Dune

“This is all very interesting, Mother Superior,” Dortujla said finally. “I appreciate your reassurance that we are still Sisters and find your interest in ancient paintings a parallel hobby. But we both know why I risked coming here.”

“The smugglers.”

“Of course. Honored Matres cannot have overlooked my presence on Buzzell. Smugglers will sell to the high bidders. We must assume they have profited from their valuable knowledge about Buzzell, the soostones, and a resident Reverend Mother with attendants. And we must not forget that Handlers found me.”

Damn! Odrade thought. Dortujla is the kind of advisor I like to have near me. I wonder how many more such buried treasures are out there, tucked away for mean motives? Why do we so often shunt our talented ones aside? It’s an ancient weakness the Sisterhood has not exorcised.

“I think we have learned something valuable about Honored Matres,” Dortujla said.

There was no need to nod agreement. This was the core of what had brought Dortujla to Chapterhouse. The ravening hunters had come swarming into the Old Empire, killing and burning wherever they suspected the presence of Bene Gesserit establishments. But the hunters had not touched Buzzell even though its location must be known.

“Why?” Odrade asked, voicing what was in their minds.

“Never damage your own nest,” Dortujla said.

“You think they’re already on Buzzell?”

“Not yet.”

“But you believe Buzzell is a place they want.”

“Prime projection.”

Odrade merely stared at her. So Dortujla had another hobby! She burrowed into Other Memory, revived and perfected talents stored there. Who could blame her? Time must drag on Buzzell.

“A Mentat summation,” Odrade accused.

“Yes, Mother Superior.” Very meek. Reverend Mothers were supposed to dig into Other Memory this way only with Chapterhouse permission and then only with guidance and support from companion Sisters. So Dortujla remained a rebel. She followed her own desires the way she had with her forbidden lover. Good! The Bene Gesserit needed such rebels.

“They want Buzzell undamaged,” Dortujla said.

“A water world?”

“It would make a suitable home for amphibian servants. Not the Futars or Handlers. I studied them carefully.”

The evidence suggested a plan by Honored Matres to bring in enslaved servants, amphibians perhaps, to harvest soostones. Honored Matres could have amphibian slaves. Knowledge that produced Futars might create many forms of sentient life.

“Slaves, dangerous imbalance,” Odrade said.

Dortujla showed her first strong emotion, deep revulsion that drew her mouth into a tight line.

It was a pattern the Sisterhood had long recognized: the inevitable failure of slavery and peonage. You created a reservoir of hate. Implacable enemies. If you had no hope of exterminating all of these enemies, you dared not try. Temper your efforts by the sure awareness that oppression will make your enemies strong. The oppressed will have their day and heaven help the oppressor when that day comes. It was a two-edged blade. The oppressed always learned from and copied the oppressor. When the tables were turned, the stage was set for another round of revenge and violence—roles reversed. And reversed and reversed ad nauseam.

“Will they never mature?” Odrade asked.

Dortujla had no answer but she did have an immediate suggestion. “I must return to Buzzell.”

Odrade considered this. Once more, the banished Reverend Mother was ahead of Mother Superior. As disagreeable as the decision was, they both knew it as their best move. Futars and Handlers would return. More important, with a planet Honored Matres desired, odds were high that visitors from the Scattering had been observed. Honored Matres would have to make a move and that move could reveal much about them.

“Of course, they think Buzzell is bait for a trap,” Odrade said.

“I could let it be known that I was banished by my Sisters,” Dortujla said. “It can be verified.”

“Use yourself as bait?”

“Mother Superior, what if they could be tempted into a parley?”

“With us?” What a startling idea!

“I know their history is not one of reasonable negotiations but still . . .”

“It’s brilliant! But let us make it even more enticing. Say I am convinced I must come to them with a proposal for submission of the Bene Gesserit.”

“Mother Superior!”

“I have no intention of surrendering. But what better way to get them to talk?”

“Buzzell is not a good place for a meeting. Our facilities are very poor.”

“They are on Junction in force. If they suggested Junction as a meeting place, could you let yourself be persuaded?”

“It would take careful planning, Mother Superior.”