"Evolution, witch! One thing piled on another."
Evolution. See how she snaps at key words?
"It's a force that can be brought under control by turning it upon itself."
Control! Look at the interest you've aroused. She loves that word.
"So you make laws just like anyone else!"
"Regulations, perhaps, but isn't everything temporary?"
Intensely interested. "Of course."
"But your society is administered by bureaucrats who know they cannot apply the slightest imagination to what they do."
"That's important?" Really puzzled. Look at her scowl.
"Only to you, Honored Matre."
"Great Honored Matre!" Isn't she touchy!
"Why don't you permit me to call you Dama?"
"We're not intimates."
"Is Futar an intimate?"
"Stop changing the subject!"
"Want tooth clean," the Futar said.
"You shut up!" Really blazing.
The Futar sank to its haunches but it was not cowed.
Great Honored Matre turned her orange gaze toward Lucilla. "What about bureaucrats?"
"They have no room to maneuver because that's the way their superiors grow fat. If you don't see the difference between regulation and law, both have the force of law."
"I see no difference." She doesn't know what she reveals.
"Laws convey the myth of enforced change. A bright new future will come because of this law or that one. Laws enforce the future. Regulations are believed to enforce the past."
"Believed?" She doesn't like that word, either.
"In each instance, action is illusory. Like appointing a committee to study a problem. The more people on the committee, the more preconceptions applied to the problem."
Careful! She's really thinking about this, applying it to herself.
Lucilla pitched her voice in its most reasonable tones. "You live by a past-magnified and try to understand some unrecognized future."
"We don't believe in prescience." Yes, she does! At last. This is why she keeps us alive.
"Dama, please. There's always something unbalanced about confining yourself to a tight circle of laws."
Be careful! She didn't bridle at your calling her Dama.
Great Honored Matre's chair creaked as she shifted in it. "But laws are necessary!"
"Necessary? That's dangerous."
"How so?"
Softly. She feels threatened.
"Necessary rules and laws keep you from adapting. Inevitably, everything comes crashing down. It's like bankers thinking they buy the future. 'Power in my time! To hell with my descendants!' "
"What are descendants doing for me?"
Don't say it! Look at her. She's reacting out of the common insanity. Give her another small taste.
"Honored Matres originated as terrorists. Bureaucrats first and terror as your chosen weapon."
"When it's in your hands, use it. But we were rebels. Terrorists? That's too chaotic."
She likes that word "chaos." It defines everything on the outside. She doesn't even ask how you know her origins. She accepts our mysterious abilities.
"Isn't it odd, Dama... " No reaction; continue. "... how rebels all too soon fall into old patterns if they are victorious? It's not so much a pitfall in the path of all governments as it is a delusion waiting for anyone who gains power."
"Hah! And I thought you would tell me something new. We know that one: 'Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.' "
"Wrong, Dama. Something more subtle but far more pervasive: Power attracts the corruptible."
"You dare accuse me of being corrupt?"
Watch the eyes!
"I? Accuse you? The only one who can do that is yourself. I merely give you the Bene Gesserit opinion."
"And tell me nothing!"
"Yet we believe there's a morality above any law, which must stand watchdog on all attempts at unchanging regulation."
You used both words in one sentence and she didn't notice.
"Power always works, witch. That's the law."
"And governments that perpetuate themselves long enough under that belief always become packed with corruption."
"Morality!"
She's not very good at sarcasm, especially when she's on the defensive.
"I've really tried to help you, Dama. Laws are dangerous to everyone - innocent and guilty alike. No matter whether you believe yourself powerful or helpless. They have no human understanding in and of themselves."
"There's no such thing as human understanding!"
Our question is answered. Not human. Talk to her unconscious side. She's wide open.
"Laws must always be interpreted. The law-bound want no latitude for compassion. No elbow room. 'The law is the law!"' "It is!" Very defensive.
"That's a dangerous idea, especially for the innocent. People know this instinctively and resent such laws. Little things are done, often unconsciously, to hamstring 'the law' and those who deal in that nonsense."
"How dare you call it nonsense?" Half rising from her chair and sinking back.
"Oh, yes. And the law, personified by all whose livelihoods depend on it, becomes resentful hearing words such as mine."
"Rightly so, witch!" But she doesn't tell you to be silent.
