God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert
"I want everyone to share in my happiness."
Idaho stared at him as though just discovering a repellent insect in his drink. In a flat voice, Idaho said: "That is the most cynical thing I have ever heard an Atreides say."
"But an Atreides said it."
"You're deliberately trying to put me off! You're avoiding my question." Once more into the fray, Leto thought. He said: "The Face Dancers of the Bene Tleilax are a colony organism. Individually, they are mules. This is a choice they made for and by themselves."
Leto waited, thinking: I must be patient. They have to discover it for themselves. If I say it, they will not believe. Think, Duncan. Think!
After a long silence, Idaho said: "I have given you my oath. That is important to me. It is still important. I don't know what you're doing or why. I can only say I don't like what's happening. There! I've said it."
"Is that why you returned from the Citadel?"
"Yes!"
"Will you go back to the Citadel now?"
"What other frontier is there?"
"Very good, Duncan! Your anger knows even when your reason does not. Hwi goes to the Citadel tonight. I will join her there tomorrow."
"I want to get to know her better," Idaho said.
"You will avoid her," Leto said. "That is an order. Hwi is not for you."
"I've always known there were witches," Idaho said. "Your grandmother was one."
He turned on his heel and, not asking leave, strode back the way he had come.
How like a little boy he is, Leto thought, watching the stiffness in Idaho's back. The oldest man in our universe and the youngest--both in one flesh.
The prophet is not diverted by illusions of past, present and future. The fixity of language determines such linear distinctions. Prophets hold a key to the lock in a language. The mechanical image remains only an image to them. This is not a mechanical universe. The linear progression of events is imposed by the observer. Cause and effect? That's not it at all. The prophet utters fateful words. You glimpse a thing "destined to occur." But the prophetic instant releases something of infinite portent and power. The universe undergoes a ghostly shift. Thus, the wise prophet conceals actuality behind shimmering labels. The uninitiated then believe the prophetic language is ambiguous. The listener distrusts the prophetic messenger. Instinct tells you how the utterance blunts the power of such words. The best prophets lead you up to the curtain and let you peer through for yourself.
--THE STOLEN JOURNALS
Leto addressed Moneo in the coldest voice he had ever used: "The Duncan disobeys me."
They were in the airy room of golden stone atop the Citadel's south tower, Leto's third full day back from the Decennial Festival in Onn. An open portal beside him looked out over the harsh noonday of the Sareer. The wind made a deep humming sound through the opening. It stirred up dust and sand which made Moneo squint. Leto seemed not to notice the irritation. He stared out across the Sareer, where the air was alive with heat movements. The distant flow of dunes suggested a mobility in the landscape which only his eyes observed.
Moneo stood immersed in the sour odors of his own fear, knowing that the wind conveyed the message of these odors to Leto's senses. The arrangements for the wedding, the upset among the Fish Speakers--everything was paradox. It reminded Moneo of something the God Emperor had said in the first days of their association.
"Paradox is a pointer telling you to look beyond it. If paradoxes bother you, that betrays your deep desire for absolutes. The relativist treats a paradox merely as interesting, perhaps amusing or even, dreadful thought, educational."
"You do not respond," Leto said. He turned from his examination of the Sareer and focused the weight of his attention on Moneo.
Moneo could only shrug. How near is the Worm? he wondered. Moneo had noticed that the return to the Citadel from Onn sometimes aroused the Worm. No sign of that awful shift in the God Emperor's presence had yet betrayed itself, but Moneo sensed it. Could the Worm come without warning?
"Accelerate arrangements for the wedding," Leto said. "Make it as soon as possible."
"Before you test Siona?"
Leto was silent for a moment, then: "No. What will you do about the Duncan?"
"What would you have me do, Lord?"
"I told him not to see Noree, to avoid her. I told him it was an order."
"She has sympathy for him, Lord. Nothing more."
"Why would she have sympathy for him?"
"He is a ghola. He has no connection to our times, no roots."
"He has roots as deep as mine!"
"But he does not know this, Lord."
"Are you arguing with me, Moneo?"
Moneo backed away a half step, knowing that this did not remove him from danger. "Oh, no, Lord. But I always try to tell you truly what I believe is happening."
"I will tell you what is happening. He is courting her."
"But she initiates their meetings, Lord."
"Then you knew about this!"
"I did not know you had absolutely prohibited it, Lord."
Leto spoke in a musing voice: "He is clever with women, Moneo, exceedingly clever. He sees into their souls and makes them do what he wants. It has always been that way with the Duncans."
"I did not know you had prohibited all meetings between them, Lord!" Moneo's voice was almost strident.
"He is more dangerous than any of the others," Leto said. "It is the fault of our times."
"Lord, the Tleilaxu do not have a successor for him ready to deliver."
"And we need this one?"
