But ... as Mother Superior, Jessica knew she could change the focus of the whole Sisterhood, take them back from the brink, restore an order that had existed for more than ten millennia. She could change their teachings and rectify the mistakes that they had perpetuated. The consequences, the benefits, benefits, were immeasurable. were immeasurable.

But she would not do it at the cost of betraying her son.

Jessica forced a wave of cold calmness through her body, summoning prana-bindu techniques to slow her breathing. She needed to leave the Mother School, but now she worried about what the Sisters would do to her if she refused them outright.

Harishka swayed on her feet, and Medical Sister Yohsa steadied her. "We realize this is a difficult decision for you, but remember your training. Think about all we taught you, all the things that you know know. Do not let your love as a mother blind you to the ruin your son is causing. Make the right choice, or all of our futures are forfeit." Her dark eyes glittered with intensity.

Jessica clung to her dignity as she left the chamber. "I will give you my answer in due course."

Exile is among the cruelest of acts, for it separates the heart from the body.

-SHADDAM CORRINO IV

Though she would have preferred to be away from the insistent eyes of the Sisters, Mohiam wanted Jessica to stay long enough to attend the Night Vigil two evenings hence. And Jessica knew the Bene Gesserits would continue to pressure her.

She was determined to keep her faith in her son, but she would have been stronger in that resolve if she didn't have some of the same doubts that others had voiced. Jessica wished she understood him better. Her intellect could achieve superiority over her emotions, but only if she had reasons. She scorned people who exhibited glaze-eyed faith, but now she exhibited the same behavior as the fanatics who blinded themselves to reason and accepted the myth that Muad'Dib was infallible. If she refused to consider that he might be wrong, might be misled by his own delusions, how was her devotion to him any different?

Because he is Paul, she thought to herself. She realized how foolish she had been, how blind to reality. Because he is Paul. Because he is Paul.

Jessica kept to her own thoughts and avoided socializing with the other Sisters. The cold days on the Bene Gesserit home world carried a whisper of snow that blew but did not settle. Bundled in a thick coat, she followed a path through the lower gardens of rare orchids, star roses, and rugged but exotic vegetable flora from Grand Hain, all of which flourished in the cool climate. Despite the chill in the air, the blossoms unfolded in the weak morning sunlight. flourished in the cool climate. Despite the chill in the air, the blossoms unfolded in the weak morning sunlight.

Hearing sudden screeching sounds, she ducked as a flock of songbirds flew low to the ground, streaked past her, and dropped into a thicket of shrubbery. Before she could see what had disturbed them, a rush of powerful winds whipped her hair and clothing, seeming to come from all around her.

A number of tall, thin wind funnels twice her height whirled toward her from a shaded area, brightening as if they collected available sunlight and used it for energy. Jessica spotted more of the whirling objects coming toward her. Dust devils? Contained whirlwinds? Some kind of bizarre attack, treachery from the Sisters?

She threw herself p.r.o.ne in the path, wary but curious, and the whirling funnels circled her, their progress stalled. The small tornadoes were stunning to behold, with hypnotic rainbows of morphing color, like crystalline life-forms. Additional funnels circled and danced over a nearby conservatory building, the only shelter in sight, knocking loose some of the plaz panels.

Lurching to her feet and keeping her head low, Jessica ran toward the building, darting through the dark s.p.a.ces between the funnels. As she went through, the winds clawed at her, trying to drag her one direction or another, but she struggled to the conservatory. Just as she ducked into the doorway, a loose plaz panel shot past her and shattered against the hard wall.

Inside the building, she looked up through gaps in the ceiling where roof panels were broken or missing. The predatory whirlwinds kept circling until a loud, percussive noise sounded, and the funnels abruptly disappeared. Blue sky appeared overhead, leaving the garden grounds strewn with broken plants and debris.

"Quite a show," said a female voice. "Residual psychic energy. It's been doing that around here recently."

