[Dune7: Advent]

*  

[Book One - Chapter Four]

I know the names my subjects use to describe me when no one else is listening. Many people hate me, and with good reason - I intended it that way. Even my most loyal Fish Speakers hate me on a subconscious level: they hate the power I have over them, and unwittingly bend that hate into complete and utter dedication to my cause, even if they don’t understand exactly what it is they’re building in my name. Simultaneously, I am the worst thing and the best thing that has ever happened to humanity. I am evil. My Golden Path demands it.

-Leto II, The God Emperor. From The Stolen Journals.

“I warned you about the dangers of your plan!”, a voice bellowed. The authority that resided in those words made the screams of the legions subside. Even the light appeared to react, recoiling in terror, leaving him in deepest darkness.

            The voice sounded familiar, and not dissimilar to his own. “Who is that?”, he asked.

            There was no audible reaction, but he sensed something stirring in the dark recesses of his mind. An image emerged, so vivid that the stark contrast with the complete lack of sensory input made it appear as if the depicted events were taking place around him at this very moment.

He was in a brightly lit room, dark red hangings covering the walls, and he was lying down. The air felt strange to him, and breathing was an odd sensation, almost painful - as if he had just learned how to do it. He saw a newborn girl next to him, and next to her a woman, her white robe stained with blood - she was dead. Standing in the distance were several people - one of them a strange-looking woman who was walking around, holding a knife. A great evil lurks behind that one’s eyes, and it’s about to manifest itself. Am I the only one who notices this?

A young girl was there, and two men. He felt a deep kinship with one of them, the one with the scarred face. He has no eyes! Does he sense the danger? He felt his mind reaching out to the blind man, sharing what he saw. He saw a change taking place in the man’s demeanour, a controlled tension building in his muscles, and suddenly a knife flashing through the air into the right eye of the woman with the knife, the force of the blow throwing her against the wall. She collapsed forward onto the floor, the life having left her.

            This is a memory, he realised. I lived that moment. I had just been born, and already I could understand what was happening. Memories of my life… And as memories are wont to do, the contemplation of one stimulated the rise of another, and another one after that. Brief flashes of the past assaulted him then, images replacing eachother too fast for him to drink in their contents individually.

            The many voices that had retreated to just beyond his sensory periphery moments before returned, whispering to him in many different languages, none of which he recognised. However, the voices did not appear to be hostile in intent, and their presence did not frighten him.

Another clear image emerged in his mind, and this appeared to excite the many voices. He saw a grossly obese man. There was a woman, seducing him, the man finally giving in to her demands but deriving more pleasure from the power game the merger of the flesh represented than the hormone-triggered aspects of it. The woman - she is more than she appears to be at first glance. A name… Tanidia Nerus? Who is she?

            Many more women like her appeared, all of them in possession of highly developed  abilities and much secret knowledge. They had been executing a plan, a project of crossbreeding certain bloodlines with the intent of one day producing a male with their abilities, and more. This organisation of women was very old, and their plan had taken many generations to reach its conclusion… Was I somehow part of this plan?, he wondered.

            More fragments of knowledge about this sisterhood surfaced. They appeared to focus on developing the abilities of the body and the mind, resonating along with and expanding upon a large-scale ideological paradigm shift.

            What had caused this massive revolution?

            He saw a sun dipping beneath the horizon, taking the light with it - an eerily lit landscape surrounded him now. Suddenly, at the edge of his universe, beyond the setting sun, small shapes appeared, which quickly grew larger as they approached his position.

The voices around him started shrieking loudly, the confusion this caused making him even more vulnerable to the shocking images that brutally invaded his consciousness at that moment. Millions of mechanical devices - some shaped like daggers zipping through the air, others humanoid in appearance, but armed with energy weapons and large swords with jagged edges - relentlessly hunting humans. Scared, huddling together in poorly hidden caverns and basements of buildings, they listened to the ominous whirring of servos approaching, realising their death was imminent.

            When and where did this happen? Or is this still to take place? This should be prevented at all cost. He saw then that this terrible war had spread across an entire planet, giving rise to an even more apocalyptic weapon - a biological weapon robbing warriors of their cognitive functions! -, and eventually a series of nuclear explosions preventing it from escalating and migrating to the planet’s colonies. An entire planet, uninhabitable for millennia. It had been left to rot, it’s beauty now long forgotten… An image of the planet formed in front of him: much blue interspersed with brownish green, with swirling white clouds. This is where human life began, he realised.

