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[Dune7:
Advent] ð [a
fanfic] ð Marco
van Leeuwen ð Five thousand
years ago on the desert planet Arrakis
(also known as Dune), Paul Atreides
fulfilled two separate prophecies: he was the Kwisatz
Haderach - the product of the breeding program of the Bene
Gesserit sisterhood -, as well as the long-awaited messiah that would
free the people of Dune, the Fremen,
from the oppression they had been subject to for many generations. The Jihad he
unleashed on the galaxy was unprecedented in its ferocity, only to be
overshadowed by the cruelty of the Golden
Path of his son Leto II - The God Emperor. A symbiosis with sandtrout,
the larva-stage of Dune’s giant sandworms, allowed him to rule for over 35
centuries, and turn the course of humanity away from the armageddon he had seen
in his visions. After his death the Empire crumbled, and its inhabitants spread
far beyond the boundaries of the known universe: the Scattering.
Recently, Dune was destroyed by a new breed of humans from the Scattering, the Honoured
Matres. Now a fragile alliance between these fearsome women and the Bene
Gesserit has been formed, but both internal and external forces are threatening
to upset the balance. In addition, two people vital to the sisterhood’s plans,
Duncan Idaho and Sheeana, are lost in an unknown region of the universe, the
mysterious power that chased the Honoured Matres back to the Old Empire is
coming ever closer, and now even more factions are preparing to execute the
plans they’ve been preparing. All the lines
are converging… This is what might
happen next. ð Dedicated
to Frank Herbert, whose amazing imagination brought
the universe of Dune to life. ð [This fanfic novel was
written by Marco van Leeuwen in early 2000, incorporating and expanding
upon characters, settings and concepts created by Frank Herbert. The purpose of this story
is to pay tribute to him and his work, and in no way aims to
infringe upon any copyrights held by the Herbert Estate.] ð [Dune7: Advent] [Sentinel] After a long
silence the storyteller spoke once more, but his voice sounded very different
now. “Remember that a story is not a rigidly defined sequence of occurences,
but a multidimensional space of ideas you are invited to explore. Wander around
in it, taste the texture of that reality and digest it - transform it into
something you can call your own. But beware - you can get lost in that place! Of
course, for some people that is exactly the reason they seek out storytellers;
others desire only entertainment. Whatever your objective, know that if you feel
you need it, this is here for you: a map.”
*
* *
[Prologue:
* *
“The Gate”]
* *
*
* [Book One:
* * “The Dream”]
*
*
*
*
*
*
[Interlude One:
*
*
“The Maelstrom”] *
*
*
*
*
*
[Book Two:
*
*
“The Awakening”]
*
*
*
* [Interlude
Two:
*
*
“The Path”]
*
*
*
*
*
*
* *
*
* [Junction] *
[Book Three:
“The Dark”] * * *
[Epilogue One: “The Sleeper”]
*
*
[Epilogue Two: “The Seed”] “Go now,”
he said. “See what I have seen, but look for it in your own way. Your
experiences are your own, and I am merely offering you an opportunity to briefly
partake in some of mine. Perhaps you will enjoy it, and perhaps you will not - I
have no desire to enforce my vision upon you. I hope to see you again one day,
but for now I wish you well on your travels.” [Dune7:
Advent] * [Prologue: “The Gate”]
The
period of ideologically fueled, socio-cultural galaxy-wide upheaval over six
millennia ago known as the Butlerian Jihad freed mankind of its unhealthy
entanglement in the webs of constraints created by the omnipresence of machines,
thinking as well as non-thinking. The founders of our Sisterhood understood this
surge in the fabric of history as a return to a reliance on natural cognitive
capabilities, forced upon us by the balancing tendencies of the universe itself.
