The Winds Of Dune Part 17

He found her in a shadowy chamber lit by spa.r.s.e glowglobes. A coolness hung in the stone-lined tunnels, and the shadows themselves seemed moist. Like music, Gurney could hear the background sounds of water dripping into the reservoirs, reclaimed moisture from the halls above.

Thanks to the long-term plans of Pardot Kynes and his son Liet, Fremen had been stockpiling enormous amounts of water for the eventual transformation of Arrakis. Even so, these huge polymer-lined reservoirs would have astonished inhabitants of the old Dune. Such a h.o.a.rd proved the power and glory of Muad'Dib.

Jessica stood with her back to him. Her bronze hair was set in an intricate knot, her gown and demeanor an odd combination of Fremen practicality, sedate Bene Gesserit conservativism, and regal beauty. knot, her gown and demeanor an odd combination of Fremen practicality, sedate Bene Gesserit conservativism, and regal beauty.

It had been sixteen years since Leto's death, and in that time Gurney had struggled with his changing perception of Jessica. They had been close friends for a long time, and he could not stop his awakening feelings for her, though he tried to dispel them. He could not forget that when they were first reunited out in the desert-Gurney with his band of smugglers, Paul and Jessica with their Fremen-Gurney had tried to kill her, convinced she was a traitor to House Atreides. He had believed the lies spread by Harkonnens.

Gurney no longer doubted Jessica's integrity.

By the cistern, she turned to look at him, her face little changed despite the intervening years, but not through Bene Gesserit age-defying tricks. Jessica was simply beautiful, and she did not need chemicals or cellular adjustments to retain her stunning appearance.

He gave a formal bow. "My Lady, you summoned me?"

"I have a favor to ask, Gurney, something very important, and very private." She did not use Voice on him and applied no apparent Bene Gesserit techniques, but in that instant he would have done anything for her.

"It shall be done-or I will die in the attempt."

"I don't want you to die, Gurney. What I have in mind will require finesse and the utmost care, but I believe you are fully capable of it."

He knew he was flus.h.i.+ng. "You honor me." He was not so foolish as to think that Jessica was unaware of his feelings for her, no matter how he struggled to maintain a placid demeanor and a respectable distance. Jessica was Bene Gesserit trained, a Reverend Mother in her own right; she could read his moods no matter how cleverly he covered them up.

But what kind kind of love did he feel for her? That was unclear even to Gurney. He loved her as his Duke's lady, and was loyal to her as Paul's mother. He was physically attracted to her; no doubt of that. Yet his sense of Atreides honor muddied all of his feelings. He had been her companion for so many years; they were friends and partners, and they ruled Caladan well together. Out of respect for Duke Leto, Gurney had always fought back his romantic feelings for her. But it had been so many years. He was lonely; she was lonely. They were perfect for each other. of love did he feel for her? That was unclear even to Gurney. He loved her as his Duke's lady, and was loyal to her as Paul's mother. He was physically attracted to her; no doubt of that. Yet his sense of Atreides honor muddied all of his feelings. He had been her companion for so many years; they were friends and partners, and they ruled Caladan well together. Out of respect for Duke Leto, Gurney had always fought back his romantic feelings for her. But it had been so many years. He was lonely; she was lonely. They were perfect for each other.

Still, he didn't dare....

She startled him out of his reverie. "Alia asked you and Duncan to track down Bronso of Ix."

"Yes, my Lady, and we will do our utmost. Bronso's writings promote chaos in this delicate time."

"That's what my daughter says, and that's exactly what she's forced Irulan to write." Troubled wrinkles creased Jessica's forehead. "But Alia doesn't understand everything. What I ask of you now, Gurney, I cannot explain, because I've made other promises."

"I don't need explanations, merely your instructions, my Lady. Tell me what you need."

She took a step closer to him, and he focused only on her. "I need you to not not find Bronso, Gurney. It will be difficult, because Duncan is sure to throw all of his resources into the hunt. But I have my reasons. Bronso of Ix must be allowed to continue his work." find Bronso, Gurney. It will be difficult, because Duncan is sure to throw all of his resources into the hunt. But I have my reasons. Bronso of Ix must be allowed to continue his work."

