Eternity Tonight

Duncan kept playing the baliset, ignoring the footsteps coming closer, ignoring the figure coming to a halt at the doorframe. He didn't need to turn around to know it was Sheeana.

"I didn't know you could play", she finally said.

"I learned it a long time ago. Later, there never had been a time where it felt like the fitting place to play it again."

For a long moment Sheeana paused. "I see." The heaviness in her tone made it clear she had understood what he had meant. Getting through numerous ghola cycles meant you sometimes picked up a new skill almost as if by accident. One of the God Emperor's Duncans had been good on the baliset, a true virtuous. He had loved to play it so much. At the time music had been his lifeline to sanity, his refuge when the scope of what the Emperor was causing with his reign threatened to overwhelm his mind. Until the pressure had become too big to bear. And in the next ghola cycle he had been able to recall his knowledge of the instrument... he hadn't picked up a baliset ever again. It felt like a spot he needed to leave alone for the sake of Gurney's memory, feeling like his own accomplishments on the instrument were appearing weak once they had been located in nothing but the memory of the past. But now that Duncan had found a baliset through coincidence he realized how much he had missed playing.

Sheeana was still standing at the doorframe. He continued: "I found this thing when we unsealed the armoury the other day. I thought it would be sad to let it go to waste like this", he elaborated, almost feeling like he needed to explain himself. He knew that the Sisterhood avoided music, never seeking it out nor encouraging it. He knew that held true even for Teg. Though not strictly part of the Sisterhood, growing up with a mother who was and returning to work for it he seemed to have made a deliberate choice to at least never be the one to initiate it. The Sisterhood avoided music. But Duncan wasn't Bene Gesserit, even though his current ghola had been ordered by them. He could engage with as much music as he wanted. "I was curious if I still could play it."

"And? Do you still can?", Sheeana asked, entering the room and sitting down on the divan next to him.

"I'm terribly rusty. But it's starting to come along better already."

"That's nice", she said, a small smile showing up on her face. If she respected the Sisterhood's way to avoid music she made an exception for now. "I don't know this song. What is it?"

The question threw Duncan off, resulting in his hands producing a disharmonic sound on the instrument. "Just something that got stuck in my head." This much was true at least. She didn't need to know he was playing that weird little melody Scytale kept humming these days. Duncan just had wanted to know if he could replicate it on the baliset.

Sheeana stayed with him some more, quietly listening to what he was playing. When she stood up and left it seemed to him as only a little amount of time had passed. Maybe his suspicion was true after all and she respected the Sisterhood's coda to not engage with music if it could be avoided. She was still a true Bene Gesserit after a, despite the flight from Chapterhouse she had carefully planned since a long time. And if you asked Garimi and the like they'd hold the opinion that she was more an embodiment of the Sisterhood than those initiating change on Chapterhouse.

She had accepted that his knowledge for the baliset had come from a time way back in the past. She hadn't asked for details about the matter either though. In the end she could not really relate how it was to sit on a pile of memories and experiences accumulated during the course of your past lives. Not really. Having gone through the Spice Agony she had to deal with those inner lives, but still. Those were lives of strangers, lives that were not hers, only those of her predecessors and ancestors. As a ghola every life in Duncan's memory was his own. A vast amount of experiences, skills and errors that could be tied to no one but himself. There was no such thing as hiding from yourself, little room for denial. You could try this for a while but with new lives piling up there was no way this could last and once you had no choice but to face yourself the pile of denials you had accumulated only came crashing down the harder. Duncan paused his play, holding the baliset in a vicelike grip. He had missed playing it so much. Why hadn't he picked up one earlier?

He was still gripping it tight. Fearing he would end up accidentally breaking it, he laid it down, slowly and carefully, right next to the pile of pillows where Sheeana had sat before. Suddenly feeling dizzy he buried his face in his hands, feeling like the light of the glowglobes around him was giving him a headache. In fact, despite everything the live as a ghola of the Tyrant had sometimes been easier than this. At least then no one had deemed it inappropriate for him to play music. Damn the Sisterhood, they were no better than Leto. Just like him they only ordered him to be recreated to do their bidding, seeing his loyalty as a given they could demand of him, not something deserving any praise. Do our bidding. You performed a job well done, as expected of your skills, keep on going on the way you always walked on, don't stray from it. Both expected him to be their stud too. He'd tried to resist but in the end they eventually had gotten what they had wanted from him anyway. How were the children of him and Murbella doing? Duncan held no doubt the Sisterhood would raise them with care and attention. Their approach was direct and pragmatic like that, the most logical approach if they wanted to make future use of the results of their breeding program.

