Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [35]
As he stood by the open hatch, he suddenly shuddered, realizing his vulnerability. Now that he had turned the worms loose, would Edrik even require his services anymore? The Tleilaxu man feared the silent assistants might shove him overboard and leave him floating kilometers from the nearest speck of land. Warily, he backed deeper into the cargo hold and gripped a ridged wall strut.
But the Guildsmen made no move against him. They performed their work exactly as he told them to, and precisely as the Navigator had specified. Perhaps Waff was fearful only because he intended to have these men killed. He naturally suspected they would think the same about him.
Waff anticipated the seaworms would thrive here. The environment was conducive to their growth and reproduction. The worms would mark their territory, and when they grew large enough they would become leviathans of the deep. A fitting form for the Prophet.
The transport’s cargo doors sealed again with a low hiss, and the Guild pilot flew away. Waff and his party would arrive back at the Heighliner well before the merchant vessels returned with their loads of soostones. No one would be the wiser.
The Tleilaxu Master glanced through the cockpit’s plaz port to see the waves receding. He saw no sign of the seaworms, but he knew they were down there somewhere.
He let out a contented sigh, confident that his Prophet would come back.
It is the principle of the ticking time bomb, a strategy of aggression that has long been part of human violence. Thus we have inserted our “time bombs” into the cells of gholas, activating specific behaviors at precise moments of our choosing.
—from The Secret Manual of Tleilaxu Masters
The no-ship had its own time, its own cycles. Most of the people were asleep, except for off-shift watches and maintenance crews. The decks were quiet, the glowpanels dimmed. In the shadowy chamber that held the axlotl tanks, the Rabbi paced back and forth, murmuring Talmudic prayers.
On a surveillance screen Sheeana observed the old man carefully, always alert to prevent any new incident of sabotage. When the saboteur had killed the three gholas and axlotl tanks, he or she had shut down the security imagers, but Bashar Teg had made sure that was no longer possible. Everything was under observation. As a former Suk doctor, the Rabbi had access to the medical center; he often spent time with what remained of the woman he’d known as Rebecca.
Though the old man had answered all questions the Truthsayers asked him, he still hadn’t earned her trust. Despite her best efforts, the saboteur and murderer remained at large. And the recent appearance of the glowing net had brought the Enemy too close, reminding the passengers of the very real threat. Everyone onboard had seen it. Their danger remained unabated.
Three relatively new axlotl tanks rested on their platforms; volunteers had come forward to answer Sheeana’s call, exactly as she had expected. All three new tanks were currently producing liquid-form melange that dripped into small collecting vials, but she had begun preparations to implant one of the wombs with cells from Scytale’s nullentropy tube. A new embryo to bring back yet another figure from the past. She refused to let the sabotage deflect her ghola project.
The Rabbi stood before the new tanks, his tense body exhibiting clear markers of loathing and disgust. He spoke to the fleshy mound. “I hate you. Unnatural, ungodly.”
After watching the old man carefully, Sheeana left the monitor screens and entered the medical center, gliding up behind him. “Is it honorable to hate the helpless, Rabbi? Those women are no longer aware, no longer human. Why despise them?”
He whirled, lights reflecting on his polished spectacles. “Stop spying on me. I wish time alone to pray for Rebecca’s soul.” Rebecca had been his personal favorite, willing to pit her intellect against his;