Jessica saw a brown-haired woman with creased skin and sepia eyes, weary eyes ... a familiar face from long ago. She caught her breath, so surprised that it took her a moment to recognize the woman. "Tessia? Tessia! Tessia!"

Rhombur's wife had aged perceptibly, as if she had barely emerged alive from a personal crucible. She came forward to take Jessica's hands in her own. Tessia was shaking, either from fear or from exhaustion. "No need hide your surprise. I know what's happened to me." in her own. Tessia was shaking, either from fear or from exhaustion. "No need hide your surprise. I know what's happened to me."

"Are you all right? We sent so many inquiries, but no one would say what had happened to you. The Sisterhood turned down my requests for information. How long have you been ... awake? And after what happened to poor Rhombur, Bronso broke off all contact with House Atreides for the past twelve years." She wondered if Tessia even knew how the cyborg prince had been killed in Balut's Theater of Shards.

And what did she mean by residual psychic energy? Had the Sisters been tampering and testing, developing new skills? A weapon? And would that weapon be used against Paul? Jessica didn't trust them.

Before she could ask, two Bene Gesserit proctors rushed along the walkway in the aftermath of the bizarre windstorm. Seeing them, Tessia drew Jessica farther into the dimly lit conservatory. "This is my velvet-lined prison. I have recovered, but not entirely in the way the Sisters expected. I'm the only person ever to emerge from the h.e.l.l of a guilt-casting." She glanced around uneasily.

Only a few rumors had leaked out about the Bene Gesserit guilt-casters, and most people did not believe in their existence. "We thought the Ixian technocrats had used some sort of weapon on your mind." Now Jessica understood what had happened to Rhombur's wife on that night in the Grand Palais. If not for the consequences of the guilt-casting, Bronso would never have had a falling out with his father, would never have fled with Paul, and on and on, ripples upon ripples. Hard resentment seeped into Jessica's words. "Rhombur sent you here in hopes you could be saved."

Tessia shook her head. "It was Reverend Mother Stokiah-a weapon from their psychic a.r.s.enal. My own Sisterhood crushed me and took me from my husband ... and now he is dead." Her voice hitched, and Jessica heard the wind suddenly pick up outside.

"What did they want that was so important? What was worth such a tremendous cost?"

"A little thing, actually. They wanted me to be a breeding mother, but I defied their commands, and so they punished me. It did me no good to resist. They needed only my body, only my womb. Not my mind. Even while I was unconscious, they impregnated me. My body gave them the children they wanted." Her voice held heavy bitterness. " 'I am Bene Gesserit: I exist only to serve.' At least Rhombur didn't live long enough to find out about it. He never knew. Oh, how I miss him." Gesserit: I exist only to serve.' At least Rhombur didn't live long enough to find out about it. He never knew. Oh, how I miss him."

Jessica could not conceal her revulsion. What the Sisterhood had done to this woman, her friend! And now those same women were trying to convince Jessica to destroy Paul? These same women wanted to make her their Mother Superior? If she accepted their offer, she could put an end to breeding abuses ... but to accept their terms would make Jessica a monster.

Tessia continued in a dreamy voice, as if her mind were far away. "It took years. I saved myself ... I found my own way out of the darkness where their guilt-caster threw me."

Jessica's stomach knotted. "Does Bronso know where you are now? Can he help?"

"I've managed to smuggle out several messages. He knows what has happened to me, but what can he do? He is barely a figurehead on Ix these days. He has no real power and could never stand against the Sisterhood. He is as trapped as I am." She shook her head. "It's the fall of House Vernius."

Jessica hugged the other woman, held her close for a long time. "I wish I could get you out of here, but that is not in my power."

However, if she were Mother Superior, she could do so....

Tessia smiled mysteriously. "Someday, I will find a way. I have already escaped from the mental prison they imposed on me, and oh, they would love to know how I did it. Now they test their techniques on me, alternately showing me compa.s.sion and then pummeling me with guilt. Even their guilt-casters don't understand."

"They continue to experiment on you?"