            The vision took him deeper, showing him some of the people that had lived on the planet. Terrible brutality had dominated some of their minds - eating and sacrificing one’s own children was an image that returned several times. Perhaps these barbarians deserved to die? This thought brought back the horrible machines, the overwhelming shock causing him to collapse in fear.

            When he looked up again, the nightmareish vision was suddenly torn aside as if it had been a mere projection on a screen, and replaced with an image of a road, glistening in the sunlight, meandering through a desert with many dangers surrounding it but leading away from the terrible events he had witnessed. He walked along that path for a while, and noticed a change in himself - he was unable to determine what was happening exactly, but he felt… different.

After a while, he encountered a man on that road, dressed in a black uniform. He recognised him. He was present in my earlier vision - this is not the blind man, but the other one. The man said nothing, but walked with him for a while, occasionally looking at him, a mischievous grin forming on the man’s face.

Suddenly, the man stopped. “I have pledged my allegiance to your family, but I will not be your stud!”, the man said.

            He noticed a reflection in the man’s eye. Looking more closely, he saw another image of the same man, whose eyes revealed yet another image of that man, and another, and another ad infinitum. The endless row of reflections, one following the other at an increasing rate, produced a hazy patch of black.

            The blackness grew, surrounding him, once again depriving his senses of all input, until a new object appeared in front of him. A large jar, filled with a clear liquid, possibly water. There was a inscription on its side, and he leaned towards the jar to read it. ‘The water is the ultimate essence, a source of outward streaming creativity. Though motionless, this water is the means of all movement’. Water as the unmoved mover.

            A crack appeared in the jar, spreading swiftly until the water broke free, surging outward and engulfing him. The water felt like acid on his skin and caused him terrible pain, clouds of blue smoke rising from the wounds. The flow of water stopped, and as he lay there, the pain forced his attention inward.

            He was falling through the air, his consciousness copied several dozen times and spread out over just as many bodies, a single mind emerging from the mental echoes. There was another mind there, ancient and strong, controlling him, but it could not prevent him from seeing. Spinning around, he saw a green and blue planet approaching, two moons accompanying it in its procession around a single star. Canopus, he sensed the dominant mind thought.

            He saw he was falling towards one of the planet’s many seas, the deep blue approaching faster and faster. When the salt water engulfed him, he once again experienced terrible pain, his body being torn apart. Mechanical devices surrounded him in the water, but they quickly sank away in the currents. He felt the singular consciousnesses of his many bodies disengaging, the loss of coherence destroying all but the most basic capability of thought, nothing but animal instinct remaining.

            He emerged from this vision, seeing long corridors of personae, generation upon generation stretching into the future. He gazed into the distance, past countless personae, and saw a lone figure standing there with its back turned to him. He raised his hand to his forehead to shield the light from his eyes, and saw the man in the distance do the same. He started running towards the man, but the man started running as well at the exact same pace.

            He suddenly realised the structure he was caught in, and immediately felt trapped. A parallel structure emerged, of a lesser scope but equally harrowing in its implications. A god saw his progeny being born from his brain, but suddenly the perspective shifted, the child now giving birth to its father.

The voices returned, screaming, but the powerful voice that had initiated his string of visions intervened. “Silence!”

            The screams ceased, and he felt millions upon millions of minds moving, rearranging and opening up to him, focused by a single persona. He realised now who this focal point had to be.

            “Thank you… father”, he said.

In a flash, his memories returned to him, and with them the specifics of the plan he had set in motion while he was still alive. Ascension… Of course!

He fully realised what he needed to do now - find her. The red sand and the dark sky that had formed his world for such a long time returned, but this time he knew how to get out. He started walking towards where he knew she would be.

            Yes, there she is.

            “You understand me, don’t you?”, he said to her. “For such a long time, you were the only one who could talk to me, and now you will be the first to do so again. You’re finally ready.”

            She didn’t move, but continued to stare at him. She was guarded by a moat of water, but this time that didn’t scare him. He waded through, and simply ignored the pain shooting up through his legs. He walked up to her, and took her hand.

