"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 attendantpostulate

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 assistant 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 memorytrance

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."

Moneo kept a wary eye on Leto's body, noting the way the hands twisted, almost a

random movement, the twitching of the great ribbed segments. What will I do if

the Worm comes out of him here? Perspiration broke out on Moneo's forehead.

"It feeds on deliberately twisted meanings to discredit opposition," Leto said.

"All of that, Lord?"

"The Jesuits called that `securing your power base.' It leads directly to

hypocrisy which is always betrayed by the gap between actions and explanations.

They never agree."

"I must study this more carefully, Lord."

"Ultimately, it rules by guilt because hypocrisy brings on the witch hunt and

the demand for scapegoats."

"Shocking, Lord."

The cortege rounded a corner where the rock had been opened for a glimpse of the

bridge in the distance.

"Moneo, are you paying close attention to me?"

"Yes, Lord. Indeed."

"I'm describing a tool of the religious power base."

"I recognize that, Lord."

"Then why are you so afraid?"

"Talk of religious power always makes me uneasy, Lord."

"Because you and the Fish Speakers wield it in my name?"

"Of course, Lord."

"Power bases are very dangerous because they attract people who are truly

insane, people who seek power only for the sake of power. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Lord. That is why you so seldom grant petitions for appointments in your

government."

"Excellent, Moneo!"

"Thank you, Lord."

"In the shadow of every religion lurks a Torquemada," Leto said. "You have never

encountered that name. I know because I caused it to be expunged from all the

records."

"Why was that, Lord?"

"He was an obscenity. He made living torches out of people who disagreed with

him."

Moneo pitched his voice low. "Like the historians who angered you, Lord?"

"Do you question my actions, Moneo?"

"No, Lord!"

"Good. The historians died peacefully. Not a one felt the flames. Torquemada,

however, delighted in commending to his god the agonized screams of his burning

victims."

"How horrible, Lord."

The cortege turned another corner with a view of the bridge. The span appeared

to be no closer.

Once more, Moneo studied his God Emperor. The Worm appeared no closer. Still too

close, though. Moneo could feel

the menace of that unpredictable presence, the Holy Presence which could kill

without warning.

Moneo shuddered.

What had been the meaning of that strange . . . sermon? Moneo knew that few had

ever heard the God Emperor speak thus. It was a privilege and a burden. It was

part of the price paid for Leto's Peace. Generation after generation marched in

their ordered way under the dictates of that peace. Only the Citadel's inner

circle knew all of the infrequent breaks in that peace-the incidents when Fish

Speakers were sent out in anticipation of violence.

Anticipation!

Moneo glanced at the now-silent Leto. The God Emperor's eyes were closed and a

look of brooding had come over his face. That was another of the Worm signs- a

bad one. Moneo trembled.

Did Leto anticipate even his own moments of wild violence? It was the

anticipation of violence which sent tremors of awe and fear throughout the

Empire. Leto knew where guards must be posted to put down a transitory uprising.

He knew it before the event. Even thinking about such matters dried Moneo's

mouth. There were times, Moneo believed, when the God Emperor could read any

mind. Oh, Leto employed spies. An occasional shrouded figure passed by the Fish

Speakers for the climb to Leto's tower aerie or descended to the crypt. Spies,

no doubt of it, but Moneo suspected they were used merely to confirm what Leto

already knew.

As though to confirm the fears in Moneo's mind, Leto said: "Do not try to force

an understanding of my ways, Moneo. Let understanding come of itself."

"I will try, Lord."

"No, do not try. Tell me, instead, if you have announced yet that there will be

no changes in the spice allotments?"

"Not yet, Lord."

"Delay the announcement. I am changing my mind. You know, of course, that there

will be new offers of bribes."

Moneo sighed. The amounts offered him in bribes had reached ridiculous heights.

Leto, however, had appeared amused by the escalation.

"Draw them out," he had said earlier. "See how high they will go. Make it appear

that you can be bribed at last."

Now, as they turned another corner with a view of the

bridge, Leto asked: "Has House Corrino offered you a bribe?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Do you know the myth which says that someday House Corrino will be restored to

its ancient powers?"

"I have heard it, Lord."

"Have the Corrino killed. It is a task for the Duncan. We will test him."

"So soon, Lord?"

"It is still known that melange can extend human life. Let it also be known that

the spice can shorten life."

"As you command, Lord."

Moneo knew this response in 'himself, It was the way he spoke when he could not

voice a deep objection which he felt. He also knew that the Lord Leto understood

this and was amused by it. The amusement rankled.

"Try not to be impatient with me, Moneo," Leto said.

Moneo suppressed his feeling of bitterness. Bitterness brought peril. Rebels

were bitter. The Duncans grew bitter before they died.

"Time has a different meaning for you than it has for me, Lord," Moneo said. "I

wish I could know that meaning."

"You could but you will not."

Moneo heard rebuke in the words and fell silent, turning his thoughts instead to

the melange problems. It was not often that the Lord Leto spoke of the spice,

and then it usually was to set allotments or withdraw them, to apportion rewards

or send the Fish Speakers after some newly revealed hoard. The greatest

remaining store of spice, Moneo knew, lay in some place known only to the God

Emperor. In his first days of Royal Service, Moneo had been covered in a hood

and led by the Lord Leto himself to that secret place along twisting passages

which Moneo had sensed were underground.

When I removed the hood, we were underground.

The place had filled Moneo with awe. Great bins of melange lay all around in a

gigantic room cut from native rock and illuminated by glowglobes of an ancient

design with arabesques of metal scrollwork upon them. The spice had glowed

radiant blue in the dim silver light. And the smell-bitter cinnamon,

unmistakable. There had been water dripping nearby. Their voices had echoed

against the stone.

"One day all of this will be gone," the Lord Leto had said.

Shocked, Moneo had asked: "What will Guild and Bene Gesserit do then?"

"What they are doing now, but more violently."

Staring around the gigantic room with its enormous store of melange, Moneo cold

only think of things he knew were happening in the Empire at that moment-bloody

assassinations, piratical raids, spying and intrigue. The God Emperor kept a lid

on the worst of it, but what remained was bad enough,

"The temptation," Moneo whispered.

"The temptation, indeed."

"Will there be no more melange, ever, Lord'?"

"Someday, I will go back into the sand. I will be the source of spice then."

"You, Lord?"

"And I will produce something just as wonderful-more sandtrout-a hybrid and a

prolific breeder."

Trembling at this revelation, Moneo stared at the shadowy figure of the God

Emperor who spoke of such marvels.

"The sandtrout," Lord Leto said, "will link themselves into large living bubbles

to enclose this planet's water deep underground. Just as it was in the Dune

times."

"All of the water, Lord?"

"Most of it. Within three hundred years, the sandworm once more will reign here.

It will be a new kind of sandworm, I promise you."

"How is that, Lord?"

"It will have animal awareness and a new cunning. The spice will be more

dangerous to seek and far more perilous to keep."

Moneo had looked up at the cavern's rocky ceiling, his imagination probing

through the rock to the surface.

"Everything desert again, Lord?"

"Watercourses will fill with sand. Crops will be choked and killed. Trees will

be covered by great moving dunes. The sand-death will spread until . . . until a

subtle signal is heard in the barren lands."

"What signal, Lord?"

"The signal for the next cycle, the coming of the Maker, the coming of Shai-

Hulud."

"Will that be you, Lord?"

"Yes! The great sandworm of Dune will rise once more from the deeps. This land

will be again the domain of spice and worm."

"But what of the people, Lord? All of the people?"

"Many will die. Food plants and the abundant growth of

this land will be parched. Without nourishment, meat animals will die."

"Will everyone go hungry, Lord?"

"Undernourishment and the old diseases will stalk the land, while only the

hardiest survive . . . the hardiest and most brutal."

"Must that be, Lord?"

"The alternatives are worms'

"Teach me about those alternatives, Lord."

"In time, you will know them."

As he marched beside the God Emperor in the morning light of their peregrination

to Onn, Moneo could only admit that he had, indeed, learned of alternative

evils.

To most of the Empire's docile citizens, Moneo knew, the firm knowledge which he

held in his own head lay concealed in the Oral History, in the myths and wild

stories told by infrequent mad prophets who cropped up on one planet or another

to gather a short-lived following.

But l know what the Fish Speakers do.

And he knew also about evil men who sat at table, gorging themselves on rare

delicacies while they watched the torture of fellow humans.

Until the Fish Speakers came, and gore erased such scenes.

"I enjoyed the way your daughter watched me," Leto said. "She was so unaware

that I knew."

"Lord, I fear for her! She is my blood, my. . .

"Mine, too, Moneo. Am I not Atreides? You would be better employed fearing for

yourself."

Moneo cast a fearful glance along the God Emperor's body. The signs of the Worm

remained too near. Moneo glanced at the cortege following, then along the road

ahead. They now were into the steep descent, the switchbacks short and cut into

high walls in the man-piled rocks of the cliff barrier which girdled the Sareer.

"Siona does not offend me, Moneo."

"But she. . .

"Moneo! Here, in its mysterious capsule is one of life's great secrets. To be

surprised, to have a new thing occur, that is what I desire most."

"Lord, I..."

"New! Isn't that a radiant, a wonderful word?"

"If you say it, Lord."

