[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book Two - Chapter Four]

 

Arrakis presents an exquisite challenge to anyone with an interest in or understanding of ecology. I don’t necessarily mean the difficulties one encounters while trying to turn the desert planet into a green world, but rather the delicate balance one must attempt to find between the spheres of influence that collide there. The desire to see the land grow fertile, the way the Fremen are a part of the desert, the role of the giant worms in the formation of the Spice and their intolerance of water, the power the Spice allows the Fremen to wield over the Guild, the Empire and the Houses Major and Minor… all these factors oppose, enforce and balance eachother in different ways. Remove or alter one, and the entire structure might collapse.

 

-Pardot Kynes, First Planetologist of Arrakis.

 

            Murbella was at the desk in her study, attempting to analyse the implications of what she had learnt the past few days.

            Now the attack comes from three sides, she realised. The Tyrant’s dreams might still control the unfolding of history, continuing to lead us along his accursed Golden Path, Donelid and her allies plot to overthrow me, and the Prometheans might very well destroy us all.

            A loud thud against the other side of the door that opened to the hallway forced Murbella to abandon her ponderings. She rose, walked over to the door and opened it to see what had happened. On the floor lay a young, brown-haired girl, looking no older than sixteen, dressed in the robe of a first stage Bene Gesserit acolyte - dead. Beyond her in the hallway, leaning against the wall, was Bellonda, panting heavily.

            “This one put up quite a fight,” she said.

            “What happened here?”, Mother Superior demanded.

            “Assassin.”

“An Honoured Matre?”

“Yes. She was too zealous. She wanted to see you dead above all else, and this made her careless,” Bellonda said in a casual manner. “Her hate for you was counterproductive. By the way she moved, I could see she was an Honoured Matre attempting to mask what had been conditioned into her all throughout her life with poorly learned Bene Gesserit mannerisms.”

            Her hate for me was counterproductive, Murbella mentally repeated. How interesting that you, of all people, would say such a thing, Bellonda.

            “Was it really necessary to kill her?”, Murbella asked. “We could have interrogated her.”

            “It was either kill or be killed, Mother Superior.”

            The formal title again. She still doesn’t trust me! “Odrade chose me as her successor, Bellonda. And Taraza was in full agreement with that decision.”

            “I am loyal to the Sisterhood’s cause!”

            “This would mean that you are loyal to me,” Murbella said, almost angrily.

            Bellonda started to say something, but decided to remain silent at the last moment. Murbella noticed this, and felt compelled to slightly modify her assessment of Bellonda’s character and motives because of it.

            “It is good to see that in this case your priorities are in order. The same cannot be said in reference to the way in which you handled this… situation,” the Mother Superior said, indicating the lifeless form on the floor between them. The deformed expression on  the Honoured Matre’s face caused by the death spasms were already relaxing, but it was still apparent a rather nasty toxin had been used to kill her.

            “Yes. Tragic.” Not a shred of remorse could be sensed in Bellonda’s voice.

            “Regardless of what you might think, Honoured Matres do have a code of honour. She was unarmed, and you killed her with a poisoned blade.”

            “It seems Mother Superior is forgetting that ethical conduct is based on mutual respect, or at least the respect of the fact the other is a human being similar to oneself. An open declaration of war dissolves such respect: when encountered with unprovoked life-threatening hostility, common rules of conduct cease to apply. In war, the preservation of the Sisterhood and its members take precedence over being nice to one another.”

Having said this, Bellonda turned and walked away, leaving a mildly baffled Murbella behind. After a short distance, she turned and said: “Don’t you think it’s time we left?”

 

**  **  **  **  **

 

            The Bene Gesserit sisters moved as swiftly and silently as possible. Murbella led a small group to safety - fifty Reverend Mothers and acolytes, as well as a handful of loyal Honoured Matres.

Many thousands of valuable Bene Gesserit remain at Central, and all over the planet - The training they’ve been given should be enough to save them, Murbella hoped.

They ran through a dark tunnel - an escape route leading away from Central, built in secret according to Odrade’s specifications around the time the plan to integrate the Honoured Matres into the ranks of the Bene Gesserit had been set in motion.

            She knew, even back then, Murbella thought. The alliance with the whores never had a chance. Once more she surprised herself by renouncing her former sisters so forcefully. I grow less Honoured Matre and more Bene Gesserit every day.

