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came.
How did I set this in motion? he asked himself.
It had, of course, set itself in motion. It was in the genes which might
labor for centuries to achieve this brief spasm.
Driven by that deepest religious instinct, the people came, seeking their
resurrection. The pilgrimage ended here -- "Arrakis, the place of rebirth, the
place to die."
Snide old Fremen said he wanted the pilgrims for their water.
What was it the pilgrims really sought? Paul wondered. They said they came
to a holy place. But they must know the universe contained no Eden-source, no
Tupile for the soul. They called Arrakis the place of the unknown where all
mysteries were explained. This was a link between their universe and the next.
And the frightening thing was that they appeared to go away satisfied.
What do they find here? Paul asked himself.
Often in their religious ecstasy, they filled the streets with screeching
like some odd aviary. In fact, the Fremen called them "passage birds." And the
few who died here were "winged souls."
With a sigh, Paul thought how each new planet his legions subjugated opened
new sources of pilgrims. They came out of gratitude for "the peace of Muad'dib."
Everywhere there is peace, Paul thought. Everywhere . . . except in the
heart of Muad'dib.
He felt that some element of himself lay immersed in frosty hoar-darkness
without end. His prescient power had tampered with the image of the universe
held by all mankind. He had shaken the safe cosmos and replaced security with
his Jihad. He had out-fought and out-thought and out-predicted the universe of
men, but a certainty filled him that this universe still eluded him.
This planet beneath him which he had commanded be remade from desert into a
water-rich paradise, it was alive. It had a pulse as dynamic as that of any
human. It fought him, resisted, slipped away from his commands . . .
A hand crept into Paul's. He looked down to see Chani peering up at him,
concern in her eyes. Those eyes drank him, and she whispered: "Please, love, do
not battle with your ruh-self." An outpouring of emotion swept upward from her
hand, buoyed him.
"Sihaya," he whispered.
"We must go to the desert soon," she said in a low voice.
He squeezed her hand, released it, returned to the table where he remained
standing.
Chani took her seat.
Irulan stared at the papers in front of Stilgar, her mouth a tight line.
"Irulan proposes herself as mother of the Imperial heir," Paul said. He
glanced at Chani, back to Irulan, who refused to meet his gaze. "We all know she
holds no love for me."
Irulan went very still.
"I know the political arguments," Paul said. "It's the human arguments which
concern me. I think if the Princess Consort were not bound by the commands of
the Bene Gesserit, if she did not seek this out of desires for personal power,
my reaction might be very different. As matters stand, though, I reject this
proposal."
Irulan took a deep, shaky breath.
Paul, resuming his seat, thought he had never seen her under such poor
control. Leaning toward her, he said: "Irulan, I am truly sorry."
She lifted her chin, a look of pure fury in her eyes. "I don't want your
pity!" she hissed. And turning to Stilgar: "Is there more that's urgent and
dire?"
Holding his gaze firmly on Paul, Stilgar said: "One more matter, m'Lord. The
Guild again proposes a formal embassy here on Arrakis."
"One of the deep-space kind?" Korba asked, his voice full of fanatic
loathing.
"Presumably," Stilgar said.
"A matter to be considered with the utmost care, m'Lord," Korba warned. "The
Council of Naibs would not like it, an actual Guildsman here on Arrakis. They
contaminate the very ground they touch."
"They live in tanks and don't touch the ground," Paul said, letting his
voice reveal irritation.
"The Naibs might take matters into their own hands, m'Lord," Korba said.
Paul glared at him.
"They are Fremen, after all, m'Lord," Korba insisted. "We well remember how
the Guild brought those who oppressed us. We have not forgotten the way they
blackmailed a spice ransom from us to keep our secrets from our enemies. They
drained us of every --"
"Enough!" Paul snapped. "Do you think I have forgotten?"
As though he had just awakened to the import of his own words, Korba
stuttered unintelligibly, then: "M'lord, forgive me. I did not mean to imply you
are not Fremen. I did not . . ."
"They'll send a Steersman," Paul said. "It isn't likely a Steersman would
come here if he could see danger in it."
Her mouth dry with sudden fear, Irulan said: "You've . . . seen a Steersman
come here?"
"Of course I haven't seen a Steersman," Paul said, mimicking her tone. "But
I can see where one's been and where one's going. Let them send us a Steersman.
Perhaps I have a use for such a one."
"So ordered," Stilgar said.
And Irulan, hiding a smile behind her hand, thought: It's true then. Our
Emperor cannot see a Steersman. They are mutually blind. The conspiracy is
hidden.
= = = = = =
"Once more the drama begins."
-The Emperor Paul Muad'dib on his ascension to the Lion Throne
Alia peered down from her spy window into the great reception hall to watch
the advance of the Guild entourage.
The sharply silver light of noon poured through clerestory windows onto a
floor worked in green, blue and eggshell tiles to simulate a bayou with water
plants and, here and there, a splash of exotic color to indicate bird or animal.
Guildsmen moved across the tile pattern like hunters stalking their prey in
a strange jungle. They formed a moving design of gray robes, black robes, orange [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]