Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [137]
Murbella narrowed her eyes. “I have never seen a Face Dancer so close. Nor one so dead. I presume this is their natural state?”
“Who can tell, Mother Commander? When we rooted out and killed many of the rebel . . . whores, we found several shape-shifters among the dead. Alarmed, we brought in Truthsayers to interrogate the surviving Honored Matres, but found no more Face Dancers that way.” Kiria pointed at the body. “This was one of the survivors. When she tried to escape, we killed her—and that is when her true identity came out.”
“Undetectable by Truthsayers? Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
Murbella wrestled with the complex implications. “Astounding.”
Face Dancers were creatures made by the Tleilaxu, and the new ones who had returned with the Lost Tleilaxu were far superior to any the Bene Gesserit had previously encountered. Apparently, the new ones worked with, or for, the Honored Matres. And now she knew they could fool Truthsayers!
The questions fell faster than the answers. Why then had the Honored Matres destroyed the Tleilaxu worlds, attempting to exterminate all of the original Masters? Murbella had been an Honored Matre herself, and she still did not understand.
Intrigued, she touched the skin of the corpse, the coarse white hair on the head; each strand was rough against her fingertips. She inhaled deeply, sifting and sorting with her olfactory senses, but could find no distinctive smell. Bene Gesserit archives claimed that a Face Dancer could be detected by a very subtle odor. But she wasn’t sure.
After a long silence, Kiria said, “We conclude that more of the rebel Honored Matres may indeed be Face Dancers, but we found no telltale indicators. No way to detect them whatsoever.”
“Except for killing them,” one of the other two Sisters said. “That was the only way to be sure.”
Murbella frowned. “Effective, perhaps, but not entirely useful. We can’t just execute everyone.”
Kiria matched her frown. “That leads to a different kind of crisis, Mother Commander. Though we killed hundreds of Face Dancers among the rebels on Gammu, we were unable to capture a single one of them alive—not that we know of. They are perfect mimics. Absolutely perfect.”
Deeply troubled, Murbella paced in her office. “You killed hundreds of Face Dancers? Does that mean you slaughtered thousands of rebels? What percentage of them are these . . . infiltrators?”
Kiria shrugged. “Posing as Honored Matres, they formed an attack squadron and tried to retake Gammu by force. They had a very complex and detailed plan, striking at vulnerabilities, and they rallied a great many of the rebel women to their cause. Fortunately, we found the viper’s nest and struck. The Valkyries would have killed them either way, whether they were Face Dancers or whores.”
One of the other women added, “Ironically, the Honored Matres who followed them were just as surprised as we were when their leaders turned into . . . this.” She gestured toward the inhuman cadaver. “Even they did not know they had been infiltrated.”
The third Sister said, “Regimental Commandant Idaho has placed the whole planet under quarantine, subject to your further orders.”
Murbella kept herself from voicing the obvious security nightmare: If that many Face Dancers have infiltrated the rebel whores on Gammu, do we have any among us here on Chapterhouse? They had brought so many candidates for retraining. Her policy had been to absorb as many former Honored Matres as were willing to undergo the Sisterhood’s instruction, their loyalty monitored by strict Truthsayers. After her capture on Gammu, their leader Niyela had killed herself rather than be converted. But what about the ones who claimed to cooperate?
Uneasily, Murbella studied the three women, trying to detect whether they were shape-shifters, too. But if that were true, why would they raise the suspicion in the first place?
Sensing