Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [34]
He was alert, absorbing as much information as possible, to ensure his own survival. He would do whatever was necessary to keep himself alive. It only made sense, especially if he was one of the last of his kind. God would want him to survive.
Above the west wing of the Palace, a suspensor crane floated high, lowering a bright red section of roof into place. Uxtal shuddered at the garish new look of the structure—pink columns, scarlet roofs, and lemon yellow walls. The Palace looked more like a carnival structure than a holy residence for the Masheikhs, the greatest masters.
His two escorts took Uxtal past snaking energy cables and crews of lower-caste Tleilaxu operating power tools, mounting wall hangings, installing rococo glowpanels. Uxtal entered an immense room with a high domed ceiling, which made him feel even smaller than he was. He saw charred panels and the remnants of quoted scripture from the Great Belief. The monstrous women had covered many of the verses with their sacrilegious decorations. Even hidden by lies, though, the word of God remained supremely powerful. Someday, after all this was over and he could come back, maybe he would do something about it. Make things right again.
With a noisy clatter, an ostentatious throne emerged from an opening in the floor. An older blonde woman sat back, looking like a once-beautiful queen who had been poorly preserved. The throne rose higher, until the regal woman glowered down at him. Matre Superior Hellica.
Her eyes flickered with an undertone of orange. “At this meeting, I decide whether you live or die, little man.” Her words boomed so loudly that her voice must have been augmented.
Uxtal remained petrified as he prayed silently, trying to look as insignificant and conciliatory as possible. He wished he could disappear through an opening in the floor and escape into an underground tunnel. Or, if only he could defeat these women instead, and fight—
“Do you have vocal cords, little man? Or have they been removed? You have my permission to speak, as long as you say something intelligent.”
Uxtal summoned his courage, being as brave as Elder Burah would have wanted him to be. “I—I do not know exactly why I am here, only that it is an important genetic assignment.” His mind raced for a way out of his predicament. “My experience in that field is unsurpassed. If you need someone to do the work of a Tleilaxu Master, there can be no better choice.”
“We have no other choice at all.” Hellica sounded disgusted. “Your ego will diminish after I bond you to me sexually.”
Trying not to cringe, Uxtal said, “I-I must stay focused on my work, Matre Superior, rather than be distracted by obsessive erotic thoughts.”
She obviously enjoyed watching him suffer, but the Matre Superior was just toying with him. Her smile gaped red and raw, as if someone had cut a gash across her face with a razor blade. “The Face Dancers want something from you, and so do the Honored Matres. Because all Tleilaxu Masters are now dead, your specialized knowledge grants you a certain importance by default. Perhaps I won’t tamper with you. Yet.”
She leaned forward and glared. His two escorts stepped back, as if afraid to be in Hellica’s targeting zone. “It is said you are familiar with axlotl tanks. The Masters knew how to use those tanks to create melange. Incredible wealth! Can you do that for us?”
Uxtal felt his feet turn to ice. He couldn’t stop shaking. “No, Matre Superior. The technique was not developed until after the Scattering, when my people were gone from the Old Empire. The Masters did not share that information with their Lost brothers.” His heart pounded. She was