Frank Herbert - Children of Dune
"They would."
Farad'n absorbed the implications of this, smiled tightly. "What does the Sisterhood want in all of this?"
"Your marriage to my granddaughter."
Idaho shot a questioning look at Jessica, made as though to speak, but remained silent.
Jessica said: "You were going to say something, Duncan?"
"I was going to say that the Bene Gesserit want what they've always wanted: a universe which won't interfere with them."
"An obvious assumption," Farad'n said, "but I hardly see why you intrude with it."
Idaho's eyebrows managed the shrug which the shigawire would not permit his body. Disconcertingly, he smiled.
Farad'n saw the smile, whirled to confront Idaho. "I amuse you?"
"This whole situation amuses me. Someone in your family has compromised the Spacing Guild by using them to carry instruments of assassination to Arrakis, instruments whose intent could not be concealed. You've offended the Bene Gesserit by killing a male they wanted for their breeding pro -"
"You call me a liar, ghola?"
"No. I believe you didn't know about the plot. But I thought the situation needed bringing into focus."
"Don't forget that he's a mentat," Jessica cautioned.
"My very thought," Farad'n said. Once more he faced Jessica. "Let us say that I free you and you make your announcement. That still leaves the matter of your grandson's death. The mentat is correct."
"Was it your mother?" Jessica asked.
"My Lord!" Tyekanik warned.
"It's all right, Tyek." Farad'n waved a hand easily. "And if I say it was my mother?"
Risking everything in the test of this internal break among the Corrino, Jessica said: "You must denounce her and banish her."
"My Lord," Tyekanik said, "there could be trickery within trickery here."
Idaho said: "And the Lady Jessica and I are the ones who've been tricked."
Farad'n's jaw hardened.
And Jessica thought: Don't interfere, Duncan! Not now! But Idaho's words had sent her own Bene Gesserit abilities at logic into motion. He shocked her. She began to wonder if there were the possibility that she was being used in ways she didn't understand. Ghanima and Leto... The pre-born could draw upon countless inner experiences, a storehouse of advice far more extensive than the living Bene Gesserit depended upon. And there was that other question: Had her own Sisterhood been completely candid with her? They still might not trust her. After all, she'd betrayed them once... to her Duke.
Farad'n looked at Idaho with a puzzled frown. "Mentat, I need to know what this Preacher is to you."
"He arranged the passage here. I... We did not exchange ten words. Others acted for him. He could be... He could be Paul Atreides, but I don't have enough data for certainty. All I know for certain is that it was time for me to leave and he had the means."
"You speak of being tricked," Farad'n reminded him.
"Alia expects you to kill us quietly and conceal the evidence of it," Idaho said. "Having rid her of the Lady Jessica, I'm no longer useful. And the Lady Jessica, having served her Sisterhood's purposes, is no longer useful to them. Alia will be calling the Bene Gesserit to account, but they will win."
Jessica closed her eyes in concentration. He was right! She could hear the mentat firmness in his voice, that deep sincerity of pronouncement. The pattern fell into place without a chink. She took two deep breaths and triggered the mnemonic trance, rolled the data through her mind, came out of the trance and opened her eyes. It was done while Farad'n moved from in front of her to a position within half a step of Idaho - a space of no more than three steps.
"Say no more, Duncan," Jessica said, and she thought mournfully of how Leto had warned her against Bene Gesserit conditioning.
Idaho, about to speak, closed his mouth.
"I command here," Farad'n said. "Continue, mentat."
Idaho remained silent.
Farad'n half turned to study Jessica.
She stared at a point on the far wall, reviewing what Idaho and the trance had built. The Bene Gesserit hadn't abandoned the Atreides line, of course. But they wanted control of a Kwisatz Haderach and they'd invested too much in the long breeding program. They wanted the open clash between Atreides and Corrino, a situation where they could step in as arbiters. And Duncan was right. They'd emerge with control of both Ghanima and Farad'n. It was the only compromise possible. The wonder was that Alia hadn't seen it. Jessica swallowed past a tightness in her throat. Alia... Abomination! Ghanima was right to pity her. But who was left to pity Ghanima?
"The Sisterhood has promised to put you on the throne with Ghanima as your mate," Jessica said.
Farad'n took a backward step. Did the witch read minds?
"They worked secretly and not through your mother," Jessica said. "They told you I was not privy to their plan."
