God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert
"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 fifty-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 Urumia 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-nasir-apli 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
he 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 man-made 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 out 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 gasped. 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 i
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 battle-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's 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 clothing--nothing."
"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 wher
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?"