Children of Dune

by Frank Herbert

  "Let him speak," Namri said.

  "It's the game Namri initiated with me," Leto said, and saw the old Fremen's head nod agreement. He'd certainly recognized the riddle game. "Our senses always have at least two levels," Leto said.

  "Trivia and message," Namri said.

  "Excellent!" Leto said. "You gave me trivia; I give you message. I see, I hear, I detect odors, I touch; I feel changes in temperature, taste. I sense the passage of time. I may take emotive samples. Ahhhhh! I am happy. You see, Gurney? Namri? There's no mystery about a human life. It's not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced."

  "You try our patience, lad," Namri said. "Is this the place where you wish to die?"

  But Halleck put out a restraining hand.

  "First, I am not a lad," Leto said. He made the first sign at his right ear. "You'll not slay me; I've placed a water burden upon you."

  Namri drew his crysknife half out of its sheath. "I owe you nothing!"

  "But God created Arrakis to train the faithful," Leto said. "I've not only showed you my faith, I've made you conscious of your own existence. Life requires dispute. You've been made to know--by me!--that your reality differs from all others; thus, you know you're alive."

  "Irreverence is a dangerous game to play with me," Namri said. He held his crysknife half drawn.

  "Irreverence is a most necessary ingredient of religion," Leto said. "Not to speak of its importance in philosophy. Irreverence is the only way left to us for testing our universe."

  "So you think you understand the universe?" Halleck asked, and he opened a space between himself and Namri.

  "Ye-esss," Namri said, and there was death in his voice.

  "The universe can be understood only by the wind," Leto said. "There's no mighty seat of reason which dwells within the brain. Creation is discovery. God discovered us in the Void because we moved against a background which He already knew. The wall was blank. Then there was movement."

  "You play hide and seek with death," Halleck warned.

  "But you are both my friends," Leto said. He faced Namri. "When you offer a candidate as Friend of your Sietch, do you not slay a hawk and an eagle as the offering? And is this not the response: 'God send each man at his end, such hawks, such eagles, and such friends'?"

  Namri's hand slid from his knife. The blade slipped back into its sheath. He stared wide-eyed at Leto. Each sietch kept its friendship ritual secret, yet here was a selected part of the rite.

  Halleck, though, asked: "Is this place your end?"

  "I know what you need to hear from me, Gurney," Leto said, watching the play of hope and suspicion across the ugly face. Leto touched his own breast. "This child was never a child. My father lives within me, but he is not me. You loved him, and he was a gallant human whose affairs beat upon high shores. His intent was to close down the cycle of wars, but he reckoned without the movement of infinity as expressed by life. That's Rhajia! Namri knows. Its movement can be seen by any mortal. Beware paths which narrow future possibilities. Such paths divert you from infinity into lethal traps."

  "What is it I need to hear from you?" Halleck asked.

  "He's just word playing," Namri said, but his voice carried deep hesitation, doubts.

  "I ally myself with Namri against my father," Leto said. "And my father within allies himself with us against what was made of him."

  "Why?" Halleck demanded.

  "Because it's the amor fati which I bring to humankind, the act of ultimate self-examination. In this universe, I choose to ally myself against any force which brings humiliation upon humankind. Gurney! Gurney! You were not born and raised in the desert. Your flesh doesn't know the truth of which I speak. But Namri knows. In the open land, one direction is as good as another."

  "I still have not heard what I must hear," Halleck snarled.

  "He speaks for war and against peace," Namri said.

  "No," Leto said. "Nor did my father speak against war. But look what was made of him. Peace has only one meaning in this Imperium. It's the maintenance of a single way of life. You are commanded to be contented. Life must be uniform on all planets as it is in the Imperial Government. The major object of priestly study is to find the correct forms of human behavior. For this they go to the words of Muad'Dib! Tell me, Namri, are you content?"

  "No." The words came out flat, spontaneous rejection.

  "Then do you blaspheme?"

  "Of course not!"

  "But you aren't contented. You see, Gurney? Namri proves it to us. Every question, every problem doesn't have a single correct answer. One must permit diversity. A monolith is unstable. Then why do you demand a single correct statement from me? Is that to be the measure of your monstrous judgment? "

  "Will you force me to have you slain?" Halleck asked, and there was agony in his voice.

  "No, I'll have pity upon you," Leto said. "Send word to my grandmother that I'll cooperate. The Sisterhood may come to regret my cooperation, but an Atreides gives his word."

  "A Truthsayer should test that," Namri said. "These Atreides ..."

  "He'll have his chance to say before his grandmother what must be said," Halleck said. He nodded with his head toward the passage.

  Namri paused before leaving, glanced at Leto. "I pray we do the right thing in leaving him alive."

  "Go, friends," Leto said. "Go and reflect."