Leto was forced to remind himself then: Moneo is my creature. I created him.

"Your child is worth almost any price to me. Moneo. You decry her companions,

but there may be one among them that she will love."

Moneo cast an involuntary glance back at Duncan Idaho marching with the guards.

Idaho was glaring ahead as though trying to probe each turn in the road before

they reached it. He did not like this place with its high walls all around from

which attack might come. Idaho had sent scouts up there in the night and Moneo

knew that some of them still lurked on the heights, but there also were ravines

ahead before the marchers reached the river. And there had not been enough

guards to station them everywhere.

"We will depend upon the Fremen," Moneo had reassured him.

"Fremen?" Idaho did not like what he heard about the Museum Fremen.

"At least they can sound an alarm against intruders," Moneo had said.

"You saw them and asked them to do that?"

"Of course."

Moneo had not dared to broach the subject of Siona to Idaho. Time enough for

that later, but now the God Emperor had said a disturbing thing. Had there been

a change in plans?

Moneo returned his attention to the God Emperor and lowered his voice.

"Love a companion, Lord'? But you said the Duncan. . ."

"I said love, not breed with!"

Moneo trembled, thinking of how his own mating had been arranged, the wrenching

away from . . .

No! Best not follow those memories!

There had been affection, even a real love . . . later, but in the first days .

. .

"You are woolgathering again, Moneo."

"Forgive me, Lord, but when you speak of love. . ."

"You think I have no tender thoughts'!"

"It's not that, Lord, but. . ."

"You think I have no memories of love and breeding, then?" The cart swerved

toward Moneo, forcing him to dodge away, frightened by the glowering look on the

Lord Leto's face.

"Lord, I beg your. . ."

"This body may never have known such tenderness, but all of the memories are

mine!"

Moneo could see the signs of the Worm growing more dominant in the God Emperor's

body and there was no escaping recognition of this mood.

I am in grave danger. We all are.

Moneo grew aware of every sound around him, the creaking of the Royal Cart, the

coughs and low conversation from the entourage, the feet on the roadway. There

was an exhalation of cinnamon from the God Emperor. The air here between the

enclosing rock walls still held its morning chill and there was dampness from

the river.

Was it the moisture bringing out the Worm?

"Listen to me, Moneo, as though your life depended on it."

"Yes, Lord," Moneo whispered, and he knew his life did depend on the care he

took now, not only in listening but in observing.

"Part of me dwells forever underground without thought," Leto said. "That part

reacts. It does things without a care for knowing or logic."

Moneo nodded. his attention glued on the God Emperor's face. Were the eyes about

to glaze?

"I am forced to stand off and watch such things, nothing more," Leto said. "Such

a reaction could cause your death. The choice is not mine. Do you hear?"

" I hear you, Lord," Moneo whispered.

"There is no such thing as choice in such an event! You accept it. merely accept

it. You will never understand it or know it. What do you say to that'?"

"I fear the unknown, Lord."

"But I don't fear it. Tell me why!"

Moneo had been expecting a crisis such as this and, now that it had come, he

almost welcomed it. He knew that his life depended on his answer. He stared at

his God Emperor, mind racing.

"It is because of all your memories, Lord."

..Yes?"

An incomplete answer, then. Moneo grasped at words. "You see everything that we

know . . . all of it as it once was-unknown! A surprise to you . . . a surprise

must be merely something new for you to know?" As he spoke, Moneo realized he

had put a defensive question mark on something that should have been a bold

statement, but the God Emperor only smiled.

"For such wisdom I grant you a boon, Moneo. What is your

wish',"Sudden relief only opened a path for other fears to emerge

"Could I bring Siona back to the Citadel?"

"That will cause me to test her sooner."

"She must be separated from her companions, Lord."

"Very well."

"My Lord is gracious."

" I am selfish."

The God Emperor turned away from Moneo then and fell silent.

Looking along the segmented body, Moneo observed that the Worm signs had

subsided somewhat. This had turned out well after all. He thought then of the

Fremen with their petition and fear returned.

That was a mistake. They will only arouse Him again. Why did l say they could

present their petition?

The Fremen would be waiting up ahead, marshaled on this side of the river with

their foolish papers waving in their hands.

Moneo marched in silence, his apprehension increasing with each step.

===

Over here sand blows; over there sand blows.

Over there a rich man waits; over here I wait.

-The Voice of Shai-Hulud,

From the Oral History

SISTER CHENOEH'S account, found among her papers after her death:

I obey both my tenets as a Bene Gesserit and the commands of the God Emperor by

withholding these words from my report while secreting them that they may be

found when I am gone. For the Lord Leto said to me: "You will return to your

Superiors with my message, but these words keep secret for now. I will visit my

rage upon your Sisterhood if you fail."

As the Reverend Mother Syaksa warned me before I left: "You must do nothing

which will bring down his wrath upon us.'.

While I ran beside the Lord Leto on that short peregrination of which I had

spoken, I thought to ask him about his likeness to a Reverend Mother. I said:

"Lord, I know how it is that a Reverend Mother acquires the memories of her

ancestors and of others. How was it with you?"

"It was a design of our genetic history and the working of the spice. My twin

sister, Ghanima, and I were awakened in the womb, aroused before birth into the

presence of our ancestral memories."

"Lord . . . my Sisterhood calls that Abomination."

"And rightly so," the Lord Leto said. "The ancestral numbers can be

overwhelming. And who knows before the event which force will command such a

horde-good or evil?"

"Lord, how did you overcome such a force?'

I did not overcome it," the Lord Leto said. "But the persistence of the

pharaonic model saved both Ghani and me. Do you know that model, Sister

Chenoeh?"

"We of the Sisterhood are well coached in history, Lord."

"Yes, but you do not think of this as I do," the Lord Leto said. "I speak of a

disease of government which was caught by the Greeks who spread it to the Romans

who distributed it so far and wide that it never has completely died out."

"Does my Lord speak riddles?"

"No riddles. I hate this thing, but it saved us. Ghani and I formed powerful

internal alliances with ancestors who followed the pharaonic model. They helped

us form a mingled identity within that long dormant mob."

"I find this disturbing, Lord."

"And well you should."

"Why are you telling me this now, Lord? You have never answered one of us before

in this manner, not that I know of."

"Because you listen well, Sister Chenoeh; because you will obey me and because I

will never see you again."

The Lord Leto spoke those strange words to me and then he asked:

"Why have you not inquired about what your Sisterhood calls my insane tyranny?"

Emboldened by his manner, I ventured to say: "Lord, we know about some of your

bloody executions. They trouble us."

The Lord Leto then did a strange thing. He closed his eyes as we went, and he

said:

"Because I know you have been trained to record accurately whatever words you

hear, I will speak to you now, Sister Chenoeh, as though you were a page in one

of my journals. Preserve these words well, for I do not want them lost."

I assure my Sisterhood now that what follows, exactly as he spoke them, are the

words uttered then by the Lord Leto:

"To my certain knowledge, when I am no longer consciously present here among

you, when I am here only as a fearsome creature of the desert, many people will

look back upon me as a tyrant.

"Fair enough. I have been tyrannical.

"A tyrant-not fully human, not insane, merely a tyrant. But even ordinary

tyrants have motives and feelings beyond those usually assigned them by facile

historians, and they will

think of me as a great tyrant. Thus. my feelings and motives are a legacy I

would preserve lest history distort them too much. History has a way of

magnifying some characteristics while it discards others.

"People will try to understand me and to frame me in their words. They will seek

truth. But the truth always carries the ambiguity of the words used to express

it.

"You will not understand me. The harder you try the more remote I will become

until finally I vanish into eternal myth-a Living God at last!

"That's it, you see. I am not a leader nor even a guide. A god. Remember that. I

am quite different from leaders and guides. Gods need take no responsibility for

anything except genesis. Gods accept everything and thus accept nothing. Gods

must be identifiable yet remain anonymous. Gods do not need a spirit world. My

spirits dwell within me. answerable to my slightest summons. I share with you,

because it pleases me to do so, what I have learned about them and through them.

They are my truth.

"Beware of the truth, gentle Sister. Although much sought after, truth can be

dangerous to the seeker. Myths and reassuring lies are much easier to find and

believe. If you find a truth, even a temporary one, it can demand that you make

painful changes. Conceal your truths within words. Natural ambiguity will

protect you then. Words are much easier to absorb than are the sharp Delphic

stabs of wordless portent. With words, you can cry out in the chorus:

"Why didn't someone warn me?"

"But I did warn you. I warned you by example, not with words."

"There are inevitably more than enough words. You record them in your marvelous

memory even now. And someday, my journals will be discovered-more words. I warn

you that you read my words at your peril. The wordless movement of terrible

events lies just below their surface. Be deaf! You do not need to hear or,

hearing, you do not need to remember. How soothing it is to forget. And how

dangerous!

"Words such as mine have long been recognized for their mysterious power. There

is a secret knowledge here which can be used to rule the forgetful. My truths

are the substance of myths and lies which tyrants have always counted on to

maneuver the masses for selfish design.

"You see? I share it all with you, even the greatest mystery

of all time, the mystery by which I compose my life. I reveal it to you in

words:

"The only past which endures lies wordlessly within you."

The God Emperor fell silent then. I dared to ask: "Are those all of the words

that my Lord wishes me to preserve`.'"

