God Emperor of Dune (22 page)
There was the sound of gravel spilling.
The first Fremen appeared, coming up out of gullies on both sides of the road no more than a hundred meters ahead of the Royal party.
Duncan Idaho dashed forward and slowed himself to a trot beside Moneo.
“Are those the Fremen?” Idaho asked.
“Yes.” Moneo spoke with his attention on the God Emperor, who had lowered his bulk back onto the cart.
The Museum Fremen assembled on the road, dropped their outer robes to reveal inner robes of red and purple. Moneo gasped. The Fremen were togged out as pilgrims with some kind of black garment under the colorful robes. The ones in the foreground waved rolls of paper as the entire group began singing and dancing toward the royal entourage.
“A petition, Lord,” the leaders cried. “Hear our petition!”
“Duncan!” Leto cried. “Clear them out!”
Fish Speakers surged forward through the courtiers as their Lord shouted. Idaho waved them forward and began running toward the approaching mob. The guards formed a phalanx, Idaho at the apex.
Leto slammed closed the bubble cover of his cart, increased its speed and called out in an amplified roar: “Clear away! Clear away!”
The Museum Fremen, seeing the guards run forward, the cart picking up speed as Leto shouted, made as though to open a path up the center of the road. Moneo, forced to run to keep up with the cart, his attention momentarily on the running footsteps of the courtiers behind him, saw the first unexpected change of program by the Fremen.
As one person, the chanting throng threw off the pilgrim cloaks to reveal black uniforms identical to those worn by Idaho.
What are they doing?
Moneo wondered.
Moneo wondered.
Even while he was asking himself this question, Moneo saw the flesh of the approaching faces melt away in Face Dancer mockery, every face resolving into a likeness of Duncan Idaho.
“Face Dancers!” someone screamed.
Leto, too, had been distracted by the confusion of events, the sounds of many feet running on the road, the barked orders as Fish Speakers formed their phalanx. He had applied more speed to his cart, closing the distance between himself and the guards, beginning then to ring a warning bell and sound the cart’s distortion klaxon. White noise blared across the scene, disorienting even some of the Fish Speakers who were conditioned to it.
At that instant, the petitioners discarded their pilgrim cloaks and began the transformation maneuver, their faces flickering into likenesses of Duncan Idaho. Leto heard the scream: “Face Dancers!” He identified its source, a consort clerk in Royal Accounting.
Leto’s initial reaction was amusement.
Guards and Face Dancers collided. Screams and shouts replaced the petitioners’ chanting. Leto recognized Tleilaxu battle-commands. A thick knot of Fish Speakers formed around the black-clad figure of his Duncan. The guards were obeying Leto’s oft-repeated instruction to protect their ghola-commander.
But how will they tell him from the others?
Leto brought his cart almost to a stop. He could see Fish Speakers on the left swinging their stunclubs. Sunlight flashed from knives. Then came the buzzing hum of lasguns, a sound Leto’s grandmother had once described as “the most terrible in our universe.” More hoarse shouts and screams erupted from the vanguard.
Leto reacted with the first sound of lasguns. He swerved the Royal Cart off the road to his right, shifted from wheels to suspensors and drove the vehicle back like a battering ram into a clot of Face Dancers trying to enter the fray from his side. Turning in a tight arc, he hit more of them on the other side, feeling the crushing impact of flesh against plasteel, a red spray of blood, then he was down off the road into an erosion gully. The brown serrated sides of the gully flashed past him. He swept upward and swooped across the river canyon to a high, rock-girt viewpoint beside the Royal Road. There, he stopped and turned, well beyond the range of hand-held lasguns.
What a surprise!
Laughter shook his great body with grunting, trembling convulsions. Slowly, the amusement subsided.
From his vantage, Leto could see the bridge and the area of the attack. Bodies lay in tangled disarray all across the scene and into the flanking gullies. He recognized courtier finery, Fish Speaker uniforms, the bloodied black of the Face Dancer disguises. Surviving courtiers huddled in the background while Fish Speakers sped among the fallen making sure the attackers were dead with a swift knife stroke into each body.
