Dune

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 only he could enter.

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?