These were people from the Scattering, though — except possibly for the square-faced male in the brown singlesuit. Teg studied the woman with care: the matt of gray hair, the quiet composure in those widely spaced green eyes, the slightly protruding chin with its sense of solidity and reliability. She had been chosen well for “friend.” Materly’s face was a map of respectability, someone you could trust. Teg saw a withdrawn quality in her, though. She was one who would also observe carefully to catch the moment when she must become involved. Surely, she was Bene Gesserit-trained at the very least.
Or trained by the Honored Matres.
They finished attaching the contacts to his head. The Gammu type swung the probe’s console into position where all three could watch the display. The probe’s screen was concealed from Teg.
The woman removed Teg’s gag, confirming his judgment. She would be the source of comfort. He moved his tongue around in his mouth, restoring sensation. His face and chest still felt a bit numb from the stunner that had brought him down. How long ago had that been? But if he was to believe the silent words of the functionary, Duncan had escaped.
The Gammu type looked to the observer.
“You may begin, Yar,” the functionary said.
Yar? Teg wondered. Curious name. Almost had a Tleilaxu sound. But Yar was not a Face Dancer . . . or a Tleilaxu Master. Too big for one and no stigmata of the other. As one trained by the Sisterhood, Teg felt confident of this.
Yar touched a control on the probe’s console.
Teg heard himself grunt with pain. Nothing had prepared him for that much pain. They must have turned their devil’s machine to maximum for the first thrust. No question about it! They knew he was a Mentat. A Mentat could remove himself from some demands of flesh. But this was excruciating! He could not escape it. Agony shivered through his entire body, threatening to blank out his consciousness. Could shere shield him from this?
The pain diminished gradually and went away, leaving only quivering memories.
Again!
He thought suddenly that the spice agony must be like this for a Reverend Mother. Surely, there could be no greater pain. He fought to remain silent but heard himself grunting, moaning. Every ability he had ever learned, Mentat and Bene Gesserit, was called into play, keeping him from forming words, from begging for surcease, from promising to tell them anything if they would only stop.
Once more the agony receded and then surged back.
“Enough!” That was the woman. Teg groped for her name.
Materly?
Yar spoke in a sullen voice: “He’s loaded with shere, enough to last him a year at least.” He gestured at his console. “Blank.”
Teg breathed in shallow gasps. The agony! It continued to increase despite Materly’s demand.
“I said enough!” Materly snapped.
Such sincerity, Teg thought. He felt the pain recede, withdrawing as though every nerve were being removed from his body, pulled out like threads of the remembered agony.
“It is wrong what we’re doing,” Materly said. “This man is –”
“He is like any other man,” Yar said. “Shall I attach the special contact to his penis?”
“Not while I’m here!” Materly said.
Teg felt himself almost taken in by her sincerity. The last of the agony threads left his flesh and he lay there with a feeling that he had been suspended off the surface that supported him. The sense of deja vu remained. He was here and not here. He had been here and he had not.
“They will not like it if we fail,” Yar said. “Are you prepared to face them with another failure?”
Materly shook her head sharply. She bent over to bring her face into Teg’s line of vision through the medusa tangle of probe contacts. “Bashar, I am sorry for what we do. Believe me. This is not of my making. Please, I find all of this disgusting. Tell us what we need to know and let me make you comfortable.”
Teg formed a smile for her. She was good! He shifted his gaze to the watchful functionary. “Tell your masters for me. She is very good at this.”