Although he had his memories back, Scytale found that a part of him missed his father, his predecessor, himself. His mind now contained everything he needed. But he wanted more.
With this new body, the Tleilaxu Master should have another century before cumulative genetic errors caused him to break down again. Enough time to solve many problems. But when another hundred years were gone, he would still be the last Tleilaxu Master, the only remaining keeper of the Great Belief. Unless he could use the cells of the Council of Masters stored in his nullentropy capsule. Someday, maybe the witches would allow him to employ the axlotl tanks for the purpose the Tleilaxu had intended them.
Back at Qelso, he had agonized over whether to remain there and create a new homeland for the Tleilaxu. Could he build the proper laboratories and equipment? Recruit followers from among the people there? Should he have taken that gamble? Young Scytale had studied the scriptures, meditated long and hard, and finally decided against staying behind—the same decision the Rabbi had reached. On Qelso, he wasn’t likely ever to have access to the axlotl technology he needed. His decision was perfectly logical.
The Rabbi’s recent misery and anger, however, was not so easily explained. No one had forced him into his choice. Ever since the ship left the planet and its spreading deserts, the old man had been marching up and down the corridors, spreading dissent like poison. He was the only one of his kind left aboard. Just like Scytale.
The aged holy man ate with the other refugees, grumbling about how harshly he was treated and how difficult it must be for his people to establish a new Zion without his guidance. Garimi and her hardliners, having been forcibly turned away from the planet, had expressed no sympathy for his grievances.
Watching it all, Scytale concluded that the Rabbi was the sort of person who placed external blame in order to position himself as a martyr. Since he would not leave the axlotl tank that had once been Rebecca, he could cling to his hatred of the Bene Gesserit order, faulting them instead of his own bad choices.
Well, Scytale thought, there was certainly enough hatred to go around.
IN HIS PRIVATE quarters, Wellington Yueh studied his mirror reflection—the sallow face, dark lips, and pointed chin. The narrow visage was younger than the one his memories told him to expect, but still recognizable. Since regaining his memories, he had let his black hair grow out until he had enough at the back to bind in an improvised Suk School ring.
Yet he did not fully accept himself. There was one more critical step to take.
In his hand he held an indelible scriber filled with dark ink that would leave a permanent stain. Not exactly a tattoo, and without any implant or attendant deep Imperial Conditioning, but close enough. His hands were steady, his strokes confident.
I am a Suk doctor, a surgeon. I can draw a simple geometric shape.
A diamond, prominent on his forehead, perfectly centered. Without hesitation, he drew another stroke, connected the lines, and filled in the skin of his brow. When he was finished, he examined himself again. Wellington Yueh looked back at him from the mirror, Suk doctor and personal physician to House Vernius and then House Atreides.
The Traitor.
He set the scriber aside, dressed in a clean doctor’s smock, and headed for the medical center. Like the old Rabbi, he was as qualified as any Bene Gesserit doctor to monitor patients and tend the axlotl tanks.
Recently, Sheeana had begun growing another ghola as part of her program, using cells from the Tleilaxu Master’s nullentropy tube. Now that Stilgar and Liet-Kynes were gone, she had felt justified in taking that step. Clinging to security, she refused to identify the child gestating in the axlotl tank.
The Bene Gesserits still claimed to need the gholas, though they could not clearly explain why. Their success in restoring the memories of previous lives in Yueh, Stilgar, and Liet-Kynes had not led to similar accomplishments with the other gholas yet. Some of the witches, especially Proctor Superior Garimi, continued to voice grave reservations about bringing back Jessica and Leto II, because of their past crimes. So they had tried to awaken Thufir Hawat next.
Yueh did not know what the witches had done in attempting to break down Hawat’s walls, but it had backfired on them. Instead of awakening, Hawat had fallen into convulsions. The old Rabbi had been present and rushed to attend the seventeen-year-old ghola, pushing the Sisters away and scolding them for the foolish risks they had taken.