Apart from inspiring the development of our training methods, helping us control
the awakening and maintenance of Other Memories in our Reverend Mothers, the
effects of the Jihad eventually also supplied us with the means with which to
fulfill our goal of ushering our society into maturity. The solution we have
found is genetic in nature. We believe the provisionary breeding program we have
constructed will generate a male with the desired characteristics within fifty
generations. The necessary changes to the activities of the Missionaria
Protectiva which will prepare a place for him in the various parts of the Empire
are already in development. -Reverend Mother Superior Saldosa Wend, adressing the Council of Proctors. From the Bene Gesserit Archives. How cruel this
desert is, to allow such destructive forces to find sustenance in it. Alia’s thoughts flowed mercilessly onward, the
events to come fueling their advance. In appearance she was still a toddler, but
her mind was a match for the most experienced and wise. While still in the womb,
the acceptance of the Other Memories of generations of Bene Gesserit Reverend
Mothers by her mother had awakened her own mind to full maturity in an instant,
effectively making her a Reverend Mother as well. She had always thought of her
misleading physical appearance as a useful tool, allowing her to defeat most
intellectual opponents quickly by taking advantage of their lowered defenses,
but now the stress of what she had experienced recently and knew she had yet to
experience was exacting its toll on her fragile physique. She was frightened by
what she had seen, but she understood the necessity of those events. The lack of some of the most basic necessities the
desert confronted its inhabitants with often hindered the growth of life on its
own terms, but stimulated the rise to dominance of other aspects. Tendencies
developed under severe pressure were the most powerful of all, and could wreak
havoc when supplied with and appropriate target, as well as a My brother is
such a conduit, and soon I will be one as well,
Alia realised. Shaped by a past they had not wished for, both would have to play
out their parts in a much larger play - a play that would reach a vital plot
twist soon. She suspected her brother understood that something
of great importance was about
to happen, but failed to see what it was exactly, and what role he himself would
play in the coming events. Alia had not felt the need to be subtle about her
inquiries. “My brother, are you the Kwisatz Haderach?”, she had asked him. Paul and Alia had been in his private quarters in
Sietch Tabr - a dimly lit cave cut out of the rock, its walls covered with large
spice-fibre rugs and pillows of various sizes scattered across the floor. Paul
sat in a corner, immersed in thought. Half an hour earlier, both had been present at a
meeting with all the Fremen Naibs, intended to remove the last few obstacles
impeding the advancement of the military strike on Arrakeen. The obstinance a
few of the Fremen leaders continued to display, despite their obvious respect
for their Lisan al-Gaib, had not improved Paul’s mood, nor the faith he had in
himself and his plan. Alia’s question startled him in its honesty and
bluntness. It took a while for him to process the inquiry, and consider its
implications. Despite the fact she’s my
sister and I’ve known her for as long as she has been alive, the way someone
of her age can unerringly reach for anyone’s sore spots is still unsettling to
me. What does she intend to say here? She knows about my insecurities, and,
technically being a Reverend Mother, most certainly understands better than most
how I fit into the Bene Gesserit scheme. Before Paul could react, Alia continued. “My
Reverend Mothers-within fear you. They want me to attempt to kill you.” “It is wise of them to fear me. The Bene Gesserit
manipulate politics, and my plan does not allow them to continue their
activities on the current scale.” “That is not the reason, dear brother.” Paul eyes went wide, and he had to restrain himself
from bursting into laughter. How
condescending she could be! She wanted it to be clear there was a lesson he
needed to learn. Typical Bene Gesserit behaviour. Alia moved towards Paul, and stared into his eyes.
“What do you see in your trances?” Paul gazed into his sister’s eyes, seeing a
ferocious clarity there that scared him. Fremen
strength and tenacity combined with the knowledge and abilities of a Reverend
Mother. Dangerous! Her question cuts right to the heart of the matter. “I see my death, and the deaths of many others. I
see disaster.” A number of different strands originated at this
point in time, and one of them inevitably lead to the Jihad - Fremen troops
washing over the Empire, killing millions upon millions in his name. He feared
that future, but the alternatives were infinitely worse. “I am not the Kwisatz Haderach, sister. I am a
seed, and this planet and the Fremen are the soil that will give what will grow
from me sustenance and stability.” A seed. Does he
realise the full meaning of the word he uses to describe himself?
Alia walked towards the curtain separating the room from the hallway, swung it
aside, and turned to speak. “Every organism will claim a certain portion of
the available energy in a system. Every organism does so to the disadvantage of
the other organisms competing for a place in the same niche. Still, no organism
merely consumes - a fundamental aspect of life consists in the exchange
of energy with the environment.” “I don’t have time to rehash lessons in ecology,
sister. Please get to the point or leave.” “I only have one question: what is it that you
extract from your environment, and what happens to the environment because of
that?” Alia stepped into the hallway and walked away, leaving Paul behind in
confusion. Remembering that discussion, Alia realised her
brother was on the verge of a breakthrough in understanding, but did not quite
see the details yet. Perhaps he isn’t
supposed to fully understand. Even the beauty of the vista that presented itself to
her now could not soften the pain of her realisation that the Fates were harsh
mistresses. She stood on a ledge at one of the lesser southern entrances of
Sietch Tabr, and looked out across the Funeral Plain. The wind carried red
streaks of sand across the silvery sky, dissipating the harsh light of one of
Arrakis’ suns. Her black, body-length robe danced in the wind, and she could
feel the grains of sand stinging her cheeks, the irritation failing to subside
into numbness while the flux of the sand on her face gradually increased. The
storm would be intense. This was her land, and in her personal experience as
well as her Other Memories she had seen such storms many times before. Still,
the scene currently impressed upon her senses failed to generate a sensation of
familiarity. The way one perceives the world is not only determined by outside
stimulus, but also by one’s internal constitution - one’s feelings and
thoughts at a certain moment. These were in turn influenced by both the
composition of the socio-cultural context in which one had been conditioned to
respond to outward stimuli in a certain way, as well as the immediately