" 'More law!' you say. 'We need more law!' So you make new instruments of non-compassion and, incidentally, new niches of employment for those who feed on the system."
"That's the way it's always been and always will be."
"Wrong again. It's a rondo. It rolls and rolls until it injures the wrong person or the wrong group. Then you get anarchy. Chaos." See her jump? "Rebels, terrorists, increasing outbursts of raging violence. A jihad! And all because you created something nonhuman."
Hand on her chin. Watch it!
"How did we wander so far away from politics, witch? Was this your intention?"
"We haven't wandered a fraction of a millimeter!"
"I suppose you're going to tell me you witches practice a form of democracy."
"With an alertness you cannot imagine."
"Try me." She thinks you'll tell her a secret. Tell her one.
"Democracy is susceptible to being led astray by having scapegoats paraded in front of the electorate. Get the rich, the greedy, the criminals, the stupid leader and so on ad nauseam."
"You believe as we do." My! How desperately she wants us to be like her.
"You said you were bureaucrats who rebelled. You know the flaw. A top-heavy bureaucracy the electorate cannot touch always expands to the system's limits of energy. Steal it from the aged, from the retired, from anyone. Especially from those we once called middle class because that's where most of the energy originates."
"You think of yourselves as... as middle class?"
"We don't think of ourselves in any fixed way. But Other Memory tells us the flaws of bureaucracy. I presume you have some form of civil service for the 'lower orders.' "
"We take care of our own." That's a nasty echo.
"Then you know how that dilutes the vote. Chief symptom: People don't vote. Instinct tells them it's useless."
"Democracy is a stupid idea anyway!"
"We agree. It's demagogue-prone. That's a disease to which electoral systems are vulnerable. Yet demagogues are easy to identify. They gesture a lot and speak with pulpit rhythms, using words that ring of religious fervor and god-fearing sincerity."
She's chuckling!
"Sincerity with nothing behind it takes so much practice, Dama. The practice can always be detected."
"By Truthsayers?"
See how she leans forward? We have her again.
"By anyone who learns the signs: Repetition. Great attempts to keep your attention on words. You must pay no attention to words. Watch what the person does. That way you learn the motives."
"Then you don't have a democracy." Tell me more Bene Gesserit secrets.
"But we do."
"I thought you said..."
"We guard it well, watching for the things I've just described. The dangers are great but so are the rewards."
"Do you know what you've told me? That you're a pack of fools!"
"Nice lady!" the Futar said.
"Shut up or I'll send you back to the herd!"
"You not nice, Dama."
"See what you've done, witch? You've ruined him!"
"I suppose there are always others."
Ohhhhh. Look at that smile.
Lucilla matched the smile precisely, pacing her own breaths to those of the Great Honored Matre. See how alike we are? Of course I tried to injure you. Wouldn't you have done the same in my place?
"So you know how to make a democracy do whatever you want." A gloating expression.
"The technique is quite subtle but easy. You create a system where most people are dissatisfied, vaguely or deeply."
That's how she sees it. Look at her nod in time to your words.
Lucilla held herself to the rhythm of Great Honored Matre's nodding head. "This builds up widespread feelings of vindictive anger. Then you supply targets for that anger as you need them."
"A diversionary tactic."
" I prefer to think of it as distraction. Don't give them time to question. Bury your mistakes in more laws. You traffic in illusion. Bullring tactics."
"Oh, yes! That's good!" She's almost gleeful. Give her more bullring.
"Wave the pretty cape. They'll charge it and be confused when there's no matador behind the thing. That dulls the electorate just as it dulls the bull. Fewer people use their vote intelligently next time."
"And that's why we do it!"
We do it! Does she listen to herself?
"Then you rail against the apathetic electorate. Make them feel guilty. Keep them dull. Feed them. Amuse them. Don't overdo it!"
"Oh, no! Never overdo it."
"Let them know hunger awaits them if they don't fall into line. Give them a look at the boredom imposed on boat rockers." Thank you, Mother Superior. It's an appropriate image.
"Don't you let the bull get an occasional matador?"
"Of course. Thump! Got that one! Then you wait for the laughter to subside."
" I knew you didn't allow a democracy!"
"Why won't you believe me?" You're tempting fate!
"Because you'd have to permit open voting, juries and judges and..."
"We call them Proctors. A sort of jury of the Whole."
