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He gasped in the grip of the serial memories that cascaded into him. All of those lives! All of those lives!
Now, he remembered what the Tleilaxu had planted in him, the submerged awareness that awaited only this moment of seduction by a Bene Gesserit Imprinter.
But this was Murbella and she was not Bene Gesserit.
She was here, though, ready at hand and the Tleilaxu pattern took over his reactions.
Duncan hummed softly and touched her, moving with an agility that shocked Murbella. He should not be this responsive! Not this way! His right hand fluttered against the lips of her vagina while his left hand caressed the base of her spine. At the same time, his mouth moved gently over her nose, down to her lips, down to the crease of her left armpit.
And all the time he hummed softly in a rhythm that pulsed through her body, lulling... weakening...
She tried to push away from him as he increased the pace of her responses.
How did he know to touch me there at just that instant? And there! And there! Oh, Holy Rock of Dur, how does he know this?
Duncan marked the swelling of her breasts and saw the congestion in her nose. He saw the way her nipples stood out stiffly, the areolae darkening around them. She moaned and spread her legs wide.
Great Matre, help me!
But the only Great Matre she could think of was locked securely away from this room, restrained by a bolted door and a plaz barrier.
Desperate energy flowed into Murbella. She responded in the only way she knew: touching, caressing--using all of the techniques she had learned so carefully in the long years of her apprenticeship.
To each thing she did, Duncan produced a wildly stimulating countermove.
Murbella found that she no longer could control all of her own responses. She was reacting automatically from some well of knowledge deeper than her training. She felt her vaginal muscles tighten. She felt the swift release of lubricant fluid. When Duncan entered her she heard herself groan. Her arms, her hands, her legs, her entire body moved with both of the response systems--well-trained automation and the deeper, deeper plunging awareness of other demands.
How did he do this to me?
Waves of ecstatic contractions began in the smooth muscles of her pelvis. She sensed his simultaneous response and felt the hard slap of his ejaculation. This heightened her own response. Ecstatic pulsations drove outward from the contractions in her vagina ... outward ... outward. The ecstasy engulfed her entire sensorium. She saw a spreading blaze of whiteness against her eyelids. Every muscle quivered with an ecstasy she had not imagined possible for herself.
Again, the waves spread outward.
Again and again...
She lost count of the repetitions.
When Duncan moaned, she moaned and the waves swept outward once more.
And again...
There was no sensation of time or surroundings, only this immersion in a continuing ecstasy.
She wanted it to go on forever and she wanted it to stop. This should not be happening to a female! An Honored Matre must not experience this. These were the sensations by which men were governed.
Duncan emerged from the response pattern that had been implanted in him. There was something else he was supposed to do. He could not remember what it was.
Lucilla?
He imagined her dead in front of him. But this woman was not Lucilla; this was ... this was Murbella.
There was very little strength in him. He lifted himself off Murbella and managed to sink back onto his knees. Her hands were fluttering in an agitation he could not understand.
Murbella tried to push Duncan away from her and he was not there. Her eyes snapped open.
Duncan knelt above her. She had no idea how much time had passed. She tried to find the energy to sit up and failed. Slowly, reason returned.
She stared into Duncan's eyes, knowing now who this man must be. Man? He was only a youth. But he had done things ... things ... All of the Honored Matres had been warned. There was a ghola armed with forbidden knowledge by the Tleilaxu. That ghola must be killed!
A small burst of energy surged into her muscles. She raised herself on her elbows. Gasping for breath, she tried to roll away from him and fell back to the soft surface.
By the Holy Rock of Dur! This male could not be permitted to live! He was a ghola and he could do things permitted only to Honored Matres. She wanted to strike out at him and, at the same time, she wanted to pull him back onto her body. The ecstasy! She knew that whatever he asked of her at this moment she would do. She would do it for him.
No! I must kill him!
