[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Ten]

The earliest experiments of the Sisterhood with awareness spectrum narcotics are well-documented in our archives, and with good reason: they serve to remind us of the necessity of enforcing a strict policy wherever our influence extends to eradicate Abomination. Defining this affliction as unholy in any and all manifestations of the Panoplia Propheticus and as a major destructive force in our political activities allows us to maintain complete control over any potential Kwisatz Haderach.

-Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam.

            For the first time in years, Bene Gesserit Proctor Garimi was afraid - or, more accurately, positively terrified of what might go wrong if the impending confrontation would spiral out of control. A coalition of members from the Rabbi’s group and malcontent Bene Gesserit sisters had finally worn her down over the past few days, forcing her to intervene in a very delicate but potentially disastrous development without having been able to gather sufficient information.

Flanked by Rebecca, the Jewish Bene Gesserit adept who had accepted the responsibility of Other Memory independently, without intervention or assistance of the Sisterhood - a wild Reverend Mother -, and Shaj, a Proctor, Garimi entered the relatively small cargo hold she had arranged to meet Idaho in to ‘discuss matters of grave importance’, as she had called it. He was already present, casually leaning against a large cargo crate. From his facial expression Garimi could see that whatever fear he might have had once of any Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother had completely disappeared. Garimi still believed her training gave her a definite edge in any direct physical confrontation, but she was careful not to underestimate the power despair or - worse still - lunacy could provide him with.

Considering the temper and pride of the Duncans, this Mentat in particular, this could turn out to be a very messy affair, Garimi feared.

            “You requested an audience?”, Duncan asked tauntingly.

            “I would like to discuss certain matters with you,” Garimi began.

            “That much was already obvious,” Duncan interrupted. Then harshly: “State your business, and don’t waste time with padding, build-ups and amateuristic attempts at manipulation.”

            Garimi was taken aback by his ferocity and needed a moment to recover, but decided to reciprocate by being brutally honest, instead of slowly easing into her demands as she had originally intended. “You will break off your unholy alliance with the Tleilaxu Master,” she said, voicing her suspicions.

            “Why?”

            The casual air with which Duncan had both confirmed her suspicions and made it obvious he didn’t care what she thought of what he did surprised her. The fact she had been playing catch-up since the start of the conversation instead of dominating it as she was used to bothered her - no, genuinely annoyed her. She lost her composure, and let some of the anger she had kept hidden so well for the sake of the sisters who looked up to her shine through in her next comment. “We made you what you are! You cannot betray us like this!”

            An evil-looking grin appeared on Duncan’s face. “You locked me inside this damned ship for ten years! That in itself is more than enough reason to defy you. Now you’re telling me I also need your permission to blame you for being dragged from death into this accursed life time and time again, kicking and screaming I might add, to perform tricks at the Sisterhood’s command?”

            “Why did you lock us out of such a large part of the ship? Scytale, Sheeana and the worm are in there, as well as the components needed to make an axolotl tank. What are you doing there?”

            “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

            Duncan stepped aside, and willed the heavy cargo crate he had been leaning against to slide across the floor towards Garimi and her two escorts. Garimi and Rebecca managed to jump aside, but Shaj was driven into a corner by the crate, and was unable to escape. Protrusions appeared on the walls near them, looking like metal tentacles that attempted to grab them. The swiftness their training hadoutfitted them with saved them, allowing them to exit the hold. As he ran past the trapped Proctor in pursuit of the two escapees, Duncan casually said: “Stay there.”

            Several levels down, Garimi and Rebecca entered the hold their allies - the Bene Gesserit and the Jews - were waiting, hoping the meeting with Idaho would not result in the disaster many of them were expecting.

“We must leave the ship!”, Garimi shouted, and added “Now!” when she noticed some were not getting up quickly enough. She ushered them towards the passageway that led outside. Looking over her shoulder, she could see Duncan entering the hold, not running, his almost relaxed pace adding to the danger she felt he radiated.

The Rabbi and most of his people had already left the ship - several Bene Gesserit, including Garimi, were still inside. Beneath them, the plasteel plates that formed the floor of the hold started to move and turned to liquid, swallowing two Proctors and an acolyte up to their knees, and then solidifying again, trapping them there. Garimi realised she could not help them anymore and fled, the last of her group to escape the ship. Behind her, the thick plasteel door closed with a loud bang.

            What allowed him to manipulate matter like that?, Garimi wondered. We knew the newer gholas like Duncan and Teg have proven able to do previously-unheard-of things, but this is… I don’t have words for it.

Teg… We need to get to him first. His speed and knowledge makes him an extremely valuable ally, but he has been close to the Duncan for a long time, and the similarities in their origin as well as their inhuman abilities might forge an even stronger bond.

Garimi could not suppress a shudder as she thought of what might happen if Teg failed to choose her side. In our latest conversation he did express concern over what Idaho and Sheeana were planning, but that was several days ago - the confusion he tried so hard to hide from me might have already driven him to another viewpoint. I know Sheeana spoke to him shortly before I did, and he was very reluctant to discuss that meeting with me… What happened between those two?

**  **  **  **  **

            I wish I could leave everything behind and go live in that cottage, Sheeana thought. It looks as if life would be much easier there.

