The ancient rock quarry was a deep bowl with high cliff walls of chopped stone. In centuries past, blocks of variegated marble had been removed to build new structures for the Mother School.

Stern and professional, Sister Cristane led the three Richesian inventors to the bottom of the quarry. Her dark hair cropped short, her face showing more angles than feminine softness, she did not appear to notice the cold breezes as she took the trio of off-world scientists into a suspensorpod that dropped like a diving bell past colored bands of mineral impurities.

The inventors were a mixed batch. One was boisterous and political, having achieved success through writing excellent reports as opposed to doing superb research. His two companions were quieter and more self-absorbed, but their flashes of inspiration had produced technological wild cards that brought in a great deal of money for Richese.

It had taken the Sisterhood weeks to track them down, to concoct an appropriate excuse to bring them here. Ostensibly, these three men had been summoned to discuss retooling the Mother School’s power systems, to develop direct satellite links that would not interfere with the defensive screens surrounding Wallach IX. The Richesian government had been eager to offer their creative skills to the powerful Bene Gesserit.

The pretext had succeeded. In actuality, Harishka had requested these specific inventors because of their connections to the vanished Chobyn. They might have access to the records of his work, or know something important about what he had done.

“We have traveled far from the main complex,” said the meek inventor named Haloa Rund. Looking around as the suspensorpod descended, Rund noted the isolation of the quarry. It held few buildings and no noticeable rock-working technology. “What power requirements could you possibly have so far from your main complex?”

Having once studied at the Mentat School and failed, Rund still prided himself on his analytical mind. He was also a nephew of Count Ilban Richese, and had used his family connections to receive funding for eccentric projects that would have been denied to anyone else. His uncle doted on all of his own relatives.

“Mother Superior is waiting below,” Cristane answered, as if that would dispel any doubts. “And we have a problem for you to solve.”

Earlier, around the Mother School, Rund’s two associates had been enamored with the scenery, the orchards, and the stucco buildings with terra-cotta tile roofs. Few men were ever allowed to visit Wallach IX, and they drank in all the details like tourists, happy to go wherever the Sisters wanted to take them.

The suspensorpod reached the bottom of the quarry, where the men emerged and looked around. The razor breezes were sharp and cold. Rock cliffs rose in a stairstep formation above them, like an enclosed stadium.

The wreckage of the strange vessel lay covered with electrotarps, with its hull still visible under the slanting light. Mother Superior Harishka and several black-robed companions stood next to the ship. The Richesian inventors came forward, intrigued.

“What is this? A small scout fighter?” Talis Balt was a bald, bookish man who could do even complex equations in his head. “I was given to understand the Sisterhood had no overt military capability. Why would you own—”

“This is not ours,” Cristane replied. “We were attacked, but managed to destroy the vessel. It appears to have been equipped with a new form of defensive screen that makes it invisible to human eyes or scanning devices.”

“Impossible,” said Flinto Kinnis, the bureaucrat of the group. Though only a mid-level scientist, he had supervised highly successful technological teams.

“Nothing is impossible, Director,” Haloa Rund countered, his voice stern. “The first step in innovation is to know that a thing can be created. After that, the rest is a matter of detail.”

Reverend Mother Cienna touched a transmitter to remove a corner of the electrotarp, revealing the scratched and scarred fuselage of a small warship. “We have reason to believe this technology was developed by a Richesian named Tenu Chobyn, a person of your acquaintance. The Bene Gesserit must learn whether any of you have additional information on his operations.”

Haloa Rund and Talis Balt moved toward the wreckage, fascinated by the techno-mystery. Flinto Kinnis, though, remained suspicious. “Chobyn defected from our orbital laboratory facility on Korona. He left in disgrace and took proprietary information with him. Why not ask the man yourself?”

“We believe he is dead,” Cristane said simply.

Kinnis looked startled, his obvious displeasure at Chobyn’s betrayal melting into confusion.

Haloa Rund turned to face the Mother Superior squarely. “Surely, this must be a dangerous secret. Why are you showing it to us?” He frowned, intrigued by the idea of advanced technological details he might glean from the wreckage, but feeling his skin crawl with uneasiness. They were far from any witnesses, and the Sisters were unpredictable. But Rund was the nephew of Count Richese, and his trip here was known. The Bene Gesserit wouldn’t dare harm him or his companions… he hoped.

Harishka cut him off with a snap, using the full power of Voice. “Answer our questions.”

The inventors stopped, as if stunned.

Reverend Mother Lanali spoke next, also using the implacable Voice, her heart-shaped face now looking like a storm. “You were friends of Chobyn. Tell us what you know of this invention. How do we re-create it?”

Cienna lifted the rest of the electrotarp, exposing the broken hulk. Working as a team, the clustered Reverend Mothers interrogated the Richesians in the Bene Gesserit Way, a technique that enabled them to detect minutiae. They observed the slightest flickers of doubt, untruth, or exaggeration.

Under the cold sky of Wallach IX, shielded by cliff walls, the Sisters hammered the three helpless men with every possible question in every conceivable manner, a relentless, rapid-fire debriefing to determine if enough evidence existed to reconstruct Chobyn’s secret technology. They had to know.

Though the group of Richesians did not doubt the Sisters’ claims about the crashed ship’s capabilities, it became clear that their former comrade had been a rogue who had done the work by himself, presumably under the auspices of House Harkonnen. Chobyn had consulted with none of his colleagues, had left no known records.

“Very well then,” Harishka said. “The secret is safe. It will fade and die.”

Though paralyzed and unable to resist, the captive inventors still exhibited signs of dread that the witches would torture them to death in some unspeakable fashion. Cristane herself might have advocated such a solution.

Yet, if all three of these men disappeared or suffered a too-convenient shuttle accident, Premier Ein Calimar and old Count Ilban Richese would ask too many questions. The Bene Gesserit could not afford to raise suspicion.

On the gravel, the Sisters, their faces pinched and ominous, gathered around the Richesians. The black robes of the women made them look like birds of prey.

Presently, the Bene Gesserit began to speak, lifting their whispers on the trails of the others.

“You will forget.”

“You will not question.”

“You will not remember.”

Under controlled circumstances, trained Sisters could perform this “resonating hypnosis” to implant false memories and alter sensory perceptions. They had taken similar measures against Baron Harkonnen when he’d come to the Mother School in a fit of vengeful rage.

Cristane assisted in the chant, focusing her mental powers with those of the Reverend Mothers. Working together, they carefully crafted a new tapestry of memories, a story that Haloa Rund and his two comrades would report back to their superiors.

The three men would remember only an uninteresting conference on Wallach IX, a casual discussion of half-made plans for upgrades to the Mother School. Nothing whatsoever would come of it. The Sisters weren’t particularly interested. No one would press the issue further.

The Bene Gesserit had learned all they needed to know.