God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert Read Free Book Online

away order and strengthens the forces at the extremes.”

    “Isn’t that what radicals are trying to do? Aren’t they trying to shake things up so they can grab control?”

    “That’s what they think they’re doing. Actually, they’re creating new extremists, new radicals and they are continuing the old process.”

    “What about a radical who sees the complexities and comes at you that way?”

    “That’s no radical. That’s a rival for leadership.”

    “But what do you do?”

    “You co-opt them or kill them. That’s how the struggle for leadership originated, at the grunt level.”

    “Yes, but what about messiahs?”

    “Like my father?”

    The Duncan does not like this question. He knows that in a very special way I am my father. He knows I can speak with my father’s voice and persona, that the memories are precise, never edited and inescapable.

    Reluctantly, he says: “Well … if you want.”

    “Duncan, I am all of them and I know. There has never been a truly selfless rebel, just hypocrites—conscious hypocrites or unconscious hypocrites, it’s all the same.”

    That stirs up a small hornet’s nest among my ancestral memories. Some of them have never given up the belief that they and they alone held the key to all of humankind’s problems. Well, in that, they are like me. I can sympathize even while I tell them that failure is its own demonstration.

    I am forced to block them off, though. There’s no sense dwelling on them. They now are little more than poignant reminders … as is this Duncan who stands in front of me with his lasgun… .

    Great Gods below! He has caught me napping. He has the lasgun in his hand and it is pointed at my face.

    “You, Duncan? Have you betrayed me, too?”

    Et tu, Brute?

    Every fiber of Leto’s awareness came to full alert. He could feel his body twitching. The worm-flesh had a will of its own.

    Idaho spoke with derision: “Tell me, Leto: How many times must I pay the debt of loyalty?”

    Leto recognized the inner question: “How many of me have there been?” The Duncans always wanted to know this. Every Duncan asked it and no answer satisfied. They doubted.

    In his saddest Muad’Dib voice, Leto asked: “Do you take no pride in my admiration, Duncan? Haven’t you ever wondered what it is about you that makes me desire you as my constant companion through the centuries?”

    “You know me to be the ultimate fool!”

    “Duncan!”

    The voice of an angry Muad’Dib could always be counted on to shatter Idaho. Despite the fact that Idaho knew no Bene Gesserit had ever mastered the powers of Voice as Leto had mastered them, it was predictable that he would dance to this one voice. The lasgun wavered in his hand.

    That was enough. Leto was off the cart in a hurtling roll. Idaho had never seen him leave the cart this way, had not even suspected it could happen. For Leto, there were only two requirements—a real threat which the worm-body could sense and the release of that body. The rest was automatic and the speed of it always astonished even Leto.

    The lasgun was his major concern. It could scratch him badly, but few understood the abilities of the pre-worm body to deal with heat.

    Leto struck Idaho while rolling and the lasgun was deflected as it was fired. One of the useless flippers which had been Leto’s legs and feet sent a shocking burst of sensations crashing into his awareness. For an instant, there was only pain. But the worm-body was free to act and reflexes ignited a violent paroxysm of flopping. Leto heard bones cracking. The lasgun was thrown far across the floor of the crypt by a spasmodic jerk of Idaho’s hand.

    Rolling off of Idaho, Leto poised himself for a renewed attack but there was no need. The injured flipper still sent pain signals and he sensed that the tip of the flipper had been burned away. The sandtrout skin already had sealed the wound. The pain had eased to an ugly throbbing.

    Idaho stirred. There could