Leto. Idaho was seeking answers, not providing information. Idaho wanted justification for a course of action already chosen.
'We have discovered a Cult of Alia on Giedi Prime,' Idaho said.
Leto remained silent while Idaho recounted the details. How boring. Leto let his thoughts wander. The worshippers of his father's long-dead sister served these days only to provide occasional amusement. The Duncans predictably saw such activity as a kind of underground threat.
Idaho finished reading. His agents were thorough, no denying it. Boringly thorough.
'This is nothing more than a revival of Isis,' Leto said. 'My priests and priestesses will have some sport suppressing this cult and its followers.'
Idaho shook his head as though responding to a voice within it.
'The Bene Gesserit knew about the cult,' he said.
Now that interested Leto.
'The Sisterhood has never forgiven me for taking their breeding program away from them,' he said.
'This has nothing to do with breeding.'
Leto concealed mild amusement. The Duncans were always so sensitive on the subject of breeding, although some of them occasionally stood at stud.
'I see,' Leto said. 'Well, the Bene Gesserit are all more than a little insane, but madness represents a chaotic reservoir of surprises. Some surprises can be valuable.'
'I fail to see any value in this.'
'Do you think the Sisterhood was behind this cult?' Leto asked.
'I do.'
'Explain.'
'They had a shrine. They called it `The Shrine of the Crysknife. '' 'Did they now?'
'And their chief priestess was called `The Keeper of Jessica's Light.' Does that suggest anything?'
'It's lovely!' Leto did not try to conceal his amusement.
'What is lovely about it?'
'They unite my grandmother and my aunt into a single goddess.'
Idaho shook his head slowly from side to side, not understanding.
Leto permitted himself a small internal pause, less than a blink. The grandmother-within did not particularly care for this Giedi Prime cult. He was required to wall off her memories and her identity.
'What do you suppose was the purpose of this cult?' Leto asked.
'Obvious. A competing religion to undermine your authority.'
'That's too simple. Whatever else they may be, the Bene Gesserit are not simpletons.'
Idaho waited for an explanation.
'They want more spice!' Leto said. 'More Reverend Mothers.'
'So they annoy you until you buy them off?'
'I am disappointed in you, Duncan.'
Idaho merely stared up at Leto, who contrived a sigh, a complicated gesture no longer intrinsic to his new form. The Duncans usually were brighter, but Leto supposed that this one's plot had clouded his alertness.
'They chose Giedi Prime as their home,' Leto said. 'What does that suggest?'
'It was a Harkonnen stronghold, but that's ancient history.'
'Your sister died there, a victim of the Harkonnens. It is right that the Harkonnens and Giedi Prime be united in your thoughts. Why did you not mention this earlier?'
'I didn't think it was important.'
Leto drew his mouth into a tight line. The reference to his sister had troubled the Duncan. The man knew intellectually that he was only the latest in a long line of fleshly revivals, all products of the Tleilaxu axlotl tanks and taken from the original cells at that. The Duncan could not escape his revived memories. He knew that the Atreides had rescued him from Harkonnen bondage.
And whatever else I may be, Leto thought, I am still Atreides.
'What're you trying to say?' Idaho demanded.
Leto decided that a shout was required. He let it be a loud one: 'The Harkonnens were spice hoarders!'
Idaho recoiled a full step.
Leto continued in a lower voice: 'There's an undiscovered melange hoard on Giedi Prime. The Sisterhood was trying to winkle it out with their religious tricks as a cover.'
Idaho was abashed. Once it was spoken, the answer appeared obvious.
And I missed it, he thought.
Leto's shout had shaken him back into his role as Commander of the Royal Guard. Idaho knew about the economics of the Empire, simplified in the extreme: no interest charges permitted; cash on the barrel head. The only coinage bore a likeness of Leto's cowled face: the God Emperor. But it was all based on the spice, a substance whose value, though enormous, kept increasing. A man could carry the price of an entire planet in his hand luggage.
'Control the coinage and the courts. Get the rabble have the rest,' Leto thought. Old Jacob Broom said it and Leto could hear the old man chortling within. 'Things haven't changed all that much, Jacob.'
Idaho took a deep breath. 'The Bureau of the Faith should be notified immediately.'
Leto remained silent.
Taking this as a cue to continue, Idaho went on with his reports, but Leto listened with only a fraction of his awareness. It was like a monitoring circuit which only recorded Idaho's words and actions with but an occasional intensification for an internal comment:
And now he wants to talk about the Tleilaxu.
That is dangerous ground for you, Duncan.
But this opened up a new avenue for Leto's reflection.
The wily Tleilaxu still produce my Duncans from the original cells. They do a religiously forbidden thing and we both know it. I do not permit the artificial manipulation of human genetics. But the Tleilaxu have learned how I treasure the Duncans as the Commanders of my Guard. II do not think they suspect the amusement value in this. It amuses me that a river now bears the Idaho name where once it was a mountain. That mountain no longer exists. We brought it down to get material for the high walls which girdle my Sareer.
Of course, the Tleilaxu know that I occasionally breed the Duncans back into my own program. The Duncans represent mongrel strength... and much more. Every fire must have its damper.
It was my intent to breed this one with Siona, but that may not be possible now.
Hah! He says he wants me to 'crack down' on the Tleilaxu. Why will he not ask it straight out? 'Are you preparing to replace me?'
I am tempted to tell him.
Once more, Idaho's hand went into the slender pouch. Leto's introspective monitoring did not miss a beat.
The lasgun or more reports? It is more reports.
The Duncan remains wary. He wants not only the assurance that I am ignorant of his intent but more 'proofs' that I am unworthy of his loyalty. He hesitates in a prolonged fashion. He always has. I have told him enough times that I will not use my prescience to predict the moment of my exit from this ancient form. But he doubts. He always was a doubter.
This cavernous chamber drinks up his voice and, were it not for my sensitivity, the dankness here would mask the chemical evidence of his fears. l fade his voice out of immediate awareness. What a bore this Duncan has become. He is recounting the history, the history of Siona's rebellion, no doubt leading up to personal admonitions about her latest escapade.
'It's not an ordinary rebellion,' he says.
That brings me back! Fool. All rebellions are ordinary and an ultimate bore. They are copied out of the same pattern, one much like another. The driving force is adrenalin addiction and the desire to gain personal power. All rebels are closet aristocrats. That's why I can convert them so easily.
