bh.houseatreides-第69部分

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cked；　soon　to　bee　the　headquarters　for　the　new　masters　of　Ix。
　Had　Kailea　Vernius　departed　with　her　family；　fleeing　the　destruction？　C'tair　hoped　so；　for　her　sake。　Otherwise；　she　would　have　been　a　target　for　the　angry　revolutionaries。　She　was　a　beautiful　young　woman　bred　for　Court　functions　and　finery　and　palace　intrigues；　never　for　tooth…and…nail　survival。
　It　made　him　sick　to　think　of　his　beloved　city；　pillaged　and　trampled。　He　remembered　the　crystal　walkways；　the　stalactite　buildings；　the　magnificent　achievements　of　the　Heighliner　construction；　a　craft　that　could　be　whisked　away　like　magic　by　the　powers　of　a　Guild　Navigator。　How　often　had　he　and　D'murr　explored　long　tunnels；　looked　out　at　the　massive　grottoes；　watched　prosperity　spread　to　all　Ix's　inhabitants？　Now　the　suboids　had　ruined　everything。　And　for　what？　He　doubted　even　they　understood。
　Possibly　C'tair　could　find　a　passage　to　the　surface；　contact　a　transport　ship；　use　stolen　credits　to　buy　a　passage　off　of　Ix　and　make　his　way　to　Kaitain；　where　he　would　contact　his　father。　Was　Cammar　Pilru　even　still　the　Ambassador？　Of　a　government　in　exile？　Probably　not。
　No；　C'tair　could　not　leave　here　and　abandon　his　world　to　its　fate。　This　was　Ix；　his　home；　and　he　refused　to　run。　He　did　vow　to　survive；　though。。。somehow。　He　would　do　whatever　it　took。　Once　the　dust　settled；　he　could　wear　old　clothes　and　meekly　pretend　to　be　one　of　the　disaffected　Ixians　coping　with　new　planetary　masters。　He　doubted　he　would　ever　be　safe；　however。
　Not　if　he　intended　to　continue　the　fight。。。
　In　ensuing　weeks；　C'tair　was　able　to　sneak　out　of　his　hideout　late　in　the　programmed　subterranean　nights；　utilizing　an　Ixian　life…tracer　to　avoid　Tleilaxu　guards　and　other　enemy　personnel。　With　disgust　he　watched　magnificent　Vernii　crumble　in　front　of　his　eyes。
　The　Grand　Palais　was　now　occupied　by　the　ugly　gnome…men；　treacherous　gray…skinned　usurpers　who　had　stolen　an　entire　world　under　the　indifferent　eyes　of　the　Imperium。　They　had　flooded　the　underground　city　with　their　furtive；　robed　representatives。　Ferretlike　invader　teams　scoured　the　stalactite　buildings　in　search　of　any　nobles　in　hiding。　Face　Dancer　troops　proved　much　more　efficient　than　the　reckless　lower　classes。
　Far　below；　suboids　reveled　in　the　streets。。。but　they　didn't　know　what　else　to　do。　Soon；　they　grew　bored　and　went　sullenly　back　to　their　old　jobs。　Without　Face　Dancer　instigators　to　tell　them　what　to　want　or　demand；　the　suboids　had　no　organized　meetings；　no　way　to　make　their　own　decisions。　Their　lives　became　the　same　again；　under　different　masters；　with　tighter　production　quotas。　C'tair　realized　that　the　new　Tleilaxu　overseers　would　have　to　begin　making　enormous　profits　in　order　to　pay　the　material　costs　of　this　takeover。
　On　the　streets　of　the　underground　city；　C'tair　shuffled　unnoticed　among　the　defeated　populace　　shift　supervisors　and　families　of　mid…ranked　workers　who　had　survived　the　purges　and　had　nowhere　to　go。　Dressed　in　drab　clothes；　he　crossed　damaged　walkways　into　the　ruined　upper　city　and　took　lift　tubes　down　to　the　rubble　of　the　manufacturing　centers。　He　couldn't　hide　forever；　but　he　couldn't　be　seen　yet　either。
　C'tair　refused　to　accept　that　the　battle　was　already　lost。　The　Bene　Tleilax　had　few　friends　among　the　Landsraad；　and　they　certainly　couldn't　withstand　a　coordinated　resistance。　Yet；　Ix　seemed　to　offer　none。
　Standing　in　a　small；　cowed　group　of　pedestrians　on　a　sidewalk　made　of　interlocked　tiles；　he　watched　blond；　chiseled…featured　soldiers　march　by。　They　wore　gray…and…black　uniforms　　definitely　not　Ixians　or　suboids；　and　certainly　not　Tleilaxu。　Tall　and　erect；　the　haughty　soldiers　carried　stunners；　wore　black　riot…control　helmets；　and　enforced　order。　A　new　order。　With　horror；　he　recognized　them。
　The　Emperor's　Sardaukar！
