[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
superheated air layer just above the desert's surface, then dispersing on the
wind. But this rainfall drenched him.
Siona pulled back her face flap and lifted her face greedily to the falling
water, not even noticing the effect on Leto.
As the first drenching swept in from behind the sandtrout overlappings, he
stiffened and curled into a ball of agony. Separate drives of sandtrout and
sandworm produced a new meaning for the word pain. He felt that he was being
ripped apart. Sandtrout wanted to rush to the water and encapsulate it. Sandworm
felt the drenching wash of death. Curls of blue smoke 'spurted from every place
the rain touched him. The inner workings of his body began to manufacture the
true spice-essence. Blue smoke lifted around him from where he lay in puddles of
water. He writhed and groaned.
The clouds passed and it was a few moments before Siona sensed his disturbance.
"What's wrong with you?"
He was unable to answer. The rain was gone but water remained on the rocks and
in puddles all around and beneath him. There was no escape.
Siona saw the blue smoke rising from every place the water touched him.
"It's the water!"
There was a slightly higher bulge of land off to the right where the water did
not stay. Painfully, he made his way toward it, groaning at each new puddle. The
bulge was almost dry when he reached it. The agony subsided slowly and he grew
aware that Siona stood directly in front of him. She probed at him with words of
false concern.
"Why does water hurt you?"
Hurt? What an inadequate word! There was no evading her questions, though. She
knew enough now to go searching for the answer. That answer could be found.
Haltingly, he explained the relationship of sandtrout and sandworm to water. She
heard him out in silence.
"But the moisture you gave me. . ."
"Is buffered and masked by the spice."
"Then why do you risk it out here without your cart?"
"You can't be a Fremen in the Citadel or on a cart."
She nodded.
He saw the flame of rebellion return to her eyes. She did not have to feel
guilty or dependent. She no longer could avoid belief in his Golden Path, but
what difference did that make? His cruelties could not be forgiven! She could
reject him, deny him a place in her family. He was not a human, not like her at
all. And she possessed the secret of his undoing! Ring him with water, destroy
his desert, immobilize him within a moat
of agony! Did she think she hid her thoughts from him by turning away?
And what can I do about it? he wondered. She must live now while I must
demonstrate nonviolence.
Now that he knew something of. Siona's nature, how easy it would be to
surrender, to sink blindly into his own thoughts. It was seductive, this talon
to live only within his memories, but his children still required another
lesson-by-example if they were to escape the last threat to the Golden Path.
What a painful decision! He experienced a new sympathy for the Bene Gesserit.
His quandary was akin to the one they had experienced when they had confronted
the fact of Muad'Dib. The ultimate goal of their breeding program-my father-they
could not contain him, either.
Once more into the breach, dear friends, he thought. and he suppressed a wry
smile at his own histrionics.
===
Given enough time for the generations to evolve, the predator produces
particular survival adaptations in its prey which, through the circular
operation of feedback, produce changes in the predator which again change the
prey etcetera, etcetera, etcetera .... Many powerful forces do the same thing.
You can count religions among such forces.
-The Stolen Journals
"THE LORD has commanded me to tell you that your daughter lives."
Nayla delivered the message to Moneo in a singsong voice, looking down across
the workroom table at his figure seated there amidst a chaos of notes and papers
and communications instruments.
Moneo pressed his palms together firmly and looked down at the elongated shadow
drawn on his table by late afternoon sunlight across the jeweled tree of his
paperweight.
Without looking up at Nayla's stocky figure standing at proper attention in
front of him, he asked: "Both of them have returned to the Citadel?"
"Yes."
Moneo looked out the window to his left, not really seeing the flinty borderline
of darkness hanging on the Sareer's horizon nor the greedy wind collecting sand
grains from every dunetop.
"That matter which we discussed earlier?" he asked.
"It has been arranged."
"Very well." He waved to dismiss her, but Nayla remained standing in front of
him. Surprised, Moneo actually focused
on her for the first time since she had entered.
"Is it required that I personally attend this-" she swallowed-"wedding?"
"The Lord Leto has commanded it. You will be the only one there armed with a
lasgun. It is an honor."
She remained in position, her gaze fixed somewhere over Moneo's head.
"Yes?" he prompted.
Nayla's great lantern jaw worked convulsively, then: "He is God and I am
mortal." She turned on one heel and left the workroom.
Moneo wondered vaguely what was bothering that hulking Fish Speaker, but his
thoughts turned like a compass arrow to Siona.
She has survived as I did. Siona now had an inner sense which told her that the
Golden Path remained unbroken. As I have. He found no sense of sharing in this,
nothing to make him feel closer to his daughter. It was a burden and it would
inevitably curb her rebellious nature. No Atreides could go against the Golden
Path. Leto had seen to that!
Moneo remembered his own rebel days. Every night a new bed and the constant urge
to run. The cobwebs of his past clung to his mind, sticking there no matter how
hard he tried to shake away troublesome memories.
