Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [105]
Vladimir recoiled and glowered, first at his stung hand, then at Uxtal. Obviously, his little mind was churning as he turned away peevishly. “I’m going outside to have fun. Maybe I’ll kill something.”
LEAVING THE AXLOTL tank and counting down the time remaining until the baby could be decanted, Uxtal went to the “pain encouragement rooms.” There, closely monitored by Honored Matres, his assistants siphoned chemicals from writhing torture victims. Over the years, Uxtal had learned that certain types of pain led to differences in the purity and potency of the resulting substance. Hellica rewarded him for that sort of research and analysis.
Unsettled by Vladimir’s near tantrum, he threw himself into the work, snapping orders to his assistants, monitoring the dull-eyed fear on the faces of the strapped victims being milked for pre-spice chemicals. At least they were cooperating. He wasn’t going to give lizardlike Ingva anything to report to the Matre Superior.
Hours later, exhausted and anxious for a few moments of privacy in his quarters where he could complete his ritual ablutions and prayers, then mark off another day that he had survived, Uxtal left the pain laboratories. By now, the boy Vladimir had either gotten himself into trouble or found the Matre Superior to exchange cruelties with her. Uxtal didn’t care.
Though weary, he headed toward the smaller laboratory section to check on the pregnant axlotl tank one final time, but the young Baron blocked the way, standing with his hands on his hips. “I want another kitten. Right now.”
“I already said no.” Uxtal tried to go around, but the nine-year-old moved to block his way again.
“Or something else. A lamb! Get me a little lamb. Sligs are boring.”
“Stop this,” Uxtal snapped. Drawn by the commotion of voices, Ingva slinked out of the torture wing and watched them hungrily. He looked away from her, swallowing hard.
When the boy saw the old Honored Matre spy, his attention spun in another direction, like a projectile ricocheting off thick armor. “Ingva told Matre Superior Hellica that my sexuality is very powerful for my age—and quite perverse.” He seemed to know the comment would be provocative. “What did she mean by that? Do you think she wants to bond with me?”
Uxtal looked over his shoulder. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? In fact, why don’t you go do that right now?” As he tried to step around the boy yet again, he became aware of an unusual sound in the laboratory. Splashing noises came from somewhere by the axlotl tank.
Startled, Uxtal roughly shoved Vladimir aside and hurried toward the tank. “Wait!” the boy said, hurrying to catch up.
But Uxtal had already reached the mounded female form. “What have you done?” He ran to the flex-tube nutrient connections. Ripped loose, they were gushing red and yellow fluids all over the floor. The sympathetic nervous system in the womb-body caused the jellylike flesh to shudder. A thin squealing and sucking sound came from the slack remnants of its mouth, an almost-conscious sound of desperation. A surgical knife from the pain-encouragement rooms lay on the floor. An alarm klaxon went off.
In panic, Uxtal struggled to reconnect the lines. He whirled to grab the smug child by the shirt and shook him. “Did you do this?”
“Of course. Don’t be stupid.” Vladimir kicked at Uxtal’s groin, but succeeded only in hitting his thigh, though it was enough to make the Tleilaxu release him. The boy ran off, shouting, “I’m going to tell Hellica!”
Torn between his fears of the Matre Superior and the Face Dancers, Uxtal looked in dismay at the tank’s mangled life-support systems. He couldn’t let the womb—and the critically important child within—die. That poor baby . . . and poor Uxtal!
Drawn by the alarm, two lab assistants rushed in—competent ones, thankfully, instead of Ingva. Maybe if they worked swiftly