The old Rabbi looked squeamish at the very thought of the hunt, even though Honored Matres had hunted his people, too, on Gammu. Sheeana stood by silently, accepting the violence that was sure to take place. She was quite intrigued.
"We will kill you," snarled the Honored Matre whom Hrrm held at bay. She crouched, holding her hands out as weapons, ready to spring. Hrrm was not intimidated by her.
The six young Futars snapped and snarled, eager for their own hunt. Their primal hunger went beyond the desire for mere food. The other three whores emerged from the tree-stump cell. Although they were wary and ready to fight, they decided to wait for a better chance.
"We will kill you," repeated the first trapped Honored Matre.
"You will have the opportunity to try." Orak Tho stood straight, the dark band across his eyes falling into shadow. "Take them into the forest where they can run."
"Why not just execute us here?"
"Because we would not enjoy that as much." Several of the Handlers smiled. They were calm and confident in their superiority.
As she watched, Sheeana tried to formulate a conjecture about these mysterious isolated people, where they had come from and what their true goals might be. She took a step toward the nearest Honored Matre. "Tell us your names, so that I might make a body record when this day is done."
The whore that was still pinned under the black-striped Futar thrashed and yowled. The calmer Honored Matre merely fixed Sheeana with a frozen gaze.
Orak Tho raised his hand lightly, cutting off any further shows of bravado. "Your name will be forgotten by the time your flesh passes through the digestive systems of these Futars. You will end your physical existence as excrement on the forest floor."
The Chief Handler turned his back and strode away with his longlegged, loose-jointed gait. The ravenous Futars closed in to prevent the women from making another escape attempt, herding them along.
"Come, out into the forest." Orak Tho glanced back at the seething Honored Matres. "Out there, you will have your chance to shed blood, or die in the attempt."
ATOP A TALL, open-framed lookout tower constructed of smooth silvery-blond wood, Teg stood on the open platform, grasped a railing, and looked down into the forest. Sheeana was with him. Handlers guarded the base of the tower, their stun-goads ready in case the hunted Honored Matres should come at them like an unexpected ricochet in their flight from the prowling Futars. The guards did not look worried, though they kept Teg and Sheeana safe, high above the killing grounds.
The Chief Handler's guests were allowed to observe from this vantage point, supposedly the best view of the action. Because the range of the hunt itself was unpredictable, the Rabbi and young Thufir Hawat had been sent to a different lookout tower a kilometer away. The old man had made weak protestations, claiming he would rather wait back at the lighter, but the Handlers insisted that they observe the show.
"This will prove we are not your enemies," Orak Tho had said. "Witness what we do to Honored Matres. Certainly you wish to see them suffer, considering the pain they have caused you, too?"
"I would like to observe the hunt and witness your Futars in action," Thufir had said, then glanced meaningfully at Teg. "It is important to see how these women fight, isn't it, Bashar? That way we can prepare, should we run into more of them."
After the four observers were situated in the separate lookout towers, loud vibrating horns blew through the forest. Sheeana and Teg looked down into the maze of enormously tall aspens. The Handler guards at the base of the tower sent out another signal. Somewhere out of sight, the five Honored Matres split up and dashed into the underbrush, scattering dry leaves.
To Teg, it was obvious the Handlers and Futars had done this many times before.
Beneath them, two muscular beast-men bounded along between the aspen trunks, intent on tracking down their quarry. Teg could almost sense the bloodlust from there. The Honored Matres would put up a good fight, but the whores had no real chance. Quickly, the hunting Futars vanished into the labyrinth of trees.
He and Sheeana continued to watch. The great forest that extended out from the tower settlement was an endless maze of autumn gold and silvery bark. Traditional aspen groves were genetically identical, branching off from the same tree as runners rather than being deposited as fertilized seeds. Nature's clones. The tall trunks were surrounded by fallen yellow leaves, like antique solari coins scattered on the ground. From this perspective, the endless straight and rigid trunks looked like the bars of a giant cage.
