Dune

Education is no substitute for intelligence. That elusive quality is defined only in part by puzzle-solving ability. It is in the creation of new puzzles reflecting what your senses report that you round out the definition.

—MENTAT TEXT ONE (DECTO)

They wheeled Lucilla into Great Honored Matre’s presence in a tubular cage—a cage within a cage. Shigawire netting confined her to the center of the thing.

“I am Great Honored Matre,” the woman in the heavy black chair greeted her. Small woman, red-gold leotards. “The cage is for your protection should you try to use Voice. We are immune. Our immunity takes the form of a reflex. We kill. A number of you have died that way. We know Voice and use it. Remember it when I release you from your cage.” She waved away the servants who had brought the cage. “Go! Go!”

Lucilla looked around the room. Windowless. Almost square. Lighted by a few silvery glowglobes. Acid-green walls. Typical interrogation setting. It was somewhere high. They had brought her cage in a nulltube shortly before dawn.

A panel behind Great Honored Matre snapped aside and a smaller cage came sliding into the room on a hidden mechanism. This cage was square and in it stood what she thought at first was a naked man until he turned and looked at her.

Futar! It had a wide face and she saw the canines.

“Want back rub,” the Futar said.

“Yes, darling. I’ll rub your back later.”

“Want eat,” the Futar said. It glared at Lucilla.

“Later, darling.”

The Futar continued to study Lucilla. “You Handler?” it asked.

“Of course she’s not a Handler!”

“Want eat,” the Futar insisted.

“Later, I said! For now, you just sit there and purr for me.”

The Futar squatted in its cage and a rumbling sound issued from its throat.

“Aren’t they sweet when they purr?” Great Honored Matre obviously did not expect an answer.

The presence of the Futar puzzled Lucilla. Those things were supposed to hunt and kill Honored Matres. It was caged, though.

“Where did you capture it?” Lucilla asked.

“On Gammu.” She did not see what she had revealed.

And this is Junction, Lucilla thought. She had recognized it from the lighter the evening before.

The Futar stopped purring. “Eat,” it grumbled.

Lucilla would have liked something to eat. They had not fed her in three days and she was forced to suppress hunger pangs. Small sips of water from a literjon left in the cage helped but that was almost empty. The servants who had brought her had laughed at her request for food. “Futars like lean meat!”

It was the absence of melange that plagued her most. She had begun to feel the first withdrawal pains that morning.

I shall have to kill myself soon.

The Lampadas horde pleaded for her to endure. Be brave. What if that wild Reverend Mother fails us?

Spider Queen. That is what Odrade calls this woman.

Great Honored Matre continued to study her, hand to chin. It was a weak chin. In a face without positive features, the negative attracted the gaze.

“You will lose in the end, you know,” Great Honored Matre said.

“Whistling past the graveyard,” Lucilla said and then had to explain the expression.

There was a polite show of interest on Great Honored Matre’s face. How interesting.

“Any of my aides would have killed you immediately for saying that. This is one of the reasons we are alone. I am curious why you would say such a thing?”

Lucila glanced at the squatting Futar. “Futars did not occur overnight. They were genetically created from wild animal stock for one purpose.”

“Careful!” Orange flamed in Great Honored Matre’s eyes.

“Generations of development went into the creation of the Futars,” Lucilla said.

“We hunt them for our pleasure!”

“And the hunter becomes the hunted.”

Great Honored Matre leaped to her feet, eyes completely orange. The Futar became agitated and began whining. This calmed the woman. Slowly, she sank back into her chair. One hand gestured at the caged Futar. “It’s all right, darling. You’ll eat soon and then I’ll rub your back.”

The Futar resumed its purring.

“So you think we came back here as refugees,” Great Honored Matre said. “Yes! Don’t try to deny it.”

“Worms often turn,” Lucilla said.

“Worms? You mean like those monstrosities we destroyed on Rakis?”

It was tempting to prod this Honored Matre and evoke the dramatic response. Alarm her enough and she would certainly kill.

Please, Sister! the Lampadas horde begged. Endure.

You think I can escape from this place? That silenced them, except for one faint protest. Remember! We are the ancient doll: seven times down, eight times up. It came with a rocking image of a small red doll, grinning Buddha face and hands clasped over its fat belly.

“You’re obviously referring to the revenants of the God Emperor,” Lucilla said. “I had something else in mind.”

Great Honored Matre took her time considering this. The orange faded from her eyes.

She’s playing with me, Lucilla thought. She intends to kill me and feed me to her pet.

But think of the tactical information you could provide if we did escape!