Jessica read revelation in Farad'n's face. How open he was. But it was true, the whole structure. Idaho had demonstrated masterful abilities as a mentat in seeing through to the fabric on the limited data available to him.
"So they played a double game and told you," Farad'n said.
"They told me nothing of this," Jessica said. "Duncan was correct: they tricked me." She nodded to herself. It had been a classic delaying action in the Sisterhood's traditional pattern - a reasonable story, easily accepted because it squared with what one might believe of their motives. But they wanted Jessica out of the way - a flawed sister who'd failed them once.
Tyekanik moved to Farad'n's side. "My Lord, these two are too dangerous to -"
"Wait a bit, Tyek," Farad'n said. "There are wheels within wheels here." He faced Jessica. "We've had reasons to believe that Alia might offer herself as my bride."
Idaho gave an involuntary start, controlled himself. Blood began dripping from his left wrist where the shigawire had cut.
Jessica allowed herself a small, eye-widening response. She who'd known the original Leto as lover, father of her children, confidant and friend, saw his trait of cold reasoning filtered now through the twistings of an Abomination.
"Will you accept?" Idaho asked.
"It is being considered."
"Duncan, I told you to be silent," Jessica said. She addressed Farad'n. "Her price was two inconsequential deaths - the two of us."
"We suspected treachery," Farad'n said. "Wasn't it your son who said 'treachery breeds treachery?' "
"The Sisterhood is out to control both Atreides and Corrino," Jessica said. "Isn't that obvious?"
"We're toying now with the idea of accepting your offer, Lady Jessica, but Duncan Idaho should be sent back to his loving wife."
Pain is a function of nerves, Idaho reminded himself. Pain comes as light comes to the eyes. Effort comes from the muscles, not from nerves. It was an old mentat drill and he completed it in the space of one breath, flexed his right wrist and severed an artery against the shigawire.
Tyekanik leaped to the chair, hit its trip lock to release the bindings, shouted for medical aid. It was revealing that assistants came swarming at once through doors hidden in wall panels.
There was always a bit of foolishness in Duncan, Jessica thought.
Farad'n studied Jessica a moment while the medics ministered to Idaho. "I didn't say I was going to accept his Alia."
"That's not why he cut his wrist," Jessica said.
"Oh? I thought he was simply removing himself."
"You're not that stupid," Jessica said. "Stop pretending with me."
He smiled. "I'm well aware that Alia would destroy me. Not even the Bene Gesserit could expect me to accept her."
Jessica bent a weighted stare upon Farad'n. What was this young scion of House Corrino? He didn't play the fool well. Again, she recalled Leto's words that she'd encounter an interesting student. And The Preacher wanted this as well, Idaho said. She wished she'd met this Preacher.
"Will you banish Wensicia?" Jessica asked.
"It seems a reasonable bargain," Farad'n said.
Jessica glanced at Idaho. The medics had finished with him. Less dangerous restraints held him in the floater chair.
"Mentats should beware of absolutes," she said.
"I'm tired," Idaho said. "You've no idea how tired I am."
"When it's overexploited, even loyalty wears out finally," Farad'n said.
Again Jessica shot that measuring stare at him.
Farad'n, seeing this, thought: In time she'll know me for certain and that could be valuable. A renegade Bene Gesserit of my own! It's the one thing her son had that I don't have. Let her get only a glimpse of me now. She can see the rest later.
"A fair exchange," Farad'n said. "I accept your offer on your terms." He signaled the mute against the wall with a complex flickering of fingers. The mute nodded. Farad'n bent to the chair's controls, released Jessica.
Tyekanik asked: "My Lord, are you sure?"
"Isn't it what we discussed?" Farad'n asked.
"Yes, but..."
Farad'n chuckled, addressed Jessica. "Tyek suspects my sources. But one learns from books and reels only that certain things can be done. Actual learning requires that you do those things."
Jessica mused on this as she lifted herself from the chair. Her mind returned to Farad'n's hand signals. He had an Atreides-style battle language! It spoke of careful analysis. Someone here was consciously copying the Atreides.
"Of course," Jessica said, "you'll want me to teach you as the Bene Gesserit are taught."
Farad'n beamed at her. "The one offer I cannot resist," he said.
***
The password was given to me by a man who died in the dungeons of Arrakeen. You see, that is where I got this ring in the shape of a tortoise. It was in the suk outside the city where I was hidden by the rebels. The password? Oh, that has been changed many times since then. It was "Persistence." And the countersign was "Tortoise." It got me out of there alive. That's why I bought this ring: a reminder.
