Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [49]
“I’m an Atreides. Shouldn’t I be able to control them like you can?”
“That isn’t a theory I intend to test with you. You are too important to us. Of all the gholas, if you foolishly throw your life away, what are we to do?”
“But if you protect me too much, you’ll never get what you need. Riding a worm would have brought my memories back, I’m sure of it.”
“You restored Yueh,” Chani pointed out to Sheeana. “Why not Usul? He’s older.”
“Yueh was expendable, and we weren’t sure of what we were doing. We have already developed specific plans for awakening Liet-Kynes and Stilgar, and if we succeed with them, others may follow—including Thufir Hawat and you, Chani. One day, Paul Atreides will get his chance. But only after we are certain.”
“What if we don’t have the time?” Paul walked away from them, brushing sand and dust from his new stillsuit.
DUNCAN AWOKE TO a loud signal at the door to his quarters. His initial thought was that Sheeana had come to him again, despite their mutual reservations. He slid aside the door, ready for an argument.
Paul stood there wearing a replica of an Atreides military uniform, which evoked instant respect and loyalty from Duncan. The young man had dressed that way on purpose. Right now, the ghola Paul was almost exactly the same age as the original had been when Arrakeen had fallen to the devious Harkonnens, when the first Duncan had died defending him and his mother.
“Duncan, you say you were my close friend. You say you knew Paul Atreides. Help me now.” Grasping an ornately carved ivory hilt, the young man drew a blue-white crystalline dagger from a sheath at his waist.
Duncan stared in amazement. “A crysknife? It looks . . . Is it real?”
“Chani made it from a worm tooth Sheeana found in the cargo hold.”
In wonder, Duncan touched his fingers to the blade, noting how tough and sharp it was. He drew his thumb along the edge, intentionally cutting himself. He let a single drop of blood fall onto the milkywhite dagger. “According to ancient tradition, a crysknife must never be drawn unless it tastes blood.”
“I know.” Paul was clearly troubled as he took the weapon back and returned it to its sheath. After hesitating, he blurted out what he had come to say. “Why won’t the Bene Gesserits awaken me, Duncan? You need me. Everyone on this no-ship needs me.”
“Yes, young Master Paul. We do need you, but we need you alive.”
“You need my abilities, as soon as possible. I was the Kwisatz Haderach, and this ghola has the same genetics. Imagine how I could help.”
“The Kwisatz Haderach . . .” Duncan sighed and sat down on his bed. “The Sisterhood spent centuries creating him, but at the same time they were terrified of him. He can supposedly bridge space and time, seeing the future and the past, places even a Reverend Mother dares not look. Through brute force or guile he can forge a union between the most diverse of factions. It’s a grab bag of tremendous powers.”
“Whatever those powers are, Duncan, I need them. And for that I require my memories. Convince Sheeana to try me next.”
“She will do what she will do, at a time of her choosing. You overestimate the influence I have among the Sisters.”
“But what if the Enemy’s net ensnares us completely? What if the Kwisatz Haderach is your only hope?”
“Leto II was a Kwisatz Haderach, as well, though neither you nor your son turned out exactly the way the Bene Gesserit intended. The Sisters are very afraid of anyone who manifests unusual powers.” He laughed. “After the Scattering, when the Sisterhood brought the great Duncan Idaho back, some of them even accused me of being a Kwisatz Haderach. They killed eleven of my gholas, either by Bene Gesserit heretics or Tleilaxu schemers.”
“But why don’t they want these powers? I thought—”
“Oh, they want the powers, Paul, but only under carefully controlled conditions.” His heart went out to the young man, who looked so lost and desperate.
“I can’t do anything without my past, Duncan. Help me retrieve it! You lived through