Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [43]
Only silence and static answered her.
“We’re going to board you. This is my command as Great Honored Matre.” She edged her ships forward, still receiving no response.
Finally a haggard, stern-looking woman appeared on the communications screen, her expression as sharp as broken glass. “Very well, Honored Matre. We will not open fire—yet.”
“Great Honored Matre,” Murbella said.
“That remains to be seen.”
Moving cautiously, with their weapons systems powered up and ready to respond, the twenty New Sisterhood ships closed in around the large battle-scarred hulk. On a private channel, Doria signaled, “We could easily just crawl through a hole in the hull.”
“I’d rather not be seen as attackers,” Murbella replied, then transmitted on an open channel to the unnamed captain of the Honored Matre battleship, “Do your docking bays still function? How severe is your damage?”
“One docking bay is serviceable.” The captain provided instructions.
Murbella told Bashar Aztin and half of her ships to remain outside as guardians while she guided the other ten in to face the survivors of what must have surely been a horrific battle.
When she and her comrades emerged in the docking bay, Murbella faced thirteen battered-looking women, all of them in colored leotards. Many still sported bruises, barely healed injuries, and medical patches.
The woman with the broken-glass expression had her left hand wrapped in healing strips. Ever suspicious, Murbella suspected she might be hiding a weapon in the bandaging, but it was unlikely; Honored Matres considered their own bodies to be weapons. This one glowered at Murbella and her team, some of whom were dressed as Bene Gesserits, others in the trappings of Honored Matres.
“You look different . . . strange,” the captain said. Orange flecks appeared in her eyes.
“And you look defeated,” Murbella snapped. Honored Matres responded to force rather than conciliation. “Who did this to you?”
The woman answered with scorn. “The Enemy, of course. The Enemy who has been hounding us for centuries, spreading plagues, destroying our worlds.” She showed skepticism in her face. “If you do not know this, then you are no Honored Matre.”
“We are aware of the Enemy, but we have been in the Old Empire for a long time. Much has changed.”
“And apparently much has been forgotten! You look as if you’ve grown soft and weak, but we know the Enemy has been in this sector. We have explored to the best of our abilities in this damaged ship. We found several planets that were clearly charred by Obliterators.”
Murbella did not correct her, did not tell the captain that those planets—no doubt Tleilaxu or Bene Gesserit worlds—had been destroyed by Honored Matres themselves, and not by the Outside Enemy.
Warily, Murbella stepped forward, wondering if these thirteen Honored Matres were all that had survived on the entire battleship. “Tell us what you know of our mutual Enemy. Any information will help us in our defenses.”
“Defenses? You cannot defend against an invincible foe.”
“Nevertheless, we shall try.”
“No one can stand against them! We must flee, seize whatever we can for our survival, and move faster than the Enemy can pursue us. You must know this.” Her bruised eyes narrowed; the broken glass of her expression seemed to sharpen even more. “Unless you are not truly an Honored Matre. I do not recognize these others or their strange clothing, and you have a foreign manner about you . . .” She looked as if she wanted to spit. “We all know that our Enemy has many faces. Is your face among them?”
The Honored Matre strangers tensed and coiled, then flung themselves upon Murbella and her followers. These outside Honored Matres did not know the superior fighting abilities of the unified New Sisterhood, and they were also weary and scarred. Even so, desperation heated their violence.
After the bloodbath, four of Murbella’s comrades lay dead on the deck before the rest of her crew subdued and killed all of the Honored Matres, except for the captain.
When it