The Dosadi Experiment c-2

by Frank Herbert

  McKie smelled familiar flowers, glimpsed the bowers of his Tutalsee island before the door blinked out of existence, hiding Jedrik and the island from him. Tutalsee? The moment of shocked understanding delayed him. She'd counted on that! He recovered, sent his mind leaping after her.

  I'll force an exchange! By the Gods . . .

  His mind met pain, consuming, blinding pain. It was agony such as he'd not even imagined could exist.

  Jedrik!

  His mind held an unconscious Jedrik whose awareness had fled from pain. The contact was so delicate, like holding a newborn infant. The slightest relaxation and he knew he would lose her to . . . He felt that terrifying monster of the first exchange hovering in the background, but love and concern armed him against fear.

  Frantic, McKie held that tenuous contact while he called a jumpdoor. There was a small delay and when the door opened, he saw through the portal the black, twisted wreckage which had been his bower island. A hot sun beat down on steaming cinders. And in the background, a warped metal object which might have been one of Tutalsee's little four-place flitters rolled over, gurgled, and sank. The visible wreckage said the destructive force had been something like a pentrate, swift and all-consuming. The water around the island still bubbled with it. Even while he watched, the island began breaking up, its cinders drifting apart on the long, low waves. A breeze flattened the steaming smoke. Soon, there'd be nothing to show that beauty had floated here. With a pentrate, there would be nothing to recover . . . not even bodies to . . .

  He hesitated, still holding his fragile grasp on Jedrik's unconscious presence. The pain was only a memory now. Was it really Jedrik in his awareness, or only his remembered imprint of her? He tried to awaken the sleeping presence, failed. But small threads of memory emerged, and he saw that the destruction had been Jedrik's doing, response to attack. The attackers had wanted a live hostage. They hadn't anticipated that violent, unmistakable message.

  "You won't hold me over McKie's head!"

  But if there were no bodies . . .

  Again, he tried to awaken that unconscious presence. Her memories were there, but she remained dormant. The effort strengthened his grip upon her presence, though. And he told himself it had to be Jedrik, or he wouldn't know what had happened on the bower island.

  Once more, he searched the empty water. Nothing. A pentrate would've torn and battered everything around it. Shards of metal, flesh reduced to scattered cinders . . .

  She's dead. She has to be dead. A pentrate . . .

  But that familiar presence lay slumbering in his mind.

  The door clacker interrupted his reverie. McKie released the jumpdoor, turned to look through the bedside viewer at the scene outside his Legum quarters. The expected deputation had arrived. Confident, the puppet masters were moving even before confirmation of their Tutalsee gambit. They could not possibly know yet what McKie knew. There could be no jumpdoor or any other thread permitted to connect this group to Tutalsee.

  McKie studied them carefully, keeping a bridle on his rage. There were eight of them, so contained, so well schooled in Dosadi self-control. So transparent to a Jedrik-amplified McKie. They were four Humans and four Gowachin. Overconfident. Jedrik had seen to that by leaving no survivors.

  Again, McKie tried to awaken that unconscious presence. She would not respond.

  Have I only built her out of my memories?

  There was no time for such speculation. Jedrik had made her choice on Tutalsee. He had other choices to make here and now - for both of them. That ghostly presence locked in his mind would have to wait.

  McKie punched the communicator which linked him to Broey, gave the agreed-upon signal.

  "It's time."

  He composed himself then, went to the door.

  They'd sent no underlings. He gave them that. But they addressed him as Jedrik, made the anticipated demands, gloated over the hold they had upon him. It was only then that McKie saw fully how well Jedrik had measured these people; and how she had played upon her McKie in those last hours together like an exquisitely tuned instrument. Now, he understood why she'd made that violent choice.

  As anticipated, the members of the delegation were extremely surprised when Broey's people fell upon them without warning.

  ***

  For the Gowachin, to stand alone against all adversity is the most sacred moment of existence.

