Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [162]
Vladimir wet himself, and for a few moments the mere sensation was a revelation, but it quickly faded. And he was left alone in empty, silent, darkness. He needed sensation, stimulus, pain, interaction, pleasure. Anything!
Finally, he became aware of a gradual change around him. Nonexistent illumination, sounds, and smells seeped in, gradually filling the stygian universe, converting it to something else. Even the tiniest glimmer was like an explosion. With that catalyst, senses poured into his conscious and unconscious mind, filling every cavity. Pain, a mental pain, made his head feel as if it would explode.
He screamed again. This time, the pain brought no semblance of pleasure whatsoever.
The full life of the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen flooded back into the ghola body with all the subtlety of an avalanche. Every thought and experience came back to him, all the way up to the moment of his first death on Arrakis. He saw the little girl Alia stabbing him with the poisoned needle, the gom jabbar—
The internal universe expanded, and he became aware of voices again. He was outside the chamber now, withdrawn from the large coffinlike device.
The Baron sat up indignantly, pleased and surprised to note his younger body, which was a bit plump from overindulgence but not ravaged by the bloating and debilitating disease the witch Mohiam had inflicted upon him. He looked down at himself, grinned up at the Face Dancers. “Oh ho! The first thing I want is a better wardrobe. And then I want to see that Atreides brat you’ve been raising for me.”
Khrone stepped closer, his expression inquisitive. “You have access to all of your memories, Baron?”
“Of course! Baron Harkonnen is indeed back.” He wandered into his thoughts, reassured by the things he had achieved in his original, glorious lifetime. He was delighted to be himself again.
But deep inside his brain, lurking at the back of his mind, he sensed that something was wrong, out of his control. An unwanted presence had joined him inside his mind, hitchhiking on his memories.
Hello, Grandfather, a girl’s voice said. She giggled.
The Baron’s head jerked. Where was that coming from? He didn’t see her.
Did you miss me, Grandfather?
“Where are you?”
Where you won’t lose me. I will always be with you now. Just like you were with me, haunting me, appearing in visions, refusing to give me rest. The girl’s giggle became more shrill. Now it’s my turn.
It was the Abomination, Paul’s sister. “Alia? No, no!” His mind must be playing tricks on him. He dug his fingers against his temple, but the voice was inside, unreachable. With time, she would go away.
Don’t count on it, Grandfather. I am here to stay.
Each civilization, no matter how altruistic it purports to be, has its means of interrogating and torturing prisoners, as well as an elaborate system to justify such actions.
—from a Bene Gesserit report
T
hough he was genetically identical to the other seven gholas in the first batch, Waff Number One did not like being so short, small, and weak. His accelerated body had reached its mature size in less than four years, but he wanted to be strong enough to escape this maddening confinement.
As he peered out through the shimmering confinement field, Waff seethed at Uxtal and the laboratory assistants. His seven counterparts did the same. The Lost Tleilaxu researcher was like a nervous prison guard, constantly prodding and herding the eight matching gholas. All of the Waffs loathed him.
He imagined sinking his teeth into Uxtal’s neck and feeling the hot blood surge into his mouth. The researcher and his assistants were too cautious now, though. The ghola brothers shouldn’t have made their earlier attack on him, before they were ready to succeed. That had been a tactical mistake. A year ago they had been so much younger.
Standing safely on the other side of the confinement field, Uxtal frequently lectured the eight gholas about his Great Belief, implying that all