Dune

“In the no-ship you took to Dune just before you were killed there.” Still according to the rules.

“Killed . . .” Again, he looked at his hands. Watchers could almost see ghola-imposed filters drop from his memories. “I was killed . . . on Dune?” Almost plaintive.

“Heroic to the end,” Sheeana said.

“My . . . the men I took from Gammu . . . were they . . .”

“Honored Matres made an example of Dune. It’s a lifeless ball, charred to cinders.”

Anger touched his features. He sat and crossed his legs, placing a clenched fist on each knee. “Yes . . . I learned that in the history of the . . . of me.” Again, he glanced at Sheeana. She remained seated on the mat, quite still. This was such a plunge into memories as only one who had been through the Agony could appreciate. Utter stillness was required now.

Odrade whispered: “Don’t interfere, Sheeana. Let it happen. Let him work it out.” She made a hand-signal to the three Proctors. They went to the access hatch, watching her instead of the secret room.

“I find it odd to consider myself a subject of history,” Teg said. The child’s voice but that recurring sense of maturity in it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

In the observation room, Odrade sank back into her chair and asked: “What did you see, Duncan?”

“When Sheeana pushed him away from her, he turned with a swiftness I have never seen except in Murbella.”

“Faster even than that.”

“Perhaps . . . it’s because his body is young and we have given him prana-bindu training.”

“Something else. You alerted us, Duncan. An unknown in Atreides marker cells.” She glanced at the watchful Proctors and shook her head. No. Not yet. “Damn that mother of his! Hypno-induction to block an Imprinter and she hid it from us.”

“But look what she gave us,” Idaho said. “A more effective way to restore memories.”

“We should have seen that on our own!” Odrade felt anger at herself. “Scytale claims Tleilaxu used pain and confrontation. I wonder.”

“Ask him.”

“It’s not that simple. Our Truthsayers are not certain of him.”

“He is opaque.”

“When have you studied him?”

“Dar! I have access to comeye records.”

“I know, but . . .”

“Dammit! Will you keep your eyes on Teg? Look at him! What’s happening?”

Odrade snapped her attention to the seated child.

Teg looked at the comeyes, an expression of terrible intensity on his face.

It had been for him like awakening from sleep in the stress of conflict, an aide’s hand shaking him. Something needed his attention! He recalled sitting in the no-ship’s command center, Dar standing beside him with a hand on his neck. Scratching him? Something urgent to do. What? His body felt wrong. Gammu . . . and now they were on Dune and . . . He remembered different things: childhood on Chapterhouse? Dar as . . . as . . . More memories meshed. They tried to imprint me!

Awareness flowed around this thought like a river spreading itself for a rock.

“Dar! Are you there? You’re there!”

Odrade sat back and put a hand to her chin. What now?

“Mother!” What an accusatory tone!

Odrade touched a transplate beside her chair. “Hello, Miles. Shall we go for a walk in the orchards?”

“No more games, Dar. I know why you need me. I warn you, though: Violence projects the wrong kinds of people into power. As if you didn’t know!”

“Still loyal to the Sisterhood, Miles, in spite of what we just tried?”

He glanced at the watchful Sheeana. “Still your obedient dog.”

Odrade shot an accusatory look at the smiling Idaho. “You and your damned stories!”

“All right, Miles—no more games but I have to know about Gammu. They say you moved faster than the eye could follow.”

“True.” Flat, what-the-hell tone.

“And just now . . .”

“This body’s too small to carry the load.”

“But you . . .”

“I used it up in just one burst and I’m starving.”

Odrade glanced at Idaho. He nodded. Truth.

She motioned the Proctors back from the hatch. They hesitated before obeying. What had Bell told them?

Teg was not through. “Do I have it right, daughter? Since every individual is accountable ultimately to the self, formation of that self demands the utmost care and attention?”

That damned mother of his taught him everything!

“I apologize, Miles. We did not know how your mother prepared you.”

“Whose idea was it?” He looked at Sheeana as he spoke.

“My idea, Miles,” Idaho said.

“Oh, you’re there, too?” More memory trickled back.

“And I recall the pain you caused me when you restored my memories,” Idaho said.

That sobered him. “Point taken, Duncan. No apology needed.” He looked at the speakers relaying their voices. “How’s the air at the top, Dar? Rarefied enough for you?”