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Five]

The current stretch of my Golden Path has forced upon me a role that I abhor, yet I do everything in my power to encourage this particular development. In order to supply the human race with a future and make them truly free, I need to take away their autonomy for a sufficiently long period of time. My status as a living God takes away an element vital to humanity’s continued existence, and their worship combined with my acts of divine intervention that burrow towards the very core of the self of each ensures that at one time they will actually see they’ve never had complete possession of that element. It’s all about contrast, and I trust upon the most basic qualities of  the human psyche to subconsciously carry humanity along my Golden Path after I’m gone. Ancestral Memory supplied me with an ancient story just now, which I’m certain only you and I remember. Slightly altered, it would be remarkably appropriate: “Oh my, what impressive temples and monuments you have!” -“Of course, my child, those are to better give you a future with.”

-Leto Atreides II, recounting a conversation with his sister, Ghanima. From The Stolen Journals.

The barrage of blurry images, shards of words, incomprehensible sounds and tiny but highly annoying pangs of nausea that engulfed Sheeana reminded her of the Spice Agony. What’s happening?

You lost control. Odrade-within, her essence safely walled-off from the maelstrom of sensations but aware of what was plaguing Sheeana, broke free of the constraints that her host had implemented earlier, and attempted to comfort the young Reverend Mother. The Spice Agony is an unleashing of information that lies locked inside. This comes from elsewhere. It originates deeper, much deeper.

“What should I do?”, Sheeana cried out loud. She rose from her bed, and stumbled into her private sitting room.

I… I’m not sure.

            The influx of images increased, causing great pain for Sheeana, but suddenly all was silent in her mind. A single image emerged, harrowing in its intensity, releasing old fears Sheeana thought she had mastered long ago.

            A… a worm…, Sheeana thought.

The giant worm violently rose up from the sand, the terrible maw with its sharp teeth snapping at an imaginary prey, a strong melange odour pervading the air.

Cause and effect, and earlier and later invaded eachother’s territories in Sheeana’s mind. She was a child now, eight years old. She was in the desert not far from the village where she lived, looking for small deposits of melange in the sand like Fremen children often did. Of course she heard the screams mixed in with the sounds of the wind and the sand, but when your attention is focused on something else it often takes some time before you truly realise the composition and meaning of the information being offered to your senses for interpretation.

The worm did not stop when she commanded him to, continuing to take Reverend Mother Darwi Odrade, Tleilaxu Master Tylwyth Waff and herself deeper into the desert. Eventually, the beast halted at a wall of rock approximately fifty meters high.

Odrade’s persona managed to wrestle herself back to prominence in Sheeana’s mind again the moment the memory of her manifested itself. Sheeana? Listen to me. I can help you. Remember he left us a message in the place you just saw.

Odrade hoped reminding Sheeana of the discovery she had made in the ruins of Sietch Tabr would help restore the disturbed girl’s ability to think properly, which had somehow been severely tainted during the discussion with Scytale. Remember his warning! Noble purpose was-

“Shaitan has brought me nothing but pain!”, Sheeana growled, out loud. She collapsed in pain when another series of powerful images surfaced in her mind.

            She turned, and watched her village being destroyed, her father being pulled down in an avalanche of sand, into the dark pit below.

            The priests worshipped her, because she could communicate with the worms

            Cradling a small worm, she entered the working chamber of Mother Superior Darwi Odrade. Finally the next stage of the cycle had been reached on Chapter House!

            The worm loomed over her. She screamed at it, cursing it for causing her so much grief, but it would not take her. She rans towards its gaping mouth, coming so close she could see the smouldering fires of the furnace inside, but the beast backed away.

She danced, long and complex strings of movements and rythms of her feet on the sand, very rarely repeating themselves.

            “Shaitan is everywhere!”, Sheeana cried. She stumbled out of her quarters and started running, in a vain attempt at getting away from the pain inside her head.

            Everywhere she looked, the worm appeared: elongated reflections in polished black plaz wall panels, the steel guiding rail along the walls of the corridors - running away from Shaitan appeared impossible.

            Odrade had a revelation then, a flowing together of different fragments of knowledge and memories, the resulting gestalt revealing and hiding its various facets in such a way that a powerful realisation emerged. Siaynoq - of course!

