His voice coldly accusing, Teg said: “If you want to know your ghola-age, why don’t you ask that?”
“Wha . . . what is that age, sir?”
There was such a weight of misery in the youthful voice that Teg felt tears start in the corners of his eyes. He had been warned about this, too. “Do not reveal too much compassion!” Teg covered the moment by clearing his throat. He said: “That’s a question only you can answer.”
The instructions were explicit: “Turn it back on him! Keep him focused inward. Emotional pain is as important to this process as the physical pain.”
A deep sigh shuddered through Duncan. He closed his eyes tightly. When Teg had first seated himself at the table, Duncan had thought: Is this the moment? Will he do it now? But Teg’s accusing tone, the verbal attacks, were completely unexpected. And now Teg sounded patronizing.
He’s patronizing me!
Cynical anger surged into Duncan. Did Teg think him such a fool that he could be taken in by the most common ploy of a commander? Tone of voice and attitude alone can subjugate another’s will. Duncan sensed something else in the patronizing, though: a core of plasteel that would not be penetrated. Integrity . . . purpose. And Duncan had seen the tears start, the covering gesture.
Opening his eyes and looking directly at Teg, Duncan said: “I don’t mean to be disrespectful or ungrateful or rude, sir. But I can’t go on without answers.”
Teg’s instructions were clear: “You will know when the ghola reaches the point of desperation. No ghola will try to hide this. It is intrinsic to their psyche. You will recognize it in voice and posture.”
Duncan had almost reached the critical point. Silence was mandatory for Teg now. Force Duncan to ask his questions, to take his own course.
Duncan said: “Did you know that I once thought of killing Schwangyu?”
Teg opened his mouth and closed it without a sound. Silence! But the lad was serious!
“I was afraid of her,” Duncan said. “I don’t like being afraid.” He lowered his gaze. “You once told me that we only hate what’s really dangerous to us.”
“He will approach it and retreat, approach and retreat. Wait until he plunges.”
“I don’t hate you,” Duncan said, looking once more at Teg. “I resented it when you said ghola to my face. But Lucilla’s right: We should never resent the truth even when it hurts.”
Teg rubbed his own lips. The desire to speak filled him but it was not yet plunge time.
“Doesn’t it surprise you that I considered killing Schwangyu?” Duncan asked.
Teg held himself rigid. Even the shaking of his head would be taken as a response.
“I thought of slipping something into her drink,” Duncan said. “But that’s a coward’s way and I’m not a coward. Whatever else, I’m not that.”
Teg remained silently immobile.
“I think you really care what happens to me, Bashar,” Duncan said. “But you’re right: we will never be comrades. If I survive, I will surpass you. Then . . . it will be too late for us to be comrades. You spoke the truth.”
Teg was unable to prevent himself from inhaling a deep breath of Mentat realization: no avoiding the signs of strength in the ghola. Somewhere recently, perhaps in this very alcove just now, the youth had ceased being a youth and had become a man. The realization saddened Teg. It went so fast! No normal growing-up in between.
“Lucilla does not really care what happens to me the way you do,” Duncan said. “She’s just following her orders from that Mother Superior, Taraza.”
Not yet! Teg cautioned himself. He wet his lips with his tongue.
“You have been obstructing Lucilla’s orders,” Duncan said. “What is it she’s supposed to do to me?”
The moment had come. “What do you think she’s supposed to do?” Teg demanded.
“I don’t know!”
“The original Duncan Idaho would know.”
“You know! Why won’t you tell me?”
“I’m only supposed to help restore your original memories.”
“Then do it!”
“Only you can really do it.”
“I don’t know how!”
Teg sat forward on the edge of his chair, but did not speak. Plunge point? He sensed something lacking in Duncan’s desperation.