Siona has been caged. As I was caged. As poor Leto was caged. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
superheated air layer just above the desert's surface, then dispersing on the
wind. But this rainfall drenched him.
Siona pulled back her face flap and lifted her face greedily to the falling
water, not even noticing the effect on Leto.
As the first drenching swept in from behind the sandtrout overlappings, he
stiffened and curled into a ball of agony. Separate drives of sandtrout and
sandworm produced a new meaning for the word pain. He felt that he was being
ripped apart. Sandtrout wanted to rush to the water and encapsulate it. Sandworm
felt the drenching wash of death. Curls of blue smoke 'spurted from every place
the rain touched him. The inner workings of his body began to manufacture the
true spice-essence. Blue smoke lifted around him from where he lay in puddles of
water. He writhed and groaned.
The clouds passed and it was a few moments before Siona sensed his disturbance.
"What's wrong with you?"
He was unable to answer. The rain was gone but water remained on the rocks and
in puddles all around and beneath him. There was no escape.
Siona saw the blue smoke rising from every place the water touched him.
"It's the water!"
There was a slightly higher bulge of land off to the right where the water did
not stay. Painfully, he made his way toward it, groaning at each new puddle. The
bulge was almost dry when he reached it. The agony subsided slowly and he grew
aware that Siona stood directly in front of him. She probed at him with words of
false concern.
"Why does water hurt you?"
Hurt? What an inadequate word! There was no evading her questions, though. She
knew enough now to go searching for the answer. That answer could be found.
Haltingly, he explained the relationship of sandtrout and sandworm to water. She
heard him out in silence.
"But the moisture you gave me. . ."
"Is buffered and masked by the spice."
"Then why do you risk it out here without your cart?"
"You can't be a Fremen in the Citadel or on a cart."
She nodded.
He saw the flame of rebellion return to her eyes. She did not have to feel
guilty or dependent. She no longer could avoid belief in his Golden Path, but
what difference did that make? His cruelties could not be forgiven! She could
reject him, deny him a place in her family. He was not a human, not like her at
all. And she possessed the secret of his undoing! Ring him with water, destroy
his desert, immobilize him within a moat
of agony! Did she think she hid her thoughts from him by turning away?
And what can I do about it? he wondered. She must live now while I must
demonstrate nonviolence.
Now that he knew something of. Siona's nature, how easy it would be to
surrender, to sink blindly into his own thoughts. It was seductive, this talon
to live only within his memories, but his children still required another
lesson-by-example if they were to escape the last threat to the Golden Path.
What a painful decision! He experienced a new sympathy for the Bene Gesserit.
His quandary was akin to the one they had experienced when they had confronted
the fact of Muad'Dib. The ultimate goal of their breeding program-my father-they
could not contain him, either.
Once more into the breach, dear friends, he thought. and he suppressed a wry
smile at his own histrionics.
===
Given enough time for the generations to evolve, the predator produces
particular survival adaptations in its prey which, through the circular
operation of feedback, produce changes in the predator which again change the
prey etcetera, etcetera, etcetera .... Many powerful forces do the same thing.
You can count religions among such forces.
-The Stolen Journals
"THE LORD has commanded me to tell you that your daughter lives."
Nayla delivered the message to Moneo in a singsong voice, looking down across
the workroom table at his figure seated there amidst a chaos of notes and papers
and communications instruments.
Moneo pressed his palms together firmly and looked down at the elongated shadow
drawn on his table by late afternoon sunlight across the jeweled tree of his
paperweight.
Without looking up at Nayla's stocky figure standing at proper attention in
front of him, he asked: "Both of them have returned to the Citadel?"
"Yes."
Moneo looked out the window to his left, not really seeing the flinty borderline
of darkness hanging on the Sareer's horizon nor the greedy wind collecting sand
grains from every dunetop.
"That matter which we discussed earlier?" he asked.
"It has been arranged."
"Very well." He waved to dismiss her, but Nayla remained standing in front of
him. Surprised, Moneo actually focused
on her for the first time since she had entered.
"Is it required that I personally attend this-" she swallowed-"wedding?"
"The Lord Leto has commanded it. You will be the only one there armed with a
lasgun. It is an honor."
She remained in position, her gaze fixed somewhere over Moneo's head.
"Yes?" he prompted.
Nayla's great lantern jaw worked convulsively, then: "He is God and I am
mortal." She turned on one heel and left the workroom.
Moneo wondered vaguely what was bothering that hulking Fish Speaker, but his
thoughts turned like a compass arrow to Siona.
She has survived as I did. Siona now had an inner sense which told her that the
Golden Path remained unbroken. As I have. He found no sense of sharing in this,
nothing to make him feel closer to his daughter. It was a burden and it would
inevitably curb her rebellious nature. No Atreides could go against the Golden
Path. Leto had seen to that!
Moneo remembered his own rebel days. Every night a new bed and the constant urge
to run. The cobwebs of his past clung to his mind, sticking there no matter how
hard he tried to shake away troublesome memories.
Siona has been caged. As I was caged. As poor Leto was caged. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]