Jessica could only shake her head from side to side, consumed by ultimate horror. All of the old Bene Gesserit warnings were true. She looked at Leto and Ghani standing side by side near Alia. What did those warnings mean for these poor twins?
"Grandmother," Leto said, and there was pleading in his voice. "Must we have a Trial of Possession?"
"Who are you to speak of trial?" Alia asked, and her voice was that of a querulous man, an autocratic and sensual man far gone in self-indulgence.
Both Leto and Ghanima recognized the voice. The Old Baron Harkonnen. Ghanima heard the same voice begin to echo in her own head, but the inner gate closed and she sensed her mother standing there.
Jessica remained silent.
"Then the decision is mine," Leto said. "And the choice is yours, Alia. Trial of Possession, or..." He nodded toward the open window.
"Who're you to give me a choice?" Alia demanded, and it was still the voice of the Old Baron.
"Demon!" Ghanima screamed. "Let her make her own choice!"
"Mother," Alia pleaded in her little-girl tones. "Mother, what're they doing? What do you want me to do? Help me."
"Help yourself," Leto ordered and, for just an instant, he saw the shattered presence of his aunt in her eyes, a glaring hopelessness which peered out at him and was gone. But her body moved, a sticklike, thrusting walk. She wavered, stumbled, veered from her path but returned to it, nearer and nearer the open window.
Now the voice of the Old Baron raged from her lips: "Stop! Stop it, I say! I command you! Stop it! Feel this!" Alia clutched her head, stumbled closer to the window. She had the sill against her thighs then, but the voice still raved. "Don't do this! Stop it and I'll help you. I have a plan. Listen to me. Stop it, I say. Wait!" But Alia pulled her hands away from her head, clutched the broken casement. In one jerking motion, she pulled herself over the sill and was gone. Not even a screech came from her as she fell.
In the room they heard the crowd shout, the sodden thump as Alia struck the steps far below.
Leto looked at Jessica. "We told you to pity her."
Jessica turned and buried her face in Farad'n's tunic.
***
The assumption that a whole system can be made to work better through an assault on its conscious elements betrays a dangerous ignorance. This has often been the ignorant approach of those who call themselves scientists and technologists.
"He runs at night, cousin," Ghanima said. "He runs. Have you seen him run?"
"No," Farad'n said.
He waited with Ghanima outside the small audience hall of the Keep where Leto had called them to attend. Tyekanik stood at one side, uncomfortable with the Lady Jessica, who appeared withdrawn, as though her mind lived in another place. It was hardly an hour past the morning meal, but already many things had been set moving - a summons to the Guild, messages to CHOAM and the Landsraad.
Farad'n found it difficult to understand these Atreides. The Lady Jessica had warned him, but still the reality of them puzzled him. They still talked of the betrothal, although most political reasons for it seemed to have dissolved. Leto would assume the throne; there appeared little doubt of that. His odd living skin would have to be removed, of course... but, in time...
"He runs to tire himself," Ghanima said. "He's Kralizec embodied. No wind ever ran as he runs. He's a blur atop the dunes. I've seen him. He runs and runs. And when he has exhausted himself at last, he returns and rests his head in my lap. 'Ask our mother within to find a way for me to die,' he pleads."
Farad'n stared at her. In the week since the riot in the plaza, the Keep had moved to strange rhythms, mysterious comings and goings; stories of bitter fighting beyond the Shield Wall came to him through Tyekanik, whose military advice had been asked.
"I don't understand you," Farad'n said. "Find a way for him to die?"
"He asked me to prepare you," Ghanima said. Not for the first time, she was struck by the curious innocence of this Corrino Prince. Was that Jessica's doing, or something born in him?
"For what?"
"He's no longer human," Ghanima said. "Yesterday you asked when he was going to remove the living skin? Never. It's part of him now and he's part of it. Leto estimates he has perhaps four thousand years before metamorphosis destroys him."
Farad'n tried to swallow in a dry throat.
"You see why he runs?" Ghanima asked.
"But if he'll live so long and be so -"
"Because the memory of being human is so rich in him. Think of all those lives, cousin. No. You can't imagine what that is because you've no experience of it. But I know. I can imagine his pain. He gives more than anyone ever gave before. Our father walked into the desert trying to escape it. Alia became Abomination in fear of it. Our grandmother has only the blurred infancy of this condition, yet must use every Bene Gesserit wile to live with it - which is what Reverend Mother training amounts to anyway. But Leto! He's all alone, never to be duplicated."
Farad'n felt stunned by her words. Emperor for four thousand years?
"Jessica knows," Ghanima said, looking across at her grandmother. "He told her last night. He called himself the first truly long-range planner in human history."
"What... does he plan?"
"The Golden Path. He'll explain it to you later."
"And he has a role for me in this... plan?"
"As my mate," Ghanima said. "He's taking over the Sisterhood's breeding program. I'm sure my grandmother told you about the Bene Gesserit dream for a male Reverend with extraordinary powers. He's -"
"You mean we're just to be -"
"Not just." She took his arm, squeezed it with a warm familiarity. "He'll have many very responsible tasks for both of us. When we're not producing children, that is."
"Well, you're a little young yet," Farad'n said, disengaging his arm.
"Don't ever make that mistake again," she said. There was ice in her tone.
Jessica came up to them with Tyekanik.
"Tyek tells me the fighting has spread off-planet," Jessica said. "The Central Temple on Biarek is under siege."
Farad'n thought her oddly calm in this statement. He'd reviewed the reports with Tyekanik during the night. A wildfire of rebellion was spreading through the Empire. It would be put down, of course, but Leto would have a sorry Empire to restore.
"Here's Stilgar now," Ghanima said. "They've been waiting for him." And once more she took Farad'n's arm.
The old Fremen Naib had entered by the far door escorted by two former Death Commando companions from the desert days. All were dressed in formal black robes with white piping and yellow headbands for mourning. They approached with steady strides, but Stilgar kept his attention on Jessica. He stopped in front of her, nodded warily.
"You still worry about the death of Duncan Idaho," Jessica said. She didn't like this caution in her old friend.
"Reverend Mother," he said.
So it's going to be that way! Jessica thought. All formal and according to the Fremen code, with blood difficult to expunge.
She said: "By our view, you but played apart which Duncan assigned you. Not the first time a man has given his life for the Atreides. Why do they do it, Stil? You've been ready for it more than once. Why? Is it that you know how much the Atreides give in return?"
"I'm happy you seek no excuse for revenge," he said. "But there are matters I must discuss with your grandson. These matters may separate us from you forever."
"You mean Tabr will not pay him homage?" Ghanima asked.