pertinent personal history. That last factor was most influential in the
processes that led to Alia’s current state of mind, but it was compounded by a
fairly unique ability she shared with her brother, an emergent property of their
Atreides heritage - her prescience. While a similar faculty could be found in
the steersmen of the Guild, the consortium regulating interplanetary travel in
the Empire, their ability was enforced by a combination of biogenetic
engineering and the workings of the Spice, the powerful awareness spectrum
narcotic only found on Arrakis. Exactly therein
lies the danger! Alia thought. I’m not supposed
to know these things, even with my prescience. The things she had seen
struck fear in her heart, but at the same time she realised they needed to come
to pass. My role is not to spearhead the
natural unfolding of the universe. My brother and his son will do that. I can
only be a rock that slightly bends the stream, not the source of the stream
itself. What an odd
analogy for a Fremen to use, she realised after a moment. She once again swept her gaze over the
Funeral Plain. So dry… She suddenly felt the dryness in her mouth. The
implications of her decision to decline wearing the proscribed nose plugs and
mouth mask while venturing outside the sietch’s moisture seals manifested
themselves now: she reckoned she had lost at least a quarter of a liter of
water. Before returning inside, she glanced west to see a Sardaukar contingent
approaching in the distance. They concealed themselves well, but weren’t
nearly careful enough to fool her desert-honed Fremen senses. She walked through the twisting corridors of rock
towards her private quarters, and briefly looked in on her nephew - sleeping,
unaware of the fate that was about to befall him. “This is how it needs to be, young Leto”, she
whispered. “Don’t worry, it is for the best. Your namesake will assume the
burden for you.” She approached the sleeper, a boy even younger than
she. For a moment, she admired the resemblance to his father, which was striking
even at his young age. She pulled out her crysknife, and silently slit the
boy’s throat. “Find the gate of ivory, and be free. You’ll be back soon
enough.” Alia sheathed the knife, and sat down beside the bed.
In the distance she heard sietch guards struggling with the imperial troops. I
must forget. My knowledge and abilities cannot be allowed to overshadow those of
my brother and his future son. They need to become the architects, not I With three short breaths, Alia entered a trance, and
shortly conversed with her mother-within. It
is time, mother. I give you these memories. Guard them well.
My daughter, do you not see the
dangers of the path you’ve chosen for yourself? Doing this vastly increases
the risk of…
Alia intervened sharply, and immediately regretted her loss of
composure. I know, but we talked about
what needed to be done. I has to be this way! Very well.
Please be careful. She awakened only a few seconds after she had entered
the trance, just as two Sardaukar burst into the room. [Dune7:
Advent] * [Book One - Chapter One] A
stare that is not met turns inward on itself. An expanding circular wave will
rush back towards its point of origin if it happens to meet the sudden end of
the water, and will interfere with the subsequent waves, either amplifying them
or inhibiting their natural movement, but always causing changes. -Bene
Gesserit Coda Every time he would almost reach his goal, only to
have the waters rise and swallow him, after which he would again find himself
back where he had started. It almost seemed as if the water was sentient and was
actively trying to keep him from leaving. He awoke once more in the center of the darkness, as
he had done countless times before. Nothing had changed. Beneath him he could
feel fine-grained, red sand, while above black clouds raged, mixing in an eerie
dark red flickering, swirling violently and flowing to his current left. He let out a scream of frustration, a high-pitched
sound that lasted several seconds. There was no echo. There never
was an echo. There never were any sounds, except the ones he produced himself.
The darkness around him absorbed everything - except for the ceiling of clouds
appearing to stretch into infinity in all directions, the information his
sensory organs processed never originated more than a few meters away. Still, he
knew the water was always there, just beyond the reach of his senses. It usually
kept its distance, but it was out there - waiting, watching him, ready to
encircle him once more without warning. His hope of once finding a way out of wherever he had
spent longer than he could fathom
was the only thing that still remained to supply him with a semblance of sanity.
He was utterly alone, but once there had been… others. Other beings -
resembling him? He could not recall - whom he could talk to, and who would talk
to him. If he could just get beyond the walls of water, he would find them
again, and he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Whatever hardship he might have had to face before,
he knew loneliness must be one of the most cruel. Every intelligent being needed
to continually balance between autonomy, which meant finding origin, cause and
goal within oneself, and an unimpeded exchange of ideas and feelings with
one’s environment. The way these two tendencies even eachother out forms the
basis of one’s interaction with the environment. He had dim memories of the fact that a
person is supposed to be entangled in a wide variety of social roles, to such an
extent that he might display quite different personalities in different
situations. However, each of these personalities would be defined from the
Identity, a single constellation of thoughts, feelings, convictions and
experiences, which might not agree with the social role played. He felt the
Identity as a point mass just beyond his field of vision, in a way similar to
the back of his head: eternally present but impossibly seen from the outside -
he could only feel it was there. He theorised that Identity
and an idiosyncratic catalog of interlinked but distinctive personalities had to
form the Self. In a normal interchange of information the personalities would
usually change the fastest, being dependent on and in intense interaction with
the outer world, forming somewhat of a buffer to the more stable Identity, which
in turn would be modified by the changing personalities, but much more slowly. A
sense of Self would be derived from both introspection - which could only take
place by creating a virtual copy of oneself, simulating regarding the Self from
the outside but in the process distorting the truth - and reflection in the
attitudes of others towards one’s actions. He understood that this was
where his current problem originated. However self-sufficient a mind could
believe itself to be, it needed to have its own output reflected back to it, as
well as a constant stream of new, outwardly generated ideas - this is how a
person grows and learns. Apart from a severely limited environment of red sand
and dark skies - unchanging, therefore trivial to his current needs -, he had
lacked such input for longer than his recollection allowed him to measure.
Nothing around him spoke to him, in whatever language one would care to define.
Total silence, lack of significant change - loneliness. No echoes. Nothing to keep
the understanding of his Self coherent. Who
am I?, he often silently asked himself, and every time the question became
of a greater significance while the answer seemed farther away. Sometimes brief flashes of
new impressions entered his mind, but they would never last. Or were they
memories, resurfacing after being submerged but quickly sinking again? A bridge. Something covering his mouth,
making it impossible for him to breathe. A face. Who was that? So beautiful… A smile of understanding. A dull thumping in the
distance. Running for hours on end. Water engulfing him, invading
his body. Falling through the air. A man, reflected again and
again. Death, his own as well as of
others. A cascade of such impressions
besieged him now, the images and sensations flashing through his narrow
consciousness, stimulating it to once again expand and soak up the newness like
a sponge. He thought he saw the shadows around him retreating a bit, and this
infused him with new hope. He rose, and started running. As always happened whenever
he walked a sufficient distance, he reached the water. He could see the
intensely dark stream was still motionless at first, but small waves formed
almost immediately, quickly increasing in size and aggressively moving in his
direction as if guided by a predator’s mind. The total lack of sound while
this happened increased the sinister atmosphere. He came to a halt and watched
the wall formed by the water rise higher and bend over him, preparing to once
again submerge him and send him back to where had spent the past eternity, when
suddenly he heard a scream. The mass of water froze, still liquid but unmovingly
hanging over him. It was a shriek coming from
far away, and it took a while to subside. He recognised the voice. It was his
own. Then the barrage of voices came. [Dune7:
Advent] * [Book One - Chapter Two] You
subject yourselves to the Atreides rulership because of one single reason: the
understanding Muad’Dib had and his sister has of the future. Muad’Dib was
the Lisan Al-Gaib, and this fact seduced you into betrothal, but his prescient
faculty lures you back to this place to seal the wedding. I tell you your Mahdi
is no more, but still you insist on remaining in the trap his prescience
created! He accepted a single future for all of us and set us on a course, but
you are not powerless to prevent his scenario from running its full course! You
can always reinterpret the universe, choose a different set of axioms and build
a new existence for yourself on that basis. He created a deterministic system
out of a chaotic multitude, but I give you the advice to seek out the chaos once
more! -The
Preacher at Arrakeen The night sky glimmered with many faint stars,
distributed in patterns not even Miles Teg could recognise. The young ghola
Bashar had access to the memories of all the journeys the original Teg had
undertaken in service of the Sisterhood throughout his long life, but he knew he
had never been in this sector of space. Whatever Duncan Idaho had done at the
ship’s controls after lifting off from Chapter House, the Bene Gesserit core
planet, it had caused the no-ship to travel far from the Old Empire. They had been stranded on the planet for three
months. From information gathered on his many scouting missions, Teg had managed
to form a fairly reliable map of the area the damaged no-ship had been forced to
touch down in. The ship itself rested on a plateau overlooking a valley
overgrown with lush vegetation, the gigantic mass of machinery and plasteel
covered with oddly shaped protrusions looking rather out of place in this
particular environment. His feelings of uneasiness, a disconcerting mixture
of knowing he didn’t belong here and an unexpectedly nasty form of
homesickness caused by the fact he recognised none of the plants and animals he
had seen, were alleviated slightly by the discovery he had made eventually that
the totality of lifeforms around him followed somewhat familiar patterns.
