She could see his dreams dissolving. His own Face Dancers to print memories of those they killed, copying each victim's shape and manner. He had never hoped to gull a Reverend Mother... but acolytes and simple workers of Chapterhouse... all the secrets he had hoped to acquire, gone! Lost as certainly as the charred husks of Tleilaxu planets.
Our Prophet, she said. He turned a stricken look toward Odrade but did not focus. What am I to do? These women no longer need me. But I need them!
"Scytale." How softly she spoke. "The Great Convention is ended. It's a new universe out there."
He tried to swallow in a dry throat. The whole concept of violence had taken on a new dimension. In the Old Empire, the Convention had guaranteed retaliation against anyone who dared burn a planet by attacking from space.
"Escalated violence, Scytale." Odrade's voice was almost a whisper. "We Scatter pods of rage."
He focused on her. What is she saying?
"The hatred being stored up against Honored Matres," she said.
You are not the only one with losses, Scytale. Once, when problems arose in our civilization, the cry went out: "Bring a Reverend Mother!" Honored Matres prevent that. And the myths are recomposed. Golden light is cast upon our past. "It was better in the old days when the Bene Gesserit could help us. Where do you go for reliable Truthsayers these days? Arbitration? These Honored Matres have never heard the word! They were always courteous, the Reverend Mothers. You have to say that for them."
When Scytale did not respond, she said: "Think of what might happen if that rage were loosed in a jihad!"
When he still did not speak, she said: "You have seen it. Tleilaxu, Bene Gesserit, priests of the Divided God, and who knows how many more - all hunted like wild game."
"They cannot kill us all!" An agonized cry.
"Can't they? Your Scattered ones made common cause with Honored Matres. Is that a sanctuary you would seek in the Scattering?"
And there goes another dream: Little pods of Tleilaxu, persistent as festering sores, awaiting the day of Scytale's Great Revival.
"People grow strong under oppression," he said, but there was no force in his words. "Even the Priests of Rakis are finding holes in which to hide!" Desperate words.
"Who says this? Some of your returned friends?"
His silence was all the answer she needed.
"Bene Tleilax have killed Honored Matres and they know it," she said, hammering at him. "They will be satisfied only with your extermination."
"And yours!"
"We are partners by necessity if not by shared belief." She said it in purest Islamiyat and saw hope leap into his eyes. Kehl and Shariat may yet take on their old meanings among people who compose their thoughts in the Language of God.
"Partners?" Faint and extremely tentative.
She adopted new bluntness. "In some ways, that's a more reliable basis for common action than any other. Each of us knows what the other wants. An intrinsic design: Screen everything through that and something reliable can occur."
"And what is it you want from me?"
"You already know."
"How to make the finest tanks, yes." He shook his head, obviously unsure. The changes implied by her demands!
Odrade wondered if she dared snap at him in open anger. How dense he was! But he was close to panic. Old values had changed. Honored Matres were not the only source of turmoil. Scytale did not even know the extent of changes that had infected his own Scattered Ones!
"Times are changing," Odrade said.
Change, what a disturbing word, he thought.
"I must have my own Face Dancer attendants! And my own tanks?" Almost begging.
"My Council and I will consider it."
"What is there to consider?" Throwing her own words at her.
"You need only your own approval. I require approval of others." She gave him a grim smile. "So you do get time to think." Odrade nodded to Tamalane, who summoned guards.
"Back to the no-ship?" He spoke from the doorway, such a diminutive figure amidst burly guards.
"But tonight you ride all the way."
He gave a last lingering stare at the worm as he left.
When Scytale and guards were gone, Sheeana said: "You were right not to press him. He was ready to panic."
Bellonda entered. "Perhaps it would be best just to kill him."
"Bell! Get the holo and go through our meeting again. This time as a Mentat!"
That stopped her.
Tamalane chuckled.
"You take too much joy in your Sister's discomfiture, Tam," Sheeana said.
Tamalane shrugged but Odrade was delighted. No more teasing of Bell?
"When you spoke of Chapterhouse becoming another Dune, that was when he began to panic," Bellonda said, her voice Mentat distant.
Odrade had seen the reaction but had not yet made the association. This was a Mentat's value: patterns and systems, building blocks. Bell sensed a pattern to Scytale's behavior.
"I ask myself: Is it the thing become real once more?" Bellonda said.
Odrade saw it at once. An odd thing about lost places. As long as Dune had been a known and living planet, there existed a historical firmness about its presence in the Galactic Register. You could point to a projection and say: "That is Dune. Once called Arrakis and, latterly, Rakis. Dune for its total desert character in Muad'Dib's day."
Destroy the place, though, and a mythological patina inveighed against projected reality. In time, such places became totally mythic. Arthur and his Round Table. Camelot where it only rains at night. Pretty good Weather Control for those days!