God Emperor of Dune dc-4

by Frank Herbert

  Where can I go." With all of the past open to me, where can I go'

  The brothels, the atrocities, the tyrants, the acrobats, nudists, surgeons, male whores, musicians, magicians, ungenciers, priests, artisans, priestesses...

  "Are you aware," he asked his imaginary visitor that the hula preserves an ancient sign language which once belonged only to males? You've never heard of the hula'' Of course. Who dances it anymore? Dancers have preserved many things, though. The translations have been lost, but I know them.

  "One whole night I was a series of caliphs moving eastward and westward with Islam-a traverse of centuries. I will not bore you with the details. Be gone now, visitor'"

  How seductive it is, he thought, this call of the siren which would have me live only in the past.

  And how useless that past now, thanks to the damnable lxians How boring the past when Hwi is here. She would come to me right now if I summoned her. But I cannot call for her... not now... not tonight.

  The past continued to beckon.

  I could make a pilgrimage into my past. It does not have to be a safari. I could go alone. Pilgrimage purifies. Safaris make me into a tourist. That's the difference. I could go alone into my inner world.

  And never return.

  Leto felt the inevitability of it, that the dream-state would eventually trap him. create a special dream-state throughout my Empire. Within this dream, new myths form, new directions appear and new movements. New... new... new... The things emerge a from my own dreams, out of my myths. Who more.susceptible to them than l? The hunter is caught in his own net.

  Leto knew then that he had encountered a condition for which no antidote existed-past. present or future. His great body trembled and shivered in the gloom of his audience chamber.

  At the portal, one Fish Speaker guard whispered to another: "Is God troubled?"

  And her companion replied: "The sins of this universe would trouble anyone."

  Leto heard them and wept silently.

  ***

  When I set out to lead humankind along my Golden Path. I promised them a lesson their bones would remember. I know a profound pattern which humans deny with their words even while their actions affirm it. They say they seek security and quiet, the condition they call peace. Even as they speak. they create the seeds of turmoil and violence. If they find their quiet security. they squirm in it. How boring they find it. Look at them now. Look at what they do while I record these words. Hah! I give them enduring eons of enforced tranquility which plods on and on despite their every effort to escape into chaos. Believe me, the memory of Leto's Peace shall abide with them forever. They will seek their quiet security thereafter only with extreme caution and steadfast preparation.

  - The Stolen Journals

  MUCH AGAINST his will, Idaho found himself at dawn with Siona beside him being taken to "a safe place" in an Imperial ornithopter It raced eastward toward the golden arc of sunlight which lifted over a landscape carved into rectangular green plantations.

  The 'thopter was a big one, large enough to carry a small squad of Fish Speakers with their two guests. The pilot captain of the squad, a brawny women with a face Idaho could believe had never smiled, had given her name as Inmeir. She sat in the pilot's seat directly ahead of Idaho, two muscular Fish Speaker guards on either side of her. Five more guards sat behind Idaho and Siona.

  "God has ordered me to take you away from the City," Inmeir had said, coming up to him in the command post beneath the central plaza. "It is for your own safety. We will return by tomorrow morning for Siaynoq."

  Idaho, fatigued by a night of alarms, had sensed the futility of arguing against the orders of "God Himself." Inmeir appeared quite capable of trundling him off under one of her thick arms. She had led him from the command post into a chilly night canopied with stars like stone edged facets of shattered brilliants. It was only when they reached the 'thopter and Idaho recognized Siona waiting there that he had begun to question the purpose of this outing.

  During the night, Idaho had come to realize that not all of the violence in Onn had originated with the organized rebels. When he had inquired after Siona, Moneo had sent word that "my daughter is safely out of the way," adding at the end of the message: "I commend her to your care."

  In the 'thopter, Siona had not responded to Idaho's questions. Even now, she sat in sullen silence beside him. She reminded him of himself in those first bitter days when he had vowed vengeance against the Harkonnens. He wondered at her bitterness. What drove her'?

