Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [198]
After the frantic plunge through foldspace and away from the planet of the Handlers, while teams responded to the emergency, it had taken almost an hour to find each of the crashed ships on six different unoccupied decks.
Duncan was sure that nothing could have survived those crashes. The vessels were destroyed, the Face Dancer bodies trapped within the cockpits. Nothing could have walked away from the wrecks. And yet . . .
Could there now be as many as three Face Dancers secretly hiding in the corridors of the no-ship? Impossible! Even so, his greatest failing would be to underestimate the Enemy. He looked around the bay, sniffing, smelling the hot metal, caustic smoke, and the gritty residue of fire suppressors. An undertone of roasted flesh hung in the air.
He stared at wreckage for a long time, wrestling with his doubts. Finally he said, “Clean this up. Deliver samples for analysis, but above all, be careful. Be extremely careful.”
THEIR RECENT ORDEAL was the closest the Ithaca had come to being captured since the original escape from Chapterhouse. Miles Teg and Sheeana, recovered now, had joined Duncan on the quiet navigation bridge, where they all waited in brooding silence. Unspoken words hung heavily, making the air nearly unbreathable.
The four members of the exploratory party had survived, even though the Handlers and Futars had tried to kill them. During the escape flight in the lighter, the old Rabbi had used his Suk training to check out the three other escapees, declaring them unharmed except for a few scrapes and bruises. He had not, however, been able to explain Teg’s deep cellular exhaustion, and the Bashar had offered no answers.
Sheeana looked at the two men, the two Mentats, with her probing Bene Gesserit stare. Duncan knew she wanted explanations—and not just from him. He had suspected that Teg possessed secret, unexplained abilities for many years.
“I intend to understand.” Her demand was so sharp and importunate, so impossible to ignore, that Duncan thought she was using Voice. “By hiding things from me, from us, both of you put our survival in jeopardy. Of all our enemies, secrets could be the most dangerous.”
Teg’s face held a wry expression. “An interesting comment for a person in your position to make, Sheeana. As a Mentat Bashar to the Bene Gesserit, I know that secrets are a valuable coin of the Sisterhood.” He had eaten ravenously, gulped several melange-laden energy drinks, and then slept for fourteen hours. Even so, he still looked a decade older than he had been.
“That’s enough, Miles! I can understand Duncan’s burden of the old bonding to Murbella. It’s festered in him ever since our escape from Chapterhouse, and I knew he had never succeeded in overcoming his addiction. But your behavior poses a true mystery to me. I saw you move down there with a speed that no human could hope to match.”
Teg regarded her calmly. “Are you suggesting I am not human? Afraid that I might be a Kwisatz Haderach?” He knew Duncan had seen the same thing on two previous occasions, and the Honored Matres had spread rumors on Gammu about the old Bashar’s inexplicable abilities. But Duncan had chosen not to question it. Who was he to accuse the other man?
“Stop these games.” Sheeana crossed her arms over her chest. Her hair was in disarray. Using silence like a blunt hammer, she waited . . . and waited.
But Miles Teg also had Bene Gesserit training, and he did not submit to her probe. At last, she asked with a sigh, “Were you somehow altered in the axlotl tank? Did the Tleilaxu betray us after all, modifying you in strange ways?”
He finally broke through his icy wall of reservations. “This was an ability even the old Bashar had. If you must blame someone, point your finger at the Honored Matres and their minions.” Teg looked from side to side, still clearly reluctant to reveal his secrets. “Under their torture, I developed certain unusual talents that I can use in times of great need.”
“Accelerating your metabolism?