Dune

I wonder how she did that? No smell of poison about her. Human flesh plus adrenaline-based drug to produce orange eyes in response to anger . . . and those other responses Murbella revealed. A sense of absolute superiority.

How far did Futar comprehension go? “Was it a bitter poison?”

The Futar grimaced and spat.

Action faster and more powerful than words.

“Do you hate Dama?”

Bared canines.

“Do you fear her?”

Smile.

“Then why don’t you kill her?”

“You not Handler.”

It requires a kill command from a Handler!

Great Honored Matre entered and sank into her chair.

Lucilla pitched her voice in the merry lilt: “Good morning, Dama.”

“I did not give you permission to call me that.” Low and with beginning flecks of orange in the eyes.

“Futar and I have been having a conversation.”

“I know.” More orange in the eyes. “And if you have spoiled him for me . . .”

“But Dama—”

“Don’t call me that!” Out of her chair, eyes blazing orange.

“Do sit down,” Lucilla said. “This is no way to conduct an interrogation.” Sarcasm, a dangerous weapon. “You said yesterday you wanted to continue our discussion of politics.”

“How do you know what time it is?” Sinking back in her chair but eyes still flaming.

“All Bene Gesserit have this ability. We can feel the rhythms of any planet after a short time on it.”

“A strange talent.”

“Anyone can do it. A matter of being sensitized.”

“Could I learn this?” Orange fading.

“I said anyone. You’re still human, aren’t you?” A question not yet fully answered.

“Why do you say you witches have no government?”

Wants to change the subject. Our abilities worry her. “That’s not what I said. We have no conventional government.”

“Not even a social code?”

“There’s no such thing as a social code to meet all necessities. A crime in one society can be a moral requirement in another society.”

“People always have government.” Orange completely faded. Why does this interest her so much?

“People have politics. I told you that yesterday. Politics: the art of appearing candid and completely open while concealing as much as possible.”

“So you witches conceal.”

“I did not say that. When we say ‘politics,’ that’s a warning to our Sisters.”

“I don’t believe you. Humans always create some form of . . .”

“Accord?”

“As good a word as any!” It angers her.

When Lucilla made no further response, Great Honored Matre leaned forward. “You’re concealing!”

“Isn’t it my right to hide from you things that might help you defeat us?” There’s a juicy morsel of bait!

“I thought so!” Leaning back with a look of satisfaction.

“However, why not reveal it? You think the niches of authority are always there for the filling and you don’t see what that says about my Sisterhood.”

“Oh, please tell me.” Heavy-handed with her sarcasm.

“You believe all of this conforms to instincts going back to tribal days and beyond. Chiefs and Elders. Mystery Mother and Council. And before that, the Strong Man (or Woman) who saw to it that everyone was fed, that all were guarded by fire at the cave’s mouth.”

“It makes sense.”

Does it really?

“Oh, I agree. Evolution of the forms is quite clearly laid out.”

“Evolution, witch! One thing piled on another.”

Evolution. See how she snaps at key words?

“It’s a force that can be brought under control by turning it upon itself.”

Control! Look at the interest you’ve aroused. She loves that word.

“So you make laws just like anyone else!”

“Regulations, perhaps, but isn’t everything temporary?”

Intensely interested. “Of course.”

“But your society is administered by bureaucrats who know they cannot apply the slightest imagination to what they do.”

“That’s important?” Really puzzled. Look at her scowl.

“Only to you, Honored Matre.”

“Great Honored Matre!” Isn’t she touchy!

“Why don’t you permit me to call you Dama?”

“We’re not intimates.”

“Is Futar an intimate?”

“Stop changing the subject!”

“Want tooth clean,” the Futar said.

“You shut up!” Really blazing.

The Futar sank to its haunches but it was not cowed.

Great Honored Matre turned her orange gaze toward Lucilla. “What about bureaucrats?”

“They have no room to maneuver because that’s the way their superiors grow fat. If you don’t see the difference between regulation and law, both have the force of law.”

“I see no difference.” She doesn’t know what she reveals.

“Laws convey the myth of enforced change. A bright new future will come because of this law or that one. Laws enforce the future. Regulations are believed to enforce the past.”

“Believed?” She doesn’t like that word, either.