            Sheeana sat in a chair in her private quarters, the Van Gogh painting she had taken from Chapter House hanging on the wall facing her.

            There is such serenity in that image. It is often said that in the past everything was better, and this remnant from an earlier time, this relic that some might say has become obsolete in this time - a rudiment -, shows us exactly that in the most powerful manner possible.

            She tilted her head, and tried to look at the painting in a different way, as good works of art customarily allow the spectator to do. New combinations of impressions and thoughts made her see the flipside of the artist’s expression. However, there’s another aspect to this painting. It depicts a menacing chaos threatening to break free, those wild, erratic brush strokes covering up the serenity of the depicted scene with thick, multicoloured scar tissue.

            This avenue of thought evoked faint feelings of fear in her - a source of reassurance was revealed to be yet another catalyst for the developments that filled her life with so much pain. She forced her eyes to let go of the painting and closed them for a brief moment. She opened them again and stared into nothingness.

            Sheeana noticed a stirring in the periphery of her perception - an almost undetectable sound, the visual fluctuations of a shadow pulling away, the vague agitation of all senses simultaneously yet none of them specifically, by the presence of someone - and rose from her reverie. Before she could get up to see what or who was there, Duncan entered her room.

**  **  **  **  **

            In the room next to the hold the worm was being kept five glass basins stood, half-filled with a clear, green-blue fluid, the composition of which Scytale had kept secret from Idaho, and was still conscientiously guarding against the ghola’s attempts at learning more. All Idaho knew one of the components was a substance secreted by the worm.

            “Did you have worms on Tleilax to extract this substance from?”, Idaho asked while Scytale was connecting odd-looking devices to eachother.

            Telling him what he wants to know will not jeopardise my mission, Scytale thought. He is still a ghla, and under my control.

            “Yes -at first. They were paid for dearly - smugglers on Arrakis and the Guild helped us. Later axolotl tank technology progressed to a point where we could synthesize the substance ourselves, without the intervention of sandworms.”

            “Were you able to synthesize the Water of Life?”

            What a sharp mind this little ghola has!, Scytale thought. The time he spent amongst the witches was not completely wasted, it seems. Perhaps we should redefine what the acceptable levels of powindah contamination can be.

“Yes. It took several centuries of experimenting, but eventually we found a way.”

“Did you create any Tleilaxu Reverend Mothers?”

“The Bene Gesserit witches are powindah!”

“I meant: did you manage to awaken Other Memory in anyone?”

“You know what Tleilaxu women look like,” Scytale said, indicating the tanks, “so we would not have been able to access those memories in any way that would have been useful to us. We did try, but the products of the experimental samples were without exception gruesomely diseased and malformed, and the tanks themselves would not respond to our commands properly.”

“Did any Tleilaxu males ever attempt the Spice Agony?”

“Yes, but they all died.”

“Did you try?”

Scytale was taken aback by the audacity of the question, and silence fell while he debated whether or not to answer this question. “Yes. I had observed Paul Atreides and thought I could do what he had done.”

The Tleilaxu Master tried to recall what had happened - memory extraction from a corpse and transferring that data to a new body was already possible at that time, but unlike the ability bred into recent Face Dancers it was a complex process involving many specialised machines. It didn’t matter: he knew he could be resurrected if the Spice Poison killed him.

He remembered extremely painful visions of death and destruction, being haunted by voices from the past and mechanical horrors so overpowering he had killed himself before the pain could do it for him. The voice of Idaho brought him back to the present.

”How can we be sure that in Sheeana’s case the same does not happen?”

“She is a Reverend Mother - she has already conquered the Spice Poison.”

“Will her… products not be deformed?”

“Some of them will, but for a very different reason.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You will learn soon enough. Go get her.”

            Idaho walked back to where he had left Sheeana’s unconscious form, and carried it in, remembering how he had managed to overpower her. She had been weak, mentally, so it hadn’t been difficult to use a combination of an Honoured Matre modification of a Bindu technique he had learnt from Murbella a lifetime ago and his new abilities to render her unconscious. Something had happened to make her more susceptable to this type of influence - her immunity to imprinting and related techniques hadn’t been able to save her this time.

            “Why is it that we need to use her for this?”, Duncan asked.

            “She is the one whose coming was foretold by the Prophet. She is Alyama, the Blessed One. She is blessed, for inside of her will grow a most important product.” He walked over to an elevated platform. “Put her down here.”

            He opened a case standing next to the platform, and took out a small lasgun. He activated it, a bright energy lance of about a quarter of a meter protruding from it like a blade of fire. With four quick movements, he cut off her arms and legs, the lasgun beam instantly searing up the wounds.

            “Those would only get in the way,” the Tleilaxu explained.

            For a moment, Idaho wondered why it was this gruesome sight did not startle him, but this sensation disappeared quickly. “Your people programmed certain memories and abilities into me. How does that work?”

            “This device,” Scytale said, holding up a small, elongated object, “enables me to program her to modify her product through a mental link. The technique is similar to the one Face Dancers use to make memory prints.”

