capsule pulse, as though it sought release for its precious contents. Lost Bandalong. Never again to see the city of carnelian skies, never to feel the presence of brothers, of patient Domel and…
“Are you ill?” Odrade asked.
“I am sick with what I have lost!” He heard fabric slither behind him and sensed Tamalane closer. How oppressive it was in this place! “Why is she behind me?”
“I am the servant of my Sisters and she is here to observe us both.”
“You’ve taken some of my cells, haven’t you? You’re growing a replacement Scytale in your tanks!”
“Of course we are. You don’t think Sisters would let the last Master end here, do you?”
“No ghola of me will do anything I would not!” And it will carry no nullentropy tube!
“We know.” But what is it we do not know?
“This is not bargaining,” he complained.
“You misjudge me, Scytale. We know when you lie and when you conceal. We employ senses others do not.”
It was true! They detected things from odors of his body, from small movements of muscles, expressions he could not suppress.
Sisters? These creatures are powindah! All of them!
“You were on lashkar,” Odrade prodded.
Lashkar! How he wished he were here on lashkar. Face Dance warriors. Domel assistants—eliminating this abominable evil! But he dared not lie. The one behind him probably was a Truthsayer. Experience in many lives told him Bene Gesserit Truthsayers were the best.
“I commanded a force of khasadars. We sought a herd of Futars for our defense.”
Herd? Did Tleilaxu know something of Futars not revealed to the Sisterhood?
“You went prepared for violence. Did Honored Matres learn of your mission and cut you off? I think it likely.”
“Why do you call them Honored Matres?” His voice lapsed almost into a screech.
“Because that is what they call themselves.” Very calm now. Let him stew in his own mistakes.
She is right! We were betrayed. Bitter thought. He held it close, wondering how he should reply. A small revelation? There is never a small revelation with these women.
A sigh shook his breast. The nullentropy capsule and its contents. His most important concern. Anything to get him access to his own axlotl tanks.
“Descendants of people we sent into the Scattering returned with captive Futars. A mingling of human and cat, as you doubtless know. But they did not reproduce in our tanks. And before we could determine why, the ones brought to us died.” The betrayers brought us only two! We should have suspected.
“They didn’t bring you very many Futars, did they? You should have suspected they were bait.”
See? That is what they do with small revelations!
“Why did the Futars not hunt and kill Honored Matres on Gammu?” It was Duncan’s question and deserved an answer.
“We were told no orders were given. They do not kill without orders.” She knows this. She is testing me.
“Face Dancers also kill on order,” she said. “They would even kill you if you ordered it. Not so?”
“That order is reserved for keeping our secrets from the hands of enemies.”
“Is that why you want your own Face Dancers? Do you consider us enemies?”
Before he could compose a response, Bellonda’s projected figure appeared above the table, lifesize and partly translucent, dancing crystals of Archives behind her. “Urgent from Sheeana!” Bellonda said. “The spice blow has occurred. Sandworms!” The figure turned and looked at Scytale, comeyes perfectly coordinating her movements. “So you have lost a bargaining chip, Master Scytale! We have our spice at last!” The projected figure vanished with an audible click and a faint smell of ozone.
“You’re trying to trick me!” he blurted.
But the door at Odrade’s left opened. Sheeana entered towing a small suspensor pod no more than two meters long. Its transparent sides repeated the glowglobes of the workroom in tiny bursts of yellow light. Something squirmed in the pod!
Sheeana stood aside without speaking, giving them a full view of the contents. So small! The worm was less than half the length of its container but perfect in every detail, stretched out there on a shallow bed of golden sand.
Scytale could not contain a gasp of awe. The Prophet!
Odrade’s reaction was pragmatic. She bent close to the pod, peering into the miniature mouth. The scorching huff-huff of a great worm’s internal fires reduced to this? What a tiny mimicry!
Crystal teeth flashed as it lifted its front segments.
The worm sent its mouth questing left and right. They all saw behind the teeth the miniature fire in its alien chemistry.
“Thousands of them,” Sheeana said. “They came to a spice blow as