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The young woman departed with the empty hotpods.
Teg studied Muzzafar. Something had changed during the meal. Muzzafar watched him with a coldly measuring stare.
"You've an implanted communicator," Teg said. "You have received new orders."
"It would not be advisable for your friends to attack this place," Muzzafar said.
"You think that's my plan?"
"What is your plan, Bashar?"
Teg smiled.
"Very well." Muzzafar's gaze went out of focus as he listened to his communicator. When he once more concentrated on Teg, his gaze had the look of a predator. Teg felt himself buffeted by that gaze, recognizing that someone else was coming to this room. The Field Marshal thought of this new development as something extremely dangerous to his dinner guest but Teg saw nothing that could defeat his new abilities.
"You think I am your prisoner," Teg said.
"By the Eternal Rock, Bashar! You are not what I expected!"
"The Honored Matre who is coming, what does she expect?" Teg asked.
"Bashar, I warn you: Do not take that tone with her. You have not the slightest concept of what is about to happen to you."
"An Honored Matre is about to happen to me," Teg said.
"And I wish you well of her!"
Muzzafar pivoted and left via the tube slot.
Teg stared after him. He could see the flickering of second vision like a light blinking around the tube slot. The Honored Matre was near but not yet ready to enter this room. First, she would consult with Muzzafar. The Field Marshal would not be able to tell this dangerous female anything really important.
Memory never recaptures reality. Memory reconstructs. All reconstructions change the original, becoming external frames of reference that inevitably fall short.
-Mentat Handbook
Lucilla and Burzmali entered Ysai from the south into a lower-class quarter with widely spaced streetlights. It lacked only an hour of midnight and yet people thronged the streets in this quarter. Some walked quietly, some chatted with drug-enhanced vigor, some only watched expectantly. They wadded up at the comers and held Lucilla's fascinated attention as she passed.
Burzmali urged her to walk faster, an eager customer anxious to get her alone. Lucilla kept her covert attention on the people.
What did they do here? Those men waiting in the doorway: For what did they wait? Workers in heavy aprons emerged from a wide passage as Lucilla and Burzmali passed. There was a thick smell of rank sewage and perspiration about them. The workers, almost equally divided between male and female, were tall, heavy-bodied and with thick arms. Lucilla could not imagine what their occupation might be but they were of a single type and they made her realize how little she knew of Gammu.
The workers hawked and spat into the gutter as they emerged into the night. Ridding themselves of some contaminant?
Burzmali put his mouth close to Lucilla's ear and whispered: "Those workers are the Bordanos."
She risked a glance back at them where they walked toward a side street. Bordanos? Ahhh, yes: people trained and bred to work the compression machinery that harnessed sewer gases. They had been bred to remove the sense of smell and the musculature of shoulders and arms had been increased. Burzmali guided her around a comer and out of sight of the Bordanos.
Five children emerged from a dark doorway beside them and wheeled into line following Lucilla and Burzmali. Lucilla noted their hands clutching small objects. They followed with a strange intensity. Abruptly, Burzmali stopped and turned. The children also stopped and stared at him. It was clear to Lucilla that the children were prepared for some violence.
Burzmali clasped both hands in front of him and bowed to the children. He said: "Guldur!"
When Burzmali resumed guiding her down the street, the children no longer followed.
"They would have stoned us," he said.
"Why?"
"They are children of a sect that follows Guldur--the local name for the Tyrant."
Lucilla looked back but the children were no longer in sight. They had set off in search of another victim.
Burzmali guided her around another comer. Now, they were in a street crowded with small merchants selling their wares from wheeled stands-food, clothing, small tools, and knives. A singsong of shouts filled the air as the merchants tried to attract buyers. Their voices had that end of the workday lift--a false brilliance composed of the hope that old dreams would be fulfilled, yet colored by the knowledge that life would not change for them. It occurred to Lucilla that the people of these streets pursued a fleeting dream, that the fulfillment they sought was not the thing itself but a myth they had been conditioned to seek the way racing animals were trained to chase after the whirling bait on the endless oval of the racetrack.