Duncan lowered the light of the glowglobes around him to a minimum but it still felt too bright. Surrendering to the cold nausea spreading through his core he laid down on the divan, throwing his arm over his eyes to shield them from the painful light. In many ways The Fish Speaker's Duncan had held the right idea after all. His homosexuality might have been a never ending cause for embarrassment but at least neither Leto nor the Sisterhood had been able to use him for their damned breeding plans. The face of Murbella appeared in front of his inner eye, clear and sudden. He let the wave of longing rush over him, too tired to resist. He didn't regret a moment they had spent time together as a pair, not a single second of it. He wished everything could go back to the way it had used to be. But change had been set into motion, change that had already crawled through Murbella and had affected her in a way where there would be no returning from. It would hold no solid room for Duncan, not at his old spot of confinement in the no-ship nor on any other place on Chapterhouse. Not with so many sisters deeming him an unreliable danger that was in need of close observation. No solid room. Just this once he had wanted to be the one to make the decision of where his path would led next. He was so tired of being expected to follow, to stay loyal, and to get nothing as new challenges to deal with in return.

He felt the baliset next to him, drawing it in close in fear it would fall to the floor and break after all. He didn't want to give up the baliset ever again. The thought came to him that The Fish Speaker's Duncan might have liked learning to play it too, given the chance. But he had been a version many cycles before the Duncan that had played the baliset and he hadn't been around for long at Leto's court to begin with. Yes, The Fish Speaker's Duncan would have liked the baliset, given the chance.

The vague shape of two eyes saturated with the blue in blue of spice addiction manifested in his mind. At first he thought they might have been Murbella's, the eyes given her by the Spice Trance that had erased lovely green. But the clearer the picture got the more he could see that they belonged to a Museum Fremen Naib whose name he had forgotten. A handsome man. Not too tall but slender, a reluctant gleam in his eyes that got erased fully the rare times he showed a genuine smile. The kind of irresistible man that always had led Duncan to his doom, even if he should have known better. To think he had forgotten the name of the man who had killed him. But then, he had been killed by so many people over the many cycles of his ghola lives and some of those deaths had been caused by Fremen, it was impossible to keep remembering them all. Death and regaining of consciousness flew seamlessly together anyway, so what was the point? What was the point.

Still clinging to the baliset Duncan fell into sleep, slipping in and out of awareness, his body held in a cold grip. It had become so cold. Why had it suddenly become so cold?

The cold remained when he woke up the next morning. The awareness in his mind hadn't become clearer either, he was still stuck in this dull haze. Everything felt so odd. It had to be something the dirty Tleilaxu had done to him in their Axolotl tanks! It was all their fault! The reason The Fish Speaker's Duncan had turned out the way he had must have been their fault too, a change they had inflicted in him for one of their nefarious goals. Everywhere, everyone always had hidden goals when raising a Duncan ghola, no one ever told him the entire truth.

Still feeling lightheaded he sat up, letting his chin rest in his hands. A glance at the clock told him the hour of standard time. He had slept for quite a long while but he still felt so exhausted. He shook his head, hiding his eyes behind his hand. He was so tired of himself. Facing similar challenges in all of his different ghola versions just to get met with new obstacles the moment he thought he had found a solution. How long until his dept to the Atreides would be paid off, how long until he would be free of guilt, no longer needing to fulfil obligations of gratitude? He was so tired of himself, why couldn't he just stop being himself? Being The Fish Speaker's Duncan had been best after all.

Duncan froze, the sharp edges of a realization reaching him, the awareness making his chest feel cold and empty. There was no escaping himself. His memories flowing seamlessly from one ghola awareness into another just kept on forming more existence around him. There was no such thing as escaping himself. And yet Duncan had fallen asleep as one thing and had awoken as another. The fact he hadn't immediately realized this pointed to the possibility that for all the confusion attached to his new situation, it might have been something natural.

A surge of anger filled his stomach. Mentat awareness told him to try and stay calm and collected, to not lose his nerves. The rage in his guts cared about no such guidelines. He was sick having to figure out all by himself, he was sick of having no one he could truly rely on. He would now go and look for answers. Even if he would get met with more lies and half-truths, that too would give him more data to figure out his present state. It would be better than continuing to sit in this silence, everything would be better than having to stay in this deafening silence. That little monster would answer him now.

