Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [128]
Duncan glanced from Yueh and Teg to Sheeana. “The connection is obvious to me now. Thufir Hawat and the Rabbi. Why didn’t I see it?”
Sheeana caught her breath as she suddenly realized the same thing. “Both went down to the planet of the Handlers!”
Duncan nodded. “Hawat and the Rabbi were alone together during the hunt of the Honored Matres. You all had to fight your way back to the lighter after you discovered that the Handlers were Face Dancers.”
“Of course.” Sheeana’s face was grave. “Those two came running in from the forest at the last moment. It seems they didn’t escape the Handlers after all.”
“So the original Rabbi and Thufir—” Duncan began.
“Both dead long ago, replaced by Face Dancers on the planet, and their bodies discarded during the hunt.”
Finally achieving Mentat focus, Duncan jumped to the next obvious conclusion. “Then it’s been more than five years since the substitutions. Five years! In all that time, the Hawat and Rabbi duplicates must have been waiting for their opportunity, killing gholas and axlotl tanks, sabotaging our life-support systems, forcing us to stop at Qelso, where we were vulnerable to discovery by our pursuers. Did the Enemy pick up our trail there? So far, we’ve managed to elude the net, but now that the Face Dancers have been exposed—”
Sheeana paled. “And what about the stolen mines? What did the Rabbi do with the explosive mines? He can set them off at any time, if he gets to them.”
Starting to recover but clearly woozy, Teg was already moving toward the door. “That Face Dancer knows he has to seize the no-ship before we can kill him. He will head for the navigation bridge.”
“Garimi is there,” Sheeana said. “Let’s hope she can stop him.”
BY THE TIME the Face Dancer reached the navigation bridge, he had resumed his disguise as the Rabbi. He contained all the memories, experiences, and personality details of the old man, and much more. The frail and frightened-looking Rabbi burst into the chamber, startling Garimi. “What are you doing up here?” she asked.
His eyes were wide and panicked as if he thought she could offer him protection. His spectacles had fallen off. “Face Dancer!” he panted, staggering toward her. “He’s killing Bene Gesserits!”
Garimi spun toward the intercom panel to contact Sheeana—and the Rabbi struck. His deadly blow came close to her neck, but she sensed the movement and turned at the last possible moment. The side of his fist drove down on her shoulder instead. She slid from her chair, and the Rabbi dove at her again.
Garimi launched a kick up at him from the deck, aiming for one of the old man’s knobby and uncertain knees, but he sprang away like a coiled panther. The Rabbi let out a feral yowl as Garimi leapt to her feet again and assumed a defensive stance. Her lower lip curled. “Clever, Rabbi. Even now that I know what you are, I can hardly smell any Face Dancer stink on you.”
With a yank and a twist, the Rabbi uprooted an anchored chair and swung it at her. She ducked and reached up to grab the chair as it whistled over her head. Tearing it out of his hands, her pull was enough to knock him to the floor.
When the Rabbi rose to his feet again, he shifted his body to mimic the form of a ferocious Futar. His body bulged with muscles, his teeth became sharp and elongated, and his claws slashed the air. Garimi stumbled back to get out of his killing reach and hammered her hand down on the intercom. “Sisters! Face Dancer on the navigation bridge!”
The Futar lunged, and his sharp, newly grown claws ripped her robes. Using wild and frantic punches intended more to hurt her foe than protect her own life, Garimi shattered his ribs. With an outraged kick that employed the full force