The reason why there are no dreams in dulot, of course, is because Yeerk physiology, being substantially simpler than the human, requires a less intensive restorative process. It is not necessary for a Yeerk to ever become unconscious of his (or his host's) surroundings, only that they should in no way engage his mind. Dulot is thus a state, not of oblivion and dreams, but of total – even heightened – awareness, combined with utter and complete indifference; the senses continue to notice, and memory continues to record, but the emotions are as incapable of response as a fly in amber is of motion. (It is, perhaps, the experience of this state, and its natural association in the Yeerk mind with health and refreshment, that so disposes Yeerks toward callousness and cruelty, just as the austere strength of Andalite bodies disposes that race toward pride.)
Thus, as for eight hours the stars of California's winter sky passed over the roof of the Sickles house, Toloth lay below that roof like a stone god on a mountaintop, observing all and caring for nothing. To be sure, he was lying in a dark room with his host's eyes closed, and therefore observed less than he might have; still, humans have four senses besides sight, and the brain of a dulotel Yeerk can do a great deal with them. By the time that Toloth woke (so to call it) the following morning, all the sounds, feelings, and even smells of the past night had found a place in the archives of his mind; moreover, those of Teresa's memories that had borne on one or the other of these sensations – which was to say, in the long run, nearly all of Teresa's memories – had been sorted through and organized much more effectively than his untrained conscious mind could ever have done. The net effect was to give Toloth vastly more confidence in his ability to impersonate Teresa; it was as though a rank amateur of an actress had managed to learn all of Bette Davis's tricks overnight. (It will be seen how useful a quality dulot was to the Yeerk race, quite apart from its restorative powers.)
Toloth had expected it, of course; he had experienced it before with his first dulot in Gef, and before that with his original Gedd host. Nonetheless, when he arose from his stupor and perceived his newfound mastery of human-Control, he felt a sense of elation that went beyond anything he had been prepared for. Perhaps it was the different circumstances – being in the host's more or less natural surroundings; perhaps it was the feeling that the hardest part was over, and that the rest of his imposture would be comparatively easy. Or perhaps, as he later said to Thraqa, it was simply the natural result of having, in some degree, understood the mind of Teresa Sickles. In any case, it was a welcome feeling.
He gave Teresa's consciousness a rousing nudge, and felt her mind stir beneath his palps in response. A series of almost automatic thoughts, evidently a morning routine, went through it: an anguished flinch at the prospect of another day's bondage; a pang of self-pity because her God hadn't seen fit to let her die during the night; then, as her will reasserted itself, a stern rebuke to this latter feeling, and a resolve to bear whatever sufferings the day might bring in the same spirit in which Jesus had borne his protracted suffocation. (And, on this particular morning, there also, after a second or two, came the memory of what had happened the previous day, and the thought of spending two whole days out of Malcar's reach. The resulting surge of happiness gave her mind a kind of beauty that loyal Imperial subjects rarely got to see in their hosts.)
But Toloth ignored all this. What mattered to him was that, as Teresa's mind awoke, so did her body; its heartbeat quickened, its breathing deepened, and the strength that it had laid aside for the night swiftly returned to its every member. To a Yeerk, it is always heartening to feel a host body regain its full usefulness – and all the more so if one has just learned how to really use it.
He opened Teresa's eyes, blinking a little at the sunlight, and scraped a few bits of lachrymal debris from her tear ducts. He stretched her arms, let out a little half-yawn, half-groan, and rose from the bed; he slid her feet into cranberry-colored slippers, wrapped her body in a matching bathrobe, and headed for the bathroom to take care of certain pressing needs involving her bladder. All this he did almost automatically, as being the natural and obviously correct things for Teresa to do – and all of it he did with a fierce delight, simply because it was so automatic and natural.
I have achieved it, he thought with wonder. I am a human-Controller. The Sub-Visser did not choose me to be one, but I am one, nonetheless.
He smiled internally, beginning to feel quite pleased with himself. Who said, after all, that he was weak-willed or impotent? (In fact, of course, nobody had said anything like this during the past few weeks, but it still gave him pleasure to mentally rebut the accusation.) He had taken one of the Empire's prized luxury items from under its rightful owner's palps, and he had made it his own. Who before him had ever done anything of the sort? (Besides Ishlok of the Hills, that was.)
