Heretics of Dune (Page 165)

Lastly, she thought about the worm in the no-ship’s hold – a worm nearing the moment of its metamorphosis. A small earth-dammed basin filled with melange awaited that worm. When the moment came, it would be lured out by Sheeana into the bath of melange and water. The resulting sandtrout could then begin their long transformation.

You were right, father. It was so simple when you looked at it clearly.

No need to seek a desert planet for the worms. The sandtrout would create their own habitat for Shai-hulud. It was not pleasant to think of Chapter House Planet transformed into vast areas of wasteland but it had to be done.

The "Last Will and Testament of Miles Teg," which he had planted in the no-ship’s submolecular storage systems, could not be discredited. Even Bellonda agreed to that.

Chapter House required a complete revision of all its historical records. A new look had been demanded of them by what Teg had seen of the Lost Ones – the whores from the Scattering.

"You seldom learn the names of the truly wealthy and powerful. You see only their spokesmen. The political arena makes a few exceptions to this but does not reveal the full power structure."

The Mentat philosopher had chewed deep into everything they accepted and what he disgorged did not agree with Archival dependence upon "our inviolate summations."

We knew it, Miles, we just never faced up to it. We’re all going to be digging in our Other Memories for the next few generations.

Fixed data, storage systems could not be trusted.

"If you destroy most copies, time will take care of the rest."

How Archives had raged at that telling pronouncement by the Bashar!

"The writing of history is largely a process of diversion. Most historical accounts divert attention from the secret influences around the recorded events."

That was the one that had brought down Bellonda. She had taken it up on her own, admitting: "The few histories that escape this restrictive process vanish into obscurity through obvious processes."

Teg had listed some of the processes: "Destruction of as many copies as possible, burying the too revealing accounts in ridicule, ignoring them in the centers of education, insuring that they are not quoted elsewhere and, in some cases, elimination of the authors."

Not to mention the scapegoat process that brought death to more than one messenger bearing unwelcome news, Odrade thought. She recalled an ancient ruler who kept a pikestaff handy with which to kill messengers who brought bad news.

"We have a, good base of information upon which to build a better understanding of our past," Odrade had argued. "We’ve always known that what was at stake in conflicts was the determination of who would control the wealth or its equivalent."

Maybe it was not a real "noble purpose" but it would do for the time being.

I am avoiding the central issue, she thought.

Something would have to be done about Duncan Idaho and they all knew it.

With a sigh, Odrade summoned a ‘thopter and prepared herself for the short trip to the no-ship.

Duncan’s prison was at least comfortable, Odrade thought when she entered it. This had been the ship commander’s quarters lately occupied by Miles Teg. There were still signs of his presence here – a small holostat projector revealing a scene of his home on Lernaeus; the stately old house, the long lawn, the river. Teg had left a sewing kit behind on a bedside table.

The ghola sat in a sling chair staring at the projection. He looked up listlessly when Odrade entered.

"You just left him back there to die, didn’t you?" Duncan asked.

"We do what we must," she said. "And I obeyed his orders."

"I know why you’re here," Duncan said. "And you’re not going to change my mind. I’m not a damned stud for the witches. You understand me?"

Odrade smoothed her robe and sat on the edge of the bed facing Duncan. "Have you examined the record my father left for us?" she asked.

"Your father?"

"Miles Teg was my father. I commend his last words to you. He was our eyes there at the end. He had to see the death on Rakis. The ‘mind at its beginning’ understood dependencies and key logs."

When Duncan looked puzzled, she explained: "We were trapped too long in the Tyrant’s oracular maze."

She saw how he sat up more alertly, the feline movements that spoke of muscles well conditioned to attack.

"There is no way you can escape alive from this ship," she said. "You know why."

"Siona."

"You are a danger to us but we would prefer that you lived a useful life."

"I’m still not going to breed for you, especially not with that little twit from Rakis."

Odrade smiled, wondering how Sheeana would respond to that description.

"You think it’s funny?" Duncan demanded.

"Not really. But we’ll still have Murbella’s child, of course. I guess that will have to satisfy us."

"I’ve been talking to Murbella on the com," Duncan said. "She thinks she’s going to be a Reverend Mother, that you’re going to accept her into the Bene Gesserit."

"Why not? Her cells pass the proof of Siona. I think she will make a superb Sister."

"Has she really taken you in?"

"You mean, have we failed to observe that she thinks she will go along with us until she learns our secrets and then she will escape? Oh, we know that, Duncan."

"You don’t think she can get away from you?"

"Once we get them, Duncan, we never really lose them."

"You don’t think you lost the Lady Jessica?"

"She came back to us in the end."

"Why did you really come out here to see me?"