Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [31]
The image resolved to show a mob scene. “This is Belos IV, but such occurrences have been documented elsewhere. Sparked by helplessness in the face of the approaching Enemy fleet, brushfire wars and political struggles are starting on planet after planet. People are afraid. When their leaders don’t tell them what they want to hear, they riot, overthrow their prime ministers, and prop others in their place. More often than not, they depose the new leaders as well.”
“We know this.” Murbella looked at Janess, who remained rigidly at attention at the front of the table. She wished her daughter would sit down. On the images, the citizens of Belos IV had risen up against their governor, who had advocated surrender to the oncoming thinking machines. “Obviously, the people didn’t want to hear such a message. Why is this relevant?”
Kiria jabbed a sharp-nailed finger at the image. “Observe!”
When the crowd attacked the middle-aged leader, he fought remarkably well, using skills and speed rarely demonstrated by any bureaucrat. While Murbella watched, she decided the governor must have acquired some sort of special training. His combat methods were unusual and effective, but the mob far outnumbered him. They dragged him through the streets to the balcony of the governor’s palace and threw him off onto the flagstones far below. As he lay still, the howling, cheering mob backed away. The images drew in closer. The dead governor shifted and paled. His face became sunken and scarecrowish, somehow unformed. A Face Dancer!
“We always suspected the new Face Dancers had questionable loyalties. They allied themselves with Honored Matres and turned against the old Tleilaxu. We found them among the rebel whores on Gammu and Tleilax, and now it appears that the threat is even worse than we suspected. Listen to the governor’s words. He advocated surrender to the thinking machines. Who are the Face Dancers really working for?”
Murbella reached the obvious conclusion and dragged her sharp gaze like a serrated knife across the other Sisters. “The new Face Dancers are puppets of Omnius, and have infiltrated our populace. They are far superior to the old ones, able to resist almost any Bene Gesserit technique. We always wondered how the Lost Tleilaxu could have created them, when their skills were so inferior to those the old Masters demonstrated. It did not seem possible.”
Laera said coldly, “It is possible if the thinking machines helped to create them, then sent them back among Tleilaxu returning from the Scattering.”
“A first wave of scouts and infiltrators.” Kiria nodded. “How far have they spread? Could there be Face Dancers among us, undetected by Truthsayers?”
Accadia scowled. “A frightening thought, if we have no way of exposing these new Face Dancers. From what I can tell, their mimicry is perfect.”
“Nothing is perfect,” Murbella said. “Even thinking machines have flaws.”
Without humor, Kiria said, “Oh, we can identify them easily enough. Kill them, and Face Dancers revert to their blank state.”
“So you suggest we simply kill everyone?”
“That’s what the Enemy intends to do anyway.”
Restless, Murbella stood up. She could remain here on Chapterhouse with the other anxious Sisters, receive reports for another year, listen to summaries, and plot the advance of the thinking machines on a map, as if it were some kind of war game. Meanwhile, the Ixian engineers struggled to build weapons equivalent to the Obliterators, and the Guild shipyards worked to produce thousands of ships, all of them equipped with mathematical compilers.
But the crisis went far beyond internal politics and power struggles. She decided to go out there herself and travel among the worlds on the edge of the war zone, not as Mother Commander, but as a keen observer. She would let a council of Reverend Mothers run the everyday activities here on Chapterhouse, dealing with bureaucratic matters and doling out spice rations to the Guild in order to ensure