Heretics of Dune
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Several times since coming to Rakis, Odrade had found herself caught in the memory of that ancient painting which occupied such a prominent place on the wall of Taraza's Chapter House quarters. When the memory came, she felt her hands tingle to the touch of the brush. Her nostrils swelled to the induced smells of oils and pigments. Her emotions assaulted the canvas. Each time, Odrade emerged from the memory with new doubts that Sheeana was her canvas.
Which of us paints the other?
It had happened again this morning. Still dark outside the Rakian Keep's penthouse where she quartered with Sheeana: An acolyte entered softly to waken Odrade and tell her that Taraza would arrive shortly. Odrade looked up at the softly illuminated face of the dark-haired acolyte and immediately that memory-painting flashed into her awareness.
Which of us truly creates another?
"Let Sheeana sleep a bit longer," Odrade said before dismissing the acolyte.
"Will you breakfast before the Mother Superior's arrival?" the acolyte asked.
"We will wait upon Taraza's pleasure."
Arising, Odrade went through a swift toilet and donned her best black robe. She strode then to the east window of the penthouse common room and looked out in the direction of the spacefield. Many moving lights cast a glow on the dusty sky there. She activated all of the room's glowglobes to soften the exterior view. The globes became reflected golden starbursts on the thick armor-plaz of the windows. The dusky surface also reflected a dim outline of her own features, showing the fatigue lines clearly.
I knew she would come, Odrade thought.
Even as she thought this, the Rakian sun came over the dust-blurred horizon like a child's orange ball thrust into view. Immediately, there was the heat-bounce that so many observers of Rakis had mentioned. Odrade turned away from the view and saw the hall door open.
Taraza entered with a rustle of robes. A hand closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. The Mother Superior advanced on Odrade, black hood up and the cowl framing her face. It was not a reassuring sight.
Recognizing the disturbance in Odrade, Taraza played on it. "Well, Dar, I think we finally meet as strangers."
The effect of Taraza's words startled Odrade. She correctly interpreted the threat but fear left her, spilling out as though it were water poured from a jug. For the first time in her life, Odrade recognized the precise moment of crossing a dividing line. This was a line whose existence she thought few of her Sisters suspected. As she crossed it, she realized that she had always known it was there: a place where she could enter the void and float free. She no longer was vulnerable. She could be killed but she could not be defeated.
"So it's not Dar and Tar anymore," Odrade said.
Taraza heard the clear, uninhibited tone of Odrade's voice and interpreted this as confidence. "Perhaps it never was Dar and Tar," she said, her voice icy. "I see that you think you have been extremely clever."
The battle has been joined, Odrade thought. But I do not stand in the path of her attack.
Odrade said: "The alternatives to alliance with the Tleilaxu could not be accepted. Especially when I recognized what it was you truly sought for us."
Taraza felt suddenly weary. It had been a long trip despite the space-folding leaps of her no-ship. The flesh always knew when it had been twisted out of its familiar rhythms. She chose a soft divan and sat down, sighing in the luxurious comfort.
Odrade recognized the Mother Superior's fatigue and felt immediate sympathy. They were suddenly two Reverend Mothers with common problems.
Taraza obviously sensed this. She patted the cushion beside her and waited for Odrade to be seated.
"We must preserve the Sisterhood," Taraza said. "That is the only important thing."
"Of course."
Taraza fixed her gaze searchingly on Odrade's familiar features. Yes, Odrade, too, is weary. "You have been here, intimately touching the people and the problem," Taraza said. "I want... no, Dar, I need your views."
"The Tleilaxu give the appearance of full cooperation," Odrade said, "but there is dissembling in this. I have begun to ask myself some extremely disturbing questions."
"Such as?"
"What if the axlotl tanks are not... tanks?"
"What do you mean?"
"Waff reveals the kinds of behavior you see when a family tries to conceal a deformed child or a mad uncle. I swear to you, he is embarrassed when we begin to touch on the tanks."
"But what could they possibly...
"Surrogate mothers."
"But they would have to be..." Taraza fell silent, shocked by the possibilities this question opened.
"Who has ever seen a Tleilaxu female?" Odrade asked.
Taraza's mind was filled with objections: "But the precise chemical control, the need to limit variables..." She threw her hood back and shook her hair free. "You are correct: we must question everything. This, though... this is monstrous."
"He is still not telling the full truth about our ghola."
"What does he say?"
"No more than what I have already reported: a variation on the original Duncan Idaho and meeting all of the prana-bindu requirements we specified."
"That does not explain why they killed or tried to kill our previous purchases."
"He swears the holy oath of the Great Belief that they acted out of shame because the eleven previous gholas did not live up to expectations."
"How could they know? Does he suggest they have spies among..."
"He swears not. I taxed him with this and he said that a successful ghola would be sure to create a visible disturbance among us."
"What visible disturbance? What is he..."