  - The Gowachin, a BuSab analysis

  The eight prisoners were dumped on the arena floor, bound and shackled. McKie stopped near them, waiting for Ceylang to arrive. It was not yet dawn. The ceiling above the arena remained dark. A few of the transmitter eyes around the upper perimeter glittered to reveal that they were activated. More were coming alive by the moment. Only a few of the witness seats were occupied, but people were streaming in as word was passed. The judicial bench remained empty.

  The outer areaway was a din of Courtarena security forces coming and going, people shouting orders, the clank of weapons, a sense of complete confusion there which gradually resolved itself as Broey led his fellow judges up onto their bench. The witness pen was also filling, people punching sleep from their eyes, great gaping yawns from the Gowachin.

  McKie looked to Broey's people, the ones who'd brought in the prisoners. He nodded for the captors to leave, giving them a Dosadi hand signal to remain available. They left.

  Ceylang passed them as she entered, still fastening her robe. She hurried to McKie's side, waited for the judges to be seated before speaking.

  "What is the meaning of this? My attendants . . ."

  Broey signaled McKie.

  McKie stepped forward to address the bench, pointed to the eight bound figures who were beginning to stir and push themselves upright.

  "Here you see my client."

  Parando started to speak, but Broey silenced him with a sharp word which McKie did not catch. It sounded like "frenzy."

  Bildoon sat in fearful fascination, unable to wrest his attention from the bound figures, all of whom remained silent. Yes, Bildoon would recognize those eight prisoners. In his limited, ConSentient fashion, Bildoon was sharp enough to recognize that he was in personal danger. Parando, of course, knew this immediately and watched Broey with great care.

  Again, Broey nodded to McKie.

  "A fraud has been perpetrated upon this court," McKie said. "It is a fraud which was perpetrated against those great and gallant people, the Gowachin. Both Prosecution and Defense are its victims. The Law is its ultimate victim."

  It had grown much quieter in the arena. The observer seats were jammed, all the transmitter eyes alive. The faintest of dawn glow touched the translucent ceiling. McKie wondered what time it was. He had forgotten to put on any timepiece.

  There was a stir behind McKie. He glanced back, saw attendants belatedly bringing Aritch into the arena. Oh, yes - they would have risked any delay to confer with Aritch. Aritch was supposed to be the other McKie expert. Too bad that this Human who looked like McKie was no longer the McKie they thought they knew.

  Ceylang could not hold her silence. She raised tendril for attention.

  "This Tribunal . . ."

  McKie interrupted.

  ". . . is composed of three people. Only three."

  He allowed them a moment to digest this reminder that Gowachin trial formalities still dominated this arena, and were like no other such formalities in the ConSentiency. It could've been fifty judges up there on that bench. McKie had witnessed Gowachin trials where people were picked at random off the streets to sit in judgment. Such jurists took their duties seriously, but their overt behavior could lead another sentient species to question this. The Gowachin chattered back and forth, arranged parties, exchanged jokes, asked each other rude questions. It was an ancient pattern. The jurists were required to become "a single organism." Gowachin had their own ways of rushing that process.

  But this Tribunal was composed of just three judges, only one of them visibly Gowachin. They were separate entities, the
ir actions heavy with mannerisms foreign to the Gowachin. Even Broey, tainted by Dosadi, would be unfamiliar to the Gowachin observers. No "single organism" here holding to the immutable form beneath Gowachin Law. That had to be deeply disturbing to the Legums who advised Ceylang.

  Broey leaned forward, addressed the arena.

  "We'll dispense with the usual arguments while this new development is explored."

  Again, Parando tried to interrupt. Broey silenced him with a glance.

  "I call Aritch of the Running Phylum," McKie said.

  He turned.

  Ceylang stood in mute indecision. Her advisors remained at the back of the arena conferring among themselves. There seemed to be a difference of opinion among them.

  Aritch shuffled to the death-focus of the arena, the place where every witness was required to stand. He glanced at the instruments of pain arrayed beneath the judicial bench, cast a wary look at McKie. The old High Magister appeared harried, and undignified. That hurried conference to explore this development must've been a sore trial to the old Gowachin.

