Dune

“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?”

“Two days, Mother Superior. I am adjusting projection overlays where I will mark the desert’s daily growth.”

A brief nod. That had been in the original order: an acolyte to keep the map current. Odrade wanted to awaken each morning, her imagination ignited by that changing view, the first thing impressed on awareness at arising.

“I put a report in your workroom this morning, Mother Superior. ‘Orchard Management.’ Perhaps you did not see it.”

Odrade had seen only the label. She had been late coming from exercises, anxious to visit Murbella. So much depended on Murbella!

“The plantations around Central must either be abandoned or action taken to sustain them,” the acolyte said. “That’s the gist of the report.”

“Repeat the report verbatim.”

Night fell and the room lights brightened as Odrade listened. Concise. Terse even. The report carried a note of admonishment Odrade recognized as originating with Bellonda. No Archival signature but Weather’s warnings went through Archives and this acolyte had lifted some of the original words.

The acolyte fell silent, report concluded.

How do I respond? Orchards, pastures and vineyards were not merely a buffer against alien intrusions, pleasant decorations on the landscape. They supported Chapterhouse morale and tables.