Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [150]
Using all of her training to focus on the output of certain nerves and muscles, Mohiam reconnected her eyes so that she could at least move them to look around. The neural scrambler had been incredibly effective, though, and the rest of her body lay helpless.
Fighting his revulsion, the Baron reached down and tore at her skirts. What a disgusting form she had, without the male muscle patterns he so admired and desired. “My, it looks like you’ve had a little accident here,” he said, frowning at the urine-wet fabric.
Piter de Vries stood over her from behind, looking down at her broad, slack face. She saw the red-stained lips and the half-mad glint in the Mentat’s eyes. Below, the Baron knocked her legs apart and then fumbled at his loose-fitting black pants.
She couldn’t see what he was doing, didn’t want to.
Giddy with the success of his plan, the Baron had no difficulty maintaining an erection this time. Flushed in the afterglow of the brandy he had drunk, he stared down at the unattractive woman, imagined her as a withered old crone that he had just sentenced to the most brutal of the Harkonnen slave pits. This woman, who fancied herself so great and powerful, now lay completely helpless . . . at his mercy!
The Baron took enormous pleasure in raping her—the first time he could ever recall enjoying himself with a woman, though she was just a limp piece of meat.
During the violence of the attack, Mohiam lay supine on the cold floor, furious and impotent. She could feel every movement, every touch, every painful thrust, but she still had no control over her voluntary muscles. Her eyes remained open, although she thought she might have been able to blink if she worked hard enough at it.
Instead of wasting that energy, the Reverend Mother concentrated internally, feeling her biochemistry, changing it. The Mentat’s stunner weapon hadn’t done a complete job on her. Muscles were one thing, but internal body chemistry was quite another. The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen would regret this.
Previously she had manipulated her ovulation to achieve the peak of fertility in this exact hour. Even raped, she would have no trouble conceiving a new daughter with the Baron’s sperm. That was the most important consideration.
Technically, she required nothing more from the vile man. But the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam intended to give him something back, a slow-acting revenge he would never forget for the rest of his life.
No one was ever allowed to forget a Bene Gesserit punishment.
Though she remained paralyzed, Mohiam was an accomplished Reverend Mother. Her body itself contained unorthodox weapons that remained at her disposal even now, even as helpless as she appeared to be.
With the sensitivities and remarkable functions of their bodies, Bene Gesserit Sisters could create antidotes for poisons introduced into their systems. They were able to neutralize the most hideous strains of diseases to which they had been exposed, and either destroy the virulent pathogens . . . or render them latent in their bodies, keeping the diseases themselves as resources for later use. Mohiam carried several such latencies within her, and she could activate those diseases by controlling her own biochemistry.
Now the Baron lay on top of her, grunting like an animal, his jaw clenched, his lips curled back in a sneer. Beadlets of stinking sweat covered his reddened face. She stared up. Their eyes met, and he thrust harder, grinning.
That was when Mohiam selected the particular disease, an oh-so-gradual vengeance, a neurological disorder that would destroy his beautiful body. The Baron’s physique obviously brought him much pleasure, was a source of great pride. She could have infected him with any number of fatal, suppurating plagues—but this affliction would be a deeper blow to him, much slower in its course. She would make the Baron face his own appearance every day as he grew fatter and weaker.