"Those are the words," the God Emperor said, and I thought he sounded tired,

discouraged. He had the sound of someone uttering a last testament. I recalled

that he had said he would never see me again, and I was fearful but I praise my

teachers because the fear did not emerge in my voice.

"Lord Leto," I said, "these journals of which you speak, for whom are they

written?"

"For posterity after the span of millennia. I personalize those distant readers,

Sister Chenoeh. I think of them as distant cousins filled with family

curiosities. They are intent on unraveling the dramas which only I can recount.

They want to make the personal connections to their own lives. They want the

meanings, the truth!"

"But you warn us against truth, Lord," I said.

"Indeed! All of history is a malleable instrument in my hands. Ohhh, I have

accumulated all of these pasts and I possess every fact-yet the facts are mine

to use as I will and, even using them truthfully, I change them. What am I

speaking to you now? What is a diary, a journal`? Words."

Again, the Lord Leto fell silent. I weighed the portent of what he had said,

weighed it against the admonition of Reverend Mother Syaksa, and against the

things that the God Emperor had uttered to me earlier. He said I was his

messenger and thus I felt that I was under his protection and might dare more

than any other. Thus it was that I said:

"Lord Leto, you have said that you will not see me again. Does that mean you are

about to die?"

I swear it here in my record of this event, the Lord Leto laughed! Then he said:

"No, gentle Sister, it is you who will die. You will not live to be a Reverend

Mother. Do not be saddened by this for by your presence here today, by carrying

my message back to the Sisterhood, by preserving my secret words as well, you

will achieve a far greater status. You become here an integral part of my myth.

Our distant cousins will pray to you for intercession with me!"

Again, the Lord Leto laughed, but it was gentle laughter and he smiled upon me

warmly. I find it difficult to record here

with that accuracy which I am enjoined to employ in every accounting such as

this one, yet in the moment that the Lord Leto spoke these terrible words to me,

I felt a profound bond of friendship with him, as though some physical thing had

leaped between us, tying us together in a way that words cannot fully describe.

It was not until the instant of this experience that I understood what he had

meant by the wordless truth. It happened, yet I cannot describe it.

===

Archivists' note:

Because of intervening events, the discovery of this private record is now

little more than a footnote to history, interesting because it contains one of

the earliest references to the God Emperor's secret journals. For those wishing

to explore further into this account, reference may be made to Archive Records,

subheadings: Chenoeh, Holy Sister Quintinius Violet: Chenoeh Report, The, and

Melange Rejection, Medical Aspects of.

(Footnote: Sister Quintinius Violet Chenoeh died in the fists third year of her

Sisterhood, the cause being ascribed to melange incompatibility during her

attempt to achieve the .status of Reverend Mother.)

Our ancestor, Assur-nasir-apli, who was known as the cruelest of the cruel,

seized the throne by slaying his own father and starting the reign of the sword.

His conquests included the Ururnia Lake region. which led him to Commagene and

Khabur. His son received tribute from the Shuites, from Tyre, Sidon, Gebel and

even from Jehu, son of Omri whose very name struck terror into thousands. The

conquests which began with Assur-nasirapli carried arms into Media and later

into Israel, Damascus, Edom. Arpad, Babylon and Umlias. Does anyone remember

these names and places now? I have given you enough clues: Try to name the

planet.

-The Stolen Journals

THF AIR was stagnant deep within the carved cut of the Royal Road leading down

to the flat approach to the bridge across the Idaho River. The road turned to

the right out of the manmade immensity of rock and earth. Moneo, walking beside

the Royal Cart, saw the paved ribbon leading across a narrow ridgetop to the

lacery of plasteel which was the bridge almost a kilometer distant.

The river, still deep in a chasm, turned inward toward him on the right and then

ran straight through multi-stage cascades toward the far side of the Forbidden

Forest where the confining walls dropped down almost to the level of the water.

There at

the outskirts of Onn lay the orchards and gardens which helped to feed the city.

Moneo, looking at the distant stretch of river visible from where he walked, saw

that the canyon top was bathed in light, while the water still flowed in shadows

broken only by the faint silvery shimmering of the cascades.

Straight ahead of him, the road to the bridge was brilliant in sunlight, the

dark shadows of erosion gullies on both sides set off like arrows to indicate

the correct path. The rising sun already had made the roadway hot. The air

trembled above it, a warning of the day to come.

We'll be safely into the City before the worst of the heat,

Moneo thought.

He trotted along in the weary patience which always overcame him at this point,

his gaze fixed forward in expectation of the petitioning Museum Fremen. They

would come up out of one of the erosion gullies, he knew. Somewhere on this side

of the bridge. That was the agreement he had made with them. No way to stop them

now. And the God Emperor still showed signs of the Worm.

Leto heard the Fremen before any of his party either saw or heard them.

"Listen!" he called.

Moneo came to full alert.

Leto rolled his body on the cart, arched the front upward cent of the bubble

shield and peered ahead.

Moneo knew this kind of thing well. The God Emperor's senses, so much more acute

than any of those around him, had detected a disturbance ahead. The Fremen were

beginning to move up to the road. Moneo let himself fall back one pace and moved

out to the limit of his dutiful position. He heard it himself then.

There was the sound of gravel spilling.

The first Fremen appeared, coming up out of gullies on both sides of the road no

more than a hundred meters ahead of the Royal party.

Duncan Idaho dashed forward and slowed himself to a trot beside Moneo.

"Are those the Fremen?" Idaho asked.

"Yes." Moneo spoke with his attention on the God Emperor, who had lowered his

bulk back onto the cart.

The Museum Fremen assembled on the road, dropped their outer robes to reveal

inner robes of red and purple. Moneo

gaped. The Fremen were togged out as pilgrims with some kind of black garment

under the colorful robes. The ones in the foreground waved rolls of paper as the

entire group began singing and dancing toward the royal entourage.

"A petition, Lord," the leaders cried. "Hear our petition!"

"Duncan!" Leto cried. "Clear them out!"

Fish Speakers surged forward through the courtiers as their Lord shouted. Idaho

waved them forward and began running toward the approaching mob. The guards

formed a phalanx, Idaho at the apex.

Leto slammed closed the bubble cover of his cart, increased its speed and called

out in an amplified roar: "Clear away! Clear away!"

The Museum Fremen, seeing the guards run forward, the cart picking up speed as

Leto shouted, made as though to open a path up the center of the road. Moneo,

forced to run to keep up with the cart, his attention momentarily on the running

footsteps of the courtiers behind him, saw the first unexpected change of

program by the Fremen.

As one person, the chanting throng threw off the pilgrim cloaks to reveal black

uniforms identical to those worn by Idaho.

What are they doing? Moneo wondered.

Even while he was asking himself this question, Moneo saw the flesh of the

approaching faces melt away in Face Dancer mockery, every face resolving into a

likeness of Duncan Idaho.

"Face Dancers!" someone screamed.

Leto, too, had been distracted by the confusion of events, the sounds of many

feet running on the road, the barked orders as Fish Speakers formed their

phalanx. He had applied more speed to his cart, closing the distance between

himself and the guards, beginning then to ring a warning bell and sound the

cart's distortion klaxon. White noise blared across the scene, disorienting even

some of the Fish Speakers who were conditioned to it.

At that instant, the petitioners discarded their pilgrim cloaks and began the

transformation maneuver, their faces flickering into likenesses of Duncan Idaho.

Leto heard the scream: "Face Dancers!" He identified its source, a consort clerk

in Royal Accounting.

Leto's initial reaction was amusement.

Guards and Face Dancers collided. Screams and shouts replaced the petitioners'

chanting. Leto recognized Tleilaxu batthe-

commands. A thick knot of Fish Speakers formed around the black clad figure

of his Duncan. The guards were obeying Leto's oft repeated instruction to

protect their ghola-commander.

But how will they tell him from the others.

Leto brought his cart almost to a stop. He could see Fish Speakers on the left

swinging their stunclubs. Sunlight flashed from knives. Then came the buzzing

hum of lasguns, a sound Leto's grandmother had once described as "the most

terrible in our universe." More hoarse shouts and screams erupted from the

vanguard.

Leto reacted with the first sound of lasguns. He swerved the Royal Cart off the

road to his right, shifted from wheels to suspensors and drove the vehicle back

like a battering ram into a clot of Face Dancers trying to enter the fray from

his side. Turning in a tight arc, he hit more of them on the other side, feeling

the crushing impact of flesh against plasteel, a red spray of blood, then he was

down off the road into an erosion gully. The brown serrated sides of the gully

flashed past him. He swept upward and swooped across the river canyon to a high,

rock-girt viewpoint beside the Royal Road. There, he stopped and turned, well

beyond the range of hand-held lasguns.

What a surprise!

Laughter shook his great body with grunting, trembling convulsions. Slowly, the

amusement subsided.

From his vantage, Leto could see the bridge and the area of the attack. Bodies

lay in tangled disarray all across the scene and into the flanking gullies. He

recognized courtier finery, Fish Speaker uniforms, the bloodied black of the

Face Dancer disguises. Surviving courtiers huddled in the background while Fish

Speakers sped among the fallen making sure the attackers were dead with a swift

knife stroke into each body.

