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Scytale felt a deep wariness. Her words fitted themselves so neatly into her claim that the Bene Gesserit sought only to perfect human society. So she thought she could teach him! Another typical: "They see themselves as teachers."
When he expressed doubt of this claim, she said, "Naturally we build up pressures in societies we influence. We do it that we may direct those pressures."
"I find this discordant," he complained.
"Why Master Scytale! It's a very common pattern. Governments often do this to produce violence against chosen targets. You did it yourselves! And see where it got you."
So she dares claim the Tleilaxu brought this calamity on themselves!
"We follow the lesson of the Great Messenger," she said, using the Islamiyat for the Prophet Leto II. The words sounded alien on her lips, but he was taken aback. She knew how all Tleilaxu revered the Prophet.
But I have heard these women call Him Tyrant!
Still speaking Islamiyat, she demanded, "Was it not His goal to divert violence, producing a lesson of value to all?"
Does she joke about the Great Belief?
"That is why we accepted him," she said. "He did not play by our rules but he played for our goal."
She dared say she accepted the Prophet!
He did not challenge her, although the provocation was great. A delicate thing, a Reverend Mother's view of herself and her behavior. He suspected they constantly readjusted this view, never bouncing far in any direction. No self-hate, no self-love. Confidence, yes. Maddening self-confidence. But that did not require hate or love. Only a cool head, every judgment ready for correction, just as she claimed. It would seldom require praise. A job well done? Well, what else did you expect?
"Bene Gesserit training strengthens the character." That was Folk Wisdom's most popular typical.
He tried to start an argument with her on this. "Isn't Honored Matres' conditioning the same as yours? Look at Murbella!"
"Is it generalities you want, Scytale?" Was that amusement in her tone?
"A collision between two conditioning systems, isn't that a good way to view this confrontation?" he ventured.
"And the more powerful will emerge victorious, of course."
Definitely sneering!
"Isn't that how it always works?" His anger not well bridled.
"Must a Bene Gesserit remind a Tleilaxu that subtleties are another kind of weapon? Have you not practiced deception? A feigned weakness to deflect your enemies and lead them into traps? Vulnerabilities can be created."
Of course! She knows about the eons of Tleilaxu deception, creating an image of inept stupidities.
"So that's how you expect to deal with our foes?"
"We intend to punish them, Scytale."
Such implacable determination!
New things he learned about the Bene Gesserit filled him with misgivings.
Odrade, taking him for a well-guarded afternoon stroll in the cold winter outside the ship (burly Proctors just a pace behind), stopped to watch a small procession coming from Central. Five Bene Gesserit women, two of them acolytes by their white-trimmed robes, but the other three in an unrelieved gray not known to him. They wheeled a cart into one of the orchards. A frigid wind blew across them. A few old leaves whipped from the dark branches. The cart bore a long bundle shrouded in white. A body? It was the right shape.
When he asked, Odrade regaled him with an account of Bene Gesserit burial practices.
If there was a body to bury, it was done with the casual dispatch he now witnessed. No Reverend Mother ever had an obituary or wanted time-wasting rituals. Did her memory not live on in her Sisters?
He started to argue that this was irreverent but she cut him off.
"Given the phenomenon of death, all attachments in life are temporary! We modify that somewhat in Other Memory. You did a similar thing, Scytale. And now we incorporate some of your abilities in our bag of tricks. Oh, yes! That's the way we think of such knowledge. It merely modifies the pattern."
"An irreverent practice!"
"Nothing irreverent about it. Into the dirt they go where, at least, they can become fertilizer." And she continued to describe the scene without giving him a chance for further protests.
They had this regular routine he now observed, she said. A large mechanical auger was wheeled into the orchard, where it drilled a suitable hole in the earth. The corpse, bound in that cheap cloth, was buried vertically and an orchard tree planted over it. Orchards were laid out in grid patterns, a cenotaph at one corner where the locations of burials were recorded. He saw the cenotaph when she pointed it out, a square green thing about three meters high.
"I think that body's being buried at about C-21," she said, watching the auger at work while the burial team waited, leaning against the cart. "That one will fertilize an apple tree." She sounded ungodly happy about it!
As they watched the auger withdraw and the cart being tipped, the body sliding into the hole, Odrade began to hum.
Scytale was surprised. "You said the Bene Gesserit avoided music."
"Just an old ditty."
The Bene Gesserit remained a puzzle and, more than ever, he saw the weakness of typicals. How could you bargain with people whose patterns did not follow an acceptable path? You might think you understood them and then they shot off in a new direction. They were untypical! Trying to understand them disrupted his sense of order. He was certain he had not received anything real in all of this bargaining. A bit more freedom that was actually the illusion of freedom. Nothing he really wanted came from this cold-faced witch! It was tantalizing to try piecing together any substance from what he knew about the Bene Gesserit. There was, for instance, the claim they did without most bureaucratic systems and record keeping. Except for Bellonda's Archives, of course, and every time he mentioned those, Odrade said "Heaven guard us!" or something equivalent.
"Now he asked how do you maintain yourselves without officials and records?" He was deeply puzzled.
"A thing needs doing, we do it. Bury a Sister?" She pointed to the scene in the orchard where shovels had been brought into play and dirt was being tamped on the grave.
"That's how it's done and there's always someone around who's responsible. They know who they are."
"Who... who takes care of this unwholesome...?"
"It's not unwholesome! It's part of our education. Failed Sisters usually supervise. Acolytes do the work."
"Don't they... I mean, isn't this distasteful to them? Failed Sisters, you say. And acolytes. It would seem to be more of a punishment than..."
"Punishment! Come, come, Scytale. Have you only one song to sing?" She pointed at the burial party. "After their apprenticeship, all of our people willingly accept their jobs."
"But no... ahhh, bureaucratic..."
"We're not stupid!"
Again, he did not understand, but she responded to his silent puzzlement.
"Surely you know bureaucracies always become voracious aristocracies after they attain commanding power."
He had difficulty seeing the relevance. Where was she leading him?
When he remained silent, she said: "Honored Matres have all the marks of bureaucracy. Ministers of this, Great Honored Matres of that, a powerful few at the top and many functionaries below. They already are full of adolescent hungers. Like voracious predators, they never consider how they exterminate their prey. A tight relationship: Reduce the numbers of those upon whom you feed and you bring your own structure crashing down."
He found it difficult to believe the witches really saw Honored Matres this way and said so.
"If you survive, Scytale, you will see my words made real. Great cries of rage by those unthinking women at the necessity to retrench. Much new effort to wring the most out of their prey. Capture more of them! Squeeze them harder! It will just mean quicker extermination. Idaho says they're already in the die-back stage."