Whatever combination of molecules might lie at the basis of the evolution of
life on a planet, apparently the universe was permeated by certain principles
that guided the development of life into a limited set of possible
manifestations. Divine intervention appeared unlikely to him, the
great number of contingencies attached to the existence of a higher being having
forced him away from any religious anthropomorphic projections onto the natural
order of things, but to have these guiding principles be a higher-order
manifestation of the fundamental forces of nature was a workable hypothesis. Statistics is
the key, he
thought. Despite the uncertainties
involved with interactions of elementary particles, chaos does not rule. The
very laws of nature are simply examples of inductive reasoning, based on
observations of the movement of sufficiently large quantities of particles. The
forces governing the movements and transmutations of those particles need not be
deterministic, but could be merely propensities to develop from one state
towards any one of a finite set of closely related states. Laws are
abstractions, and merely apparently universal within a certain realm. It is in
this apparent contradiction that the great mystery of the universe becomes
knowable for a short time - resembling a brief but overwhelmingly bright flash
of light rather than a clear, detailed image -, and dissolves into a mystery
again. It is important that I retain this perceptual and mental malleability. He could find the proof for his reasoning all around
him. He was unfamiliar with all but a few of the types of organisms in the area
around the no-ship, but they were all easliy classified into the same set of
phyla that was prevalent on all the worlds of the Old Empire he had visited. Still,
none of us belongs on this world, Teg realised. It was quite a colourful collection of people that
had been dragged along into the unknown - into a new Scattering - because of Idaho’s actions a few months earlier. They
all understood the threat they had fled from - a fragile alliance of Bene
Gesserit and Honoured Matres under the leadership of Murbella - but many of them
disputed the wisdom of the ghola Mentat’s actions. He had deliberately lost
all information about their position relative to familiar space in a massive
data dump. One if his most adamant opponents was the Rabbi, but
this in itself was not surprising. The head of a group of Jews that had always
lived a life according to rules that were already ancient when the
God-Emperor’s reign was still young, an important part of the past few months
he had spent trying to protect his people against being tainted by the heretical
beliefs of the Bene Gesserit. His people had had an agreement with the
Sisterhood for a long time, members of one group helping the other in times of
great peril, but this mutual obligation didn’t mean in the slightest that he
agreed with the many heretical theories his allies had constructed. “My people are certainly no stranger to fleeing
from overwhelming evil - our diaspora
is the fulfillment of a prophecy, and continues to this day - but never did we
relinquish the hope that one day we might return to the Holy Land.” His
powerful voice echoed through one of the larger storage rooms in which most of
the ship’s inhabitants had gathered that night. “Retaining the purity of our
beliefs and culture is the main pillar supporting our existence. This… ghola’s
actions have severed the ties with the rest of our people.” “His impetuosity might very well have saved us
all”, Bene Gesserit Proctor Garimi said, even though she didn’t fully
believe this herself. “The alliance between Bene Gesserit and Honoured Matres
was extremely fragile, and inherently explosive. Nothing good could come of
it.” What chance do
we have of surviving here?, Garimi thought. I don’t
foresee any problems staying alive in a physical sense, but this group is too
ill-equipped to realise any of the goals Reverend Mothers of the Second
Scattering would pursue. Any Reverend Mother is trained to be autonomous and
highly adaptive to new circumstances, but even the most talented ones do need
certain resources in order to continue to develop. Melange is one… our
supplies have reached dangerously low levels. She looked around her. She realised the absence of
certain people at this meeting provided important clues about the shifting
balance of power and allegiances in their group. Miles Teg was out exploring, as
he often was. His mysterious powers
continue to develop, no matter how much he tries to hide it from us. And I must
not forget this is the Bashar - he most certainly has an agenda of his own. Duncan Idaho was somewhere else in the no-ship. He
had a very powerful bond with Sheeana, and this relationship had become much
stronger lately, with them keeping to themselves most of the time. What
are those two up to? “We do appreciate your efforts in trying to protect
us from peril - I too recognised the dangers of the path your Mother Superior
had chosen.” The Rabbi glared at the small group of Reverend Mothers sitting
to Garimi’s left, who were trying not to participate in this particular
conversation, having learnt the futility of attempting to educate the Rabbi in
Bene Gesserit ways of thinking over the past few months. “The arrogance the
ghola displayed by making such a far-reaching decision for us is what bothers
me. This does not prove to me he has a particularly well-developed sense of
ethics, and I will not allow myself or my people to be tainted by it.” “Still, his presence and abilities supplied the
Sisterhood with exactly that: a sense of ethics, a conscience.” Garimi decided
to explore this subject with the Rabbi one more time. “Navigating uncharted
territory in our quest to improve the human race required a strong sense of
direction. A course is laid out on a basis formed by everything that came
before, and Idaho provided us with the proper feedback-mechanism on multiple
levels.” “Improving the human race! Pah!” So it’s time
for the insult again, Garimi thought. The Rabbi had followed this particular thread of
reasoning before, his rant always resulting in an insult to the Bene Gesserit. He’s
still trying to distance himself from us as much as he can, despite the fact the
understanding between his people and the Sisterhood has been in place for many
generations. However, I can’t think of him as an isolationist blinded by his
own preconceptions - he’s much more intelligent than that. “His behaviour is typical of someone indoctrinated
by the Bene Gesserit,” the Rabbi spat out. “With great reluctance I agreed
to let Rebecca, one of my people,
submerge herself in your ways, because our plans demanded it. She explained many
things about you to me, and every bit of new information strengthened my
original opinion. You are unclean. The
Sisterhood does not acknowledge a personal saviour - there is just a faceless,
unthinking current underlying reality you presume to control. And your Missionaria Protectiva, creating
religions to further your own goals - you think you yourself are divine!” Garimi sighed. “Perhaps we’re divine in the sense
that a prophet is. The essence of the prohet is that he’s a servant - we chose
that role for ourselves, realising we should not be the ones being worshipped,
but that the focus needed to be on the better world we long for.” “Still, you claim to be able to decide whether or
not someone is human - you even devised a test
for it. Calling someone human or not is a divine act.” Garimi detected that a small measure of resignation
had settled over the Rabbi, but that this particular duel wasn’t over yet.
