them.
As the Guildship drifted around to the nightside of Tleilax, the ship's viewers showed black scars where cities had been erased. Only a few weakly shining lights marked struggling towns that clung to life.
Somewhere down there, the greatest works of the Tleilaxu had their origins, even the primitive versions of Face Dancers, so many millennia ago. But those shape-shifting mules were little more than hand-daubed cave paintings compared to the masterpieces that Khrone and his fellows had become.
Face Dancers had taken over the crew positions on this ship, killing and replacing a handful of Guildsmen, leaving only the oblivious Navigator in his tank. Khrone was not certain whether a Face Dancer could imprint and replace a grandly mutated Navigator. That was an experiment to be considered at some later date. In the meantime, no one would know that he had come to Tleilax just to observe.
No one, except for his distant supposed controllers who watched the Face Dancers at all times.
Now, as Khrone walked down the corridor of the cruising ship, his step faltered. The burnished metal walls blurred and became less distinct. His whole view tilted at an angle, then sideways. Abruptly, the reality of the Guildship vanished, leaving him standing in an empty, cold void, with no surface visible beneath his feet. Sparkling, colorful lines of the tachyon net writhed around him, connections extending everywhere, woven through the universe. Khrone froze, his eyes widening as he looked around. He stopped himself from speaking.
In front of him he discerned a crystal-sharp image of the forms that the two entities chose for him to see: a calm and friendly looking old couple.
Actually, they were anything but gentle and harmless. The two had bright eyes, white hair, and wrinkled skin that radiated a warm glow of health. Both wore comfortable clothes: the old man a red plaid shirt, the matronly woman gray gardening overalls. But though she had assumed the shape of a woman's body, she had not the slightest air of femininity. In the vision that trapped Khrone, the two stood among fruit trees bursting with blossoms, so laden with white petals and buzzing bees that Khrone could smell the perfume and hear the sounds.
He didn't understand why this bizarre pair insisted on such a facade, certainly not for his benefit. He did not at all care about their appearance, nor was he impressed.
Despite his grandfatherly face, the old man's words were harsh. 'We grow impatient with you. The no-ship got away from us when it vanished from Chapterhouse. We caught another glimpse of it a year ago, but the craft slipped away from us again. We continue our own search, but you promised that your Face Dancers would find it.'
'We will find it.' Khrone could no longer feel the Guildship around him. The air smelled like sweet blossoms. 'The fugitives cannot evade us forever. You will have them, I assure you.'
'We do not have that long to wait. The time is nearly upon us after all these millennia.'
'Now, now, Daniel,' the old woman chided. 'You have always been so goal-oriented. What have you learned in pursuing the no-ship? Hasn't the journey itself provided many rewards?'
The old man scowled at her. 'That is beside the point. I have always worried about the unreliability of your distracting pets. Sometimes they feel the need to become martyrs. Don't they, my Martyr?' He said the name with dripping sarcasm.
The old woman chuckled as if he had merely been teasing her. 'You know I prefer Marty to Martyr. It's a more human name… more personal.'
She turned toward the blossom-laden fruit trees behind her, reached up with a tough brown hand and plucked a perfectly round portygul. The rest of the blossoms disappeared, and now the trees were full of fruit, all of it ripe for the picking.
Lost in this strange illusory place, Khrone stood boiling inside. He resented that his alleged masters could come upon him so unexpectedly, wherever he might be. The Face Dancer myriad was a widely extended network. The shape-shifters were everywhere, and they would catch the no-ship quarry.
Khrone himself wanted control of the lost vessel and its valuable passengers as much as the old man and woman did. He had his own agenda, which these two never guessed. The ghola being grown on Tleilax could be an important component of his secret plan.
The old man adjusted a straw hat on his head and leaned closer to Khrone, though his image came from impossibly far away. 'Our detailed projections have provided us with the answer we need. There is no possibility for error.
Kralizec will soon be upon us, and our victory requires the Kwisatz Haderach, the superhuman bred by the Bene Gesserit.
According to the predictions, the no-ship is the key. He is—or will be—aboard.'
'Isn't it amazing that mere humans reached the same conclusion thousands of years ago with their prophecies and their writings?' The old woman sat on a bench and began to peel the portygul. Sweet juice dripped from her fingers.
Unimpressed, the old man waved a callused hand. 'They laid down so many millions of prophecies, they couldn't possibly have been wrong all the time.
We know that once we acquire the no-ship, we acquire the Kwisatz Haderach.
That has been proven.'
'Predicted, Daniel. Not proven.' The woman offered him a section of the fruit, but the old man declined.
'When there is no doubt, then a thing is proven. I have no doubt.'
Khrone did not need to pretend confidence. 'My Face Dancers will find the no-ship.'
'We have faith in your abilities, dear Khrone,' the old woman said. 'But it has been nearly five years, and we need more than mere assurances.' She smiled sweetly as if she meant to reach out and pat him on the cheek. 'Don't forget your obligations.'
Suddenly the multicolored lines of force around Khrone grew incandescent.
Through all the nerves of his body, penetrating every bone and muscle fiber, he felt a searing agony, an indescribable pain that went beyond his cells and beyond his mind. With his intrinsic Face Dancer control, he tried to shut down all of his receptors, but he could not escape. The agony continued, yet the old woman's voice remained exceptionally clear in the back of his thoughts:
'We can keep this up for ten million years if we choose.'
Abruptly the pain was gone, and the old man reached over to take half of the peeled fruit the woman offered him. Tearing off a section, he said, 'Do not give us an excuse to do it.'
Then the illusory world wavered. The bucolic orchard disappeared, and the bright network of lines faded, leaving only the metal-walled corridors of the Guildship again. Khrone had collapsed to the deck, and no one else was around.
Shaking, he climbed to his feet. The throbbing agony still burst out in cellular echoes from dark afterimages behind his eyes. He drew several breaths to regain his strength, using his outrage as a crutch.
During the wash of pain, his features had shifted through numerous assumed guises and reverted to their blank Face Dancer appearance again. Gathering himself, Khrone vengefully formed his face into an exact replica of the old man's. But that was not enough for him. Feeling petty rage, he drew back his lips to expose teeth that he transformed into brown and decayed stumps.
Khrone's imitation of the old man's wrinkled face became decayed. Flesh hung in sagging folds, then turned yellow before separating from the muscles.
Vindictively leprous blotches covered the skin, and the face became a mass of boils, the eyes milky and blind.
If only he could project the condition, it was what the old bastard deserved!
Khrone reasserted himself again, restoring his normal appearance, though the anger remained unquenched within him. Then his smile gradually returned.
Those who considered themselves the rulers of the Face Dancers had been fooled again, just like the original Tleilaxu Masters and their offshoots, the Lost Ones. Still shaking, Khrone chuckled now as he walked along the Guildship's corridor, regathering his strength. He looked like an average crewman again.
No one could possibly understand the fine art of deception better than he did.
I am its greatest practitioner, he thought.