  McKie crossed to the formal position beside Aritch, addressed the judges.

  "Here we have Aritch, High Magister of the Running Phylum. We were told that if guilt were to be found in this arena, Aritch bore that guilt. He, so we were led to believe, was the one who made the decision to imprison Dosadi. But how can that be so? Aritch is old, but he isn't as old as Dosadi. Then perhaps his alleged guilt is to be found in concealing the imprisonment of Dosadi. But Aritch summoned an agent of BuSab and sent that agent openly to Dosadi."

  A disturbance among the eight shackled prisoners interrupted McKie. Several of the prisoners were trying to get to their feet, but the links of the shackles were too short.

  On the judicial bench, Parando started to lean forward, but Broey hauled him back.

  Yes, Parando and others were recalling the verities of a Gowachin Courtarena, the constant reversals of concepts common throughout the rest of the ConSentiency.

  To be guilty is to be innocent. Thus, to be innocent is to be guilty.

  At a sharp command from Broey, the prisoners grew quiet.

  McKie continued.

  "Aritch, conscious of the sacred responsibilities which he carried upon his back as a mother carries her tads, was deliberately named to receive the punishment blow lest that punishment be directed at all Gowachin everywhere. Who chose this innocent High Magister to suffer for all Gowachin?"

  McKie pointed to the eight shackled prisoners.

  "Who are these people?" Parando demanded.

  McKie allowed the question to hang there for a long count. Parando knew who these eight were. Did he think he could divert the present course of events by such a blatant ploy?

  Presently, McKie spoke.

  "I will enlighten the court in due course. My duty, however, comes first. My client's innocence comes first."

  "One moment."

  Broey held up a webbed hand.

  One of Ceylang's advisors hurried past McKie, asked and received permission to confer with Ceylang. A thwarted Parando sat like a condemned man watching this conversation as though he hoped to find reprieve there. Bildoon had hunched forward, head buried in his arms. Broey obviously controlled the Tribunal.

  The advisor Legum was known to McKie, one Lagag of a middling reputation, an officer out of breeding. His words to Ceylang were low and intense, demanding.

  The conference ended, Lagag hurried back to his companions. They now understood the tenor of McKie's defense. Aritch must have known all along that he could be sacrificed here. The ConSentient Covenant no longer permitted the ancient custom where the Gowachin audience had poured into the arena to kill with bare hands and claws the innocent defendant. But let Aritch walk from here with the brand of innocence upon him; he would not take ten paces outside the arena's precincts before being torn to pieces.

  There'd been worried admiration in the glance Lagag had given McKie in passing. Yes . . . now they understood why McKie had maneuvered for a small and vulnerable judicial panel.

  The eight prisoners began a new disturbance which Broey silenced with a shout. He signaled for McKie to continue.

  "Aritch's design was that I expose Dosadi, return and defend him against the charge that he had permitted illegal psychological experiments upon an unsuspecting populace. He was prepared to sacrifice himself for others."

  McKie sent a wry glance at Aritch. Let the High Magister try to fight in half-truths in that defense!

  "Unfortunately, the Dosadi populace was not unsuspecting. In fact, forces under the command of Keila Jedrik had moved to take control of Dosadi. Judge Broey will affirm that she had succeeded in this."

  Again, McKie pointed to the shackled prisoners.

  "But these conspirators, these people who designed and profited from the Dosadi Experiment, ordered the death of Keila Jedrik! She was murdered this morning on Tutalsee to prevent my using her at the proper moment to prove Aritch's innocence. Judge Broey is witness to the truth of what I say. Keila Jedrik was brought into this arena yesterday only that she might be traced and killed!"

  McKie raised both arms in an eloquent gesture of completion, lowered his arms.

  Aritch looked stricken. He saw it. If the eight prisoners denied the charges, they faced Aritch's fate. And they must know by now that Broey wanted them Gowachin-guilty. They could bring in the Caleban contract and expose the body-exchange plot, but that risked having McKie defend or prosecute them because he'd already locked them to his actual client, Aritch. Broey would affirm this, too. They were at Broey's mercy. If they were Gowachin-guilty, they walked free only here on Tandaloor. Innocent, they died here.