A storm of doubts swept into Gurney's mind, but he stopped himself from uttering them. "I gave you my word that I wouldn't ask questions. If that is all, my Lady?"

Jessica looked at him intently. Her eyes, which used to be clear green, had taken on a blue cast from melange usage over the years. Beyond that, he thought he saw a hint of affection for him there, more than usual.

She turned back to stare at the rock wall of the cistern. "Thank you for trusting me, Gurney. I appreciate that more than you can ever know."

Evil does not have a face, nor does it have a soul.

-ANONYMOUS

Though Rheinvar the Magnificent had kept a low profile for many years since the debacle at Balut's Theater of Shards, his Jongleur troupe still performed on backwater worlds and fringe outposts. The ubiquitous Wayku kept track of their movements as they slipped from system to system.

Bronso, traveling under a succession of a.s.sumed names and theatrical disguises, thought fondly of the troupe leader, one of the rare Master Jongleurs. Now, he needed Rheinvar and his Face Dancers to help him on his mission.

When the Guilds.h.i.+p arrived at the secondary world of Izvinor, the Ixian used his ID scramblers to pose as a steerage-cla.s.s pa.s.senger and travel down to the surface. There, he changed clothes, altered his ident.i.ty again, and became a businessman looking for investment opportunities in keefa futures.

He had already sent word ahead to the Jongleur encampment, and as he made his way to the rendezvous hotel, he saw leaflets and placards advertising the upcoming performance. He smiled. Very little seemed to have changed.

"This suite is our finest," the bellman said, guiding a suspensor platform filled with Bronso's luggage into the parlor room. A smooth-faced man with a narrow black mustache and a bald head, the bellman was the sort of fellow whose age could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty-five. man with a narrow black mustache and a bald head, the bellman was the sort of fellow whose age could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty-five.

After the door closed behind them, the man dutifully began to unload the bags. "Do you have fresh fruit?" Bronso asked.

"The mumberries are ready for picking." The bellman began to hang clothing in a closet.

"Too sweet for my tastes." With this exchange of code words, the other man's features s.h.i.+fted, rearranged, and then settled into an appearance that Bronso recalled warmly from his youth. "Ah, now you look like Sielto-but are you truly him?"

"Who is truly anyone? Every person is illusion to some degree. But ... yes, I am the Sielto you remember. Rheinvar awaits you with great antic.i.p.ation."

After a series of secretive movements through the city, doubling back, changing clothes, Bronso walked with the Face Dancer to the simple camp-very much the same as the tents he remembered from his boyhood, though they were a bit more battered and threadbare. Ten dancers practiced on dry gra.s.s, turning somersaults and vaulting over one another.

"These days, we no longer play the big palaces and theaters," said a familiar, rich voice. "But we get by."

Bronso felt years of anxiety and heavy responsibilities lift away as he turned to face the Jongleur leader. Rheinvar wore one of his trademark white suits, though his top hat was nowhere in sight; his dark brown hair still had only a little gray in it. "You haven't aged a day in twenty years!"

"Many things have changed ... only appearances remain the same." The troupe leader gestured for Bronso to follow him into an administrative tent. "And you, young man-you've become quite infamous. I could lose my head just for speaking with you." Rheinvar gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Though some say that would be no great loss to the universe." He extended his hands, locked his fingers together, cracked his knuckles. "Your message said you need my help. Have you come to work as a roustabout again?"

"I'm not applying for a job, old friend. I am offering one for your Face Dancers in their ... extracurricular capacity." He glanced over his shoulder at Sielto. "Years ago, before I fled Ix, I transferred my entire fortune from House Vernius to hidden accounts. I can pay you quite extravagantly." shoulder at Sielto. "Years ago, before I fled Ix, I transferred my entire fortune from House Vernius to hidden accounts. I can pay you quite extravagantly."

"Very interesting. And the job?"

Without flinching, Bronso looked into the Jongleur leader's eyes. "I want you to help me a.s.sa.s.sinate someone."