Leto swept his gaze across the scene searching for the black uniform of his

Duncan. There was not one such uniform standing. Not one! Leto put down a surge

of frustration, then saw a clutch of Fish Speaker guards among the courtiers and

. . . and a naked figure there.

Naked!

It was Duncan! Naked! Of course! The Duncan Idaho without a uniform was not a

Face Dancer.

Again, laughter shook him. Surprises on both sides. What a shock that must have

been to the attackers. Obviously, they

had not prepared themselves for such a response.

Leto eased his cart out onto the roadway, dropped the wheels into position and

rolled down to the bridge. He crossed the bridge with a sense of deja vu, aware

of the countless bridges in his memories, the crossings to view the aftermaths

of battles. As he cleared the bridge. Idaho broke from the knot of guards and

ran toward him, skipping and dodging the bodies. Leto stopped his cart and

stared at the naked runner. The Duncan was like a Greek warrior-messenger

dashing toward his commander to report the outcome of battle. The condensation

of history stunned Leto's memories.

Idaho skidded to a stop beside the cart. Leto opened the bubble cover.

"Face Dancers, every damned one'" Idaho panted.

Not trying to conceal his amusement, Leto asked: "Whose idea was it to strip off

your uniform?"

"Mine! But they wouldn't let me fight!"

Moneo came running up then with a group of guards. One of the Fish Speakers

tossed a guard's blue cloak to Idaho, calling out: "We're trying to salvage a

complete uniform from the bodies."

"I ripped mine off," Idaho explained.

"Did any of the Face Dancers escape?" Moneo asked.

"Not a one," Idaho said. "I admit your women are good fighters, but why wouldn't

they let me get into. . ."

"Because they have instructions to protect you," Leto said. "They always protect

the most valuable. . ."

"Four of them died getting me out of there!" Idaho said.

"We lost more than thirty people altogether, Lord," Moneo said. "We're still

counting."

"How many Face Dancers?" Leto asked.

"It looks like there were an even fifty of them, Lord," Moneo said. He spoke

softly, a stricken look on his face.

Leto began to chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" Idaho demanded. "More than thirty of our people. . ."

"But the Tleilaxu were so inept," Leto said. "Do you not realize that only about

five hundred years ago they would've been far more efficient, far more

dangerous. Imagine them daring that foolish masquerade! And not anticipating

your brilliant response!"

"They had lasguns," Idaho said.

Leto twisted his bulky forward segments around and pointed

at a hole burned in his canopy almost at the cart', midpoint A melted and fused

starburst surrounded the hole

"They hit several other places underneath," Leto said "Fortunately, they did not

damage any suspensors or wheels."

Idaho stared at the hole in the canopy. noted that it lined up with Leto's body.

"Didn't it hit you?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Leto said.

"Are you injured?" "I am immune to lasguns," Leto lied. "When we get time, I

will demonstrate."

"Well, I'm not immune." Idaho said. "And neither are your guards. Every one of

us should have a shield belt."

"Shields are banned throughout the Empire." Leto said. "It is a capital offense

to have a shield."

"The question of shields," Moneo ventured.

Idaho thought Moneo was asking for an explanation of shields and said: "The

belts develop a force field which will repel any object trying to enter at a

dangerous speed. They have one major drawback. If you intersect the force field

with a lasgun beam, the resultant explosion rivals that of a very large fusion

bomb. Attacker and attacked go together."

Moneo only stared at Idaho, who nodded.

"I see why they were banned," Idaho said. "I presume the Great Convention

against atomics is still in force and working well?"

"Working even better since we searched out all of the Family atomics and removed

them to a safe place," Leto said. "But we do not have time to discuss such

matters here."

"We can discuss one thing," Idaho said. "Walking out here in the open is too

dangerous. We should. . ."'

"It is the tradition and we will continue it," Leto said.

Moneo leaned close to Idaho's ear. "You are disturbing the Lord Leto," he said.

"But. . ."

"Have you not considered how much easier it is to control a walking population?"

Moneo asked.

Idaho jerked around to stare into Moneo's eyes with sudden comprehension.

Leto took the opportunity to begin issuing orders. "Moneo, see that there is no

sign of the attack left here, not one spot of blood or a torn rag of clothingnothing."

"Yes, Lord."

Idaho turned at the sound of people pressing close around them, saw that all of

the survivors, even the wounded wearing emergency bandages, had come up to

listen.

"All of you," Leto said, addressing the throng around the cart. "Not a word of

this. Let the Tleilaxu worry." He looked at Idaho.

"Duncan, how did those Face Dancers get into a region where only my Museum

Fremen should roam free?"

Idaho glanced involuntarily at Moneo.

"Lord, it is my fault," Moneo said. "I was the one who arranged for the Fremen

to present their petition here. I even reassured Duncan Idaho about them."

"I recall your mentioning the petition," Leto said.

"I thought it might amuse you, Lord."

"Petitions do not amuse me, they annoy me. I am especially annoyed by petitions

from people whose one purpose in my scheme of things is to preserve the ancient

forms."

"Lord, it was just that you have spoken so many times about the boredom of these

peregrinations into. . ."

"But I am not here to ease the boredom of others!"

"Lord?"

"The Museum Fremen understand nothing about the old ways. They are only good at

going through the motions. This naturally bores them and their petitions always

seek to introduce changes. That's what annoys me. I will not permit changes.

Now, where did you learn of the supposed petition?"

"From the Fremen themselves," Moneo said. "A dele. . ." He broke off, scowling.

"Were the members of the delegation known to you'.'"

"Of course, Lord. Otherwise I'd . . ."

"They're dead," Idaho said.

Moneo looked at him, uncomprehending.

"The people you knew were killed and replaced by Face Dancer mimics," Idaho

said.

"I have been remiss," Leto said. "I should've taught all of you how to detect

Face Dancers. It will be corrected now that they grow foolishly bold."

"Why are they so bold?" Idaho asked.

"Perhaps to distract us from something else," Moneo said.

Leto smiled at Moneo. Under the stress of personal threat, the majordomo's mind

worked well. He had failed his Lord by mistaking Face Dancer mimics for known

Fremen. Now, Moneo felt that his continued service might depend upon those

abilities for which the God Emperor had originally chosen him. "And now we have

time to prepare ourselves," Leto said. "Distract us from what?" Idaho demanded.

"From another plot in which they participate," Leto said. "They think I will

punish them severely for this, but the Tleilaxu core remains safe because of

you, Duncan."

"They didn't intend to fail here," Idaho said.

"But it was a contingency for which they were prepared," Moneo said.

"They believe I will not destroy them because they hold the original cells of my

Duncan Idaho," Leto said. "Do you understand, Duncan?"

"Are they right?" Idaho demanded.

"They approach being wrong," Leto said. He returned his attention to Moneo. "No

sign of this event must go with us to Onn. Fresh uniforms, new guards to replace

the dead and wounded . . . everything just as it was."

"There are dead among your courtiers, Lord," Moneo said. "Replace them!"

Moneo bowed. "Yes, Lord."

"And send for a new canopy to my cart!"

"As my Lord commands."

Leto backed his cart a few paces away, turned it and headed for the bridge,

calling back to Idaho. "Duncan, you will accompany me."

Slowly at first, reluctance heavy in every movement, Idaho left Moneo and the

others, then, increasing his pace, came up beside the cart's open bubble and

walked there while staring in at Leto.

"What troubles you, Duncan?" Leto asked.

"Do you really think of me as your Duncan?"

"Of course, just as you think of me as your Leto."

"Why didn't you know this attack was coming?"

"Through my vaunted prescience''"

"Yes!"

"The Face Dancers have not attracted my attention for a long time," Leto said.

"I presume that is changed now?"

"Not to any great degree."

"Why not'?"

"Because Moneo was correct. I will not let myself be distracted."

"Could they really have killed you there?"

"A distinct possibility. You know, Duncan, few understand what a disaster my end

will be."

"What're the Tleilaxu plotting?"

"A snare, I think. A lovely snare. They have sent me a signal, Duncan."

"What signal?"

"There is a new escalation in the desperate motives which drive some of my

subjects."

They left the bridge and began the climb to Leto's viewpoint. Idaho walked in a

fermenting silence.

At the top, Leto lifted his gaze over the far cliffs and looked at the barrens

of the Sareer.

The lamentations of those in his entourage who had lost loved ones continued at

the attack scene beyond the bridge. With his acute hearing, Leto could separate

Moneo's voice warning them that the time of mourning was necessarily short. They

had other loved ones at the Citadel and they well knew the God Emperor's wrath.

Their tears will be gone and smiles will be pasted on their faces by the time we

reach Onn, Leto thought. They think l spurn them! What does that really matter?

This is a flickering nuisance among the short-lived and the short- thoughted.

The view of the desert soothed him. He could not see the river in its canyon

from this point without turning completely around and looking toward the

Festival City. The Duncan remained mercifully silent beside the cart. Turning

his gaze slightly to the left, Leto could see an edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Against that glimpse of verdant landscape, his memory suddenly compressed the

Sareer into a tiny, weak remnant of the planet-wide desert which once had been

so mighty that all men feared it, even the wild Fremen who had roamed it.

It is the river, Leto thought. If I turn, I will .see the thing that I have

done.

