Dune

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

The 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 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 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 déjà 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 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 I 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?