  Without knowing why, Idaho found himself comparing Siona with Hwi Noree. It had not been easy to encounter Hwi, but he had managed it in spite of the importunate demands of Fish Speakers that he attend to duties elsewhere.

  Gentle, that was the word for Hwi. She acted from a core of unchanging gentleness which was, in its own way, a thing of enormous power. He found this intensely attractive.

  I must see more of her.

  For now, though, he had to contend with the sullen silence of Siona seated beside him. Well... silence could be met with silence.

  Idaho peered down at the passing landscape. Here and there he could see the clustered lights of villages winking out as the sunlight approached. The desert of the Sareer lay far behind and this was land that, by its appearance, might never have been parched.

  Some things do not change very much, he thought. They are merely taken from one place and reformed in another place.

  This landscape reminded him of Caladan's lush gardens and made him wonder what had become of the verdant planet where the Atreides had lived for so many generations before coming to Dune. He could identify narrow roads, market roads with a scattered traffic of vehicles drawn by six-legged animals which he guessed were thorses. Moneo had said that thorses tailored to the needs of such a landscape were the main work beasts not only here but throughout the Empire.

  "A population which walks is easier to control."

  Moneo's words rang in Idaho's memory as he peered downward. Pastureland appeared ahead of the 'thopter, softly rolling green hills cut into irregular patterns by black stone walls. Idaho recognized sheep and several kinds of large cattle. The 'thopter passed over a narrow valley still in gloom and with only a hint of the water coursing down its depths. A single light and a blue plume of smoke lifting out of the valley's shadows spoke of human occupation.

  Siona suddenly stirred and tapped their pilot on the shoulder. pointing off to the right ahead of them.

  "Isn't that Goygoa over there'?" Siona asked.

  "Yes." Inmeir spoke without turning, her voice clipped and touched by some emotion which Idaho could not identify.

  "Is that not a safe place'?" Siona asked.

  "It is safe."

  Siona looked at Idaho. "Order her to take us to Goygoa."

  Without knowing why he complied, Idaho said: "Take us to that place."

  Inmeir turned then and her features, which Idaho had thought a square block of non-emotion during the night, revealed the clear evidence of some deep feeling. Her mouth was drawn down into a scowl. A nerve twitched at the corner of her right eye.

  "Not Goygoa, Commander," Inmeir said. "There are better..."

  "Did the God Emperor tell you to take us to a specific place?" Siona demanded.

  Inmeir glared her anger at this interruption, but did not look directly at Siona. "No, but He..."

  "Then take us to this Goygoa," Idaho said.

  Inmeir jerked her attention back to the 'thopter's controls and Idaho was thrown against Siona as the craft banked sharply and flew toward a round pocket nestled in the green hills.

  Idaho peered over Inmeir's shoulder to took at their destination. At the very center of the pocket lay a village built of the same black stones as the surrounding fences. Idaho saw orchards on some of the slopes above the village, terraced gardens rising in steps toward a small saddle where hawks could be seen gliding on the day's first updrafts.

  Looking at Siona, Idaho asked: "What is this Goygoa?"
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  "You will see."

  Inmeir set the 'thopter into a shallow glide which brought them to a gentle landing on a flat stretch of grass at the edge of the village. One of the Fish Speakers opened the door on the village side. Idaho's nostrils were immediately assaulted by a heady mixture of aromas-crushed grass, animal droppings, the acridity of cooking fires. He slipped out of the 'thopter and looked up a village street where people were emerging from their houses to stare at the visitors. Idaho saw an older woman in a long green dress bend over and whisper something to a child who immediately turned and went dashing away up the street.

  "Do you like this place?" Siona asked. She dropped down beside him.

  "It appears pleasant."

  Siona looked at Inmeir as the pilot and the other Fish Speakers joined them on the grass. "When do we go back to Orin?"

  "You do not go back," Inmeir said. "My orders are to take you to the Citadel. The Commander goes back."