His heavy anger set him into motion. He stumbled down the hallway, towards the destination that promised answers. One way or another. One way or another.

He didn't know if it was because the silence around him finally had ended. Or because of how a badly hidden worry descended over Scytale's face the moment he saw Duncan. But the moment he saw Scytale his rage collapsed in itself, leaving nothing but the hopelessness that had fuelled it. What have you done to me? It's all your fault. Dirty Tleilaxu. The words wouldn't leave Duncan's lips. It almost felt as if he stood under the influence of Voice. But that couldn't be. Door hinges were creaking, fabric was rustling but no one had said a word.

It was Scytale who ended the silence. "Are you alright? You look ill."

Of course Duncan was alright. He just was feeling a bit lightheaded. "I'm not ill."

"You're not ill then." Scytale hadn't sounded convinced. "Do you want to sit down anyway?"

Duncan felt himself grimace. Maybe coming here when he wasn't feeling fine had been a bad idea. He hated that little monster seeing him this weak and Duncan couldn't deny that he felt sort of dizzy. But he still needed answers. Now, he needed them right now; the silence in his quarters had been unbearable.

"If you stumble and fall I won't be able to do much. Don't you want to sit down for a moment?", Scytale asked, a lopsided smile appearing on his face, signalling a casualty to the question he obviously did not feel.

Duncan mirrored the smile directed at him, even though he knew he would not look any more convincing. Sometimes bringing across a message was necessary even if both parties knew you were both operating under false pretence for the moment. "If it makes you feel better."

"In fact, it would. Come on in then."

Duncan felt himself move, walking through a room that was too bright in the centre of his vision and too dark at the edges of it. Or maybe that wasn't the room but something with his eyesight that had went wrong, that actually sounded like the more plausible explanation. He had woken up as someone new (someone who had returned) this morning so maybe his eyesight was simply adjusting itself to new circumstances. He felt something tug at the sleeve of his shirt and the next moment he was sitting on something soft.

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

Duncan felt himself nod in agreement. Waiting. He could do that. He had waited for millennia, he could wait for a few moments longer.

He took a deep breath, trying to get his dizziness under control. Though it wasn't dizziness, not really. It was more a feeling of not fully being in his body anymore. Weird. Mentat computation wouldn't tell him the reason for it. He could still think, it was just his sensations were feeling slightly off. As if his awareness was located slightly behind his body instead in the centre of his skull. He looked at his hands, slowly closing them into fists and opening them again. There, all normal. His body did what he told it to do, he hadn't lost any control over himself. It was just as if his sight on the world was hidden behind a thin veil that was all.

He felt something cold and solid getting shoved into his hands and the next moment a weight dipped down on the soft surface next to him. "You look all pale. Drink something, it will help."

Duncan looked at the glass in his hands, trying to make sense out of the situation. He turned his head, looking at Scytale. "What's in there?"

"Water. It's just water."

"There isn't any mélange in it, isn't it? I really shouldn't have any mélange right now." Duncan grabbed the edge of the divan he was sitting on. He shouldn't. His Mentat computation was lagging right now but he could say as much. With his head feeling dizzy, with the questions and uncertainties he had right now, he couldn't afford any spice whatsoever right now. It would be dangerous.

"It's just water, nothing else. No spice or anything added to it." Scytale calmly held his gaze, still unable to hide he was feeling concerned. Or maybe he wasn't trying to hide it to begin with. That little monster was so good at deceiving, if he showed any kind of emotion it either was and act or something he had no intention of hiding. Nothing indicated an act so Duncan tended towards the latter.

Duncan withhold a sigh. "As long as it hasn't got any spice." He took a tentative sip, glad to find no taste of cinnamon or any medical herb. It was really just water. So the Tleilax could tell the truth if he cared to. Duncan emptied the glass, realizing how dehydrated he had been.

"Feeling better?"

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. He did but he didn't feel like admitting it. It was bad enough he had shown weakness and relied on Scytale's help. He tried to distract from the matter, not knowing what he had wanted to say until he started talking: "A glass of water like this used to be of deep value on Dune. I mean, in the old days. Long ago."

"I know what you meant", Scytale said, gently taking the empty glass out of Duncan's hand and setting it on the floor. "I was there once too, in the old days. Remember?"

"Sure. I was there when you got killed."

