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"My life burns faster," she said, pressing against him. "The birth now
controls my life. The medics told me it goes at a terrible pace. I must eat and
eat . . . and take more spice, as well . . . eat it, drink it. I'll kill her for
this!"
Paul kissed her cheek. "No, my Sihaya. You'll kill no one." And he thought:
Irulan prolonged your life, beloved. For you, the time of birth is the time of
death.
He felt hidden grief drain his marrow then, empty his life into a black
flask.
Chani pushed away from him. "She cannot be forgiven!"
"Who said anything about forgiving?"
"They why shouldn't I kill her?"
It was such a flat, Fremen question that Paul felt himself almost overcome
by a hysterical desire to laugh. He covered it by saying: "It wouldn't help."
"You've seen that?"
Paul felt his belly tighten with vision-memory.
"What I've seen . . . what I've seen . . ." he muttered. Every aspect of
surrounding events fitted a present which paralyzed him. He felt chained to a
future which, exposed too often, had locked onto him like a greedy succubus.
Tight dryness clogged his throat. Had he followed the witchcall of his own
oracle, he wondered, until it'd spilled him into a merciless present?
"Tell me what you've seen," Chani said.
"I can't."
"Why mustn't I kill her?"
"Because I ask it."
He watched her accept this. She did it the way sand accepted water:
absorbing and concealing. Was there obedience beneath that hot, angry surface?
he wondered. And he realized then that life in the royal Keep had left Chani
unchanged. She'd merely stopped here for a time, inhabited a way station on a
journey with her man. Nothing of the desert had been taken from her.
Chani stepped away from him then, glanced at the ghola who stood waiting
near the diamond circle of the practice door.
"You've been crossing blades with him?" she asked.
"And I'm better for it."
Her gaze went to the circle on the floor, back to the ghola's metallic eyes.
"I don't like it," she said.
"He's not intended to do me violence," Paul said.
"You've seen that?"
"I've not seen it!"
"Then how do you know?"
"Because he's more than ghola; he's Duncan Idaho."
"The Bene Tleilax made him."
"They made more than they intended."
She shook her head. A corner of her nezhoni scarf rubbed the collar of her
robe. "How can you change the fact that he is ghola?"
"Hayt," Paul said, "are you the tool of my undoing?"
"If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed," the
ghola said.
"That is no answer!" Chani objected.
Paul raised his voice: "How will I die, Hayt?"
Light glinted from the artificial eyes. "It is said, m'Lord, that you will
die of money and power."
Chani stiffened. "How dare he speak thus to you?"
"The mentat is truthful," Paul said.
"Was Duncan Idaho a real friend?" she asked.
"He gave his life for me."
"It is sad," Chani whispered, "that a ghola cannot be restored to his
original being."
"Would you convert me?" the ghola asked, directing his gaze to Chani.
"What does he mean?" Chani asked.
"To be converted is to be turned around," Paul said. "But there's no going
back."
"Every man carries his own past with him," Hayt said.
"And every ghola?" Paul asked.
"In a way, m'Lord."
"Then what of that past in your secret flesh?" Paul asked.
Chani saw how the question disturbed the ghola. His movements quickened,
hands clenched into fists. She glanced at Paul, wondering why he probed thus.
Was there a way to restore this creature to the man he'd been?
"Has a ghola ever remembered his real past?" Chani asked.
"Many attempts have been made," Hayt said, his gaze fixed on the floor near
his feet. "No ghola has ever been restored to his former being."
"But you long for this to happen," Paul said.
The blank surfaces of the ghola's eyes came up to center on Paul with a
pressing intensity. "Yes!"
Voice soft, Paul said: "If there's a way . . ."
"This flesh," Hayt said, touching left hand to forehead in a curious
saluting movement, "is not the flesh of my original birth. It is . . . reborn.
Only the shape is familiar. A Face Dancer might do as well."
"Not as well," Paul said. "And you're not a Face Dancer."
"That is true, m'Lord."
"Whence comes your shape?"
"The genetic imprint of the original cells."
"Somewhere," Paul said, "there's a plastic something which remembers the
shape of Duncan Idaho. It's said the ancients probed this region before the
Butlerian Jihad. What's the extent of this memory, Hayt? What did it learn from
the original?"
The ghola shrugged.
"What if he wasn't Idaho?" Chani asked.
"He was."
"Can you be certain?" she asked.
"He is Duncan in every aspect. I cannot imagine a force strong enough to
hold that shape thus without any relaxation or any deviation."
"M'Lord!" Hayt objected. "Because we cannot imagine a thing, that doesn't
exclude it from reality. There are things I must do as a ghola that I would not
do as a man."
Keeping his attention on Chani, Paul said: "You see?" She nodded.
Paul turned away, fighting deep sadness. He crossed to the balcony windows,
drew the draperies. Lights came on in the sudden gloom. He pulled the sash of
his robe tight, listened for sounds behind him.
Nothing.
He turned. Chani stood as though entranced, her gaze centered on the ghola.
Hayt, Paul saw, had retreated to some inner chamber of his being -- had gone
back to the ghola place.
Chani turned at the sound of Paul's return. She still felt the thralldom of
the instant Paul had precipitated. For a brief moment, the ghola had been an
intense, vital human being. For that moment, he had been someone she did not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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"My life burns faster," she said, pressing against him. "The birth now
controls my life. The medics told me it goes at a terrible pace. I must eat and
eat . . . and take more spice, as well . . . eat it, drink it. I'll kill her for
this!"
