Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [153]
“ ‘Men must do God’s work,’ ” Uxtal reminded himself, from the catechism of the Great Belief. Next time, he would be more careful with these little monsters.
Is it enough just to find a home, or must we create one for ourselves? I am willing to do either, if we would only decide.
—PROCTOR SUPERIOR GARIMI,
personal journals
A
nother blind jump through foldspace. The Ithaca emerged safely, following its random course according to the whims of prescience. With Duncan at the controls, the no-ship cruised toward a bright, comfortable-looking planet. A new world. He and Teg had conferred on the course, on the wisdom of making another journey at all even though the hunters had not found them again—and the two of them had brought the great vessel to this place.
Even from a distance the planet looked promising, and excitement blossomed among the refugees aboard the vessel. At long last, after almost two decades of wandering, three years since the dead no-planet, could this be a place to rest and recuperate? A new home?
“It looks perfect.” Sheeana set aside the summary of the scan data, looked at Duncan and Teg. “Your instinct guided us true.”
Standing with them on the navigation bridge, anxious Garimi looked at the landmasses, oceans, clouds. “Unless it’s another plague world.”
Duncan shook his head. “We’re already detecting transmissions from small cities, so there’s an active populace. Most of the continents are forested and fertile. Temperature is well within habitable norms. Atmospheric content, moisture, vegetation . . . It may be one of the worlds settled in the Scattering, long ago. So many groups were lost, disappearing into the wilderness.”
Garimi’s eyes gleamed. “We have to investigate. This could be the place to found our new Bene Gesserit core.”
Duncan was more practical. “If nothing else, it would be good for us to refresh the ship’s supplies of air and water. Our stores and recycling systems can’t last forever, and our population is gradually growing.”
Garimi blurted, “I will call an all-ship meeting. There is more at stake here than simply replenishing our supplies. What if the inhabitants down there welcome us? What if it is a suitable place for us to settle?” She looked around. “At least for some of us.”
“Then we will have an important decision to make.”
EVEN WITH EVERY adult onboard in attendance, the Ithaca’s huge convocation chamber looked mostly empty. Miles Teg sat back against a low-tier seat, continually repositioning his long legs. Though he would observe the discussion with interest, he expected to make few comments. He had always followed the mandate of the Bene Gesserit, but at the moment he wasn’t sure what the mandate was.
A young man took a seat adjacent to Teg, the ghola of Thufir Hawat. The heavy-browed twelve-year-old did not usually go out of his way to be with the Bashar, but Teg knew that Thufir watched him intently, almost to the point of hero worship. In the archives, Thufir often studied details of Miles Teg’s military career.
Teg nodded to the young man. This was the loyal weapons master and warrior Mentat who had served the Old Duke Atreides, then Duke Leto, and finally Paul, before being captured by the Harkonnens. Teg felt he had much in common with the battle-seasoned genius; someday, after the Thufir Hawat ghola had his memories again, they would have many things to discuss, commander to commander.
Thufir leaned over, gathered his courage, and whispered, “I have wanted to speak with you, Bashar Teg, about the Cerbol Revolt and the Battle of Ponciard. Your tactics were most unusual. I cannot imagine they would have worked, and yet they did.”
Teg smiled with the memory. “They wouldn’t have worked for anyone else. As the Bene Gesserit use their Missionaria Protectiva to plant the seeds of religious fervor, so my soldiers created a myth about my abilities. I became larger than life, and my opponents managed to intimidate themselves more than my soldiers or weapons could