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Love of chaos, indeed!
Spider Queen smiled and led the way onto the balcony.
As she emerged, Odrade once more was stopped by what she saw. A decoration on the parapet to her left. A life-size figure shaped from an almost ethereal substance, all feathery planes and curved surfaces.
When she squinted at the figure, Odrade saw it was intended to represent a human. Male or female? In some positions male, and in some female. Planes and curves responded to vagrant breezes. Thin, almost invisible wires (looked to be shigawire) suspended it from a delicately curving tube anchored in a translucent mound. The lower extremities of the figure almost touched the pebbled surface of the supporting base.
Odrade stared, captivated.
Why does it remind me of Sheeana's "The Void"?
When the wind moved it, the whole creation appeared to dance, relapsing sometimes into a graceful walk, then a slow pirouette and sweeping turns with outstretched leg.
"It is called 'Ballet Master,'" Dama said. "In some winds it will kick its feet high. I have seen it running as gracefully as a marathoner. Sometimes it is just ugly little motions, arms jerking as though they held weapons. Beautiful and ugly--it is all the same. I think the artist misnamed it. 'Being Unknown' would have been better."
Beautiful and ugly--all the same. Being Unknown.
That was a terrible thing about Sheena's creation. Odrade felt a cold wash of fear. "Who was the artist?"
"I've no idea. One of my predecessors took it from a planet we were destroying. Why does it interest you?"
It's the wild thing no one can govern. But she said: "I presume we're both seeking a basis for understanding, trying to find similarities between us."
This brought the orange glare. "You may try to understand us but we have no need to understand you."
"Both of us come from societies of women."
"It is dangerous to think of us as your offshoots!"
But Murbella's evidence says you are. Formed in the Scattering by Fish Speakers and Reverend Mothers in extremis.
All ingenuous and fooling nobody, Odrade asked: "Why is that dangerous?"
Dama's laugh conveyed no amusement. Vindictive.
Odrade experienced an abrupt new assessment of danger. More than a Bene Gesserit probe-and-review was demanded here. These women were accustomed to killing when angered. A reflex. Dama had said as much when speaking to her aide, and Dama had just signaled there were limits to her tolerance.
Yet, in her own way, she is trying to bargain. She displays her mechanical marvels, her powers, her wealth. No offer of alliance. Be willing servants, witches, our slaves, and we will forgive much. To gain the last of the Million Planets? More than that, certainly, but an interesting number.
With a new caution, Odrade reformed her approach. Reverend Mothers too easily fell into an adaptive pattern. I am, of course, quite different from you but I will unbend for the sake of accord. That would not do with Honored Matres. They would accept nothing to suggest they were not in absolute control. It was a statement of Dama's superiority over her Sisters that she allowed Odrade so much latitude.
Once more, Dama spoke in her imperious manner.
Odrade listened. How odd that Spider Queen thought one of the most attractive things the Bene Gesserit could provide was immunity from new diseases.
Was that the form of attack that drove them here?
Her sincerity was naive. None of this tiresome periodic checking to see if you had acquired secret inhabitants in your flesh. Sometimes not so secret. Sometimes disgustingly perilous. But the Bene Gesserit could end all that and would be suitably rewarded.
How pleasant.
Still that vindictive tone in every word. Odrade caught herself in this thought: Vindictive? That did not catch the proper flavor. Something carried at a deeper level.
Unconsciously jealous of what you lost when you broke away from us!
This was another pattern and it had been stylized!
Honored Matres fell back on repetitious mannerisms.
Mannerisms we abandoned long ago.
This was more than refusal to recognize Bene Gesserit origins. This was garbage disposal.
Drop your discards wherever they lose your interest. Underlings take out the garbage. She is more concerned with the next thing she wants to consume than she is with fouling her own nest.
The Honored Matre flaw was larger than suspected. Much more deadly to themselves and all they controlled. And they could not face it because, to them, it was not there.
Never existed.
Dama remained an untouchable paradox. No question of alliance entered her mind. She would seem to dance up to it but only to test her enemy.
I was right after all to unleash Teg.
Logno came out of the workroom with a tray on which stood two spindly glasses almost filled with golden liquid. Dama took one, sniffed it, and sipped with a pleased expression.
What is that vicious glitter in Logno's eyes?
"Try some of this wine," Dama said, gesturing to Odrade. "It's from a planet I'm sure you've never heard of but where we have concentrated the required elements to produce the perfect golden grape for the perfect golden wine."
Odrade was caught by this long association of humans with their precious ancient drink. The god Bacchus. Berries fermented on the bush or in tribal containers.
"It is not poisoned," Dama said as Odrade hesitated. "I assure you. We kill where it suits our needs but we are not crass. We reserve our more blatant deadliness for the masses. I do not mistake you for one of the masses."
Dama chuckled at her own witticism. The labored friendliness was almost gross.
Odrade took the proffered glass and sipped.
"It's a thing someone devised to please us," Dama said, her attention fixed on Odrade.
The one sip was enough. Odrade's senses detected a foreign substance and she was several heartbeats identifying its purpose.
To nullify the shere protecting me from their probes.
She adjusted her metabolism to render the substance harmless, then announced what she had done.
Dama glared at Logno. "So that is why none of these things work with the witches! And you never suspected!" The rage was an almost physical force directed at the hapless aide.
"It is one of the immune systems with which we combat disease," Odrade said.
Dama hurled her glass to the tiles. She was some time regaining composure. Logno retreated slowly, holding the tray almost as a shield.
So Dama did more than sneak into power. Her Sisters consider her deadly. And so must I consider her.
"Someone will pay for this wasted effort," Dama said. Her smile was not pleasant.
Someone.
Someone made the wine. Someone made the dancing figure. Someone will pay. The identity was never important, only the pleasure or the need for retribution. Subservience.
"Do not interrupt my thoughts," Dama said. She went to the parapet and gazed at her Being Unknown, obviously recomposing her bargaining stance.
Odrade turned her attention to Logno. What was that continued watchfulness, rapt attention fixed on Dama? No longer simple fear. Logno suddenly appeared supremely dangerous.
Poison!
Odrade knew it as certainly as though the aide had shouted the word.
I am not Logno's target. Not yet. She has taken this opportunity to make her bid for power.
There was no need to look at Dama. The moment of Spider Queen's death was visible on Logno's face. Turning, Odrade confirmed it. Dama lay in a heap under Being Unknown.
"You will call me Great Honored Matre," Logno said. "And you will learn to thank me for it. She (pointing at the red heap in the balcony corner) intended to betray you and exterminate your people. I have other plans. I am not one to destroy a useful weapon at the moment of our greatest need."
Battle? There's always a desire for breathing space motivating it somewhere.
--The Bashar Teg
Murbella wa
tched the struggle for Junction with a detachment that did not reflect her feelings. She stood with a coterie of Proctors in her no-ship's command center, attention fixed on relay projections from groundside comeyes.
