God Emperor of Dune dc-4

by Frank Herbert

  Leto was suddenly aware that he had paused here far longer than ever before. The courtiers and guards were cold after their run in the morning air. Some had chosen their clothing more for show than protection.

  Then again, Leto thought, perhaps show is a form of protection.

  "There were dunes," Idaho said.

  "Stretching for thousands of kilometers," Leto agreed.

  Moneo's thoughts churned. He was familiar with the God Emperor's reflexive mood, but there was a sense of sadness in it this day. Perhaps the recent death of a Duncan. Leto sometimes let important information drop when he was sad. You never questioned the God Emperor's moods or his whims, but sometimes they could be employed.

  Siona will have to be warned, Moneo thought. If the young fool will listen to me!

  She was far more of a rebel than he had been. Far more. Leto had tamed his Moneo, sensitized him to the Golden Path and the rightful duties for which he had been bred, but methods used on a Moneo would not work with Siona. In his observation of this, Moneo had learned things about his own training which he had never before suspected.

  "I don't see any identifiable landmarks," Idaho was saying.

  "Right over there," Leto said, pointing. "Where the forest ends. That was the way to Splintered Rock."

  Moneo shut out their voices. It was ultimate fascination with the God Emperor which finally brought me to heel. Leto never ceased to surprise and amaze. He could not be reliably predicted. Moneo glanced at the God Emperor's profile. What has he become?

  As part of his early duties, Moneo had studied the Citadel's private records, the historical accounts of Leto's transformation. But symbiosis with sandtrout remained a mystery which even Leto's own words could not dispel. If the accounts were to be believed, the sandtrout skin made his body almost invulnerable to time and violence. The great body's ribbed core could even absorb lasgun bursts!

  First the sandtrout, then the worm-all part of the great cycle which had produced melange. That cycle lay within the God Emperor... marking time.

  "Let us proceed," Leto said.

  Moneo realized that he had missed something. He came out of his reverie and looked at a smiling Duncan Idaho.

  "We used to call that woolgathering," Leto said.

  "I'm sorry, Lord," Moneo said. "I was..."

  "You were woolgathering, but it's all right."

  His mood's improved, Moneo thought. I can thank the Duncan for that, I think.

  Leto adjusted his position on the cart, closed part of the bubble cover and left only his head free. The cart crunched over small rocks on the roadbed as Leto activated it.

  Idaho took up position at Moneo's shoulder and trotted along beside him.

  "There are floater bulbs under that cart, but he uses the wheels," Idaho said. "Why is that?"

  "It pleases the Lord Leto to use wheels instead of antigravity."

  "What makes the thing go? How does he steer it?"

  "Have you asked him?"

  "I haven't had the opportunity."

  "The Royal Cart is of Ixian manufacture."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It is said that the Lord Leto activates his cart and steers it just by thinking in a particular way."

  "Don't you know?"

  "Questions such as this do not please him."

  Even to his intimates, Moneo thought, The God Emperor remains a mystery.

  "Moneo!" Leto called.

  "You had better return to your guards," Moneo said, gesturing for Idaho to fall back.

  "I'd rather be out in front with them," Idaho said.

  "The Lord Leto does not want that! Now go back."

  Moneo hurried to place himself close beside Leto's face, noting that Idaho was falling back through the courtiers to the rear ring of guards.

  Leto looked down at Moneo. "I thought you handled that very well, Moneo."

  "Thank you, Lord."

  "Do you know why the Duncan wants to be out in front?"

  "Certainly, Lord. It's where your Guard should be."

  "And this one senses danger."

  "I don't understand you, Lord. I cannot understand why you do these things."

  "That's true, Moneo."

  ***

  The female sense of sharing originated as familial sharing-care of the young, the gathering and preparation of food, sharing joys, love and sorrows. Funeral lamentation originated with women. Religion began as a female monopoly, wrested from them only after its social power became too dominant. Women were the first medical researchers and Practitioners. There has never been any clear balance between the sexes because power goes with certain roles as it certainly goes with knowledge.

