Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [179]
And any mistake could bring about the terrible future she had foreseen.
Mohiam’s nightmare had shown her what could happen to humanity’s destiny if the plan went astray. The premonition had been like a gift, and difficult as the decision was, she could not fail to act on it. She didn’t dare.
Does Anirul know my thoughts, too, the terrible act foretold in my dream? A warning, a promise—or a command?
Thoughts . . . Other Memory . . . the multitude of ancient ones within offered their advice, their fears, their warnings. They could no longer keep their knowledge of the Kwisatz Haderach silent, as they had always done before. Mohiam could call to them now, and at their discretion they would come forth, individually or in multitudes. She might ask them for collective guidance, but she didn’t want that. They had already revealed enough to awaken her with a scream on her lips.
Mistakes must not be allowed to happen.
Mohiam had to make her own decision, choose her own path into the future and determine how best to prevent the hideous blood-filled fate she had foreseen.
Rising from her bed, straightening her nightclothes, Mohiam moved ponderously through darkness into the next room, the crèche where the babies were kept. Her swollen belly made it more difficult to walk. Mohiam wondered if the Sisterhood’s watchdogs would stop her.
Her own churning thoughts made her pause. Inside the dim, warm nursery, she detected the irregular, imperfect breathing of her first Harkonnen daughter, now nine months old. And in her womb the unborn sister kicked and twisted—was this one driving her forward? Had the baby inside triggered the premonition?
The Sisterhood needed a perfect daughter, healthy and strong. Flawed offspring were irrelevant. In any other circumstance, the Bene Gesserit could have found a use even for a sickly and crippled child. But Mohiam had seen her vital place in the Kwisatz Haderach program—and seen what would happen if the program went down the wrong path.
The dream was bright in her mind, like a holo-schematic. She simply had to follow it, without thinking. Do it. Heavy consumption of melange often offered prescient visions, and Mohiam had no doubt of what she had seen. The vision was clear as Hagal crystal—billions murdered, the Imperium toppled, the Bene Gesserit nearly destroyed, another jihad raging across the galaxy, sweeping away all in its path.
All of that would happen if the breeding plan went wrong. What did one unwanted life matter in the face of such epochal threats?
Her sickly first daughter by the Baron Harkonnen was in the way, a risk. That girl-child had the potential to ruin the orderly progression along the genetic ladder. Mohiam had to remove any possibility of that mistake, or she could find the blood of billions on her hands.
But my own child?
She reminded herself that this was not really her child; it was a product of the Bene Gesserit mating index and the property of every Sister who had committed herself—knowingly or unknowingly—to the overall breeding program. She’d borne other offspring in her service to the Sisterhood, but only two would carry such a dangerous combination of genes.
Two. But there could be only one. Otherwise, the risk was too great.
This weak baby would never suit the master plan. The Sisterhood had already discarded her. Perhaps someday the child could be raised as a servant or cook at the Mother School, but she would never achieve anything of significance. Anirul rarely looked at the disappointing infant anyway, and it received little attention from anyone.
I care about you, Mohiam thought, then chastised herself for the emotion. Difficult decisions had to be made, prices had to be paid. In a cold wave, memories of the nightmare vision