God Emperor of Dune

by Frank Herbert

  "Did Topri not inform you about the books which they say contain Your Sacred Words?"

  Odd how she can capitalize words only with her voice, Leto thought. He spoke curtly.

  "Yes, yes. The Ixians have a copy and soon the Guild and Sisterhood as well will be hard at work on them."

  "What are those books, Lord?"

  "They are my words for my people. I want them to be read. What I want to know is what Siona has said about the Citadel charts she took."

  "She says there is a great hoard of melange beneath Your Citadel, Lord, and the charts will reveal it."

  "The charts will not reveal it. Will she tunnel?"

  "She seeks Ixian tools for that."

  "Ix will not provide them."

  "Is there such a hoard of spice, Lord?"

  "Yes."

  "There is a story about how Your hoard is defended, Lord. That Arrakis itself would be destroyed if anyone tried to steal Your melange. Is it true?"

  "Yes. And that would shatter the Empire. Nothing would survive--not Guild or Sisterhood, not Ix or Tleilaxu, not even the Fish Speakers."

  She shuddered, then: "I will not let Siona try to get Your spice."

  "Nayla! I commanded you to obey Siona in everything. Is this how you serve me?"

  "Lord?" She stood in fear of his anger, closer to a loss of faith than he had ever seen her. It was the crisis he had created, knowing how it must end. Slowly, Nayla relaxed. He could see the shape of her thought as though she had laid it out for him in illuminated words.

  The ultimate test!

  "You will return to Siona and guard her life with your own," Leto said. "That is the task I set for you and that you accepted. It is why you were chosen. It is why you carry a blade from Stilgar's household."

  Her right hand went to the crysknife concealed beneath her robe.

  How sure it is, Leto thought, that a weapon can lock a person into a predictable pattern of behavior.

  He stared with fascination at Nayla's rigid body. Her eyes were empty of everything except adoration.

  The ultimate rhetorical despotism ... and I despise it!

  "Go then!" he barked.

  Nayla turned and fled the Holy Presence.

  Is it worth this? Leto wondered.

  But Nayla had told him what he needed to know. Nayla had renewed her faith and revealed with accuracy the thing which Leto could not find in Siona's fading image. Nayla's instincts were to be trusted.

  Siona has reached that explosive moment which I require.

  The Duncans always think it odd that I choose women for combat forces, but my Fish Speakers are a temporary army in every sense. While they can be violent and vicious, women are profoundly different from men in their dedication to battle. The cradle of genesis ultimately predisposes them to behavior more protective of life. They have proved to be the best keepers of the Golden Path. I reinforce this in my design for their training. They are set aside for a time from ordinary routines. I give them special sharings which they can look back upon with pleasure for the rest of their lives. They come of age in the company of their sisters in preparation for events more profound. What you share in such companionship always prepares you for greater things. The haze of nostalgia covers their days among their sisters, making those days into something different than they were. That's the way today changes history. All contemporaries do not inhabit the same time. The past is always changing, but few realize it.

  --THE STOLEN JOURNALS

  After sending word to the Fish Speakers, Leto descended to the crypt in the late evening. He had found it best to begin the first interview with a new Duncan Idaho in a darkened room where the ghola could hear Leto describe himself before actually seeing the pre-worm body. There was a small side room carved in black stone off the central rotunda of the crypt which suited this requirement. The chamber was large enough to accommodate Leto on his cart, but the ceiling was low. Illumination came from hidden glowglobes which he controlled. There was only the one door, but it was in two segments--one swinging wide to admit the Royal Cart, the other a small portal in human dimensions.

  Leto rolled his Royal Cart into the chamber, sealed the large portal and opened the smaller one. He composed himself then for the ordeal.

  Boredom was an increasing problem. The pattern of the Tleilaxu gholas had become boringly repetitious. Once, Leto had sent word warning the Tleilaxu to send no more Duncans, but they had known they could disobey him in this thing.

  Sometimes I think they do it just to keep disobedience alive!

  The Tleilaxu relied on an important thing which they knew protected them in other matters.

  The presence of a Duncan pleases the Paul Atreides in me.

  As Leto had explained it to Moneo in the majordomo's first days at the Citadel:

  "The Duncans must come to me with much more than Tleilaxu preparation. You must see to it that my houris gentle the Duncans and that the women answer some of his questions."

  "Which questions may they answer, Lord?"

  "They know."

  Moneo had, of course, learned all about this procedure over the years.

  Leto heard Moneo's voice outside the darkened room, then the sound of the Fish Speaker escort and the hesitantly distinctive footsteps of the new ghola.

  "Through that door," Moneo said. "It will be dark inside and we will close the door behind you. Stop just inside and wait for the Lord Leto to speak."

  "Why will it be dark?" The Duncan's voice was full of aggressive misgivings.