But Yueh, like Scytale, already had his old knowledge. He was no longer a child, no longer waiting to become something. One day, he mustered his courage and implored Sheeana to put him to work. “You witches forced me to remember my old life. I begged you not to, but you insisted on awakening me. Along with my memories and my guilt, came useful skills. Let me act as a Suk doctor again.”
At first he wasn’t sure the Bene Gesserits would agree, especially considering the constant threat from the unknown saboteur—but when Garimi automatically objected, Sheeana decided to support him. He was granted permission to make rounds in the medical center, so long as he remained under surveillance.
At the entrance to the main axlotl chamber, two security women scanned Yueh carefully, then waved him through. Neither of them remarked on the new diamond-shaped stain on his forehead. He wondered if anyone still remembered what that mark had once symbolized.
In preoccupied silence, Yueh went about his inspections of the healthy axlotl tanks. Several produced melange for the ship’s stockpiles, but one was obviously pregnant. This unnamed ghola baby would gestate under much tighter security. Yueh was convinced that the child would not be another attempt at Gurney Halleck, Xavier Harkonnen, or Serena Butler. Nor would it be a duplicate of Liet-Kynes or Stilgar. No, Sheeana would experiment with someone else—someone she believed could dramatically help the Ithaca.
Knowing Sheeana’s impetuous nature, Yueh feared who the baby might be. The Sisters were not immune to making poor choices (as they had proved by bringing him back!). He couldn’t believe any of the women had imagined he might be a savior or a hero, yet he had been one of their first experiments. Judging from this, what if the witches were curious to study nefarious personalities from the dark pages of history? Emperor Shaddam? Count Fenring? Beast Rabban? Even the despised Baron Harkonnen himself? Yueh could imagine Sheeana’s excuses already. She would no doubt insist that even the worst personalities had the potential to provide invaluable information.
What snakes will they set loose among us? he wondered.
In the main medical center away from the tanks, he found the old Rabbi grumbling as he assembled a portable medical kit. Since refusing to remain behind on Qelso with his people, he lingered for hours at a time over the tank that he called Rebecca. Though he despised what had been done to her, he seemed relieved that she hadn’t been the one implanted with the new ghola.
Reluctant to have the Rabbi hover too long near the axlotl tanks, the Sisters gave him duties to keep him busy. “I am going to run Scytale through a battery of tests,” the old man huffed to Yueh, starting to retreat from the medical center. “Sheeana wants him checked out—again.”
“I can do that for you, Rabbi. My duties here are light.”
“No. Sticking needles into the Tleilaxu is one of my few pleasures these days.” His gaze fixed on Yueh’s new diamond mark, but he did not comment on it. “Walk with me.” The Rabbi took Yueh’s arm in a tight grip and led him into the corridors, away from the hovering Bene Gesserits. When they were far enough away for him to feel safe, the old man leaned closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “I am certain Scytale is the saboteur, though I have not found evidence yet. First the old one, and now his ghola replacement. They are all the same. With his memories restored, the young Scytale continues his insidious work to destroy our ship. Who can trust a Tleilaxu?”
Who can trust anyone? Yueh thought. “Why would he want to harm the ship?”
“We know he has some dirty scheme. Ask yourself why he would store Face Dancer cells in his nullentropy tube,
along with all the others—yours included. Why would he need them? Isn’t that suspicious enough for you?”
“Those cells were confiscated and secured by Sheeana. No one has had access to them.”
“Can you be sure of that? Maybe he wants to kill us all so he can restore an army of Face Dancers for himself.” The Rabbi shook his head. Behind the spectacles, his reddened eyes were angry. “And that isn’t all. The witches have their own schemes. Why do you suppose they won’t reveal the identity of the new ghola baby? Does even Duncan Idaho know who is growing in that tank?” He craned his neck, glanced over his shoulder back toward the medical center, watching out for surveillance imagers. “But you can find out.”
Yueh was perplexed, and curious, but he didn’t tell the Rabbi that he had been having some of the same doubts. “How? They won’t tell me either.”