"You mean when my Prime was killed." If Scytale was bothered Duncan had brought up his first death he didn't show it.

"Right, right, that's how you call the person a ghola is based on. Prime. Did the lot of you call my real self a Prime too? I mean, in your reports on ghola studies or God's below know where."

"Sure. Duncan Idaho Prime. It's one of those things that need to be clear."

Duncan huffed. "Clear."

"It's nothing personal. You're an interesting case study. After all you were the first ghola to regain his old memories. This gave a lot of insight in how the mind of gholas work."

Duncan knew that. What was the point stating these obvious facts? He paused, smothering out the gleam of anger intensifying in his chest. That Scytale's real self had gotten killed by Muad'dib was an obvious fact too, yet Duncan had brought it up for no good reason. He froze. His mind was still feeling hazy but the water had helped. Now he was thinking clearer it struck him how close Scytale was, sitting right next to him. "Are you an interesting case study too?"

"I've been told so. There aren't that many Face Dancer that get used as a Prime for a Tleilaxu Master."

"I see."

"It's just how things are. You get used to it."

"Still. Sounds annoying. Living as a case study, I mean. I for my part are sick of it", Duncan said, unable to suppress a shudder. The water had helped but he was still feeling so cold. Since yesterday everything around him felt so cold.

"Are you feeling a bit better?", Scytale asked. The concern had crept in his voice now too. Duncan kept searching for clues that indicated it was all just an act but he couldn't find any. He shouldn't have felt happy about this.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess."

"What happened?"

"Nothing much." Duncan turned his head, finding the room around him was still too bright in the centre and too dark around the edges. He let his gaze wander around it anyway. Clean. All very clean and orderly, not a single thing lying randomly around. The only thing scattered and not on its place was the empty glass on the floor. "I just got a headache. From stuff."

"Yes?"

"I thought you might know about these things. Say, with a ghola who has access to their old memories. Is it normal to start feeling distant from your present self?"

"How so?"

"As if your present self is already becoming part of the memory cycle. And instead old memories of a past self are getting stronger, almost as if you're going back and are becoming that past self again." He turned his head, looking Scytale in the eyes, refusing to let his gaze go. "That's the best way I can describe it. All of my memories from different cycles are connected and feel as one. So, it's not really like I stop being the self I am right now. But at the same time it still feels like the personality of an old self is me myself now. It's the best way I can describe it."

"No, don't worry. I think I know what you mean. A bit like present you made too many mistakes and an old cycle had figured things out better after all. So relying on that part makes more sense, like that?"

Yes! Exactly like that! Duncan felt a heavy worry leave his mind. He never brought the experiences caused by his different ghola lifetimes up because normal people had trouble relating to it even when he tried to explain it. Even the Sisterhood trained on sensitivity and gaining insight had never really gotten it when insisting he'd explain. But right now he hadn't needed to explain to Scytale because Scytale just knew. "Like that, yes", Duncan whispered, slightly nodding. He was feeling so tired again and he didn't know why.

"Since when are you experiencing this?"

"I don't know. It started around yesterday or something. No, some days earlier. But yesterday I noticed something was off."

"I see", Scytale said, scratching the nape of his neck. The sleeve of his shirt skittered down, revealing his wrist. The grey of his skin looked so cold, as if it was direct part of the coldness surrounding Duncan since yesterday. He couldn't imagine a pale grey could feel anything but cold and hostile.

Duncan cleared his throat, feeling his earlier hopelessness return. "So, it can happen then? That memories of an old personality become this dominant?"

"It can happen, yes." A slight smile appeared on Scytale's face. "In fact, that's one of those developments that got documented early in the ghola reawakening studies. It can happen."

Hearing this the dizziness in Duncan's head lessened slightly. He'd been so afraid something had seriously went wrong with him. That the memory of The Fish Speaker's Duncan had become dominant had felt like a threat itself, as if becoming the version he felt ashamed about to this day was some sort of sick punishment. But if it was something Tleilaxu research had known about and documented... then it couldn't be that bad after all, right? Tentatively he looked at Scytale. "Did this here ever happen to you too?"

Scytale stayed silent for a long moment. He didn't seem surprised by the question though. When he continued talking, his voice sounded cautious: "Maybe once."

Duncan nodded, feeling the worst edges of his hopelessness leave. As gholas they were quite similar after all. He had to be careful not to rely on this.