  "I see." Siona nodded. "When will we leave?"

  "At dawn tomorrow. I will see the village leader about quarters." Inmeir strode off into the village.

  "Goygoa," Idaho said. "That's a strange name. I wonder what this place was in the Dune days?"

  "I happen to know," Siona said. "It is on the old charts as Shuloch, which means 'haunted place.' The Oral History says great crimes were committed here before all of the inhabitants were wiped out."

  "Jacurutu," Idaho whispered, recalling the old legends of the water stealers. He glanced around, looking for the evidence of dunes and ridges; there was nothing-only two older men with placid faces returning with lnmeir. The men wore faded blue trousers and ragged shirts. Their feet were bare.

  "Did you know this place?" Siona asked.

  "Only as a name in a legend."

  "Some say there are ghosts," she said, "but I do not believe

  Inmeir stopped in front of Idaho and motioned the two barefooted men to wait behind her. "The quarters are poor but adequate," she said, "unless you would care to stay in one of the private residences." She turned and looked at Siona as she said this.

  "We will decide later," Siona said. She took Idaho's arm. "The Commander and I wish to stroll through Goygoa and admire the sights."

  Inmeir shaped her mouth to speak, but remained silent.

  Idaho allowed Siona to lead him past the peering faces of the two local men.

  "I will send two guards with you," Inmeir called out.

  Siona stopped and turned. "Is it not safe in Goygoa?"

  "It is very peaceful here," one of the men said.

  "Then we will not need guards,' Siona said. "Have them guard the 'thopter."

  Again, she led Idaho toward the village.

  "All right," Idaho said, disengaging his arm from Siona's grasp. "What is this place'.'"

  "It is very likely that you will find this a very restful place." Siona said. "It is not like the old Shuloch at all. Very peaceful."

  "You're up to something," Idaho said, striding beside her. "What is it?"

  "I've always heard that gholas were full of questions," Siona said. ", too, have questions." `Oh'?' "What was he like in your day, the man Leto?"

  "Which one?"

  "Yes, I forget there were two-the grandfather and our Leto. I mean our Leto, of course."

  "He was just a child, that's all I know."

  "The Oral History says one of his early brides carne from this village."

  "Brides? I thought..."

  "When he still had a manly shape. It was after the death of his sister but before he began to change into the Worm. The Oral History says the brides of Leto vanished into the maze of the Imperial Citadel, never to be seen again except as faces and voices transmitted by holo. He has not had a bride for thousands of years."

  They had arrived at a small square at the center of the village, a space about fifty meters on a side and with a low walled pool of clear water in its center. Siona crossed to the pool's wall and sat on the rock ledge, patting beside her for Idaho to join her there. Idaho looked around at the village first, noting how people peered out at him from behind curtained windows, how the children pointed and whispered. He turned and stood looking down at Siona.

  "What is this place'?"

  "I've told you. Tell me what Muad'Dib was like."

  "He was the best friend a man could ever have."

  "So the Oral History is true, but it calls the caliphate of his heirs The Desposyni, and that has an evil sound."

  She's baiting me. Idaho thought.

  He allowed himself a tight smile, wondering at Siona's motives. She appeared to be waiting for sonic important event, anxious... even dreading... but with an undertone of some thing like elation. It was all there. Nothing she said now could be accounted as more than small talk, a way of occupying the moments until... until what'?

  The light sound of running feet intruded on his reverie. Idaho turned and saw a child of perhaps eight years racing toward him out of a side street. The child's bare feet kicked up little dust geysers as he ran and there was the sound of a woman shouting, a despairing sound somewhere up the street The runner stopped about ten paces away and stared up at Idaho with a hungering look, an intensity which Idaho found disturbing. The child appeared vaguely familiar-a boy, a stalwart figure with dark curly hair, an unfinished face but with hints of the man to be-rather high cheekbones, a flat line across the brows. He wore a faded blue singlesuit which betrayed the effects of much laundering but obviously had begun as a garment of excellent material. It had the look of punji cotton woven in a cordlock that did not permit even the frayed edges to unravel.

