fh.godemperorofdune-第5部分

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rs　wide　ran　like　spokes　from　the　hub　where　he　waited。　His　cart　had　been　positioned　at　the　center　of　the　hub　in　a　domed　and　circular　chamber　four　hundred　meters　in　diameter　and　one　hundred　meters　high　at　its　tallest　point　above　him。
　He　found　these　dimensions　reassuring。
　It　was　early　afternoon　at　the　Citadel；　but　the　only　light　in　his　chamber　came　from　the　random　drifting　of　a　few　suspensorborne　glowglobes　tuned　into　low　orange。　The　light　did　not　penetrate　far　into　the　spokes；　but　Leto's　memories　told　him　the　exact　position　of　everything　there　the　water；　the　bones；　the　dust　of　his　ancestors　and　of　the　Atreides　who　had　lived　and　died　since　the　Dune　times。　All　of　them　were　here；　plus　a　few　containers　of　melange　to　create　the　illusion　that　this　was　all　of　his　hoard　should　it　ever　e　to　such　an　extreme。
　Leto　knew　why　the　Duncan　was　ing。　Idaho　had　learned　that　the　Tleilaxu　were　making　another　Duncan；　another　ghola　created　to　the　specifications　demanded　by　the　God　Emperor。　This　Duncan　feared　that　he　was　being　replaced　after　almost　sixty　years　of　service。　It　was　always　something　of　that　nature　which　began　the　subversion　of　the　Duncans。　A　Guild　envoy　had　waited　upon　Leto　earlier　to　warn　that　the　Ixians　had　delivered　a　lasgun　to　this　Duncan。
　Leto　chuckled。　The　Guild　remained　extremely　sensitive　to　anything　which　might　threaten　their　slender　supply　of　spice。　They　were　terrified　at　the　thought　that　Leto　was　the　last　link　with　the　sandworms　which　had　produced　the　original　stockpiles　of　melange。
　If　II　die　away　from　water；　there　will　be　no　more　spice…not　ever。
　That　was　the　Guild's　fear。　And　their　historian…accountants　assured　them　Leto　sat　on　the　largest　store　of　melange　in　the　universe。　This　knowledge　made　the　Guild　almost　reliable　as　allies。
　While　he　waited；　Leto　did　the　hand　and　finger　exercises　of　his　Bene　Gesserit　inheritance。　The　hands　were　his　pride。　Beneath　a　gray　membrane　of　sandtrout　skin；　their　long　digits　and　opposable　thumbs　could　be　used　much　as　any　human　hands。　The　almost　useless　flippers　which　once　had　been　his　feet　and　legs　were　more　inconvenience　than　shame。　He　could　crawl；　roll　and　toss　his　body　with　astonishing　speed；　but　he　sometimes　fell　on　the　flippers　and　there　was　pain。
　What　was　delaying　the　Duncan？
　Leto　imagined　the　man　vacillating；　staring　out　a　window　across　the　fluid　horizon　of　the　Sareer。　The　air　was　alive　with　heat　today。　Before　descending　to　the　crypt；　Leto　had　seen　a　mirage　in　the　southwest。　The　heat…mirror　tipped　and　flashed　an　image　across　the　sand；　showing　him　a　band　of　Museum　Fremen　trudging　past　a　Display　Sietch　for　the　edification　of　tourists。
　It　was　cool　in　the　crypt；　always　cool；　the　illumination　always　low。　Tunnel　spokes　were　dark　holes　sloping　upward　and　downward　in　gentle　gradients　to　acmodate　the　Royal　Cart。　Some　tunnels　extended　beyond　false　walls　for　many　kilometers；　passages　Leto　had　created　for　himself　with　lxian　tools…feeding　tunnels　and　secret　ways。
　As　he　contemplated　the　ing　interview；　a　sense　of　nervousness　began　to　grow　in　Leto。　He　found　this　an　interesting　emotion；　one　he　had　been　known　to　enjoy。　Leto　knew　that　he　had　grown　reasonably　fond　of　the　current　Duncan。　There　was　a　reservoir　of　hope　in　Leto　that　the　man　would　survive　the　ing　interview。　Sometimes　they　did。　There　was　little　likelihood　the　Duncan　posed　a　mortal　threat；　although　this　had　to　be　left　to　such　chance　as　existed。　Leto　had　tried　to　explain　this　to　one　of　the　earlier　Duncans。。。right　here　in　this　room。
　〃You　will　think　it　strange　that　；　with　my　powers；　can　speak　of　luck　and　chance；〃　Leto　had　said。
　The　Duncan　had　been　angry。　〃You　leave　nothing　to　chance！　I　know　you！〃
　〃How　naive。　Chance　is　the　nature　of　our　universe。〃
　〃Not　chance！　Mischief。　And　you're　the　author　of　mischief！〃
　〃Excellent；　Duncan！　Mischief　is　a　most　profound　pleasure。　It's　in　the　ways　we　deal　with　mischief　that　we　sharpen　creativity。〃
　〃You're　not　even　human　anymore！〃　Oh；　how　angry　the　Duncan　had　been。