The man-made chasm through which the Idaho River tumbled was only an extension

of the Gap which Paul Muad'Dib had blasted through the towering Shield Wall for

the passage of his worm mounted legions. Where water flowed now, Muad'Dib had

led his Fremen out of a Coriolis storm's dust into history . . . and into this.

Leto heard Moneo's familiar footsteps, the sounds of the majordomo laboring up

to the viewpoint. Moneo came up to stand beside Idaho and paused a moment to

catch his breath.

"How long until we can go on?" Idaho asked.

Moneo waved him to silence and addressed Leto. "Lord, we have had a message from

Onn. The Bene Gesserit send word that the Tleilaxu will attack before you reach

the bridge."

Idaho snorted. "Aren't they a little late?"

"It is not their fault," Moneo said. "The captain of the Fish Speaker Guard

would not believe them."

Other members of Leto's entourage began trickling onto the viewpoint level. Some

of them appeared drugged, still in shock. The Fish Speakers moved briskly among

them, commanding a show of good spirits.

"Remove the Guard from the Bene Gesserit Embassy." Leto said. "Send them a

message. Tell them that their audience will still be the last one, but they are

not to fear this. Tell them that the last will be first. They will know the

allusion."

"What about the Tleilaxu?" Idaho asked.

Leto kept his attention on Moneo. "Yes, the Tleilaxu. We will send them a

signal."

"Yes, Lord?"

"When I order it, and not until then, you will have the Tleilaxu Ambassador

publicly flogged and expelled."

"Lord!"

"You disagree?"

"If we are to keep this secret=" Moneo glanced over his

shoulder= "how will you explain the flogging?"

"We will not explain."

"We will give no reason at all?"

"No reason."

"But, Lord, the rumors and the stories that will . . ."

"I am reacting, Moneo! Let them sense the underground part of me which does

things without my knowing because it has not the wherewithal of knowing."

"This will cause great fear, Lord."

A gruff burst of laughter escaped Idaho. He stepped between Moneo and the cart.

"He does a kindness to this Ambassador! There've been rulers who would've killed

the fool over a slow fire."

Moneo tried to speak to Leto around Idaho's shoulder. "But. Lord, this action

will confirm for the Tleilaxu that you were attacked."

"They already know that," Leto said. "But they will not talk about it."

"And when none of the attackers return. . ." Idaho said.

"Do you understand, Moneo?" Leto asked. "When we

march into Onn apparently unscathed, the Tleilaxu will believe they have

suffered utter failure."

Moneo glanced around at the Fish Speakers and courtiers listening spellbound to

this conversation. Seldom had any of them heard such a revealing exchange

between the God Emperor and his most immediate aides.

"When will my Lord signal punishment of the Ambassador?" Moneo asked.

"During the audience."

Leto heard 'thopters coming, saw the glint of sunlight on their wings and rotors

and, when he focused intently, made out the fresh canopy for his cart slung

beneath one of them.

"Have this damaged canopy returned to the Citadel and restored," Leto said,

still peering at the approaching 'thopters. "If questions are asked, tell the

artisans to say that it's just routine, another canopy scratched by blown sand."

Moneo sighed. "Yes, Lord. It will be done as you say."

"Come, Moneo, cheer up," Leto said. "Walk beside me as we continue." Turning to

Idaho, Leto said, "Take some of the guards and scout ahead."

"Do you think there'll be another attack'?" Idaho asked.

"No, but it'll give the guards something to do. And get a fresh uniform. I don't

want you wearing something that has been contaminated by the dirty Tleilaxu-"

Idaho moved off in obedience.

Leto signaled Moneo to come closer, closer. When Moneo was bending into the

cart, face less than a meter from Leto's, Leto pitched his voice low and said:

"There is a special lesson here for you, Moneo."

"Lord, I know I should have suspected the Face. . ."

"Not the Face Dancers! It is a lesson for your daughter."

"Siona? What could she. . ."

"Tell her this: In a fragile way, she is like that force within me which acts

without knowing. Because of her, I remember what it was to be human. . . and to

love."

Moneo stared at Leto without comprehension.

"Simply give her the message," Leto said. "You needn't try to understand it.

Merely tell her my words."

Moneo withdrew. "As my Lord commands."

Leto closed the bubble canopy, making a single unit of the entire cover for the

approaching crews on the 'thopters to replace.

Moneo turned and glanced around at the people waiting on

the flat area of the viewpoint. He noted then a thing he had not observed

earlier, a thing revealed by the disarray which some of the people had not yet

repaired. Some of the courtiers had fitted themselves with delicate devices to

assist their hearing. They had been eavesdropping. And such devices could only

come from Ix.

I will warn the Duncan and the Guard, Moneo thought.

Somehow, he thought of this discovery as a symptom of rot. How could they

prohibit such things when most of the courtiers and the Fish Speakers either

knew or suspected that the God Emperor traded with Ix for forbidden machines.

===

I am beginning to hate water. The sandtrout skin which impels my metamorphosis

has learned the sensitivities of the worm. Moneo and many of my guards know my

aversion, Only Moneo suspects the truth, that this marks an important waypoint.

I can feel my ending in it, not soon as Moneo measures time, but soon enough as

I endure it. Sandtrout swarmed to water in the Dune days, a problem during the

early stages of our symbiosis. The enforcement of my will power controlled the

urge then, and until we reached a time of balance. Now, I must avoid water

because there are no other sandtrout, only the half dormant creatures of my

skin. Without sandtrout to bring this world back to desert, Shai-Hulud will not

emerge; the sandworm cannot evolve until the land is parched. I am their only

hope.

-The Stolen Journals

IT WAS midafternoon before the Royal Entourage came down the final slope into

the precincts of the Festival City. Throngs lined the streets to greet them,

held back by tight lines of ursine Fish Speakers in uniforms of Atreides green,

their stunclubs crossed and linked.

As the Royal party approached, a bedlam of shouts erupted from the crowd. Then

the Fish Speaker guardians began to chant:

"Siaynoq! Siaynoq! Siaynoq!"

As it echoed back and forth between the high buildings, the chanted word had a

strange effect on the crowd which was not initiated into the meanings of it. A

wave of silence swept up the thronged avenues while the guardians continued to

chant. People stared in awe at the women armed with stunclubs who guarded the

Royal passage, the women who chanted while they fixed their gaze on the face of

their passing Lord.

Idaho, marching with the Fish Speaker guards behind the Royal Cart, heard the

chant for the first time and felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

Moneo marched beside the cart, not looking left or right. He had once asked Leto

the meaning of the word.

"I give the Fish Speakers only one ritual," Leto had said. They had been in the

God Emperor's audience chamber beneath Onn's central plaza at the time, with

Moneo fatigued after a long day of directing the flow of dignitaries who crowded

the city for Decennial festivities.

"What has the chanting of that word to do with it, Lord?"

"The ritual is called Siaynoq-the Feast of Leto. It is the adoration of my

person in my presence."

"An ancient ritual, Lord?"

"It was with the Fremen before they were Fremen. But the keys to the Festival

secrets died with the old ones. Only I remember them now. I recreate the

Festival in my own likeness and for my own ends."

"Then the Museum Fremen do not use this ritual?"

"Never. It is mine and mine alone. I claim eternal right to it because I am that

ritual."

"It is a strange word, Lord. I have never heard its like."

"It has many meanings, Moneo. If I tell them to you, will you hold them secret?"

"My Lord commands!"

"Never share this with another nor reveal to the Fish Speakers what I tell you

now."

"I swear it, Lord."

"Very well. Siaynoq means giving honor to one who speaks with sincerity. It

signifies the remembrance of things which are spoken with sincerity."

"But, Lord, doesn't sincerity really mean that the speaker believes . . . has

faith in what is said?"

"Yes, but Siaynoq also contains the idea of light as that which reveals reality.

You continue to shine light on what you see."

"Reality. . . that is a very ambiguous word, Lord."

"Indeed! But Siaynoq also stands for fermentation because reality-or the belief

that you know a reality, which is the same thing-always sets up a ferment in the

universe."

"All of that in a single word, Lord?"

"And more! Siaynoq also contains the summoning to prayer and the name of the

Recording Angel, Sihaya, who interrogates the newly dead."

"A great burden for one word, Lord."

"Words can carry any burden we wish. All that's required is agreement and a

tradition upon which to build."

"Why must I not speak of this to the Fish Speakers, Lord?"

"Because this is a word reserved for them. They resent my sharing it with a

male."

Moneo's lips pressed into a thin line of remembrance as he marched beside the

Royal Cart into the Festival City. He had heard the Fish Speakers chant the God

Emperor into their presence many times since that first explanation and had even

added his own meanings to the strange word.

It means mystery and prestige. It means power. It invokes a license to act in

the name of God.

"Siaynoq! Siaynoq! Siaynoq!"

The word had a sour sound in Moneo's ears.

They were well into the city, almost to the central plaza. Afternoon sunlight

came down the Royal Road behind the procession to illuminate the way. It gave

brilliance to the citizenry's colorful costumes. It shone on the upturned faces

of the Fish Speakers lining the way.

Marching beside the cart with the guards, Idaho put down a first alarm as the

chant continued. He asked one of the Fish Speakers beside him about it.

"It is not a word for men," she said. "But sometimes the Lord shares Siaynoq

with a Duncan."

