Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [190]
“I’m not as young as you’re treating me,” Anirul said, against the better judgment of the voices. Very few of the Bene Gesserit had the weight of history inside them the way she did. Very few knew all of the machinations, every step of the Kwisatz Haderach program, every failure or success over the millennia, every deviation in the plan, for more than ninety generations. “I have the knowledge to succeed.”
Mother Superior frowned at her. “Then put more faith in our Mohiam. She’s delivered nine daughters for the Sisterhood already. I trust her to control the exact moment at which she chooses to give birth, even to delay her labor if necessary.” A scrap of brittle hair blew out of its prim containment and feathered across the old woman’s cheek. “Her role in this is more important than any birthing facility.”
Anirul challenged the chastising tone. “True. And we must not have another failure, like the last.”
Not even a Reverend Mother could master all facets of embryonic development. Through her internal processes she could set her own metabolism, but not the metabolism ofthe child. Selecting her baby’s sex was an adjustment of the mother’s chemistry, choosing the precise egg and sperm to unite. But once the zygote started growing in the womb, the offspring was effectively on its own, beginning a process of growing away from the mother.
Anirul said, “I can feel that this daughter will be vital, a crux point.”
A loud thump sounded below, and Anirul grimaced. One of the roof sections had tumbled into the interior of the building, and the Sister workers rushed about to correct the mistake.
Mother Superior uttered a profanity.
Through herculean efforts the birthing facility was completed, on time, while Kwisatz Mother Anirul marched back and forth. Only hours before the scheduled birth, construction workers and robos put on the finishing touches. Medical equipment was brought in and connected. Glowglobes, beds, blankets . . . even a warm blaze in the archaic wood-burning fireplace Mohiam had requested.
As Anirul and Harishka inspected the job, still smelling of dust and construction materials, they paused to watch the noisy entrance of a motorized gurney bearing an enormously pregnant Gaius Helen Mohiam. She was alert and sitting up, already experiencing increased contractions. Reverend Mothers and white-smocked medical attendants escorted her in, clucking excitedly like hens.
“This was too close, Mother Superior,” Anirul said. “I don’t appreciate additional stress points in an already-complex task.”
“Agreed,” said Harishka. “The Sisters will be reprimanded for their lethargy. Though, if your designs had been less ambitious . . .” She let the thought hang in the air.
Ignoring Mother Superior, Anirul noted the trim and decoration of the room, with its intricate ivory and pearl inlays and ornate wood carvings. Perhaps she should have had them concentrate more on functionality than on extravagance. . . .
Harishka crossed her thin arms over her chest. “The design of this new facility is similar to what we had before. Was it really necessary?”
“This is not similar at all,” Anirul said. Her face flushed, and she washed the defensive tone out of her words. “The old birthing room simply wasn’t functional anymore.”
Mother Superior gave a condescending smile; she understood the need for an untainted building, with no old memories, no ghosts. “Anirul, through our Missionaria Protectiva we manipulate the superstitions of backward peoples . . . but we Sisters aren’t supposed to be superstitious ourselves.”
Anirul took the comment with good humor. “I assure you, Mother Superior, such conjecture is preposterous.”
The older woman’s almond eyes glittered. “Other Sisters are saying you thought the old birthing room had a curse on it, which caused the first child’s deformities . . . and its mysterious death.”
Anirul drew herself up straight. “This is hardly the proper time to discuss such a thing, Mother Superior.” She scanned the frantic preparations: Mohiam placed on the birthing bed, Sisters