Mentats of Dune

Dorotea bowed, accepting the decision, but Valya’s dark eyes remained wide in disbelief.

“There is more than enough for both of you to do,” Raquella continued. “Cooperate. Repeat that word over and over in your minds, and act it out. Cooperate. You are both Mother Superiors. Establish a division of responsibilities. Repair our splintered Sisterhood and make it strong again.”

Valya nodded slowly. “We will do our best, Mother Superior.”

Dorotea straightened at the old woman’s bedside, let out a long breath. “Agreed. Henceforth we will fight external enemies, not internal ones.”

A broad smile formed on Raquella’s creased face, and she suddenly looked less weary. “Now that the conflict is resolved among my Sisters, I am content.” She breathed a sigh of relief and appeared to be near tears, as if she could finally let go after a lifetime of hard work.

Raquella beckoned Dorotea closer. “Before I go, there is something I want to share with you, Granddaughter.” She pressed a forefinger against her own temple. “Lean close, very close, and touch your forehead to me … here. You have Other Memories, but you don’t have all of mine.”

Dorotea hesitated, then complied. As their skin touched, she felt a sudden flash, like the opening of a floodgate. Information and memories rushed into her mind in a transfer of vast knowledge, a wealth of past lives and experiences. She received her grandmother’s hopes and dreams for the Sisterhood — all of the information Raquella had withheld — and now she learned with a certainty that there were computers here on Wallach IX! She nearly recoiled at the revelation, but before she could pull back, the Mother Superior pressed a gnarled hand against the back of her head, holding her in place with surprising strength.

With the information came a broader understanding, astonishing conclusions … until the flow of data gradually stopped. Thoughts flashed and dimmed, then faded — as Mother Superior Raquella herself faded. Moments later, she was gone.

Dorotea blinked her eyes, then raised herself from the bed to find Raquella dead, looking peaceful but empty.

Dizzy with the terrible loss, Fielle held on to the wall for support as she stumbled out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

Valya, still in disbelief, stared at the Mother Superior’s body, then at Dorotea. She seemed numbed by the shock of the tremendous loss.

But Dorotea now had everything. She grasped the fantastic scope of Raquella’s work — her dreams, her ambitions, her complex plans. Despite her previous horror of computers, Dorotea reluctantly vowed to respect her grandmother’s wishes, and focus on what was needed to fulfill Raquella’s vision for humankind. She understood so much more now! Dorotea possessed the information, and the strength, to build the Sisterhood into the grand and powerful organization it deserved to be — united and far-reaching.

But if she and Valya were supposed to be partners, each a Mother Superior sharing the responsibility for leadership, why had Raquella given only Dorotea her full life and memories? In order to be equals, she and Valya should have the same resources, the same knowledge.

Had the Mother Superior sensed something … perhaps that Sister Valya was not quite as trustworthy?

Reeling, Dorotea delved into her new knowledge, trying to decipher the ancient woman’s thought processes, but there was such a wealth of information that she would need a great deal of time to sort it out and ponder it. Perhaps during the long flight back to Salusa Secundus to inform the orthodox Sisters at the Imperial Court, she could make sense of it all.

Their reverie was interrupted by Dorotea’s own internal turmoil of Other Memory. The ancestral voices became chaotic and clamorous. The awakened voices of her ancestors — including Raquella herself — were screaming at her. A warning!

Dorotea became aware of Valya standing there at the dead Mother Superior’s bedside, looking at her in a most peculiar, unsettling way.

VALYA STRUGGLED WITH what the Mother Superior had just decreed. After all this waiting, all the years of proving herself, she was supposed to share power with the woman who had wrecked the Rossak school?

It made no sense at all. And Raquella had clasped Dorotea close in some strange final embrace just before she died. That had not been equal at all, and Valya had no faith in the traitor Sister, regardless of the platitudes they had exchanged. She was poison.

Dorotea seemed dazed as she reeled back from the deathbed. Valya could hear a distraught Fielle weeping out in the corridor through the closed door.

Valya would have to act quickly. She had the correct goals, and the determination to complete them. Only as the sole Mother Superior could she achieve everything she desired, both for the Sisterhood … and for House Harko

Dorotea looked up at her from Raquella’s silent body, drew a long breath. “The future of the Sisterhood is up to us now.”

“You are mistaken. It is up to me.”

Valya had taken Dorotea’s measure, her physical reactions, her reflexes … her weaknesses and anticipated resistance points. Dorotea was an especially strong person, and a Reverend Mother Truthsayer. Sharpening her Voice into a well-honed and perfectly aimed weapon, she spoke with all the power she could summon. “Don’t move!”

The words froze Dorotea. Valya knew this would be harder than when she had paralyzed Master Placido on Ginaz or directed the commando Sisters on Rossak. For an instant, Dorotea could not move a muscle except for a slight, alarmed widening of her eyes. The traitorous Sister could do nothing more than watch in surprise and horror as Valya calmly removed a knife from her own robe, and raised it like a viper preparing to strike. She said, “Take this from me.”

Like a puppet, Dorotea accepted the knife, fumbling her fingers around the hilt. She had never encountered such an assault before, had no experience in resisting it.

Valya felt a flush of excitement. She remembered thinking that her compelling Voice might be boosted by the power of Other Memory she carried within herself, all those other experiences, that wisdom, that power. It was a visceral feeling she had, because the throaty sound was so similar to a background rumble she often heard in her mind. So far, Valya seemed to be the only Sister who could do this.

“Now drive it into your throat!”

Dorotea struggled with herself, and her arms trembled as the knife lifted up and wavered, its point targeted on the hollow of her neck. She tried to yank the blade away. Regaining some control, she took a lurching step toward Valya, her eyes ablaze, sweat pouring from her brow. She managed to turn the blade away and shove it toward Valya, but despite the effort, Dorotea’s hands turned the blade back toward herself.

Valya leaned close and commanded, “Drive it into your throat! Now!”

Dorotea fought back. The knife wavered in the air; the hilt was slick with sweat. Finally, with a gasp as if something had broken inside her, Dorotea let out a despairing cry and rammed the knife deep into her neck.

With only a thin gasp as the blood gushed, she collapsed across the body of Raquella Berto-Anirul and died — granddaughter and grandmother dead within moments of each other.

Valya stood over the treacherous Sister, thinking that this was but a small repayment for all the damage the woman had done on Rossak. All those Sisters dead …

The blade was lodged in the base of Dorotea’s throat, her dead fingers wrapped securely around the hilt. Poor Dorotea, overwhelmed by grief and unable to face the huge responsibilities placed upon her, had committed suicide. It was obvious to anyone who looked.