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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] program. She knew the names of some, but not all, of the other candidates, and knew as well that the Sisterhood didn't want simultaneous pregnancies in the program, fearing this might muddle the mating index. Mohiam did wonder, though, why she had been selected again, after the first failure. Her superiors hadn't explained it to her, and she knew better than to ask. And again, the Voices in Other Memory kept their counsel to themselves. Do the details matter? she wondered. I carry the requested daughter in my womb. A successful birth would elevate Mohiam's stature, might even result in her eventual election as Mother Superior by the proctors, when she got much older . . . depending on how important this daughter really was. She sensed the girl would be very important. Aboard the robo-piloted shuttle, she felt a sudden change of motion. Looking out the narrow window, she saw the horizon of Wallach IX lurch as the craft flipped over and plunged down, out of control. The safety field around her seat glimmered an unfamiliar, disconcerting yellow. Machine sounds, which had been limited to a smooth whir, now screamed through the cabin, hurting her ears. Lights blinked wildly on the control module ahead of her. The robo's movements were jerky and uncertain. She had been trained to handle crises, and her mind worked rapidly. Mohiam knew about occasional malfunctions on these shuttles -- statistically unlikely -- exacerbated by the lack of pilots with the ability to think and react. When a problem did occur -- and Mohiam felt herself in the midst of one now -- the potential for disaster was high. The shuttle plummeted, lurching and bucking. Clothlike scraps of cloud slapped the windows. The robo-pilot went through the same circular motions, unable to try anything new. The engine flared out, went silent. This can't be, Mohiam thought. Not now, not when I'm carrying this child. Viscerally, she felt that if she could just survive this, her baby would be healthy and would be the one so badly needed by the Sisterhood. But dark thoughts assailed her, and she began to tremble. Guild Navigators, such as the one in the Heighliner above her, utilized higher-order dimensional calculations, and they did so in order to see the future, enabling them to maneuver ships safely through the dangerous voids of foldspace. Had the Spacing Guild learned of the secret Bene Gesserit program, and did they fear it? As the shuttle hurtled toward disaster, an incredible array of possibilities tumbled through Mohiam's mind. The safety field around her stretched and grew more yellow. Her body pressed against it, threatening to break through. Holding her hands protectively over her womb, she felt a frantic desire to live, and for her unborn child to thrive -- and her thoughts went beyond the parochial concerns of a mother and child, to a much larger significance. She wondered if her suspicions might be totally in error. What if some higher force than either she or her Sisters could possibly imagine was behind this? Were the Bene Gesserit, through their breeding program, playing God? Did a real God -- regardless of the Sisterhood's cynicism and skepticism toward religion -- in fact exist? What a cruel joke that would be. The deformities of her first child, and now the impending death of this fetus and Mohiam, too . . . it all seemed to add up to something. But if so, who -- or what -- was behind this emergency? The Bene Gesserit did not believe in accidents or coincidences. " 'I must not fear,' " she intoned, her eyes closed. " 'Fear is the mind- killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.' " It was the Litany Against Fear, conceived in ancient times by a Bene Gesserit Sister and passed on to generation after generation. Mohiam took a deep breath, and felt her trembling subside. The shuttle held position momentarily, with her window pointed planetward. The engine sputtered again. She saw the continental mass approaching fast, and made out the sprawling Mother School complex, a labyrinthine white-stuccoed city with sienna roof tiles. Was the shuttle being sent out of control into the main school, with some terrible explosive force aboard? A single crash could wipe out the heart of the Sisterhood. Mohiam struggled against the safety field, but could not break free. The shuttle shifted, and the land disappeared from view. The window cocked upward to reveal the blue-white sun on the edge of the atmosphere. Then her safety field grew clear, and Mohiam realized that the shuttle had righted itself. The engine was on again, a sweet flow of machinery. In the front compartment, the robo-pilot moved with apparent efficiency, as if nothing had happened. One of its programmed emergency routines must have worked. As the shuttle set down smoothly on the ground in front of the grand plaza, Mohiam breathed a long sigh of relief. She rushed to the doorhatch, meaning to flee into the safety of the nearest building . . . but she paused, took a moment to compose herself, and then strode calmly out. A Reverend Mother had to maintain appearances. When she glided down the ramp, Sisters and acolytes swarmed protectively around her. Mother Superior demanded that the shuttle be impounded for a complete overhaul and investigation, seeking evidence of sabotage or confirmation of a simple malfunction. A brusque radio transmission from the Heighliner above, however, prevented this. Reverend Mother Anirul Sadow Tonkin stood waiting to greet Mohiam, beaming with pride, looking very young with her doelike face and short bronze hair. Mohiam had never understood Anirul's importance, though even the Mother Superior often showed her deference. The two women nodded to each other. In the midst of her fellow Sisters, Mohiam was escorted to a safe building; a large contingent of armed female guards had been posted to watch her. She would be pampered and observed carefully until the baby was due. "There will be no more travel for you, Mohiam," Mother Superior Harishka said. "You must remain safely here -- until we have your daughter." You of fearful heart, be strong and fear not. Behold, your God will come with a vengeance; He will come and save you from the worshipers of machines. -The Orange Catholic Bible In the concubines' wing of the Imperial Palace, throbbing massage machines slapped and kneaded bare skin, using scented oils to caress every glorious contour of the Emperor's women. Sophisticated physical-maintenance devices extracted cellulite, improved muscle tone, tautened abdomens and chins, and made tiny injections to soften the skin. Every detail had to be the way old Elrood preferred, though he didn't seem much interested anymore. Even the eldest of the four women, the septuagenarian Grera Cary, had the figure of a woman half her age, sustained in part through frequent imbibing of spice. Dawn's light was tinged amber by passing through the bank of thick armor-plaz [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |