Dune

The problem of leadership is inevitably: Who will play God?

—MUAD’DIB, FROM THE ORAL HISTORY

Hwi Noree followed a young Fish Speaker guide down a wide ramp which spiraled into the depths of Onn. The summons from the Lord Leto had come in late evening of the Festival’s third day, interrupting a development which had taxed her ability to maintain emotional balance.

Her first assistant, Othwi Yake, was not a pleasant man—a sandy-haired creature with a long, narrow face and eyes which never looked long at anything and never ever looked directly into the eyes of someone he addressed. Yake had presented her with a single sheet of memerase paper containing what he described as “a summation of recently reported violence in the Festival City.”

Standing close to the desk at which she was seated, he had stared down somewhere to her left and said: “Fish Speakers are slaughtering Face Dancers throughout the City.” He did not appear particularly moved by this.

“Why?” she demanded.

“It is said that the Bene Tleilax made an attempt on the God Emperor’s life.”

A thrill of fear shot through her. She sat back and glanced around the ambassadorial office—a round room with a single half-circle desk which concealed the controls for many Ixian devices beneath its highly polished surface. The room was a darkly important-appearing place with brown wood panels covering instruments which shielded it from spying. There were no windows.

Trying not to show her upset, Hwi looked up at Yake. “And the Lord Leto is . . .”

“The attempt on his life appears to have been totally without effect. But it might explain that flogging.”

“Then you think there was such an attempt?”

“Yes.”

The Fish Speaker from the Lord Leto entered at that moment, hard on the announcement of her presence in the outer office. She was followed by a Bene Gesserit crone, a person she introduced as “The Reverend Mother Anteac.” Anteac stared intently at Yake while the Fish Speaker, a young woman with smooth, almost childlike features, delivered her message:

“He told me to remind you: ‘Return quickly if I summon you.’ He summons you.”

Yake began fidgeting as the Fish Speaker spoke. He darted his attention all around the room as though looking for something which was not there. Hwi paused only to pull a dark blue robe over her gown, instructing Yake to remain in the office until she returned.

In orange evening light outside the Embassy, on a street oddly empty of other traffic, Anteac looked at the Fish Speaker and said simply: “Yes.” Anteac left them then and the Fish Speaker had brought Hwi through empty streets to a tall, windowless building whose depths contained this down-plunging spiral ramp.

The tight curves of the ramp made Hwi dizzy. Brilliant tiny white glowglobes drifted in the central well, illuminating a purple-green vine with elephantine leaves. The vine was suspended on shimmering golden wires.

The soft black surface of the ramp swallowed the sounds of their feet, making Hwi extremely conscious of the faint abrasive swishing caused by the movements of her robe.

“Where are you taking me?” Hwi asked.

“To the Lord Leto.”

“I know, but where is he?”

“In his private room.”

“It’s awfully far down.”

“Yes, the Lord often prefers the depths.”

“It makes me dizzy walking around and around like this.”

“It helps if you do not look at the vine.”

“What is that plant?”

“It is called a Tunyon Vine and is supposed to have absolutely no smell.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Where does it come from?”

“Only the Lord Leto knows.”

They walked on in silence, Hwi trying to understand her own feelings. The God Emperor filled her with sadness. She could sense the man in him, the man who might have been. Why had such a man chosen this course for his life? Did anyone know? Did Moneo know?

Perhaps Duncan Idaho knew.

Her thoughts gravitated to Idaho—such a physically attractive man. So intense! She could feel herself drawn to him. If only Leto had the body and appearance of Idaho. Moneo, though—that was another matter. She looked at the back of her Fish Speaker escort.

“Can you tell me about Moneo?” Hwi asked.

The Fish Speaker glanced back over her shoulder, an odd expression in her pale blue eyes—apprehension or some bizarre form of awe.

“Is something wrong?” Hwi asked.

The Fish Speaker returned her attention to the downward spiral of the ramp.

“The Lord said you would ask about Moneo,” she said.

“Then tell me about him.”

“What is there to say? He is the Lord’s closest confidant.”

“Closer even than Duncan Idaho?”

“Oh, yes. Moneo is an Atreides.”

“Moneo came to me yesterday,” Hwi said. “He said I should know something about the God Emperor. Moneo said the God Emperor is capable of doing anything, anything at all if it is thought to be instructive.”