“The Bene Gesserit did not create the distinction, we merely recognised the
criteria.” “It is not your place to judge.” He chooses this
tactic again?
A peculiar gleam in the Rabbi’s eyes caught Garimi’s attention. Suddenly she
realised what he was doing. He’s not
trying to convince me. He wants me to react a certain way, to act out a
particular routine. It’s a lesson for the other members of his group! She knew now how to respond. “Oh, but it is. We
realised how outsiders could accuse us of extreme arrogance in assuming our plan
was the only correct one, and we recognised the trap we had created for
ourselves - that’s one of the reasons the Duncans were so valuable to us.” The Rabbi barely managed to surpress a smile. I
might not agree with these Bene Gesserits on many points, but one has to admire
their perceptiveness. “Resurrecting mortal flesh should not be the work of
men.” “The Sisterhood saw the necessity of utilising
extreme measures in executing our plans - even if that meant using gholas and
religious beliefs as tools.” “One does not use
religion.” “The scope of the goals the Sisterhood set out to
reach at its conception required a method involving religious elements. These
are what gave the Sisterhood its longevity. Our plans were intended to span
several millennia. Surely you of all people recognise the endurance religious
beliefs provide?” “Rebecca tells me the Tleilaxu used a similar
strategy. The complete lack of an acceptable system of ethics in their way of
life proves longevity based on religious beliefs is not always a good thing.” “The Tleilaxu fell into the trap of not evolving,
but instead letting the elements of a flawed ideological system fall prey to
inbreeding. The Sisterhood never fell into this trap because our God is not a
person but an idea, a potential, and our religion no more than pure rationality.
This opened up our convictions to internal scrutiny, allowing us to develop
rather than stagnate. Your own people felt compelled to travel a different path,
but your involvement with us proves you never entered the cul-de-sac the
Tleilaxu found themselves in.” Garimi watched the Rabbi sit back, and understood
this discussion was now over. Clever man!
He has managed to make our alliance stronger - necessary if we want to survive -
while retaining the religious identity for his group. She saw Rebecca
realised this, and watched the first signs of understanding emerge on the faces
of the other members of the group of Jews. Still, it might not be enough to save us if Idaho and Sheeana continue to follow their own agenda. Do they realise I know of their increased interest in the Tleilaxu Master in the holding cell? Sheeana was able to communicate with the sandworms on Rakis. How much of The Tyrant’s awareness is still present in the worm we took with us from Chapter House? What do they want? I should attempt to find out soon. [Dune7:
Advent] * [Book One - Chapter Three] Religion
has been a force of almost limitless power in all cultures since the dawn of
humanity, the vast majority of the members of any given society being
subordinate to it, simultaneously cursing its oppression and welcoming its
promises of salvation from potentially greater evils lurking in the
world-without-a-saviour. However, there has always been a minority of people
that controlled the flow of power and goods within the system the prevalent
religion in their particular culture created, consolidating their position by
manipulating the contents of the official belief-system and the way this gospel
was interpreted by the masses. There is enormous potential in this strategy,
especially when the rulers themselves do not fall prey to whatever beliefs
prevail - this allows them to better tailor the ecclesiastical edicts to the
necessities and possibilities of their culture. Our Missionaria Protectiva preys
on the weakness of the masses that drives them to seek out the help of higher
powers, and moulds it to increase the potential of advancing the Sisterhood’s
needs. As well as creating fertile soil for the development of ours plans, the
Missionaria forms the ultimate test to separate the humans from the animals. The
sceptics, those that managed to achieve relatively independent thought despite
omni-present ideological oppression, are the most dangerous, but also
potentially the most valuable. They should be sought out, tested, and either
assimilated or killed, depending on the results of the test. -Excerpt
from a lecture on the Panoplia Propheticus for advanced Bene Gesserit acolytes.
What a weak-looking little man,
Sheeana thought. She shuddered, realising the danger of thinking this way about
the captive facing her inside the prison cell. Latent
danger often takes the least remarkable form.