            He pressed a button on the object, and a long needle flicked out, extending to twice the length of the device. He pressed the needle into Sheeana’s skull through her right temple. Seeing Idaho’s startled expression, he said: “There are many things we Tleilaxu can do that no one knows about.”

            Idaho helped Scytale carry Sheeana to her tank, and they lowered her into the fluid. While Scytale continued to work on Sheeana, attaching tubes that would inject nourishment and other substances into her body, Idaho remembered his own birth from a similar ‘tank’ - the experience so early in his life that nothing else from that period survived in his memory, but so harrowing and overwhelmingly alien that the image had been engraved in his mind, magnified by similar memories from the many other ghola lifetimes accessible to him.

            How will she experience all this?, Duncan wondered. Will she feel any pain? Will she even be aware of what we are doing to her?

            However, his concern for her safety did now last - a subtle, subliminal force gently pushed these thoughts from his consciousness. A short while later, he had forgotten all about his misgivings, and returned to helping Scytale with the preparations of the other axolotl tanks.

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Eleven]

His prescience adds an unforeseen element to the equation, the potential solution to which I remind you is in all likelihood still one generation into the future. However, the Lady Jessica’s desires in this matter became abundantly clear once her son was born, and the aforementioned new faculty combined with the training she’s been giving him could very well compensate for any genetic imperfections he might possess, at least in appearance to the untrained eye and perhaps even when compared to our goals with the program he forms such an integral part of. As you all know, his mother’s disobedience caused great turmoil amongst us when we first learnt of it, and while the latest news has prompted many sisters to modify their opinion towards the positive, I would like to stress the danger that is still present in this situation. We must bring him into contact with the Spice, but this needs to occur under the strictest of guidance - the number of potentially chaotic variables is too great.

-Bene Gesserit memorandum.

It was a long time ago, in a place far away

Or perhaps it was here, the time yesterday

It’s not that important, but you must understand:

The place was a strange one, a magical land.

Sheeana, a young girl, had found her way here

But home it was not, too strong was her fear

The desert was cruel, Shaitan could attack

This day she would leave, and would not go back.

Sheeana lived in a small village with her parents in the land of sand and silvery skies. Her family was poor, as many families in small villages all across the land were, but she loved her mother and father very much, and was happy with what she had. Every day she would go out into the desert and collect pieces of something the grown-ups called ‘Spice’, which was hidden in the sand everywhere.

“It’s a gift from God,” her father had explained when she had asked where the Spice came from. “He gives it to us so we can sell it to the Out-Freyn - the Fremen of the city.”

Her parents always liked it when she brought back a lot of this Spice, so she always did her best to find more than any of the other children. One day she was digging for Spice close to the village where she lived, the mixture of Spice and sand sticking to her hands and feet and staining her skin light blue. She hadn’t been able to collect much yet - other children had arrived at the spot first and had already claimed the Yarig-Hoyd, the biggest gift God would give that day.

Sheeana had just found a fairly large Spice deposit, when suddenly she heard a loud sound that filled her with fear, like a thousand of the snakes that she sometimes found under rocks all hissing together. She started to run back to her village, until suddenly the ground moved, and a gigantic monster rose from the sand, swallowing the tents and houses of the village. It was Shaitan - the Underdweller that punished the sinners - come to pass judgment on the village. Sheeana saw her parents trying to escape, but Shaitan swallowed them and their house, as well as all the other villagers. Sheeana was now alone.

Mad with anger, she jumped up and down on the sand, because she knew that would attract Shaitan. The monster approached, but stopped right in front of her.

“Swallow me, Shaitan!”, she screamed at the beast, because she didn’t want to live any longer. But Shaitan did not do what she asked of Him; He took her with Him instead, and carried her to the edge of the desert, where He left her alone.

Nearby, she could see green plants and trees, and just beyond those trees, a small house. The door of the house opened, and many men dressed in strange robes came out, and invited Sheeana to stay with them.

“She’s a gift from the heavens,” they said to eachother. “She speaks to the holy Shai-Hulud!”

They gave her the most delicious food: pies and milk and juicy fruit and all the candy she could eat, and gave her beautiful new clothes to wear, and let her bathe - such a strange sensation to let precious water run all over your body! Sheeana wasn’t sure what was happening, but she liked her new friends very much.

The next day, the men came to Sheeana, and asked her: “Oh holy One, can you protect us from the fury of Shai-Hulud? We will give you more clothes and candy and toys if you do.” Sheeana really liked her new friends, so she said yes. Every once in a while, she would go into the desert and talk to Shaitan, and sometimes even ride on his back.

One day, a woman came to the house, looking for Sheeana. The men called her a witch. “What a pretty little girl you are,” the witch said to her. “I think I want you to be my daughter.”

Sheeana didn’t like the witch at first, but this woman taught her everything she knew - she wanted to make Sheeana a witch as well.

Then the house was attacked - strange men without faces came and tried to take Sheeana away, but the witch helped her escape. It was at that moment that Sheeana decided this had to be a good witch.

          The good witch took her away to a land far from there, and brought Sheeana to her new house - and a beautiful house it was. The image unfroze in front of her eyes, crude brushstrokes of green and yellow, brown and blue dissolving and painting her a new home - a small house on the hill face, surrounded by waving grass and trees and terraced gardens with meandering walls built up of irregular stones.

