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This is the awe-inspiring universe of magic: There are no atoms, only waves and
motions all around. Here, you discard all belief in barriers to understanding.
You put aside understanding itself. This universe cannot be seen, cannot be
heard, cannot be detected in any way by fixed perceptions. It is the ultimate
void where no preordained screens occur upon which forms may be projected. You
have only one awareness here -- the screen of the magi: Imagination! Here, you
learn what it is to be human. You are a creator of order, of beautiful shapes
and systems, an organizer of chaos.
-The Atreides Manifesto, Bene Gesserit Archives
"What you are doing is too dangerous," Teg said. "My orders are to protect you
and strengthen you. I cannot permit this to continue."
Teg and Duncan stood in the long, wood-paneled hallway just outside the no-
globe's practice floor. It was late afternoon by the clock of their arbitrary
routine and Lucilla had just swept away in anger after a vituperative
confrontation.
Every meeting between Duncan and Lucilla lately had taken on the nature of a
battle. Just now, she had stood in the doorway to the practice hall, a solid
figure saved from being stolid by her softening curves, the seductive movements
obvious to both males.
"Stop it, Lucilla!" Duncan had ordered.
Only her voice betrayed her anger: "How long do you think I will wait to carry
out my orders?"
"Until you or someone else tells me that I --"
"Taraza requires things of you that none of us here knows!" Lucilla said.
Teg tried to soothe the mounting angers: "Please. Isn't it enough that Duncan
continues to improve his performance? In a few days, I will start keeping
regular watch outside. We can --"
"You can stop interfering with me, damn you!" Lucilla snapped. She whirled and
stalked away.
As he saw the hard resolution on Duncan's face now, something furious began to
work in Teg. He felt impelled by the necessities of their isolated situation.
His intellect, that marvelously honed Mentat instrument, was shielded here from
the mental uproar to which it adjusted on the outside. He thought that if he
could only silence his mind, bring everything to stillness, all things would
become clear to him.
"Why are you holding your breath, Bashar?"
Duncan's voice impaled Teg. It required a supreme act of will to resume normal
breathing. He felt the emotions of his two companions in the no-globe as an ebb
and flow temporarily removed from other forces.
Other forces.
Mentat awareness could be an idiot in the presence of other forces that swept
through the universe. There might exist in the universe people whose lives were
infused with powers he could not imagine. Before such forces he would be chaff
moved on the froth of wild currents.
Who could plunge into such an uproar and emerge intact?
"What can Lucilla possibly do if I continue to resist her?" Duncan asked.
"Has she used Voice on you?" Teg asked. His own voice sounded remote to him.
"Once."
"You resisted?" Remote surprise lurked somewhere within Teg.
"I learned the way of that from Paul Muad'dib himself."
"She is capable of paralyzing you and --"
"I think her orders prohibit violence."
"What is violence, Duncan?"
"I'm going to the showers, Bashar. Are you coming?"
"In a few minutes." Teg took a deep breath, sensing how close he was to
exhaustion. This afternoon on the practice floor and afterward had drained him.
He watched Duncan leave. Where was Lucilla? What was she planning? How long
could she wait? That was the central question and it put the no-globe's
peculiar emphasis on their isolation from Time.
Again, he sensed that ebb and flow which their three lives influenced. I must
talk to Lucilla! Where has she gone? The library? No! There is something
else I must do first.
Lucilla sat in the room she had chosen for her personal quarters. It was a
small space with an ornate bed filling an inset into one wall. Gross and subtle
signs around her said this had been the room of a favorite Harkonnen hetaira.
Pastel blues with darker blue accents shaded the fabrics. Despite the baroque
carvings on bed, alcove, ceiling, and every functioning appurtenance, the room
itself could be swept out of her consciousness once she relaxed here. She lay
back on the bed and closed her eyes against the sexually gross figures on the
alcove ceiling.
Teg will have to be dealt with.
It would have to be done in such a way that it did not offend Taraza or weaken
the ghola. Teg presented a special problem in many ways, especially in the way
his mental processes could dip into and out of deeper sources akin to those of
the Bene Gesserit.
The Reverend Mother who bore him, of course!
Something passed from such a mother to such a child. It began in the womb and
probably did not end even when they were finally separated. He had never
undergone the all-ravening transmutation that produced Abominations . . . no,
not that. But he had subtle and real powers. Those born of Reverend Mothers
learned things impossible to others.
Teg knew precisely how Lucilla viewed love in all of its manifestations. She
had seen it on his face that once in his quarters at the Keep.
"Calculating witch!"
He might as well have spoken it aloud.
She recalled the way she had favored him with her benign smile and dominating
expression. That had been a mistake, demeaning to both of them. She sensed in
such thoughts a latent sympathy for Teg. Somewhere within her, despite all of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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This is the awe-inspiring universe of magic: There are no atoms, only waves and
motions all around. Here, you discard all belief in barriers to understanding.
