Herbert Frank Tom 2 Dune Messiah

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The girl's voice came out small, but firm, giving name, father and pedigree.
Paul nodded. He saw how Chani had been fooled. The timbre of voice,
everything reproduced with exactitude. Had it not been for his own Bene Gesserit
training in voice and for the web of dao in which oracular vision enfolded him,
this Face-Dancer disguise might have gulled even him.
Training exposed certain discrepancies: the girl was older than her known
years; too much control tuned the vocal cords; set of neck and shoulders missed
by a fraction the subtle hauteur of Fremen poise. But there were niceties, too:
the rich robe had been patched to betray actual status . . . and the features
were beautifully exact. They spoke a certain sympathy of this Face Dancer for
the role being played.
"Rest in my home, daughter of Otheym," Paul said in formal Fremen greeting.
"You are welcome as water after a dry crossing."
The faintest of relaxations exposed the confidence this apparent acceptance
had conveyed.
"I bring a message," she said.
"A man's messenger is as himself," Paul said.
Scytale breathed softly. It went well, but now came the crucial task: the
Atreides must be guided onto that special path. He must lose his Fremen
concubine in circumstances where no other shared the blame. The failure must
belong only to the omnipotent Muad'dib. He had to be led into an ultimate
realization of his failure and thence to acceptance of the Tleilaxu alternative.
"I am the smoke which banishes sleep in the night," Scytale said, employing
a Fedaykin code phrase: I bear bad tidings.
Paul fought to maintain calmness. He felt naked, his soul abandoned in a
groping-time concealed from every vision. Powerful oracles hid this Face Dancer.
Only the edges of these moments were known to Paul. He knew only what he could
not do. He could not slay this Face Dancer. That would precipitate the future
which must be avoided at all cost. Somehow, a way must be found to reach into
the darkness and change the terrifying pattern.
"Give me your message," Paul said.
Bannerjee moved to place himself where he could watch the girl's face. She
seemed to notice him for the First time and her gaze went to the knife handle
beneath the Security Officer's hand.
"The innocent do not believe in evil," she said, looking squarely at
Bannerjee.
Ahhh, well done, Paul thought. It was what the real Lichna would've said. He
felt a momentary pang for the real daughter of Otheym -- dead now, a corpse in
the sand. There was no time for such emotions, though. He scowled.
Bannerjee kept his attention on the girl.
"I was told to deliver my message in secret," she said.
"Why?" Bannerjee demanded, voice harsh, probing.
"Because it is my father's wish."
"This is my friend," Paul said. "Am I not a Fremen? Then my friend may hear
anything I hear."
Scytale composed the girl-shape. Was this a true Fremen custom . . . or was
it a test?
"The Emperor may make his own rules," Scytale said. "This is the message: My
father wishes you to come to him, bringing Chani."
"Why must I bring Chani?"
"She is your woman and a Sayyadina. This is a Water matter, by the rules of
our tribes. She must attest it that my father speaks according to the Fremen
Way."
There truly are Fremen in the conspiracy, Paul thought. This moment fitted
the shape of things to come for sure. And he had no alternative but to commit
himself to this course.
"Of what will your father speak?" Paul asked.
"He will speak of a plot against you -- a plot among the Fremen."
"Why doesn't he bring that message in person?" Bannerjee demanded.
She kept her gaze on Paul. "My father cannot come here. The plotters suspect
him. He'd not survive the journey."
"Could he not divulge the plot to you?" Bannerjee asked. "How came he to
risk his daughter on such a mission?"
"The details are locked in a distrans carrier that only Muad'dib may open,"
she said. "This much I know."
"Why not send the distrans, then?" Paul asked.
"It is a human distrans," she said.
"I'll go, then," Paul said. "But I'll go alone."
"Chani must come with you!"
"Chani is with child."
"When has a Fremen woman refused to . . ."
"My enemies fed her a subtle poison," Paul said. "It will be a difficult
birth. Her health will not permit her to accompany me now."
Before Scytale could still them, strange emotions passed over the girl-
features: frustration, anger. Scytale was reminded that every victim must have a
way of escape -- even such a one as Muad'dib. The conspiracy had not failed,
though. This Atreides remained in the net. He was a creature who had developed
firmly into one pattern. He'd destroy himself before changing into the opposite
of that pattern. That had been the way with the Tleilaxu kwisatz haderach. It'd
be the way with this one. And then . . . the ghola.
"Let me ask Chani to decide this," she said.
"I have decided it," Paul said. "You will accompany me in Chani's stead."
"It requires a Sayyadina of the Rite!"
"Are you not Chani's friend?"
Boxed! Scytale thought. Does he suspect? No. He's being Fremen-cautious. And
the contraceptive is a fact. Well -- there are other ways.
"My father told me I was not to return," Scytale said, "that I was to seek
asylum with you. He said you'd not risk me."
Paul nodded. It was beautifully in character. He couldn't deny this asylum.
She'd plead Fremen obedience to a father's command.
"I'll take Stilgar's wife, Harah," Paul said. "You'll tell us the way to
your father."
"How do you know you can trust Stilgar's wife?"
"I know it."
"But I don't." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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