            As you should, the voice of Odrade-within said.

            What was the point of this puppet-show, if you already knew the two groups would eventually turn against eachother again?

            I didn’t know, Odrade answered. Both Taraza and I thought there was a definite possibility that things would eventually go awry, but we hoped the alliance would last just as much as you. It is sad that this apparently was not meant to be, but at least we got a decade of relative peace to refortify our position.

            And the tunnel was a safety measure.

            Exactly.

            And a nice tunnel it is, Murbella thought mockingly.

            Are you aware of where it leads?

            Odrade’s persona retreated, and Murbella knew she would not be able to ask what the answer was supposed to be. Odrade had told her this tunnel would lead to ‘safety, and lesser dangers’, but in the frantic atmosphere of her escape from Central, Murbella hadn’t bothered to ask what this meant.

            We’re already quite far away from Central, Murbella calculated, recalling the approximate number of steps that had brought her to this point, and we’re moving south. Of course! This tunnel will lead us into the desert! She was right - the desert has its own set of rules, and anyone who dares to stray from the paths it dictates, will not survive for very long.

            She remembered the lectures she had received about Rakis, and the filmbook images of that planet of when it was still called Arrakis, a long time ago. Many pictures and movie fragments of Paul Atreides and his son she had seen, fewer of the Fremen and their blue-in-blue eyes, and only a handful of the giant sandworms - once, the planet had housed specimens of over 400 metres! How pathetic the small worms of Chapter House - ten metres for the largest ones that have so far been observed - are compared to those magnificent creatures!

            What had most impressed Murbella about those lectures were the reports of a phenomenon that was taking place on Chapter House as well - as yet on a much smaller scale -: the unforgiving aridity of the planet. In order to survive, stillsuits had to be worn in the open air at all times.

            Adapting to such an environment must have been an enormous task for the first Zensunni Wanderers to reach the planet, Murbella thought. It seems our small group will be forced to do it as well. Perhaps it’s in my blood, my genes. Or would that be too much to hope for?

            I am an Atreides, Murbella realised, letting this important but oft-forgotten fact sink in again. I carry the Mark Of Siona - prescient searchers cannot see me. I am an Atreides.

            I warned you about the dangers of your plan!

Murbella looked back, wondering who had spoken - it certainly wasn’t Odrade. In the almost-darkness she saw her Bene Gesserit sisters following her, and not one of them made a sound - they even managed to control their breathing, despite the exertion.

I told you it was too dangerous, and you wouldn’t listen.

It took a moment before Murbella realised the voice she heard came from inside her - apparently one of the personas in her Other Memory was trying to offer her advice. The voice sounded rather young, unlike most of the other personas in her Other Memory - most  prominent Reverend Mothers were quite old when they shared.

            I did what I thought was right at the time.

Another voice? Murbella thought. This one sounds much older. They’re not talking to me, but to eachother. Simulflow allowed Murbella to eavesdrop on this conversation while she continued to lead her group through the dark corridors, Odrade telling her the complex sequence of twists and turns the only correct path to safety contained.

            You forced my brother along the first part of the Golden path too quickly. He wasn’t ready!

            He was as ready as he was ever going to be!

            In that case he shouldn’t have accepted his burden at all. What you did to him, and what he did to himself because of that: it has only led to disaster.

            Humanity was saved!, the older voice said, almost angrily.

            It was saved, so it could die a few thousand years later. Don’t you understand what is happening right now?

            Ghanima, calm down.

            No, grandmother! I hold you responsible. You don’t know the fear I had to endure. I was afraid of him, I dreaded the coming of the worm. The worm doomed the entire universe, and is still doing so.

            Alia ordered his kidnapping, not me.

            But you didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it when it happened!

            It was in the best interest of the Sisterhood that his potential was tested. We had to know whether or not he was a Kwisatz Haderach like his father.

            Aaah, the Kwisatz Haderach-scheme! Bad things always happen when small but arrogant humans toy with forces they only barely understand.

            The older voice remained silent.

            Don’t you have any witty comebacks, or condescending lectures?

            It wasn’t me.

            What?

            It wasn’t me. The Jessica Atreides that did all those things was a very different woman than I. When I separated while I was giving birth to Paul, my Duke was still alive, and I hadn’t transformed the Water Of Life yet - my Other Memories hadn’t been awakened at that point.

