Man of Two Worlds

by Frank Herbert

  The way you did?

  Before Ryll could compose an answer, the cavalcade of limousines swung through the side gate of the White House, passed armed guards standing at attention, and rolled into the rear parking area. A Zone Patrol officer opened the door for Ryll. As he leaned forward to emerge, Ryll saw more ZPs guarding the dimly lighted rear entrance to the White House.

  “Glad to see you home safely, sir,” the officer at the limousine door said.

  Ryll scooped Wytee into a soft bundle and stepped out. No one, not even the officer holding the door, gave any sign they thought it strange to see the President with a cat in his arms.

  Zone Patrol man have many thinks lustful breeding secretary woman, Wytee offered.

  This communication leaked through to Lutt.

  What about my needs for “lustful breeding,” Ryll?

  Ryll ignored this but Lutt was not deterred.

  Eola’s not all that bad in bed, Ryll. A little prudish, but I find that stimulating.

  If I permit it, will you stop interrupting me at crucial moments?

  Anything, Ryll. Just watching everything is an awful bore.

  Is it? I found it fascinating.

  Except for sex.

  That, of course.

  Maybe you should stay in closer contact while I instruct you in the niceties. It might grow on you.

  Stop it this instant or I shall not grant your request.

  Okay. Okay. Just trying to help.

  You are trying to entice me into your disgusting Earther pleasures. You think you can control me that way.

  You seem to like basil.

  No bazeel! You understand me, Lutt? Bazeel is over for good!

  Anything you say, Ryll.

  I mean it!

  I see that. Just let me have Eola tonight. She’s beginning to wonder why you’re not humping her regularly.

  Very well, but I shall hurt your head if you try any tricks.

  I’ll be good.

  That is an impossibility for you, Lutt.

  ***

  Never leave the Soother too long in contact with an extremely ill patient. Soothers not only take on characteristics of their patients but also are deeply influenced by others with whom they come in mental contact during the therapy period. For this reason, Soother applications must occur when there is only one sick mind within their range.

  —Dreen text, for advanced education

  Once more, Ryll and Lutt sat in the Listening Post to review its data. They had raced the sunset across country, using a military plane, the Humptulips Howler—”a rocket with wings,” the media called it.

  In the Post, Lutt dominated because of his more intimate familiarity with the place. They spoke openly, alternating voice control, certain that L.H. had provided a spyproof room.

  “If you’re right about a conspiracy to assassinate us, which I will go along with but not concede, the most suspicious events are those visits to Nishi,” Ryll said.

  “You saying she’s in on it?”

  Ryll managed a superb tone of Earther outrage. “Nishi? Never!”

  “Then what’re you driving at?”

  “Woon is Morey’s logical accomplice. After all, he conspired in your brother’s plan to have us murdered on Venus.”

  “The fat-boy senator knows what’ll happen to him if I’m not around to prevent it!”

  “Perhaps an insufficient deterrent.”

  “Whatta you mean?”

  “He may believe he could weather a spate of bad publicity if you are the focus of national animus. Make you look bad and he looks good by comparison.”

  “But he and Morey haven’t met. There’s only that one vidcom call and Woon merely asked Morey to go to the Madison with plenty of money.”

  “Which Nishi rejected.”

  “Let’s look at the two visits once more,” Ryll insisted.

  “This is the last time!”

  Lutt punched the Listening Post controls and a screen came alive with what was now a boringly familiar sequence, Woon entering Nishi’s suite at the Madison.

  “So he comes in and gives his hat and coat to Ebey,” Lutt said. “Perfectly normal. It’s winter, you know.”

  “He’s not even carrying a briefcase,” Ryll agreed.

  “So whatta they talk about? Just what Woon told me! No more Subiyama revelations. And Nishi says she’ll be mum. And Woon says Morey’ll be along to ‘recompense’ Subiyama.”

  “Could Subiyama be the accomplice?” Ryll asked.

  “Her? Nuts! That dame reports stories, she doesn’t create ’em. Besides, there’s no direct contact with Subiyama.”

  “Could there be more than one accomplice?”

  “Who? We know everything they’ve said. Look. Woon leaves and later, Morey appears,” Lutt said.