A Duncan! He had asked Leto about it earlier and disliked the mysterious

evasions.

"You will learn about it soon enough."

Idaho relegated the chant to the background while he looked around him with a

tourist's curiosity. In preparation for his duties as Guard Commander, Idaho had

inquired after the history of Onn, finding that he shared Leto's wry amusement

in the fact that it was the Idaho River flowing nearby.

They had been in one of the large open rooms of the Citadel at the time, an airy

place full of morning light and with wide

tables upon which Fish Speaker archivists had spread charts of the Sareer and of

Onn. Leto had wheeled his cart onto a ramp which allowed him to look down on the

charts. Idaho stood across a chart-littered table from him studying the plan of

the Festival City.

"Peculiar design for a city," Idaho mused.

"It has one primary purpose-public viewing of the God Emperor."

Idaho looked up at the segmented body on the cart, brought his gaze to the

cowled face. He wondered if he would ever find it easy to look on that bizarre

figure.

"But that's only once every ten years," Idaho said.

"At the Great Sharing, yes."

"And you just close it down between times?"

"The embassies are there, the offices of the trading factors, the Fish Speaker

schools, the service and maintenance cadres, the museums and libraries."

"What space do they take?" Idaho rapped the chart with his knuckles, "A tenth of

the City at most?"

"Less than that."

Idaho let his gaze wander pensively over the chart.

"Are there other purposes in this design, m'Lord?"

"It is dominated by the need for public viewing of my person."

"There must be clerks, government workers, even common laborers. Where do they

live?"

"Mostly in the suburbs."

Idaho pointed at the chart. "These tiers of apartments?"

"Note the balconies, Duncan."

"All around the plaza." He leaned close to peer down at the chart. "That plaza

is two kilometers across!"

"Note how the balconies are set back in steps right up to the ring of spires.

The elite are lodged in the spires."

"And they can all look down on you in the plaza?"

"You do not like that?"

"There's not even an energy barrier to protect you!"

"What an inviting target I make."

"Why do you do it?"

"There is a delightful myth about the design of Onn. I foster and promote the

myth. It is said that once there lived a people whose ruler was required to walk

among them once a year in total darkness, without weapons or armor. The mythical

ruler wore a luminescent suit while he made his walk through the

night-shrouded throng of his subjects. And his subjects-they wore black for the

occasion and were never searched for weapons."

"What's that have to do with Onn . . . and you?"

"Well, obviously, if the ruler survived his walk, he was a good ruler."

"You don't search for weapons?"

"Not openly."

"You think people see you in this myth." It was not a question.

"Many do."

Idaho stared up at Leto's face deep in its gray cowl. The blue-on-blue eyes

stared back at him without expression.

Melange eyes, Idaho thought. But Leto said he no longer consumed any spice. His

body supplied what spice his addiction demanded.

"You don't like my holy obscenity, my enforced tranquility," Leto said.

"I don't like you playing god!"

"But a god can conduct the Empire as a musical conductor guides a symphony

through its movements. My performance is limited only by my restriction to

Arrakis. I must direct the symphony from here."

Idaho shook his head and looked once more at the city plan. "What're these

apartments behind the spires?"

"Lesser accommodations for our visitors."

"They can't see the plaza."

"But they can. Ixian devices project my image into those rooms."

"And the inner ring looks directly down on you. How do you enter the plaza?"

"A presentation stage rises from the center to display me to my people."

"Do they cheer?" Idaho looked directly into Leto's eyes.

"They are permitted to cheer."

"You Atreides always did see yourselves as part of history."

"How astute of you to understand a cheer's meaning."

Idaho returned his attention to the city map. "And the Fish Speaker schools are

here?"

"Under your left hand, yes. That's the academy where Siona was sent to be

educated. She was ten at the time."

"Siona . . . I must learn more about her," Idaho mused.

"I assure you that nothing will get in the way of your desire."

As he marched along in the Royal peregrination, Idaho was lifted from his

reverie by awareness that the Fish Speaker chant was diminishing. Ahead of him,

the Royal Cart had begun its descent into the chambers beneath the plaza,

rolling down a long ramp. Idaho, still in sunlight, looked up and around at the

glistening spires-this reality for which the charts had not prepared him. People

crowded the balconies of the great tiered ring around the plaza, silent people

who stared down at the procession.

No cheering from the privileged, Idaho thought. The silence of the people on the

balconies filled Idaho with foreboding.

He entered the ramp-tunnel and its lip hid the plaza. The Fish Speaker chant

faded away as he descended into the depths. The sound of marching feet all

around him was curiously amplified.

Curiosity replaced the sense of oppressive foreboding. Idaho stared around him.

The flat-floored tube was artificially illuminated and wide, very wide. Idaho

estimated that seventy people could march abreast into the bowels of the plaza.

There were no mobs of greeters here, only a widely spaced line of Fish Speakers

who did not chant, contenting themselves to stare at the passage of their God.

Memory of the charts told Idaho the layout of this gigantic complex beneath the

plaza-a private city within the City, a place where only the God Emperor, the

courtiers and the Fish Speakers could go without escort. But the charts had told

nothing of the thick pillars, the sense of massive, guarded spaces, the eerie

quiet broken by the tramping of feet and the creaking of Leto's cart.

Idaho looked suddenly at the Fish Speakers lining the way and realized that

their mouths were moving in unison, a silent word on their lips. He recognized

the word:

"Siaynoq."

===

"Another Festival so soon?" the Lord Leto asked.

"It has been ten years," the majordomo said.

Do you think by this exchange that the Lord Leto betrays an ignorance of time's

passage?

-The Oral History

DURING THE private audience period preceding the Festival proper, many commented

that the God Emperor spent more than the allotted time with the new Ixian

Ambassador, a young woman named Hwi Noree.

She was brought down at midmorning by two Fish Speakers who were still full of

first-day excitement. The private audience chamber beneath the plaza was

brilliantly illuminated. The light revealed a room about fifty meters long by

thirty-five wide. Antique Fremen rugs decorated the walls, their bright patterns

worked in jewels and precious metals, all combined in weavings of priceless

spice-fibers. The dull reds of which the Old Fremen had been so fond

predominated. The chamber's floor was mostly transparent, a setting for exotic

fishes worked in radiant crystal. Beneath the floor flowed a stream of clear

blue water, all of its moisture sealed away from the audience chamber, but

excitingly near Leto, who rested on a padded elevation at the end of the room

opposite the door.

His first view of Hwi Noree revealed a remarkable likeness to her Uncle Malky,

but her grave movements and the calmness of her stride were equally remarkable

in their difference from Malky. She did have that dark skin, though, the oval

face with its regular features. Placid brown eyes stared back at Leto. And

where Malky's hair had been gray, hers was a luminous brown. Hwi Noree radiated

an inner peace which Leto sensed spreading its influence around her as she

approached. She stopped ten paces away, below him. There was a classical balance

about her, something not accidental.

With growing excitement, Leto realized a betrayal of lxian machinations in the

new Ambassador. They were well along in their own program to breed selected

types for specific functions. Hwi Noree's function was distressingly obvious-to

charm the God Emperor, to find a chink in his armor.

Despite this, as the meeting progressed, Leto found himself truly enjoying her

company. Hwi Noree stood in a puddle of daylight which was guided into the

chamber by a system of Ixian prisms. The light filled Leto's end of the chamber

with glowing gold which centered on the Ambassador. dimming behind the God

Emperor where stood a short line of Fish Speaker guards-twelve women chosen for

their inability to hear or speak.

Hwi Noree wore a simple gown of purple ambiel decorated only by a silver

necklace pendant stamped with the symbol of IX. Soft sandals the color of her

gown peeked from beneath her hem.

"Are you aware," Leto asked her, "that I killed one of your ancestors?"

She smiled softly. "My Uncle Malky included that information in my early

training, Lord."

As she spoke, Leto realized that part of her education had been conducted by the

Bene Gesserit. She had their way of controlling her responses, of sensing the

undertones in a conversation. He could see, however, that the Bene Gesserit

overlay had been a delicate thing, never penetrating the basic sweetness of her

nature.

"You were told that I would introduce this subject," he said.

"Yes, Lord. I know that my ancestor had the temerity to bring a weapon here in

the attempt to harm you."

"As did your immediate predecessor. Were you told that, as well?"

" I did not learn it until my arrival, Lord. They were fools! Why did you spare

my predecessor?"

"When I did not spare your ancestor?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Kobat, your predecessor, was more valuable to me as a messenger."

"Then they told me the truth," she said. Again -,h.= smiled. "One cannot always

depend on hearing truth from lone', associates and superiors."

The response was so utterly open that Leto could not suppress a chuckle. Even as

he laughed, he realized that this young woman still possessed the Mind of First

Awakening, the elemental mind which came in the first shock of birth-awareness.

She was alive!"Then you do not hold it against me that I killed your ancestor?"

he asked.

"He tried to assassinate you! I am told you crushed him, Lord, with your own

body."

"True."

"And next you turned his weapon against your own Holy Self to demonstrate that

the weapon was ineffectual . . . and it was the best lasgun we lxians could

make."

"The witnesses reported correctly," Leto said.

And he thought: Which shows how much you can depend on witnesses! As a matter of

historical accuracy, he knew that he had turned the lasgun only against his

ribbed body, not against hands, face or flippers. The pre-worm body possessed a

remarkable capacity for absorbing heat. The chemical factory within him

converted heat to oxygen.

