Paul shook his head. "No." He glanced at Stilgar. "Stil, arrange for the message to be sent to Wallach."
"At once, m'Lord."
Paul turned away, waited while Stilgar summoned guards, left with the old witch. He sensed Alia debating whether to confront him with more questions. She turned, instead, to the ghola.
"Mentat," she said, "will the Tleilaxu bid for favor with my brother?"
The ghola shrugged.
Paul felt his attention wander. The Tleilaxu? No... not in the way Alia meant. Her question revealed, though, that she had not seen the alternatives here. Well... vision varied from sibyl to sibyl. Why not a variance from brother to sister? Wandering... wandering... He came back from each thought with a start to pick up shards of the nearby conversation.
"... must know what the Tleilaxu..."
"... the fullness of data is always..."
"... healthy doubts where... "
Paul turned, looked at his sister, caught her attention. He knew she would see tears on his face and wonder at them. Let her wonder. Wondering was a kindness now. He glanced at the ghola, seeing only Duncan Idaho despite the metallic eyes. Sorrow and compassion warred in Paul. What might those metal eyes record?
There are many degrees of sight and many degrees of blindness, Paul thought. His mind turned to a paraphrase of the passage from the Orange Catholic Bible: 'What senses do we lack that we cannot see another world all around us?'
Were those metal eyes another sense than sight?
Alia crossed to her brother, sensing his utter sadness. She touched a tear on his cheek with a Fremen gesture of awe, said: "We must not grieve for those dear to us before their passing."
"Before their passing," Paul whispered. "Tell me, little sister, what is before?"
= = = = = =
"I've had a bellyful of the god and priest business! You think I don't see my own mythos? Consult your data once more, Hayt. I've insinuated my rites into the most elementary human acts. The people eat in the name of Muad'dib! They make love in my name, are born in my name - cross the street in my name. A roof beam cannot be raised in the lowliest hovel of far Gangishree without invoking the blessing of Muad'dib!" -Book of Diatribes from The Hayt Chronicle
"You risk much leaving your post and coming to me here at this time," Edric said, glaring through the walls of his tank at the Face Dancer.
"How weak and narrow is your thinking," Scytale said. "Who is it who comes to visit you?"
Edric hesitated, observing the hulk shape, heavy eyelids, blunt face. It was early in the day and Edric's metabolism had not yet cycled from night repose into full melange consumption.
"This is not the shape which walked the streets?" Edric asked.
"One would not look twice at some of the figures I have been today," Scytale said.
The chameleon thinks a change of shape will hide him from anything, Edric thought with rare insight. And he wondered if his presence in the conspiracy truly hid them from all oracular powers. The Emperor's sister, now...
Edric shook his head, stirring the orange gas of his tank, said: "Why are you here?"
"The gift must be prodded to swifter action," Scytale said.
"That cannot be done."
"A way must be found," Scytale insisted.
"Why?"
"Things are not to my liking. The Emperor is trying to split us. Already he has made his bid to the Bene Gesserit."
"Oh, that."
"That! You must prod the ghola to... "
"You fashioned him, Tleilaxu," Edric said. "You know better than to ask this." He paused, moved closer to the transparent wall of his tank. "Or did you lie to us about this gift?"
"Lie?"
"You said the weapon was to be aimed and released, nothing more. Once the ghola was given we could not tamper."
"Any ghola can be disturbed," Scytale said. "You need do nothing more than question him about his original being."
"What will this do?"
"It will stir him to actions which will serve our purposes."
"He is a mentat with powers of logic and reason," Edric objected. "He may guess what I'm doing... or the sister. If her attention is focused upon -"
"Do you hide us from the sibyl or don't you?" Scytale asked.
"I'm not afraid of oracles," Edric said. "I'm concerned with logic, with real spies, with the physical powers of the Imperium, with the control of the spice, with -"
"One can contemplate the Emperor and his powers comfortably if one remembers that all things are Finite," Scytale said.
Oddly, the Steersman recoiled in agitation, threshing his limbs like some weird newt. Scytale fought a sense of loathing at the sight. The Guild Navigator wore his usual dark leotard bulging at the belt with various containers. Yet... he gave the impression of nakedness when he moved. It was the swimming, reaching movements, Scytale decided, and he was struck once more by the delicate linkages of their conspiracy. They were not a compatible group. That was weakness.
Edric's agitation subsided. He stared out at Scytale, vision colored by the orange gas which sustained him. What plot did the Face Dancer hold in reserve to save himself? Edric wondered. The Tleilaxu was not acting in a predictable fashion. Evil omen.
Something in the Navigator's voice and actions told Scytale that the Guildsman feared the sister more than the Emperor. This was an abrupt thought flashed on the screen of awareness. Disturbing. Had they overlooked something important about Alia? Would the ghola be sufficient weapon to destroy both?
"You know what is said of Alia?" Scytale asked, probing.