“Many believe this,” the Fish Speaker said.

“You do not believe it?”

Hwi asked the question as the ramp rounded a final turn and opened into a small anteroom with an arched entrance only a few steps away.

“The Lord Leto will receive you immediately,” the Fish Speaker said. She turned back up the ramp then without speaking of her own belief.

Hwi stepped through the arch and found herself in a low-ceilinged room. It was much smaller than the audience chamber. The air felt crisp and dry. Pale yellow light came from a concealed source at the upper corners. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the lowered illumination, noting carpets and soft cushions scattered around a low mound of . . . She put a hand to her mouth as the mound moved, realizing then that it was the Lord Leto on his cart, but the cart lay in a sunken area. She knew immediately why the room provided this feature. It made him less imposing to human guests, less overpowering by his physical elevation. Nothing could be done, however, about his length and the inescapable mass of his body except to keep them in shadows, throwing most of the light onto his face and hands.

“Come in and sit down,” Leto said. He spoke in a low voice, pleasantly conversational.

Hwi crossed to a red cushion only a few meters in front of Leto’s face and sat on it.

Leto watched her movements with obvious pleasure. She wore a dark golden gown and her hair was tied back in braids which made her face appear fresh and innocent.

“I have sent your message to Ix,” she said. “And I have told them that you wish to know my age.”

“Perhaps they will answer,” he said. “Their answer may even be truthful.”

“I would like to know when I was born, all of the circumstances,” she said, “but I don’t know why this interests you.”

“Everything about you interests me.”

“They will not like it that you make me the permanent Ambassador.”

“Your masters are a curious mixture of punctilio and laxity,” he said. “I do not suffer fools gladly.”

“You think me a fool, Lord?”

“Malky was not a fool; neither are you, my dear.”

“I have not heard from my uncle in years. Sometimes I wonder if he still lives.”

“Perhaps we will learn that as well. Did Malky ever discuss with you my practice of Taquiyya?”

She thought about this a moment, then: “It was called Ketman among the ancient Fremen?”

“Yes. It is the practice of concealing the identity when revealing it might be harmful.”

“I recall it now. He told me you wrote pseudonymous histories, some of them quite famous.”

“That was the occasion when we discussed Taquiyya.”

“Why do you speak of this, Lord?”

“To avoid other subjects. Did you know that I wrote the books of Noah Arkwright?”

She could not suppress a chuckle. “How amusing, Lord. I was required to read about his life.”

“I wrote that account, too. What secrets were you asked to wrest from me?”

She did not even blink at his strategic change of subject.

“They are curious about the inner workings of the religion of the Lord Leto.”

“Are they now?”

“They wish to know how you took religious control away from the Bene Gesserit.”

“No doubt hoping to repeat my performance for themselves?”

“I’m sure that’s in their minds, Lord.”

“Hwi, you are a terrible representative of the Ixians.”

“I am your servant, Lord.”

“Have you no curiosities of your own?”

“I fear that my curiosities might disturb you,” she said.

He stared at her a moment, then: “I see. Yes, you are right. We should avoid more intimate conversation for now. Would you like me to talk about the Sisterhood?”

“Yes, that would be good. Do you know that I met one of the Bene Gesserit delegation today?”

“That would be Anteac.”

“I found her frightening,” she said.

“You have nothing to fear from Anteac. She went to your Embassy at my command. Were you aware that you had been invaded by Face Dancers?”

Hwi gasped, then held herself still while a cold sensation filled her breast. “Othwi Yake?” she asked.

“You suspected?”

“It’s just that I did not like him, and I had been told that . . .” She shrugged, then, as realization swept over her: “What has happened to him?”

“The original? He is dead. That’s the usual Face Dancer practice in such circumstances. My Fish Speakers have explicit orders to leave no Face Dancer alive in your Embassy.”

Hwi remained silent, but tears trickled down her cheeks. This explained the empty streets, Anteac’s enigmatic “Yes.” It explained many things.

“I will provide Fish Speaker assistance for you until you can make other arrangements,” Leto said. “My Fish Speakers will guard you well.”

Hwi shook the tears from her face. The Inquisitors of Ix would react with rage against Tleilax. Would Ix believe her report? Everyone in her Embassy taken over by Face Dancers! It was difficult to believe.

“Everyone?” she asked.

