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"I rule by the right of loneliness, Siona. My loneliness is part-freedom and part-slavery. It says I cannot be bought by any human group. My slavery to you says that I will serve all of you to the best of my lordly abilities."
"But the Ixians have caught you!" she said.
"No. They have given me a gift which strengthens me."
"It weakens you!"
"That, too," he admitted. "But very powerful forces still obey me."
"Ohhh, yes." she nodded. "I understand that."
"You don't understand it."
"Then I'm sure you'll explain it to me," she taunted.
He spoke so softly that she had to lean toward him to hear: "There are no others of any kind anywhere who can call upon me for anything--not for sharing, not for compromise, not even for the slightest beginning of another government. I am the only one."
"Not even this Ixian woman can ..."
"She is so much like me that she would not weaken me in that way."
"But when the Ixian Embassy was attacked ..."
"I can still be irritated by stupidity," he said.
She scowled at him.
Leto thought it a pretty gesture in that light, quite unconscious. He knew he had made her think. He was sure she had never before considered that any rights might adhere to uniqueness.
He addressed her silent scowl: "There has never before been a government exactly like mine. Not in all of our history. I am responsible only to myself, exacting payment in full for what I have sacrificed."
"Sacrificed!" she sneered, but he heard the doubts. "Every despot says something like that. You're responsible only to yourself!"
"Which makes every living thing my responsibility. I watch over you through these times."
"Through what times?"
"The times that might have been and then no more."
He saw the indecision in her. She did not trust her instincts, her untrained abilities at prediction. She might leap occasionally as she had done when she took his journals, but the motivation for the leap was lost in the revelation which followed.
"My father says you can be very tricky with words," she said.
"And he ought to know. But there is knowledge you can only gain by participating in it. There's no way to learn it by standing off and looking and talking."
"That's the kind of thing he means," she said.
"You're quite right," he agreed. "It's not logical. But it is a light, an eye which can see, but does not see itself."
"I'm tired of talking," she said.
"As am I." And he thought: I have seen enough, done enough. She is wide open to her doubts. How vulnerable they are in their ignorance!
"You haven't convinced me of anything," she said.
"That was not the purpose of this meeting."
"What was the purpose?"
"To see if you are ready to be tested."
"Test ..." She tipped her head a bit to the right and stared at him.
"Don't play the innocent with me," he said. "Moneo has told you. And I tell you that you are ready!"
She tried to swallow, then: "What are ..."
"I have sent for Moneo to return you to the Citadel," he said. "When we meet again, we will really learn what you are made of."
You know the myth of the Great Spice Hoard? Yes, I know about that story, too. A majordomo brought it to me one day to amuse me. The story says there is a hoard of melange, a gigantic hoard, big as a great mountain. The hoard is concealed in the depths of a distant planet. It is not Arrakis, that planet. It is not Dune. The spice was hidden there long ago, even before the First Empire and the Spacing Guild. The story says Paul Muad'Dib went there and lives yet beside the hoard, kept alive by it, waiting. The majordomo did not understand why the story disturbed me.
--THE STOLEN JOURNALS
I daho trembled with anger as he strode along the gray plastone halls to-ward his quarters in the Citadel. At each guard post he passed, the woman there snapped to attention. He did not respond. Idaho knew he was causing disturbance among them. Nobody could mistake the Commander's mood. But he did not abate his purposeful stride. The heavy thumping of his boots echoed along the walls.
He could still taste the noon meal--oddly familiar Atreides chopstick-fare of mixed grains herb-seasoned and baked around a pungent morsel of pseudomeat, all of it washed down with a drink of clear cidrit juice. Moneo had found him at table in the Guard Mess, alone in a corner with a regional operations schedule propped up beside his plate.
Without invitation, Moneo had seated himself opposite Idaho and had pushed aside the operations schedule.
"I bring a message from the God Emperor," Moneo said.
The tightly controlled tone warned Idaho that this was no casual encounter. Others sensed it. Listening silence settled over the women at nearby tables, spreading out through the room.
