"May I ride on Streggi's shoulders?"
"Ask her."
Impulsively, Teg dashed up to Odrade, lifted himself onto his toes and kissed her cheek. "I hope my real mother was like you."
Odrade patted his shoulder. "Very much like me. Run along now. "
When the door closed behind him, Tamalane said: "You haven't told him you're one of his daughters!"
"Not yet."
"Will Idaho tell him?"
"If it's indicated."
Bellonda was not interested in petty details. "What are you planning, Dar?"
Tamalane answered for her. "A punishment force commanded by our Mentat Bashar. It's obvious."
She took the bait!
"Is that it?" Bellonda demanded.
Odrade favored them both with a hard stare. "Teg was the best we ever had. If anyone can punish our enemies..."
"We'd better start growing another one," Tamalane said.
"I don't like the influence Murbella may have on him," Bellonda said.
"Will Idaho cooperate?" Tamalane asked.
"He will do what an Atreides asks of him."
Odrade spoke with more confidence than she felt but the words opened her mind to another source of the alien feelings.
I'm seeing us as Murbella sees us! I can think like at least one Honored Matre!
We do not teach history; we recreate the experience. We follow the chain of consequences - the tracks of the beast in its forest. Look behind our words and you see the broad sweep of social behavior that no historian has ever touched.
- Bene Gesserit Panoplia Propheticus
Scytale whistled while he walked down the corridor fronting his quarters, taking his afternoon exercise. Down and back. Whistling.
Get them accustomed to me whistling.
As he whistled, he composed a ditty to go with the sound: "Tleilaxu sperm does not talk." Over and over, the words rolled in his mind. They could not use his cells to bridge the genetic gap and learn his secrets.
They must come to me with gifts.
Odrade had stopped by to see him earlier "on my way to confer with Murbella." She mentioned the captive Honored Matre to him frequently. There was a purpose but he had no idea what it might be. Threat? Always possible. It would be revealed eventually.
"I hope you are not fearful," Odrade had said.
They had been standing at his food slot while he waited for lunch to appear. The menu was never quite to his liking but acceptable. Today, he had asked for seafood. No telling what form it would take.
"Fearful? Of you? Ahhh, dear Mother Superior, I am priceless to you alive. Why should I fear?"
"My Council reserves judgment on your latest requests."
I expected that.
"It's a mistake to hobble me," he said. "Limits your choices. Weakens you."
Those words had taken several days of planning for him to compose. He waited for their effect.
"It depends on how one intends to employ the tool, Master Scytale. Some tools break when you don't use them properly."
Damn you, witch!
He smiled, showing his sharp canines. "Testing to extinction, Mother Superior?"
She made one of her rare sallies into humor. "Do you really expect me to strengthen you? For what do you bargain now, Scytale?"
So I'm no longer Master Scytale. Strike her with the flat of the blade!
"You Scatter your Sisters, hoping some will escape destruction. What are the economic consequences of your hysterical reaction?"
Consequences! They always talk about consequences.
"We trade for time, Scytale." Very solemn.
He gave this a silent moment of reflection. The comeyes were watching them. Never forget it! Economics, witch! Who and what do we buy and sell? This alcove by the food slot was a strange place for bargaining, he thought. Bad management of the economy. The management hustle, the planning and strategy session, should occur behind closed doors, in high rooms with views that did not distract the occupants from the business at hand.
The serial memories of his many lives would not accept that.
Necessity. Humans conduct their merchant affairs wherever they can - on the decks of sailing ships, in tawdry streets full of bustling clerks, in the spacious halls of a traditional bourse with information flowing above their heads for all to see.
Planning and strategy might come from those high rooms but the evidence of it was like the common information of the bourse - there for all to see.
So let the comeyes watch.
"What are your intentions toward me, Mother Superior?"
"To keep you alive and strong."
Careful, careful.
"But not give me a free hand."
"Scytale! You speak of economics and then want something free?"
"But my strength is important to you?"
"Believe it!"
"I do not trust you."
The food slot took that moment to disgorge his lunch: a white fish sauteed in a delicate sauce. He smelled herbs. Water in a tall glass, faint aroma of melange. A green salad. One of their better efforts. He felt himself salivating.
"Enjoy your lunch, Master Scytale. There is nothing in it to harm you. Is that not a measure of trust?"
When he did not respond, she said: "What does trust have to do with our bargaining?"
What game is she playing now?
"You tell me what you intend for Honored Matres but you do not say what you intend for me." He knew he sounded plaintive. Unavoidable.
"I intend to make the Honored Matres aware of their mortality."
"As you do with me!"
Was that satisfaction in her eyes?
"Scytale." How soft her voice. "People thus made aware truly listen. They hear you." She glanced at his tray. "Would you like something special?"