"Medical Sister Yohsa constantly tries to deconstruct my mind and build it back up the way the Sisterhood wants it, not the way I want it. But I know ways to deflect their attempts. Those mental defenses are mine, and I won't surrender them-not after what they did to me."

Tessia looked from side to side. By the whisper-rush of wind in the courtyard, Jessica heard what must have been another small, strange tornado, and the sharp cries of Bene Gesserits scattering in alarm. Apparently, the residual psychic energy was not completely under control.

Leaning close, Tessia whispered. "What do they want from you, you, Jessica? And will you give it to them? If not, you could be a target yourself. Have you defied them? You will-I know you. Then the guilt-casters will come for you." Tessia's voice came out in a desperate flood as she clutched Jessica's shoulders. "Listen to me! You must block your thoughts and prepare yourself ahead of time. Build up a bastion of powerful memories, a s.h.i.+eld of good things. Have it Jessica? And will you give it to them? If not, you could be a target yourself. Have you defied them? You will-I know you. Then the guilt-casters will come for you." Tessia's voice came out in a desperate flood as she clutched Jessica's shoulders. "Listen to me! You must block your thoughts and prepare yourself ahead of time. Build up a bastion of powerful memories, a s.h.i.+eld of good things. Have it ready ready at the forefront of your mind. Use it to guard yourself. They will not suspect you can stand against them, even for a moment. Guilt-casting is a psychic storm, but it can be weathered." at the forefront of your mind. Use it to guard yourself. They will not suspect you can stand against them, even for a moment. Guilt-casting is a psychic storm, but it can be weathered."

Jessica knew she might need the information. "Teach me how-please."

Tessia touched her own forehead, closed her eyes, and released a long sigh. "Let me show you what you need to know."

The very act of breathing is a miracle.

-teaching of the Suk School

An unusually warm wind blew in from the sea. Gurney had been hoping for heavy rain to discourage the crowds arriving for the scheduled rally, but as he looked up at the patches of blue sky, the clouds seemed to be scattering.

Jessica had been right to warn him about what the people might do. Mayor Horvu and his enthusiastic followers did not begin to comprehend the poisonous snake with which they were playing. In the name of Duke Leto, though, Gurney would try to use a compa.s.sionate, paternal touch. If it would only work....

Wearing his best n.o.ble outfit for the occasion, Gurney stood scowling with a small group of local officials on a raised suspensor platform at the edge of Cala City's largest park. Over the past hour, an enthusiastic and boisterous crowd had gathered on the expanse of gra.s.s and starry flowers.

He wished he'd learned exactly what the clumsy rebels had in mind. With his disarming, often oblivious, smile, Mayor Horvu promised that this would be a peaceful demonstration, and Gurney wasn't sure what to do about it. He had called in soldiers to keep order, should some of the crowd become unruly.

After Jessica's complaints of damage done by pilgrims in previous months, Paul had stationed Imperial security forces on Caladan. Though Gurney didn't know the men well, they had been efficient and dedicated, as far as he could determine, but they were still offworlders. Today, especially, perhaps a more objective security force was best.... months, Paul had stationed Imperial security forces on Caladan. Though Gurney didn't know the men well, they had been efficient and dedicated, as far as he could determine, but they were still offworlders. Today, especially, perhaps a more objective security force was best....

Consumed with self-importance, Horvu had issued himself and his followers an unrestricted permit, according to the rules of the town charter. This seemed like a conflict of interest to Gurney, but the Mayor happily clung to outdated images of the way local politics worked in relation to the Imperial government.

"The people of Caladan know what they are doing, Earl Halleck," the priest Sintra had said. Though pleased to see how many people had come to the rally, he was bothered that Gurney had chosen to bring armed guards rather than join them in their cause. "You have served House Atreides for a long time, my Lord, but you were not born here. You cannot possibly understand true Caladan issues."

Gurney was surprised at how efficiently this demonstration was organized, since Horvu and his followers were not known to have these skills. It was almost as if they had outside help. As the size of the crowd in the park increased, Gurney grew increasingly anxious. His soldier guards might not be able to impose order if the throng got out of hand.

