Above the subdued sounds at the table and the rich smell of spiced edu soup, his mother instructed his father on how to deal with an importunate Free Trader. When she said “Tleilaxu,” she had Miles’ entire attention. His education had just recently touched on the Bene Tleilax.
Even Sabine, who succumbed many years later to a poisoner on Romo, listened with as much of his four-year-old awareness as he could muster. Sabine hero-worshiped his brother. Anything that caught the attention of Miles was of interest to Sabine. Both boys listened silently.
“The man is fronting for the Tleilaxu,” Lady Janet said. “I can hear it in his voice.”
“I do not doubt your ability to detect such things, my dear,” Loschy Teg said. “But what am I to do? He has the proper tokens of credit and he wishes to buy the –”
“The order for the rice is unimportant at the moment. Never assume that what a Face Dancer appears to seek is actually what it seeks.”
“I’m sure he’s not a Face Dancer. He –”
“Loschy! I know you have learned this well at my instruction and can detect a Face Dancer. I agree that the Free Trader is not one of them. The Face Dancers remain on his ship. They know I am here.”
“They know they could not fool you. Yes, but -”
“Tleilaxu strategy is always woven within a web of strategies, any one of which may be the real strategy. They learned that from us.”
“My dear, if we are dealing with Tleilaxu, and I do not question your judgment, then it immediately becomes a question of melange.”
Lady Janet nodded her head gently. Indeed, even Miles knew about the Tleilaxu connection with the spice. It was one of the things that fascinated him about the Tleilaxu. For every milligram of melange produced on Rakis, the Bene Tleilax tanks produced long tons. Use of melange had grown to fit the new supply and even the Spacing Guild bent its knee before this power.
“But the rice . . .” Loschy Teg ventured.
“My dear husband, the Bene Tleilax have no need of that much pongi rice in our sector. They require it for trade. We must find out who really needs the rice.”
“You want me to delay,” he said.
“Precisely. You are superb at what we now require. Don’t give that Free Trader the chance to say yes or no. Someone trained by the Face Dancers will appreciate such subtlety.”
“We lure the Face Dancers out of the ship while you initiate inquiries elsewhere.”
Lady Janet smiled. “You are lovely when you leap ahead of me that way.”
A look of understanding passed between them.
“He cannot go to another supplier in this sector,” Loschy Teg said.
“He will wish to avoid a go, no-go confrontation,” Lady Janet said, patting the table. “Delay, delay, and more delay. You must draw the Face Dancers out of the ship.”
“They will realize, of course.”
“Yes, my dear, and it is dangerous. You must always meet on your own ground and with our own guards nearby.”
Miles Teg recalled that his father had, indeed, drawn the Face Dancers out of their ship. His mother had taken Miles to the viewer where he watched the copper-walled room in which his father drove the bargain that won CHOAM’s highest commendation and a rich bonus.
The first Face Dancers Miles Teg ever saw: Two small men as alike as twins. Almost chinless round faces, pug noses, tiny mouths, black button eyes, and short-cropped white hair that stood up from their heads like the bristles on a brush. The two were dressed as the Free Trader had been — black tunics and trousers.
“Illusion, Miles,” his mother said. “Illusion is their way. The fashioning of illusion to achieve real goals, that is how the Tleilaxu work.”
“Like the magician at the Winter Show?” Miles asked, his gaze intent on the viewer and its toy-figure scene.
“Quite similar,” his mother agreed. She too watched the viewer as she spoke but one arm went protectively around her son’s shoulders.
“You are looking at evil, Miles. Study it carefully. The faces you see can be changed in an instant. They can grow taller, appear heavier. They could mimic your father so that only I would recognize the substitution.”