The Tleilaxu Master Scytale, a small, unappealing creature with an
unhealthy-looking grayish skin, intrigued her to no end. Darwi Odrade, whose
persona resided within Sheeana’s Other Memory, had managed to learn much about
the Bene Tleilax and their religious beliefs during her dealings with the Master
of Masters Tylwyth Waff a decade earlier on Rakis. They
adhere to Zensunni and Sufi beliefs, which have been kept unchanged in their
society for millennia. Knowledge of these belief systems from Other Memory
should allow you to understand and predict his thinking patterns. Use this as
leverage, Odrade-within said.
Sheeana, while still a young girl, had witnessed several of those
meetings between Waff and Odrade in the Bene Gesserit keep in Keen, and had
guided the sandworm that had taken them to the remains of the ancient Sietch
Tabr one time, where a large store of the Tyrant’s Spice had been found. She
tried to recall what Odrade had done to pry loose so much important information
from the xenophobic Tleilaxu Master.
This one is considerably smarter
than Waff. Sheeana did not delude herself into thinking it would be easy to
wrestle away secrets from Scytale, but she knew she had to try. The
Tleilaxu have been planning something for many centuries - the abilities they
hid in the Duncan gholas ordered by the Sisterhood are somehow a part of this.
Their religion preaches an eventual ascendancy of the true believers - how will
this come to pass, and when? Don’t worry,
I will help you,
Odrade-within comforted her.
“Many of your kind have already tried during my years of captivity”,
Scytale said suddenly in his high-pitched, childlike voice, “but no one has
managed to convince me, and I will not tolerate being insulted by yet another
transparent attempt.”
Sheeana did not expect such a strong dismissal at the very beginning of
the conversation. His initial surprise at encountering non-Tleilaxu claiming to share his
beliefs has completely faded away, strengthening his distrust towards the Bene
Gesserit in the process. This presents me with rather serious problems.
Feigning ignorance of what he was talking about, she asked: “In what way have
we insulted you?”
“You know exactly what I mean!”, Scytale shrieked, looking like a
spoiled child having a temper tantrum. This sudden outburst revealed much to Sheeana. He
is so intent on not co-operating that he might be susceptible to subtler means
of persuasion. Or
more forceful methods,
Odrade suggested.
It’s too soon!, Sheeana
protested.
Not at all. He is hiding something,
and he knows it would be very valuable to us if we would find out what it was.
He thinks this gives him a certain measure of control over us. This is all about
the distribution of power to him, and despite his incarceration he believes he
has the upper hand. Remember, an enemy is most vulnerable when he believes he
has defeated you. Very
well, Sheeana reluctantly agreed.
“The time of Mabak Ghisharat is near“, she said, and immediately observed the
revelation take effect on Scytale’s face. So
it’s true! Just like the Bene Gesserit, the Bene Tleilax have been executing a
plan spanning many hundreds of generations. And now it seems “The New Dawn”
is about to become a reality. The fact Scytale knows this even though he has
been our captive for so long means it’s very close.
“How dare you speak of this! You cannot know-”. Scytale stopped
mid-sentence, realising what he had said. If
this was another trick of these powindah witches, I have just given them the
confirmation they needed.
“We are not on Chapter House anymore, you know.” Sheeana knew this
was still unknown to the Tleilaxu Master. The no-ship’s systems did not only
prevent any energy from spilling outward, effectively making the ship invisible
to any and all sensors, but were also capable of masking any energy from being
transmitted in the opposite direction. The Bene Gesserit on the ship had agreed
to allow Scytale to continue to believe they were on the Sisterhood’s central
planet, making no changes in his daily routine. Garimi
intended to use this piece of information in her own attempts at finding out
what Scytale knows. I could not allow her to create that monodirectional
dependency relationship with him - if she would gain that influence over him it
would severely hinder my plans.
“We’re far from the Empire”, Sheeana added. “The star formations
outside are completely unknown to us.” She saw this revelation stripped away some of the
confidence Scytale had built up with his religion-fueled arrogance. The
proximity to his homeworld was obviously very important to him, even if it gave
him no practical gain because of his incarceration. No amount of
cleansing will suffice to wash the powindah filth from my body,
Scytale despaired, but he kept silent. What
are these demons doing to me? Sheeana let Odrade prepare her for the release of yet
another bombshell. He will not openly tell
us what we need to know, but he has poor control of his reflexes. His reactions
to our shocking “revelations” will tell us what we need to know. Mention our
speculations about Tleilaxu involvement with the Ixians next.
Sheeana complied. “Will the deployment of Ixian artifacts not taint the
coming of Mabak Gisharat?”