  "He will explain."

  Idaho was thrust into the room and the door was sealed behind him.

  Leto knew what the ghola saw--only shadows among shadows and blackness where not even the source of a voice could be fixed. As usual, Leto brought the Paul Muad'Dib voice into play.

  "It pleases me to see you again, Duncan."

  "I can't see you!"

  Idaho was a warrior, and the warrior attacks. This reassured Leto that the ghola was a fully restored original. The morality play by which the Tleilaxu reawakened a ghola's pre-death memories always left some uncertainties in the gholas' minds. Some of the Duncans believed they had threatened a real Paul Muad'Dib. This one carried such illusions.

  "I hear Paul's voice but I can't see him," Idaho said. He didn't try to conceal the frustrations, let them all come out in his voice.

  Why was an Atreides playing this stupid game? Paul was truly dead in some long-ago and this was Leto, the carrier of Paul's resurrected memories ... and the memories of many others!--if the Tleilaxu stories were to be believed.

  "You have been told that you are only the latest in a long line of duplicates," Leto said.

  "I have none of those memories."

  Leto recognized hysteria in the Duncan, barely covered by the warrior bravado. The cursed Tleilaxu post-tank restoration tactics had produced the usual mental chaos. This Duncan had arrived in a state of near shock, strongly suspecting he was insane. Leto knew that the most subtle powers of reassurance would be required now to soothe the poor fellow. This would be emotionally draining for both of them.

  "There have been many changes, Duncan," Leto said. "One thing, though, does not change. I am still Atreides."

  "They said your body is ..."

  "Yes, that has changed."

  "The damned Tleilaxu! They tried to make me kill someone I ... well, he looked like you. I suddenly remembered who I was and there was this ... Could that have been a Muad'Dib ghola?"

  "A Face Dancer mimic, I assure you."

  "He looked and talked so much like ... Are you sure?"

  "An actor, no more. Did he survive?"

  "Of course! That's how they wakened my memories. They explained the whole damned thing. Is it true?"

  "It's true, Duncan. I detest it, but I permit it for the pleasure of your company."

  The potential victims always survive, Leto thought. At least for the Duncans I see. There have been slips, the fake Paul slain and the Duncans wasted. But there are al
ways more cells carefully preserved from the original.

  "What about your body?" Idaho demanded.

  Muad'Dib could be retired now; Leto resumed his usual voice. "I accepted the sandtrout as my skin. They have been changing me ever since."

  "Why?"

  "I will explain that in due course."

  "The Tleilaxu said you look like a sandworm."

  "What did my Fish Speakers say?"

  "They said you're God. Why do you call them Fish Speakers?"

  "An old conceit. The first priestesses spoke to fish in their dreams. They learned valuable things that way."

  "How do you know?"

  "I am those women ... and everything that came before and after them."

  Leto heard the dry swallowing in Idaho's throat, then: "I see why the darkness. You're giving me time to adjust."

  "You always were quick, Duncan."

  Except when you were slow.

  "How long have you been changing?"

  "More than thirty-five hundred years."

  "Then what the Tleilaxu told me is true."

  "They seldom dare to lie anymore."

  "That's a long time."

  "Very long."

  "The Tleilaxu have ... copied me many times?"

  "Many."

  It's time you asked how many, Duncan.

  "How many of me?"

  "I will let you see the records for yourself."

  And so it starts, Leto thought.

  This exchange always appeared to satisfy the Duncans, but there was no escaping the nature of the question:

  "How many of me?"

  The Duncans made no distinctions of the flesh even though no mutual memories passed between gholas of the same stock.

  "I remember my death," Idaho said. "Harkonnen blades, lots of them trying to get at you and Jessica."

  Leto restored the Muad'Dib voice for momentary play: "I was there, Duncan."

  "I'm a replacement, is that right?" Idaho asked.

  "That's right," Leto said.

  "How did the other ... me ... I mean, how did he die?"

  "All flesh wears out, Duncan. It's in the records."

  Leto waited patiently, wondering how long it would be until the tamed history failed to satisfy this Duncan.

  "What do you really look like?" Idaho asked. "What's this sandworm body the Tleilaxu described?"

  "It will make sandworms of sorts someday. It's already far down the road of metamorphosis."

  "What do you mean of sorts?"

  "It will have more ganglia. It will be aware."

  "Can't we have some light? I'd like to see you."

  Leto commanded the floodlights. Brilliant illumination filled the room. The black walls and the lighting had been arranged to focus the illumination on Leto, every visible detail revealed.

  Idaho swept his gaze along the faceted silvery-gray body, noted the beginnings of a sandworm's ribbed sections, the sinuous flexings ... the small protuberances which had once been feet and legs, one of them somewhat shorter than the other. He brought his attention back to the well-defined arms and hands and finally lifted his attention to the cowled face with its pink skin almost lost in the immensity, a ridiculous extrusion on such a body.