Once more, she raised herself onto her elbows and, from there, managed to sit up. Her weakened gaze crossed the window where she had confined the Great Honored Matre and the guide. They still stood there looking at her. The man's face was flushed. The face of the Great Honored Matre was as unmoving as the Rock of Dur itself.
How can she just stand there after what she has seen here? The Great Honored Matre must kill this ghola!
Murbella beckoned to the woman behind the plaz and rolled toward the locked door beside the sleeping pad. She barely managed to unbolt and open the door before falling back. Her eyes looked up at the kneeling youth. Sweat glistened on his body. His lovely body ...
No!
Desperation drove her off onto the floor. She was on her knees there and then, mostly by will power, she stood. Energy was returning but her legs trembled as she staggered around the foot of the sleeping pad.
I will do it myself without thinking. I must do it.
Her body swayed from side to side. She tried to steady herself and aimed a blow at his neck. She knew this blow from long hours of practice. It would crush the larynx. The victim would die of asphyxiation.
Duncan dodged the blow easily, but he was slow ... slow.
Murbella almost fell beside him but the hands of the Great Honored Matre saved her.
"Kill him," Murbella gasped. "He's the one we were warned about. He's the one!"
Murbella felt hands on her neck, the fingers pressing fiercely at the nerve bundles beneath the ears.
The last thing Murbella heard before unconsciousness was the Great Honored Matre saying: "We will kill no one. This ghola goes to Rakis."
The worst potential competition for any organism can come from its own kind. The species consumes necessities. Growth is limited by that necessity which is present in the least amount. The least favorable condition controls the rate of growth. (Law of the Minimum)
--From "Lessons of Arrakis"
The building stood back from a wide avenue behind a screen of trees and carefully tended flowering hedges. The hedges had been staggered in a maze pattern with man-high white posts to define the planted areas. No vehicle entering or leaving could do so at any speed above a slow crawl. Teg's military awareness took all of this in as the armored groundcar carried
him up to the door. Field Marshal Muzzafar, the only other occupant in the rear of the car, recognized Teg's assessment and said:
"We're protected from above by a beam enfilading system."
A soldier in camouflage uniform with a long lasgun on a sling over one shoulder opened the door and snapped to attention as Muzzafar emerged.
Teg followed. He recognized this place. It was one of the "safe" addresses Bene Gesserit Security had provided for him. Obviously, the Sisterhood's information was out of date. Recently out of date, though, because Muzzafar gave no indication that Teg might know this place.
As they crossed to the door, Teg noted that another protective system he had seen on his first tour of Ysai remained intact. It was a barely noticeable difference in the posts along the trees-and-hedges barriers. Those posts were scanlyzers operated from a room somewhere in the building. Their diamond-shaped connectors "read" the area between them and the building. At the gentle push of a button in the watchers' room, the scanlyzers would make small chunks of meat out of any living flesh crossing their fields.
At the door, Muzzafar paused and looked at Teg. "The Honored Matre you are about to meet is the most powerful of all who have come here. She does not tolerate anything but complete obedience."
"I take it that you are warning me."
"I thought you would understand. Call her Honored Matre. Nothing else. In we go. I've taken the liberty of having a new uniform made for you."
The room where Muzzafar ushered him was one Teg had not seen on his previous visit. Small and crammed with ticking black-paneled boxes, it left little room for the two of them. A single yellow glowglobe at the ceiling illuminated the place. Muzzafar crowded himself into a comer while Teg got out of the grimed and wrinkled singlesuit he had worn since the no-globe.
"Sorry I can't offer you a bath as well," Muzzafar said. "But we must not delay. She gets impatient."
A different personality came over Teg with the uniform. It was a familiar black garment, even to the starbursts at the collar. So he was to appear before this Honored Matre as the Sisterhood's Bashar. Interesting. He was once more completely the Bashar, not that this powerful sense of identity had ever left him. The uniform completed it and announced it, though. In this garment there was no need to emphasize in any other way precisely who he was.