          “I have a surprise for you,” the good witch said, and she pointed at the door of the house. ”I have found a prince for you to marry, and he loves you very much.”

          In the doorway, Sheeana saw Duncan Idaho, the most handsome man she had ever seen. She ran up to him and they kissed, and both felt as if they had always belonged together - destiny had been fulfilled. However, their happiness was not allowed to last: their house was besieged. The men without faces had found her again, but this time they were dressed in armour, and there were many more of them.

Duncan took Sheeana by the hand, and led her into a room in the house Sheeana did not know was there - it had been hidden from her. There was a large wicker basket there, and Duncan told her to climb inside. He pulled a few strings, pushed a number of buttons and turned a large wheel, and suddenly the roof of the house opened, and the basket with Sheeana and Duncan inside rose up into the air: they were in a hot-air balloon.

The balloon flew through the air for days, much higher  than the mountains and even higher than the clouds -  but still far from the places where Solar the firefly lived - and took them far away, to yet another land. About a week later, the balloon finally started to descend again, and after a while it set down, next to a small house on a hill face, surrounded by waving grass and trees and terraced gardens with meandering walls built up of irregular stones. Sheeana knew she had traveled a great distance and could not have ended up at her old house, but felt right at home there anyway.

Sheeana and Duncan had a wonderful time there, and they loved eachother very much. Everything was like a fairytale to her, as if her deepest desires had become reality.

One night, when Sheeana and Duncan were sleeping, Waldemar the Wendelward visited their house. Waldemar the Wendelward was a strange little man with a long beard - at least, that was what the old women of the tribe whispered to their grandchildren when they thought the parents weren’t around to overhear them… No one had ever actually seen him. They said he collected the Spice in the desert at night, when no one was looking, and used it to grow babies in little glass jars in his secret sietch, which was hidden somewhere in the rocks in an area where no one ever traveled. When a man loved his wife enough - more than life itself, with all his heart and for all eternity - Waldemar would visit them at night and give them one of the babies.

When Sheeana and Duncan woke up the next morning, they heard the baby crying - an awful noise to most people, but to Sheeana this was like the most beautiful music she had ever heard. She ran over to the crib Duncan had made, just in case Waldemar would pay them a visit, wanting to hold the little baby and give it all the love in the world. They already had a name picked out if it was a boy: Teg.

When he heard the terrible scream, Duncan came running. “What’s the matter?”

As soon as he had asked, he saw what had made Sheeana so afraid. In the crib there wasn’t a cute  and cuddly little person, but a monster: Shaitan! Duncan grabbed the crib, ran outside to the nearby lake, and threw in the monster, an ear-piercing cry signalling its death.

**  **  **  **  **

After only a week, Sheeana gave birth to the first ghola. Duncan had stayed away from the tanks, something in the way Sheeana had bloated causing him pain in a way he hadn’t expected. Thick veins were showing through her skin all over her body, and her face had an unchanging look of terror and pain on it.

Why does her fate matter to me?, Duncan thought. She was never more than a tool. Still, seeing her like this…

Scytale had demanded his presence, having need of his services in delivering the first product to be produced by their axolotl tanks. With metal clamps the Tleilaxu widened the opening the ghola would emerge from, causing large tears in the tank’s flesh, the sheer disregard for the inherent sanctity of the living being Sheeana still was offending Duncan.

“Shouldn’t you be more careful with her?”, Duncan asked.

“The tank will regenerate within days,” Scytale said matter-of-factly.

“How is it possible that the ghola is… ready so soon?”

“I’ve increased the growth rate; we need this one operational as soon as possible. I’ve saturated the tank’s systems with synthetic Spice - and a variety of other chemicals.”

“Synthetic? We do have a supply of real Spice.”

“That Spice is contaminated, not nearly pure enough to be useable. Ah, here he comes!”

A small, ugly little boy emerged. Scytale held him up, and inspected its many deformities: cancerous growths covered its body.

“That….thing is hideous!”, Duncan cried.

“Of course. That is the price we need to pay for the increased growth rate. In another few weeks, he will be fully grown. He won’t survive past his first year, but we probably won’t need him any longer than that.”

“Who is this? I don’t even recognise him.”

Scytale laughed. “Duncan, please welcome a new Miles Teg into the world.”

**  **  **  **  **

            The next summer, when Solar climbed higher and higher in the sky and the air grew less moist every day, the love Sheeana and Duncan felt for eachother was so strong that Waldemar the Wendelward returned one night and gave them a new baby - a boy the happy parents named Paul. Paul was a perfect little boy, with a cute little nose and cute little hands and feet, and bright blue eyes, without any white. Sheeana and Duncan were so happy that after a short while they had forgotten all about Teg, the awful monster that had scared them so.

          Sheeana and Duncan raised the boy to the best of their knowledge, and taught him many important lessons: never talk to strangers, be friendly and honest and always do what’s right. Paul was a very bright young boy, learning all his parents’ lessons well.

          One day, Sheeana and Duncan took Paul to the lake for a day of laughter and fun. However, the moment Sheeana first saw the water, a strange sensation overcame her.