In the street directly ahead of them a burly figure in a thickly padded coat was engaged in loud-voiced argument with a merchant who offered a string bag filled with the dark red bulbs of a sweetly acid fruit. The fruit smell was thick all around them. The merchant complained: "You would steal the food from the mouths of my children!"
The bulky figure spoke in a piping voice, the accent chillingly familiar to Lucilla: "I, too, have children!"
Lucilla controlled herself with an effort.
When they were clear of the market street, she whispered to Burzmali: "That man in the heavy coat back there--a Tleilaxu Master!"
"Couldn't be," Burzmali protested. "Too tall."
"Two of them, one on the shoulders of the other."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"I've seen others like that since we arrived, but I didn't suspect."
"Many searchers are in these streets," she said.
Lucilla found that she did not much care for the everyday life of the gutter inhabitants on this gutter planet. She no longer trusted the explanation for bringing the ghola here. Of all those planets on which the precious ghola could have been raised, why had the Sisterhood chosen this one? Or was the ghola truly precious? Could it be that he was merely bait?
Almost blocking the narrow mouth of an alley beside them was a man plying a tall device of whirling lights.
"Live!" he shouted. "Live!"
Lucilla slowed her pace to watch a passerby step into the alleyway and pass a coin to the proprietor, then lean into a concave basin made brilliant by the lights. The proprietor stared back at Lucilla. She saw a man with a narrow dark face, the face of a Caladanian primitive on a body only slightly taller than that of a Tleilaxu Master. There had been a look of contempt on his brooding face as he took the customer's money.
The customer lifted his face from the basin with a shudder and then left the alley, staggering slightly, his eyes glazed.
Lucilla recognized the device. Users called it a hypnobong and it was outlawed on all of the more civilized worlds.
Burzmali hurried her out of the view of the brooding hypnobong proprietor.
They came to a wider side street with a comer doorway set into the building across from them. Foot traffic all around; not a vehicle in sight. A tall man sat on the first step in the comer doorway, his knees drawn up close to his chin. His long arms were wrapped around his knees, the thin-fingered hands clasped tightly together. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat that shaded his face from the streetlights, but twin gleams from the shadows under that brim told Lucilla that this was no kind of human she had ever before encountered. This was something about which the Bene Gesserit had only speculated.
Burzmali waited until they were well away from the seated figure before satisfying her curiosity.
"Futar," he whispered. "That's what they call themselves. They've only recently been seen here on Gammu."
"A Tleilaxu experiment," Lucilla guessed. And she thought: a mistake that has returned from the Scattering. "What are they doing here?" she asked.
"Trading colony, so the natives here tell us."
"Don't you believe it. Those are hunting animals that have been crossed with h
umans."
"Ahhh, here we are," Burzmali said.
He guided Lucilla through a narrow doorway into a dimly lighted eating establishment. This was part of their disguise, Lucilla knew: Do what others in this quarter did, but she did not relish eating in this place, not with what she could interpret from the smells.
The place had been crowded but it was emptying as they entered.
"This commerciel was recommended highly," Burzmali said as they seated themselves in a mechaslot and waited for the menu to be projected.
Lucilla watched the departing customers. Night workers from nearby factories and offices, she guessed. They appeared anxious in their hurry, perhaps fearful of what might be done to them if they were tardy.
How insulated she had been at the Keep, she thought. She did not like what she was learning of Gammu. What a scruffy place this commerciel was! The stools at the counter to her right had been scarred and chipped. The tabletop in front of her had been scored and rubbed with gritty cleaners until it no longer could be kept clean by the vacusweep whose nozzle she could see near her left elbow. There was no sign of even the cheapest sonic to maintain cleanliness. Food and other evidence of deterioration had accumulated in the table's scratches. Lucilla shuddered. She could not avoid the feeling that it had been a mistake to separate from the ghola.
The menu had been projected, she saw, and Burzmali already was scanning it.
"I will order for you," he said.