Now you've confused her.
"And no laws... regulations, whatever you want to call them?"
"Didn't I say we defined them separately? Regulation-past. Law-future."
"You limit these... these Proctors, somehow!"
"They can arrive at any decision they desire, the way a jury should function. The law be damned!"
"That's a very disturbing idea." She's disturbed all right. Look at how dull her eyes are.
"The first rule of our democracy: no laws restricting juries. Such laws are stupid. It's astonishing how stupid humans can be when acting in small, self-serving groups."
"You're calling me stupid, aren't you!"
Beware the orange.
"There appears to be a rule of nature that says it's almost impossible for self-serving groups to act enlightened."
"Enlightened! I knew it!"
That's a dangerous smile. Be careful.
"It means flowing with the forces of life, adjusting your actions that life may continue."
"With the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number, of course."
Quick! We've been too clever! Change the subject!
"That was an element the Tyrant left out of his Golden Path. He didn't consider happiness, only survival of humankind."
We said change the subject! Look at her! She's in a rage!
Great Honored Matre dropped her hand away from her chin. "And I was going to invite you into our order, make you one of us. Release you."
Get her off this! Quick!
"Don't speak," Great Honored Matre said. "Don't even open your mouth."
Now you've done it!
"You'd help Logno or one of the others and she'd be in my seat!!" She glanced at the crouching Futar. "Eat, darling?"
"Not eat nice lady."
"Then I'll throw her carcass to the herd!"
"Great Honored Matre -"
"I told you not to speak! You dared call me Dama."
She was out of her chair in a blur. Lucilla's cage door slammed open with a crash against the wall. Lucilla tried to dodge but the shigawire confined her. She did not see the kick that crushed her temple.
As she died, Lucilla's awareness was filled with a scream of rage - the horde of Lampadas venting emotions it had confined for many generations.
Some never participate. Life happens to them. They get by on little more than dumb persistence and resist with anger or violence all things that might lift them out of resentment-filled illusions of security.
- Alma Mavis Taraza
Back and forth, back and forth. All day long, back and forth. Odrade shifted from one comeye record to another, searching, undecided, uneasy. First a look at Scytale, then young Teg out there with Duncan and Murbella, then a long stare out a window while she thought about Burzmali's last report from Lampadas.
How soon could they try to restore the Bashar's memories? Would a restored ghola obey?
Why no more word from the Rabbi? Should we begin Extremis Progressiva, Sharing among ourselves as far as possible? The effect on morale would be devastating.
Records were projected above her table while aides and advisors entered and departed. Necessary interruptions. Sign this. Approve that. Decrease melange for this group?
Bellonda was here, seated at the table. She had stopped asking what Odrade sought and merely watched with that unwavering stare. Merciless.
They had argued about whether a new sandworm population in the Scattering might restore the Tyrant's malign influence. That endless dream in each revenant of the worm still worried Bell. But population numbers alone said the Tyrant's hold on their destiny was ended.
Tamalane had come in earlier seeking some record from Bellonda. Fresh from a new accumulation of Archives, Bellonda had launched herself into a diatribe about Sisterhood population shifts, the drain on resources.
Odrade stared out the window now as dusk moved across the landscape. It became darker in almost imperceptible shadings. As full dark fell, she became aware of lights far out in the plantation houses. She knew those lights had been turned on much earlier but she had the sensation that night created the lights. Some blanked out occasionally as people moved about in their dwellings. No people - no lights. Don't waste energy.
Winking lights held her attention for a moment. A variation on the old question about a tree falling in the forest: Was there sound if no one heard? Odrade voted on the side of those who said vibrations existed no matter whether a sensor recorded them.
Do secret sensors follow our Scattering? What new talents and inventions do the first Scattered Ones use?
Bellonda had allowed long enough silence. "Dar, you're sending worrisome signals through Chapterhouse."
Odrade accepted this without comment.
"Whatever you're doing, it's being interpreted as indecision." How sad Bell sounds. "Important groups are discussing whether to replace you. Proctors are voting."
"Only the Proctors?"
"Dar, did you really wave at Praska the other day and tell her it was good to be alive?"
"I did."
"What have you been doing?"
"Reassessing. No word yet from Dortujla?"
"You've asked that at least a dozen times today!" Bellonda gestured at the worktable. "You keep going back to Burzmali's last report from Lampadas. Something we've overlooked?"
