Our molecules are the same molecules as those that make up a tree, this shuttle, and the nebula out there. A human is the universe given form, and the chance to make change. We are the stuff of stars, Katreda.
-Taelyn, Lord Protector of the Realm
From the Journals of Aer'rhi, qran'Acolyte 2nd Plateau
Chapter 1: Aer'rhi
Aer'rhi (a 'yr rhee) woke to a cold, piercing ray from His ceiling light which had found a way through the acalyte's heavy bed sheets. He dropped the rough woolen fabric which had covered him throughout the cold resting period and stepped off the end of the tilted resting pallet where it crumpled. His neck was sore from having to hold his head up all night, but Aer'rhi quickly asked Him for forgiveness. The practically upright pallet was just one of His many challenges to overcome on the way to becoming High Interpreter.
He quickly gasped out a breath, forgive the ambition displayed by this humblest servant, my thoughts are so often beyond my control- as You of course know- and I would never in all conscious action do not but worship You and Your wisdom until the end of Your mercifully granted years to me. Protect Tleilaxu and deliver Tleilaxu from powindah evil.
Aer'rhi continued his prayer for another thirteenth of a day cycle, and, feeling fulfilled, bowed deeply to His mechanical Eye which perched in a high corner of the cell and on occasion called him to one of His Holy Assemblies, qran'Orqgía (kwran ork 'hee ya). Aer'rhi tried not to look at or touch the passage of the Holy Legacy he had painstakingly carved into the stone slab covering the entrance to the sleeping cell, while trying to move it aside and look sternly holy at the same time. He stepped into the well-lit, soft orange hallway of the subterranean temple Anonc on an insignificant moon of the Bene Tleilax homeworld and deeply inhaled stale air. A new day to pay homage to the His greatness--
The thoughts he believed his god gave him were interrupted. There were the last words of a loud argument, a lasgun burst, and two seemingly louder groans, all in the space of two heartbeats, followed soon after by a crash. Dust billowed out from the wall half a dozen cells to Aer'rhi's left; the sounds must have come from the other side of it. Other acolytes pressed themselves against walls or hid in unoccupied cells to pray for deliverance from the high volumns which were alien to the stern temple's population.
Aer'rhi had been scared before-- the life of a Tleilaxu was ruled by fear of God, those higher in the hierarchy, and punishment. He'd never had a break in his routine before, though. Always when there was fear it was shared with others tardy for His Holy Assembly, or for another who'd been chosen to leave the religious caste to work for a Master. The Masters were fearsome in themselves: they were the geneticists who explored the most profoundly beautiful aspect of His Universe, creating new ways for the Bene Tleilax to adapt to a universe of change. Masters had to be both infinitely brilliant and infinitely cruel for their task. It was whispered that they grew new Tleilaxu in axlotl tanks-- damning heresy which contaminated any who spoke or heard it, for only He creates!
Aer'rhi's found himself stumbling toward the wall, which he could now see had a pattern of hairline cracks radiating from a center point four feet from the ground. He began to pray again and broke into a run, the slap of his sandals on the floor the only sound. The barrier was missing from the cell the wall adjoined, and he barely slowed before bursting into the tiny room. A large, thickly covered book just inside the door frame tripped the young acolyte. He had time for a single thought before his chin met the stone floor.
Not the Holy Legacy tome! Forgiveness! Forgiveness!
Rolling slowly onto his back, Aer'rhi assessed the damage his fall had done to him. His mouth was numb and his hand came away bloody from his face, but he could feel only a few scrapes on his palms and knees. He managed to sit up and, remembering where was, snapped his head around to scan the cell. His brain felt to large for his skull, his ears rang, and tears blurred his vision, but Aer'rhi could tell he wasn't alone. A young man, no more than sixteen, but no less foreboding because of his youth squatted in the center of the cell, face concealed by shadows. He was balanced on his toes, and looked as if he could hold the position for hours without lapse, a quiet but powerful demonstration of strength and dexterity.
From his well crafted boots to delicately gloved fingers, he was dressed entirely in a barely reflective black material Aer'rhi couldn't name. It was supple and strong, and appeared to tightly conform to the shape of the man's body, though it stretched easily when required. Nowhere in the bodysuit was there unnecessary adornment, and only neck and head were exposed over the high collar. Over his back was a large lasgun rifle whose make and model was one traditionally employed only by the elite Tleilaxu enforcers called qran'Gei (kwran '[soft j]hee), whose battle prowess was fodder for whispered legends. With heavy, light-absorbing black garb and helmets, they were fearsome.
In a corner opposite the open entrance, two sentinels sprawled in obvious poses of death, one without his lasgun rifle. Along the entrance's wall was a web of cracks identical to the one opposite it on the other side of the stone barrier. Below was a qran'gei that must have hit the wall stone enough to crack it and his helmet, because some trigger inside his armor was exposed to the antique air and released the acid which consumed the remains of all fallen qran'Gei.
No man unblessed by Him or the axlotl tanks of his Masters of science could dream of overtaking a trio of Sentinels. But here unarmed!
You have been expected, Aer'rhi, acolyte syn'Anonc. Deep for his age, and lacking doubt or fear of error or weakness without losing its humanity, the man's voice was had a bizarre power which made the young Tleilaxu insanely sure that he'd give his life for the stranger when asked. You may call me Taelyn. Where are we, boy? Start with the star system, and end with our location in this complex and how we may depart it undetected.
The acolyte bowed as best he could from his half-sitting position and saw blood drip from his face to the floor and his white-robed shoulder.
Immediately, qran'Taelyn, Twice Bless'd.
qran'Taelyn at first had appeared invincible, immortal, and incredible. He seemed faster than the eye could follow, but it was eventually made clear that His Twice Bless'd had muscles and reflexes no more capable than the common Tleilaxu, or even Aer'rhi himself. This divine fighter had left twelve qran'Gei melting in their own acid, and incapacitated a score more of non-genetically improved guards by somehow knowing their susceptibilities, and their actions before they took place.
Sentinels were felled by thrown pebbles which struck their suicide devices and caused their acids to burn prematurely, or by amazingly accurate lasgun fire. The holy warrior saw the future, but how much of it?
Aer'rhi saw the danger to his people, but he was held in sway by the man's voice, unable to resist leading him where he requested. During a heated battle in which qran'Taelyn dodged lasgun and projectile weapon fire, Aer'rhi was able to reach an Ixan communications relay station and record a message to His Interpretor, ruler of the tiny moon.
The Interpretor would know His wishes, and undoubtedly send his own qran'il-Tveik (kran il 'veek) guardians, juggernauts bred extra-human in mental and physical potential. Every one was trained by cunningly obtained gholas of the powindah's best fighters throughout their history. The Bene Tlielax owned the immortal services of the infamous Lond Ivanova, Master-of-Assassins of House Richese two centuries ago, and the Butlerian's Jihad's Swordsmaster/General Kenth Becket, to name a few.
Soon he would be saved. Aer'rhi would be put to death for betraying his people, but He would offer salvation for the acolyte's private sacrifice in His name.