          “There is danger in that water,” she whispered, Duncan  just out of earshot but perceptive enough to notice something was amiss.

          “What’s the matter, my love?”

          “There is danger in that water,” she said, louder this time.

          Duncan was by her side just in time to catch her as she lost consciousness. Strange and violent dreams plagued her then, of Death Himself crawling out of the water to grab her, and Shaitan watching her from the shadows under the trees on the opposite side of the lake. In her nightmare she fell down on the ground, unable to feel her arms and legs.

**  **  **  **  **

            “I would say she’s dreaming,” Scytale said. “The images her subconscious conjures up are very primitive, as if she has tapped into a source of childlike wonder and innocence - they’re generated by a lot of creative thought, and very little truly rational thought processes. She seems to be retrieving data from the very oldest images and sensations available to her in her Other Memory.”

            Idaho stroked his chin in thought. “Is it possible that this change in her brain activity will affect the growth of the new ghola?”

            Scytale hesitated, stalling for time by fiddling with the controls of one of the other axolotl tanks. My answer might betray more about the way gholas are constructed than I am willing to divulge. On the other hand: the lure of more information about his own genesis might enable me to increase my influence over him. I will grant him this morsel.

            “The subroutines necessary for the physical construction of the ghola are programmed into the permanent memory of the tank. The non-permanent memory - her thoughts and memory and the processing of impressions - is always regulated by certain prime directives we also program into the brain. This ensures the mental qualities that were bred into the tank continue to function to the benefit of the gholas. If you recall, Sheeana was chosen to be the, ah… mother of the Prophet’s new vessel. Her current mental state changes nothing.”

            Something Scytale had said disturbed Idaho. The construction of the ghola, Idaho thought. That’s what we are to the Tleilaxu - mere products. We’re custom-made - which implies they think they control us on a fundamental level -, creations, sub-standard forms of life. I knew this, of course, but Scytale’s less than implicit message is clear. He thinks he still owns me.

            Scytale was still talking. “You needn’t worry - Sheeana’s dreams are powerless.”

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Twelve]

Muad’Dib is not the one you seek, he is merely the one who comes before. He is the first drop of water that will form the sea, the initial step of a long journey on a dangerous road. He prepares the soil, but does not cause the growth. I now ask you: how will the organism that is about to emerge die?

-The Preacher at Arrakeen.

            A short distance away from the no-ship, the Bene Gesserit and the group of Jews had fashioned a primitive shelter for themselves, somewhat hidden from the ship’s spying devices by some shrubbery that had survived the inferno of the ship’s touchdown and was now desperately attempting to grow back what had been destroyed, but close enough to be able to see and hear all that happened at the strangely shaped craft.

            Garimi glanced over to the mountain of metal, at the same time hoping to see some kind of activity there, and praying all would remain silent. Idaho’s hostile takeover of the ship a month ago had proven that even those most carefully conditioned for rational behaviour were capable of destructive acts of despair.

            With more physical longing than she wished, Garimi thought of the Spice stored inside the no-ship, and how some of her sisters had already started showing the first signs of deficiency disease.They masked it well, but unless they found some Spice soon, the health of most Bene Gesserit would start declining rapidly. The time-release capsules with a small supply of melange implanted in each, programmed to activate in time of emergency, were all but depleted.

            Apart from that, the change in nourishment had not been easy on them. Bene Gesserit claimed to be able to display extreme adaptability, but the parsimonious diet of what the forest supplied them would take some getting used to. Round-the-clock watch duty to make sure Duncan would not be able to launch an unexpected attack had worn them down as well.

            The Rabbi was once more lecturing his audience. What does he intend to achieve this time?, Garimi wondered. Is this one of his theological lessons, another attempt to solidify our alliance, or just a way to pass the time?

            “I have noticed you Bene Gesserits pride yourselves on being able to exert great control over the tool of language,” he said. “In my culture, language has also been awarded a central place. This is how I understand better than most in what way language can be extremely dangerous. Using it without knowing how to live it constricts the meaning of words, and guides the thoughts of the user into rigid patterns. This way the use of a certain language might prevent the speaker from understanding concepts and viewpoints expressed in a different language, and even those who have mastered many languages, oftentimes are still unable to understand the wordlessness that permeates life. Can you afford to submit yourselves to such restrictions?

            A Bene Gesserit Proctor - an archivist called Heshilta, Garimi remembered - answered. “Our Other Memory offers liberation from such limitations.”

            “Rebecca has explained this faculty of yours to me, and based on the extent to which I understand this ‘Other Memory’, I can see you have not fully grasped what I’ve been trying to say. Thoughts are not necessarily verbal, but this ‘Other Memory’ of yours does manifest itself in the form of words, perceived as if they were spoken by the personas of your predecessors. There are fundamental gaps between these non-verbal thoughts and the words you classify them with, and nothing I have heard suggests to me you’re able to properly perform the translation between the two - and even if you were, the translation itself would mean destruction. As I have said before, words classify reality, and force impressions into previously constructed categories. They destroy those impressions. The words from your Other Memory merely constitute the unrecogniseably altered debris of your world.”

