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said.
"All of that, Lord?"
"The Jesuits called that `securing your power base.' It leads directly to
hypocrisy which is always betrayed by the gap between actions and
explanations. They never agree."
"I must study this more carefully, Lord."
"Ultimately, it rules by guilt because hypocrisy brings on the witch hunt and
the demand for scapegoats."
"Shocking, Lord."
The cortege rounded a corner where the rock had been opened for a glimpse of
the bridge in the distance.
"Moneo, are you paying close attention to me?"
"Yes, Lord. Indeed."
"I'm describing a tool of the religious power base."
"I recognize that, Lord."
"Then why are you so afraid?"
"Talk of religious power always makes me uneasy, Lord."
"Because you and the Fish Speakers wield it in my name?"
"Of course, Lord."
"Power bases are very dangerous because they attract people who are truly
insane, people who seek power only for the sake of power. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Lord. That is why you so seldom grant petitions for appointments in your
government."
"Excellent, Moneo!"
"Thank you, Lord."
"In the shadow of every religion lurks a Torquemada," Leto said. "You have
never encountered that name. I know because I caused it to be expunged from
all the records."
"Why was that, Lord?"
"He was an obscenity. He made living torches out of people who disagreed with
him."
Moneo pitched his voice low. "Like the historians who angered you, Lord?"
"Do you question my actions, Moneo?"
"No, Lord!"
"Good. The historians died peacefully. Not a one felt the flames. Torquemada,
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however, delighted in commending to his god the agonized screams of his
burning victims."
"How horrible, Lord."
The cortege turned another corner with a view of the bridge. The span appeared
to be no closer.
Once more, Moneo studied his God Emperor. The Worm appeared no closer. Still
too close, though.
Moneo could feel the menace of that unpredictable presence, the Holy Presence
which could kill without warning.
Moneo shuddered.
What had been the meaning of that strange . . . sermon? Moneo knew that few
had ever heard the God
Emperor speak thus. It was a privilege and a burden. It was part of the price
paid for Leto's
Peace. Generation after generation marched in their ordered way under the
dictates of that peace.
Only the Citadel's inner circle knew all of the infrequent breaks in that
peace-the incidents when
Fish Speakers were sent out in anticipation of violence.
Anticipation!
Moneo glanced at the now-silent Leto. The God Emperor's eyes were closed and a
look of brooding had come over his face. That was another of the Worm signs- a
bad one. Moneo trembled.
Did Leto anticipate even his own moments of wild violence? It was the
anticipation of violence which sent tremors of awe and fear throughout the
Empire. Leto knew where guards must be posted to put down a transitory
uprising. He knew it before the event. Even thinking about such matters dried
Moneo's mouth. There were times, Moneo believed, when the God Emperor could
read any mind.
Oh, Leto employed spies. An occasional shrouded figure passed by the Fish
Speakers for the climb to Leto's tower aerie or descended to the crypt. Spies,
no doubt of it, but Moneo suspected they were used merely to confirm what Leto
already knew.
As though to confirm the fears in Moneo's mind, Leto said: "Do not try to
force an understanding
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of my ways, Moneo. Let understanding come of itself."
"I will try, Lord."
"No, do not try. Tell me, instead, if you have announced yet that there will
be no changes in the spice allotments?"
"Not yet, Lord."
"Delay the announcement. I am changing my mind. You know, of course, that
there will be new offers of bribes."
Moneo sighed. The amounts offered him in bribes had reached ridiculous
heights. Leto, however, had appeared amused by the escalation.
"Draw them out," he had said earlier. "See how high they will go. Make it
appear that you can be bribed at last."
Now, as they turned another corner with a view of the
bridge, Leto asked: "Has House Corrino offered you a bribe?"
"Yes, Lord."
"Do you know the myth which says that someday House Corrino will be restored
to its ancient powers?"
"I have heard it, Lord."
"Have the Corrino killed. It is a task for the Duncan. We will test him."
"So soon, Lord?"
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"It is still known that melange can extend human life. Let it also be known
that the spice can shorten life."
"As you command, Lord."
Moneo knew this response in 'himself, It was the way he spoke when he could
not voice a deep objection which he felt. He also knew that the Lord Leto
understood this and was amused by it. The amusement rankled.
"Try not to be impatient with me, Moneo," Leto said.
Moneo suppressed his feeling of bitterness. Bitterness brought peril. Rebels
were bitter. The
Duncans grew bitter before they died.
"Time has a different meaning for you than it has for me, Lord," Moneo said.
"I wish I could know that meaning."
"You could but you will not."
Moneo heard rebuke in the words and fell silent, turning his thoughts instead
to the melange problems. It was not often that the Lord Leto spoke of the
spice, and then it usually was to set allotments or withdraw them, to
apportion rewards or send the Fish Speakers after some newly revealed hoard.
The greatest remaining store of spice, Moneo knew, lay in some place known
only to the God Emperor. In his first days of Royal Service, Moneo had been
covered in a hood and led by the Lord Leto himself to that secret place along
twisting passages which Moneo had sensed were underground.
When I removed the hood, we were underground.
The place had filled Moneo with awe. Great bins of melange lay all around in a
gigantic room cut from native rock and illuminated by glowglobes of an ancient
design with arabesques of metal scrollwork upon them. The spice had glowed
radiant blue in the dim silver light. And the smell-
bitter cinnamon, unmistakable. There had been water dripping nearby. Their
voices had echoed against the stone.
"One day all of this will be gone," the Lord Leto had said.
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Shocked, Moneo had asked: "What will Guild and Bene Gesserit do then?"
"What they are doing now, but more violently."
Staring around the gigantic room with its enormous store of melange, Moneo
cold only think of things he knew were happening in the Empire at that
moment-bloody assassinations, piratical raids, spying and intrigue. The God
Emperor kept a lid on the worst of it, but what remained was bad enough, "The
temptation," Moneo whispered.
"The temptation, indeed."
"Will there be no more melange, ever, Lord'?"
"Someday, I will go back into the sand. I will be the source of spice then."
"You, Lord?"
"And I will produce something just as wonderful-more sandtrout-a hybrid and a
prolific breeder."
Trembling at this revelation, Moneo stared at the shadowy figure of the God
Emperor who spoke of such marvels.
"The sandtrout," Lord Leto said, "will link themselves into large living
bubbles to enclose this planet's water deep underground. Just as it was in the
Dune times."
"All of the water, Lord?"
"Most of it. Within three hundred years, the sandworm once more will reign [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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