The cat does not find the mouse. The cat finds a pattern made of food morsels, fresh droppings, and a smell of fur. Then it chases the pattern. In finding the pattern, it finds its prey. Will you be the cat or the mouse? Be pattern-seeking, avoid pattern-forming.
– BENE GESSERIT CODA
Garimi looked at the sun through the window, her skin rejoicing at the real-world light. These were at least real walls, real dust, real problems. Reverend Mother Stokes was seated at the center of the salon, waiting for her in a carefully choreographed display of seniority. How she must be steaming! Garimi and Stokes both wore the traditional black aba, a vest that here on Delphyne was usually only on display in ancient artwork. And yet the air always vibrated with the difference between the two, for she saw herself as electric and swift like mercury, the other black and unbending like iron. Black, like the ceremonial dress they wore. A relic of Time, or a seed planted in these people's atavic memory, guaranteeing protection?
She found her current predicament a singular one. But then again, diasporas meant facing new realities. She thought about her problems. Words from the Coda entered her mind. Nature has no problems. Problems only exist as somebody's interpretations. Remove the interpretation and see the facts. Probe the facts and find somebody's needs. Do you have problems, or needs? Well, she had two problems at the moment. One, was that she and Stokes had to work together. The other, that Sheeana was missing.
"We owe this to our loyal Miles Teg," she ventured while approaching the older Reverend Mother with the deference an Acolyte would give a Tutor. Stokes visibly sneered at her comment, replied: "No doubt that man put my name in the list for the hostage exchange on purpose. Doing me a favor, to tread on real soil for once. Surely he means for us to be hosted by Secret Israel's cell on this planet, conveniently out of sight. But you are stil on the ship."
"We taught him too well. But you have freedom of movement." Garimi stood there, knowing there was no chair within reach.
"He has left you in charge of the ship, hasn't he?" Stokes guessed, saw confirmation in Garimi's face. "Then search for Sheeana and the others. Even Teg does not know where they are, and one thing he cannot hide from us is the truth."
"How do you find Israelian hospitality, Stokes?"
"Dangerously nontraditional."
"Even the ragtag refugees we brought down from the ship must be disconcerted. To find so much relativism in people of their own! Rabbi Estel's face grows darker by the day. He walks around shaking his head and draws big sighs too. A high priest of Dur, one of them!"
"That's just their way of mocking religion. Others', not their own. A sheep in wolf's cloth."
"Or the other way around. They seem to rule this planet."
"See how fast they will lose it, with us here."
"Do you want us to rule here, Stokes?"
"No. We Bene Gesserit have always been super partes; above all factions."
"True. Advise but do not coerce; govern but do not rule."
"But, I give it to the men that they chose a planet with potential." Stokes concluded.
Garimi smiled; Stokes referred to Idaho, Teg, and sometimes the Rabbi as the men.
"Will governing this planet mean victory to us?" Stoke asked, "We fled Chapterhouse to avoid defeat, but it seems to me now we have abdicated too."
Her training notwithstanding. Garimi felt uncomfortable in Stoke's presence. The Reverend Mother was drier, perceptive and always ahead of her. Yet no emotions could the judgment Stokes had just passed. We took the ship to avoid the contamination of the order by the Honored Matres, yet now we are at the mercy of a bigger unknown. That unknown was Sheeana.
"Sheeana has grown wilder. She adds a personal touch to our little rebellion," Garimi commented, turning away from her.
"She is no teenager revolting against her parents. She is a full Reverend Mother driven by an unknown motive. Tell me about a single acolyte who is not in awe of her unexpected little acts of revolt!" There, Stokes had said it. There was something subversive about Sheena that unnerved her own Bene Gesserit conditioning.
"Would you rather be paying homage to Murbella?"
"I made my choices, Garimi, never to regret them. I was born on Chapterhouse, did you know? I trusted Sheeana would be ready to take on the mantle of the Missionaria even without a grown sandworm by her side. Follow the path that duty requires. In that sense she is acting like a difficult youth."
"We have strategically dropped the wormlings on multiple planets. The Tleilaxu obeys us. It's all about time."
"The Tleilaxu man obeys her, not us! And so will Idaho before long."
Wouldn't you love it, Stokes, if the men all obeyed you instead. But the Scattering teaches us new ways. "What do you suggest that we do, Sister? We swore the vow to the Sisterhood." Would Stokes argue they should move against Sheeana? She was a Sister, and a rebel, like them!
"It is a vow I will keep. The ghola Teg, he is confining me here. Time to remind him where his allegiances are."
"With us? He respects Idaho deeply too."
"The ghola is principled, like us, and he is an Atreides too. The Atreides were bred for power. Surely he must not like the endless space wandering Sheeana has inflicted on us. Our talents remain unused."
"Sheeana's too."
"Indeed. About the Tleilaxu master."
"He tends to the tanks up in the no ship. And we tend to him. Sheeana was helpful there, but the master forgets whose hand is feeding him."
"Remind him, then."
"Stokes, what is our plan?"
"To find a suitable home for the sandtrout. Perpetuate the Order. Even a single Reverend Mother is enough to rebuild the entire Bene Gesserit, if there is spice. And there will be spice."
"You are telling me you do not care about unleashing Sheeana the prophetess onto an unresisting humanity?"
"Of course," Stokes replied.
"An unresisting humanity, yes," remarked Garimi, "but an unresisting Sheeana?"
"Not at the moment."
"Moments pass. She is our youngest Reverend Mother. There is a bit of the restless young woman whose destiny was hijacked to serve into bigger schemes."
"As it was ours. She is a full Reverend Mother, and she even has Taraza, and Odrade - curse her. Who is she defying, if not herself?"
"Do you think she is stalling?"
"She is escaping her duties. Baring her teeth like an unruly hound."
"Yet, when she dances, thousands fall under her thrall. You have heard of the festival and of the riots. You see the signs. It must have been her."
"And yet she refuses to explain, embrace, and train her mysterious power!"
"She can't be that foolish. And our next steps, Stokes?"
"We must play along with the circumstances. There is preliminary work, breaking the ties with the ones she has charmed, Scytale included. But the call of duty will at last get to her. She only needs a push. I remember youth! The innocence of youth, after all, is all but a myth."
"We agree then." Garimi was relieved. She bowed to the other Reverend Mother, made it toward the exit, hesitated. "There is one more thing. The axolotl tanks are not working, yet. I will fix that first."
"How?" Stokes asked her, surprised.
"I will be dangerously non-traditional, Sister," was the reply.
