Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [76]
—ERASMUS,
Laboratory Notebooks
When the virulent plague reached Chapterhouse, the first cases appeared among the male workers. Seven men were struck down so swiftly that their dying expressions showed more surprise than pain.
In the Great Hall where younger Sisters dined, the disease also spread. The virus was so insidious that the most contagious period occurred a full day before any symptoms manifested; thus, the epidemic had already sunk its claws into those most vulnerable before the New Sisterhood even knew a threat existed.
Hundreds perished within the first three days, more than a thousand by the end of the week; after ten days, the victims were beyond counting. Support staff, teachers, visitors, offworld merchants, cooks and kitchen help, even failed Reverend Mothers—all fell like stalks of wheat under the Grim Reaper’s scythe.
Murbella called upon her senior advisers to develop an immediate plan, but from prior epidemics on other embattled planets they knew that precautionary measures and quarantines would do no good. The conference room doors were securely locked, because younger Sisters and acolytes could not be allowed to know the strategies being discussed here.
“Survival of the Sisterhood is our primary purpose, even as the rest of Chapterhouse dies around us.” Murbella felt sickened to think of all the unprepared acolytes, spice-harvesting teams in the dune belt, transport drivers, architects and construction workers, weather planners, greenhouse gardeners, cleaners, bankers, artists, archive workers, pilots, technicians, and medical assistants. All the underpinnings of Chapterhouse itself.
Laera attempted to sound objective, but her voice cracked. “Reverend Mothers have the precise cellular control needed to fight this disease on its own battleground. We can use our bodily defenses to drive away the plague.”
“In other words, anyone who hasn’t gone through the Spice Agony will die,” Kiria said. “Like the Honored Matres did. That was why we pursued you Bene Gesserits in the first place, to learn how to protect ourselves from the epidemic.”
“Can we use the blood of Bene Gesserit survivors to create a vaccine?” Murbella asked.
Laera shook her head. “Reverend Mothers drive out disease organisms, cell by cell. There are no antibodies we can share with others.”
“It is not even as simple as that,” Accadia rasped. “A Reverend Mother can channel her inner biological defenses only if she has the energy to do so, and if she has the time and ability to concentrate on herself. But this plague forces us to turn our energies to tend the most unfortunate victims.”
“If you make that mistake, you’ll die, just like our Sheeana surrogate on Jhibraith,” Kiria said with the undertone of a sneer in her voice. “We Reverend Mothers will have to take care of ourselves and no one else. The others have no chance anyway. We need to accept that.”
Murbella already felt the beginnings of exhaustion, but her nervous anxiety made her pace the sealed council room. She had to think. What could be done against such a minute, lethal enemy? Only Reverend Mothers will survive. . . . She spoke firmly to her advisors, “Find every acolyte who is close to being ready for the Agony. Do we have enough Water of Life?”
“For all of them?” cried Laera.
“For every single one. Any Sister who has the slightest chance of survival. Give all of them the poison and hope they can convert it and survive the Agony. Only then will they be able to fight off the plague.”
“Many will die in the attempt,” warned Laera.
“Or all of them will die from the plague. Even if most of the candidates succumb to the Agony, it’s an improvement.” She did not wince. Her own daughter Rinya had perished that way, many years ago.
Smiling slightly with her wrinkled lips, Accadia nodded. “A Bene Gesserit would rather die from the Agony than from a sickness spread by our Enemy. It is a gesture of defiance rather than surrender.”
“See that it is done.”
IN THE DEATH houses she turned a deaf ear to the moans of the sick and dying. The