Tomorrow's World

Scytale held Idaho's gaze, mindful to resonate with the look of hesitant hope he saw on his face, shoving his worry away into a corner no one but he himself would be able to sense it. What he had told Idaho was the truth, the symptoms of personality change he had just described could happen. What he hadn't told him was that it was the sign of an upset mind, a sign the mind of a ghola had lost its core of stability and was searching for ways to rearrange itself into something more reliable.

It wasn't a good sign but Idaho didn't need to know. He didn't need to know anything that would have caused him to feel more upset as he already was. Scytale tried to focus his mind on the issue at hand, doing what he was best, looking for flaws displayed in a structure. Activating the conditioning of the ghola shouldn't have been met with these disastrous results. Conditioned responses were meant to let a ghola feel it was his place to listen and obey, but all within the borders of their nature. The disintegration of their personality was not something meant to happen. It wasn't even something meant to happen when they regained their old memories back. This and the activating of conditioning was supposed to build an addition on something that was already there. Despite being painful, neither of these processes were supposed to be destructive.

The only explanation for the situation at hand was that some sort of mental decay must have taken place in the ghola since a while, going unnoticed by anyone. But then, this kind of pain always happened unnoticed until it was too late, Scytale thought, withholding a bitter smile. The activation of the conditioning process might have served as an accelerator to fuel on the mental disintegration but it only would have touched elements already present in the psyche. An unfortunate turn of events but now that Scytale was aware it had happened he could adapt. His goal remained acquiring a servant that could help him restore what remained of the Tleilaxu. The witches on Chapterhouse hadn't allowed him to get his Face Dancers, so the ghola was all he was left with. It was all he was left with but he'll find a way to make it work. What was important now was to not further upset the ghola and instead give him a sense of stability. Then everything could still work out as intended.

"Why do you always keep scratching your chest, actually?"

Scytale froze, looking in puzzlement up at Idaho. "What?"

"You keep scratching your chest. As if it hurts or something. Are you in pain?" Had that been worry in the voice of the ghola?

"I'm... no, it doesn't hurt. It's just an old habit."

"Oh. You always look like you're in pain when doing it, so I was just thinking."

Scytale put his hand away from his chest, uneasily folding his arms in front of his chest. "Nothing hurts." At least not physically, he thought, holding Idaho's gaze. Idaho had very dark eyes. In bright light you saw that their colour was a greenish blue but amongst shadows you couldn't even tell the border of iris and pupil. In the shadows his eyes were nothing but dark voids. But even in darkness the black of his eyes wasn't empty. He clearly could see worry in them, resonating with the sentiment of Idaho's earlier question. It wasn't an emotion displayed in his eyes often, certainly not when their stare had been directed at Scytale. But now the expression on Idaho's face was full of concern. Scytale couldn't help but wonder if that was connected to the version of the ghola that was emerging as the dominant drive. It was still a version of Idaho himself but there had to be differences to his current personality if he noticed a change this clearly.

In that aspects the memories of old lives of a ghola held the same dangers to lose your self as it was the case with Abominations and the danger of memory loss in an inexperienced perfect Face Dancer. Abominations were in danger of losing their self to the memory of a strong ancestor. Someone with strong capabilities as Prophet Leto could avoid it but the strength of the
Prophet only stood out because it stood in contrast to the horrors of the ones succumbing to a destructive fate.

His perfect Face Dancers had shown to be sensitive to the complete disintegration of their personality too. They were not in danger if they had been old enough to form enough memories of their own and like this build their personality. The problem had been very young perfect Face Dancers with little chance to have formed some individual memories. Then the complete gain of another person's memories had been overwhelming to some, especially when they had been on their own without a Tleilaxu master nearby to keep them on track with instructions. The lesson learned of these losses would have been to only send perfect Face Dancers on missions who already had gotten the chance to build some memories of their own and use the younger ones for smaller operations only. Scytale had meant to send a note with these observations to the Bene Tleilax in charge of the Face Dancer department but thanks to the trap the dirty traitors of the Scattering had laid he of course never had gotten the chance. And that too would be a thing lost forever if Scytale didn't find a way to get his own Axolotl tanks. So much knowledge lost forever with no one to remember.

"Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

Scytale snapped around, focusing his gaze on Idaho again. He had heard the question but for a moment he couldn't figure out the sense it was holding. "Hurt? Why hurt?"

