Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [78]
Murbella disagreed. “None of them has a chance unless they undergo the Agony. The whole point of this operation is to give it to everyone—and the most fit will survive.”
The women stood amidst the bedlam of the dormitory rooms in the sick houses that had been converted from any building large enough to accommodate beds. Four lifeless bodies were carried past them by exhausted-looking Reverend Mothers. They had run out of sheets, so the corpses were uncovered, their faces twisted in a display of the incalculable pain they had suffered.
Ignoring the dead, Murbella knelt beside the bed of one young woman who survived. She had to look at the casualty total from a different perspective. If they were all destined to die, it was a fruitless exercise to count those who perished. In that light, the only relevant number was the tally of those who did recover. The victories.
“If we don’t have enough Water of Life, use other poisons.” Murbella got wearily to her feet, ignoring the smells, the sounds. “The Bene Gesserit may have determined that the Water of Life is most effective at forcing the Agony, but long ago the Sisters used other deadly chemicals—anything that would push the body into an absolute crisis.” She perused the young students, these girls who had hoped one day to grow up to become Reverend Mothers. Now each of them had one chance, and one chance only. “Poison them one way or another. Poison them all. If they survive, they belong here.”
A courier ran up to her, one of the younger Sisters who had recently survived the transformation. “Mother Commander! You are needed immediately in Archives.”
Murbella turned. “Has Accadia found something?”
“No, Mother Commander. She . . . you have to see for yourself.” The younger woman swallowed. “And hurry.”
The ancient woman did not have the strength to leave her office. Accadia sat surrounded by wire spool readers and stacks of data-dense crystal sheets. She sprawled back in her large chair, breathing heavily, barely able to move. The old woman’s rheumy eyes flickered open. “So, you’ve come . . . in time.”
Murbella looked at the archivist, appalled. Accadia, too, had the plague. “But you are a Reverend Mother! You can fight this.”
“I am old and tired. I used the last of my stamina to compile our records and projections, to map out the spread of this disease. Maybe we can prevent it on other worlds.”
“Doubtful. The Enemy distributes the virus wherever they consider it strategic.” Already she had made up her mind to have several other Reverend Mothers Share with Accadia. Her extensive memories and knowledge must not be lost.
Accadia struggled to sit up in the chair. “Mother Commander, don’t be so focused on the epidemic that you fail to see its consequences.” She began coughing. Blotches had appeared all over her skin, the advanced stages of the disease. “This plague is a mere foray, a test attack. On many planets it is sufficient, but the Enemy must know the Sisterhood well enough by now to be sure we can fight this, at least to a point. After they soften us up, they’ll attack by other means.”
Murbella felt cold inside. “If thinking machines destroy the New Sisterhood, then the remaining fragments of humanity will have no chance of resisting them. We are the most important hurdle Omnius has to overcome.”
“So you finally understand the implications?” The old woman grasped the Mother Commander’s hand to make sure she understood. “This planet has always been hidden, but now the thinking machines must know the location of Chapterhouse. I would wager that their space fleet is already on its way.”
One man’s dream is another’s nightmare.
—a saying of Ancient Kaitain
After dragging Stuka’s body away, the nomads separated Sheeana and Teg from Stilgar and Liet-Kynes. Apparently they saw the two boys—twelve and thirteen—as no threat, not knowing that both were deadly Fremen fighters, whose