"You said it yourself, Lord. It is a paradox which I do not understand, but you did say it."
"How long until there could be a replacement?"
"At least a year, Lord. Shall I inquire as to a specific date?"
"Do it today."
"He may hear about it, Lord. The previous one did."
"I do not want it to happen this way, Moneo!"
"I know, Lord."
"And I dare not speak of this to Noree," Leto said. "The Duncan is not for her. Yet, I cannot hurt her!" This last was almost a wail.
Moneo stood in awed silence.
"Can't you see this?" Leto demanded. "Moneo, help me."
"I see that it is different with Noree," Moneo said. "But I do not know what to do."
"What is different?" Leto's voice had a penetrating quality which cut right through Moneo.
"I mean your attitude toward her, Lord. It is different from anything I have ever seen in you."
Moneo noted then the first signs--twitching in the God Emperor's hands, the beginning glaze in the eyes. Gods! The Worm is coming! Moneo felt totally exposed. A simple flick of the great body would crush Moneo against a wall. I must appeal to the human in him.
"Lord," Moneo said, "I have read the accounts and heard your own words about your marriage to your sister, Ghanima."
"If only she were with me now," Leto said.
"She was never your mate, Lord."
"What're you suggesting?" Leto demanded.
The twitching of Leto's hands had become a spasmodic vibration.
"She was ... I mean, Lord, that Ghanima was Harq al-Ada's mate."
"Of course she was! All of you Atreides are descended from them!"
"Is there something you have not told me, Lord? Is it possible ... that is, with Hwi Noree ... could you mate?"
Leto's hands shook so strongly Moneo wondered that their owner did not know it. The glazing of the great blue eyes deepened.
Moneo backed another step toward the door to the stairs leading down from this deadly place.
"Do not question me about possibilities," Leto said, and his voice was hideously distant, gone somewhere into the layers of his past.
"Never again, Lord," Moneo said. He bowed himself back to only a single pace from the door. "I will speak to Noree, Lord ... and to the Duncan."
"Do what you can." Leto's voice was far away in those interior chambers which onl
Softly, Moneo let himself out of the door. He closed it behind him and placed his back against it, trembling. Ahhh, that was the closest ever.
And the paradox remained. Where did it point? What was the meaning of the God Emperor's odd and painful decisions? What had brought The Worm Who Is God?
A thumping sounded from within Leto's aerie, a heavy beating against stone. Moneo dared not open the door to investigate. He pushed himself away from the surface which reflected that dreadful thumping and went down the stairs, moving cautiously, not drawing an easy breath until he reached ground level and the Fish Speaker guard there.
"Is he disturbed?" she asked, looking up the stairs.
Moneo nodded. They both could hear the thumping quite plainly.
"What disturbs him?" the guard asked.
"He is God and we are mortal," Moneo said. This was an answer which usually satisfied Fish Speakers, but new forces were at work now.
She looked directly at him and Moneo saw the killer training close to the surface of her soft features. She was a relatively young woman with auburn hair and a face usually dominated by a turned-up nose and full lips, but now her eyes were hard and demanding. Only a fool would turn his back on those eyes.
"I did not disturb him," Moneo said.
"Of course not," she agreed. Her look softened slightly. "But I would like to know who or what did."
"I think he is impatient for his marriage," Moneo said. "I think that's all it is."
"Then hurry the day!" she said.
"That's what I'm about," Moneo said. He turned and hurried away down the long hall to his own area of the Citadel. Gods! The Fish Speakers were becoming as dangerous as the God Emperor.
That stupid Duncan! He puts us all in peril. And Hwi Noree! What's to be done about her?
The pattern of monarchies and similar systems has a message of value for all political forms. My memories assure me that governments of any kind could profit from this message. Governments can be useful to the governed only so long as inherent tendencies toward tyranny are restrained. Monarchies have some good features beyond their star qualities. They can reduce the size and parasitic nature of the management bureaucracy. They can make speedy decisions when necessary. They fit an ancient human demand for a parental (tribal/feudal) hierarchy where every person knows his place. It is valuable to know your place, even if that place is temporary. It is galling to be held in place against your will. This is why I teach about tyranny in the best possible way--by example. Even though you read these words after a passage of eons, my tyranny will not be forgotten. My Golden Path assures this. Knowing my message, I expect you to be exceedingly careful about the powers you delegate to any government.
--THE STOLEN JOURNALS
Leto prepared with patient care for his first private meeting with Siona since her childhood banishment to the Fish Speaker schools in the Festival City. He told Moneo that he would see her at the Little Citadel, a vantage tower he had built in the central Sareer. The site had been chosen to provide views of old and new and places between. There were no roads to the Little Citadel. Visitors arrived by 'thopter. Leto went there as though by magic.