Paul kissed her cheek. "No, my Sihaya. You'll kill no one." And he thought:
Irulan prolonged your life, beloved. For you, the time of birth is the time of
death.
He felt hidden grief drain his marrow then, empty his life into a black
flask.
Chani pushed away from him. "She cannot be forgiven!"
"Who said anything about forgiving?"
"They why shouldn't I kill her?"
It was such a flat, Fremen question that Paul felt himself almost overcome
by a hysterical desire to laugh. He covered it by saying: "It wouldn't help."
"You've seen that?"
Paul felt his belly tighten with vision-memory.
"What I've seen . . . what I've seen . . ." he muttered. Every aspect of
surrounding events fitted a present which paralyzed him. He felt chained to a
future which, exposed too often, had locked onto him like a greedy succubus.
Tight dryness clogged his throat. Had he followed the witchcall of his own
oracle, he wondered, until it'd spilled him into a merciless present?
"Tell me what you've seen," Chani said.
"I can't."
"Why mustn't I kill her?"
"Because I ask it."
He watched her accept this. She did it the way sand accepted water:
absorbing and concealing. Was there obedience beneath that hot, angry surface?
he wondered. And he realized then that life in the royal Keep had left Chani
unchanged. She'd merely stopped here for a time, inhabited a way station on a
journey with her man. Nothing of the desert had been taken from her.
Chani stepped away from him then, glanced at the ghola who stood waiting
near the diamond circle of the practice door.
"You've been crossing blades with him?" she asked.
"And I'm better for it."
Her gaze went to the circle on the floor, back to the ghola's metallic eyes.
"I don't like it," she said.
"He's not intended to do me violence," Paul said.
"You've seen that?"
"I've not seen it!"
"Then how do you know?"
"Because he's more than ghola; he's Duncan Idaho."
"The Bene Tleilax made him."
"They made more than they intended."
She shook her head. A corner of her nezhoni scarf rubbed the collar of her
robe. "How can you change the fact that he is ghola?"
"Hayt," Paul said, "are you the tool of my undoing?"
"If the substance of here and now is changed, the future is changed," the
ghola said.
"That is no answer!" Chani objected.
Paul raised his voice: "How will I die, Hayt?"
Light glinted from the artificial eyes. "It is said, m'Lord, that you will
die of money and power."
Chani stiffened. "How dare he speak thus to you?"
"The mentat is truthful," Paul said.
"Was Duncan Idaho a real friend?" she asked.
"He gave his life for me."
"It is sad," Chani whispered, "that a ghola cannot be restored to his
original being."
"Would you convert me?" the ghola asked, directing his gaze to Chani.
"What does he mean?" Chani asked.
"To be converted is to be turned around," Paul said. "But there's no going
back."
"Every man carries his own past with him," Hayt said.
"And every ghola?" Paul asked.
"In a way, m'Lord."
"Then what of that past in your secret flesh?" Paul asked.
Chani saw how the question disturbed the ghola. His movements quickened,
hands clenched into fists. She glanced at Paul, wondering why he probed thus.
Was there a way to restore this creature to the man he'd been?
"Has a ghola ever remembered his real past?" Chani asked.
"Many attempts have been made," Hayt said, his gaze fixed on the floor near
his feet. "No ghola has ever been restored to his former being."
"But you long for this to happen," Paul said.
The blank surfaces of the ghola's eyes came up to center on Paul with a
pressing intensity. "Yes!"
Voice soft, Paul said: "If there's a way . . ."
"This flesh," Hayt said, touching left hand to forehead in a curious
saluting movement, "is not the flesh of my original birth. It is . . . reborn.
Only the shape is familiar. A Face Dancer might do as well."
"Not as well," Paul said. "And you're not a Face Dancer."
"That is true, m'Lord."
"Whence comes your shape?"
"The genetic imprint of the original cells."
"Somewhere," Paul said, "there's a plastic something which remembers the
shape of Duncan Idaho. It's said the ancients probed this region before the
Butlerian Jihad. What's the extent of this memory, Hayt? What did it learn from
the original?"
The ghola shrugged.
"What if he wasn't Idaho?" Chani asked.
"He was."
"Can you be certain?" she asked.
"He is Duncan in every aspect. I cannot imagine a force strong enough to
hold that shape thus without any relaxation or any deviation."
"M'Lord!" Hayt objected. "Because we cannot imagine a thing, that doesn't
exclude it from reality. There are things I must do as a ghola that I would not
do as a man."
Keeping his attention on Chani, Paul said: "You see?" She nodded.
Paul turned away, fighting deep sadness. He crossed to the balcony windows,
drew the draperies. Lights came on in the sudden gloom. He pulled the sash of
his robe tight, listened for sounds behind him.
Nothing.
He turned. Chani stood as though entranced, her gaze centered on the ghola.
Hayt, Paul saw, had retreated to some inner chamber of his being -- had gone
back to the ghola place.
Chani turned at the sound of Paul's return. She still felt the thralldom of
the instant Paul had precipitated. For a brief moment, the ghola had been an
intense, vital human being. For that moment, he had been someone she did not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]