            “I think you are mistaken,” Heshilta started to say, but the Rabbi continued.

            “Your many years of mental and physical training weave similar webs. The ways in which you’ve been taught to react might prove dangerously inadequate in unexpectedly different situations.”

“Now, I know this is incorrect,” Heshilta interjected sharply. “Other Memory allows for a nigh-infinite number of permutations of the techniques we’ve been trained in. In any Bene Gesserit, simulflow will develop to such an extent that thoughts and pieces of advice from past sisters will integrate into current mental processes, to help us adapt to any new situation imagineable.”

            Suddenly, Heshilta bent over, groaning and clutching her chest in intense pain.

            “What’s the matter?”, the Rabbi asked, despite his earlier polemic habits betraying real compassion for the woman.

            “Spice deficiency,” Garimi said.

            “One should never allow oneself to become so dependent on a rare substance,” the Rabbi muttered, but making sure Garimi was able to hear it.

            “She might die soon!”, Garimi said, almost losing her temper.

            “One need not fear death. Death is a part of life. It is life’s final stage in which a story that one’s existence constitutes receives closure.”

“All important knowledge is passed on via Other Memory, so in effect a Bene Gesserit never dies as long as the Sisterhood exists,” Garimi reacted smugly.

“Does this type of immortality not invalidate the original life?”

“It doesn’t when the old memories get the chance to form new interaction-patterns with other personalities and experiences.”

“The original life should be unique, and allowed to receive a worthy end. One should not attempt to trick death.”

            Death. Garimi allowed the concept to permeate her thoughts, silently mouthing the word several times, realising the mnemonic powers spoken language had. What a strange thing that is - the end of life. After death there is nothing. Of course, one could say death exists in life as its complement - a true understanding of life yielding a workable concept of non-life as its negative - but whether or not it is correct to equate non-life with death is debateable.

            Existence - being - carries with it death, in the sense that throughout life one must prepare for its termination, feeling the end coming ever closer. Nothingness is still something that can be thought, while not-being should retreat to just beyond the horizon of what can be grasped with thought-categories functional in and formed because of life.

            Sadness overcame Garimi then. Everything that has happened, and all the things that have yet to take place - not one of them evokes any response from me anymore, only the realisation that this response somehow fails to come incites the emergence of a shadow of an emotion in me. When that too has disappeared, will that truly be death?

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Thirteen]

Music is highly evocative of emotions and thoughts, and should therefore be avoided by all but the strongest among us. The place a Reverend Mother derives much of her power from - her Other Memories - has proven to be a disadvantage when it comes to music: cascading associations and confusing memory-emotions are stimulated by listening to it. Music, like love, removes substantial parts of free will and negates clarity of thought. Music enslaves.

-Bene Gesserit Analysis.

            “There’s still no change?”

            For the first time in many weeks, Miles Teg and Garimi met. All attempts to track down the Bashar after the expulsion from the no-ship had proven fruitless - it was obvious he did not want to be found. Now Teg came to her of his own volition. She could sense there was something bothering him, although he masked it well.

            “They haven’t tried anything since we were chased out,” Garimi answered.

            “This was six weeks ago, correct?”

            “Yes. How do you know this?”

            Teg did not look at the Proctor once, but watched the no-ship and the surrounding area intently. “I’ve been in the area several times the past few weeks. As much as you girls are skilled in many things, you really aren’t very well-versed in the art of reconaissance.”

            “Girls?”, Garimi asked,as if she had been insulted in the most offensive manner possible.

            A boyish grin formed on the Bashar’s face, but it quickly disappeared. “I’m going to take a closer look.”

            “Wait! Where have you been all those weeks?” Garimi sounded slightly more desperate than she wanted.

            Can I tell them?, Teg wondered. I have to! “This rift in our group -,” he said. “- it couldn’t have come at a worse time. I’ve found traces of human-like life not too far from this location. I suspect they, whomever they are, wanted me to find out that they were here. There’s a vast underground base.”

            “They wanted you to discover them?”

            “Yes. Several clues suggest they have something to do with Face Dancers - perhaps they are Face Dancers themselves. The fact I was allowed to find them is also consistent with their custom to offer any opponent a way out of a confrontation.”

            He walked a few paces and scanned the area, spotting a plateau in the distance that he thought would be be relatively easy to defend. He pointed at it, and said: “Take everyone there, making sure not to come too close to the no-ship. I’ll join you later.”

            He ran over to the no-ship under cover of a rock ledge, the size of the ship dwarfing him, the many oddly-shaped protrusions on its hull hiding him as he tried to make his way to a hatch without being detected by any of the ship’s scanners.

            What a peculiar invention a no-ship is, Teg couldn’t help thinking. These metal rods help fold electromagnetic radiation in such a way to suggest to any observer the ship isn’t really there. Ix is very secretive about their inventions, and has not disclosed how this process works, but Bene Gesserit research indicates they might have found a way to influence the movements and interaction of matter and energy on the most fundamental level.

            A creaking sound made Teg emerge from his thoughts. A few metres away from him a man-sized hatch opened, and a tall form appeared. With incredible speed, it ran around one of the gigantic metal spikes attached to the hull of the ship, wanting to confront Teg, but the Bashar, using the speed the Honoured Matre T-Probe had unlocked in him, had already positioned himself a short distance away in the clearing that stretched out at this side of the ship, ready to fight.