Idaho put down his chopsticks. "Yes?"
"These were the words of the God Emperor," Moneo said. " 'It is my bad luck that Duncan Idaho should become enamored of Hwi Noree. This mischance must not continue.' "
Anger thinned Idaho's lips, but he remained silent.
"Such foolishness endangers us all," Moneo said. "Noree is the God Emperor's intended."
Idaho tried to control his anger, but the words were a betrayal: "He can't marry her!"
"Why not?"
"What game is he playing, Moneo?"
"I am a messenger with a single message, no more," Moneo said.
Idaho's voice was low and threatening. "But he confides in you."
"The God Emperor sympathizes with you," Moneo lied.
"Sympathizes!" Idaho shouted the word, creating a new depth to the room's silence.
"Noree is a woman of obvious attractions," Moneo said. "But she is not for you."
"The God Emperor has spoken," Idaho sneered, "and there is no appeal."
"I see that you understand the message," Moneo said.
Idaho started to push himself away from the table.
"Where are you going?" Moneo demanded.
"I'm going to have this out with him right now!"
"That is certain suicide," Moneo said.
Idaho glared at him, aware suddenly of the listening intensity in the women at the tables around them. An expression which Muad'Dib would have recognized immediately came over Idaho's face: "Playing to the Devil's Gallery," Muad'Dib had called it.
"D'you know what the original Atreides Dukes always said?" Idaho asked. There was a mocking tone in his voice.
"Is it pertinent?"
"They said your liberties all vanish when you look up to any absolute ruler."
Rigid with fear, Moneo leaned toward Idaho. Moneo's lips barely moved. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Don't say such things."
"Because one of these women will report it?"
Moneo shook his head in disbelief. "You are more reckless than any of the others."
"Really?"
"Please! It is perilous in the extreme to take this attitude."
Idaho heard the nervous stirring that swept through the room.
"He can only kill us," Idaho said.
Moneo spoke in a tight whisper: "You fool! The Worm can dominate him at the slightest provocation!"
"The Worm, you say?" Idaho's voice was unnecessarily loud.
"You must trust him," Moneo said.
Idaho glanced left and right. "Yes, I think they heard that."
"He is billions upon billions of people united in that one body," Moneo said.
"So I've been told."
"He is God and we are mortal," Moneo said.
"How is it a god can do evil things?" Idaho asked.
Moneo thrust his chair backward and leaped to his feet. "I wash my hands of you!" Whirling away, he dashed from the room.
Idaho looked out into the room, finding himself the center of attention for all of the guards' faces.
"Moneo doesn't judge, but I do," Idaho said.
It surprised him then
to glimpse a few wry smiles among the women. They all returned to their eating.
As he strode down the hall of the Citadel, Idaho replayed the conversation, seeking out the oddities in Moneo's behavior. The terror could be recognized and even understood, but it had seemed far more than fear of death ... far, far more.
The Worm can dominate him.
Idaho felt that this had slipped out of Moneo, an inadvertent betrayal. What could it mean?
More reckless than any of the others.
It galled Idaho that he should have to bear comparisons to himself-as-an-unknown. How careful had the others been?
Idaho came to his own door, put a hand on the palm-lock and hesitated. He felt like a hunted animal retreating to his den. The guards in the mess surely would have reported that conversation to Leto by now. What would the God Emperor do? Idaho's hand moved across the lock. The door swung inward. He entered the anteroom of his apartment and sealed the door, looking at it.
Will he send his Fish Speakers for me?
Idaho glanced around the entry area. It was a conventional space--racks for clothing and shoes, a full-length mirror, a weapons cupboard. He looked at the closed door of the cupboard. Not one of the weapons behind that door offered any real threat to the God Emperor. There wasn't even a lasgun ... although even lasguns were ineffectual against the Worm, according to all the accounts.
He knows I will defy him.
Idaho sighed and looked toward the arched portal which led into the sitting area. Moneo had replaced the soft furniture with heavier, stiffer pieces, some of them recognizably Fremen--culled from the coffers of the Museum Fremen.