“But they don’t watch you like they watch me! The witches are afraid I’m going to do something to hinder their program, but now that you have your memories, you’re their trusted little ghola.” The Rabbi slipped him a small sealed polymer disk, with a dab of filmy substance in the center. “You have access to the scanners. These are cell samples from the pregnant tank in there. Nobody saw me obtain them, but I dare not run the analysis myself.”
Yueh surreptitiously pocketed the disk. “Do I really want to know?”
“Can you afford not to? I leave it to you.” The Rabbi slipped away, muttering. Carrying his portable medical kit, he trudged off to the Tleilaxu’s cabin.
The sample weighed heavily in Yueh’s pocket. Why would the Sisters keep the new ghola’s identity secret? What were they up to?
It took several hours for him to find an opportunity to slip into one of the no-ship’s small lab chambers. As a Suk doctor, he had permission to use the facilities. Even so, he worked as swiftly as possible, running the small sample from the axlotl tank through a DNA catalog. He compared the cells from the growing ghola with the identifications that had been run years ago, when the Sisters first assessed the material in Scytale’s nullentropy capsule.
Yueh found a match fairly quickly, and when he learned the answer, he physically recoiled. “Impossible! They would not dare!” But in his heart, as he remembered the torment Sheeana had used to awaken his memories, he didn’t doubt the witches would do anything. Now he understood why Sheeana refused to reveal the identity of the ghola.
Even so, the choice itself made no sense. The Sisters had numerous other options. Better ones. Why not try again to bring back Gurney Halleck? Or Ghanima, as a companion for poor Leto II? For what purpose could they possibly need—he shuddered—Piter de Vries?
Because Bene Gesserits liked to play with dangerous toys, resurrecting people to serve as chess pieces in their great game. He knew the sort of questions they would pursue, just to satisfy their infernal curiosity. Was the genetic makeup of Piter de Vries corrupt, or was he evil because he had been Twisted by the Tleilaxu? Who better to think like an Enemy than a Harkonnen? Was there any evidence to suggest that a new Piter de Vries would turn out evil, as before, if he were not exposed to the corruptive influence of the Baron?
He could picture Sheeana giving him a condescending frown. “We need another Mentat. You, of all people, Wellington Yueh, should not hold the past crimes of a ghola’s old life against him.”
He still did not believe it. He squeezed his eyes shut, and even the fake diamond tattoo on his forehead seemed to burn. He remembered being forced to watch Wanna endure her endless torture at the hands of the vile Mentat. And the man thrusting a knife deep into his back, grinding the blade. Piter de Vries!
He still felt the sharp steel ripping into his organs, a mortal wound, one of the very last memories of his first life. Piter’s laugh reverberated, along with the screams of Wanna in the agony chamber . . . and Yueh unable to help her.
Piter de Vries?
Yueh reeled, barely able to absorb the information. He could not allow a monster like that to be reborn.
DAYS LATER, YUEH entered the medical center, and walked toward the single pregnant tank. This was just an innocent baby at the moment. Even if it was de Vries, this ghola child had committed none of the crimes of the original.
But he will! He is twisted, evil, malicious. The Sisters would raise him and insist on triggering his memories. Then he would be back!
Yet Yueh was trapped by his own previous logic. If the Piter ghola—in fact, all the gholas—were unable to escape the chains of fate, wouldn’t it be the same for Yueh? Was Yueh therefore destined to betray them all? Would he be doomed to make another terrible mistake—or must he sacrifice everything to prevent one? He had thought about consulting Jessica, but he decided against it. This was his burden, his decision.
Using the Rabbi’s sample, he had run the genetic scan privately and seen the result. He had to act alone. Though he was himself a Suk doctor, trained and conditioned to save lives, sometimes the death of one monster was required to save many innocents.
Piter de Vries!
Indirectly he had caused de Vries’s death the first time around, by giving the poison-gas tooth to Duke Leto, who bit down on it in the Mentat’s presence. Yueh had failed in so many ways, caused so much pain and disappointment. Even Wanna would have hated what he’d done to himself, and to the Atreides.
Now, though—a second life, a second chance. Wellington Yueh could make things right. Each of the resurrected ghola children supposedly had a great purpose. He was convinced that this was his.
