God Emperor of Dune (30 page)

Authors: Frank Herbert

Tags: #Science Fiction - General

BOOK: God Emperor of Dune

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“I course backward down the flight of ancestors, hunting along the tributaries, darting into nooks and crannies. You would not recognize many of their names. Who has ever heard of Norma Cenva? I have lived her!”

“Lived her?” his imaginary visitor asked.

“Of course. Why else would one keep one’s ancestors around? You think a man designed the first Guild ship? Your history books told you it was Aurelius Venport? They lied. It was his mistress, Norma. She gave him the design, along with five children. He thought his ego would take no less. In the end, the knowledge that he had not really fulfilled his own image, that was what destroyed him.”

“You have lived him, too?”

“Naturally. And I have traversed the far wanderings of the Fremen. Through my father’s line and the others, I have gone right back to the House of Atreus.”

“Such an illustrious line!”

“With its fair share of fools.”

Distraction is what I need
, he thought.

Would it be a tour through sexual dalliances and exploits, then?

“You have no idea what internal orgies are available to me! I am the ultimate voyeur—participant(s) and observer(s). Ignorance and misunderstandings about sexuality have caused so much distress. How abysmally narrow we have been—how miserly.”

Leto knew he could not make that choice, not this night, not with Hwi out there in his City.

Would he choose a review of warfare, then?

“Which Napoleon was the greater coward?” he asked his imaginary visitor. “I will not reveal it, but I know. Oh, yes, I know.”

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 Ixians. 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.

I 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 from my own dreams, out of my myths. Who more susceptible to them than I? 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 woman 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 look 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?”

“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 Onn?”

“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 Inmeir. 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 it.”

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.”