Damn that Miles Teg! Three months of silence, and no favorable report from Burzmali, either. Charred ground, signs of a no-ship’s lift-off. Where could Teg have gone? The ghola might be dead. Teg had never before done such a thing. Old Reliability. That was why she had chosen him. That and his military skills and his likeness to the old Duke Leto—all of the things they had prepared in him.
Teg and Lucilla. A perfect team.
If not dead, was the ghola beyond their reach? Did the Tleilaxu have him? Attackers from the Scattering? Many things were possible. Old Reliability. Silent. Was his silence a message? If so, what was he trying to say?
With both Schwangyu and Patrin dead, there was the smell of conspiracy around the Gammu events. Could Teg be someone planted long ago by the Sisterhood’s enemies? Impossible! His own family was proof against such doubts. Teg’s daughter at the family home was as mystified as anyone.
Three months now and not a word.
Caution. She had warned Teg to exercise the utmost caution in protecting the ghola. Teg had seen the great danger on Gammu. Schwangyu’s last reports made that clear.
Where could Teg and Lucilla have taken the ghola?
Where had they acquired a no-ship? Conspiracy?
Taraza’s mind kept circling around her deep suspicions. Was it Odrade’s doing? Then who conspired with Odrade? Lucilla? Odrade and Lucilla had never met before that brief encounter on Gammu. Or had they? Who bent close to Odrade and breathed a mutual air weighted with whispers? Odrade gave no sign, but what proof was that? Lucilla’s loyalty had never been doubted. They both functioned perfectly as assigned. But so would conspirators.
Facts! Taraza hungered for facts. The bed rustled beneath her and her sense-insulation collapsed, shattered by worries as much as by the sound of her own movements. Resignedly, Taraza once more composed herself for relaxation.
Relaxation and
Ships from the Scattering flitted through Taraza’s fatigue-fogged imagination. Lost Ones returned in their uncounted no-ships. Was that where Teg found a ship? This possibility was being explored as quietly as they could on Gammu and elsewhere. She tried counting imaginary ships but they refused to proceed in the orderly fashion required for sleep induction. Taraza came alert without moving on her cot.
Her deepest mind was trying to reveal something. Fatigue had blocked that path of communication but now—she sat up fully awake.
The Tleilaxu had been dealing with people returned from the Scattering. With these whorish Honored Matres and with returned Bene Tleilax as well. Taraza sensed a single design behind events. The Lost Ones did not return out of simple curiosity about their roots. The gregarious desire to reunite all of humankind was not enough in itself to bring them back. The Honored Matres clearly came with dreams of conquest.
But what if the Tleilaxu sent out in the Scattering had not carried with them the secret of the axlotl tanks? What then? Melange. The orange-eyed whores obviously used an inadequate substitute. The people of the Scattering might not have solved the mystery of the Tleilaxu tanks. They
She began to explore this projection.
The Lost Ones ran out of the true melange their ancestors took into the Scattering. What sources did they have then? The worms of Rakis and the original Bene Tleilax. The whores would not dare reveal their true interest. Their ancestors believed that the worms could not be transplanted. Was it possible the Lost Ones had found a suitable planet for the worms? Of course it was possible. They might begin bargaining with the Tleilaxu as a diversion. Rakis would be their real target. Or the reverse could be true.
She had seen Teg’s reports on the wealth being accumulated on Gammu. Some among the ones returning had coinages and other negotiable chips. That much was plain from the banking activities.
What greater currency was there, though, than the spice?
Wealth. That was it, of course. And whatever the chips, the bargaining had begun.
Taraza grew aware of voices outside her door. The acolyte Sleep-Guard was arguing with someone. The voices were low but Taraza heard enough to bring her into full alert.
“She left a wake-up for late morning,” the Sleep-Guard protested.
Someone else whispered: “She said she was to be told the moment I returned.”
“I tell you she is very tired. She needs—”
“She needs to be obeyed! Tell her I’m back!”
Taraza sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. Her feet found the floor. Gods! How her knees ached. It pained her, too, that she could not place the intruding whisper, the person arguing with her guard.
“I’m awake,” Taraza called.
Her door opened and the Sleep-Guard leaned in. “Mother Superior, Burzmali has returned from Gammu.”