-Tagir Mohandis: Conversations with a FriendLeto was far out on the sand when he heard the worm behind him, coming to his thumper there and the dusting of spice he'd spread around the dead tigers. There was a good omen for this beginning of their plan: worms were scarce enough in these parts most times. The worm was not essential, but it helped. There would be no need for Ghanima to explain a missing body.
By this time he knew that Ghanima had worked herself into the belief that he was dead. Only a tiny, isolated capsule of awareness would remain to her, a walled-off memory which could be recalled by words uttered in the ancient language shared only by the two of them in all of this universe. Secher Nbiw. If she heard those words: Golden Path... only then would she remember him. Until then, he was dead.
Now Leto felt truly alone.
He moved with the random walk which made only those sounds natural to the desert. Nothing in his passage would tell that worm back there that human flesh moved here. It was a way of walking so deeply conditioned in him that he didn't need to think about it. The feet moved of themselves, no measurable rhythm to their pacing. Any sound his feet made could be ascribed to the wind, to gravity. No human passed here.
When the worm had done its work behind him, Leto crouched behind a dune's slipface and peered back toward The Attendant. Yes, he was far enough. He planted a thumper and summoned his transportation. The worm came swiftly, giving him barely enough time to position himself before it engulfed the thumper. As it passed, he went up its side on the Maker hooks, opened the sensitive leading edge of a ring, and turned the mindless beast southeastward. It was a small worm, but strong. He could sense the strength in its twisting as it hissed across the dunes. There was a following breeze and he felt the heat of their passage, the friction which the worm converted to the beginnings of spice within itself.
As the worm moved, his mind moved. Stilgar had taken him up for his first worm journey. Leto had only to let his memory flow and he could hear Stilgar's voice: calm and precise, full of politeness from another age. Not for Stilgar the threatening staggers of a Fremen drunk on spice-liquor. Not for Stilgar the loud voice and bluster of these times. No - Stilgar had his duties. He was an instructor of royalty: "In the olden times, the birds were named for their songs. Each wind had its name. A six-klick wind was called a Pastaza, a twenty-klick wind was Cueshma, and a hundred-klick wind was Heinali - Heinali, the man-pusher. Then there was the wind of the demon in the open desert: Hulasikali Wala, the wind that eats flesh."
And Leto, who'd already known these things, had nodded his gratitude at the wisdom of such instruction.
But Stilgar's voice could be filled with many valuable things.
"There were in olden times certain tribes which were known to be water hunters. They were called Iduali, which meant 'water insects,' because those people wouldn't hesitate to steal the water of another Fremen. If they caught you alone in the desert they would not even leave you the water of your flesh. There was this place where they lived: Sietch Jacurutu. That's where the other tribes banded and wiped out the Iduali. That was a long time ago, before Kynes even - in my great-great-grandfather's days. And from that day to this, no Fremen has gone to Jacurutu. It is tabu."
Thus had Leto been reminded of knowledge which lay in his memory. It had been an important lesson about the working of memory. A memory was not enough, even for one whose past was as multiform as his, unless its use was known and its value revealed to judgment. Jacurutu would have water, a wind trap, all of the attributes of a Fremen sietch, plus the value without compare that no Fremen would venture there. Many of the young would not even know such a place as Jacurutu had ever existed. Oh, they would know about Fondak, of course, but that was a smuggler place.
It was a perfect place for the dead to hide - among the smugglers and the dead of another age.
Thank you, Stilgar.
The worm tired before dawn. Leto slid off its side and watched it dig itself into the dunes, moving slowly in the familiar pattern of the creatures. It would go deep and sulk.
I must wait out the day, he thought.
He stood atop a dune and scanned all around: emptiness, emptiness, emptiness. Only the wavering track of the vanished worm broke the pattern.
The slow cry of a nightbird challenged the first green line of light along the eastern horizon. Leto dug himself into the sand's concealment, inflated a stilltent around his body and sent the tip of a sandsnorkel questing for air.
For a long time before sleep came, he lay in the enforced darkness thinking about the decision he and Ghanima had made. It had not been an easy decision, especially for Ghanima. He had not told her all of his vision, nor all of the reasoning derived from it. It was a vision, not a dream, in his thinking now. But the peculiarity of this thing was that he saw it as a vision of a vision. If any argument existed to convince him that his father still lived, it lay in that vision-vision.