　Leto　had　found　his　accusation　irritating；　like　a　grain　of　sand　in　an　eye。　He　held　onto　the　remnants　of　his　once…human　self　with　a　grimness　which　could　not　be　denied；　although　irritation　was　the　closest　he　could　e　to　anger。
　〃Your　life　is　being　a　cliche；〃　Leto　had　accused。
　Whereupon　the　Duncan　had　produced　a　small　explosive　from　the　folds　of　his　uniform　robe。　What　a　surprise！
　Leto　loved　surprises；　even　nasty　ones。
　It　is　something　I　did　not　predict！　And　he　said　as　much　to　Duncan；　who　had　stood　there　oddly　undecided　now　that　decision　was　absolutely　demanded　of　him。
　〃This　could　kill　you；〃　the　Duncan　said。
　〃I'm　sorry；　Duncan。　It　will　do　a　small　amount　of　injury；　no　more。〃
　〃But　you　said　you　didn't　predict　this！〃　The　Duncan's　voice　had　grown　shrill。
　〃Duncan；　Duncan；　it　is　absolute　prediction　which　equals　death　to　me。　How　unutterably　boring　death　is。〃
　At　the　last　instant；　the　Duncan　had　tried　to　throw　the　explosive　to　one　side；　but　the　material　in　it　had　been　unstable　and　it　had　gone　off　too　soon。　The　Duncan　had　died。　Ahh；　well…the　Tleilaxu　always　had　another　in　their　axlotl　tanks。
　One　of　the　drifting　glowglobes　above　Leto　began　to　blink。　Excitement　gripped　him。　Moneo's　signal！　Faithful　Moneo　had　alerted　his　God　Emperor　that　the　Duncan　was　descending　to　the　crypt。
　The　door　to　the　human　lift　between　two　spoked　passages　in　the　northwest　arc　of　the　hub　swung　open。　The　Duncan　strode　forth；　a　small　figure　at　that　distance；　but　Leto's　eyes　discerned　even　tiny　details；　a　wrinkle　on　the　uniform　elbow　which　said　the　man　had　been　leaning　somewhere；　chin　in　hand。　Yes；　there　were　still　the　marks　of　his　hand　on　the　chin。　The　Duncan's　odor　preceded　him：　the　man　was　high　on　his　own　adrenalin。
　Leto　remained　silent　while　the　Duncan　approached；　observing　details。　The　Duncan　still　walked　with　the　spring　of　youth　despite　all　of　his　long　service。　He　could　thank　a　minimal　ingestion　of　melange　for　that。　The　man　wore　the　old　Atreides　uniform；　black　with　a　golden　hawk　at　the　left　breast。　An　interesting　statement；　that：　〃I　serve　the　honor　of　the　old　Atreides！〃　His　hair　was　still　the　black　cap　of　karakul；　the　features　fixed　in　stony　sharpness　with　high　cheekbones。
　The　Tleilaxu　make　their　gholas　well；　Leto　thought。
　The　Duncan　carried　a　thin　briefcase　woven　of　dark　brown　fibers；　one　he　had　carried　for　many　years。　It　usually　contained　the　material　upon　which　he　based　his　reports；　but　today　it　bulged　with　some　heavier　weight。
　The　Ixian　lasgun。
　Idaho　kept　his　attention　on　Leto's　face　as　he　walked。　The　face　remained　disconcertingly　Atreides；　lean　features　with　eyes　of　total　blue　which　the　nervous　felt　as　a　physical　intrusion。　It　lurked　deep　within　a　gray　cowl　of　sandtrout　skin　which；　Idaho　knew；　could　roll　forward　protectively　in　a　flickering　reflex；　a　face　blink　rather　than　an　eye　blink。　The　skin　was　pink　within　its　gray　frame。　It　was　difficult　avoiding　the　thought　that　Leto's　face　was　an　obscenity；　a　lost　bit　of　humanity　trapped　in　something　alien。
　Stopping　only　six　paces　from　the　Royal　Cart；　Idaho　did　not　attempt　to　conceal　his　angry　determination。　He　did　not　even　think　about　whether　Leto　knew　of　the　lasgun。　This　Imperium　had　wandered　too　far　from　the　old　Atreides　morality；　had　bee　an　impersonal　juggernaut　which　crushed　the　innocent　in　its　path。　It　had　to　be　ended。
　〃I　have　e　to　talk　to　you　about　Siona　and　other　matters；〃　Idaho　said。　He　brought　the　case　into　position　where　he　could　withdraw　the　lasgun　easily。
　〃Very　well。〃　Leto's　voice　was　full　of　boredom。
　〃Siona　was　the　only　one　who　escaped；　but　she　still　has　a　base　of　rebel　panions。〃
　〃You　think　I　don't　know　this！〃
　〃I　know　your　dangerous　tolerance　for　rebels！　What　I　don't　know　is　the　contents　of　that　package　she　stole。〃
　〃Oh；　that。　She　has　the　plete　plans　for　the　Citadel。〃
　For　just　a　moment；　Idaho　was　Leto's　Guard　mander；　deeply　shocked　at　such　a　breach　of　security。
　〃You　let　her　escape　with　that？〃
　〃No；　you　did。〃
　Idaho　recoiled　from　this　accusation。　Slowly。　the　newly　resolved　assassin　in　him　regained　ascendancy。
　〃Is　that　all　she　got？〃　Idaho　asked。
　〃I　had　two　volumes；　copies　of　my　journal；　in　with　the　charts。　She　stole　the　copies。〃
　Idaho　studied　Leto's　immobile　face。　〃What　is　in　these　journals？　Sometimes　you　say　it's　a　diary；