Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [18]
But such a waste!
Because the Honored Matres had been so profligate in using the planet-roasting weapons against any world that offended them, only a few Obliterators remained intact. Recently, when cracking down on the rebel Honored Matre strongholds, Murbella had expected to unearth greater stockpiles. But they had found nothing. Had someone else stolen the weapons? The Guild perhaps, under their original pretext of helping the Honored Matres? Or had the whores truly used them all, holding nothing in reserve?
Now the human race had insufficient weapons left to stand against the real Enemy. The Obliterators were as incomprehensible as any device Tio Holtzman had ever created for folding space, and the women had never known how to create more. For the sake of humanity, she hoped the Ixians could do so.
Times of extremis demand extreme actions.
Under her orders, the members of the united Sisterhood now removed the powerful weapons from their no-ships, battle cruisers, and infiltration vessels. She would take them to Ix herself. Murbella cut off continued arguments as she marched with a small entourage toward the Chapterhouse spaceport.
“But Mother Commander, at least negotiate patent protections,” Laera said, a flush showing even on her dark skin. “Impose restrictions so that the technology does not become widespread.” She was one of the most businesslike Reverend Mothers, filling much of Bellonda’s old role. “Proliferation amongst planetary warlords could result in the devastation of the largest star systems. CHOAM alone, working with Ix, could wreak—”
Murbella cut her off with a disgusted noise. “I have no interest in who may or may not benefit commercially after we win this war. If the Ixians help us achieve victory, they are entitled to profit.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she looked up at the ramp of her small, fast lighter. “We’ll let the planetary warlords deal with their own problems.”
You play with feelings as a child plays with toys. I know why your Sisterhood does not value emotions: You cannot value what you do not understand!
—DUNCAN IDAHO,
letter submitted to Reverend Mother Bellonda
Sheeana used an authoritative tone, just short of Voice. “ ‘Respect for the truth comes close to being the basis for all morality.’ And I want the truth from you. Now.”
Garimi raised her eyebrows and said calmly, “A quote from Duke Leto Atreides to bolster the interrogation? Shall we bring in blazing lights and a Truthsayer?”
“My Truthsense is sufficient. I have always known you well enough to read you.”
The shock waves from the appalling crime in the birthing center rippled through the no-ship. The slaughter of unborn gholas, the destruction of three axlotl tanks—tanks created from volunteer Sisters!—went beyond anything Sheeana had expected from even her most vehement detractors. Her suspicions had naturally turned toward the outspoken leader of the ultraconservative faction.
Inside an interior conference chamber whose doors were sealed, Sheeana stood like a stern schoolteacher, facing nine of the most prominent dissenters. These women had opposed the ghola project since its inception, disagreeing even more vehemently after Sheeana’s decision to restart the work.
Under the blistering scrutiny, Garimi stared back, while her supporters were openly hostile—especially the squat Stuka. “Why would I damage an axlotl tank? It makes no sense.”
Within her mind, among the lives in Other Memory, she heard the now-familiar voice of the ancient Serena Butler, sounding horrified. Killing a child! Serena was an odd visitor in Other Memory, a woman whose ancient thoughts should not have traveled down the corridors of the generations, and yet she had been with Sheeana for years now.
“You have shown a previous willingness to kill ghola children.” Sheeana finally sat down.
Garimi fought to control her trembling. “I attempted to save us before Leto could become a threat, before he could become the Tyrant again.