"If you're willing to pay a vast fortune, the target must be an incredibly important person. Who could possibly warrant so much money?"

Bronso glanced through the partially open flap of the tent and lowered his voice. "The Emperor Paul-Muad'Dib."

Rheinvar took a step backward, then burst out laughing. "You've come to us too late. Haven't you heard? Muad'Dib is already dead."

"I don't mean physically. I mean his reputation, the myth and distortions around him. I have eyes inside the Citadel of Muad'Dib, and I watch what is happening there, and while I disagree with a great many political decisions, I have a very specific focus. I need to kill the idea that Paul was a messiah. The people, and the historians, must see that he was human-and deeply flawed. I need you to help me a.s.sa.s.sinate his character."

"I hear that Muad'Dib killed a Face Dancer, at the end," Sielto said with no emotion whatsoever. "An infiltrator and conspirator named Scytale. Maybe that's a good enough reason for us to help you against him."

Rheinvar continued to scowl. "It will be dangerous. Very dangerous."

Bronso paced the tent floor, talking quickly. "You only need to provide me with cover and help me distribute propaganda against him. The Wayku have a.s.sisted me for years, but I want to do something even larger in scale now, building on what I have already done. I trust your skills and your subtlety, Rheinvar. In fact, in coming here I am trusting you with my life. I hope you deserve that trust, and that my childhood memories aren't deceiving me."

The troupe leader looked over at Sielto, and a wordless understanding pa.s.sed between them. The Master Jongleur sat down behind a cluttered table, folded his hands in front of him, and grinned. "Then allow me to demonstrate a bit of trust myself, to seal our cooperation. I'm surprised you haven't figured it out, a bright man like yourself."

In front of Bronso's eyes, the old man's features altered, flowed, and settled into a bland, emotionless countenance. Another Face Dancer! "Vermillion h.e.l.ls! Now I see why you haven't changed in all these years."

"The first Rheinvar-the one you knew as a boy-was indeed human. But seventeen years ago, after an a.s.sa.s.sination job went awry, he was severely injured during our escape. He died aboard the Heighliner shortly after it left orbit. Fortunately, no one but us saw him perish. We decided not to throw away his fame and reputation, his worth worth as the troupe leader, and our perfect cover. as the troupe leader, and our perfect cover.

"And so I was the Face Dancer chosen to take his place. But without the real Rheinvar, we lost our inspiration, and our stature as performers declined. I can mimic some of his skills, but I am not truly a Master Jongleur. I do not have his amazing hypnotic and manipulative powers. I can only pretend to be who he was. Without him, we lost something indefinable."

"Something human, perhaps?" Bronso asked.

The two Face Dancers shrugged. "Do you still want our help?"

"More than ever, since now I've learned something about you that others do not know-something you might not even know yourselves."

The shape-s.h.i.+fter a.s.sumed Rheinvar's familiar appearance again. "Oh? And what is that, my friend?"

"That all Face Dancers are not the same inside."

We live our lives, dream our dreams, and scheme our schemes. Shai-Hulud watches all.

-Fremen wisdom

Before Alia could become too involved in her wedding preparations, she went to Jessica, preoccupied with another matter. She wasn't distracted or disturbed, but engrossed. "I have something you and I should do together, Mother-something I'd like us to share. It will put us both on the same course." She seemed very excited by the prospect.

Curious, Jessica followed as Alia and Duncan led her down numerous corridors and stairwells beneath the keep into a large underground chamber, hewn by hand. Glowglobes bathed the grotto with light tuned to the white spectrum of Arrakis's sun, so that the sandplankton could survive. Jessica smelled powerful conflicting odors-dust, sand, water, and the rough flinty stench of a worm.

"My brother created this place in the second year of his reign." Alia inhaled deeply. "You know why, don't you?"

Jessica looked across the large, deep sandy area encircled by a wide trough of water. Staring with intense focus, she could see tiny vibrations, ripples of movement beneath the sand. "Paul consumed the spice essence to enhance and pursue his visions. He kept a stunted worm here for whenever he required the Water of Life."