  “Roll that one,” Ryll said.

  Lutt obeyed.

  “Nishi must’ve talked to Subiyama in the meantime,” Lutt said. “She’s all ready with her answer.”

  “But Morey has a briefcase full of money.”

  “Which he never even opens!”

  “And out Morey goes,” Ryll said. “He looks happy about something, though.”

  “Morey always enjoys looking at beautiful women.”

  “Nishi gave him no encouragement.”

  “She’s suffering symptoms of withdrawal from me.”

  “You’ve never . . . never . . .”

  “But I want another go at my Ni-Ni, Ryll. As long as she’s still in the capital, why not?”

  “I will not permit it!”

  “Look here, Ryll. We have to be partners. You have your pleasures and I have mine.”

  “I can read what you’re thinking, Lutt.”

  “So you know what I want. What’s wrong with that?” “You will hurt Nishi and I am determined to protect her.” “Keerist! You are the world’s biggest prude!” “Shall we look at more of the Post’s data?” Ryll asked. “What’s to see? Woon running campaign headquarters? Morey using his blade gun on that stupid Deni-Ra?”

  “Do you now think you were wrong about a conspiracy?”

  “Maybe. Let’s still be cautious. No visits from Morey, not that he’ll try. I’ve never wanted him close and he knows it. And we keep Woon at a distance.” “How long do we hold Morey in durance vile?” “I hope it’s vile. And we keep him as long as we can.” “The ZP appears amenable but your mother is becoming importunate.” “Let her import all she wants. It’s good for her.” “I shall resume control now,” Ryll said. “Let us call the guardians and return to Washington.”

  “You know,” Lutt said, “I like being able to talk like this. With a little practice, we could shift back and forth easily. Might be helpful, because sometimes, you’re not so good at imitating me.” “Good enough to fool your mother!” “But what if she gets suspicious?” “You may have noticed, Lutt, that I am improving with practice.” “You like being boss, don’t you?” “I like the practical application of knowledge.” “Well, let’s keep this in mind if we need it.” “Your new spirit of cooperation is gratifying, Lutt.” “Will it make you more willing to grant me a few pleasures?”

  “Since I see the pleasures you desire, we will judge each request on its merits.”

  Wytee stirred in the special pocket and blasted forth a thought that filled the minds of both Ryll and Lutt. Pleasure make cure sick mans! Ryll was a moment recovering from the force of the projection. When he gathered his wits, he protested. Wytee! You promised Nishi you would help me.

  Who you?

  I’m Ryll. . . the Dreen!

  A long pause, then: Ryll Lutt mix. Cure Ryll cure Lutt.

  I don’t need curing! You’re supposed to help me control Lutt Otherwise, he will attack Dreenor.

  Lutt not hurt Dreens. Wytee hurt him’s head.

  Yes, Wytee. That’s what you’re supposed to do.

  Wytee hurt many head they not make nice thought!

  Again, the force of Wytee’s thought stunned Ryll. Lutt took over their
voice and spoke weakly, “What the hell’s happening?”

  “It’s Wytee,” Ryll whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  Wytee not sick! Lutt sick! Ryll sick! Wytee fix!

  Please, Wytee, Ryll pleaded. I can’t think when you do that.

  You Ryll? You go big white house now. You call Nishi. You tell Nishi see you.

  Wytee! We can’t do—

  Ryll broke off, clutching his head in a flash of agony.

  Wytee say you go Nishi now.

  ***

  The tests of Vortraveler II exceeded expectations. Orbited Venus in eighteen seconds, to Mars in another twenty-seven seconds, returned in twenty-two seconds. Total elapsed time one minute and seven seconds,

  —Sam R. Kand’s report

  “A terrible task falls on you, Jongleur,” Habiba said, glaring down at him from a night-lighted platform in her mud-brick home.

  He had sped through the dark in response to Habiba’s call and had no idea of the exact time, but it was late . . . or early. Sleep had evaded him for days, and a presentiment of what the Supreme Tax Collector was about to say flattened his brow.