She attempted to address her host. Sheeana, listen. Do you recall that day in Keen, when we observed the dancers on the Great Square? Their dance - the patterns in which they moved, the sounds, the pheromones - it was a language. A complex interplay of cultural phenomena had imprinted a language in their unconsciousness, a more subtle version of how most languages are learnt. We don’t understand the words, we just use them in combinations that are acceptable in a certain situation.

            Sheeana’s hysteria retreated somewhat. Odrade continued. Entrenched in the deepest recesses of their minds, those dancers had very little control over when and where these words would emerge, the activation depending on impulses and sensory input they could not control. You were like that too! You could communicate with the worms somehow.

Now the worms return in your thoughts. Don’t you see? It’s the emergence of a new awareness! Every time the essence of language and communication changed in the past, new abilities were unlocked in the human mind. The invention of written text allowed the mind to allocate more of its capacity to thinking, and less to remembering. The thinking machines stimulated man’s creativity, the machines having relieved man of tedious mental tasks. The Butlerian Jihad changed that, pointing out the dangers of surrendering too many abilities to machines, and forced us to expand our minds rather than restructuring existing capabilities. Now you are at the threshold of another breakthrough! He foretold your arrival, and only now do we understand what he meant.

            A new image of a worm forced Odrade’s speculations into the background. It was a small worm this time, squirming on its bed of sand. This is not a vision… This is real, Sheeana thought.

She saw then that she had walked to the hold of the no-ship where the small worm that had been taken from Chapter House was being kept. She walked up to it, and saw the beast turning its mouth towards her, but not hissing at her like it would at anyone else.

            “Why are you doing this to me, Shaitan? Stop hurting me!”, Sheeana shouted. “What do you want from me?”

            Sheeana walked around the pen, the worm turning to follow her with its head.

            “I won’t be a part of your Golden Path! I’m breaking free of it, you hear me?” She spat on the worm, the moisture landing on the worm’s hide, trickling down onto the sand along one of the beast’s segments. A puff of blue smoke rose from the small wound the water caused, accompanied by a fizzing sound.

            A final image burst into Sheeana’s mind, its intensity causing her to lose consciousness. She saw herself lying squirming on the sand, her arms and legs severed from her body, screaming for help. No help came. The hiss of a worm approaching under the sand grew louder.

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Six]

Why do I bring back Duncan Idaho again and again, you ask? Most of them eventually rebel against me, so my loneliness as the only living remnant from an earlier era can’t possibly be the reason. Unless I order the Tleilaxu to make certain modifications, they’re physically inferior to the latest products of my breeding program, so the necessity for a strong military leader is not met by him either. If you truly understand my Golden Path, you will see how vital his continued presence in history is. Any progressive system needs backwardly propagating loops to disallow uncontained and uncontrolled growth of the whole, while simultaneously containing a catalyst for accelerated development of key aspects of that system. My Duncans so far have served the former goal, and will take over my role as the latter once I’m gone.

-Leto II, the God Emperor. From the journals found at Dar-es-Balat.

The feelings that plagued Duncan Idaho had surfaced before in the past few months, but they had never been as intense as they were right now. Sitting at one of the data consoles in the gigantic no-ship, he had been trying to retrieve some of the information he had deleted from the ship’s memory systems shortly after leaving Chapter House. The self-doubt forced on him by way of constant psychological warfare by the majority of the other refugees he had taken along with him into the unknown had finally accumulated into a force potent enough to make him disregard all his mental warning signs.

            They don’t know about the net and the old couple, Idaho thought. My actions might have appeared radical, but they were absolutely necessary. The net was about to trap me.

             Idaho realised his attempts to restore the information he had lost were futile - he had been too thorough. All the data he had been storing in the ship’s systems was gone. I was on the verge of a breakthrough. All the memories of my former ghola lives are still present in my brain somewhere, but for the sake of myself as well as my companions, I should never again attempt to access them. They might find me.

            A powerful longing engulfed him then, making him feel the absence of what he had given up to escape the net in a most painful way. Oh, Murbella, he thought, I know a Mentat should be able to transcend feelings such as these, but I can’t help it. I long to feel your body against mine once more!

Being separated from her, with the knowledge that a reunion was impossible, allowed him realise the true extent of his love for her: for the first time he truly understood their bond was not just the result of their mutual sexual imprinting. Of course it had started out that way, as so many romantic relationships do - a mutual and all-overpowering need to experience the other’s body often permeates the first stages of any romance, and in this case Honoured Matre techniques had amplified this thousandfold - but it had developed into so much more.

