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"Alas, they are all dead."
"Killed?" Teg asked.
"Extinct. They don't breed the same as others do." He sniffed, as if disinterested in that part of the story. "Our Futars were bred to hunt Honored Matres. Those women came to our planets, confident they would conquer us. But we turned the tables on them. They are fit to serve as food for our Futars, nothing more."
FOR SAFETY, TEG suggested that their group sleep in the lighter with the hatches sealed and defensive fields up, which obviously displeased their hosts. The Chief Handler cast a glance over his shoulder. "Though these forests are well tamed, a few of the old predators still roam the grounds at night. It would be better if you stayed with us, up here in the safe towers."
A flicker of dismay crossed the Rabbi's face. "What old predators?" He didn't want to hear about any flaws with this world.
"The feline beasts that supplied genetic material for creating the Futars." Orak Tho gestured with his loose arms across to another cylindrical wooden tower. "We have a grand show tomorrow. You should be well rested for what you will witness."
"What kind of show?" Hawat sounded eager. At times he seemed no more than the boy he truly was, rather than a potential warrior-Mentat.
With a mysterious smile, the Chief Handler motioned for them to follow him. His green irises now looked like blazing emeralds.
It was full dark outside. Unfamiliar constellations sparkled like a million eyes reflecting firelight. He guided the four visitors across a sturdy plank walkway to a nearby tower, then down a spiraling interior staircase that circled the cylinder twice before reaching the ground level. They walked across the leaf-strewn forest floor to a much shorter tower that looked like a thick, man-made stump.
The stench struck them first. The base of the stout artificial tree had been hollowed out, like a dank lair. Thick vertical bars extended deep into the mulchy ground, blocking off the hollow to form a dirt-floored cell.
Teg raised his eyebrows. "You have prisoners."
The chamber contained five ragged, angry captives. Despite their tattered and beaten appearance, Sheeana could tell they were human. All were females with matted hair, rough hands, and bloodied knuckles. The remnants of torn leotards clung to their pale skin, and their eyes flashed faintly orange.
Honored Matres!
One of the whores saw them approach. Snarling, she lunged toward the wooden bars of her cage, flying sideways to deliver a devastating kick. Her bare foot slammed into the iron-hard wood. The impact produced a faint but hollow crack, and as the Honored Matre limped away, Sheeana realized the crack had been the fracture of bone, not wood. The women had already battered themselves bloody against the barricade.
Orak Tho's face constricted as if a thunderstorm were brewing behind it. "Honored Matres came down in a transport ship three months ago, expecting easy prey. We massacred them, but managed to save some for . . . training purposes." His lips curled back. "It is not the first time they have tried to harass us. They form isolated cells that don't necessarily know what the others are doing. Thus they repeat the same mistakes."
Two Futars prowled around the base of the wooden tower, circling and sniffing. Sheeana recognized one of them as Hrrm; the second beast-man had a black stripe in the wiry hair of its chest.
One of the captive Honored Matres called out in a threatening voice. "Free us, or our Sisters will peel strips of meat from your bones while you still live!"
Hrrm snarled and hurled himself at the cage, backing off only at the last moment. Hot spittle from his mouth splattered the captive Honored Matre. Three of the beaten women came forward to the bars, looking as bestial as the Futars.
"As I said," Orak Tho continued in his calm and confident voice, "Honored Matres are fit for little more than food."
A Handler came with a wooden bowl of red bones to which clung scraps of meat and fatty skin with patches of fur. A second bowl held slick-looking entrails and purplish organs. He dumped the offal through a slot into the cage. The filthy Honored Matres looked at it in disgust.
"Eat, if you wish to have strength for tomorrow's hunt."
"We don't eat garbage!" said one of the Honored Matres.
"Then you starve. It matters not to me."
Sheeana could tell the women were ravenous. After a shaky hesitation, they grabbed for the scraps, tearing off raw pieces and eating until their faces and fingers were smeared with grease and covered with old blood. They looked through the bars at their captors with such hateful expressions that they seemed capable of putrefying flesh.