The handmade black diamond staining his brow added to the burden as Yueh wrestled with his decision. In his restored memories, he saw with clarity when he had become an actual Suk doctor, when he passed through an entire Inner School regimen of Imperial Conditioning and took the formal oath. “ ‘A Suk shall not take human life.’ ”
And yet, Yueh’s oath had been subverted, thanks to the Harkonnens. Thanks to Piter de Vries. What irony that the breaking of his Suk pledge now allowed him to destroy the very man who had broken that conditioning! He had the freedom to kill.
Yueh already had the instrument of death in the pocket of his smock. His plans were in place, and he would take no chances. Since surveillance imagers still monitored the med center and its axlotl tanks, Yueh could not do this in secret, as the real saboteur had. Once he acted, everyone aboard the Ithaca would know who had killed the de Vries ghola. And he would face the consequences.
Perspiration formed on his brow as he crossed the room. With the sharp-eyed Bene Gesserit guard watching him, he could not delay, or the damned witches might detect his uneasiness, his nervous movements. Bringing out his device, Yueh turned a dial as if to recalibrate it, then inserted its probe into the pregnant tank, as he would do in taking a biological sample. Thus he easily administered a lethal dosage of fast-acting poison. So far, no one suspected a thing.
There. Done. Fittingly, de Vries had been an expert in cleverly concocted poisons. And no antidote was available for this toxin; Yueh had seen to that. In a matter of hours, the unborn de Vries would shrivel up and die. Along with the tank, unfortunately. But that could not be avoided. A necessary sacrifice.
Leaving the chamber, he smiled grimly and quickened his pace. By tomorrow, there would be no hiding. Thufir Hawat and Bashar Teg would review surveillance holos and interview the guards. They would know who had done it. Unlike the real saboteur, he could not delete the images. He would be caught.
Despite this knowledge, Yueh was content with himself for the first time since his reawakening. At last, he savored the elusive taste of redemption.
Send a fact-finding team to Buzzell to learn why soostone exports have dropped off so drastically. This lack of supply, coupled with the precipitous decline in melange production following the Chapterhouse plague, is highly suspicious, especially in light of the fact that the witches are involved in both enterprises. We have learned over the millennia not to take them at their word.
—CHOAM directive
Now that he possessed the sample
of ultraspice, Khrone knew exactly what lived in the fertile seas of Buzzell. The Navigators certainly had an unexpected scheme there, releasing a new breed of melange-producing worms. He needed to go there and see for himself. The leader of the Face Dancer myriad cared little for the loss of soostone revenue, but in his guise as a CHOAM functionary, he had to feign extreme displeasure.
“Monsters?” Standing on the main dock, he gave the woman Corysta a withering glare. “Sea serpents? Can you think of no better excuses for your incompetence?”
Khrone scowled at the sea and gathered his dark business robes about his shoulders. Out there in the water, wary Phibians swam, diving to harvest the gems from beds of cholisters, many of which had already been devoured by the hungry and growing seaworms. Armored boats patrolled the coves, though they would surely prove insignificant if one of the large creatures should decide to attack.
Reverend Mother Corysta held herself erect, surprisingly unintimidated by the faux official. “It’s no excuse, sir. No one knows where the worms came from or why they have appeared at this time. But they’re real. Guild hunting ships dragged in a carcass, if you care to see it.”
“Nonsense. Such a story obviously benefits the New Sisterhood.” Ignoring her protestations, he motioned for Corysta to accompany him along a rocky shoreline path, his shoes crunching on the loose stones. Stepping in a puddle, he frowned down at his feet and kept walking. “CHOAM suspects that you’re creating a false shortage in order to drive up prices. You have financial obligations. For years now, the Sisterhood has been commissioning extremely expensive ships, weapons, and military supplies. Your losses are tremendous.”
“They’re humanity’s losses, sir.” Corysta’s voice was sharp.
“And now Chapterhouse itself, brought to its knees by a plague. It appears that the Sisterhood can no longer meet its financial obligations. Thus, CHOAM no longer considers you a good credit risk.”
Sandworms of Dune Page 23