"I never doubted the story," she said.

"Why has Ix repeated this foolish gesture?" Leto asked.

"They have not told me, Lord. Perhaps Kobat took it onto himself to behave this

way."

"I think not. It has occurred to me that your people desired only the death of

their chosen assassin."

"The death of Kobat?"

"No, the death of the one they chose to use the weapon."

"Who was that, Lord? I've not been told."

"It's unimportant. Do you recall what I said at the time of your ancestor's

foolishness?"

"You threatened terrible punishment should such violence ever again enter our

thoughts." She lowered her gaze, but not before Leto glimpsed a deep

determination in her eyes. She would use the best of her abilities to blunt his

wrath.

"I promised that none of you would escape my anger," Leto said.

She jerked her attention up to his face. "Yes, Lord." And now her manner

revealed personal fear.

"None can escape me, not even the futile colony you've

recently planted at. . " And Leto reeled off for her the standard chart

coordinates of a new colony the lxians had planted secretly far beyond what they

thought were the reaches of his Empire.

She betrayed no surprise. "Lord, I think it was because I warned them you would

know of this that I was chosen as Ambassador."

Leto studied her more carefully. What have we here:' he wondered. Her

observation had been subtle and penetrating. The lxians. he knew, had thought

distance and enormously magnified transportation costs would insulate the new

colony. Hwi Noree thought not and had said so. But she believed her masters had

chosen her as Ambassador because of this-a comment on the Ixian caution. They

thought they had a friend at court here, but one who also would he seen as

Leto's friend. He nodded as the pattern took shape. Quite early in his

ascendancy he had revealed to the lxians the exact location of the supposedly

secret Ixian Core, the heartland of' the technological federation which they

governed. It had been a secret the lxians thought safe because they paid

gigantic bribes for it to the Spacing Guild. Leto had winkled them out by

prescient observation and deduction-and by consulting his memories, where there

were more than a few lxians.

At the time, Leto had warned the lxians that he would punish them if they acted

against him. They had responded with consternation and accused the Guild of

betraying them. This had amused Leto and he had responded with such a burst of

laughter that the lxians were abashed. He had then informed them in a cold and

accusatory tone that he had no need of' spies or traitors or other ordinary

trappings of government.

Did they not believe he was a god?

For a time thereafter, the lxians were responsive to his requests. Leto had not

abused the relationship. His demands were modest-a machine for this, a device

for that. He would state his needs and presently the lxians would deliver the

required technological toy. Only once had they tried to deliver a violent

instrument into one of his machines. He had slain the entire Ixian delegation

before they could even unwrap the thing.

Hwi Noree waited patiently while Leto mused. Not the slightest sign of

impatience surfaced.

Beautiful, he thought.

In view of his long association with the lxians, this new stance sent the juices

coursing through Leto's body. Ordinarily, the passions, crises and necessities

which had produced and

impelled him burned low. He often felt that he had outlived his times. But the

presence of a Hwi Noree said he was needed. This pleased him. Leto felt that it

might even be possible that the Ixians had achieved a partial success with their

machine to amplify the linear prescience of a Guild navigator. A small blip in

the flow of great events might have escaped him. Could they really make such a

machine? What a marvel that would be' Purposefully, he refused to use his powers

for even the smallest search through this possibility.

wish to be surprised.'

Leto smiled benignly at Hwi. "How have they prepared you to woo me?" he asked.

She did not blink. "I was provided with a set of memorized responses for

particular exigencies," she said. "I learned them as I was required, but I do

not intend to use them."

Which is exactly what they want, Leto thought.

"Tell your masters," he said, "that you are precisely the right kind of bait to

dangle in front of me."

She bowed her head. "If it pleases my Lord."

"Yes, you do."

He indulged himself then in a small temporal probe to examine Hwi's immediate

future, tracing the threads of her past through this. Hwi appeared in a fluid

future, a current whose movements were susceptible to many deflections. She

would know Siona in only a casual way unless . . . Questions flowed through

Leto's mind. A Guild steersman was advising the lxians and he obviously had

detected Siona's disturbance in the temporal fabric. Did the steersman really

believe he could provide security against the God Emperor's detection?

The temporal probe took several minutes, but Hwi did not fidget. Leto looked at

her carefully. She seemed timeless outside of time in a deeply peaceful way. He

had never before encountered a common mortal able to wait thus in front of him

without some nervousness.

"Where were you born, Hwi?" he asked.

"On Ix itself, Lord."

"I mean specifically-the building, its location, your parents, the people around

you, friends and family, your schooling-all of it."

"I never knew my parents, Lord. I was told they died while I was still an

infant."

"Did you believe this?"

"At first . . . of course. Later, I built fantasies. I even imagined that Malky

was my father. . . but. . ." She shook her head.

"You did not like your Uncle Malky?"

"No, I didn't. Oh, I admired him."

"My reaction precisely," Leto said. "But what of your friends and your

schooling'?"

"My teachers were specialists, even some Bene Gesserit were brought in to train

me in emotional control and observation. Malky said I was being prepared for

great things."

"And your friends?"

"I don't think I ever had any real friends-only people who were brought in

contact with me for specific purposes in my education."

"And these great things for which you were trained, did anyone ever speak of

those'?"

"Malky said I was being prepared to charm you, Lord."

"How old are you, Hwi?"

"I don't know my exact age. I guess I'm about twenty-six. I've never celebrated

a birthday. I only learned about birthdays by accident, one of my teachers

giving an excuse for her absence. I never saw that teacher again."

Leto found himself fascinated by this response. His observations provided him

with certainty that there had been no Tleilaxu interventions into her Ixian

flesh. She had not come from a Tleilaxu axlotl tank. Why the secrecy, then'?

"Does your Uncle Malky know your age'?"

"Perhaps. But I haven't seen him for many years."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you how old you were'?"

'No.

"Why do you suppose that is'?"

"Maybe they thought I'd ask if I were interested."

"Were you interested'?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you ask?"

"I thought at first there might be a record somewhere. I looked. There was

nothing. I reasoned then that they would not answer my question."

"For what it tells me about you, Hwi, that answer pleases me very much. I, too,

am ignorant of your background, but I can make an enlightened guess at your

birthplace."

Her eyes focused on his face with a charged intensity which had no pretense in

it.

"You were born within this machine your masters are trying to perfect for the

Guild," Leto said. "You were conceived there,

as well. It may even be that Malky was your father. That is not important. Do

you know about this machine, Hwi'?"

"I'm not supposed to know about it, Lord. but..."

"Another indiscretion by one of your teachers?"

"By my uncle himself."

A burst of laughter erupted from Leto. "What a rogue!" he said. "What a charming

rogue!"

"Lord?"

"This is his revenge on your masters. He did not like being removed from my

court. He told me at the time that his replacement was less than a fool."

Hwi shrugged. "A complex man, my uncle."

"Listen to me carefully, Hwi. Some of your associations here on Arrakis could be

dangerous to you. I will protect you as I can. Do you understand'?"

"I think so, Lord." She stared up at him solemnly.

"Now, a message for your masters. It is clear to me that they have been

listening to a Guild steersman and they have joined themselves to the Tleilaxu

in a perilous fashion. Tell them for me that their purposes are quite

transparent."

"Lord, I have no knowledge of. . ."

" am aware of how they use you, Hwi. For this reason you may tell your masters

also that you arc to be the permanent Ambassador to my court. I will not welcome

another Ixian. And should your masters ignore my warnings. trying further

interference with my wishes, I shall crush them."

Tears welled from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, but Leto was grateful that

she did not indulge in any other display such as falling to her knees.

"I already have warned them." she said. "Truly I did. I told them they must obey

you."

Leto could see that this was true.

What a marvelous creature, this Hwi Noree, he thought. She appeared the epitome

of goodness, obviously bred and conditioned for this quality by her Ixian

masters with their careful calculation of the effect this would have on the God

Emperor.

Out of his thronging ancestral memories. Leto could see her as an idealized nun,

kindly and self-sacrificing, all sincerity. It was her most basic nature, the

place where she lived. She found it easiest to be truthful and open, capable of

shading this only to prevent pain for others. He saw this latter trait as the

deepest change the Bene Gesserit had been able to effect in

her. Hwi's real manner remained outgoing, sensitive and naturally sweet. Leto

could find little sense of manipulative calculation in her. She appeared

immediately responsive and wholesome, excellent at listening (another Bene

Gesserit attribute). There was nothing openly seductive about her, yet this very

fact made her profoundly seductive to Leto.

As he had remarked to one of the earlier Duncans on a similar occasion: "You

must understand this about me, a thing which some obviously suspect-sometimes

it's unavoidable that I have delusionary sensations, the feeling that somewhere

inside this changeling form of mine there exists an adult human body with all of

the necessary functions."

"All of them, Lord?" the Duncan had asked.

"All! I feel the vanished parts of myself. I can feel my legs, quite

unremarkable and so real to my senses. I can feel the pumping of my human

glands, some of which no longer exist. I can even feel genitalia which I know,

intellectually, vanished centuries ago."

"But surely if you know. . ."

"Knowledge does not suppress such feelings. The vanished parts of myself are

still there in my personal memories and in the multiple identity of all my

ancestors."

