Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [140]
On the inspection table, even before the clinging blood and mucus could be wiped from her skin, the baby was turned over and positioned on all sides against a built-in scanner surface. Cold and frightened, the infant wailed, but only intermittently, her voice sounding weaker by the moment.
Electronic signals sent all bioresults into a central-receiving unit, which displayed the data in a column on a large wall monitor for the Bene Gesserit experts to assess. Reverend Mothers studied the results, comparing them with a second column that showed optimal numbers.
“The disparity is quite striking,” Anirul said quietly, her eyes wide on her doelike face. The young Kwisatz Mother’s disappointment hung like a solid weight on her shoulders.
“And most unexpected,” said Mother Superior Harishka. Her birdlike eyes glittered from the wrinkles on her face. In tandem with those taboos that prevented the Bene Gesserit from using artificial means of fertilization in their breeding programs, other taboos kept them from inspecting or manipulating fetuses in utero. Sourly, the ancient woman shook her head and flicked a sidelong glance at sweat-soaked Mohiam, still recovering on her table near the door. “The genetics are correct, but this . . . child is wrong. We have made an error.”
Anirul leaned over the infant girl for a closer look. The child had a sickly pallor and misshapen facial bones, as well as a disjointed or malformed shoulder. Other deficiencies, perhaps chronic, might take longer to assess.
And she’s supposed to become the grandmother of the Kwisatz Haderach? Weakness does not breed strength.
Internally, Anirul reeled, trying to determine what could have gone wrong. The other Sisters would call her too young and impetuous again. The projections in the breeding records had been so precise, the information from Other Memory so certain. Though sired by Vladimir Harkonnen, this girl-child wasn’t what she was supposed to be. The feeble infant couldn’t possibly be the next step in the genetic path that was supposed to culminate—in only two more generations—with the Holy Grail of the Bene Gesserit breeding program, their superbeing.
“Could something be incorrect in the mating index?” Mother Superior said, averting her eyes from the baby. “Or is this an aberration?”
“Genetics is never certain, Mother Superior,” Anirul said, taking a step away from the baby. Her confidence was gone, but she tried not to make excuses. She ran a nervous hand over her close-cropped bronze hair. “The projections are correct. I’m afraid the bloodline simply didn’t cooperate . . . this time.”
Mother Superior looked around the room at the doctors, the other Sisters. Every comment, every move would be recorded and stored in Wallach IX archives—as well as in Other Memory—for perusal by later generations. “Are you suggesting we try again with the Baron himself? He wasn’t exactly the most cooperative of subjects.”
Anirul smiled faintly. What an understatement. “Our projections give us the highest probability. It must be Baron Harkonnen, and it must be Mohiam. Thousands of years of careful selection have led to this point. We have other options, but none as good as this one . . . and so we must try again.” She tried to sound philosophical. “Other mistakes have occurred along the way, Mother Superior—we cannot let one failure bring about the end of the entire program.”
“Of course not,” Harishka snapped. “We must contact the Baron again. Send our best and most persuasive representative while Mohiam recovers.”
Anirul stared at the child on the table. Exhausted now, the infant lay silent, tiny hands flexing, legs kicking. The baby couldn’t even maintain sustained periods of crying. Not hardy breeding stock.
At the doorway arch, Mohiam struggled to sit up on