You put aside understanding itself. This universe cannot be seen, cannot be
heard, cannot be detected in any way by fixed perceptions. It is the ultimate
void where no preordained screens occur upon which forms may be projected. You
have only one awareness here -- the screen of the magi: Imagination! Here, you
learn what it is to be human. You are a creator of order, of beautiful shapes
and systems, an organizer of chaos.
-The Atreides Manifesto, Bene Gesserit Archives
"What you are doing is too dangerous," Teg said. "My orders are to protect you
and strengthen you. I cannot permit this to continue."
Teg and Duncan stood in the long, wood-paneled hallway just outside the no-
globe's practice floor. It was late afternoon by the clock of their arbitrary
routine and Lucilla had just swept away in anger after a vituperative
confrontation.
Every meeting between Duncan and Lucilla lately had taken on the nature of a
battle. Just now, she had stood in the doorway to the practice hall, a solid
figure saved from being stolid by her softening curves, the seductive movements
obvious to both males.
"Stop it, Lucilla!" Duncan had ordered.
Only her voice betrayed her anger: "How long do you think I will wait to carry
out my orders?"
"Until you or someone else tells me that I --"
"Taraza requires things of you that none of us here knows!" Lucilla said.
Teg tried to soothe the mounting angers: "Please. Isn't it enough that Duncan
continues to improve his performance? In a few days, I will start keeping
regular watch outside. We can --"
"You can stop interfering with me, damn you!" Lucilla snapped. She whirled and
stalked away.
As he saw the hard resolution on Duncan's face now, something furious began to
work in Teg. He felt impelled by the necessities of their isolated situation.
His intellect, that marvelously honed Mentat instrument, was shielded here from
the mental uproar to which it adjusted on the outside. He thought that if he
could only silence his mind, bring everything to stillness, all things would
become clear to him.
"Why are you holding your breath, Bashar?"
Duncan's voice impaled Teg. It required a supreme act of will to resume normal
breathing. He felt the emotions of his two companions in the no-globe as an ebb
and flow temporarily removed from other forces.
Other forces.
Mentat awareness could be an idiot in the presence of other forces that swept
through the universe. There might exist in the universe people whose lives were
infused with powers he could not imagine. Before such forces he would be chaff
moved on the froth of wild currents.
Who could plunge into such an uproar and emerge intact?
"What can Lucilla possibly do if I continue to resist her?" Duncan asked.
"Has she used Voice on you?" Teg asked. His own voice sounded remote to him.
"Once."
"You resisted?" Remote surprise lurked somewhere within Teg.
"I learned the way of that from Paul Muad'dib himself."
"She is capable of paralyzing you and --"
"I think her orders prohibit violence."
"What is violence, Duncan?"
"I'm going to the showers, Bashar. Are you coming?"
"In a few minutes." Teg took a deep breath, sensing how close he was to
exhaustion. This afternoon on the practice floor and afterward had drained him.
He watched Duncan leave. Where was Lucilla? What was she planning? How long
could she wait? That was the central question and it put the no-globe's
peculiar emphasis on their isolation from Time.
Again, he sensed that ebb and flow which their three lives influenced. I must
talk to Lucilla! Where has she gone? The library? No! There is something
else I must do first.
Lucilla sat in the room she had chosen for her personal quarters. It was a
small space with an ornate bed filling an inset into one wall. Gross and subtle
signs around her said this had been the room of a favorite Harkonnen hetaira.
Pastel blues with darker blue accents shaded the fabrics. Despite the baroque
carvings on bed, alcove, ceiling, and every functioning appurtenance, the room
itself could be swept out of her consciousness once she relaxed here. She lay
back on the bed and closed her eyes against the sexually gross figures on the
alcove ceiling.
Teg will have to be dealt with.
It would have to be done in such a way that it did not offend Taraza or weaken
the ghola. Teg presented a special problem in many ways, especially in the way
his mental processes could dip into and out of deeper sources akin to those of
the Bene Gesserit.
The Reverend Mother who bore him, of course!
Something passed from such a mother to such a child. It began in the womb and
probably did not end even when they were finally separated. He had never
undergone the all-ravening transmutation that produced Abominations . . . no,
not that. But he had subtle and real powers. Those born of Reverend Mothers
learned things impossible to others.
Teg knew precisely how Lucilla viewed love in all of its manifestations. She
had seen it on his face that once in his quarters at the Keep.
"Calculating witch!"
He might as well have spoken it aloud.
She recalled the way she had favored him with her benign smile and dominating
expression. That had been a mistake, demeaning to both of them. She sensed in
such thoughts a latent sympathy for Teg. Somewhere within her, despite all of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]