He was positively beaming with self-satisfaction by the time he reached the bathroom door. Look to yourself, Malcar Seven-Four-Five, he thought as he turned the brass knob and pushed the door open. Your last claim to superiority is taken away. Before, you could say, "After all, I am still a human-Controller; the Empire has placed me at the forefront of the invasion, and has given me privileges denied to Toloth Two-Nine-Four." But now Toloth Two-Nine-Four has seized those privileges, not through Imperial favor but through his own strength and cunning. Have you ever done the like? It is to…
A sudden, sharp cry interrupted his reverie, and he glanced up to see Mrs. Sickles, seated on the toilet with her undergarments around her ankles, and staring up at him with something like shock. "Really, Teresa!" she exclaimed. "Do we not believe in knocking in this household anymore? Or at least checking to see whether the light is on before we come barging in?"
"Oops," said Toloth, feeling Teresa's cheeks grow warm with a sudden influx of blood. "Sorry, Mom."
He shut the door again hastily; then he leaned back against the wall, folded Teresa's arms, and stared fixedly at the ceiling, trying his best to ignore the irrepressible giggling coming from Teresa's higher-thought centers.
It seemed to him a remarkably long time before he heard the sound of the toilet being flushed, and even longer before Mrs. Sickles finally emerged. That, to be sure, was natural enough, since she was notoriously fastidious in hygienic matters – as Toloth, of course, had no trouble recalling from Teresa's memories. (Somehow, this instance of his newfound mastery over her mental resources was less satisfying to him than the others had been.) Still, it was irksome.
And it was even more irksome when Mrs. Sickles, upon emerging from the bathroom, bestowed a kind, maternal smile on him. "I'm sorry if I was harsh with you just now, darling," she said. "But really, I thought I'd raised you better than that."
Toloth shook his host's head. "No, it's okay, Mom," he said. "It was my fault, I should have looked. Just had my head in the clouds, I guess."
"Mm," said Mrs. Sickles. "Well, there's nothing new about that, of course." She sighed, and shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know how you're going to manage when you have children of your own."
That's not going to be an issue, my dear human, Toloth thought. By the time your daughter is ready to mate, neither she nor any other member of her race will be in a position to take active roles in the rearing of their young.
Outwardly, however, no trace of this thought crossed his borrowed face as he shrugged and said, "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Sickles. "Heaven knows, I was far from ready at your age, too. Anyway –" she gestured "– there's the bathroom you wanted so badly."
Toloth felt Teresa's cheeks beginning to redden again, and cursed the relative pallor of her skin that made this so conspicuous. "Um, yeah," he said. "Thanks, Mom."
Hastily, he slipped past his host's broadly smiling mother into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. Then, as he seated himself on the white-porcelain latrine and began to discharge the night's accumulation of waste water, a passage he had read the evening before drifted into his mind: If it seemeth to thee that thou knowest many things, and understandest them well, know also that there are many more things which thou knowest not. Be not high-minded, but rather confess thy ignorance.
He scowled, but acknowledged the appositeness of the reflection. It hadn't really been a question of ignorance, of course; he had known perfectly well that humans in general, and Teresa's mother in particular, didn't appreciate being walked in on while they were eliminating. But that it was "high-mindedness" – pride, in other words – that had brought about his little humiliation, he could scarcely deny.
The thought rather disturbed him. He had never thought of the Imitation as being addressed to him; his only concern had been whether it could be taken as being addressed to the izcots. Yet here was a rather unsubtle indication that its counsel was much more broadly applicable – and, it might be, well worth acting on.
But he couldn't afford to worry about that now. In a few short hours, he would be thrust into the thick of the Sharing's biggest social gathering of the season; what he had to focus on was how to handle a full Sharing chapter's worth of veteran human-Controllers, many of whom knew Malcar Seven-Four-Five personally, without giving any of them any reason to think that some other Yeerk was looking out from behind Teresa's eyes. And he hardly thought that a long-dead human monk could give him much advice in that regard.
With that thought, he tore off a length of Charmin and wiped away the residual water from Teresa's pubic area (gingerly – the memory was still tender of the last time he had handled this region of her). Then he rose, flushed, and, after a cursory cleaning of Teresa's hands, headed to the dining room to fortify the two of them for the coming ordeal.