　The　sight　of　Imperial　troops　assisting　in　the　takeover　made　C'tair　furious　as　he　prehended　greater　depths　to　this　conspiracy。。。but　he　masked　his　emotions　in　the　crowd。　He　couldn't　allow　anyone　to　notice　him。　Around　him；　he　heard　the　grumbling　of　Ixian　natives　　despite　Sardaukar　enforcement；　even　the　middle　classes　were　none　too　content　with　their　changed　situation。　Earl　Vernius　had　been　a　good…natured　if　somewhat　preoccupied　ruler；　the　Bene　Tleilax；　on　the　other　hand；　were　religious　fanatics　with　brutal　rules。　Many　of　the　freedoms　Ixians　took　for　granted　would　soon　vanish　under　Tleilaxu　government。
　C'tair　wished　he　could　do　something　to　get　even　with　these　treacherous　invaders。　He　vowed　to　make　that　his　focus　for　as　long　as　it　might　take。
　As　he　crept　along　the　gloomy；　damaged　streets　on　the　grotto　floor；　it　saddened　him　to　see　buildings　blackened　and　crumbling　from　the　ceiling。　The　upper　city　had　been　gutted。　Two　of　the　diamond　pillars　supporting　the　immense　rock　roof　had　been　blown；　and　the　resulting　avalanches　had　buried　entire　blocks　of　suboid　dwelling　plexes。
　With　a　muffled　groan；　C'tair　realized　that　virtually　all　of　the　grand　Ixian　public　artworks　had　been　destroyed；　including　the　stylized　Guild　Heighliner　model　that　had　graced　Plaza　Dome。　Even　the　beautiful　fiber…optic　sky　on　the　rock　ceiling　was　damaged　and　the　projections　were　splotchy　now。　The　dour　and　fanatical　Tleilaxu　had　never　been　known　to　appreciate　art。　To　them；　it　simply　got　in　the　way。
　He　remembered　that　Kailea　Vernius　had　dabbled　in　painting　and　motile　sculptures。　She　had　talked　with　C'tair　about　certain　styles　that　were　all　the　rage　on　Kaitain　and　had　greedily　absorbed　any　tourist　images　his　father　brought　back　from　ambassadorial　duties。　But　now　the　art　was　gone；　and　so　was　Kailea。
　Once　again；　C'tair　felt　paralyzed　by　his　aloneness。
　Slipping　unnoticed　into　the　ruins　of　a　collapsed　outbuilding　in　what　had　once　been　a　botanical　park；　C'tair　stopped　suddenly；　transfixed。　Something　caught　his　eye；　and　he　squinted　to　clear　his　vision。
　Out　of　the　smoldering　rubble　emerged　the　hazy　image　of　a　familiar　old　man；　barely　visible。　C'tair　blinked　　could　this　be　his　imagination；　a　stuttering　hologram　from　a　diary…disk。。。or　something　else？　He　hadn't　eaten　all　day；　and　he　was　tense　and　weary　to　the　point　of　collapse。　But　still　the　image　was　there。　Wasn't　it？
　Through　smoke　and　acrid　fumes；　he　recognized　the　form　of　the　old　inventor　Davee　Rogo；　the　crippled　genius　who　had　befriended　the　twins　and　taught　them　his　innovations。　As　C'tair　gasped；　the　apparition　began　to　whisper　in　a　frail；　creaking　voice。　Was　it　a　ghost。。。a　vision；　a　mad　hallucination？　Eccentric　Rogo　seemed　to　be　telling　C'tair　what　to　do；　what　technological　ponents　he　needed；　and　how　to　put　them　all　together。
　〃Are　you　real？〃　C'tair　whispered；　stepping　closer。　〃What　are　you　telling　me？〃
　For　some　reason　the　blurry　image　of　old　Rogo　did　not　respond　to　questions。　C'tair　didn't　understand；　but　he　listened。　Wires　and　metal　parts　lay　strewn　at　his　feet　where　a　machine　had　been　wrecked　by　indiscriminate　explosives。　These　are　ponents　I　need。
　Bending　over　and　scanning　warily　for　unwanted　observers；　he　gathered　the　pieces　that　stood　out　in　his　mind；　along　with　other　technological　remnants：　small　bits　of　metal；　plaz　crystals；　and　electronic　cells。　The　old　man　had　given　him　some　kind　of　inspiration。
　C'tair　stuffed　the　items　into　his　pockets　and　beneath　his　clothing。　Ix　would　change　mightily　under　the　new　Tleilaxu　rule；　and　any　scrap　of　his　civilization's　precious　past　might　prove　valuable。　The　Tleilaxu　would　confiscate　everything　if　they　found　him。。。。
　In　the　following　days　of　haunted　exploration；　C'tair　never　saw　the　image　of　the　old　man　again；　never　truly　prehended　what　he　had　encountered；　but　he　worked　hard　to　add　to　his　technological　collection；　his　resources。　He　would　continue　this　battle。。。alone；　if　necessary。
　Each　night　he　passed　under　the　noses　of　the　enemy　as　they　settled　in　for　permanent　occupation。　He　ransacked　empty　portions　of　the　upper　and　lower　city；　before　rebuilding　teams　could　clean　up　and　remove　unwanted　memories。
　Remembering　what　the　vision　of　Rogo　had　whispered　into　his　imagination；　he　began　to　construct。。。something。
　WHEN　THE　ATREIDES　rescue　ships　returned　to　Caladan　and　approached　the　spaceport　fields　of　Cala　City；　the　Old　Duke　made　only　minimal　attempts　at　a　grand　wele。　The　times　and　circumstances　were　too　sombe