"Yes. Sometimes he shared the converted spice essence with his circle of closest advisers. Other times he made the inner journey alone." She paused, as if hesitant to make her suggestion, then smiled at Jessica. "Would you travel that path with me now, Mother? We did it together when I was but a fetus in your womb-when you were changed into a Reverend Mother, and I was changed into ... myself." She warmly took Duncan's hand, but kept her eyes focused on her mother. "This will be the last opportunity before our wedding. I would consider it a sacrament. Who knows what we might discover together?" alone." She paused, as if hesitant to make her suggestion, then smiled at Jessica. "Would you travel that path with me now, Mother? We did it together when I was but a fetus in your womb-when you were changed into a Reverend Mother, and I was changed into ... myself." She warmly took Duncan's hand, but kept her eyes focused on her mother. "This will be the last opportunity before our wedding. I would consider it a sacrament. Who knows what we might discover together?"

Though she was uneasy, Jessica could not turn down her daughter's request. The awakening effect of the awareness-spectrum drug intensified mental connections, creating a blurred form of shared consciousness. She and her daughter had already experienced a oneness, a unified pattern of thoughts that had gradually faded as Alia matured, and Jessica lived at a distance on Caladan. Now, Jessica did not want to expose all of her secrets to her daughter. All of Paul's Paul's secrets. There were some things Alia could not know, would not understand. secrets. There were some things Alia could not know, would not understand.

Fortunately, Jessica was much stronger than she had been on that first night long ago during the tau orgy in sietch. In addition to her own experiences, the damaged and changed Tessia Vernius had shown her many ways to protect herself back on Wallach IX. Jessica could build mental walls securely enough. She would be safe. "Yes, Alia. This is something we should do together."

Five amazon guards had followed them into the underground chamber, accompanied by a Fremen watermaster. Duncan signaled to the watermaster, who turned a heavy iron wheel on the stone wall. Gears s.h.i.+fted and machinery dropped, releasing a false floor beneath a narrow area of sand to create a trough, into which water flooded. The channel divided the enclosed dry s.p.a.ce in half. A small worm erupted from beneath the sand, thras.h.i.+ng away from the flowing water as if it were acid.

It was a monster by any definition-a long serpentine form, a meter in girth and five meters long, the round mouth full of crystalline teeth, its eyeless head bobbing to and fro. By Arrakis standards, however, this was a stunted, immature specimen.

With a yell, Alia's amazons lifted their metal staffs and jumped down onto the sand. They encircled the worm and struck its rippled segments with sharp blows. The creature thrashed and attacked, but the women dodged out of the way. Jessica realized the guards had done this before, and perhaps often. She wondered how frequently her daughter consumed the spice essence. And how frequently Paul had done it. and perhaps often. She wondered how frequently her daughter consumed the spice essence. And how frequently Paul had done it.

The watermaster worked another metal wheel, which created a new trough across the sand, blocking the worm with a second line of water, forcing it into a smaller and smaller area. As though it were an exhilarating sport, the women threw themselves upon the creature, grappling with it, wrestling it down to the sand.

The Fremen watermaster flooded more of the sand, and the stunted worm writhed against the liquid touch, jerking with electric spasms of fury. But the women caught the creature, pushed it down, submerged it until its head was beneath the deep water, its mouth agape. With splash and spray turning the sand to a slurry of brown grains, they held the beast under until the poisonous water had filled its gullet.

In its last spasms, the amazons hauled the worm's dripping head out of the trough, while the watermaster ran forward with a large basin. Dying, the worm spewed out a cloudy liquid. The thick and potent bile was one of the deadliest known poisons, yet when catalyzed by a Sayyadina, it became a means of euphoria, a way to open the Inner Eye of awareness.

With a flushed face and bright gaze, the muddy watermaster stumbled up to them carrying the basin; its poisonous contents slos.h.i.+ng against the sides of the container. "Lady Alia, Lady Jessica-a bountiful harvest. Enough to make the tau drug for many of the faithful."

Alia removed a small copper dipper from the side of the basin, filled it, and extended the ladle toward her mother. "Shall we both do the honors?"