            My brother - before his transformation, and during his more lucid moments after it - and I always had difficulty identifying the persona of you we carried with us with the real you.

            Yes. Acquiring Other Memory changed me.

            And grandfather wasn’t there anymore to make you understand how much you had changed.

            A short silence followed, and Murbella felt the sadness. Jessica spoke again. Paul changed as well, after ingesting the Spice Poison. He could have stopped the Jihad if he had wanted to.

            That would have required…

            Yes. But what price is one death when it buys you the lives of billions?

            There is another side to the Jihad. Your defense of the Golden Path earlier suggests you would understand this, and would even approve of it.

            Purging the species? That might have been part of the intent of the operation, but the Fremen army was too blunt an instrument to perform such a delicate task.

            He did try to repair the damage he had done later in life.

            You mean the Preacher? That was a desperate man’s effort to undo what could not be undone.

            The confusion Murbella had felt when the conversation started had been replaced with a feeling of triumph. Elation swept through her for a few brief moments as she first realised what treasures from the past she might have found here, despite the dangers that the present still held.

            Ghanima and Jessica Atreides, Murbella thought. It took an awful battle to enable me to acquire their knowledge - true to the younger’s name -, and it came when least expected. The Sisterhood has been trying to find a way to tap into this knowledge for centuries, and now it seems I have it.

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book Two - Chapter Five]

 

What do your memories teach you about your current state of mind? It’s impossible to avoid a regression into an infinity of intended (but never achieved) levels of objectivity, but the unknowable might be felt by the way it eludes your understanding.

 

-The Apocrypha Of Muad’Dib.

 

Murbella led the group through a veritable maze of rock formations. After Odrade-within had briefed her completely, she was one of a very select group of people who knew the access route to the sietch - the passageways used in constructing it had been blocked by controlled explosions after construction was finished.

            Many hundreds of advanced acolytes had worked on it in complete secrecy, their specific training having conditioned them to intense loyalty and the sense of duty needed to keep the secret. A pyramid of deaths - many of them voluntary because of that same training - with Odrade at the summit ensured that very few still alive knew it even existed.

            The tunnel that had taken them far away from central had been destroyed as well, an explosion causing many tons of rock to seal the escape route behind Murbella and her allies. The tunnel had brought them several kilometres into the desert, where even now it was dangerous to travel alone, or untrained: although most of the worms were not large enough to swallow an entire person, as they had been on Rakis, carelessness and a lack of respect for the desert dwellers could result in the loss of a leg.

            The crossing of the open bled that seperated the relative safety of the rock formations along the route to the sietch was therefore a dangerous undertaking. All Bene Gesserit carried the Mark Of Siona, and were therefore in some way related to the Atreides, which meant that they all had Fremen amongst their ancestry - the real Fremen of Muad’Dib’s days. Even though none of the Bene Gesserit had Other Memory that could access the thoughts and dreams of the Kwisatz Haderach or his daughter, most had at least some measure of genetically imprinted instinct that enabled them to cross the open stretches of sand in a way similar to how the Fremen would have done it, thus minimising the chances of attracting the violent worms.

            This had become a real problem, as the Tyrant had promised: the aggressive nature of the new worms. Collecting the small amounts of Spice the worms had already started to produce was extremely dangerous, because unlike the way the worms of Dune had behaved, the worms on Chapter House defended the Spice fields as their territory, and did not hesitate to kill anyone who dared come where they were not wanted. Sturdy mining equipment - smaller versions of the gigantic sandcrawlers that had mined Spice on Rakis - would generally be sufficient to protect any prospectors from the fury of the Old Man Of The Desert, but the miners feared the future, when the worms would grow considerably larger and stronger, and possibly even more ferocious.

            The group had now reached the entrance to the sietch. Helped by Odrade, Murbella entered the complex code that would unlock the main moisture seal: a reinforced plasteel door rather than the plastic membranes that used to seal off the traditional sietches. When they entered, those amongst them sufficiently familiar with Fremen culture immediately noted how sterile everything smelled: not at all like the overwhelming stench of sweat, Melange and food aromas that permeated any true Fremen dwelling place.

