Ahhh, Sabiha, he thought, recalling that other vision which filled his heart with pain. Many nights have I dreamed beside the open water, hearing the winds pass overhead. Many nights my flesh lay beside the snake's den and I dreamed of Sabiha in the summer heat. I saw her storing spice-bread baked on red-hot sheets of plasteel. I saw the clear water in the qanat, gentle and shining, but a storm wind ran through my heart. She sips coffee and eats. Her teeth shine in the shadows. I see her braiding my water rings into her hair. The amber fragrance of her bosom strikes through to my innermost senses. She torments me and oppresses me by her very existence.
The pressure of his multi-memories exploded the time-frozen englobement which he had tried to resist. He felt twining bodies, the sounds of sex, rhythms laced in every sensory impression: lips, breathing, moist breaths, tongues. Somewhere in his vision there were helix shapes, coal-colored, and he felt the beat of those shapes as they turned within him. A voice pleaded in his skull: 'Please, please, please, please...' There was an adult beefswelling in his loins and he felt his mouth open, holding, clinging to the girder-shape of ecstasy. Then a sigh, a lingering groundswelling sweetness, a collapse.
Oh, how sweet to let that come into existence!
'Sabiha,' he whispered. 'Oh, my Sabiha.'
When her charge had clearly gone deeply into the trance after his food, Sabiha took the bowl and left, pausing at the doorway to speak to Namri. 'He called my name again.'
'Go back and stay with him,' Namri said. 'I must find Halleck and discuss this with him.'
Sabiha deposited the bowl beside the doorway and returned to the cell. She sat on the edge of the cot, staring at Leto's shadowed face.
Presently he opened his eyes and put a hand out, touching her cheek. He began to talk to her then, telling her about the vision in which she had lived.
She covered his hand with her own as he spoke. How sweet he was... how very swee - She sank onto the cot, cushioned by his hand, unconscious before he pulled the hand away. Leto sat up, feeling the depths of his weakness. The spice and its visions had drained him. He searched through his cells for every spare spark of energy, climbed from the cot without disturbing Sabiha. He had to go, but he knew he'd not get far. Slowly he sealed his stillsuit, drew the robe around him, slipped through the passage to the outer shaft. There were a few people about, busy at their own affairs. They knew him, but he was not their responsibility. Namri and Halleck would know what he was doing; Sabiha could not be far away.
He found the kind of side passage he needed and walked boldly down it.
Behind him Sabiha slept peacefully until Halleck roused her.
She sat up, rubbed her eyes, saw the empty cot, saw her uncle standing behind Halleck, the anger on their faces.
Namri answered the expression on her face: 'Yes, he's gone.'
'How could you let him escape?' Halleck raged. 'How is this possible?'
'He was seen going toward the lower exit,' Namri said, his voice oddly calm.
Sabiha cowered in front of them, remembering.
'How?' Halleck demanded.
'I don't know. I don't know.'
'It's night and he's weak,' Namri said. 'He won't get far.'
Halleck whirled on him. 'You want the boy to die!'
'It wouldn't displease me.'
Again Halleck confronted Sabiha. 'Tell me what happened.'
'He touched my cheek. He kept talking about his vision... us together.' She looked down at the empty cot. 'He made me sleep. He put some magic on me.'
Halleck glanced at Namri. 'Could he be hiding inside somewhere?'
'Nowhere inside. He'd be found, seen. He was headed for the exit. He's out there.'
'Magic,' Sabiha muttered.
'No magic,' Namri said. 'He hypnotized her. Almost did it to me, you remember? Said I was his friend.'
'He's very weak,' Halleck said.
'Only in his body,' Namri said. 'He won't go far, though. I disabled the heel pumps of his stillsuit. He'll die with no water if we don't find him.'
Halleck almost turned and struck Namri, but held himself in rigid control. Jessica had warned him that Namri might have to kill the lad. Gods below! What a pass they'd come to, Atreides against Atreides. He said: 'Is it possible he just wandered away in the spice trance?'
'What difference does it make?' Namri asked. 'If he escapes us he must die.'
'We'll start searching at first light,' Halleck said. 'Did he take a Fremkit?'
'There're always a few beside the doorseal,' Namri said. 'He'd've been a fool not to take one. Somehow he has never struck me as a fool.'
'Then send a message to our friends,' Halleck said. 'Tell them what's happened.'
'No messages this night,' Namri said. 'There's a storm coming. The tribes have been tracking it for three days now. It'll be here by midnight. Already communication's blanked out. The satellites signed off this sector two hours ago.'
A deep sigh shook Halleck. The boy would die out there for sure if the sandblast storm caught him. It would eat the flesh from his bones and sliver the bones to fragments. The contrived false death would become real. He slapped a fist into an open palm. The storm could trap them in the sietch. They couldn't even mount a search. And storm static had already isolated the sietch.
'Distrans,' he said, thinking they might imprint a message onto a bat's voice and dispatch it with the alarm.
Namri shook his head. 'Bats won't fly in a storm. Come on, man. They're more sensitive than we are. They'll cower in the cliffs until it's past. Best to wait for the satellites to pick us up again. Then we can try to find his remains.'
'Not if he took a Fremkit and hid in the sand,' Sabiha said.
Cursing under his breath, Halleck whirled away from them, strode out into the sietch.
= = = = = =
Peace demands solutions, but we never reach living solutions; we only work toward them. A fixed solution is, by definition, a dead solution. The trouble with peace is that it tends to punish mistakes instead of rewarding brilliance. -The Words of My Father: an account of Muad'Dib reconstructed by Harq al-Ada
'She's training him? She's training Farad'n?'
Alia glared at Duncan Idaho with a deliberate mix of anger and incredulity. The Guild heighliner had swung into orbit around Arrakis at noon local. An hour later the lighter had put Idaho down at Arrakeen, unannounced, but all casual and open. Within minutes a 'thopter had deposited him atop the Keep. Warned of his impending arrival, Alia had greeted him there, coldly formal before her guards, but now they stood in her quarters beneath the north rim. He had just delivered his report, truthfully, precisely, emphasizing each datum in mentat fashion.
'She has taken leave of her senses,' Alia said.
He treated the statement as a mentat problem. 'All the indicators are that she remains well balanced, sane. I should say her sanity index was -'
'Stop that!' Alia snapped. 'What can she be thinking of?'
Idaho, who knew that his own emotional balance depended now upon retreat into mentat coldness, said: 'I compute she is thinking of her granddaughter's betrothal.' His features remained carefully bland, a mask for the raging grief which threatened to engulf him. There was no Alia here. Alia was dead. For a time he'd maintained a myth-Alia before his senses, someone he'd manufactured out of his own needs, but a mentat could carry on such self-deception for only a limited time. This creature in human guise was possessed; a demon-psyche drove her. His steely eyes with their myriad facets available at will reproduced upon his vision centers a multiplicity of myth-Alias. But when he combined them into a single image, no Alia remained. Her features moved to other demands. She was