  "You're not my father," the child said. Whirling away. he raced back up the street and vanished around a corner.

  Idaho turned and scowled at Siona, almost afraid to ask the question: Was that a child of my predecessor? He knew the answer without asking that familiar face, the genotype carried true. Myself as a child. Realization left him with an empty feeling, a sense of frustration. What is my responsibility?

  Siona put both hands over her face and hunched her shoulders. It had not happened at all the way she had imagined it might. She felt betrayed by her own desires for revenge. Idaho was not simply a ghola, something alien and unworthy of consideration. She had felt him thrown against her in the 'thopter, had seen the obvious emotions on his face. And that child...

  "What happened to my predecessor?" Idaho asked. His voice came out flat and accusatory.

  She lowered her hands. There was suppressed rage in his face.

  "We are not certain," she said, "but he entered the Citadel one day and never emerged."

  "That was his child?"

  She nodded.

  "You're sure you did not kill my predecessor?"

  "I..." She shook her head, shocked by the doubts, the latent accusation in him.

  "That child, that is the reason we came here?"

  She swallowed. "Yes."

  "What am I supposed to do about him?"

  She shrugged, feeling soiled and guilty because of her own actions.

  "What about his mother?" Idaho asked.

  "She and the others live up that street." Siona nodded in the direction the boy had gone.

  "Others?"

  "There is an older son... a daughter. Will you... I mean, I could arrange..."

  "No! The boy was right. I'm not his father."

  "I'm sorry," Siona whispered. "I should not have done this."

  "Why did he choose this place?" Idaho asked.

  "The father... your..."

  "My predecessor!"

  "Because this was Irti's home and she would not leave. That is what people said."

  "Irti... the mother?"

  "Wife, by the old rite, the one from the Oral History."

  Idaho looked around at the stone fronts of the buildings which enclosed the square, the curtained windows, the narrow doors. "So he lived here?"

  "When he could."

  "How did he die, Siona?"

  "Truly, I d
o not know... but the Worm has killed others. We know that for sure!"

  "How do you know it?" He centered a probing stare on her face. The intensity of it forced her to look away.

  "I do not doubt the stories of my ancestors," she said. "They are told in bits and pieces, a note here, a whispered account there, but I believe them. My father believes them, too!"

  "Moneo has said nothing to me of this."

  "One thing you can say about the Atreides," she said. "We're loyal and that's a fact. We keep our word."

  Idaho opened his mouth to speak, closed it without making a sound. Of course! Siona, too, was Atreides. The thought shook him. He had known it, but he had not accepted it. Siona was some kind of a rebel, a rebel whose actions were almost sanctioned by Leto. The limits of his permission were unclear, but Idaho sensed them.

  "You must not harm her," Leto had said. "She is to be tested."

  Idaho turned his back on Siona.

  "You don't know anything for sure," he said. "Bits and pieces, rumors!"

  Siona did not respond.

  "He's an Atreides!" Idaho said.

  "He's the Worm!" Siona said and the venom in her voice was almost palpable.

  "Your damned Oral History is nothing but a bunch of ancient gossip!" Idaho accused. "Only a fool would believe it."

  "You still trust him," she said. "That will change."

  Idaho whirled and glared at her.

  "You've never talked to him!"

  "I have. When I was a child."

  "You're still a child. He's all of the Atreides who were, all of them. It's a terrible thing, but I knew those people. They were my friends."

  Siona only shook her head.

  Again, Idaho turned away. He felt that he had been wrung dry of emotion. He was spiritually boneless. Without willing it, he began walking across the square and up the street where the boy had gone. Siona came running after him and fell into step, but he ignored her.

  The street was narrow, enclosed by the one-story stone walls, the doors set back within arched frames, all of the doors closed. The windows were small versions of the doors. Curtains twitched as he passed.