            Faster than even Teg could follow, the attacker approached him, and struck him down to the ground with incredible force. Teg got up, barely managing to evade a second blow, and spun around, succeeding in tripping his assailant with his outstretched leg.

            For a brief moment, Teg looked at the attacker, seeing not the cancerous growths and ill-smelling sores, but a very familiar face - his own!

            The shock that this realisation caused stunned Teg for a split-second, and this was all Scytale’s Teg-ghola needed. A powerful blow broke the Bashar’s jaw, and a violent kick splintered his right kneecap.

            The attacker moved in for the kill, but suddenly stopped and looked around, his nose pointed up and sniffing the air, as if he sensed something coming closer. He grunted once, a strange sound conveying an intense fear, turned around and ran back to the no-ship, entering through the open hatchway, closing it behind him.

            While Teg lay on the ground, hovering just this side of the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, he noticed Garimi and her group approaching. For a moment, all was silent - the wind had died down and the customarily omnipresent birds and insects either didn’t make a sound or had fled the area. All Bene Gesserit and Jews stood unmoving, listening, waiting for someone or something to arrive - its presence could be felt all around rather than detected with the senses, an undefined but unmistakeably real sensation. Dusk fell quickly, and in the retreating light the shadows of the trees distorted before dissolving into the darkness.

            In the distance a rustling could be heard, like many beings - man or animal, this wasn’t immediately apparent - moving through the dry shrubbery surrounding the trees of the forest, but taking care not to make too much noise. The sounds grew louder, the visitors apparently coming closer, until the sound had grown so loud as to suggest they had to be almost upon them. Suddenly, all was quiet again. Still, no one or nothing could be seen.

“Did you try?”

Scytale was taken aback by the audacity of the question, and silence fell while he debated whether or not to answer this question. “Yes. I had observed Paul Atreides and thought I could do what he had done.”

The Tleilaxu Master tried to recall what had happened - memory extraction from a corpse and transferring that data to a new body was already possible at that time, but unlike the ability bred into recent Face Dancers it was a complex process involving many specialised machines. It didn’t matter: he knew he could be resurrected if the Spice Poison killed him.

He remembered extremely painful visions of death and destruction, being haunted by voices from the past and mechanical horrors so overpowering he had killed himself before the pain could do it for him. The voice of Idaho brought him back to the present.

”How can we be sure that in Sheeana’s case the same does not happen?”

“She is a Reverend Mother - she has already conquered the Spice Poison.”

“Will her… products not be deformed?”

“Some of them will, but for a very different reason.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You will learn soon enough. Go get her.”

            Idaho walked back to where he had left Sheeana’s unconscious form, and carried it in, remembering how he had managed to overpower her. She had been weak, mentally, so it hadn’t been difficult to use a combination of an Honoured Matre modification of a Bindu technique he had learnt from Murbella a lifetime ago and his new abilities to render her unconscious. Something had happened to make her more susceptable to this type of influence - her immunity to imprinting and related techniques hadn’t been able to save her this time.

            “Why is it that we need to use her for this?”, Duncan asked.

            “She is the one whose coming was foretold by the Prophet. She is Alyama, the Blessed One. She is blessed, for inside of her will grow a most important product.” He walked over to an elevated platform. “Put her down here.”

            He opened a case standing next to the platform, and took out a small lasgun. He activated it, a bright energy lance of about a quarter of a meter protruding from it like a blade of fire. With four quick movements, he cut off her arms and legs, the lasgun beam instantly searing up the wounds.

            “Those would only get in the way,” the Tleilaxu explained.

            For a moment, Idaho wondered why it was this gruesome sight did not startle him, but this sensation disappeared quickly. “Your people programmed certain memories and abilities into me. How does that work?”

            “This device,” Scytale said, holding up a small, elongated object, “enables me to program her to modify her product through a mental link. The technique is similar to the one Face Dancers use to make memory prints.”

            He pressed a button on the object, and a long needle flicked out, extending to twice the length of the device. He pressed the needle into Sheeana’s skull through her right temple. Seeing Idaho’s startled expression, he said: “There are many things we Tleilaxu can do that no one knows about.”

            Idaho helped Scytale carry Sheeana to her tank, and they lowered her into the fluid. While Scytale continued to work on Sheeana, attaching tubes that would inject nourishment and other substances into her body, Idaho remembered his own birth from a similar ‘tank’ - the experience so early in his life that nothing else from that period survived in his memory, but so harrowing and overwhelmingly alien that the image had been engraved in his mind, magnified by similar memories from the many other ghola lifetimes accessible to him.

            How will she experience all this?, Duncan wondered. Will she feel any pain? Will she even be aware of what we are doing to her?

            However, his concern for her safety did now last - a subtle, subliminal force gently pushed these thoughts from his consciousness. A short while later, he had forgotten all about his misgivings, and returned to helping Scytale with the preparations of the other axolotl tanks.

