"Servant? We've no servants; only disciples."
"And I am a disciple of awareness," he said. "Understand that, child, and you - "
"Don't call me child!" she snapped. She slipped her crysknife half out of its sheath.
"I stand corrected." He glanced at her, smiled, returned his attention to piloting the 'thopter. The cliffsided structure of the Atreides Keep could be made out now, dominating the northern suburbs of Arrakeen. "You are something ancient in flesh that is little more than a child," he said. "And the flesh is disturbed by its new womanhood."
"I don't know why I listen to you," she growled, but she let the crysknife fall back into its sheath, wiped her palm on her robe. The palm, wet with perspiration, disturbed her sense of Fremen frugality. Such a waste of the body's moisture!
"You listen because you know I'm devoted to your brother," he said. "My actions are clear and easily understood."
"Nothing about you is clear and easily understood. You're the most complex creature I've ever seen. How do I know what the Tleilaxu built into you?"
"By mistake or intent," he said, "they gave me freedom to mold myself."
"You retreat into Zensunni parables," she accused. "The wise man molds himself - the fool lives only to die." Her voice was heavy with mimicry. "Disciple of awareness!"
"Men cannot separate means and enlightenment," he said.
"You speak riddles!"
"I speak to the opening mind."
"I'm going to repeat all this to Paul."
"He's heard most of it already."
She found herself overwhelmed by curiosity. "How is it you're still alive... and free? What did he say?"
"He laughed. And he said, 'People don't want a bookkeeper for an Emperor; they want a master, someone who'll protect them from change.' But he agreed that destruction of his Empire arises from himself."
"Why would he say such things?"
"Because I convinced him I understand his problem and will help him."
"What could you possibly have said to do that?"
He remained silent, banking the 'thopter into the downwind leg for a landing at the guard complex on the roof of the Keep.
"I demand you tell me what you said!"
"I'm not sure you could take it."
"I'll be the judge of that! I command you to speak at once!"
"Permit me to land us first," he said. And not waiting for her permission, he turned onto the base leg, brought the wings into optimum lift, settled gently onto the bright orange pad atop the roof.
"Now," Alia said. "Speak."
"I told him that to endure oneself may be the hardest task in the universe."
She shook her head. "That's... that's... "
"A bitter pill," he said, watching the guards run toward them across the roof, taking up their escort positions.
"Bitter nonsense!"
"The greatest palatinate earl and the lowliest stipendiary serf share the same problem. You cannot hire a mentat or any other intellect to solve it for you. There's no writ of inquest or calling of witnesses to provide answers. No servant - or disciple - can dress the wound. You dress it yourself or continue bleeding for all to see."
She whirled away from him, realizing in the instant of action what this betrayed about her own feelings. Without wile of voice or witch-wrought trickery, he had reached into her psyche once more. How did he do this?
"What have you told him to do?" she whispered.
"I told him to judge, to impose order."
Alia stared out at the guard, marking how patiently they waited - how orderly. "To dispense justice," she murmured.
"Not that!" he snapped. "I suggested that he judge, no more, guided by one principle, perhaps..."
"And that?"
"To keep his friends and destroy his enemies."
"To judge unjustly, then."
"What is justice? Two forces collide. Each may have the right in his own sphere. And here's where an Emperor commands orderly solutions. Those collisions he cannot prevent - he solves."
"How?"
"In the simplest way: he decides."
"Keeping his friends and destroying his enemies."
"Isn't that stability? People want order, this kind or some other. They sit in the prison of their hungers and see that war has become the sport of the rich. That's a dangerous form of sophistication. It's disorderly."
"I will suggest to my brother that you are much too dangerous and must be destroyed," she said, turning to face him.
"A solution I've already suggested," he said.
"And that's why you are dangerous," she said, measuring out her words. "You've mastered your passions."
"That is not why I'm dangerous." Before she could move, he leaned across, gripped her chin in one hand, planted his lips on hers.
It was a gentle kiss, brief. He pulled away and she stared at him with a shock leavened by glimpses of spasmodic grins on the faces of her guardsmen still standing at orderly attention outside.
Alia put a finger to her lips. There'd been such a sense of familiarity about that kiss. His lips had been flesh of a future she'd seen in some prescient byway. Breast heaving, she said: "I should have you flayed."
"Because I'm dangerous?"
"Because you presume too much!"
"I presume nothing. I take nothing which is not first offered to me. Be glad I did not take all that was offered." He opened his door, slid out. "Come along. We've dallied too long on a fool's errand." He strode toward the entrance dome beyond the pad.