Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [138]
“Isn’t that exactly what a Face Dancer would say? I do not find your assurances terribly convincing.”
“We would submit to Truthsayer interrogation,” one of the other two said, “but you already know that is no longer reliable.”
Kiria pointed out, “In pitched battle we noticed a strange thing. While some of the Face Dancers died quickly from their wounds, others did not. In fact, when two were on the verge of death, their features began to change prematurely.”
“So, if we brought a subject to the verge of death, a Face Dancer would reveal itself?” Murbella sounded skeptical.
“Precisely.”
With a sudden movement, Murbella flung herself at Kiria and hit her with a hard kick to the temple. The Mother Commander placed the blow precisely, shifting her foot a fraction of a centimeter from what would have been fatal.
Kiria fell to the floor like a stone. Her companions did not move.
On her back, Kiria gasped for breath, her eyes glazed. In a blur of motion, before they could run, Murbella felled the other two in the same manner, rendering them all helpless.
She loomed over the trio, ready to deliver the killing blows. But except for contortions of pain, their features did not change. In contrast, the ghoulish face of the dead shape-shifter was unmistakable in its preservation wrappings.
The Mother Commander tended to Kiria first, using Bene Gesserit healing holds to calm the victim’s breathing. Then she massaged the woman’s injured temple, her fingers finding the exact pressure points. The former Honored Matre responded quickly, and finally managed to sit up on her own.
Because the three women had not transformed meant either that they were not Face Dancers, or that the test did not work. Murbella’s uneasiness grew as questions continued to rear up. She found herself in uncharted territory. Face Dancers could be anywhere.
Simply because something is not seen does not mean it is not there. Even the most observant can make this mistake. One must always be alert.
—BASHAR MILES TEG,
strategy discussions
M
iles Teg arrived on the navigation bridge with a specific purpose in mind. He took a chair at the console beside Duncan, who only reluctantly turned his attention from the controls. Since his own distraction and preoccupation with Murbella had nearly allowed them to be trapped by the sparkling net, Duncan had been conscientious in his duties to the point of isolating himself. He refused to let down his guard again.
Teg said, “When I died the first time, Duncan, I was nearly three hundred standard years old. There were ways I could have slowed my aging—through massive consumption of melange, certain Suk treatments, or Bene Gesserit biological secrets. But I chose not to. Now I am feeling old again.” He looked over at the dark-haired man. “In all your ghola lifetimes, Duncan, have you ever been truly old?”
“I’m more ancient than you can possibly imagine. I remember every one of my lives and countless deaths—so much violence against me.” Duncan allowed himself a wistful smile. “But there were a few times when I had a long and happy life, with a wife and children, and I died peacefully in my sleep. Those were the exceptions, however, not the rule.”
Teg looked at his own hands. “This body was no more than a child’s when we left. Sixteen years! Children have been born, and people have died, but everything aboard the Ithaca seems stagnant. Is there more to our destiny than constant flight? Will it ever stop? Will we ever find a new planet?”
Duncan took another scan of space all around the drifting ship. “Where is it safe, Miles? The hunters will never give up, and each trip through foldspace is dangerous. Should I try to find the Oracle of Time and ask for her help? Can we trust the Guild? Should I take us into that other strange, empty universe again? We have more options than we admit, but nothing that makes a good plan.”
“We should look for someplace unknown and unpredictable. We can travel routes that