            There are three large windtraps and seven smaller ones installed all throughout the area, capable of supplying enough water for five thousand people, Odrade-within explained, if they were to adopt Fremen efficiency. They have been functional for some time now, so there should be enough water in the basins to last you through a transitional period, especially considering the small size of the group.

            On this level you will find hunting equipment and a stillsuit manufacturing plant - one hundred suits in varying sizes have already been made -, as well as an armory and a deathstill. The middle level contains private quarters and supply rooms. On the lowest level you will find the water basins and the main hall.

            Our sietch, Murbella thought, looking around while wandering through the various sections of the complex. What did a sietch mean to the Fremen of Paul Atreides’ days? She knew the etymology: ‘sietch’ meant ‘place of assembly in time of danger’, and that was exactly the function this place now had for them.

 

**  **  **  **  **

 

            All members of the group had gathered in one of the larger rooms - the main hall was far too big to hold a meeting. Everyone had been assigned their own quarters, and had started familiarising themselves with the layout of the sietch and the workings of the equipment in it.

            Bellonda had asked them all to be present, wanting to discuss the current situation, and what their course of action for the near future would have to be. Murbella watched the full-figured Reverend Mother rising from her seat and walking to the front of the crowd, observing how she intentionally moved slowly, attempting to create a situation in which she was the one dictating the course of the meeting, instead of submitting to the whims of her audience.

            Fondalar was part of their group as well, Murbella noticed. The way the face Dancer that had accompanied her had managed to impersonate Sekil so well still troubled Murbella. Discussing these feelings with Bellonda earlier, they had agreed that there was nothing to suggest that Fondalar was a Face Dancer too - during subsequent debriefings she had supplied much valuable information on the Prometheans, and had passed all tests some of the more suspicious Proctors had deemed necessary to subject her to -, but still Murbella had thought it wise to keep an eye on her, moreso even than on the Honoured Matres of their group.

            “Welcome all,” Bellonda began. “I realise this new situation might present us with several problems - new patterns always manage to generate their own limitations. However, the essence of a Bene Gesserit is adaptability - this has allowed our Sisterhood to survive for many millennia. We will prevail.”

A soft murmur rose from the crowd, but Bellonda gestured for silence. Her first words demonstrated subtlety and consideration of feelings was not what she had in mind this time.

“The Honoured Matres obviously failed to grasp the gravity of our collective predicament”, she continued, drawing angered stares from Murbella and the handful of Honoured Matres that sympathised with the Bene Gesserit cause, and had come along to the sietch. “Not only do they not realise that the civil war they’ve instigated might mean the end of both factions - even if one were to emerge victorious, the resulting force would in all probability be unable to do anything against the Prometheans, who will most likely arrive within the next decade. Quite possibly sooner than that.”

            Murbella’s reaction to Bellonda’s borderline inflammatory words was confused. On the one hand her Bene Gesserit training told her Bellonda was correct, if perhaps lacking in diplomacy. Her Honoured Matre ego however, pure rage and arrogance having been forged into her personality by years of training, indoctrination and the ingestion of an aggression-stimulating Melange-substitute, made her want to kill the witch right then and there.

            An Honoured Matre in the audience had apparently experienced similar emotions. She had risen from her seat, and was screaming at Bellonda: “You are a bigot, witch! I should kill you for what you said.”

            Bellonda did not seem to be impressed, and reacted calmly. “It is exactly this kind of behaviour that is causing so much trouble right now.”

This did not appease the Honoured Matre, and it took a very angry glare from Murbella to make Bellonda apologise. In a way, seeing Bellonda swallowing her pride was amusing to her, despite the guilt this made her feel.

“I apologise. I was out of line,” Bellonda managed to mumble.

The meeting continued, but Murbella’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. Whatever diplomacy might dictate, there is no getting around the fact the problems we have to face are legion, she realised. The Bene Gesserit/Honoured Matre alliance cannot be allowed to dissolve, but whether or not that can actually be prevented might not depend on us so much as on dumb luck - our group is certainly skilled and a powerful force in and of itself, but also very small. Apart from that, the worms cannot be controlled: Sheeana and the secrets of Siaynoq are gone, and so is the one that was to control her. I imprinted him… Would he have stayed if Lucilla’s scheme to bind him to her had succeeded? Was I the weak link?