Gurney looked around for Horvu. He doubted the old Mayor would be much of a firebrand, but that didn't make him any less problematic. Gurney didn't want Paul's homeworld to become another battlefield. Large groups of people, especially those with an agenda, were too malleable, their moods too easily swayed, their emotions too quick to turn. He'd seen the armies of Muad'Dib driven to frenzy because their pa.s.sionate sense of rightness made them deaf to any concerns except the ones being pumped into them. If the local crowd got out of hand, that could in turn trigger his Imperial soldiers into uncontrollable, violent retaliation on behalf of Muad'Dib.

His soldier guards were veterans, but they did not know the character of these families who had been here for generations, the good-hearted people of Caladan who were now being misled by a Mayor who had no common sense.

As he looked out at the restless crowd who believed they had found an easy solution that their beloved Paul Atreides would honor, Gurney tried to recall the way he used to be: strong, valiant, and a.s.sertive in causes that mattered, writing heroic ballads for the baliset, going off to fight for House Atreides wherever duty sent him. His missed those days, but knew he could never go back to them. Sometimes now, he liked to spend time with his music as an escape, a refuge that made him forget the horrible realities from his past. causes that mattered, writing heroic ballads for the baliset, going off to fight for House Atreides wherever duty sent him. His missed those days, but knew he could never go back to them. Sometimes now, he liked to spend time with his music as an escape, a refuge that made him forget the horrible realities from his past.

Several weeks ago, while sharing a pint of kelp beer with the patrons of a public house, he had picked up his instrument and begun to strum. The bartender had called across the heads of the crowd in the pub, "It's time for you to sing us a new song, Gurney Halleck. How about 'The Ballad of Muad'Dib'?"

People had chuckled, urging him on, but Gurney resisted. "That story is not yet finished. You'll just have to wait, men."

In reality, it wasn't a song he had any interest in writing. Though Gurney would never utter his opinion to anyone, he felt that "Muad'Dib" had fallen too far from glory to be worthy of such heroic words. It left him with a feeling of loss, on a personal level.

Paul may be the Emperor Muad'Dib, Gurney thought. Gurney thought. But he is not Duke Leto But he is not Duke Leto.

Now part of the crowd made an opening on the gra.s.sy expanse, and Gurney saw the mayor making his way through, waving at people as he approached the suspensor platform. When Horvu stepped onto the lowered platform, he scolded Gurney, as if he were a child, "Earl Halleck, you will have to remove your soldiers. What kind of message does this send?" He scowled at the armed men stationed prominently around the park. "We've already sent our proclamation to the Emperor on Arrakis. This is just a celebration, a reinforcement of our resolve."

"If it's just a celebration, then go to the pubs and eating establishments," Gurney suggested. "If you disperse now, I'll even buy the first round for everyone." He didn't think the offer would work.

Sintra shook his head. "The people are quite pleased with how they have stood up to fanaticism and bureaucracy. Give them their moment of triumph here."

"It's not a triumph until Muad'Dib accepts your declaration." Gurney knew that wasn't likely to happen.

Wary but watchful, he stepped off the platform and motioned for his soldiers to accompany him to a cordoned-off clearing. As they moved away, the suspensor platform rose into the air and floated over the heads of the crowd, with Mayor Horvu waving down at them. soldiers to accompany him to a cordoned-off clearing. As they moved away, the suspensor platform rose into the air and floated over the heads of the crowd, with Mayor Horvu waving down at them.

The commander of the offworld troops, a bator named Nissal, removed his cap and wiped perspiration from his brow. "The mayor claims he's just going to give a speech, sir."

"Wars can be started with a speech, Bator. Keep everyone on alert."

Shouting into a voice pickup, the priest called for the people to follow the platform as it glided through a wide opening in the park's trees. The audience moved with it from below, some running, some laughing, as if it were all a game.

