite borealis.

Then the net would part and he would see two people—man and woman. How ordinary they appeared and yet extraordinary. A grandmother and grandfather in antique clothing: bib coveralls for the man and a long dress with headscarf for the woman. Working in a flower garden! He thought it must be more of the illusion. I am seeing this but it is not really what I see.

They always noticed him eventually. He heard their voices. “There he is again, Marty,” the man would say, calling the woman’s attention to Idaho.

“I wonder how it is he can look through?” Marty asked once. “Doesn’t seem possible.”

“He’s spread pretty thin, I think. Wonder if he knows the danger?”

Danger. That was the word that always jerked him out of the vision.

“Not at your console today?”

For just an instant, Idaho thought it was the vision, the voice of that odd woman, then he realized it was Odrade. Her voice came from close behind. He whirled and saw he had failed to close the hatch. She had followed him into the Hold, stalking him quietly, avoiding the scattered patches of sand that might have grated underfoot and betrayed her approach.

She looked tired and impatient. Why did she think I would be at my console?

As though answering his unspoken question, she said: “I find you at your console so often lately. For what do you search, Duncan?”

He shook his head without speaking. Why do I suddenly feel in peril?

It was a rare feeling in Odrade’s company. He could remember other occasions, though. Once when she had stared suspiciously at his hands in the field of his console. Fear associated with my console. Do I reveal my Mentat hunger for data? Do they guess that I have hidden my private self there?

“Do I get no privacy at all?” Anger and attack.

She shook her head slowly from side to side as much to say, “You can do better than that.”

“This is your second visit today,” he accused.

“I must say you’re looking well, Duncan.” More circumlocution.

“Is that what your watchers say?”

“Don’t be petty. I came for a chat with Murbella. She said you’d be down here.”

“I suppose you know Murbella’s pregnant again.” Was that trying to placate her?