Murbella had managed to resist Bene Gesserit training - conditioning her to distrust love and instead utilise it as a tool - for a long time, but after she had survived the Spice Agony she had started to move away from him. It was clear to Idaho the awakening of Other Memory was not a simple supplement to a Bene Gesserit sister’s personality, but formed a fundamental modification of it.

Brief flashes of the true extent of the Sisterhood’s goal of educating humanity surfaced in his mind: the Kwisatz Haderach was supposed to have been the ancestor of a new breed of human, endowed with Other Memories saturated by Bene Gesserit personas - a very subtle version of mind control. The Missionaria Protectiva had ensured the presence of a fundamental religious bias against any hint of Abomination - the dominance of a malignant persona - thus allowing the Sisterhood to weed out any potentially threatening elements to their intellectual and ideological rule before they could reach maturity.

Idaho understood how the execution of this plan could benefit humanity, but he also saw the vast potential for disaster in it. The Tyrant… Leto probably understood this as well: he suppressed the Bene Gesserit and controlled their breeding program for 3500 years, but he did not eradicate them. His modifications to the genetic code of his breeding stock and the Scattering following his death might have been an attempt at containing the inherent flaws of the Sisterhood’s plan. And I am somehow an important factor in both the Golden Path and the Bene Gesserit program.

That’s probably my greatest weakness. Despite my rebellious nature, I allow myself to be used time and time again - not in the least by women. Murbella is merely the latest in a long line. Siona, Hwi Noree, Jessica Atreides… He tried to picture the face of the concubine of his Duke - beloved of Leto, Paul’s father. She must’ve known of my feelings for her, she might even have felt similar things in return, but we knew there was never any chance of a real romantic relationship.

            He lingered in contemplation of her for a moment, but quickly called himself to order. It doesn’t matter - she is long gone. They all are, even Murbella. The alliance she was meant to forge has probably already imploded. All I have now are my memories…

            A wry smile formed on his face. A poor consolation. Memories can be immensely powerful - images, sounds and smells from the past resonating along with emotions of the now, evoking new, multifaceted monads of mindstuff, gestalt-like structures unfolding in ever-changing patterns - but in the end they’re just that, memories. They’re degraded representations of reality, current interpretations of fragmented remnants of infinitely more vivid impressions. Memories affirm the fact the past has slipped through our fingers, never to enter within reach again.

            Idaho suddenly felt trapped - an ominous sensation he couldn’t really explain. It took him a moment before he realised what was happening. All around him in his mind he saw shimmering threads growing and intertwining. The net is reforming! They’ve found me again!

            He realised he could not escape. Beyond the net the hazy background flickered, and slowly but unstoppably an image formed. It became clearer - he could discern two shapes, unmoving - until he saw the old couple again, staring back at him. Before, the old man and woman had appeared unthreatening, even friendly, but a very different expression dominated their faces now, subtle, but quite clear to Idaho’s trained perception - rage.

            He could sense another entity from the corners of his mind’s eye, forming beyond the elderly couple - a black hole probing its surroundings, warping the fabric of mindspace around it, the patterns of its motion revealing conscious decisions. Danger!

            The net had completely formed now, and started to close in around Idaho, inducing powerful feelings of claustrophobia. He blindly lashed out in an effort to break free, and saw mindspace all around him changing in reaction to his movement. He felt a new correspondence between his will and his surroundings, an integration that granted him a limited measure of control of his mental environment. At his command the net disintegrated, to the surprise of the two observers beyond it. However, the new entity was not affected. It hovered in the distance for a while, and then, of its own volition, slowly merged with the background.

Idaho calmed down a bit, but could not shake a feeling of unspecified dread. Just beyond his mental reach, Idaho could feel there was an immense power present. Dangerous! But oh so tempting… He wanted to plunge into it, experience the new sensations he knew awaited him there, but regained control of his impulses before he could do it.

He had seen the old couple again. Did they see me?, he asked himself against all better judgment. They did. They had always looked friendly, almost inviting before, but now a malignant atmosphere had settled over them, almost imperceptible to regular observers, but frightening in its harshness.