  As though they were one organism, the eight turned their heads and looked at Aritch. Indeed! What would Aritch do? If he agreed to sacrifice himself, the eight might live. Ceylang, too, focused on Aritch.

  Around the entire arena there was a sense of collective held breath.

  McKie watched Ceylang. How candid had Aritch's people been with their Wreave? Did she know the full Dosadi story?

  She broke the silence, exposing her knowledge. She chose to aim her attack at McKie on the well-known dictum that, when all else failed, you tried to discredit the opposing Legum.

  "McKie, is this how you defend these eight people whom only you name as client?" Ceylang demanded.

  Now, it was delicate. Would Broey go along?

  McKie countered her probe with a question of his own.

  "Are you suggesting that you'd prosecute these people?"

  "I didn't charge them! You did."

  "To prove Aritch's innocence."

  "But you call them client. Will you defend them?"

  A collective gasp arose from the cluster of advisors behind her near the arena doorway. They'd seen the trap. If McKie accepted the challenge, the judges had no choice but to bring the eight into the arena under Gowachin forms. Ceylang had trapped herself into the posture of prosecutor against the eight. She'd said, in effect, that she affirmed their guilt. Doing so, she lost her case against Aritch and her life was immediately forfeit. She was caught.

  Her eyes glittered with the unspoken question.

  What would McKie do?

  Not yet, McKie thought. Not yet, my precious Wreave dupe.

  He turned his attention to Parando. Would they dare introduce the Caleban contract? The eight prisoners were only the exposed tip of the shadowy forces, a vulnerable tip. They could be sacrificed. It was clear that they saw this and didn't like it. No Gowachin Mrregs here with that iron submission to responsibility! They loved life and its power, especially the ones who wore Human flesh. How precious life must be for those who'd lived many lives! Very desperate, indeed.

  To McKie's Dosadi-conditioned eyes, it was as though he read the prisoners' thoughts. They were safest if they remained silent. Trust Parando. Rely on Broey's enlightened greed. At the worst, they could live out what life was left to them here on Tandaloor, hoping for new bodies before the flesh they
now wore ran out of vitality. As long as they still lived they could hope and scheme. Perhaps another Caleban could be hired, more Pcharkys found . . .

  Aritch broke, unwilling to lose what had almost been his.

  The High Magister's Tandaloor accent was hoarse with protest.

  "But I did supervise the tests on Dosadi's population!"

  "To what tests do you refer?"

  "The Dosadi . . ."

  Aritch fell silent, seeing the trap. More than a million Dosadi Gowachin already had left their planet. Would Aritch make targets of them? Anything he said could open the door to proof that the Dosadis were superior to non-Dosadis. Any Gowachin (or Human, for that matter) could well become a target in the next few minutes. One had only to denounce a selected Human or Gowachin as Dosadi. ConSentient fears would do the rest. And any of his arguments could be directed into exposure of Dosadi's real purpose. He obviously saw the peril in that, had seen it from the first.

  The High Magister confirmed this analysis by glancing at the Ferret Wreaves in the audience. What consternation it would create among the secretive Wreaves to learn that another species could masquerade successfully as one of their own!

  McKie could not leave matters where they stood, though. He threw a question at Aritch.

  "Were the original transportees to Dosadi apprised of the nature of the project?"

  "Only they could testify to that."

  "And their memories were erased. We don't even have historical testimony on this matter."

  Aritch remained silent. Eight of the original designers of the Dosadi project sat near him on the arena floor. Would he denounce them to save himself? McKie thought not. A person deemed capable of performing as The Mrreg could not possess such a flaw. Could he? Here was the real point of no return.

  The High Magister confirmed McKie's judgment by turning his back on the Tribunal, the ages-old Gowachin gesture of submission. What a shock Aritch's performance must have been for those who'd seen him as a possible Mrreg. A poor choice except at the end, and that'd been as much recognition of total failure as anything else.