  - The Stolen Journals

  FOR THE Reverend Mother Tertius Eileen Anteac, this had been a disastrous morning. She had arrived on Arrakis with her fellow Truthsayer, Marcus Claire Luyseyal, both of them coming down with their official party less than three hours ago aboard the first shuttle from the Guild heighliner hanging in stationary orbit. First, they had been assigned rooms at the absolute edge of the Festival City's Embassy Quarter. The rooms were small and not quite clean.

  "Any farther out and we'd be camping in the slums," Luyseyal had said.

  Next they had been denied communications facilities. All of the screens remained blank no matter how many switches were toggled and palm-dials turned.

  Anteac had addressed herself sharply to the heavyset officer commanding the Fish Speaker escort, a glowering woman with low brows and the muscles of a manual laborer.

  "I wish to complain to your commander!"

  "No complaints allowed at Festival Time," the amazon had rasped.

  Anteac had glared at the officer, a look which in Anteac's old and seamed face had been known to make even her fellow Reverend Mothers hesitate.

  The amazon had merely smiled and said: "I have a message. I am to tell you that your audience with the God Emperor has been moved to the last position."

  Most of the Bene Gesserit party had heard this and even the lowliest attendant-postulate had recognized the significance. All of the spice allotments would be fixed or (The Gods protect us!) even gone by that time.

  "We were to have been third," Anteac had said, her voice remarkably mild in the circumstances.

  "It is the God Emperor's command!"

  Anteac knew that tone in a Fish Speaker. To defy it risked violence.

  A morning of disasters and now this!

  Anteac occupied a low stool against one wall of a tiny, almost empty room near the center of their inadequate quarters. Beside her there was a low pallet, no more than you would assign to an acolyte! The walls were a pale, scabrous green and there was but one aging glowglobe so defective it could not be tuned out of the yellow. The room gave signs of having been a storage chamber. It smelled musty. Dents and scratches marred the black plastic of the floor.

  Smoothing her black aba robe across her knees, Anteac leaned close to the postulate messenger who knelt, head bowed, directly in front of the Reverend Mother. The messenger was a doe-eyed blonde creature with the perspiration of fear and excitement on her face and neck. She wore a dusty tan robe with the dirt of the streets along its hem.

  "You are certain, absolutely certain?" Anteac spoke softly to soothe the poor girl, who still trembled with the gravity of her message.

  "Yes, Reverend Mother." She kept her gaze lowered.

  "Go through it once more," Anteac said, and she thought:

  I'm sparring for time. I heard her correctly.

  The messenger lifted her gaze to Anteac and looked directly into the totally blue eyes as all the postulates and acolytes were taught to do.

  "As I was commanded, I made contact with the lxians at their Embassy and presented your greetings. I then inquired if they had any messages for me to bring back."

  "Yes, yes, girl! I know. Get to the heart of it."

  The messenger gulped. "The spokesman identified himself as Othwi Yake, temporary superior in the Embassy and assista
nt to the former Ambassador."

  "You're sure he was not a Face Dancer substitute?"

  "None of the signs were there, Reverend Mother."

  "Very well. We know this Yake. You may continue."

  "Yake said they were awaiting the arrival of the new. _."

  "Hwi Noree, the new Ambassador, yes. She's due here today."

  The messenger wet her lips with her tongue.

  Anteac made a mental note to return this poor creature to a more elementary training schedule. Messengers should have better self-control, although some allowance had to be made for the seriousness of this message.

  "He then asked me to wait," the messenger said. "He left the room and returned shortly with a Tleilaxu, a Face Dancer, I'm sure of it. There were the certain signs of the..."

  "I'm sure you're correct, girl," Anteac said. "Now, get to the..." Anteac broke off as Luyseyal entered.

  "What's this I hear about messages from the lxians and Tleilaxu?" Luyseyal asked.

  "The girl's repeating it now," Anteac said.