Caught unprepared by the movement, Gurney called into his comm, "Bring in spotter aircraft. Have our people flank them and watch them, but don't let them do anything foolish. Remember the old phrase, 'Fools can cause more damage through reckless ignorance than an army can achieve with a coordinated a.s.sault.' "

Shouting encouragement, Mayor Horvu guided the crowd out of the park and down to the old fis.h.i.+ng village, where the people gathered on the docks and on the rocky beaches at low tide. He hovered his platform over the water; many boats came in close, for the speech.

"We have members of every cla.s.s, every profession here!" The public address system amplified Horvu's voice. "I have been your Mayor for decades, and I have earned your trust. Now I wish to earn your support. While we wait to hear from Emperor Paul Atreides, we must display our conviction and our strength. We'll show outsiders what the people of Caladan can do."

As Gurney listened with growing dismay, Horvu and the priest alternated their rallying cry. First, they urged fishermen to show their solidarity by not launching their boats, not bringing in the catch. They referred to pet.i.tions in support of Caladan's independence that were at that moment being circulated widely across the town, and the fact that merchants would refuse to sell goods to any person who had not affixed a signature.

This was very disturbing to Gurney, and it got worse. The Mayor declared that Jihad pilgrims were to be turned back from Caladan henceforth, no longer welcome unless Paul gave the planet an acceptable form of autonomy. henceforth, no longer welcome unless Paul gave the planet an acceptable form of autonomy.

One of the soldiers spoke into the comm, startling the already edgy Gurney. "My Lord, they've shut down the main s.p.a.ceport. Their people have scrambled the landing codes and are turning back any s.h.i.+p that uses the name of Chisra Sala Muad'Dib. Any inbound pilots have to agree to a binding doc.u.ment that reaffirms the name of this world as Caladan, and as nothing else."

Gurney was astonished by how swiftly the agitators had moved, how well orchestrated all the pieces of this ... this revolution revolution had come together. Now, with interplanetary commerce thwarted, Guild couriers and CHOAM officials would file stern complaints, demanding immediate action and spreading the embarra.s.sing news throughout Muad'Dib's realm. had come together. Now, with interplanetary commerce thwarted, Guild couriers and CHOAM officials would file stern complaints, demanding immediate action and spreading the embarra.s.sing news throughout Muad'Dib's realm.

In all the years of the Jihad, Gurney had seen the appalling things that Muad'Dib's ruthless forces did when they decided to crack down. Caladan would not be immune.

He issued immediate orders. "Put House Atreides military aircraft in the airs.p.a.ce over the Cala City s.p.a.ceport. Prevent any s.h.i.+ps from taking off or landing, and we'll shut down the facility our way-not the way the rebels want it. Block any s.h.i.+ps disembarking from Heigh-liners and send them back up, without explanation. I don't want word getting out until we have this mess under control."

Using small military 'thopters-previously designated as search-and-rescue craft for fishermen on stormy seas-Gurney ordered his men to disperse the demonstration with a show of force. He boarded one of the vessels himself and led a fleet of the buzzing craft as they swooped low over the harbor village, firing bursts of compressed air that bowled the people over while doing little harm.

Gurney personally aimed the air cannon that knocked the confused-looking Mayor and the village priest off their suspensor platform and into the water. Imperial soldiers then rushed in with restraints to arrest the most outspoken demonstrators.

As Gurney's 'thopters flew over the city and his troops took control of every neighborhood, he received a flow of reports. Many of the off-world Imperial guards were failing to exercise the restraint he had specified. Gurney had used air cannons to confuse and deflate the situation, but as the soldier guards grew more zealous in their duties, many once-peaceful demonstrators were severely injured or killed, with their bones broken and skulls split open. but as the soldier guards grew more zealous in their duties, many once-peaceful demonstrators were severely injured or killed, with their bones broken and skulls split open.

