Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [163]
The withered Honored Matre Ingva often talked with Uxtal about melange, as if she didn’t think—or care—that the Waffs could hear her. She demanded to know when the children would reveal their secrets.
Waff wasn’t aware that he had any secrets. He didn’t remember any.
“They mirror and mimic each other,” Uxtal said to Ingva. “I have heard them speak simultaneously and make the same noises, the same motions. The other ghola groups are growing even faster, it seems.”
“When can we get started?” Ingva hovered close to him, making the little researcher squirm. “I am not reluctant to threaten you—or tempt you—with a sexual experience beyond your most incredible fantasies.”
Uxtal seemed to shrink into himself and answered in a voice that cracked with fear. “Yes, those eight are as ready as they are ever going to be. No sense in waiting any longer.”
“They are expendable,” said Ingva.
“Not exactly expendable. The next batch is six months younger, and the others are even more recently removed from the tanks. Twenty-four in all, of varying ages. Even so, if we are forced to kill all eight of these, there will be others soon. We can try again and again and again.” He swallowed hard. “We have to expect a certain number of mistakes.”
“No, we don’t.” Ingva released the force field and licked her lips. She and Uxtal entered the protected chamber while the lab assistants stood guard outside. The eight gholas clumped together, backing away. Until now, they had not known that numerous other Waff gholas were being raised elsewhere in the large laboratory building.
Uxtal gave the accelerated ghola children a forced smile of encouragement, which none of the Waffs believed. “Come with us. There’s something we have to show you.”
“And if we refuse?” demanded Waff Three.
Ingva chuckled. “Then we will drag you—unconscious, if necessary.”
Uxtal wheedled, “You will learn why you are here, why we made you, and what you have that we need.”
Waff One hesitated, looked at his identical brothers. It was a temptation they could not resist. Though they had received forced educational induction, given inexplicable background to lay a foundation for something, the gholas were hungry to understand.
“I will go,” Waff One said, and he actually took Uxtal’s hand, pretending to be a sweet child. The nervous researcher flinched at the touch, but led the way out of the protected chamber. Waffs Two through Eight followed.
They entered a confined laboratory where Uxtal paraded the gholas in front of a spectacle—several brain-dead Tleilaxu Masters hooked up to tubes and instruments. Drool curled down gray chins. Machines covered their genitalia, pumping, milking, filling translucent bottles. The victims all looked uncomfortably like Waff, only older.
Uxtal waited while the staring children absorbed what they saw. “You used to be that. All of you.”
Waff One raised his pointed chin with some measure of pride. “We were Tleilaxu Masters?”
“And now you must remember what you were. Along with everything else.”
“Line them up!” Ingva ordered. Uxtal handed the Waff roughly to an assistant and waited until all of the accelerated children stood in front of him.
Strutting back and forth in front of the identical copies like a caricature of a commander, Uxtal made explanations and demands. “The old Tleilaxu Masters knew how to manufacture melange using axlotl tanks. You have that secret. It is buried within you.” He paused, clasped his small hands behind his back.
“We don’t have our memories,” one of the Waffs said.
“Then find them. If you remember, we will let you live.”
“And if we don’t?” Waff One asked defiantly.
“We have eight of you here, and others elsewhere. We need only one. The rest of you are completely disposable.”
Ingva chuckled. “And if all eight of you fail us, then we will simply turn to the next eight and repeat the process. As many times as necessary.”
Uxtal