[Dune7: Advent]

*

[Book One - Chapter Fourteen]

Space travel is the limiting factor of the Imperium. Without interstellar transport, opposing Houses are trapped on their respective worlds, thus preventing war. Growth, internal shifts of power and exchanges of goods are ultimately dependent on space travel, and are therefore determined by those who control transport. The Guild, as the sole provider of this service on a galaxy-wide scale, is a most important balancing force in this particular structure of dependencies and limitations. However, it would be counterproductive to exploit this monopoly to the point where the structure itself dissolves. The desire for an increase of wealth must be balanced by the intent to perpetuate the current status of the Guild.

-Spacing Guild Analysis.

            Teg awoke, the sudden and intense awareness of pain almost causing him to lose consciousness again, and noticed he was being dragged across a metal-plated floor. His arms and legs were tied by bounds too strong for him to break free from.

            He tried to look around, the pain in his jaw limiting the movement of his head. While he was being lifted onto what he thought to be some sort of examining table, he saw who had abducted him.

            Face Dancers, hidden by no-fields! Despite their unusual attire, Teg recognised the undifferentiated features these creatures possessed when not impersonating another.

            For a moment, he thought he he had been taken to the underground base, but the fact the no-field signature was different - small disturbances in the way the cloaked objects appeared to him allowed him to infer certain qualities of the no-fields that hid them - made him retract this hypothesis.

            Where the hell am I?

            “We know you can see us,” one of the Face Dancers, possibly the leader, said in a strange accent. The Face Dancers present became visible one by one, indicating they were not cloaked by a collective field, but had somehow found a way to make no-generators small enough to be carried around.

            I had no idea Ix had managed to refine no-technology to this extent!, Teg thought. The smallest no-generators Ix had offered to the Bene Gesserit weighed as much as a full-grown man. In his visions, Idaho had somehow managed to tap into knowledge on how to make smaller ones, but that technology was believed to be from beyond the Old Empire.

            The Bashar could not speak, but fervently wished bad things would happen to his abductors, and knew that his mental maledictions would manifest themselves on his face in the type of angry look that had even managed to intimidate Alma Mavis Taraza once.

            The leader appeared to notice this, but did not react beyond displaying a barely detectable frown, betraying no emotions. He reached for something outside Teg’s field of vision, and moved his hands towards Teg’s temples. The intense pain Teg felt while the probes were inserted into his skull through his temples was the last sensation he ever experienced.

**  **  **  **  **

            The Net has reappeared! Idaho almost began to panic. They’ve found me again! I need to get away from them!

The Teg-ghola had just returned to its cage in the bowels of the no-ship, when the hyper-sensitive scanners picked up minuscule disturbances all around the vessel.

            “What does it mean?”, Scytale asked, having joined Idaho in the control room.

            “After Sheeana returned with the information she heard from Teg, I rigged the ship’s no-generator to respond if any resonance with another no-field was detected.”

            “There’s a no-field out there?”

            Idaho produced a fake laugh. “Several thousand of them, actually. We need to leave.”

            He activated the no-ship’s engines and lifted off, seeing the world that had been their home for the past months drop away beneath him. He watched the Bene Gesserit and the Jews flee from the boosters’ hot exhaust gases, and felt no remorse at leaving them there to die. When he was far away enough from the planet to execute a space fold, he punched in a set of coordinates at random, and watched the planet and the stars disappear, the viewscreen briefly showing static as the outward sensors failed to register anything they could process.

            In his vision, he could see the old couple behind the net fading away, and soon thereafter the net itself disappearing as well.

            Do you know where we’re going?, a familiar voice inside his head asked him tauntingly.

            Leto?

            Yes.

            You want to know where we are going? I don’t know. Far away, I hope.

            Certainly, far away from here. But perhaps it’s time to visit some old friends. I need to be with my children again and many events will converge where we are going. I helped you choose this destination. I hope you don’t mind.

All of a sudden the no-ship’s engines stopped humming, and the viewscreen showed stars all around them winking back into existence. Idaho panned the viewscreen image to the right, absorbing the relative positions of the stars, his Mentat brain computing the observable patterns telling him where the spacefold had brought them. A planet came into view, a wide desert belt flaring outward from the equator.

            “Chapter House!”, Idaho shouted in amazement.

            Scytale gasped, and walked up next to Idaho. “Is this Chapter House?”

            “Yes.”

            “But the desert - it’s so large! You said they had released the sandtrout a mere decade ago. The time I was allowed to venture outside the no-ship I observed there was still a lot of moisture in the air.”

            Idaho started to speak, but his first words were drowned out by the blare of the ship’s alarm. “Proximity alert!”, he yelled.

            “Is it one of the no-ships from the planetary defense barrier?”

            Idaho checked a monitor on his left displaying data from the external sensors. “No, these objects are much larger.”

            “Well, what are they?”

            Idaho and Scytale looked up to the viewscreen, where large black shapes appeared all around Chapter House, their individual size and sheer number blotting out many of the stars.

Idaho sighed. “I’ve seen this before.”

“What?”

“In a vision. The enemies of many faces - the threat that chased the Honoured Matres back to the Old Empire. I’ve led them straight to Chapter House.”

continue

                                                                Last modified: May 24, 2000