Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [93]
Duncan said, “I loved little Leto and his sister Ghanima when they were orphaned twins. And as the God Emperor, Leto killed me time and again. Sometimes when that ghola baby looks at me, I think he already has his Tyrant memories.” He shook his head.
Teg said, “Some of the most conservative Sisters already say we have created a monster.” Leto II, though smaller than Kynes, fought fiercely for the toy. “His death resulted in the Scattering, the Famine Times . . . and now because of that great, reckless dispersal of people, we have provoked an Enemy to come after us. Is that really an acceptable end to his Golden Path?”
Duncan raised his eyebrows and mused at Teg, Mentat to Mentat, “Who is to say the Golden Path is at an end? Even after all this time, this may still be part of Leto’s plan. I would not underestimate his pre-science.”
As gholas themselves, he and Teg had assumed many of the responsibilities for the program. The real difficulties wouldn’t arise for years yet, when the children reached a level of maturity sufficient to prepare them for reawakening their memories. Instead of hiding information from the gholas, Duncan insisted that they be granted full access to data about their previous lives, in the hope of turning them into effective weapons more quickly.
These children were all double-edged swords. They could hold keys to saving the no-ship from future crises, or they could raise dangers of their own. The new gholas were more than flesh and bone, more than individual personalities. They represented a stunning array of potential talents.
As if making a command decision, Teg marched into the room, separated the two quarreling children, and found additional toys to keep them content. As Duncan watched, he recalled how many times he had tried to assassinate the God Emperor himself, and how many times Leto II had brought him back as a ghola. Gazing at the one-year-old child, Duncan thought, If anyone could find a way to live forever, it would be him.
Every judgment teeters on the brink of error. To claim absolute knowledge is to become monstrous. Knowledge is an unending adventure at the edge of uncertainty.
—LETO ATREIDES II,
the God Emperor
F
rom ocean to desert, blue world to brown sand. Leaving newly conquered Buzzell, Murbella returned to Chapterhouse to oversee the growing wasteland.
From the Keep on Chapterhouse, she took an ornithopter, piloting it herself. Perfectly self-sufficient, she flew the ’thopter out over the fast-growing dunes where the worms’ domain was spreading. She gazed down at the brittle and leafless branches of what had been a thick forest. The trees reached upward like drowning men trying to fend off a slow tidal wave of obliterating sand. Soon, the new desert—beautiful in its own way—would engulf the whole planet, just like Rakis.
I chose to make the ecosystem die as swiftly as possible, said the voice of Odrade-within. It was the humane thing to do.
“It is easier to create a wasteland than a garden.”
There was nothing easy about this. Not easy on Chapterhouse, and not easy on my conscience.
“Or on mine.” Murbella stared down at the sterile emptiness. The bones of an environment lay down there, desiccating in the hot afternoon sun. All part of the detailed Bene Gesserit plan. “But it is what we have to do for spice. For power. For control. To make the Spacing Guild, CHOAM, Richese, and all planetary governments do as we command.”
That is what survival is all about, child.
Only a few months ago, this area had been forest. Careful not to waste their dwindling resources, the Sisters had begun logging in the area after the trees died, but the desert had spread too quickly for them to finish. Now, with Bene Gesserit efficiency, work teams cut transient roads through the sand and drove large haulers into the dead forest. They dug out the trunks, cut the dry boughs, and removed the wood for construction material and fuel. The dead trees were