She could only accept this. It was more than a military Mentat’s assessment. It was Teg’s assessment. Another thought struck her.
“Then you already knew about our dispute in Council!” she accused. “And you let me . . .”
“Mother Superior, if I thought you would produce another monster on Rakis, I would have said so. You trust my decisions; I trust yours.”
“Damn you, Miles, we’ve been apart too long.” Taraza stood. “I feel calmer just knowing you’ll be back in harness.”
“Harness,” he said. “Yes. Reinstate me as a Bashar on special assignment. That way, when word gets back to Burzmali, there’ll be no silly questions.”
Taraza produced a sheaf of ridulian papers from beneath her robe and passed them to Teg. “I’ve already signed these. Fill in your own reinstatement. The other authorizations are all there, transport vouchers and so on. I give you these orders personally. You are to obey me. You are my Bashar, do you understand?”
“Wasn’t I always?” he asked.
“It’s more important than ever now. Keep that ghola safe and train him well. He’s your responsibility. And I will back you in that against anyone.”
“I hear Schwangyu commands on Gammu.”
“Against anyone Miles. Don’t trust Schwangyu.”
“I see. Will you lunch with us? My daughter has . . .”
“Forgive me, Miles, but I must get back soonest. I will send Bellonda at once.”
Teg saw her to the door, exchanged a few pleasantries with his old students in her party and watched as they left. They had an armored groundcar waiting in the drive, one of the new models that they obviously had brought with them. Sight of it gave Teg an uneasy feeling.
Urgency!
Taraza had come in person, the Mother Superior herself on a messenger’s errand, knowing what that would reveal to him. Knowing so intimately how the Sisterhood performed, he saw the revelation in what had just happened. The dispute in the Bene Gesserit Council went far deeper than his informants had suggested.
“You are my Bashar.”
Teg glanced through the sheaf of authorizations and vouchers Taraza had left with him. Already carrying her seal and signature. The trust this implied added to the other things he sensed and increased his disquiet.
“Don’t trust Schwangyu.”
He slipped the papers into his pocket and went in search of Patrin. Patrin would have to be briefed, and mollified. They would have to discuss whom to call in for this assignment. He began to list some of the names in his mind. Dangerous duty ahead. It called for only the best people. Damn! Everything on the estate here would have to be passed over to Firus and Dimela. So many details! He felt his pulse quicken as he strode through the house.
Passing a house guard, one of his old soldiers, Teg paused: “Martin, cancel all of my appointments for today. Find my daughter and tell her to meet me in my study.”
Word spread through the house and, from there, across the estate. Servants and family, knowing that The Reverend Mother Superior had just conversed privately with him, automatically set up a protective screen to keep idle distractions away from Teg. His eldest daughter, Dimela, cut him short when he tried to list details necessary to carry on his experimental farm projects.
“Father, I am not an infant!”
They were in the small greenhouse attached to his study. Remains of Teg’s lunch sat on the corner of a potting bench. Patrin’s notebook was propped against the wall behind, the luncheon tray.
Teg looked sharply at his daughter. Dimela favored him in appearance but not in height. Too angular to be a beauty but she had made a good marriage. They had three fine children, Dimela and Firus.
“Where is Firus?” Teg asked.
“He’s out seeing to the replanting of the South Farm.”
“Oh, yes. Patrin mentioned that.”
Teg smiled. It had always pleased him that Dimela had refused the Sisterhood’s bid, preferring to marry Firus, a native of Lernaeus, and remain in her father’s entourage.
“All I know is that they’re calling you back to duty,” Dimela said. “Is it a dangerous assignment?”
“You know, you sound exactly like your mother,” Teg said.