Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [40]
Duncan turned his back on the observation window where he stood. “Triggering the process isn’t like activating a subroutine or working through a bout of temporary amnesia. You can’t just issue a memo and order it done.”
“The ghola children have always known that we would demand this of them,” she said. “Without their past memories, without their genius, they are of no more value to us than any other children.”
The Bashar nodded slowly. “To recall a ghola’s past life is an experience that destroys and recreates the psyche. There are numerous proven methods, some more painful than others, but none are easy. You can’t awaken the children all at once. Each critical event must be tailored to the individual. A horrible, mind-shattering crisis.” Teg’s face showed echoes of pain. “You thought you were using a humane awakening method with me, Sheeana . . . when I was only a ten-year-old child.”
Though Duncan, too, seemed uneasy at the prospect, he stepped down from the observation window and walked toward Sheeana. “She’s right, Miles. We created those gholas for a purpose, and right now they’re all like unloaded guns. We need to load our gholas—our unique weapons. The Enemy’s net is stronger now, and it nearly snared us again. We all saw it. Next time, we may not be able to slip away.”
“We’ve waited long enough.” Sheeana’s voice was hard, brooking no argument.
“Some gholas may be more challenging than others.” Teg’s eyes narrowed. “You may lose some to madness. Are you prepared for that?”
“I have gone through the Spice Agony, as have all Reverend Mothers on this ship. We survived the unbearable pain.”
“I have the memories of my old life,” Teg said. “Of wars and atrocities, and enduring unbearable torture. Somehow the bad details are much more vivid than the pleasant ones, but nothing is worse than the awakening.”
Sheeana waved her hand. “Throughout history, men and women have had a monopoly on their own kinds of pain, each thinking theirs is the worst.” She smiled grimly. “We will start with the least valuable ghola, of course. In case something goes wrong.”
WELLINGTON YUEH WAS summoned to stand before the Bene Gesserits in one of the no-ship’s council chambers. The gangly teenager had a pointed chin and pinched lips. Already buried within his face were hints of the familiar chiseled features and broad forehead—the despised visage that had become synonymous with the word traitor for thousands of years in galactic reference works.
The young man was nervous, fidgeting. Sheeana drew herself to her full height and stepped closer. He flinched at her intimidating presence, but somehow found the courage to stand where he was. “You summoned me, Reverend Mother. How may I assist?”
“By awakening your memories. Tomorrow you will be the first of our subjects to undergo the trigger.”
Yueh’s yellowish face paled. “But I’m not ready!”
“That is why we have given you a full day to prepare.” Proctor Superior Garimi’s tongue was sharp, as usual.
Although Garimi had never embraced the project, she now wanted to see its culmination. Sheeana knew what she was thinking: If the awakening process failed, Garimi intended to prevent any further gholas from being grown; if the awakening succeeded, she would insist that the program had fulfilled its goal and could be discontinued. She knew that Sheeana, still intrigued by all those cells in the Tleilaxu’s nullentropy capsule, was planning further ghola experiments.
Yueh’s legs were locked. He seemed close to fainting and grasped a nearby chair to steady himself. “Sisters, I don’t want to have my memories back. I am not the man you think you resurrected, but a new person—my own person. The old Wellington Yueh was tormented in so many ways. Even though he was in part me, how can I forgive him for what he did?”
Garimi made a dismissive gesture. “Nevertheless,