Leto swept his gaze across the scene searching for the black uniform of his Duncan. There was not one such uniform standing. Not one! Leto put down a surge of frustration, then saw a clutch of Fish Speaker guards among the courtiers and … and a naked figure there.
Naked!
It was Duncan!
Naked! Of course!
The Duncan Idaho
without
a uniform was not a Face Dancer.
Naked! Of course!
The Duncan Idaho
without
a uniform was not a Face Dancer.
Again, laughter shook him. Surprises on both sides. What a shock that must have been to the attackers. Obviously, they had not prepared themselves for such a response.
Leto eased his cart out onto the roadway, dropped the wheels into position and rolled down to the bridge. He crossed the bridge with a sense of
déjà vu,
aware of the countless bridges in his memories, the crossings to view the aftermaths of battles. As he cleared the bridge, Idaho broke from the knot of guards and ran toward him, skipping and dodging the bodies. Leto stopped his cart and stared at the naked runner. The Duncan was like a Greek warrior-messenger dashing toward his commander to report the outcome of battle. The condensation of history stunned Leto’s memories.
déjà vu,
aware of the countless bridges in his memories, the crossings to view the aftermaths of battles. As he cleared the bridge, Idaho broke from the knot of guards and ran toward him, skipping and dodging the bodies. Leto stopped his cart and stared at the naked runner. The Duncan was like a Greek warrior-messenger dashing toward his commander to report the outcome of battle. The condensation of history stunned Leto’s memories.
Idaho skidded to a stop beside the cart. Leto opened the bubble cover.
“Face Dancers, every damned one!” Idaho panted.
Not trying to conceal his amusement, Leto asked: “Whose idea was it to strip off your uniform?”
“Mine! But they wouldn’t let me fight!”
Moneo came running up then with a group of guards. One of the Fish Speakers tossed a guard’s blue cloak to Idaho, calling out: “We’re trying to salvage a complete uniform from the bodies.”
“I ripped mine off,” Idaho explained.
“Did any of the Face Dancers escape?” Moneo asked.
“Not a one,” Idaho said. “I admit your women are good fighters, but why wouldn’t they let me get into …”
“Because they have instructions to protect you,” Leto said. “They always protect the most valuable …”
“Four of them died getting me out of there!” Idaho said.
“We lost more than thirty people altogether, Lord,” Moneo said. “We’re still counting.”
“How many Face Dancers?” Leto asked.
“It looks like there were an even fifty of them, Lord,” Moneo said. He spoke softly, a stricken look on his face.
Leto began to chuckle.
“Why are you laughing?” Idaho demanded. “More than thirty of our people …”
“But the Tleilaxu were so inept,” Leto said. “Do you not realize that only about five hundred years ago they would’ve been far more efficient, far more dangerous. Imagine them daring that foolish masquerade! And not anticipating your brilliant response!”
“They had lasguns,” Idaho said.
Leto twisted his bulky forward segments around and pointed at a hole burned in his canopy almost at the cart’s midpoint. A melted and fused starburst surrounded the hole.
“They hit several other places underneath,” Leto said. “Fortunately, they did not damage any suspensors or wheels.”
Idaho stared at the hole in the canopy, noted that it lined up with Leto’s body.
“Didn’t it hit you?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” Leto said.
“Are you injured?”
“I am immune to lasguns,” Leto lied. “When we get time, I will demonstrate.”
“Well, I’m not immune,” Idaho said. “And neither are your guards. Every one of us should have a shield belt.”
“Shields are banned throughout the Empire,” Leto said. “It is a capital offense to have a shield.”
“The question of shields,” Moneo ventured.