  "Well, Duncan," Leto said. "You were warned."

  Idaho gestured mutely toward the pre-worm body.

  Leto asked it for him: "Why?"

  Idaho nodded.

  "I'm still Atreides, Duncan, and I assure you with all the honor of that name, there were compelling reasons."

  "What could possibly ..."

  "You will learn in time."

  Idaho merely shook his head from side to side.

  "It's not a pleasant revelation," Leto said. "It requires that you learn other things first. Trust the word of an Atreides."

  Over the centuries, Leto had found that this invocation of Idaho's profound loyalties to all things Atreides dampened the immediate wellspring of personal questions. Once more, the formula worked.

  "So I'm to serve the Atreides again," Idaho said. "That sounds familiar. Is it?"

  "In many ways, old friend."

  "Old to you, maybe, but not to me. How will I serve?"

  "Didn't my Fish Speakers tell you?"

  "They said I would command your elite Guard, a force chosen from among them. I don't understand that. An army of women?"

  "I need a trusted companion who can command my Guard. You object?"

  "Why women?"

  "There are behavioral differences between the sexes which make women extremely valuable in this role."

  "You're not answering my question."

  "You think them inadequate?"

  "Some of them looked pretty tough, but ..."

  "Others were, ahhh, soft with you?"

  Idaho blushed.

  Leto found this a charming reaction. The Duncans were among the few humans of these times who could do this. It was understandable, a product of the Duncans' early training, their sense of personal honor--very chivalrous.

  "I don't see why you trust women to protect you," Idaho said. The blood slowly receded from his cheeks. He glared at Leto.

  "But I have always trusted them as I trust you--with my life."

  "What do we protect you from?"

  "Moneo and my Fish Speakers will bring you up to date."

  Idaho shifted from one foot to the other, his body swaying in a heartbeat rhythm. He stared around the small room, his eyes not focusing. With the abruptness of sudden decision, he returned his attention to Leto.

  "What do I call you?"

  It was the sign of acceptance for which Leto had been waiting. "Will Lord Leto do?"

  "Yes ... m'Lord." Idaho stared directly into Leto's Fremen-blue eyes. "Is it true what your Fish Speakers say--you have ... memories of ..."

  "We're all here, Duncan." Leto spoke it in the voice of his paternal grandfather, then:

  "Even the women are here, Duncan." It was the voice of Jessica, Leto's paternal grandmother.

  "You knew them well," Leto said. "And they know you."

  Idaho inhaled a slow, trembling breath. "That will take a little getting used to."

  "My own initial reaction exactly," Leto said.

  An explosion of laughter shook Idaho, and Leto thought it more than the weak jest deserved, but he remained silent.

  Presently, Idaho said: "Your Fish Speakers were supposed to put me in a good mood, weren't they?"

  "Did they succeed?"

  Idaho studied Leto's face, recognizing the distinctive Atreides features. "You Atreides always did know me too well," Idaho said.

  "That's better," Leto said. "You're beginning to accept that I'm not just one Atreides. I'm all of them."

  "Paul said that once."

  "So I did!" As much as the original personality could be conveyed by tone and accent, it was Muad'Dib speaking.

  Idaho gulped, looked away at the room's door.

  "You've taken something away from us," he said. "I can feel it. Those women ... Moneo ..."

  Us against you, Leto thought. The Duncans always choose the human side.

  Idaho returned his attention to Leto's face. "What have you given us in exchange?"

  "Throughout the Empire, Leto's Peace!"

  "And I can see that everyone's delightfully happy! That's why you need a personal guard."

  Leto smiled. "My peace is actually enforced tranquility. Humans have a long history of reacting against tranquility."

  "So you give us the Fish Speakers."

  "And a hierarchy you can identify without any mistakes."

  "A female army," Idaho muttered.

  "The ultimate male-enticing force," Leto said. "Sex always was a way of subduing the aggressive male."

  "Is that what they do?"

  "They prevent or ameliorate excesses which could lead to more painful violence."

  "And you let them believe you're a god. I don't think I like this."

  "The curse of holiness is as offensive to me as it is
to you!"

  Idaho frowned. It was not the response he had expected.

  "What kind of game are you playing, Lord Leto?"

  "A very old one but with new rules."

  "Your rules!"

  "Would you rather I turned it all back to CHOAM and Landsraad and the Great Houses?"

  "The Tleilaxu say there is no more Landsraad. You don't allow any real self-rule."

  "Well then, I could step aside for the Bene Gesserit. Or maybe the Ixians or the Tleilaxu? Would you like me to find another Baron Harkonnen to assume power over the Empire? Say the word, Duncan, and I'll abdicate!"