"It's just, you were looking like you were in pain", Idaho said. Today he really acted in ways that seemed all kinds of atypical for him. It was starting to feel difficult to make any sense of the way he behaved. Paradoxically just because unlike the preborn and his perfect Face Dancers, gholas weren't in danger of getting overtaken by a stranger. The one thing a ghola couldn't escape from was himself, myriads of past selves adding up, forming a connected whole. Only that in some cases the pile of ghola memories wasn't as balanced as it would have been needed to be to give the mind security. Sometimes old memories could grow stronger, challenging the experience made by more recent cycles. It was an inner struggle fought in silence, difficult to see by the outside world and if the takeover of an old self happened, usually no one noticed or guessed what really had happened.

And really, why should anyone take note if this kind of inner struggle was going on? It was not like Primes had the capability to understand. Even when explaining the matter to them they stayed stubbornly ignorant of the ways the inner life of a ghola worked. So really, what was the point of sharing the knowledge with them? They had no right to know because over and over again they showed themselves unwilling to at least try and understand. So, if all of your memories flow into each other, does that mean what happens before you regain your memories does not count? Even their question were stupid.

Idaho was still staring at him, his gaze insistent and heavy. The unasked question in him was clear.

Scytale straightened his back. "I'm not in pain, I told you."

Idaho stayed silent but he didn't look convinced.

"I'm not the one we were talking about anyway. How are you doing? Are you feeling a bit better?"

To this Idaho only nodded, the gesture letting a strand of that deeply black hair of his fall in front of his eyes. Absentmindedly he shoved the lock back into place. His eyes looked hazy, strengthening the impression he was under some kind of fever. "It's funny how you keep doing that"

"Doing what?"

"Distracting when something comes up you don't want to talk about."

"Did your Mentat ability tell you that?"

Idaho's eyes got focused. "Those tell me a lot of things."

"Commonplace platitudes! You've spent too much time among the witches."

Hearing this Idaho paused, a distant smile showing up on his face. "Yes. I know." He had sounded apologetic, downright sad.

Scytale withhold a sigh, at loss with the situation. The ghola still looked so ill, it wouldn't do getting into another fight with him. "Well, it's not like you had a choice. I didn't like being locked up here on our no-ship for such a long time either."

Idaho tilted his head, giving Scytale an intense look. "Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"What? No, I was just saying neither of us had much choice in the matter, so it's not like I was accusing you or something... Anyway, I meant what I said earlier. Do you feel a bit better?"

"You're really trying to cheer me up."

"No! No, I wasn't."

Idaho was still staring at him, expression unreadable.

"I'm just asking because you look like you have a fever", Scytale insisted.

"Fever? I don't think so. The contrary, I was feeling cold the entire time", Idaho said, slightly leaning closer. He was so tall. No, maybe not outstandingly so, but he was the kind of person who looked much taller than he actually was. It had to be due to his broad shoulders, from the way he carried himself, from his demeanour when entering a room. That's why it was so unsettling to see him suffering this mental disintegration to begin with. Idaho continued talking, as if he hadn't really realized he'd been speaking out aloud: "It's really gotten cold."

Scytale felt a leaden weight expand in his chest. He didn't dare to move. "You should have told me earlier you weren't feeling well. I didn't know."

An absentminded smile showed up on Idaho's face. "You really care after all, do you." It hadn't been a question.

Back when he still had his needs met by the Tleilaxu, Scytale had used to carry poisoned needles hidden on him. Some of those had been strong enough to kill, some only carrying a dose that would render the target unconscious. He didn't see a reason why he would have used any of those needles against Idaho right now but Scytale still would have liked to have his old needles with him. Just for the sake of it. Just in case.

Idaho leaned in closer, slowly raising his hand and touching Scytale's cheek, hesitantly, lightly. Surprise gleamed up behind his eyes. "You're so warm."

Not knowing what to say Scytale held still, not daring to move. The leaden weight in his chest made it difficult to breathe. In hindsight he should have seen this coming.

Idaho was still touching his face. The thumb of his hand started stroking over Scytale's cheekbone, gentle and slow. "You're so warm. You're skin looks so cold but that's not the case at all. You're so warm."

So that had been the cause the ghola had looked so surprised. Scytale couldn't stay silent any longer. "Since when have you been thinking about that?"

Idaho's thumb went still but his hand remained firmly on Scytale's face. "Since I had room to listen inwards. Sometimes the old isn't obsolete but does managed to figure out some things earlier. The tragedy of knowledge lost in hostile places."

"More platitudes that complicate more than they solve."