Slipping into intense Mentat awareness as he waited for the hunt to come closer, Teg analyzed the forest, fitting all the tiny pieces together until he resolved an unexpected pattern cleverly hidden among randomness. At one time, all of the great gray-trunked trees had been laid out in a precise order, carefully staged to present an appearance of "geometrical naturalness."
He studied further. There could be no mistaking it. "This forest was artificially cultivated."
Sheeana looked at him. "A Mentat projection?"
He responded with the barest nod, concerned that listening devices might have been planted in the observation tower. He did not like being separated from Thufir and the Rabbi. Had this hunt been staged to break their party in half so the Handlers could spy on their private conversations?
He made a second-order projection. Obviously, although the original planters of this sweeping forest had strived to create the appearance of wildness, they had not been able to get past their innate sense of order. Had original colonists from the Scattering cultivated this forest in barren ground generations ago? Or had the true natural chaos been so disturbing to them that they razed the existing trees to the ground and designed a new wilderness according to an acceptable blueprint?
From far off came sounds of crashing through the trees, snarling Futars, and female shouts. Abruptly, the disturbance moved toward the observation tower. Sheeana leaned closer to the Bashar, masking her movement with a show of peering down at the hunt below. She spoke in a low whisper, "You have concerns, Miles?" They had just sent a signal to Duncan that everything was safe and under control.
"I have . . . thoughts. This hunt is an example. For instance, we know the Handlers bred their Futars for the specific purpose of killing Honored Matres."
"Considering how dangerous the whores are, it seems a perfectly reasonable thing for the Handlers to create and imprint such predators to protect themselves," Sheeana said. "The Chief Handler's arguments make sense. There's no mistaking that we share a common enemy in the Honored Matres."
"Ask yourself who else might wish the Honored Matres to be destroyed, and the alliances become less clear-cut," Teg continued. "Simply because we both hate the Honored Matres does not guarantee that the Handlers have the same goals as we do."
Third-order projection: If the Handlers had learned their specialized genetic knowledge and sophisticated techniques from the Tleilaxu who fled in the Scattering, then what part did the Bene Tleilax play in this overall conflict? Where did their allegiance lie?
He would have to speak frankly with Master Scytale as soon as they returned to the Ithaca. Obviously, the last old Master harbored much resentment toward the Lost Tleilaxu who had betrayed his people. Those Tleilaxu stepbrothers had been changed out in the Scattering. Maybe Scytale knew more than he had yet revealed.
His Mentat awareness raced along. He felt his heart pounding, his metabolism speeding up. We are not the only ones who hate the whores. The Honored Matres had somehow enraged the Outside Enemy enough to draw them toward the Old Empire.
Teg gripped the wooden rail more tightly. Sensing his tension, Sheeana gave him a questioning look, but with the faintest shake of his head, he warned her not to speak openly. He tried to think of a way to alert Duncan.
Sheeana grabbed his arm. "Look down there."
One of the five Honored Matres charged through the aspen forest, dodging and weaving around the trunks. Behind her, three Futars surged after their prey, their wiry hair e
rect and claws extended. The woman ran like the wind, her sinewy muscles and bare feet carrying her through the underbrush as she kicked up leaves like golden clouds of dust.
At the base of the observation tower, two of the bandit-faced watchers held out their stun-goads, but did not interfere. They would let the Futars do the killing.
Though she raced headlong, the Honored Matre could not outrun the beast-men. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes wide, her jaw set with determination, as if she was ready to turn and use her own teeth to rip out her pursuers' throats.
With several swift bounds, the young Futars closed on her, hungry and boisterous. Teg wondered if they had yet been blooded, or if this was their first hunt.
Smelling the hot breath behind her, knowing the Futars were within steps of bringing her down, the Honored Matre leapt into the air, struck the nearest smooth aspen trunk with her bare feet, and rebounded sideways. The nearest Futar tried to turn so swiftly he scuffed up a spray of dirt and twigs.