We! But there was no avoiding the accuracy of that protest. They had brought her cage from the lighter while it was still daylight. Approaches to the Spider Queen’s lair were well planned for difficult access but the planning amused Lucilla. Very ancient, out-of-date planning. Narrow places in the approach lanes with observation turrets projecting from the ground like dull gray mushrooms appearing at the proper places on their mycelium. Sharp turns at critical points. No ordinary ground vehicle could negotiate such turns at speed.

There was mention of this in Teg’s critique of Junction, she recalled. Nonsense defenses. One had only to bring in heavy equipment or go over such crude installations another way and the things were isolated. Linked underground, naturally, but that could be disrupted by explosives. Ligate them, cut them off from their source, and they would fall piecemeal. No more precious energy coming down your tube, idiots! Visible sense of security and Honored Matres kept it. For reassurance! Their defenders must spend a great deal of energy on useless displays to give these women a false sense of security.

The hallways! Remember the hallways.

Yes, the hallways in this gigantic building were enormous, the better to accommodate giant tanks in which Guild Navigators were forced to live groundside. Ventilation systems low along the halls to take out and reclaim spilled melange gas. She could imagine hatches thumping open and closed with disturbing reverberations. Guildsmen never seemed to mind loud noises. Energy transmission lines for mobile suspensors were thick black snakes winding across passages and into every room she had glimpsed. Wouldn’t do to keep a Navigator from snooping any place he desired.

Many of the people she had seen wore guide pulsers. Even Honored Matres. So they got lost here. Everything under the one giant mound of a roof with its phallic towers. The new residents found this attractive. Heavily insulated from the crude outdoors (where none of the important people go anyway except to kill things or watch the slaves at their amusing work and play). Through much of it, she had seen a shabbiness that said minimal expenditure on maintenance. They are not changing much. Teg’s ground plan is still accurate.

See how valuable your observations could be?

Great Honored Matre stirred from her reverie. “It is just possible that I could permit you to live. Provided you satisfy some of my curiosity.”

“How do you know I won’t respond to your curiosity with a flow of pure shit?”

Vulgarity amused Great Honored Matre. She almost laughed. Apparently no one had ever warned her to beware of the Bene Gesserit when they resorted to vulgarity. The motivation for it was sure to be something distressing. No Voice, eh? She thinks that’s my only resource? Great Honored Matre had said enough and reacted enough to give any Reverend Mother a sure handle on her. Body and speech signals always carried more information than was necessary for comprehension. There was inevitable extra information to be sampled.

“Do you find us attractive?” Great Honored Matre asked.

Odd question. “People from the Scattering all possess a certain attraction.” Let her think I’ve seen many of them, including her enemies. “You’re exotic, meaning strange and new.”

“And our sexual prowess?”

“There’s an aura to that, naturally. Exciting and magnetic to some.”

“But not to you.”

Go for the chin! It was a suggestion from the horde. Why not?

“I’ve been studying your chin, Great Honored Matre.”

“You have?” Surprised.

“It’s obviously your childhood chin and you should be proud of that youthful remembrance.”

Not pleased at all but unable to show it. Hit the chin again.

“I’ll bet your lovers often kiss your chin,” Lucilla said.

Angry now and still unable to vent it. Threaten me, will you! Warn me not to use Voice!

“Kiss chin,” the Futar said.

“I said later, darling. Now will you shut up!”

Taking it out on her poor pet.

“But you have questions you want to ask me,” Lucilla said. Sweetness itself. Another warning signal to the knowledgeable. I’m one of those who pours sugar syrup over everything. “How nice! Such a pleasant time when we’re with you. Isn’t that beautiful! Weren’t you clever to get it so cheaply! Easily. Quickly.” Supply your own adverb.

Great Honored Matre was a moment composing herself. She sensed that she had been placed at a disadvantage but could not say how. She covered the moment with an enigmatic smile, then: “But I said I would release you.” She pressed something on the side of her chair and a section of the tubular cage swung aside, taking the shigawire netting with it. In the same instant, a low chair lifted from a panel in the floor directly in front of her and not a pace away.

Lucilla seated herself in the chair, knees almost touching her inquisitor. Feet. Remember they kill with their feet. She flexed her fingers, realizing then that she had been gripping her hands into fists. Damn the tensions!

“You should have some food and drink,” Great Honored Matre said. She pushed something else on the side of her chair. A tray came up beside Lucilla—plate, spoon, a glass brimming with red liquid. Showing off her toys.

Lucilla picked up the glass.

Poison? Smell it first.

She sampled the drink. Stimtea and melange! I’m hungry.

Lucilla returned an empty glass to the tray. The stim on her tongue smelled sharply of melange. What is she doing? Wooing me? Lucilla felt a flow of relief from the spice. The plate proved to hold beans in a piquant sauce. She ate it all after sampling the first bite for unwanted additives. Garlic in the sauce. She was hung up for the barest fraction of a second on Memory of this ingredient—adjunct to fine cooking, specific against werewolves, potent treatment for flatulence.

