Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [114]
Standing on the dock with her new advisors, Murbella turned toward a large Phibian male who stood at the reef’s edge; apparently he had once been a guard, for he still carried his barbed whip. Four other Phibian deep divers crouched together on the rocky beach, where they had just delivered a load of soostones.
The Honored Matres did not know exactly where the Phibians had come from, just “somewhere out in the Scattering, a long time ago.” Skira said that the amphibious half-breeds were an insular species with only limited vocabularies, but Murbella’s Bene Gesserit instincts told her otherwise. The memories she had Shared with Corysta added evidence to this; the Phibians were more than they appeared to be.
Ordering her two escorts to accompany her, Murbella descended a spray-slick rock stairway to the shingle beach.
“This is not safe.” Skira ran to catch up with the Mother Commander. “Phibians can be violent. Last week, one of them drowned an Honored Matre. Took her out and pulled her underwater.”
“She probably deserved it. Do you doubt that the three of us can defend ourselves?” Nearby, a squad of Murbella’s Valkyries also watched over their commander, weapons at the ready.
Corysta pointed to the group. “The tallest one is our best producer. See the scar on his forehead? He dives the deepest and brings back the most soostones.”
From a flash of Corysta’s memory, Murbella recalled the abandoned Phibian baby she had rescued from a tide pool. He’d had a scar on his forehead, a claw mark. Could this be the same one, from so many years ago? The one she called “Sea Child?” She recalled other instances, other encounters. Yes, this aquatic male definitely knew who Corysta was.
The scarred Phibian was the first to notice the women approaching. All of the creatures turned warily, blinking their slitted eyes. Three smaller Phibians retreated into the foaming water, where they hovered out of reach. The scarred one, though, held his ground.
Murbella regarded him carefully, trying to read his alien body language for some clue as to what he was thinking. Though shorter than the creature, she assumed a confident fighting posture.
For a long moment, the Phibian regarded her with his membranous eyes. Then he spoke in a throaty voice that sounded like a dripping rag drawn through a pipe. “Boss boss.”
“What do you mean?”
“You. Boss boss.”
Corysta interpreted. “He knows you are the boss of all the bosses.”
“Yes. I am your boss now.”
He bowed his head deferentially.
“I think you’re a good deal smarter than you let on. Are you a good Phibian?”
“Not good. Best.”
Boldly, Murbella took a step closer. Other than what she knew from Corysta, she had no idea about the Phibians’ social inclinations or taboos. “You and I are both leaders in our own way. And as one leader to another, I promise that we will no longer treat you the way the Honored Matres did. You have already seen the changes. We won’t use the lash on you, or let you use it on anyone else. Work for all. Benefit for all.”
“No more lash.” He lifted his chin, proud and stern. “No more soostones for smugglers.”
Murbella tried to process what he was implying. Was it a promise, or a threat? Surely, after a year the Phibians must have noticed a significant difference in their lives.
“Smugglers are always a problem,” Corysta explained to her. “We can’t stop them from taking soostones out in the open water.”
The nostrils flared in Skira’s beaklike nose. “We have long suspected the Phibians also traded with smugglers, stealing our soostone harvests and providing for themselves.”
“Not your soostones,” the Phibian said with a long bubbling rumble.
Murbella felt she was on the verge of an interesting breakthrough. “You promise not to deal with smugglers if we treat you fairly? Is that what you mean?”
Skira sounded mortally offended. “Phibians are slaves! Subhuman creatures. They do what they are created to do—”
Murbella regarded her with a murderous glare. “Provoke me if you dare. I am perfectly willing to kill another arrogant whore to make my point.”