The Lab Below Wallach IX
The laboratory beneath the Bene Gesserit fortress was cold and quiet, hidden deep within the stone halls of Wallach IX. The walls were made of dark rock that seemed to shimmer under the soft orange light of the spice lamps. The air smelled strongly of cinnamon and something sharp, like metal after lightning—a sign that melange was everywhere here, in the lights, the air, the skin.
Jars filled the shelves along the walls. Inside them were organs floating in thick liquid, small forms that hadn't been born, and tiny vials of pure spice that glowed like fire. In the middle of the room stood a metal table, covered in tools—sharp ones, strange ones. A small energy field surrounded something twitching and alive.
Lysara, only eight years old, stood over it. Her glowing blue eyes were focused. She worked with steady hands, adjusting something inside the twitching body. She was small, but her posture and silence made her seem older than she was.
The thing on the table was her own creation. A spider—but not a real one. It had eight thin legs, but its body was made from human tissue. And where a spider's face would be, there was something human—a face, small and wrong, twisted like it was trying to scream. Its eyes glowed like hers.
Lysara whispered softly to it, her voice smooth and rhythmic, almost like a lullaby—but there was power in it, like the Voice.
"Wake up, little one," she said. "Your memories are ready. You're safe."
The lab door opened with a hiss. Reverend Mother Mohiam stepped in. She wore her usual black robes, and the way she moved made it clear—this was her world, and nothing happened here without her knowing. Her eyes scanned the room. They passed over the jars, the spice, the tools—and then landed on the spider.
She stood silently for a moment. Then her voice cut through the air, calm but sharp.
"What is this?" she asked. "What have you made?"
Lysara didn't look up. Her hands stayed steady.
"Not a monster, Reverend Mother. A messenger. Come and see."
Mohiam walked forward slowly. Her face showed nothing, but her steps were careful. She leaned over the table, studying the strange creature.
"It's alive," she said softly. "But it shouldn't be. This looks like something the Tleilaxu would make."
Lysara finally looked up, meeting Mohiam's eyes. She didn't smile, but there was something close to pride in her voice.
"The Tleilaxu twist bodies for power. I don't want power. I want knowledge. This is a vessel. A container for memories that we've lost."
"Explain," Mohiam said, her voice low. "Clearly."
Lysara straightened her back. Her voice grew louder, more confident.
"The Other Memory only gives us voices of the women in our bloodline—mothers, grandmothers, going back through time. But that's not the whole story. What about the men? What about the people who lived before the Sisterhood was even born? What about the worlds before the Jihad?"
Mohiam's eyes narrowed. "We cannot access those memories, child. That is the barrier. That is why the Kwisatz Haderach must come."
"But the spice can," Lysara said quickly. "It remembers everything. Every person who ever touched it—man or woman, living or dead. Their memories are in the spice, scattered like dust."
She touched a button on the console. The energy field around the spider flickered. It stirred—its legs stretched slowly, its tiny chest moved as if it were breathing.
Then it spoke.
A strange, echoing voice came from its mouth—many voices, overlapping, as if a crowd was talking at once.
"In the time of the Titans… the machine lords rose. And humanity bent the knee."
Mohiam stepped back, her face pale.
"The Butlerian Jihad," she whispered.
"You reached back before the revolt?"
Lysara nodded, her eyes glowing brighter.
"Yes. That voice belonged to someone who fought the machines. I pulled it from the spice. It's real. He was there."
The spider kept speaking, its tone sad now.
"We won. But the cost was high. Our unity shattered. We forgot who we were."
Mohiam's hands trembled for just a moment. "How did you do this?"
"I built a body that could hold the memory," Lysara explained. "A small one, so it wouldn't burn out. The spice guided me. It gave me pieces, and I stitched them together."
Mohiam looked down at the spider. Its face twitched like it was trying to speak more, but something held it back.
"This is dangerous," Mohiam said. "The Orange Catholic Bible forbids making things that try to copy the soul. The Fremen warn of devils in the desert that pretend to be human. What if you bring something back that shouldn't return?"
Lysara's voice stayed steady.
"And yet you made me. A girl from a secret breeding line, fed spice since birth, taught to see things no child should see. Wasn't that forbidden too?"
Mohiam's jaw clenched, but she didn't respond.
"This isn't a ghola," Lysara continued. "It's not pretending to be anyone. It remembers. That's all. It tells us what we forgot."
"To what purpose?" Mohiam asked. "What does this give us?"
"It helps me understand Paul," Lysara answered. "He's not just some boy. He's already changing the shape of the Sisterhood's plans. The Fremen think he's their messiah. The spice shows me glimpses of him—walking the sand, shouting in battle. If he's truly the one you've been waiting for, then I need to know how to stand beside him… or against him."
Suddenly, the spider spoke again.
"A boy from the dunes will rise. His name will shatter empires. His voice will bend the wind. Blood will follow him."
Mohiam turned sharply. "You've seen him in vision?"
"I have," Lysara said. "I've seen him lead armies. I've seen him weep alone in the desert. I've seen the moment he becomes more than human. And I've seen what happens if no one is there to stop him."
Mohiam stepped even closer. Her voice was quiet now, but firm.
"You're interfering in things the Sisterhood has already put in motion. The Emperor is watching. So is the Guild. If your creation is discovered—if you are discovered—it could destroy everything."
Lysara looked down at the spider. Its legs twitched violently. It began to scream—loud, broken cries in languages neither of them recognized.
She hit the switch. The energy field shut down. The spider fell silent.
"It's not ready," she said. "The voices are too much for it to hold. But I'll fix it."
Mohiam looked at her, long and hard.
"Power is not enough, Lysara," she said. "You need control. Discipline. The spice gives, but it also takes. It can burn your mind just as easily as it lights the way."
Lysara nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on the spider.
"I'll learn," she said. "I was made to carry the burden. Let me carry it."
Mohaim turned to leave. At the door, Lysara spoke again—her voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you fear me yet?"
Mohiam paused. Her hand rested on the door frame.
"Fear is the mind-killer," she said. "But yes… I watch you carefully now. You are a blade still being sharpened. Let's pray you don't cut too deep."
She walked out.
Lysara turned back to her work. The spider's face twitched again, its mouth starting to move. She smiled softly, placing her hand over the containment field.
"Speak again," she whispered. "Tell me more. I'm listening."
Outside, the winds howled across the surface of Wallach IX. But inside, in this cold room of glass, flesh, and memory, the past began to speak again.