  As the two men departed, Leto threw himself onto his back, feeling the cold cot against his spine. Movement sent his head spinning over the edge of his spice-burdened consciousness. In that instant he saw the entire planet--every village, every town, every city, the desert places and the planted places. All of the shapes which smashed against his vision bore intimate relationships to a mixture of elements within themselves and without. He saw the structures of Imperial society reflected in physical structures of its planets and their communities. Like a gigantic unfolding within him, he saw this revelation for what it must be: a window into the society's invisible parts. Seeing this, Leto realized that every system had such a window. Even the system of himself and his universe. He began peering into windows, a cosmic voyeur.

  This was what his grandmother and the Sisterhood sought! He knew it. His awareness flowed on a new, higher level. He felt the past carried in his cells, in his memories, in the archetypes which haunted his assumptions, in the myths which hemmed him, in his languages and their prehistoric detritus. It was all of the shapes out of his human and nonhuman past, all of the lives which he now commanded, all integrated in him at last. And he felt himself as a thing caught up in the ebb and flow of nucleotides. Against the backdrop of infinity he was a protozoan creature in which birth and death were virtually simultaneous, but he was both infinite and protozoan, a creature of molecular memories.

  We humans are a form of colony organism! he thought.

  They wanted his cooperation. Promising cooperation had won him another reprieve from Namri's knife. By summoning to cooperation, they sought to recognize a healer.

  And he thought: But I'll not bring them social order in the way they expect it!

  A grimace contorted Leto's mouth. He knew he'd not be as unconsciously malevolent as was his father--despotism at one terminal and slavery at the other--but this universe might pray for those "good old days."

  His father-within spoke to him then, cautiously probing, unable to demand attention but pleading for audience.

  And Leto answered: "No. We will give them complexities to occupy their minds. There are many modes of flight from danger. How will they know I'm dangerous unless they experience me for thousands of years? Yes, father-within, we'll give them question marks."

  There is no guilt or innocence in you. All of that is past. Guilt belabors the dead and I am not the Iron Hammer. You multitude of the dead are merely people who have done certain things, and the memory of those things illuminates my path.

  --LETO II TO HIS MEMORY-LIVES AFTER HARQ AL-ADA

  "It moves of itself!" Farad'n said, and his voice w
as barely a whisper. He stood above the Lady Jessica's bed, a brace of guards close behind him. The Lady Jessica had propped herself up in the bed. She was clad in a parasilk gown of shimmering white with a matching band around her copper hair. Farad'n had come bursting in upon her moments before. He wore the grey leotard and his face was sweaty with excitement and the exertions of his dash through the palace corridors.

  "What time is it?" Jessica asked.

  "Time?" Farad'n appeared puzzled.

  One of the guards spoke up: "It is the third hour past midnight, My Lady." The guard glanced fearfully at Farad'n. The young prince had come dashing through the night-lighted corridors, picking up startled guards in his wake.

  "But it moves," Farad'n said. He held out his left hand, then his right. "I saw my own hands shrink into chubby fists, and I remembered! They were my hands when I was an infant. I remembered being an infant, but it was ... a clearer memory. I was reorganizing my old memories!"

  "Very good," Jessica said. His excitement was infectious. "And what happened when your hands became old?"

  "My ... mind was ... sluggish," he said. "I felt an ache in my back. Right here." He touched a place over his left kidney.

  "You've learned a most important lesson," Jessica said. "Do you know what that lesson is?"

  He dropped his hands to his sides, stared at her. Then: "My mind controls my reality." His eyes glittered, and he repeated it, louder this time: "My mind controls my reality!"

  "That is the beginning of prana-bindu balance," Jessica said. "It is only the beginning, though."

  "What do I do next?" he asked.

  "My Lady," the guard who had answered her question ventured now to interrupt. "The hour," he said.

  Aren't their spy posts manned at this hour? Jessica wondered. She said: "Begone. We have work to do."

  "But My Lady," the guard said, and he looked fearfully from Farad'n to Jessica and back.

  "You think I'm going to seduce him?" Jessica asked.

  The man stiffened.

  Farad'n laughed, a joyous outburst. He waved a hand in dismissal. "You heard her. Begone."

  The guards looked at each other, but they obeyed.

  Farad'n sat on the edge of her bed. "What next?" He shook his head. "I wanted to believe you, yet I did not believe. Then ... it was as though my mind melted. I was tired. My mind gave up its fighting against you. It happened. Just like that!" He snapped his fingers.

  "It was not me that your mind fought against," Jessica said.

  "Of course not," he admitted. "I was fighting against myself, all the nonsense I've learned. What next now?"

  Jessica smiled. "I confess I didn't expect you to succeed this rapidly. It's been only eight days and ..."

  "I was patient," he said, grinning.

  "And you've begun to learn patience, too," she said.

  "Begun?"

  "You've just crept over the lip of this learning," she said. "Now you're truly an infant. Before ... you were only a potential, not even born."

  The corners of his mouth drew down.

  "Don't be so gloomy," she said. "You've done it. That's important. How many can say they were born anew?"

  "What comes next?" he insisted.