"I fear this is true." Duncan angled his head, an apologetic expression flaming up in his eyes. "It's true I spent a lot of time with the Sisterhood. Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I already told you, I'm not holding an accusation against you", Scytale said, feeling drained. Dealing with stubborn gholas always felt too much like having to deal with himself. It was true, as a ghola you could never escape the myriads of selfs accumulating in your mind. Ewige Wiederkehr – the eternal returning had always sounded like a punishment even before he had lived in it. Yes, he'd known all about the concept connected to Ewige Wiederkehr before having been chosen to enter it. Even his Prime had already held the compulsion to seek out knowledge and skills. A trait suitable for a Face Dancer assassin but one that had felt like a flaw making him stand out at the weirdest times among his fellow Masheikhs. Or at least it had used to be like that when they still had been around. And look who remains the last one standing, Scytale thought, unable to ward off the bitterness. He laid his hand over Idaho's, keeping it in place. "It really wasn't an accusation."

"I don't deserve your kindness."

Scytale felt a shiver crawl down his spine. This didn't sound like the Idaho he knew. At all. This entire statement was a crack in the system. Had the old personality that had become dominant been so different from his recent self? Or had something gone wrong with the activating of the conditioning after all? The process was set to render a ghola into a servant of the Tleilaxu, it wasn't meant to cause damage. He couldn't help but feel worried. "That doesn't sound like you at all."

"It doesn't. Doesn't it?", Idaho said, voice even and calm.

"You're still feverish after all." It was the only plausible explanation. And yet Scytale couldn't help but lean closer to the ghola, holding his hand in his own.

"Maybe I have a fever after all. But that's not the important factor here. You're confusing cause with effect. A common mistake"

"Explain it to me then."

"You see, it's quite simple. It's only gotten complicated because I couldn't admit it to myself for the longest time. The thing is, I don't want the I from the older cycle to go away again."

"The one you were just talking about? The older self whose memory got stronger?"

"That one. He had the right idea after all. Why searching for answers when he had already figured it all out? I can feel that I've changed but it also feel like this makes sense."

Despite still feeling worried Scytale felt himself relax. So, no damage done by the actual awakening of the conditioning. Personality change wasn't a good sign in a ghola but up to a certain point it was predictable in its outcome. It was a situation that could be managed. "I see."

Duncan sighed. "Yes. But, you know. I keep talking as if the one holding those old memories is a different person. It's of course still just no one but I, myself. I'm always myself, no matter what I remember"

"Yes. I know." It was the way those things went. It was the way it once had been for Scytale. Personality change wasn't a good sign but sometimes it happened.

"Of course you'd know. You're the only one who understands", Idaho said, voice drenched in suppressed emotion. He leaned down, wrapping his free arm around Scytale's shoulder and pulling him closer. "Only you understand, you know?"

For the fracture of a second Scytale had to ward of an animalistic panic, something firmly rooted in instinct. And that even though he didn't really feel surprised. It was difficult to feel surprised if you felt drained. He leaned his forehead against Idaho's shoulder, not attempting to move away. Up this close he could smell the leaden fragrance of fever. The kind of thing you missed if you didn't know what to look for. Somewhere above them the low humming of the air duct could be heard, the kind of noise you immediately forget was there until you had a reason to remember.

"Why are you here?", Scytale asked, no longer able to stand the silence.

"Because I've chosen to be here. I came here because I was looking for you. Remember?"

Of course he remembered. Scytale's hand reached out, grabbing whatever part of Idaho's shirt was closest. The poor thing was ill and feverish and still so determined to look for answers, to search for solutions. It was quite admirable. Despite of this Scytale couldn't allow Idaho to find a chance to escape. Letting your target see an opening for escape used to be an ancient codex of honour amongst Face Dancer assassins but in recent times this practice had proven to be more than obsolete. The fact aside that he hadn't been a Face Dancer himself since aeons. But that didn't mean he had forgotten his memories of the time. Or his habits. It was a skill just as obsolete as the old code of honour but since a while Scytale felt his old Face Dancer empathy getting stronger.

You didn't need that much empathy as a Tleilaxu Master. The contrary, it got in the way, another old habit making you stand out where it was better to blend in. But as a Face Dancer assassin empathy had been an important tool to measure his victims, to estimate how they would react and he had needed it to display the emotions typical for the victim when taking over their place. And now his old ability to use empathy had come back, fully focused on the ghola. But that would be fine. Idaho had proven himself to be a worthy target.