Scytale’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. He let out a short,
uncontrolled guttural sound. The shock he experienced was so great he almost
collapsed onto the floor of his holding cell, but he managed to regain control
of his limbs just in time. His right hand reflexively clutched his chest where
the nulltube with many priceless ghola cells was hidden. He removed the hand as
soon as the conscious part of his thought processes caught up with the
situation. These accursed witches know everything! Do they know about the treasure
trove I carry within my chest? No, they can’t - my skin is impervious to their
scanning equipment. Did my unconscious reaction just now give away too much? I
must control myself. Scytale straightened his narrow shoulders and prepared
to ward off Sheeana’s next blow.
Odrade-within noted the succession of gestures. Did
you see him rubbing a certain spot on his chest? He has done this before.
Sheeana agreed. Yes, I noticed it - it was clearly a reflex, perhaps protective. Perhaps.
He is not hurt, and he shows no sign of having been operated on in that
location. Then again, we should take into account the fact that the Tleilaxu are
highly skilled genetic engineers - who knows what they’re capable of?
In a infinitesimally short flash of enlightenment, Sheeana tought she had
found a suitable explanation - an exhilarating sensation, but a very brief one.
It took a moment for her to reconstruct her insight in the realm of conscious
thought. What is it Scytale wants most of all of us?, she asked Odrade.
His freedom, or, if that’s
impossible, an axolotl tank for his personal use, Odrade answered.
Exactly. He would probably be very
reluctant to breed with “tainted” Bene Gesserit cells, so he needs some
other source of material to work with.
This is certainly an interesting
change of roles, Sheeana. I’m supposed to give you these little insights, not
the other way around, Odrade joked. I
suggest you use this bit of speculation.
“Scytale”, Sheeana said, “I will grant your request. We will
provide you with an axolotl tank.”
Another trick? These witches cannot
be trusted! “You cannot fool me as easily as you could fool Waff. He might
have believed you at one point, but his reports clearly show his capacity for
rational thought was severely impaired,” Scytale spat out. She’s
preparing to launch another attack. I will be ready.
“This is not an attempt to deceive you, Malik Brother, I speak the
truth. But -” She emphasized this word, and allowed for a short pause. “- I
get to determine which of the ghola cells in your possession is used first.”
This revelation, the greatest one yet, was expected to drive Scytale into
insanity, but Sheeana detected not even the slightest flinching. What?
Was our analysis wrong? Not even his eyes betrayed anything! Sheeana’s frustration at failing at this crucial
moment caused her to relapse into old behavioural patterns which had been neatly
tucked away in unconscious levels of her mind by Bene Gesserit training, but
apparently not thoroughly enough - irrational rage flooded her thoughts,
suffocating even Odrade’s warnings. “Admit it, you repulsive little weasel! There’s
something inside your chest! Tell me!”, she shrieked, almost attempting to
claw through the energy barrier separating her from the startled Tleilaxu
Master.
Excellent, Scytale thought. The
balance of power shifts again. Considering the advanced training these witches
receive, this outburst is especially telling. I can use this…
After a few moments, Odrade finally managed to get through to Sheeana. Get
a grip, child! You just destroyed everything we have accomplished with him in
the last few years!
Sheeana took a few deep breaths, and looked at the Tleilaxu Master again.
He was visibly pleased with the way things had turned out for him. “I will accept your offer,” he said, barely
restraining himself from bursting into laughter. “However, I will not comply
with your demands.”
Sheeana’s rage emerged again. “The offer is retracted,” she
growled.
“Would you not like to contribute some genetic material… Alyama?”
”Blessed One”! He uses the
ancient Islamiyat again, knowing that you will understand the words. Despite you
outburst, we still have this leverage over him, Odrade said.
“The Prophet resides in a hold in this ship, Malik Brother,” Sheeana
tried, slowly beginning to realise the potential of what the priests of Rakis
and later the Sisterhood had built around her.
The Tleilaxu Master’s smile disappeared, a look of religious awe
replacing it. “Take me to him.”
Retake control. Now! Odrade
said.
A gloating expression appeared on Sheeana’s face. “Maybe later…”
Sheeana walked towards her quarters, leaving Scytale behind at the mercy
of the implications the things she had said could have. The
worms… of course! This power I have over the worms needs to be utilised
somehow.
Odrade intervened, sensing the earlier outburst might have released some
of Sheeana’s old demons. The only
“power” you have is what those worms give you. Don’t abuse this privilege.
Sheeana ignored her advisor. I was
born with this power for a reason. The Sisterhood’s plans of creating a new
religion around me could still be realised - the ultimate accomplishment of the
Missionaria Protectiva!
It had taken much time and effort to condition Sheeana to such an extent
that her megalomaniacal tendencies retreated into her unconsciousness. Odrade
realised that some of the things she had learnt during her formative years under
guidance of the priests on Rakis were apparently too persistent. She attempted
to reason with her host. You’re not a
god, Sheeana. Sheeana shunted Odrade’s persona away to a place where she would be least effective. Poor Duncan… He thinks I will help him create a new and better society. She grinned. He’s so gullible…
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Last modified: May 24, 2000 |