Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [82]
When she reentered the observation chamber, the Futar turned to her, then backed away and raised his face, baring his own throat in a gesture of submission. Sheeana felt the warmth of the moment thrill through her. “My monsters,” she said.
“You stronger than bad women,” Hrrm said.
“Yes, stronger than Honored Matres.”
The beast-man seemed to force the words from his throat. “Better than . . . Handlers.”
Sheeana pounced. “Who are the Handlers?”
“Handlers.”
“Where are they? Who are they?”
“Handlers . . . control Futars.”
“What are Futars?” She needed to know more, needed to pin him down. There were too many questions about what the whores had brought from the Scattering and how they were all connected to the Outside Enemy.
“We are Futars,” Hrrm said, sounding indignant. “Not fish people.”
Ah, an intriguing new nugget of information. “Fish people?”
“Phibians.” Hrrm growled with disgust. His mouth had trouble forming the word.
Sheeana frowned, imagining a modification that combined amphibious genes with humans, the same way feline DNA had been used to create Futars. Hybrids. “Did the Handlers create Phibians?”
“Handlers made Futars. We are Futars.”
“Did they also create Phibians?”
Hrrm seemed to grow angry. “Handlers made Futars. Kill Honored Matres.”
Sheeana fell silent, processing the information. The chromosomal tinkering that had created Futars might be similar to what was used to breed aquatic-dwelling “Phibians.” While the Handlers had used those techniques to breed creatures who would target Honored Matres, someone else had made Phibians. To what purpose?
She wondered if Lost Tleilaxu from the Scattering had sold their skills to the highest bidder. If the Futars hated Phibians, then were the “fish people” somehow allied with the Honored Matres? Or was Sheeana simply reading too much into the crude utterances of the beast-man?
“Who are the Handlers?” she said again.
“You better,” Hrrm answered. It was all the response she could get. Though he looked at her in a different way, Sheeana had achieved no insights or vital information. Just clues, without the necessary context.
She took him back to his holding cell and turned him loose among the other Futars. She didn’t know how well they communicated with one another, but she was certain Hrrm would share what he had learned. He would tell his fellows about the woman who controlled the worms.
The best method of attack is to make a quick kill. Always be ready to strike your opponent’s jugular. If you want to provide a performance, be a dancer.
—MOTHER COMMANDER MURBELLA,
rally before troop deployment
W
hen the Enemy came, the New Sisterhood would not fight every battle alone. Murbella refused to allow that. Though there was no central leadership in the disjointed civilizations of the Old Empire, she vowed that she would compel those civilizations to participate. They could not be allowed to sit on the sidelines when so much was at stake for humanity.
Under the instruction of her daughter Janess, as well as the veteran bashar Wikki Aztin, the Sisterhood’s deadliest fighters were being trained, but Murbella needed access to powerful weapons, and a great many of them. Therefore, she went to Richese, the primary competitor of Ix.
After Murbella’s small shuttle landed in the main Richesian commercial complex, the Factory Commissioner arrived to meet her. He was a short man with a round face, close-cropped hair, and a sincere-looking smile that he could mount on his face at will. Two women and three men accompanied him, all wearing identical smart-looking business attire. They carried projection pads and easily revised papers, contracts, price lists.
“The New Sisterhood wishes to do business with you, Commissioner. Please show me everything you have in the way of weaponry—offensive and defensive.”
Beaming, the round-faced man reached forward to clasp her hand, which she reluctantly allowed him to shake. “Richese is glad to be of service, Mother Commander. We can manufacture anything from a dagger to a fleet of battleships. Are you