"Why?"
"She has the mistaken idea that I might be a Kwisatz Haderach."
"Like Muad'Dib?"
"And his son."
"Well, she won't hurt you now."
Idaho looked at the door where Bellonda had gone. Reprieve. That was all he had achieved. Perhaps he no longer was just a cog in the machinations of others. They had achieved a new relationship, one that could keep him alive if carefully exploited. Emotional attachments had never figured in it, not even with Murbella... nor with Odrade. Deep down, Murbella resented sexual bondage as much as he did. Odrade might hint at ancient ties of Atreides loyalty but emotions in a Reverend Mother could not be trusted.
Atreides! He looked at Teg, seeing family appearance already beginning to shape the immature face.
And what have I really achieved with Bell? They no longer were likely to provide him with false data. He could place a certain reliance in what a Reverend Mother told him, coloring this by awareness that any human might make mistakes.
I'm not the only one in a special school. The Sisters are in my school now!
"May I go find Murbella?" Teg asked. "She promised to teach me how to fight with my feet. I don't think the Bashar ever learned that."
Chapter Seventeen
"Who never learned it?"
Head down, abashed. "I never learned it."
"Murbella's on the practice floor. Run along. But let me tell her about Bellonda."
Schooling in a Bene Gesserit environment never stopped, Idaho thought as he watched the boy leave. But Murbella was right when she said they were learning things available only from the Sisters.
This thought stirred misgivings. He saw an image in memory: Scytale standing behind the field barrier in a corridor. What was their fellow prisoner learning? Idaho shuddered. Thinking of the Tleilaxu always called up memories of Face Dancers. And that recalled Face Dancer ability to "reprint" the memories of anyone they killed. This in its turn filled him with fears of his visions. Face Dancers?
And I am a Tleilaxu experiment.
This was not something he dared explore with a Reverend Mother or even within the sight or hearing of one.
He went out in the corridors then and into Murbella's quarters, where he settled himself in a chair and examined the residue of a lesson she had studied. Voice. There was the clairtone she used to echo her vocal experiments. The breathing harness to force prana-bindu responses lay across a chair, carelessly discarded in a tangle. She had bad habits from Honored Matre days.
Murbella found him there when she returned. She wore skin-tight white leotards blotched with perspiration and was in a hurry to remove this clothing and make herself comfortable. He stopped her on her way to the shower, using one of the tricks he had learned.
"I've discovered some things about the Sisterhood that we didn't know before."
"Tell me!" It was his Murbella demanding this, perspiration glistening on her oval face, green eyes admiring. My Duncan saw through them again!
"A game where one of the pieces cannot be moved," he reminded her. Let the comeye watchdogs play with that one! "They not only expect me to help them create a new religion around Sheeana, our willing participation in their dream, I'm supposed to be their gadfly, their conscience, making them question their own excuses for extraordinary behavior."
"Has Odrade been here?"
"Bellonda."
"Duncan! That one is dangerous. You should never see her alone."
"The boy was with me."
"He never said!"
"He obeys orders."
"All right! What happened?"
He gave her a brief account, even to describing Bellonda's facial expressions and other reactions. (And wouldn't the comeye watchers have great sport with that!) Murbella was enraged. "If she harms you I will never again cooperate with any of them!"
Right on cue, my darling. Consequences! You Bene Gesserit witches should re-examine your behavior with great care.
"I'm still stinking from the practice floor," she said. "That boy. He is a quick one. I've never seen a child that bright."
He stood. "Here, I'll scrub you."
In the shower, he helped her out of the sweaty leotards, his hands cool on her skin. He could see how much she enjoyed his touch.
"So gentle and yet so strong," she whispered.
Gods below! The way she looked at him, as though she could devour him.
For once, Murbella's thoughts of Idaho were free of self-accusation. I remember no moment when I awakened and said: "I love him!" No, it had wormed its way into this deeper and deeper addiction until, accomplished fact, it must be accepted in every living moment. Like breathing... or heartbeats. A flaw? The Sisterhood is wrong!
"Wash my back," she said and laughed when the shower drenched his clothing. She helped him undress and there in the shower it happened once more: this uncontrollable compulsion, this male-female mingling that drove away everything except sensation. Only afterward could she remember and say to herself: He knows every technique I do. But it was more than technique. He wants to please me! Dear Gods of Dur! How was I ever this fortunate?
She clung to his neck while he carried her out of the shower and dropped her still wet onto her bed. She pulled him down beside her and they lay there quietly, letting their energies rebuild.
Presently, she whispered: "So the Missionaria will use Sheeana."
"Very dangerous."
"Puts the Sisterhood in an exposed position. I thought they always tried to avoid that."
"From my point of view, it's ludicrous."
"Because they intended you to control Sheeana?"