[Marco van Leeuwen - Dune7: Advent - Page x]

 

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book Two - Chapter Six]

 

To know the Fremen is to understand the formation of their culture. The histories tell of their distant ancestors living on the paradise world of Poritrin, where they grew water-fat and soft. Imperial forces harvested the strongest and sent them to Salusa Secundus as slaves, thus starting the Zensunni migration. They struggled on that unforgiving planet for nine generations, until they staged a revolt against their cruel masters and traveled to Bela Tegeuse to free the Zensunni who had been sent there. Pursued by the vengeful Imperial forces, the Zensunni migrated to Ishia and then to Rossak, never eluding detection by their pursuers for more than a few decades. From Rossak they traveled to Harmonthep, their continued refusal to enter subservience increasingly infuriating to the Empire. The official sources claim Harmonthep was destroyed by the impact of an asteroid, the detection of this impending catastrophe forcing the Zensunni to migrate for the final time - to Arrakis -, but it is rumoured that the planet was destroyed by an Imperial weapon in an attempt to finally deal with the renegade Zensunni. Any evidence in favour of this latter claim does not exist, either because the claim itself is untrue, or because the evidence was carefully destroyed. Hardened by many generations of being scorned and pursued, the Zensunni adapted quickly to the inhospitable wastes of Arrakis, at first averting dehydration by carefully emulating the behaviour and water-management-processes of indigenous animals, but gradually developing a highly specialised industry unsurpassed in craftsmanship. Their ways of adapting to the harsh desert environment also bled into their demeanour: focused on their own tribe on a social level, their distrust towards outsiders imprinted into them during generations of being oppressed, and inwardly directed on a psychological level. This was compounded by an unconscious resonance with their environment nurturing a ferocity unequalled in the Empire, not even amongst the feared Sardaukar. On Arrakis, the Zensunni finally found autonomy and privacy, and in combination with the integration of the priceless Spice into their lives they truly became Fremen. The absence of freedom was traded for the absence of what most people would consider acceptable living conditions, forcing the Fremen to fall back on their own abilities in the most fundamental manner imaginable. It is here that we find the key to understanding the Fremen: pride. Pride in what they, as a people, had accomplished.

 

-from “The Roots Of Muad’Dib” by Harq al-Ada.

 

 

            Murbella realised the emergence of Ghanima and Jessica Atreides a few days ago needed to be investigated. They hadn’t reappeared since that initial discussion, but the simple fact that she apparently had access to her Ancestral Memories now, albeit not at will, filled Murbella with both fear and elation. There was a slight possibility that certain personas in her Other Memory were playing tricks on her: they could be simulating the Kwisatz Haderach’s mother and her granddaughter to either make Murbella understand something or to somehow harm her. Which of these possibilities applied here was as yet unclear - the margin of error in reconstructing personas from the distant past from barely stable configurations of synaptic weights was considerable, after all, making memories less accurate the older they were.

However, if she had in fact gained access to her Ancestral Memories, this marked an important new step in the evolution of the Bene Gesserit. A reliable representation or log of the memories, thoughts and visions of Paul Atreides could be extremely valuable to the Sisterhood. After all this time and all these speculations, even the foremost minds of the Bene Gesserit were still unable to construct a coherent picture of what exactly had gone wrong - in what way did the many causal chains meet during Paul Atreides’ life on Arrakis and the subsequent reign of his son? That is, if causality was preserved at all.

Even the Bene Gesserit breeding records could not explain why Paul Atreides had turned out to be who he was. He had previously impossible abilities, most of which were unexpected, and had not been intended to emerge in him at all. In a way, he was the Kwisatz Haderach, but he was born a generation early. What had happened to activate his powers, instead of allowing them to remain dormant for another generation? What had made his seed so rich with potential, that the Tyrant could be born from it?

I need to find out, Murbella thought. For my own sanity, and the future of the Sisterhood - perhaps even the future of humanity.

            She opened her mind up to the wisdom of the past, attempting to coerce one or more of the personas from her Other Memory to acknowledge her plea for help, to divulge their secrets. Instead of the appearance of a voice, as was most often the case, her mind was now filled with constellations of the stimulation of several different senses: images joined by smells, sounds and tactile sensations. She felt she had descended deeper than she ever had dared to go before.

