Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [124]
With an insistent clicking of the blades, he attacked the tall shrubs. In the end, the planes were perfectly flat and smooth, according to his specifications.
Wearing an amused expression, the old woman sat back in her canvas lounge chair. She lifted a glass of fresh lemonade. “What I see is someone who persists in imposing order rather than accepting reality. Randomness has value, too.”
Taking another sip, she thought about mentally activating a set of sprinklers to drench the old man, strictly as a demonstration of unpredictability. But that sort of prank, while amusing, would only provoke unpleasantness. Instead, she entertained herself by watching her companion’s unnecessary work.
“Rather than drive yourself mad with adherence to a set of rules, why not change the rules? You have the power to do so.”
He glared at her. “You suggest I am mad?”
“Merely a figure of speech. You have long since recovered from any sort of damage.”
“You provoke me, Marty.” A brief flicker of danger passed as the old man, with renewed vigor, returned his attention to the garden trimmers. He attacked the hedges again, shaping and molding, not satisfied until every leaf was in its desired place.
The old woman set her glass down and went to the flower beds where a profusion of tulips and irises added splashes of color. “I prefer to be surprised—to savor the unexpected. It makes life interesting.” Frowning, she bent over to inspect a bristling weed that thrived among her plants. “There are limits, however.” With a vicious yank, she uprooted the unwanted plant.
“You seem quite forgiving, considering that we still do not have the no-ship under our control. It angers me more each time they get away! Kralizec is upon us.”
“That last time was very close.” Smiling, the old woman moved through her flower garden. Behind her, the wilting blossoms suddenly brightened, infused with new color. The sky was a perfect blue.
“You aren’t much concerned about the damage they just caused us. I expended a great deal of effort to create and cast the latest tachyon net. Lovely tendrils, far-reaching . . .” He twisted his lips into a scowl. “And now everything is torn, tangled, and frayed.”
“Oh, you can re-create it with a thought.” The woman waved a tanned hand. “You’re just annoyed because something didn’t happen the way you expected it to. Have you considered that the no-ship’s recent escape provides evidence of the prophetic projection? It must mean that the one you expect—whom the humans call the Kwisatz Haderach—is truly aboard. How else could they have slipped away? Perhaps that is proof of the projection?”
“We always knew he was aboard. That is why we must have the no-ship.”
The old woman laughed. “We predict he is aboard, Daniel. There is a difference. Centuries and centuries of mathematical projections convinced us that the necessary one would be there.”
The old man jammed his sharp hedge trimmers point first into the grass, impaling the lawn as if it were an enemy.
The mathematical projection had been so sophisticated and complex that it was tantamount to a prophecy. The two knew full well that they required the Kwisatz Haderach to win the impending typhoon struggle. Previously, they would have considered such a prophesy no more than a superstitious legend spawned by frightened people cowering from the dark. But after the impossibly detailed analytical projections, along with millennia of eerily clever human prophecies, the old couple knew that their victory required possession of the wild card, the human loose cannon.
“Long ago, others learned the folly of trying to control a Kwisatz Haderach.” The old woman stood up from her weeding. She put a hand to the small of her back