And then there was the other. He was familiar in some way, yet not at all comforting. This was not a friend. Idaho resolved to prevent him from gaining any measure of control at any cost.

A bellowing laughter echoed in Idaho’s mind, and then someone spoke. “The Duncans were always at least somewhat rebellious. I’m very pleased to see this character trait was not lost over the centuries.”

Idaho recoiled, his mind almost instanly flowing back into consciousness. Throughout the vast majority of hundreds of ghola lifetimes, this one thing had been a constant. That voice! It was unmistakeable. But how was this possible?

He could only whisper. “Leto?”

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Seven]

Controlled doubt is the tool reason can utilise to dissect lies, illusions and falsehoods, but it’s imperative to let your actions guide the tool rather allow yourself to be ruled by such a mental makeshift.

-Bene Gesserit Coda.

So much power and knowledge in such a misleadingly young body. Scytale could never prevent his face from contorting into an expression of supreme loathing whenever confronted with one of the Bene Gesserit. Perhaps Waff was right to covet their abilities for the Bene Tleilax, but he foolishly allowed himself to be soiled by their powindah beliefs. He was weak, and permitted these witches to influence him, to taint and distort his adherence to the true belief.

            Scytale said nothing, watching Sheeana while she approached, and wondered what the witch wanted now. These blasphemers never followed the one and only God. Waff’s reports clearly show they used trickery to simulate their involvement, and he was simply too incompetent to fully realise what they were doing to him.

            Sheeana stopped in front of the holding cell. Scytale could smell her, so close was she to the semipermeable force field separating them. Do these witches control their body chemistry to such an extent they can emit pheromones at will? Her closeness was strangely, unexpectedly arousing to him.

            This one is able to communicate with the Prophet! I must know of His plans for us. Scytale straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, once again being overwhelmed by Sheeana’s seductive scent. I can’t let her manipulate me again. I need to request an audience with the Prophet. He will guide me.

            “You promised to take me to see the Prophet”, Scytale said.

            Sheeana grinned. “I did no such thing. I said that I might take you to see Him.”

            “What is it that you want from me?”, Scytale asked.

            “Very good, I do want something that you might be able to give me.” Sheeana leaned even closer to her captive, and whispered: “But remember that my need for your services is not nearly as great as the other way around.”

            Could she be after the ghola cells in my possession? Almost all Tleilaxu intelligence reports about this accursed sisterhood state that at all cost they want to prevent another disaster like the one they had to endure when they finally got their Kwisatz Haderach. Still, they continue to breed with Atreides genes, exploiting that bloodline’s potential and finding new, previously unsuspected combinations of recessives in practically every generation. On the other hand, she doesn’t know which cells I have - she can only guess, and even though she proved she could be quite successful at that game during our last conversation, I can still use her lack of knowledge to my own benefit.

“How may I be of service?”, he said as mockingly as he was able.

            “I have told you already,” Sheeana replied, somewhat annoyed.

            “Refresh my memory. I am an old man, and I tend to forget things.”

            “I will supply you with an axolotl tank to exploit, as long as I’m allowed to decide which cells you use first.”

            “What do you hope to gain from this?”, Scytale inquired.

            “Our goals are very similar,” Sheeana lied. “You seek ascendancy for your people, and helping you reach that goal serves my own purposes as well.”

            She is lying. She cannot be speaking the truth, can she? No! These powindah witches have tried to deceive me in a similar manner so many times before, that their words have lost all connection with what is true and holy. Nothing they say can be trusted. Still, I might have to feign my compliance in order to get out of this holding cell and see the Prophet. And yes, it is there that I should focus my actions right now, considering the special bond she has with Him. “Has the Prophet spoken to you on my behalf?”

            “Indeed he has. He has made me understand the righteousness of your mission, and has demanded of me that I function as an intermediary when he speaks to you.” He will do anything to receive some sort of confirmation or justification of his actions from his Prophet - that disgusting beast down in the hold. Shaitan will help me get my army…

            Sheeana walked over to a small console with a variety of knobs and switches to the side of the cell, and started keying in the code that would dissolve the energy barrier keeping the Tleilaxu Master inside. “Remember that I can - and will - kill you without thinking twice.”

            “If you do that the ghola cells you covet so die at the same moment I release my last breath,” Scytale countered.