The woman landed on the ground, then sprang in the opposite direction, arms extended, teeth bared. She crashed into the second oncoming Futar, and the force of her impact was enough to knock the beast-man off balance. She rolled with him, used two fingers like bony spikes to jab out his feral eyes. The blinded creature yowled and thrashed. In a move like liquid lightning, the woman grabbed its muzzle and with a vicious twist snapped the Futar's neck.
Without a moment's pause, barely even panting, she lunged toward the third young Futar, her bloody fingers outstretched. Before the Honored Matre could strike, though, the Futar let out a brutal, shivering shriek, louder and more terrible than anything Teg had ever heard.
The effect of the shriek--no doubt exactly as the Futar and his trainers had intended--was to make the woman freeze. She stumbled as if her muscles had locked involuntarily. An animal version of Voice?
Before the Honored Matre could recover, the first Futar struck her down from behind and rolled her onto her back. With a slash of his claws, he tore long, bloody gouges across her face. With his other hand, he dug into her abdomen, ripping through her hardened muscles and reaching in up to his elbow to extract her heart.
The woman twitched in a pool of blood, then lay still. The other Futar sniffed at the body of his dead companion and went over to join the first one as they began to feed on the prey.
Teg watched with fascinated disgust. The Handler guards picked up the body of the slain Futar. The remaining two beast-men paid them no attention as they slashed and tore, wetly devouring the stringy flesh of their victim.
Farther off, from the direction of the tower where Thufir and the Rabbi observed, came the sounds of more horns, more snarling and thrashing. The hunt continued.
To suspect your own mortality is to know the beginning of terror. To learn irrefutably that you are mortal is to know the end of terror.
--Bene Gesserit Archives,
Training Manual for Acolytes
E
ven as her undefeated Valkyries traveled toward Tleilax, the Mother Commander felt uneasy. Tleilax . . . the Tleilaxu females . . . the Honored Matres. So much now made sense to Murbella. The whores' mindless destruction of all Tleilaxu worlds was no longer entirely incomprehensible.
But understanding did not lead to mercy. The New Sisterhood's plans would not change. Much hung in the balance here, the culmination of an energy-draining conflict that diverted attention from preparing for the main struggle. The thwarted attack on Chapterhouse, the obliteration of Richese, the insurgents and Face Dancers on Gammu. After today, this part would all be over.
The immense Heighliner carried Murbella's troops and equipment to the last stronghold of the rebel whores. After the Guildship disgorged her obvious fleet of Valkyries in the same warships she had used to attack both Buzzell and Gammu, the show of force would certainly be impressive. From what she knew of Matre Superior Hellica, however, Murbella doubted simple intimidation would be enough. The Valkyries were willing to expend as much violence as might be necessary; in fact, they looked forward to it.
Navigator Edrik insisted on guiding the Heighliner himself. Citing the Spacing Guild's long-standing neutrality, he would not participate in the actual combat, but he clearly wanted to be present during the takeover of Bandalong. Murbella got the sense that the Navigator faction had something to gain here. Was the Guild hiding something on Tleilax? Though the Navigators and human Administrators had vehemently denied any involvement, some ship had delivered Hellica's Obliterators to Richese. She had assumed it was an Honored Matre vessel, but it could have been a Guildship . . . like this one.
In a transparent chamber above them, the Navigator swam in fresh spice gas supplied by the Chapterhouse stockpiles. She didn't trust him.
Earlier in the week, an innocuous-seeming Guild supply vessel had sent a coded transmission containing the New Sisterhood's specific plans to Janess, hiding among the Honored Matres. Her team's camouflage was secure, and the intelligence data Janess provided in return had given Murbella much to consider, a wealth of information that allowed her to plan a perfect coup de grace. Along with Kiria and the other ten faux Honored Matres, Janess had made preparations to strike the soft white underbelly of the overconfident whores while they stared up at the skies.
Soon . . .
Emerging from foldspace, the giant vessel went into orbit over Tleilax. Bashar Wikki Aztin already had her orders.
