A slave that is suddenly freed for no reason at all develops one of these four reactions, all deeply rooted in the instinctual mind; one, he or she may flee and go as far as possible from his place of captivity; two, he or she may take revenge against previous masters, even in a violent way; three, he or she may adopt the masters' behaviors by creating new slaves. There is also a fourth possible reaction: that the slave remains a slave, externally free but internally a captive of habit, with no desire to be free from serfdom; unable to imagine a life without masters. Our infatigable work, the Tleilaxu work, is nurturing captive minds of the fourth type.
- REFLECTIONS, THE NAMELESS MASTER
"...Because its master is already dead," concluded Miles Teg aboard the neutral Ixian ship where they had just abruptly concluded their meeting with the Atreides majordomo. He slowly extended a hand for the Futar bodyguard to sniff, calmly evaluating the creature.
The majordomo is dead. Only then Murbella realized that the second thump she had heard just moments before was the result of the lifeless body of the majordomo slumping on the floor, a foot behind his snarling feline bodyguard.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Murbella's first Face Dancer, the one in the black aba, one of the two shapeshifters Master Zoel had insisted she took with her, laid on the ground just in front of the Futar. Following her gaze, Miles commented: "Contrary to your orders, Zoel's first Face Dancer attacked the majordomo."
"It's more trivial than that, Miles. It merely tried to stop the coffee pot from falling. Our feline friend was quite triggered by the event."
Never Murbella had seen the bashar Miles Teg betray such comical astonishment.
"The Futar misinterpreted. I witnessed it," commented the second of Master Zoel's Face Dancers from the back. It stood up, calmly approaching Murbella.
"Well, just now that we were starting to get along," she sighed. Was that a tear of desperation on Miles' young face? "Miles, what have I done," she lamented.
"Why, you?"
"It was my idea to bring Master Zoel's Face Dancers."
"I hope next time you will listen to my opinion on matters like this."
"What now?"
"What do you expect? After we inadvertently committed an act of war? Unless his masters can take assassination as a mild joke."
"Is it possible their surveillance system was recording the meeting..."
"Not with this," Miles Teg flashed the little round capsule of the interferometer. "Nobody knows yet what has happened in this room."
"You killed both of the aides," Murbella noted, her mind still piecing together the action that had developed in seconds.
"Master sleeps," the Futar said to no one, letting out a soft, low howl.
"Stop being distracted, Mother Superior," Miles intimated.
"But wait, why did you come to my aid, losing precious moments? I could have killed my assailant myself," she continued.
"Yes. But would you have diverted the dart gun in time?" he replied.
Murbella looked down to the dart gun Miles held in his hand. He had tried to subdue the Futar before it could kill the Face Dancer, but where had the darts flown?
...toward the assailant he was fighting with?
"I am approaching", Miles warned the Futar calmly. The creature's bewildered eyes did not warn him back. Moments later the bashar was on the floor with a hand on the majordomo's deceased body, the other extracting the dart from his neck. "The dart was sprung as I bent her arm. I could not afford a third leap to intercept it and save him," he apologized to the creature, who recoiled, strangely harmless.
"A third leap?" asked Murbella, recalling how fast he had moved. Faster than a dart. Faster than a Honored Matre. Of course.
"I did what I did. But now I am exhausted." His legs gave in and there he was, panting on the floor.
"What is the Futar doing?"
"Futars are tied to their handlers," continued the bashar. "Its master is dead, so it has nothing to defend. They don't act out of grief. Their animal-like logic has no concept of revenge. What is your name?" But the Futar refused to speak.
The other Reverend Mother / Face Dancer in the back stirred. Murbella glanced at the woman in black aba who was waiting expectantly, and nodded. The Face Dancer slowly reached past Miles' sitting figure, keeping the majordomo's body between it and the Futar, and knelt to touch the Atreides' forehead. Its face seemed to melt away and moments later a perfect, living replica of the majordomo stood up from the body of the deceased. The Futar snarled, backed off, confused.
"If our other Face Dancer had survived," Murbella glanced at the body on the floor, which had by now abandoned any resemblance to Bellonda and turned into a small figure with a pug-like nose, "we would have made another copy to bring back with us." She turned to the replicant of the majordomo. "Butt you will stay. This is my order and Master Zoel instructed you to obey me."
"Hide the dead body from the Futar's view," Miles admonished a few steps away. The Face Dancer tore a decorative curtain from a wall, used it to cover the majordomo.
"Do you think the Futar will accept the Face Dancer as its new master?" Murbella asked.
"Yes. Master Zoel's test with our own Futars back at Chapterhouse proves it." Miles motioned toward the majordomo's copy, then sighed: "An Atreides descendant. What a loss! Help me up."
As she helped the bashar stand up, Murbella asked: "Miles, what will happen when our Face Dancer is eventually found out?"
"I will hold as long as possible," said the Face Dancer, with all the dignity of the original Atreides. "Come here, Futar. Your master is back."
"Master sleeping," the Futar protested.
"Your Master awoke." The Futar smelled the Face Dancer's hand, but after some uncertainty seemed to accept the answer.
"Majordomo," Murbella said, facing the Face Dancer, "you will be our eyes and ears." The new majordomo nodded, replied with the same tone of the Atreides original: "Understood."
Then he paused. "By now the majordomo was supposed to head back to his ship. He... I instructed my guards not to wait beyond an hour. I will go now to avoid raising any suspicion."
And he turned toward the door, making a single stride before Miles cried out: "Wait! This may be our only chance." Miles approached the new majordomo and grabbed his hand. The Futar tensed. "Reveal what you know," the bashar ordered, "quickly."
The majordomo stumbled for a moment. "We... operate as independent cells, without connections to one another. I don't know my... colleagues. The two masters who guide me from the background, I call them the Gardeners."
"What are the Gardeners?"
"They are my kin, Face Dancers," the majordomo confirmed. "They employ a diverse cast of... leaders." Then a gasp. "The resources at their disposal!"
"Find me their weakness," Murbella urged.
"They are slaves turned masters."
She shook her head. "Too vague."
"They are... free..." exclaimed the Face Dancer, astonished and disturbed. "My masters are Face Dancers without masters!"
"Tell us something about you!" Murbella spurred it on. "Remember how you, majordomo, were trained and groomed for command." Like listening to an inner voice, the majordomo-copy paused, squealed, then muttered while accelerating toward the opposite door. "No time... emergency protocols will activate if I am not back... the Bene Gesserit ship will be eliminated..."
"Go, then! But command the destruction of this corvette as soon as you are back to your ship!" ordered Miles.
"I will find a suitable excuse". Then, the new majordomo spoke softly to Murbella as they parted ways, marching then with the leaping Futar alongside out one way. Murbella lifted an exhausted Miles between her arms and raced out the other side, back toward her ship, through the empty corridors, past the temporary airlock, past the air seals and into the small room where her own soldiers were waiting. It was only after ordering an immediate emergency departure, after the engines had engaged, after their ship had pulled back; after their tortured bodies had overcome the effect of the acceleration against their seats; after the silent explosion of the neutral corvette that had been the stage for the surprising rendez-vous lit the screens; only then Murbella allowed herself to repeat the Face Dancer's parting comment, delivered with the imperiousness of an Emperor's command:
Find the no-planets!