Jessica took a mouthful of the foul-tasting alkaloid fluid, and her daughter followed suit. Holding it in her mouth, Jessica altered the chemical signature of the substance, manipulating the elemental bonds with her Bene Gesserit abilities, turning it into a seed chain of molecules that, when she and Alia both spat it back into the basin, transformed the bile from the dying worm. In a chain reaction, the liquid became something else.

The amazon guards and the watermaster watched with awe and hints of greedy hunger. Alia took the ladle again and drank deeply of the converted substance, as did her mother.

Alia extended the ladle to Duncan, who stood guard behind them, but the ghola refused. "I must remain alert. I have seen what this does to you."

"You must see what it does to you you. Take it, Duncan. Marry me in another way."

Like a good soldier, he did as he was commanded. Duncan, always the same, always loyal to the Atreides.... Duncan, always the same, always loyal to the Atreides....

Before the drug could take effect, Alia offered the basin to her guards. "This is a blessing from the sister and mother of Muad'Dib. Take it, share it. Perhaps others will find the truth they seek."

As the others hurried away, Jessica felt the drug thrum more and more loudly against her consciousness. Alia reached out to touch her, and Jessica responded, but she maintained her reserve, erecting a protective barrier inside her mind, letting her daughter see her and know her ... but not everything.

Instead of answers, Jessica felt questions growing louder in her consciousness, the doubts, the turmoil that lay ahead, the empty and dangerous gulf of an uncontrolled future and the many paths that stretched out for humankind ... possibilities upon possibilities upon possibilities. She knew this was the trap of prescience. Seeing Seeing futures did a person no good, unless one could determine the actual future that would occur. futures did a person no good, unless one could determine the actual future that would occur.

Feeling the pull of the drug, Jessica heard and experienced changes in her body's chemistry. She began to drift across endless dunes in her mind, back through countless generations, a chain of female ancestors all standing there to advise her, to reminisce about their long-forgotten lives, to criticize or to praise. Jessica had always kept them at a secure distance; she had seen what could happen to a Reverend Mother who let those constant haranguing voices dominate an individual personality.

How had Alia protected herself against the inner clamor? Unprepared and unborn, she could have initially drowned in the onslaught of all those lives. How had she protected herself?

And now, at the end of that long succession of past lives, Jessica discovered a figure standing before her in a robe, the face covered by a hood that flapped in a silent wind. A male figure. Paul? Paul? Something compelled her to turn, and at the other end of eternity she found her son standing there as well, but he had no face or voice. Something compelled her to turn, and at the other end of eternity she found her son standing there as well, but he had no face or voice.

Finally, she heard his words in her head: "There are few who can protect me ... but many who would destroy me. You could do both, Mother-as could Alia. Which will you choose?"

She tried to ask for more information, but could not find her own voice. In response to her silence, Paul said only, "Remember your promise to me ... the one you made on Ix."

The sands whipped around her, bringing dust and haze that swirled faster and faster, scouring at her-until finally she was rubbing her eyes, looking around at the underground chamber, smelling the splashed water, the dead worm, and bitter bile.

Alia was already awake. Being more accustomed to the drug, her body had metabolized it faster. The girl's spice-addicted deep blue eyes were open wide, her lips parted in a smile of amazement. Next to her Duncan sat rigid and cross-legged, still apparently dreaming.

"I saw Paul," Alia said.

Jessica's heart pounded faster. "And what did he say to you?"

Alia's smile became mysterious. "That is something even a mother and a daughter cannot share." Jessica realized, belatedly, that Alia had walled her her off, too. "And what did you experience?" off, too. "And what did you experience?"

Jessica shook her head slightly. "It was ... perplexing. I need to meditate upon it further."

When she rose, the stiff soreness in her limbs told her that she had been in a trance for quite some time. Her mouth was dry, with a sour residual taste from the liquid she'd consumed ... and the strange vision she had experienced.

Jessica left Alia sitting beside Duncan. The young woman held the ghola's arm, watching him, and guarding him as he finished his own inner journey. But Jessica was gone before he woke up.

When the true motive is love, there are no other explanations. Searching for them is like chasing grains of sand in the wind.

-Fremen proverb