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"You try to walk backward in the sand," Alia intoned. "Nothing is lost.
Everything returns later, but you may not recognize the changed form that
returns."
"Alia, I don't understand!" the woman wailed.
"You live in the air but you do not see it," Alia said, sharpness in her
voice. "Are you a lizard? Your voice has the Fremen accent. Does a Fremen try to
bring back the dead? What do we need from our dead except their water?"
Down in the center of the nave, a man in a rich red cloak lifted both hands,
the sleeves falling to expose white-clad arms. "Alia," he shouted, "I have had a
business proposal. Should I accept?"
"You come here like a beggar," Alia said. "You look for the golden bowl but
you will find only a dagger."
"I have been asked to kill a man!" a voice shouted from off to the right --
a deep voice with sietch tones. "Should I accept? Accepting, would I succeed?"
"Beginning and end are a single thing," Alia snapped. "Have I not told you
this before? You didn't come here to ask that question. What is it you cannot
believe that you must come here and cry out against it?"
"She's in a fierce mood tonight," a woman near Paul muttered. "Have you ever
seen her this angry?"
She knows I'm out here, Paul thought. Did she see something in the vision
that angered her? Is she raging at me?
"Alia," a man directly in front of Paul called. "Tell these businessmen and
faint-hearts how long your brother will rule!"
"I permit you to look around that corner by yourself," Alia snarled. "You
carry your prejudice in your mouth! It is because my brother rides the worm of
chaos that you have roof and water!"
With a fierce gesture, clutching her robe, Alia whirled away, strode through
the shimmering ribbons of light, was lost in the darkness behind.
Immediately, the acolytes took up the closing chant, but their rhythm was
off. Obviously, they'd been caught by the unexpected ending of the rite. An
incoherent mumbling arose on all sides of the crowd. Paul felt the stirring
around him -- restless, dissatisfied.
"It was that fool with his stupid question about business," a woman near
Paul muttered. "The hypocrite!"
What had Alia seen? What track through the future?
Something had happened here tonight, souring the rite of the oracle.
Usually, the crowd clamored for Alia to answer their pitiful questions. They
came as beggars to the oracle, yes. He had heard them thus many times as he'd
watched, hidden in the darkness behind the altar. What had been different about
this night?
The old Fremen tugged Paul's sleeve, nodded toward the exit. The crowd
already was beginning to push in that direction. Paul allowed himself to be
pressed along with them, the guide's hand upon his sleeve. There was the feeling
in him then that his body had become the manifestation of some power he could no
longer control. He had become a non-being, a stillness which moved itself. At
the core of the non-being, there he existed, allowing himself to be led through
the streets of his city, following a track so familiar to his visions that it
froze his heart with grief,
I should know what Alia saw, bethought, I have seen it enough times myself.
And she didn't cry out against it . . . she saw the alternatives, too.
= = = = = =
Production growth and income growth must not get out of step in my Empire. That
is the substance of my command. There are to be no balance-of-payment
difficulties between the different spheres of influence. And the reason for this
is simply because I command it. I want to emphasize my authority in this area. I
am the supreme energy-eater of this domain, and will remain so, alive or dead.
My Government is the economy.
-Order in Council The Emperor Paul Muad'dib
"I will leave you here," the old man said, taking his hand from Paul's
sleeve. "It is on the right, second door from the far end. Go with Shai-hulud,
Muad'dib . . . and remember when you were Usul."
Paul's guide slipped away into the darkness.
There would be Security men somewhere out there waiting to grab the guide
and take the man to a place of questioning, Paul knew. But Paul found himself
hoping the old Fremen would escape.
There were stars overhead and the distant light of First Moon somewhere
beyond the Shield Wall. But this place was not the open desert where a man could
sight on a star to guide his course. The old man had brought him into one of the
new suburbs; this much Paul recognized.
This street now was thick with sand blown in from encroaching dunes. A dim
light glowed from a single public suspensor globe far down the street. It gave
enough illumination to show that this was a dead-end street.
The air around him was thick with the smell of a reclamation still. The
thing must be poorly capped for its fetid odors to escape, loosing a dangerously
wasteful amount of moisture into the night air. How careless his people had
grown, Paul thought. They were millionaires of water -- forgetful of the days
when a man on Arrakis could have been killed for just an eighth share of the
water in his body.
Why am I hesitating? Paul wondered. It is the second door from the far end.
I knew that without being told. But this thing must be played out with
precision. So . . . I hesitate.
The noise of an argument arose suddenly from the corner house on Paul's
left. A woman there berated someone: the new wing of their house leaked dust,
she complained. Did he think water fell from heaven? If dust came in, moisture
got out.
Some remember, Paul thought.
He moved down the street and the quarrel faded away behind. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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