            Barely concealing his triumphant facial expression, Scytale was led to the hold where the small sandworm was being kept. For the first time he got a good impression of the size of the no-ship, walking through the corridors with their numerous twists and turns: after having been confined to a small space for so long almost anything would have seemed big to him, but this ship really was quite large.

Sheeana didn’t use the dropchutes to traverse to other levels, but used the stairways instead, always keeping Scytale in front of her. You never know what that little rat is capable of, she thought.

            When they entered the hold, they noticed Idaho was already there, standing transfixed in front of the worm’s holding pen.

            The ghola is here!, Scytale thought. This is excellent.

            Good, he is already here, Sheeana thought. I hope he performs his part as he’s supposed to.

            After the initial elation of finding what he perceived to be an ally in that hold had worn off, Scytale turned his attention to the worm - a manifestation of Leto II, the Prophet of his religion - and was utterly overwhelmed with religious awe. He dropped to his knees, and started praying in a language Sheeana had trouble identifying at first

            Idaho turned towards Scytale. “With the help of Alyama, the Prophet has made me see the truth. Master, I am here to serve you.”

            Scytale rose from his prayer. Another trick? No, this is a ghola - a Tleilaxu creation. He will obey me. However, he might have been tainted by his long association with the witches. I need to consolidate my control over him. He started whistling, a complex pattern of long and short tones, and a rapid succession of high and low.

            Scytale’s whistling had a peculiar effect on Idaho. He felt his flesh attempting to overthrow the Bene Gesserit conditioning and the stability of his multifaceted, many-layered memories, certain failsafes imprinted by his Tleilaxu creators into the most basic and primitive aspect of his being awakened from their slumber. He felt the tendencies that nudged him to do the Tleilaxu Master’s bidding were causally prior to his conscious mind and therefore extremely threatening to his intellectual autonomy, in the same way that a physically based causal agent such as libido can override any and all conscious decision-making processes. He realised he could not eradicate this class of impulses - he could only hope to contain it, and attempt to initiate countermeasures.

            The Tleilaxu clearly had not foreseen any one of their gholas growing strong enough to withstand their conditioning, because however overwhelming the impulse to obey Scytale was, it appeared to be decidedly limited in its effective range, merely impairing the freedom of thought in that part of the mental spectrum reserved for the activities of a convential human intellect. Idaho was Bene Gesserit-trained, and had access to the memories of many lifetimes of previous Idaho-gholas, which had been unlocked during Murbella’s initial attempt at imprinting him - his mind was far from conventional.

            A multitude of memories came to his aid, in a way similar to the support a Reverend Mother’s Other Memory could offer in times of peril, and the many different perspectives on the situation offered to him allowed him to withstand the primitive urge - they enabled him to design his actions from a mental vantage point, freed from the constraints programmed into his ghola body.

            He thinks he can still control me. His belief is not entirely unwarranted - the method he attempted to use is quite powerful, and would have overwhelmed any other ghola. Perhaps it would be advantageous to allow him to believe he actually does still exert influence over me.

            “We will help you build and exploit your axolotl tank. The necessary equipment is stored in a smaller hold several levels down,” Idaho explained to his would-be master, a hint of mechanical subservience in is voice, as if his responses hadn’t been produced in complete freedom. “We brought it with us when we left Chapter House.”

            Sheeana was perceptive enough to note the deception in Idaho’s voice, and observed Scytale’s reaction - which conformed to their expectations quite nicely. She was pleased their scheme was working - lack of knowledge of the relationship between Tleilaxu Masters and their gholas had constituted a potential gap in their plan, but apparently Idaho had managed to override Scytale’s attempts at reinstating the hierarchy, in accordance with the Mentat projection he had made earlier.

            “We need to put you back in your holding cell again,” Idaho told Scytale. “Not everyone in this ship shares our convictions, and until we have dealt with this minor problem, you should-”

            Scytale interupted, holding up his hands in a reassuring gesture. “I understand, my… friends.” It took him a considerable amount of willpower to produce this last word, but he hoped it sounded convincing anyway.

            While Idaho was leading him back to his cell, Scytale leaned over and said: “I think I know who to use as the central component of the axolotl tank.”

            Idaho nodded. “I agree, Master. I already know how to do it, but she is needed for one other task. It will happen soon.”

continue

                                                                Last modified: May 24, 2000