  She looked terrible there, Jongleur thought. Deep dark shadows under her eyes, smooth areas beside her horn-tool nose. He had never before seen smoothing of Habiba’s skin.

  Jongleur trembled. All four knees ached. Why was she standing on that platform?

  “The erasure ship must be sent,” Habiba said. “It is fate, I believe.”

  Jongleur gaped. Fate? Dreens did not think in such terms. Creation, cause and effect, yes. Fate, never.

  “But why have you summoned me?” he quavered.

  “You must erase Earth,” Habiba intoned. “I can entrust this terrible responsibility to no other.”

  For a moment, Jongleur thought he would faint. “Habiba,” he croaked. “Please.”

  “The task is yours, Jongleur,” she said. “You are my Chief Storyteller.”

  Her words filled him with painful pride. Habiba’s Chief Storyteller. But the consequences!

  “Could we not wait for Mugly’s return?” he pleaded. “This whole thing was his idea.”

  “I fear Mugly will not return,” she said.

  Shock upon shock! Mugly . . . not. . . returning? What perilous task had Habiba given him?

  “Are you . . . sure, Habiba?”

  “I am sure.”

  “But. . . Mugly’s helpers are still . . . I mean, there’s Luhan. He could . . .”

  “Luhan? This is no time for jests!”

  “I was not—’’

  “That’s worse! I give you a direct order: Take the ship to Earth and erase that hideous place. At once! If you leave now, I have calculated it will be over within forty hours.”

  “Habiba, you predicted catastrophe if we—”

  “At once, Jongleur!”

  “Will I, too, not. . . return?”

  “You may survive but it is unlikely you will return.” Her tone softened. “It saddens me for us to part this way.”

  She would not be swayed. He saw this. “May I have time for a few last words with my family?” he pleaded.

  “That would only spread sadness and fear. Go to the ship. Do what must be done.”

  “And Ryll. . . my son . . . on Earth?”

  “You’re stalling, Jongleur! Earth must go! The fate of everyone in that dreadful creation is sealed.”

  That word again: Fate.

  Habiba pointed to the door. “Go! Forty hours from now, there must be no Earth.”

  Trembling and faltering, Jongleur departed. He felt that he shed his past as some creatures shed their skins. But a heavier load replaced his past. Who would have thought a future could have such weight? The eternal now he once had enjoyed—erased. Future and past became alien.

  Outside, Jongleur threaded his way through bands of the Elite huddled in the Control Cone’s dim night lights, fearing to enter Habiba’s presence without a summons. They called to him:

  “Jongleur! What of Habiba? Why are you downcast?”

  He could only shake his head.

  But now he realized why Habiba had looked down at him from an elevation. She could not bring herself to look me straight in the eyes.

  “Something is wrong!” one of the Elite shouted. “You must tell us what is happening!”

  Sadness and fear. His very presence spread that awful mixture. And I am powerless to do anything but obey Habiba. I am her Chief Storyteller. And this is the consequence!

  ***

  Great danger exists in the constant certainty that you have always made proper decisions.

  —Graeco-Dreen aphorism

  Ryll felt like a conspirator as he slipped into the tradesmen’s door of the Madison where an advance party of the Secret Service detained a service elevator. Up they went to Nishi’s floor, guards around him grinning. Some had seen Nishi. Word of her beauty and background on Venus had spread. They knew why he came here with such secrecy.

  But Nishi herself had asked him to make “an immediate visit” and her message did not explain the reason.

  The squirming presence of Wytee in his suitcoat pocket dictated that he obey the summons.

  You not go Nishi Wytee hurt head.

  Ryll had experienced enough of Wytee’s enforcement to know he could not resist the Soother.

  Nishi greeted him in her parlor, the bedroom door behind her open to reveal street clothes thrown over a chair. She wore a thin nightgown under a blue housecoat. Matching pom-pom slippers covered her feet.

  “Is it Ryll or Lutt?” she greeted him.

  “Ryll,” he said. “What do you—”

  “I am doing this for Mrs. Ebey. Lutt’s father treated her shamelessly. You must correct this.”

  “Yes, but Wytee is . . . is . . .”

  Ryll not talk Wytee! Talk love cure!