One of the women glowered at Sheeana. "You don't belong here."
"Neither do you. However, I am outside the cage, while you are behind the bars."
The woman slammed the palm of her hand against the wooden barricade with a loud crack, but it was a halfhearted attempt at an attack. Hrrm pounced beside Sheeana as if to protect her, then prowled in front of the cage, his muscles rippling. He seemed very agitated.
Sheeana found it ironic, knowing what the Honored Matres had done to Hrrm and to his companions. The sexual perversions, the whippings and deprivations. It seemed a strikingly odd turnabout to see the women imprisoned, with the Futars prowling free.
She turned to the Chief Handler. "Honored Matres abuse their captive Futars. Your punishments are appropriate."
"My guests, tomorrow we will put you in our best observation stations, from which you can watch the hunt." Orak Tho reached over to pat both Futars on their heads. "It will be good for this one to run with his brothers, and get in practice again. It is what he was born to do."
With his bestial eyes fixed on the Honored Matres, Hrrm bared his teeth in a menacing smile.
Before they all slept, Teg returned to the lighter to transmit an optimistic report back to the Ithaca.
An alliance is often more a work of art than a simple business transaction.
--MOTHER SUPERIOR DARWI ODRADE,
private records, Bene Gesserit Archives
T
he Guild Navigator finally came to Chapterhouse in response to the Mother Commander's summons. Though she was impatient and frustrated with him, he did not explain where he had been or why he had delayed coming for several days.
In the meantime, Janess, Kiria, and ten other handpicked Valkyries--most of them from the original Honored Matres who had undergone Bene Gesserit training--had already been secretly deposited on Tleilax to begin their underground work. They would be infiltrating the last stronghold of the rebel whores to undermine their defenses, planting the seeds of destruction while setting up for a surprise ambush. A part of Murbella wished she could be with her daughter's team, wearing traditional Honored Matre clothing again, letting the predator half of her dual nature come to the fore.
But she trusted Janess and her companions. For now, Mu
rbella had to arrange the rest of the details and secure Guild cooperation, either through bribery or threat. She had to be the Mother Commander, not just an average fighter.
The mutated Navigator swam in his tank, not looking at all eager or interested, which troubled the Mother Commander. She had hinted that he would be rewarded well for speaking with her, but he did not seem excited by the prospect.
"The gas looks thin in your tank, Navigator," she said.
"It is only a temporary shortage." He did not seem to be bluffing.
"We may be ready to increase your supply of melange, if the Guild is ready to cooperate with us and participate in the fight against the oncoming Enemy."
Edrik's metallic voice came through the speakers of his tank. "Your offer comes much too late, Mother Commander. For years you have tried to frighten us with the existence of this shadow Enemy, and you have tantalized us with promises of melange. But your treasure has lost its luster. We have been forced to seek other alternatives, other supply lines."
"There are no other sources of melange." Murbella glided forward to stand close to the curved plaz and peer inside.
"The Spacing Guild is in crisis. The severe shortage of spice--perpetuated by your Sisterhood--has split us into two factions. Many Navigators have already died from withdrawal, while others do not have sufficient melange to perceive safe paths through foldspace. One faction of the Guild led by human Administrators has clandestinely hired the Ixians to develop improved navigation machines. They intend to install them in all Guildships."
"Machines! Ix has been talking about such things for centuries. People in the Scattering used navigational devices, and so did Chapterhouse. They have never been fully acceptable before."
"And after years of intensive research, it seems they may have a viable solution to the ancient impossible problem. I believe they are inferior substitutes, not at all comparable to Navigators. Still, they do work."
The Mother Commander's mind raced ahead, chasing several desirable possibilities she had not previously considered. If the Ixians had developed reliable devices for guiding ships through foldspace, then the New Sisterhood could use them in its own fleet. No longer needing to force the cooperation of the Navigators, they could be independent, not at the mercy of a volatile and unpredictable power base such as the Guild.