  "Why wasn't I summoned?" Anteac looked up at her fellow Truthsayer, thinking that Luyseyal might be one of the finest practitioners of the art but she remained too conscious of rank. Luyseyal was young, however, with the sensuous oval features of the Jessica-type, and those genes tended to carry a headstrong nature.

  Anteac spoke softly: "Your acolyte said you were meditating."

  Luyseyal nodded, sat down on the pallet and spoke to the messenger. "Continue."

  "The Face Dancer said he had a message for the Reverend Mothers. He used the plural," the messenger said.

  "He knew there were two of us this time," Anteac said.

  "Everyone knows it," Luyseyal said.

  Anteac resumed her full attention to the messenger. "Would you enter memory-trance now, girl, and give us the Face Dancer's words verbatim."

  The messenger nodded, sat back onto her heels and clasped her hands in her lap. She took three deep breaths, closed her eyes and let her shoulders sag. When she spoke, her voice had a high-pitched, nasal twang.

  "Tell the Reverend Mothers that by tonight the Empire will be rid of its God Emperor. We will strike him today before he reaches Onn. We cannot fail."

  A deep breath shook the messenger. Her eyes opened and she looked up at Anteac.

  "The Ixian, Yake, told me to hurry back with this message. He then touched the back of my left hand in that particular way, further convincing me that he was not..."

  "Yake is one of ours," Anteac said. "Tell Luyseyal the message of the fingers."

  The messenger looked at Luyseyal. "We have been invaded by Face Dancers and cannot move."

  As Luyseyal started and began to rise from the pallet, Anteac said: "I already have taken the appropriate steps to guard our doors." Anteac looked at the messenger. "You may go now, girl. You have been adequate to your task."

  "Yes, Reverend Mother." The messenger lifted her lithe body with a certain amount of grace, but there was no doubt in her movements that she knew the import of Anteac's words. Adequate was not well done.

  When the messenger had gone, Luyseyal said: "She should've made some excuse to study the Embassy and find out how many of the lxians have been replaced."

  "I think not," Anteac said. "In that respect, she performed well. No, but it would have been better had she found a way to get a more detailed report from Yake. I fear we have lost him."

  "The reason the Tleilaxu sent us that message is obvious, of course," Luyseyal said.

  "They are really going to attack him," Anteac said.

  "Naturally. It's what the fools would do. But I address myself to why they sent the message to us."

  Anteac nodded. "They think we now have no choice except to join them."

  "And if we try to warn the Lord Leto, the Tleilaxu will learn our messengers and their contacts."

  "What if the Tleilaxu succeed?" Anteac asked.

  "Not likely."

  "We do not know-their actual plan, only its general timing." "What if this girl, this Siona, has a part in it?" Luyseyal asked.

  "I have asked myself that same question. Have you heard the full report from the Guild?"

  "Only the summary. Is that enough?"

  "Yes, with high probability."

  "You should be careful with terms such as high probability," Luyseyal said. "We don't want anyone thinking you're a Mentat."

  Anteac's tone was dry. " presume you will not give me away."

  "Do you think the Guild is right about this Siona'?" Luyseyal asked.

  "I do not have enough information. If they are right, she is something extraordinary."

  "As the Lord Leto's father was extraordinary?"

  "A Guild navigator could conceal himself from the oracular eye of the Lord Leto's father."

  "But not from the Lord Leto."

  "I have read the full Guild report with care. She does not so much conceal herself and the actions around her as, well..."

  "She fades," they said. "She fades from their sight."

  "She alone," Anteac said.

  "And from the sight of the Lord Leto as well?"

  "They do not know."

  "Do we dare make contact with her?"

  "Do we dare not?" Anteac asked.

  "This all may be moot if the Tleilaxu... Anteac, we should at least make the attempt to warn him."

  "We have no communications devices and there now are Fish Speaker guards at the door. They permit our people to enter, but not to leave."

  "Should we speak to one of them'?"

  "I have thought about that. We can always say we feared they were Face Dancer substitutes."

  "Guards at the door," Luyseyal muttered. "Is it possible that he knows?"