“You find our food pleasant?”

Lucilla wiped her chin. “Very good. You are to be complimented on your chef.” Never compliment the chef in a private establishment. Chefs can be replaced. Hostess is irreplaceable. “A nice touch with garlic.”

“We’ve been studying some of the library salvaged from Lampadas.” Gloating: See what you lost? “So little of interest buried in all of that prattle.”

Does she want you to be her librarian? Lucilla waited silently.

“Some of my aides think there may be clues to your witches’ nest there or, at least, a way to eliminate you quickly. So many languages!”

Does she need a translator? Be blunt!

“What interests you?”

“Very little. Who could possibly need accounts of the Butlerian Jihad?”

“They destroyed libraries, too.”

“Don’t patronize me!”

She’s sharper than we thought. Keep it blunt.

“I thought I was the object of patronage.”

“Listen to me, witch! You think you can be ruthless in defense of your nest but you do not understand what it is to be ruthless.”

“I don’t think you have yet told me how I can satisfy your curiosity.”

“It’s your science we want, witch!” She pitched her voice lower. “Let us be reasonable. With your help we could achieve utopia.”

And conquer all of your enemies and achieve orgasm every time.

“You think science holds the keys to utopia?”

“And better organization for our affairs.”

Remember: Bureaucracy elevates conformity . . . make that elevates “fatal stupidity” to the status of religion.

“Paradox, Great Honored Matre. Science must be innovative. It brings change. That’s why science and bureaucracy fight a constant war.”

Does she know her roots?

“But think of the power! Think of what you could control!” She doesn’t know.

Honored Matre assumptions about control fascinated Lucilla. You controlled your universe; you did not balance with it. You looked outward, never inward. You did not train yourself to sense your own subtle responses, you produced muscles (forces, powers) to overcome everything you defined as an obstacle. Were these women blind?

When Lucilla did not speak, Honored Matre said: “We found much in the library about the Bene Tleilax.

“You joined them for many projects, witch. Multiple projects: how to nullify a no-ship’s invisibility, how to penetrate the secrets of the living cell, your Missionaria Protectiva, and something called ‘the Language of God.’”

Lucilla produced a tight smile. Did they fear there might be a real god out there somewhere? Give her a little taste! Be candid.

“We joined the Tleilaxu in nothing. Your people misinterpret what they found. You worry about being patronized? How do you think God would feel about it? We plant protective religions to help us. That is the Missionaria’s function. The Tleilaxu have only one religion.”

“You organize religions?”

“Not quite. The organizational approach to religion is always apologetic. We do not apologize.”

“You are beginning to bore me. Why did we find so little about the God Emperor?” Pouncing!

“Perhaps your people destroyed it.”

“Ahhh, then you do have an interest in him.”

And so do you, Madame Spider!

“I would have presumed, Great Honored Matre, that Leto II and his Golden Path were subjects of study at many of your academic centers.”

That was cruel!

“We have no academic centers!”

“I find your interest in him surprising.”

“Casual interest, no more.”

And that Futar sprang from an oak tree struck by lightning!

“We call his Golden Path ‘the paper chase.’ He blew it into the infinite winds and said: ‘See? There is where it goes.’ That’s the Scattering.”

“Some prefer to call it the Seeking.”

“Could he really predict our future? Is that what interests you?” Bullseye!

Great Honored Matre coughed into her hand.

“We say Muad’Dib created a future. Leto II un-created it.”

“But if I could know . . .”

“Please! Great Honored Matre! People who demand that the oracle predict their lives really want to know where the treasure is hidden.”

“But of course!”

“Know your entire future and nothing will ever surprise you? Is that it?”

“In so many words.”

“You don’t want the future, you want now extended forever.”

“I could not have said it better.”

“And you said I bored you!”

“What?”

Orange in her eyes. Careful.

“Never another surprise? What could be more boring?”

“Ahhhh . . . Oh! But that’s not what I mean.”

“Then I’m afraid I do not understand what you want, Great Honored Matre.”

“No matter. We’ll return to it tomorrow.

Reprieve!

Great Honored Matre stood. “Back into your cage.”

“Eat?” The Futar sounded plaintive.

“I have some wonderful food for you downstairs, darling. Then I’ll rub your back.”

Lucilla entered her cage. Great Honored Matre threw a chair cushion in after her. “Use that against the shigawire. See how kind I can be?”

The cage door sealed with a click.

The Futar in its cage slid back into the wall. The panel snapped closed over it.

“They get so restless when they’re hungry,” Great Honored Matre said. She opened the door to the room and turned to contemplate Lucilla for a moment. “You will not be disturbed here. I am refusing permission for anyone else to enter this room.”