  Ryll almost sagged with the force of the projection.

  Nishi blushed. “Wytee . . . is . . . talking to me,” she whispered. “It wants me to . . . I can’t!”

  You go Nishi bed, Wytee ordered.

  Ryll shuddered and, as Wytee gave him a taste of enforcement, grabbed his head. Please . . . no! No, Wytee! No!

  Hey! Lutt intruded. If you don’t wanta, I will.

  Wytee’s response was immediate. A surge of agony shot up their spine.

  “Ryll, what is it?” Nishi asked, seeing him stagger.

  “Hurting . . . my . . . head.”

  “Mother of God!” Nishi put her hands over her mouth.

  You go Nishi bed! Wytee repeated and emphasized the order with a brief shot of pain.

  Ryll fell against Nishi. She held him with surprising strength. “Oh, Ryll. . . I’m sorry.”

  “What am I to do?” Ryll moaned.

  That’s a stupid question, Lutt offered. Do it. And I wanta participate.

  Ryll tried to pull away from Nishi but she held him even more tightly. “No,” he whispered.

  At least let me share, Lutt insisted.

  No!

  You’re nothing but a damn spoilsport!

  What Wytee asks . . . it is not sport.

  Lutt was amused. Sure it is.

  Nishi put her lips close to Ryll’s ear and stroked his head. “Do you still hurt?”

  “Not. . . not much.”

  She put an arm around him and, supporting his faltering steps, steered him toward the bedroom.

  “Where . . . where are we going?” Ryll whispered.

  Nishi spoke with candid practicality. “I cannot remain a virgin forever.”

  “Ohhh, Nishi. . . no.”

  You not do Nishi love cure Wytee hurt head bad!

  “I got that,” Nishi said.

  They reached the bedroom—flouncy Empire decor with a green-canopied bed. Nishi eased Ryll backward until he tumbled across a soft comforter. She began removing her clothes.

  “It’s all right,” she said as he once more tried to protest. “I’ve sent Mrs. Ebey away for the night. We’re alone.”
>
  Ryll tried to straighten. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s a foolish question,” she said. “I will not make love to you through wads of messed-up clothing.”

  “Nishi . . . I can stand the pain. You don’t have to do . . . ”

  Wytee make head hurt bad. Ryll feel hurt!

  Ryll screamed in agony.

  For Crissakes, do what Wytee wants! Lutt argued.

  Dropping the last of her clothes, Nishi rolled him over, slipped off his suitcoat and shirt, removed his shoes, then his trousers and shorts. She stepped back and he had his first full look at an unclothed female Earther. It was oddly stimulating. Before climbing onto the bed, she turned down the lights.

  Ryll closed his eyes and felt her nibble his right ear.

  “You do nothing,” Nishi said. “I know how from watching experts.”

  Wytee help! Both Ryll and Nishi received the words.

  Immediately, Ryll became intimately aware of intense physical reactions. They surprised him.

  “You see?” Nishi whispered. “You, too, know what to do.”

  Ryll began to lose control of himself in the deepest pleasure sensations he had ever experienced.

  “Oh, Blessed Habiba,” he whispered, “Why didn’t anyone warn me?”

  He could feel Wytee insinuated into every intimate fleshly contact, amplifying nerve responses and sharing the experience.

  As pleasure climbed to ecstasy, their attention concentrated so intently that not even Wytee noted the return of Mrs. Ebey.

  She hesitated in the doorway. Just what she had expected! That monster forcing himself on poor Nishi!

  Well, a few minutes’ work and I’ll really be rich. And Nishi will be free of the Hansons forever!

  ***

  Captives Basil Addicts

  Adult Males 59 53

  Adult Females 46 37

  Male Children 0 0

  Female Children 0 0

  Totals 105 90

  —“Dreens in Captivity,” a Zone Patrol report

  A strong southwest wind, spreading rain across southern Florida, drenched the mangrove swamp behind Osceola’s hideaway shack for most of the day. She and Dood were kept busy for a time creating barriers to close gaping cracks in the windward walls. By dusk, the rain stopped and the wind eased, though it recurred in occasional gusts that rattled loose boards.