With his own hands, in the early days of his ascendancy, Leto has used an Ixian machine to dig a secret tunnel under the Sareer to his tower, doing all of the work himself. In those days, a few wild sandworms still roamed the desert. He had lined his tunnel with massive walls of fused silica and had imbedded countless bubbles of worm-repelling water in the outer layers. The tunnel anticipated his maximum growth and the requirements of a Royal Cart which, at that time, had been only a figment of his visions.
In the early predawn hours of the day assigned to Siona, Leto descended to the crypt and gave orders to his guard that he was not to be disturbed by anyone. His cart sped him down one of the crypt's dark spokes where he opened a hidden portal, emerging in less than an hour at the Little Citadel.
One of his delights was to go out alone onto the sand. No cart. Only his pre-worm body to carry him. The sand felt luxuriously sensuous against him. The heat of his passage through the dunes in the day's first light sent up a wake of steam which required him to keep moving. He brought himself to a stop only when he found a relatively dry pocket about five kilometers out. He lay there at the center of an uncomfortable dampness from the trace-dew, his body just outside the long shadow of the tower which stretched eastward from him across the dunes.
From a distance, the three thousand meters of the tower could be seen as an impossible needle stabbing the sky. Only the inspired blend of Leto's commands and Ixian imagination made the structure conceivable. One hundred and fifty meters in diameter, the tower sat on a foundation which plunged as deeply under the sand as it climbed above. The magic of plasteel and super-light alloys kept it supple in the wind and resistant to sandblast abrasions.
Leto enjoyed the place so much that he rationed his visits, making up a long list of personal rules which had to be met. The rules added up to "Great Necessity."
For a few moments while he lay there, he could shed the loads of the Golden Path. Moneo, good and reliable Moneo, would see that Siona arrived promptly, just at nightfall. Leto had a full day in which to relax and think, to play and pretend that he possessed no cares, to drink up the raw sustenance of the earth in a feeding frenzy which he could never indulge in at Onn or at the Citadel. In those places, he was required to confine himself to furtive burrowings through narrow passages where only prescient caution kept him from encountering water-pockets. Here, though, he could race through the sand and across it, feed and grow strong.
Sand crunched beneath him as he rolled, flexing his body in pure animal enjoyment. He could feel his worm-self being restored, an electric sensation which sent messages of health all through him.
The sun was well above the horizon now, painting a golden line up the side of the tower. There was the smell of bitter dust in the air and an odor of distant spiny plants which had responded to the morning's trace-dew. Gently at first, then more rapidly, he moved out in a wide circle around the tower, thinking about Siona as he went.
There could be no more delays. She had to be tested. Moneo knew this as well as Leto did.
Just that morning, Moneo had said: "Lord, there is terrible violence in her."
"She has the beginnings of adrenalin addiction," Leto had said. "It's cold-turkey time."
"Cold what, Lord?"
"It's an ancient expression. It means she must be subjected to a complete withdrawal. She must go through a necessity-shock."
"Oh ... I see."
For once, Leto realized, Moneo did see. Moneo had gone through his own cold-turkey time.
"The young generally are incapable of making hard decisions unless those decisions are associated with immediate violence and the consequent sharp flow of adrenalin," Leto had explained.
Moneo had held himself in reflexive silence, remembering, then: "It is a great peril."
"That's the violence you see in Siona. Even old people can cling to it, but the young wallow in it."
As he circled his tower in the growing light of the day, enjoying the feel of the sand even more as it dried, Leto thought about the conversation. He slowed his passage over the sand. A wind from behind him carried the vented oxygen and a burnt-flint smell over his human nostrils. He inhaled deeply, lifting his magnified awareness to a new level.
This preliminary day contained a multiple purpose. He thought of the coming encounter much as an ancient bullfighter had thought about the first examination of a horned adversary. Siona possessed her own version of horns, although Moneo would make certain that she brought no physical weapons to this encounter. Leto had to be sure, though, that he knew Siona's every strength and every weakness. And he would have to create special susceptibilities in her wherever possible. She had to be prepared for the test, her psychic muscles blunted by well-planted barbs.
Shortly after noon, his worm-self satiated, Leto returned to the tower, crawled
The fluttering wings of an ornithopter whispered on the air just at nightfall to signal Moneo's arrival.
Faithful Moneo.
Leto caused a landing-lip to extrude from his aerie. The 'thopter glided in, its wings cupped. It settled gently onto the lip. Leto stared out through the gathering darkness. Siona emerged and darted in toward him, fearful of the unprotected height. She wore a white robe over a black uniform without insignia. She stole one look backward when she stopped just inside the tower, then she turned her attention to Leto's bulk waiting on the cart almost at the center of the aerie. The 'thopter lifted away and jetted off into the darkness. Leto left the lip extruded, the portal open.
"There is a balcony on the other side of the tower," he said. "We will go there."