“The Face Dancers had no reason to leave any of your original people alive. You would have been next.”

She shuddered.

“They delayed,” he said, “because they knew they would have to copy you with a precision to defy my senses. They are not sure about my abilities.”

“Then Anteac . . .”

“The Sisterhood and I share an ability to detect Face Dancers. And Anteac . . . well, she is very good at what she does.”

“No one trusts the Tleilaxu,” she said. “Why haven’t they been wiped out long ago?”

“Specialists have their uses as well as their limitations. You surprise me, Hwi. I had not suspected you could be that bloody-minded.”

“The Tleilaxu . . . they are too cruel to be human. They aren’t human!”

“I assure you that humans can be just as cruel. I myself have been cruel on occasion.”

“I know, Lord.”

“With provocation,” he said. “But the only people I have considered eliminating are the Bene Gesserit.”

Her shock was too great for words.

“They are so close to what they should be and yet so far,” he said.

She found her voice. “But the Oral History says . . .”

“The religion of the Reverend Mothers, yes. Once they designed specific religions for specific societies. They called it engineering. How does that strike you?”

“Callous.”

“Indeed. The results fit the mistake. Even after all the grand attempts at ecumenism there were countless gods, minor deities and would-be prophets throughout the Empire.”

“You changed that, Lord.”

“Somewhat. But gods die hard, Hwi. My monotheism dominates, but the original pantheon remains; it has gone underground in various disguises.”

“Lord, I sense in your words . . . a . . .” She shook her head.

“Am I as coldly calculating as the Sisterhood?”

She nodded.

“It was the Fremen who deified my father, the great Muad’Dib. Although he doesn’t really care to be called great.”

“But were the Fremen . . .”

“Were they right? My dearest Hwi, they were sensitive to the uses of power and they were greedy to maintain their ascendancy.”

“I find this . . . disturbing, Lord.”

“I can see that. You don’t like the idea that becoming a god could be that simple, as though anyone could do it.”

“It sounds much too casual, Lord.” Her voice had a remote and testing quality.

“I assure you that anyone could not do it.”

“But you imply that you inherited your godhood from . . .”

“Never suggest that to a Fish Speaker,” he said. “They react violently against heresy.”

She tried to swallow in a dry throat.

“I say this only to protect you,” he said.

Her voice was faint: “Thank you, Lord.”

“My godhood began when I told my Fremen I no longer could give the death-water to the tribes. You know about the death-water?”

“In the Dune days, the water recovered from the bodies of the dead,” she said.

“Ahhh, you have read Noah Arkwright.”

She managed a faint smile.

“I told my Fremen the water would be consecrated to a Supreme Deity, left nameless. Fremen were still allowed to control this water through my largesse.”

“Water must have been very precious in those days.”

“Very! And I, as delegate of this nameless deity, held loose control of that precious water for almost three hundred years.”

She chewed at her lower lip.

“It still sounds calculating?” he asked.

She nodded.

“It was. When it came time to consecrate my sister’s water, I performed a miracle. The voices of all the Atreides spoke from Ghani’s urn. Thus, my Fremen discovered that I was their Supreme Deity.”

Hwi spoke fearfully, her voice full of puzzled uncertainties at this revelation. “Lord, are you telling me that you are not really a god?”

“I am telling you that I do not play hide-and-seek with death.”

She stared at him for several minutes before responding in a way which assured him that she understood his deeper meaning. It was a reaction which only intensified her endearment to him.

“Your death will not be like other deaths,” she said.

“Precious Hwi,” he murmured.

“I wonder that you do not fear the judgment of a true Supreme Deity,” she said.

“Do you judge me, Hwi?”

“No, but I fear for you.”

“Think on the price I pay,” he said. “Every descendant part of me will carry some of my awareness locked away within it, lost and helpless.”

She put both hands over her mouth and stared at him.

“This is the horror which my father could not face and which he tried to prevent: the infinite division and subdivision of a blind identity.”

She lowered her hands and whispered: “You will be conscious?”

“In a way . . . but mute. A little pearl of my awareness will go with every sandworm and every sandtrout—knowing yet unable to move a single cell, aware in an endless dream.”

She shuddered.

Leto watched her try to understand such an existence. Could she imagine the final clamor when the subdivided bits of his identity grappled for a fading control of the Ixian machine which recorded his journals? Could she sense the wrenching silence which would follow that awful fragmentation?