Idaho thought Moneo was asking for an explanation of shields and said: “The belts develop a force field which will repel any object trying to enter at a dangerous speed. They have one major drawback. If you intersect the force field with a lasgun beam, the resultant explosion rivals that of a very large fusion bomb. Attacker and attacked go together.”
Moneo only stared at Idaho, who nodded.
“I see why they were banned,” Idaho said. “I presume the Great Convention against atomics is still in force and working well?”
“Working even better since we searched out all of the Family atomics and removed them to a safe place,” Leto said. “But we do not have time to discuss such matters here.”
“We can discuss one thing,” Idaho said. “Walking out here in the open is too dangerous. We should …”
“It is the tradition and we will continue it,” Leto said.
Moneo leaned close to Idaho’s ear. “You are disturbing the Lord Leto,” he said.
“But …”
“Have you not considered how much easier it is to control a
walking
population?” Moneo asked.
walking
population?” Moneo asked.
Idaho jerked around to stare into Moneo’s eyes with sudden comprehension.
Leto took the opportunity to begin issuing orders. “Moneo, see that there is no sign of the attack left here, not one spot of blood or a torn rag of clothing—nothing.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Idaho turned at the sound of people pressing close around them, saw that all of the survivors, even the wounded wearing emergency bandages, had come up to listen.
“All of you,” Leto said, addressing the throng around the cart. “Not a word of this. Let the Tleilaxu worry.” He looked at Idaho.
“Duncan, how did those Face Dancers get into a region where only my Museum Fremen should roam free?”
Idaho glanced involuntarily at Moneo.
“Lord, it is my fault,” Moneo said. “I was the one who arranged for the Fremen to present their petition here. I even reassured Duncan Idaho about them.”
“I recall your mentioning the petition,” Leto said.
“I thought it might amuse you, Lord.”
“Petitions do not amuse me, they annoy me. I am especially annoyed by petitions from people whose one purpose in my scheme of things is to preserve the ancient forms.”
“Lord, it was just that you have spoken so many times about the boredom of these peregrinations into …”
“But I am not here to ease the boredom of others!”
“Lord?”
“The Museum Fremen understand nothing about the old ways. They are only good at going through the motions. This naturally bores them and their petitions always seek to introduce changes.
That’s
what annoys me. I will not permit changes. Now, where did you learn of the supposed petition?”
That’s
what annoys me. I will not permit changes. Now, where did you learn of the supposed petition?”
“From the Fremen themselves,” Moneo said. “A dele …” He broke off, scowling.
“Were the members of the delegation known to you?”
“Of course, Lord. Otherwise I’d …”
“They’re dead,” Idaho said.
Moneo looked at him, uncomprehending.
“The people you knew were killed and replaced by Face Dancer mimics,” Idaho said.
“I have been remiss,” Leto said. “I should’ve taught all of you how to detect Face Dancers. It will be corrected now that they grow foolishly bold.”
“Why are they so bold?” Idaho asked.
“Perhaps to distract us from something else,” Moneo said.
Leto smiled at Moneo. Under the stress of personal threat, the majordomo’s mind worked well. He had failed his Lord by mistaking Face Dancer mimics for known Fremen. Now, Moneo felt that his continued service might depend upon those abilities for which the God Emperor had originally chosen him.
“And now we have time to prepare ourselves,” Leto said.
“Distract us from what?” Idaho demanded.
“From another plot in which they participate,” Leto said. “They think I will punish them severely for this, but the Tleilaxu core remains safe because of you, Duncan.”
“They didn’t intend to fail here,” Idaho said.
“But it was a contingency for which they were prepared,” Moneo said.
“They believe I will not destroy them because they hold the original cells of my Duncan Idaho,” Leto said. “Do you understand, Duncan?”
“Are they right?” Idaho demanded.
“They approach being wrong,” Leto said. He returned his attention to Moneo. “No sign of this event must go with us to Onn. Fresh uniforms, new guards to replace the dead and wounded … everything just as it was.”
“There are dead among your courtiers, Lord,” Moneo said.
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