As Leto looked at Hwi standing in front of him, it helped not one whit to know

he had no skull and that what once had been his brain was now a massive web of

ganglia spread through his pre-worm flesh. Nothing helped. He could still feel

his brain aching where it once had reposed: he could still feel his skull

throbbing.

By just standing there in front of him. Hwi cried out to his lost humanity. It

was too much for him and he moaned in despair:

"Why do your masters torture me? "

"Lord?"

"By sending you!"

" I would not hurt you, Lord."

"Just by existing you hurt me!"

" I did not know." Tears fell unrestrained from her eyes. "They never told me

what they were really doing."

He calmed himself and spoke softly: "Leave me now, Hwi. Go about your business,

but return quickly if I summon you!"

She left quietly, but Leto could see that Hwi, too, was tortured. There was no

mistaking the deep sadness in her for the humanity Leto had sacrificed. She knew

what Leto knew:

they would have been friends, lovers, companions in an ultimate: sharing between

the sexes. Her masters had planned for her to know.

The lxians are cruel! he thought. They knew what our pain would be.

Hwi's departure ignited memories of her Uncle Malky. Malky was cruel, but Leto

had rather enjoyed his company. Malky had possessed all of the industrious

virtues of his people and enough of their vices to make him thoroughly human.

Malky had reveled in the company of Leto's Fish Speakers. "Your houris," he had

called them, and Leto could seldom think of the Fish Speakers thereafter without

recalling Malky's label.

Why do I think of Malky now? It's not just because of Hwi. I shall ask her what

charge her masters gave her when they sent her to me.

Leto hesitated on the verge of calling her back.

She'll tell me if I ask.

Ixian ambassadors had always been told to find out why the God Emperor tolerated

Ix. They knew they could not hide from him. This stupid attempt to plant a

colony beyond his vision! Were they testing his limits? The lxians suspected

that Leto did not really need their industries.

I've never concealed my opinion of them. I said it to Malky:

"Technological innovators? No! You are the criminals of science in my Empire!"

Malky had laughed.

Irritated, Leto had accused: "Why try to hide secret laboratories and factories

beyond the Empire's rim? You cannot escape me."

"Yes, Lord." Laughing.

"I know your intent: leak a bit of this and some of that back into my Imperial

domains. Disrupt! Cause doubts and questioning!"

"Lord, you yourself are one of our best customers!"

"That's not what I mean and you know it, you terrible man!"

"You like me because I'm a terrible man. I tell you stories about what we do out

there."

"I know it without your stories!"

"But some stories are believed and some are doubted. I dispel your doubts."

"I have no doubts!"

Which had only ignited more of Malky's laughter.

And I must continue tolerating them, Leto thought. The lxians operated in the

terra incognita of creative invention which had been outlawed by the Butlerian

Jihad. They made their devices in the image of the mind the very thing which had

ignited the Jihad's destruction and slaughter. That was what they did on Ix and

Leto could only let them continue.

I buy from them! I could not even write my journals without their dictatels to

respond to my unspoken thought. Without Ix, I could not have hidden my journals

and the printers.

But they must be reminded of the dangers in what they do.'

And the Guild could not be allowed to forget. That was easier. Even while

Guildsmen cooperated with Ix, they distrusted the lxians mightily.

If this new Ixian machine works, the Guild has lost its monopoly on .space

travel.'

===

From that welter of memories which I can tap at will, patterns emerge. They are

like another language which I see so clearly The social-alarm signals which put

societies into the postures of defense attack are like shouted words to me. As a

people. you react against threats to innocence and the peril of the helpless

young. Unexplained sounds, visions and smells raise the hackles you have

forgotten you possess. When alarmed, you cling to your native language because

all the other patterned sounds are strange. You demand acceptable dress because

a strange costume is threatening. This is system feedback at its most primitive

level. Your cells remember

-The Stolen Journals

THE ACOLYTE Fish Speakers who served as pages at the portal of Leto's audience

chamber brought in Duro Nunepi, the Tleilaxu Ambassador. It was early for an

audience and Nunepi was being taken out of his announced order, but he moved

calmly with only the faintest hint of resigned acceptance.

Leto waited silently stretched out along his cart on the raised platform at the

end of the chamber. As he watched Nunepi approach, Leto's memories produced a

comparison: the swimming-cobra of a periscope brushing its almost invisible wake

upon water. The memory brought a smile to Leto's lips. That was Nunepi-a proud,

flinty-faced man who had come up through the ranks of Tleilaxu management. Not a

Face Dancer

himself, he considered the Dancers his personal servants; they were the water

through which h:,• moved. One had to be truly adept to see his wake. Nunepi was

a nasty piece of business who had left his traces in the attack along the Royal

Road.

Despite the early hour, the man wore his full ambassadorial regalia billowing

black trousers and black sandals trimmed in gold, a flowery red jacket open at

the breast to reveal a bushy chest behind his Tleilaxu crest worked in gold and

jewels.

At the required ten paces distance, Nunepi stopped and swept his gaze along the

rank of armed Fish Speaker guards in an arc around and behind Leto. Nunepi's

gray eyes were bright with some secret amusement when he brought his attention

to his Emperor and bowed slightly.

Duncan Idaho entered then, a lasgun holstered at his hip, and took up his

position beside the God Emperor's cowled face.

Idaho's appearance required a careful study by Nunepi, a study which did not

please the Ambassador.

"I find Shape Changers particularly obnoxious," Leto said.

"I am not a Shape Changer, Lord," Nunepi said. His voice was low and cultured,

with only a trace of hesitancy in it.

"But you represent them and that makes you an item of annoyance," Leto said.

Nunepi had expected an open statement of hostility, but this was not the

language of diplomacy, and it shocked him into a bold reference to what he

believed to be Tleilaxu strength.

"Lord, by preserving the flesh of the original Duncan Idaho and providing you

with restored gholas in his image and identity, we have always assumed. . ."

"Duncan!" Leto glanced at Idaho. "If I command it, Duncan, will you lead an

expedition to exterminate the Tleilaxu?"

"With pleasure, m'Lord."

"Even if it means the loss of your original cells and all of the axlotl tanks?"

"I do not find the tanks a pleasant memory, m'lord, and those cells are not me."

"Lord, how have we offended you?" Nunepi asked.

Leto scowled. Did this inept fool really expect the God Emperor to speak openly

of the recent Face Dancer attack?

"It has come to my attention," Leto said, "that you and your people have been

spreading lies about what you call my `disgusting sexual habits."'

Nunepi gaped. The accusation was a bold lie, completely

unexpected. But Nunepi realized that if he denied it, no one would believe him.

The God Emperor had said it. This was an attack of unknown dimensions. Nunepi

started to speak while looking at Idaho.

"Lord, if we. . ."

"Look at me!" Leto commanded.

Nunepi jerked his gaze up to Leto's face.

"I will inform you only this once," Leto said. "I have no sexual habits

whatsoever. None."

Perspiration rolled off Nunepi's face. He stared at Leto with the fixed

intensity of a trapped animal. When Nunepi found his voice, it no longer was the

low, controlled instrument of a diplomat, but a trembling and fearful thing,

"Lord, I . . . there must be a mistake of. . ."

"Be still, you Tleilaxu sneak!" Leto roared. Then: "I am a metamorphic vector of

the holy sandworm-Shai-Hulud! I am your God!"

"Forgive us, Lord," Nunepi whispered.

"Forgive you?" Leto's voice was full of sweet reason. "Of course I forgive you.

That is your God's function. Your crime is forgiven. However, your stupidity

requires a response."

"Lord, if I could but. . ."

"Be still! The spice allotment passes over the Tleilaxu for this decade. You get

nothing. As for you personally, my Fish Speakers will now take you into the

plaza."

Two burly guardswomen moved in and held Nunepi's arms. They looked up to Leto

for instructions.

"In the plaza," Leto said, "his clothing is to be stripped from him. He is to be

publicly flogged-fifty lashes."

Nunepi struggled against the grip of his guards, consternation on his face

mingled with rage.

"Lord, I remind you that I am the Ambassador of. . ."

"You are a common criminal and will be treated as such." Leto nodded to the

guards, who began dragging Nunepi away.

"I wish they'd killed you!" Nunepi raged. "I wish. . ."

"Who?" Leto called. "You wish who had killed me? Don't you know I cannot be

killed?"

The guards dragged Nunepi out of the chamber as he still raged: "I am innocent!

I am innocent!" The protest faded away.

Idaho leaned close to Leto.

"Yes, Duncan?" Leto asked.

"M'Lord, all the envoys will feel fear at this."

"Yes. I teach a lesson in responsibility."

"M'Lord?"

"Membership in a conspiracy, as in an army, frees people from the sense of

personal responsibility."

"But this will cause trouble, m'Lord. I'd best post extra guards."

"Not one additional guard!"

"But you invite . . ."

"I invite a bit of military nonsense."

"That's what I . . ."

"Duncan, I am a teacher. Remember that. By repetition, I impress the lesson."

"What lesson?"

"The ultimately suicidal nature of military foolishness."

"M'Lord. I don't. . ."

"Duncan, consider the inept Nunepi. He is the essence of this lesson."

"Forgive my denseness, m'Lord, but I do not understand this thing about military