“Lord, they would use this knowledge against you were I to reveal it.”

“Will you tell?”

“Of course not!” She shook her head slowly from side to side. Why had he accepted this terrible transformation? Was there no escape?

Presently, she said: “The machine which writes your thoughts, could it not be attuned to . . .”

“To a million of me? To a billion? To more? My dear Hwi, none of those knowing-pearls will be truly me.”

Her eyes filmed with tears. She blinked and inhaled a deep breath. Leto recognized the Bene Gesserit training in this, the way she accepted a flow of calmness.

“Lord, you have made me terribly afraid.”

“And you do not understand why I have done this.”

“Is it possible for me to understand?”

“Oh, yes. Many could understand it. What people do with understanding is another matter.”

“Will you teach me what to do?”

“You already know.”

She absorbed this silently, then: “It has something to do with your religion. I can feel it.”

Leto smiled. “I can forgive your Ixian masters almost anything for the precious gift of you. Ask and you shall receive.”

She leaned toward him, rocking forward on her pillow. “Tell me about the inner workings of your religion.”

“You will know all of me soon enough, Hwi. I promise it. Just remember that sun worship among our primitive ancestors was not far off the mark.”

“Sun . . . worship?” She rocked backward.

“That sun which controls all of the movement but which cannot be touched—that sun is death.”

“Your . . . death?”

“Any religion circles like a planet around a sun which it must use for its energy, upon which it depends for its very existence.”

Her voice came barely above a whisper: “What do you see in your sun, Lord?”

“A universe of many windows through which I may peer. Whatever the window frames, that is what I see.”

“The future?”

“The universe is timeless at its roots and contains therefore all times and all futures.”

“It’s true then,” she said. “You saw a thing which this”—she gestured at his long, ribbed body—“prevents.”

“Do you find it in you to believe that this may be, in some small way, holy?” he asked.

She could only nod her head.

“If you share it all with me,” he said, “I warn you that it will be a terrible burden.”

“Will it make your burden lighter, Lord?”

“Not lighter, but easier to accept.”

“Then I will share. Tell me, Lord.”

“Not yet, Hwi. You must be patient a while longer.”

She swallowed her disappointment, sighing.

“It’s only that my Duncan Idaho grows impatient,” Leto said. “I must deal with him.”

She glanced backward, but the small room remained empty.

“Do you wish me to leave now?”

“I wish you would never leave me.”

She stared at him, noting the intensity of his regard, a hungry emptiness in his expression which filled her with sadness. “Lord, why do you tell me your secrets?”

“I would not ask you to be the bride of a god.”

Her eyes went wide with shock.

“Do not answer,” he said.

Barely moving her head, she sent her gaze along the shadowy length of his body.

“Do not search for parts of me which no longer exist,” he said. “Some forms of physical intimacy are no longer possible for me.”

She returned her attention to his cowled face, noting the pink skin of his cheeks, the intensely human effect of his features in that alien frame.

“If you require children,” he said, “I would ask only that you let me choose the father. But I have not yet asked you anything.”

Her voice was faint. “Lord, I do not know what to . . .”

“I will return to the Citadel soon,” he said. “You will come to me there and we will talk. I will tell you then about the thing which I prevent.”

“I am frightened, Lord, more frightened than I ever imagined I could be.”

“Do not fear me. I can be nothing but gentle with my gentle Hwi. As for other dangers, my Fish Speakers will shield you with their own bodies. They dare not let harm come to you!”

Hwi lifted herself to her feet and stood trembling.

Leto saw how deeply his words had affected her and he felt the pain of it. Hwi’s eyes glistened with tears. She clasped her hands tightly to still the trembling. He knew she would come to him willingly at the Citadel. No matter what he asked, her response would be the response of his Fish Speakers:

“Yes, Lord.”

It came to Leto that if she could change places with him, take up his burden, she would offer herself. The fact that she could not do this added to her pain. She was intelligence built on profound sensitivity, without any of Malky’s hedonistic weaknesses. She was frightening in her perfection. Everything about her reaffirmed his awareness that she was precisely the kind of woman who, if he had grown to normal manhood, he would have wanted (No! Demanded!) as his mate.

And the Ixians knew it.

“Leave me now,” he whispered.