consciousness could not probe. Weary, weary, weary.
Even Bellonda showed the strain and Bell feasted on violence. Tamalane alone appeared above it but that did not fool Odrade. Tam had entered the age of superior observation that lay ahead of all Sisters if they survived into it. Nothing mattered then except observations and judgments. Most of this was never uttered except in fleeting expressions on wrinkled features. Tamalane spoke few words these days, her comments so sparse as to be almost ludicrous:
“Buy more no-ships.”
“Brief Sheeana.”
“Review Idaho records.”
“Ask Murbella.”
Sometimes, only grunts issued from her, as though words might betray her.
And always the hunters roamed out there, sweeping space for any clue to the location of Chapterhouse.
In her most private thoughts, Odrade saw the no-ships of Honored Matres as corsairs on those infinite seas between the stars. They flew no black flags with skull and crossbones, but that flag was there nonetheless. Nothing whatsoever romantic about them. Kill and pillage! Amass your wealth in the blood of others. Drain that energy and build your killer no-ships on ways lubricated with blood.
And they did not see they would drown in red lubricant if they kept on this course.
There must be furious people out there in that human Scattering where Honored Matres originated, people who live out there lives with a single fixed idea: Get them!
It was a dangerous universe where such ideas were allowed to float around freely. Good civilizations took care that such ideas did not gain energy, did not even get a chance for birth. When they did occur, by chance or accident, they were to be diverted quickly because they tended to gather mass.
Odrade was astonished that the Honored Matres did not see this or, seeing it, ignored it.
“Full-blown hysterics,” Tamalane called them.
“Xenophobia,” Bellonda disagreed, always correcting, as though control of Archives gave her a better hold on reality.
Both were right, Odrade thought. The Honored Matres behaved hysterically. All outsiders were the enemy. The only people they appeared to trust were the men they sexually enslaved, and those only to a limited degree. Constantly testing, according to Murbella (our only captive Honored Matre), to see if their hold was firm.
“Sometimes out of mere pique they may eliminate someone just as an example to others.” Murbella’s words and they forced the question: Are they making an example of us? “See! This is what happens to those who dare oppose us!”
Murbella had said, “You’ve aroused them. Once aroused, they will not desist until they have destroyed you.”
Get the outsiders!
Singularly direct. A weakness in them if we play it right, Odrade thought.
Xenophobia carried to a ridiculous extreme?
Quite possibly.
Odrade pounded a fist on her worktable, aware that the action would be seen and recorded by Sisters who kept constant watch on Mother Superior’s behavior. She spoke aloud then for the omnipresent comeyes and watchdog Sisters behind them.
“We will not sit and wait in defensive enclaves! We’ve become as fat as Bellonda (and let her fret over that!) thinking we’ve created an untouchable society and enduring structures.”
Odrade swept her gaze around the familiar room.
“This place is one of our weaknesses!”
She took her seat behind the worktable thinking (of all things!) about architecture and community planning. Well, that was a Mother Superior’s right!
Sisterhood communities seldom grew at random. Even when they took over existing structures (as they had with the old Harkonnen Keep on Gammu) they did so with rebuilding plans. They wanted pneumotubes to shunt small packages and messages. Lightlines and hardray projectors to transmit encrypted words. They considered themselves masters at safeguarding communications. Acolyte and Reverend Mother couriers (committed to self-destruction rather than betray their superiors) carried the more important messages.
She could visualize it out there beyond her window and beyond this planet—her web, superbly organized and manned, each Bene Gesserit an extension of the others. Where Sisterhood survival was concerned, there was an untouchable core of loyalty. Backsliders there might be, some spectacular (as the Lady Jessica, grandmother of the Tyrant), but they slid only so far. Most upsets were temporary.
And all of that was a Bene Gesserit pattern. A weakness.
Odrade admitted a deep agreement with Bellonda’s fears. But I’ll be damned if I allow such things to depress all joy of living! That would be giving in to the very thing those rampaging Honored Matres wanted.
“It’s our strengths the hunters want,” Odrade said, looking up at the ceiling comeyes. Like ancient savages eating the hearts of enemies. Well… we will give them something to eat all right! And they will not know until