From the Navigator's bridge, Murbella looked down at the planet. The continents still showed great black scars from the original violent takeover by the Honored Matres. The women had unleashed terrible weapons, but stopped short of completely sterilizing the main Tleilaxu world, choosing to crush and conquer the remnants instead of wiping them out. Unconscious revenge on behalf of countless generations of Tleilaxu females. No doubt Matre Superior Hellica did not know her own history, but she knew her hatred well.
In the subsequent decades since the original attack, the draconian women had salvaged what seemed unsalvageable. Now, as Murbella studied the terrain below, her tactical advisors matched details with the intelligence reports Janess and her spies had sent. Though incommunicado, Bashar Aztin would be making a last broad assessment, formulating and finalizing plans for the main, unexpected strike.
The whores down there must certainly have noted the Heighliner's unscheduled arrival. Murbella gave her signal, and more than sixty of the attack ships from Chapterhouse dropped out of the great vessel's hold to hover in neatly organized squadrons, like pilot fish around a large shark. Seeing the military force, the Honored Matres could have no question about the newcomers' intent.
Her communications officer hit the transmit toggle. "Mother Commander Murbella of the New Sisterhood wishes to speak with Hellica."
A woman responded in a defiant tone. "You are referring to the Matre Superior. You will show proper respect."
Murbella's voice was infused with confident authority. "As will you. I have come to facilitate your surrender."
The woman sounded indignant and outraged, but moments later another voice took control. "Brash words from an opponent I know is weak. We have annihilated whole worlds. A Heighliner and a handful of ships do not frighten us!"
"Oh? Even if we carry some of the planet-burning weapons you yourself used on Richese?"
"We are not unarmed either," Hellica retorted. "I remain unconvinced of the need to surrender."
Instead of being intimidated, Murbella felt more confident. If Hellica truly possessed such defenses, she would have attacked preemptively instead of issuing a warning.
"Your bravado bores me, Hellica. You know that the rest of the Honored Matre rebels have either joined the New Sisterhood or been annihilated. Your cause is lost. We should try to find another solution. Let us meet, face to face."
The Matre Superior gave a brittle chuckle. "I will meet with you, if only to show you your weakness." Murbella knew full well how the Honored Matres thought: They saw the mere suggestion of negotiation to be a deep flaw in the Ben
e Gesserit way. Hellica would seize any opening, probably attempt to assassinate her, assuming she could then take control of the Sisterhood. Murbella counted on it.
"Good. I will come down to Bandalong with my escort of sixty ships. Together, we will reach a resolution."
"Come if you dare." The Matre Superior cut off the transmission. Murbella could almost hear the sound of a trap snapping shut.
Earlier, the Mother Commander had pondered the possibility of capturing the pretender queen alive, bringing her into the New Sisterhood as an ally. Niyela from Gammu had killed herself rather than be converted--no great loss. But after the heinous destruction of Richese, Murbella had realized that capturing Hellica would be like bringing an armed time bomb back to Chapterhouse. The Matre Superior needed to be destroyed. Duncan would never have made such a tactically foolish error.
Murbella joined one of the Valkyrie ships and began her descent toward Bandalong. These vessels had been sufficient to conquer Buzzell and Gammu in an impressive show of force, but not overwhelming. The Matre Superior would naturally assume that her followers could defeat them.
If you don't want an opponent to see your hidden dagger, make certain an obvious weapon looks large and deadly.
Her ships approached the waiting Palace.
Our defenses can become liabilities if they betray our true weaknesses to the enemy.
--BASHAR MILES TEG,
address to troops
F
rom the call to arms and the groups of scurrying Honored Matres in Bandalong, Uxtal could tell that the newly arrived Heighliner was not merely another curious delegation from the Navigators. This was something far more serious.
Since he had already demonstrated his success in reawakening the Waff ghola's memories, Edrik was satisfied. Why would the Guild be bothering them now? He was working as fast as he could! Thus far, Uxtal had succeeded in covering up the significant flaws in the Tleilaxu Master's knowledge.