Sheeana had managed to make her rooms reflect herself. A standard Bene Gesserit cot had been covered with a bright orange and umber spread. A black-on-white line drawing of a sandworm, head-on with all of its crystal teeth displayed, filled an end wall. Sheeana had drawn it, relying on Other Memory and her Dune childhood to guide her hand.
It said something about Sheeana that she had not attempted a more ambitious rendering - full color, perhaps, and in traditional desert setting. Just the worm and a hint of sand beneath it, a tiny robed human in the foreground.
Herself?
Admirable restraint and a constant reminder of why she was here. A deep impression of nature.
Nature makes no bad art?
It was a statement too glib to accept.
What do we mean by "nature?"
She had seen atrocious natural wilderness: brittle trees looking as though they had been dipped in faulty green pigment and left on a tundra's edge to dry into ugly parodies. Repellent. Hard to imagine such trees having any purpose. And blindworms... slimy yellow skins. Where was the art in them? Temporary stopping place on evolution's journey elsewhere. Did the intervention of humans always make a difference? Sligs! The Bene Tleilax had produced something disgusting there.
Admiring Sheeana's drawing, Odrade decided certain combinations offended particular human senses. Sligs as food were delectable. Ugly combinations touched early experiences. Experiences judged.
Bad thing!
Much of what we think of as ART caters to desires for reassurance. Don't offend me! I know what I can accept.
How did this drawing reassure Sheeana?
Sandworm: blind power guarding hidden riches. Artistry in mystic beauty.
It was reported that Sheeana joked about her assignment. " I am shepherd to worms that may never exist."
And even if they did appear, it would be years before any achieved the size indicated by her drawing. Was it her voice from the tiny figure in front of the worm?
"This will come in time."
An odor of melange pervaded the room, stronger than usual in a Reverend Mother's quarters. Odrade passed a searching look across the furnishings: chairs, worktable, illumination from anchored glowglobes - everything placed where it would serve to advantage. But what was that oddly shaped mound of black plaz in the corner? More of Sheeana's work?
These rooms fitted Sheeana, Odrade decided. Little other than the drawing to recall her origins but the view out any window might have been from Dar-es-Balat deep in Dune's drylands.
A small rustling sound at the doorway alerted Odrade. She turned and there was Sheeana. Almost shy the way she peered around the door before entering Mother Superior's presence.
Motion as words: "So she did come to my rooms. Good. Someone might have been careless with my invitation."
Odrade's readied senses tingled with Sheeana's presence. The youngest-ever Reverend Mother. You often thought of Quiet Little Sheeana. She was not always quiet nor was she small but the label stuck. She was not even mousy, but frequently quiet like a rodent waiting at the edge of a field for the farmer to leave. Then the mouse would come darting out to glean fallen grains.
Sheeana came fully into the room and stopped less than a pace from Odrade. "We've been too long apart, Mother Superior."
Odrade's first impression was oddly jumbled.
Candor and concealment?
Sheeana stood quietly receptive.
This descendant of Siona Atreides had developed an interesting face under the Bene Gesserit patina. Maturity working on her according to both Sisterhood and Atreides designs. Marks of many decisions firmly taken. The slender, dark-skinned waif with sun-streaked brown hair had become this poised Reverend Mother. Skin still dark from long hours in the open. Hair still sun-streaked. The eyes, though - the steely total blue that said: "I have been through the Agony."
What is it I sense in her?
Chapter Eighteen
Sheeana saw the look on Odrade's face (Bene Gesserit naivete!) and knew this was the long-feared confrontation.
There can be no defense except my truth and I hope she stops short of a full confession!
Odrade watched her former student with exquisite care, every sense open.
Fear! What do I sense? Something when she spoke?
The steadiness of Sheeana's voice had been shaped into the powerful instrument Odrade had anticipated at their first meeting. Sheeana's original nature (a Fremen nature if there ever was one!) had been curbed and redirected. That core of vindictiveness smoothed out. Her capacity for love and hatred brought under tight reins.
Why do I get the impression she wants to hug me?
Odrade felt suddenly vulnerable.
This woman has been inside my defenses. No way to exclude her totally ever again.
Tamalane's judgment came to mind: "She is one of those who keeps herself to herself. Remember Sister Schwangyu? Like that one but better at it. Sheeana knows where she is going. We'll have to watch her carefully. Atreides blood, you know."
"I'm Atreides, too, Tam."
"Don't think we ever forget it! You think we'd just stand idly by if Mother Superior chose to breed on her own? There are limits to our tolerance, Dar."
"Indeed, this visit is long overdue, Sheeana."
Odrade's tone alerted Sheeana. She stared back suddenly with that look the Sisterhood called "BG placid," than which there probably was nothing more placid in the universe, nothing more completely a mask of what occurred behind it. This was not just a barrier, it was a nothing. Anything on this mask would be transgression. This, in itself, was betrayal. Sheeana realized it immediately and responded with laughter.
" I knew you would come probing! The hand-talk with Duncan, right?" Please, Mother Superior! Accept this.