  "You will practice this thing you've learned," she said. "I want you able to do this at will, easily. Later you'll fill a new place in your awareness which this has opened. It will be filled by the ability to test any reality against your own demands."

  "Is that all I do now ... practice the--"

  "No. Now you can begin the muscle training. Tell me, can you move the little toe on your left foot without moving any other muscle of your body?"

  "My ..." She saw a distant expression come over his face as he tried to move the toe. He looked down at his foot presently, staring at it. Sweat broke out on his forehead. A deep breath escaped him. "I can't do it."

  "Yes you can," she said. "You will learn to do it. You will learn every muscle in your body. You will know these muscles the way you know your hands."

  He swallowed hard at the magnitude of this prospect. Then: "What are you doing to me? What is your plan for me?"

  "I intend to turn you loose upon the universe," she said. "You will become whatever it is you most deeply desire."

  He mulled this for a moment. "Whatever I desire?"

  "Yes."

  "That's impossible!"

  "Unless you learn to control your desires the way you control your reality, " she said. And she thought: There! Let his analysts examine that. They'll advise cautious approval, but Farad'n will move a step closer to realization of what I'm really doing.

  He proved his surmise by saying: "It's one thing to tell a person he'll realize his heart's desire. It's another thing to actually deliver that realization."

  "You've come farther than I thought," Jessica said. "Very good. I promise you: if you complete this program of learning, you'll be your own man. Whatever you do, it'll be because that's what you want to do."

  And let a Truthsayer try to pry that apart, she thought.

  He stood up, but the expression he bent upon her was warm, a sense of camaraderie in it. "You know, I believe you. Damned if I know why, but I do. And I won't say a word about the other things I'm thinking."

  Jessica watched his retreating back as he let himself out of her bedchamber. She turned off the glowglobes, lay back. This Farad'n was a deep one. He'd as much as told her that he was beginning to see her design, but he was joining her conspiracy of his own volition.

  Wait until he begins to learn his own emotions, she thought. With that, she composed herself for the return to sleep. The morrow, she knew, would be plagued by casual encounters with palace personnel asking seemingly innocuous questions.

  Humankind periodically goes through a speedup of its affairs, thereby experiencing the race between the renewable vitality of the living and the beckoning vitiation of decadence. In this periodic race, any pause becomes luxury. Only then can one reflect that all is permitted; all is possible.

  --THE APOCRYPHA OF MUAD'DIB

  he touch of sand is important, Leto told himself.

  He could feel the grit beneath him where he sat beneath a brilliant sky. They had force-fed him another heavy dosage of melange, and Leto's mind turned upon itself like a whirlpool. An unanswered question lay deep within the funnel of the whirlpool: Why do they insist that I say it? Gurney was stubborn: no doubt of that. And he'd had his orders from his Lady Jessica.

  They'd brought him out of the sietch into the daylight for this "lesson." He had the strange sensation that he'd let his body take the short trip from the sietch while his inner being mediated a battle between the Duke Leto I and the old Baron Harkonnen. They'd fought within him, through him, because he would not let them communicate directly. The fight had taught him what had happened to Alia. Poor Alia.

  I was right to fear the spice trip, he thought.

  A welling bitterness toward the Lady Jessica filled him. Her damned gom jabbar! Fight it and win, or die in the attempt. She couldn't put a poisoned needle against his neck, but she could send him into the valley of peril which had claimed her own daughter.

  Snuffling sounds intruded upon his awareness. They wavered, growing louder, then softer, louder ... softer. There was no way for him to determine whether they had current reality or came from the spice.

  Leto's body sagged over his folded arms. He felt hot sand through his buttocks. There was a rug directly in front of him, but he sat on open sand. A shadow lay across the rug: Namri. Leto stared into the muddy pattern of the rug, feeling bubbles ripple there. His awareness drifted on its own current through a landscape which stretched out to a horizon of shock-headed greenery.

  His skull thrummed with drums. He felt heat, fever. The fever was a pressure of burning which filled his senses, crowding out awareness of flesh until he could only feel the moving shadows of his peril. Namri and the knife. Pressure ... pressure ... Leto lay at last suspended between sky and sand, his mind lost to all but th
e fever. Now he waited for something to happen, sensing that any occurrence would be a first-and-only thing.

  Hot-hot pounding sunshine crashed brilliantly around him, without tranquillity, without remedy. Where is my Golden Path? Everywhere bugs crawled. Everywhere. My skin is not my own. He sent messages along his nerves, waited out the dragging other-person responses.

  Up head, he told his nerves.

  A head which might have been his own crept upward, looked out at patches of blankness in the bright light.

  Someone whispered: "He's deep into it now."

  No answer.

  Burn fire sun building heat on heat.

  Slowly, outbending, the current of his awareness took him drifting through a last screen of green blankness and there, across low folding dunes, distant no more than a kilometer beyond the stretched out chalk line of a cliff, there lay the green burgeoning future, upflung, flowing into endless green, greenswelling, green-green moving outward endlessly.