"Why do our enemies hold fast on Gammu? Tell me, Mentat."
"I've insufficient data and you know it!"
"Burzmali was no Mentat but his picture of events has a persistent force, Bell. I tell myself, well, after all, he was the Bashar's favorite student. It's understandable that Burzmali would show characteristics of his teacher."
"Out with it, Dar. What do you see in Burzmali's report?"
"He fills in an empty picture. Not completely but... tantalizing the way he keeps referring to Gammu. Many economic forces have powerful connections there. Why are those threads not cut by our enemies?"
"They're in that same system, obviously."
"What if we mounted an all-out attack on Gammu?"
"No one wants to do business in violent surroundings. That what you're saying?"
"Partly. "
"Most parties to that economic system probably would want to move. Another planet, another subservient population."
"Why?"
"They could predict with more reliability. They would increase defenses, of course."
"This alliance we sense there, Bell, they would redouble their efforts to find and obliterate us."
"Certainly."
Bellonda's terse comment forced Odrade's thoughts outward. She lifted her gaze to the distant snow-tonsured mountains glimmering in starlight. Would attackers come from that direction?
The thrust of that thought might have dulled a lesser intellect. But Odrade needed no Litany Against Fear to remain clearheaded. She had a simpler formula.
Face your fears or they will climb over your back.
Her attitude was direct: The most terrifying things in the universe came from human minds. The nightmare (the white horse of Bene Gesserit extinction) possessed both mythic and reality forms. The hunter with the axe could strike mind or flesh. But you could not flee the terrors of the mind.
Face them then!
What did she confront in this darkness? Not that faceless hunter with her axe, not the drop into the unknown chasm (both visible to her bit of talent), but the very tangible Honored Matres and whoever supported them.
And I dare not use even my small prescience to guide us. I could lock our future into unchanging form. Muad'Dib and his Tyrant son did that and the Tyrant spent thirty five hundred years extricating us.
Moving lights in the middle distance caught her attention. Gardeners working late, still pruning the orchards as though those venerable trees would go on forever. Ventilators gave her a faint odor of smoke from fires where orchard trimmings were being burned. Very attentive to such details, the Bene Gesserit gardeners. Never leave deadwood around to attract parasites that might then take the next step into living trees. Clean and neat. Plan ahead. Maintain your habitat. This moment is part of forever.
Never leave deadwood around?
Was Gammu deadwood?
"What is it about orchards that fascinates you so much?" Bellonda wanted to know.
Odrade spoke without turning. "They restore me."
Only two nights ago she had gone walking out there, the weather cold and bracing, a touch of mist close to the ground. Her feet stirred leaves. Faint smell of compost where a sparse rain had settled in warmer low places. A rather attractive, marshy smell. Life in its usual ferment even at that level. Empty limbs above her stood out starkly against starlight. Depressing, really, when compared with springtime or harvest season. But beautiful in its flow. Life once more waiting for its call to action.
"Aren't you worried about the Proctors?" Bellonda asked.
"How will they vote, Bell?"
"It's very close."
"Will others follow them?"
"There's concern about your decisions. Consequences."
Bell was very good at that: a great deal of data in a few words. Most Bene Gesserit decisions moved through a triple maze: Effectiveness, Consequences and (most vital) Who Can Carry Out Orders? You matched deed and person with great care, precise attention to details. This had a heavy influence on Effectiveness and that, in turn, ruled Consequences. A good Mother Superior could wend her way through decision mazes in seconds. Liveliness in Central then. Eyes brightened. Word was passed that "She acted without hesitation." That created confidence among acolytes and other students. Reverend Mothers (Proctors especially) waited to assess Consequences.
Odrade spoke to her reflection in the window as much as to Bellonda. "Even Mother Superior must take her own time."
"But what has you in such turmoil?"
"Are you urging speed, Bell?"
Bellonda drew back in her chairdog as though Odrade had pushed her.
"Patience is extremely difficult in these times," Odrade said. "But choosing the right moment influences my choices."
"What do you intend with our new Teg? That's the question you must answer."
"If our enemies removed themselves from Gammu, where would they go, Bell?"
"You would attack them there?"
"Push them a bit."
Bellonda spoke softly. "That's a dangerous fire to feed."
"We need another bargaining chip."