At the s.p.a.ceport, Bator Nissal launched an impulsive and decisive operation of his own, storming the main terminal to rout out the demonstrators who had laid a primitive siege there. The panicked townspeople fought back, and eleven of the Imperial guards were killed, along with nearly a hundred agitators. The s.p.a.ceport was reopened, and Gurney lifted his embargo, but felt no joy about it.

He had seen slaughters on the battlefields of the Jihad, but these were people of Caladan Caladan, not warriors, not blood commandos who had thrown themselves into a holy war. They were simply naive citizens of Paul's home world.

Sickened, he walked among the bodies that were laid out on an old-town street, covered with blankets. Feeling an ache of grief and anger, he cursed, then stormed off to the village prison.

Gurney pushed his way into the prison cell that held a disheveled and astounded Mayor Horvu. The old man had a healing patch over one cheek, and he spoke with obvious disbelief, mixed with the acid of accusation. "I am disappointed in you, Gurney Halleck. I thought you loved Caladan."

"Be disappointed in yourself, not in me. I warned you not to hold your 'demonstration.' I pleaded pleaded with you, but you wouldn't listen. Now Muad'Dib's response is going to be a thousand times worse because of the disruption you've caused, which he cannot permit to occur on any Imperial world. I will call upon every sc.r.a.p of friends.h.i.+p he still holds toward me, and I pray I can convince him to show mercy. But I guarantee nothing." Gurney shook his head. "How am I going to explain this to Lady Jessica when she returns?" with you, but you wouldn't listen. Now Muad'Dib's response is going to be a thousand times worse because of the disruption you've caused, which he cannot permit to occur on any Imperial world. I will call upon every sc.r.a.p of friends.h.i.+p he still holds toward me, and I pray I can convince him to show mercy. But I guarantee nothing." Gurney shook his head. "How am I going to explain this to Lady Jessica when she returns?"

"Shame on you, Gurney Halleck! You were once a loyal retainer of Duke Leto, but you have forgotten Atreides principles." The Mayor glowered at him through the bars. The skin around his eyes was dark and bruised. "I have served the people of Caladan my entire life, and I never thought it would come to this. Our defiance will continue. One day we would be happy to welcome Paul back like a prodigal son, but only if he remembers who he is ... and who we are."

Gurney sighed. "Others would call that blasphemy against Muad'Dib. You fool, give me a way to order your release, not a reason to order your execution!" You fool, give me a way to order your release, not a reason to order your execution!"

The Mayor glared at him, but said nothing more.

Two days later, a response arrived from Arrakis, a dry letter congratulating Gurney for a job well done in defending the honor of the Emperor. The signature appeared to be Paul's, though the words likely came from some functionary. The filmpaper stationery bore a seal from the "Office of Jihad Administration." He wondered if Paul had even reviewed his report.

With a sigh of resignation, Gurney dispatched an immediate order to free all the demonstrators who had been arrested, including the leaders, without explanation.

By what standards do we determine the sanity of a particular person? If that person is judged insane and brought down, then who benefits?

-PRINCESS IRULAN, The Life of Muad'Dib, Volume 3 The Life of Muad'Dib, Volume 3

On her last evening on Wallach IX, Jessica agreed to attend the Night Vigil. By tradition, she and the rest of the Sisters at the Mother School had spent the day in solitude, contemplating the life and travails of Raquella Berto-Anirul, who had founded their order from the rubble of humanity left by the Butlerian Jihad, thousands and thousands of years ago.

Jessica was eager to be away from the silent coercion of the Bene Gesserit. They had tried to bribe her with the position of Mother Superior-what Bene Gesserit didn't aspire to such a goal? She had avoided giving an answer, which in itself made the Sisters greatly suspicious. And knowing what they had done to Tessia because of her refusal, Jessica felt herself in significant danger.

As night fell, still reluctant to engage in conversation, Jessica joined a long line of black-robed women bearing candles as they proceeded up the long slope of Campo de Raquella, a prominent hill near the Mother School complex. In the ascent along a rocky trail, the serpentine procession of candles looked like bright eyes in the starry darkness. Another set of flickering flames descended the hill along a parallel trail.