            She saw Bene Gesserit from the past, undergoing the ritual that would awaken their Other Memory. Many generations of Reverend Mothers passed her by, all of them mining the knowledge of their predecessors, and a fear pervading all of their minds: Abomination. She saw many deaths, intended to prevent the madness the acquisition of Other Memory sometimes led to, but there were many more than the handful the official reports spoke of.

            A shift in the conglomerate of sensations showed her the past of the Honoured Matres: Bene Gesserit and Fish Speakers meeting eachother in the Scattering, forging an unholy alliance that would cause so much death and suffering in so many places… Their ferocity was a defense-mechanism - the Prometheans were there from the very beginning, hunting them down with Futars and other, much more sinister… things.

             A strange sensation overcame Murbella. The mating of Bene Gesserit and Fish Speakers to form the Honoured Matres was not an accident, she realised. The Melange substitute that increased the Honoured Matres’ speed and strength, but also made them irrational and aggressive… Someone made it with that express purpose in mind!

            Leto!, she cried out. This all your fault! See what you have done?

            Leto gave his life for you!, a voice said. Murbella recognised it as belonging to Ghanima.

            I don’t believe you, Murbella returned. Everything that worm has ever done has only brought more ruin and destruction to the universe. He was a megalomaniac who desired absolute power and eternal life.

            Very well. I will show you the truth, Ghanima said.

            Two children appeared in front of Murbella’s mind’s eye - a girl dressed in a Fremen stillsuit, and a boy, a long cloak barely hiding his sleek silvery skin. They were sitting on a ledge overlooking a great desert plain, the sun setting in the distance. Murbella realised she was watching Ghanima and Leto, not long after he had accepted his sandtrout skin. It seemed to Murbella as if she was right next to them, taking part in the conversation, until she realised she could not speak.

“Very few people understand the terrible transformation you’ve subjected yourself to,” Ghanima told her brother. “Many interpret the fact you felt forced to choose this fate for yourself as the ultimate sign the Atreides dynasty has descended into madness. They think insanity is your weakness, and they will either disregard you on that basis, or use this as leverage in attempts to overthrow your rule. They misunderstand: your insanity is your strength, it is love that is your greatest weakness. The people will ridicule your loss of humanity and call it your greatest tragedy, but they fail to understand your tragedy is that you are more human than anyone who has ever lived.”

Leto took his sister’s hands, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. The water trickled down across his cheeks, the cowl surrounding his face flinching every time a tear would touch it. Leto felt the pain, but did not stop crying.

            Murbella dismissed the image, banned it from her mind. She descended deeper into Other Memory, still looking for answers that would satisfy her.

            The dark place that Reverend Mothers feared to enter approached in the distance, the pandaemonium that would emerge to threaten everyone who had lived through the Spice Agony at one point.. Murbella broke out in panic and tried to move away, but the terrible darkness was upon her in an instant and swallowed her.

            A voice greeted her there, the once-proud timbre broken by remorse, filled with grief. You have to believe me, the voice said. I only tried to mend what I had broken. I thought he could help.

            Who could help?, Murbella managed to ask after a while, her fear having subsided.

            The Count. He wanted to help me. He said he understood me, and that I was the only one who would understand him. I knew the Golden Path would have to be built, but I just… I prayed for another possibility. I had seen what would happen on the Path. So terrible…

            Something else - a dark shape - appeared. Arrogance and evil given form, a fearsomely dangerous persona leading a revolt of the vast collecton of malignant personas present in Murbella’s Other Memory. Odrade-within, who had been unable to stop Murbella’s descent, didn’t stand a chance against the overwhelming power of the invaders, Taraza and the other well-willing Bene Gesserit already having been defeated, and was quickly contained and left to wither away from disuse, as the least-used personas in Other Memory sometimes did.

            I am an Atreides, I am an Atreides…, Murbella kept telling herself, trying to ward off the evil that she felt was approaching.

            Exactly, Murbella’s new primary said.

Murbella emerged from her visions, and sat up in her bed, for a moment thinking that it had all been just a dream. Still shaken up from her harrowing experiences, she let herself fall back again, wishing to rest for a while before returning to her duties.

Still filled with nervous energy, Murbella unwittingly tapped the fingers of her right hand. Little finger twice, index finger thrice, ring finger twice, little finger once, ring finger twice, and then the whole sequence all over again.

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