'The Tleilaxu mixed the cells from more than one Idaho ghola when they grew you.'
Idaho-ghola! He refused to think of himself in that abstraction. 'Why is Leto suddenly so important to you?' No escaping the admission in that response.
'Our worm has become sandtrout.'
'Are they growing and propagating?'
'Apparently.'
'Unless you contain them or eliminate them, Chapterhouse may become another Dune. '
'You figured that out, did you?'
'Leto and I together.'
'So you remember many lives. Fascinating. It makes you somewhat like us.' How unswerving her stare!
'Very different, I think.' Have to get her off that track!
'You acquired the memories during your first encounter with Murbella?'
Who guessed it? Lucilla? She was there and might have guessed, confiding her suspicions to her Sisters. He had to bring the deadly issue into the open. 'I'm not another Kwisatz Haderach!'
'You're not?' Studied objectivity. She allowed this to reveal itself, a cruelty, he thought.
'You know I'm not!' He was fighting for his life and knew it. Not so much with Odrade as with those others who watched and reviewed the comeye records.
'Tell me about your serial memories.' That was a command from the Mother Superior. No escaping it.
'I know those... lives. It's like one lifetime.'
'That accumulation could be very valuable to us, Duncan. Do you also remember the axlotl tanks?'
Her question sent his thoughts into the misty probings that caused him to imagine strange things about the Tleilaxu - great mounds of human flesh softly visible to the imperfect newborn eyes, blurred and unfocused images, almost-memories of emerging from birth canals. How could that accord with tanks?
'Scytale has provided us with the knowledge to make our own axlotl system,' Odrade said.
System? Interesting word. 'Does that mean you also duplicate Tleilaxu spice production?'
'Scytale bargains for more than we will give. But spice will come in time, one way or another.'
Odrade heard herself speak firmly and wondered if he detected uncertainty. We might not have the time to do it.
'The Sisters you Scatter are hobbled,' he said, giving her a small taste of Mentat awareness. 'You're drawing on your spice stockpiles to supply them and those must be finite.'
'They have our axlotl knowledge and sandtrout.'
He was shocked to silence by the possibility of countless Dunes being reproduced in an infinite universe.
'They will solve the problem of melange supply with tanks or worms or both,' she said. This she could say sincerely. It came from statistical expectation. One among those Scattered bands of Reverend Mothers should accomplish it.
'The tanks,' he said. 'I have strange... dreams.' He had almost said 'musings.'
'And well you should.' Briefly, she told him how female flesh was incorporated.
'For making the spice, too?'
'We think so.'
'Disgusting!'
'That's juvenile,' she chided.
In such moments, he disliked her intensely. Once, he had reproached her for the way Reverend Mothers removed themselves from 'the common stream of human emotions,' and she had given him that identical answer.
Juvenile!
'For which there probably is no remedy,' he said. 'A disgraceful flaw in my character.'
'Were you thinking to debate morality with me?'
He thought he heard anger. 'Not even ethics. We work by different rules.'
'Rules are often an excuse to ignore compassion.'
'Do I hear a faint echo of conscience in a Reverend Mother?'
'Deplorable. My Sisters would exile me if they thought conscience ruled me.'
'You can be prodded, but not ruled.'
'Very good, Duncan! I like you much better when you're openly Mentat.'
'I distrust your liking.'
She laughed aloud. 'How like Bell!'
He stared at her dumbly, plunged by her laughter into sudden knowledge of the way to escape his warders, remove himself from the constant Bene Gesserit manipulations and live his own life. The way out lay not in machinery but in the Sisterhood's flaws. The absolutes by which they thought they surrounded and held him - there was the way out!
And Sheeana knows! That's the bait she dangles in front of me.
When Idaho did not speak, Odrade said: 'Tell me about those other lives.'
'Wrong. I think of them as one continuous life.'
'No deaths?'
He let a response form silently. Serial memories: the deaths were as informative as the lives. Killed so many times by Leto himself!
'The deaths do not interrupt my memories.'
'An odd kind of immortality,' she said. 'You know, don't you, that Tleilaxu Masters recreated themselves? But you - what did they hope to achieve, mixing different gholas in one flesh?'
'Ask Scytale.'
'Bell felt sure you were a Mentat. She will be delighted.'
'I think not.'
'I will see to it that she is delighted. My! I have so many questions I'm not sure where to begin.' She studied him, left hand to her chin.
Questions? Mentat demands flowed through Idaho's mind. He let the questions he had asked himself so many times move of themselves, forming their patterns. What did the Tleilaxu seek in one? They could not have included cells from all of his ghola-selves for this incarnation. Yet... he had all of the memories. What cosmic linkage accumulated all of those lives in this one self? Was that the clue to the visions that beset him in the Great Hold? Half-memories formed in his mind: his body in warm fluid, fed by tubes, massaged by machines, probed and questioned by Tleilaxu observers. He sensed murmurous responses from semi-dormant selves. The words had no meaning. It was as though he listened to a foreign language coming from his own lips but he knew it was ordinary Galach.
The scope of what he sensed in Tleilaxu actions awed him. They investigated a cosmos no one but the Bene Gesserit had ever dared touch. That the Bene Tleilax did this for selfish reasons did not subtract from it. The endless rebirths of Tleilaxu Masters were a reward worthy of daring.
Face Dancer servants to copy any life, any mind. The scope of the Tleilaxu dream was as awesome as Bene Gesserit achievements.
'Scytale admits to memories of Muad'Dib's times,' Odrade said. 'You might compare notes with him someday.'
'That kind of immortality is a bargaining chip,' he warned. 'Could he sell it to the Honored Matres?'
'He might. Come. Let's go back to your quarters.'
In his workroom, she gestured him to the chair at his console and he wondered if she was still hunting for his secrets. She bent over him to manipulate the controls. The overhead projector produced a scene of desert to a horizon of rolling dunes.
'Chapterhouse?' she said. 'A wide band along our equator.'
Excitement gripped him. 'Sandtrout, you said. But are there any new worms?'
'Sheeana expects them soon.'
'They require a large amount of spice as catalyst.'
'We've gambled a great deal of melange out there. Leto told you about the catalyst, didn't he? What else do you remember of him?'