  "Anything is possible."

  "With the Lord Leto that's the only thing you can say for sure," Luyseyal said.

  Anteac permitted herself a small sigh as she lifted herself from the stool. "How I long for the old days when we had all of the spice we could ever need."

  "Ever was just another illusion," Luyseyal said. "I hope we have learned our lesson well, no matter how the Tleilaxu make out today."

  "They will do it clumsily whatever the outcome," Anteac grumbled. "Gods! There are no good assassins to be found anymore."

  "There are always the ghola Idahos," Luyseyal said.

  "What did you say?" Anteac stared at her companion.

  "There are always..."

  "Yes!"

  "The gholas are too slow in the body," Luyseyal said.

  "But not in the head."

  "What're you thinking?"

  "Is it possible that the Tleilaxu... No, not even they could be that..."

  "An Idaho Face Dancer?" Luyseyal whispered.

  Anteac nodded mutely.

  "Put it out of your mind," Luyseyal said. "They could not be that stupid."

  "That's a dangerous judgment to make about Tleilaxu," Anteac said. "We must prepare ourselves for the worst. Get one of those Fish Speaker guards in here!"

  ***

  Unceasing warfare gives rise to its own social conditions which have been similar in all epochs. People enter a permanent state of alertness to ward off attacks. You seethe absolute rule of the autocrat. All new things become dangerous frontier districts-new planets, new economic areas to exploit, new ideas or new devices, visitors-everything suspect. Feudalism takes firm hold, sometimes disguised as a politbureau or similar structure, but always present. Hereditary succession follows the lines of power. The blood of the powerful dominates. The vice regents of heaven or their equivalent apportion the wealth. And their know they must control inheritance or slowly let the power melt away. Now, do you understand Leto's Peace?

  - The Stolen Journals

  "HAVE THE Bene Gesserit been informed of the new schedule?" Leto asked.

  His entourage had entered the first shallow cut which would wind into switchbacks at the approach to the bridge across the Idaho River. The sun stood at the morning's first quarter and
a few courtiers were shedding cloaks. Idaho walked with a small troop of Fish Speakers at the left flank, his uniform beginning to show traces of dust and perspiration. Walking and trotting at the speed of a Royal peregrination was hard work.

  Moneo stumbled and caught himself. "They have been informed, Lord." The change of schedule had not been easy, but

  Moneo had learned to expect erratic shifts of direction at Festival time. He kept contingency plans at the ready.

  "Are they still petitioning for a permanent Embassy on Arrakis'?" Leto asked.

  "Yes, Lord. I gave them the usual answer."

  "A simple `no' should suffice," Leto said. "They no longer need to be reminded that I abhor their religious pretentions."

  "Yes, Lord." Moneo held himself to just within the prescribed distance beside Leto's cart. The Worm was very much present this morning-the bodily signs quite apparent to Moneo's eyes. No doubt it was the moisture in the air. That always seemed to bring out the Worm.

  "Religion always leads to rhetorical despotism," Leto said. "Before the Bene Gesserit, the Jesuits were the best at it."

  "Jesuits, Lord?"

  "Surely you've met them in your histories?"

  "I'm not certain, Lord. When were they?"

  "No matter. You learn enough about rhetorical despotism from a study of the Bene Gesserit. Of course, they do not begin by deluding themselves with it."

  The Reverend Mothers are in for a bad time, Moneo told himself. He's going to preach at them. They detest that. This could cause serious trouble.

  "What was their reaction?" Leto asked.

  "I'm told they were disappointed but did not press the matter."

  And Moneo thought: 'd best prepare them for more disappointment. And they'll have to be kept away from the delegations of Ix and Tleilaxu.

  Moneo shook his head. This could lead to some very nasty plotting. The Duncan had better be warned.

  "It leads to self-fulfilling prophecy and justifications for all manner of obscenities," Leto said.

  "This... rhetorical despotism, Lord?"

  "Yes! It shields evil behind walls of self-righteousness which are proof against all arguments against the evil."