over, instinctively trying to help him.
Paul saw a hunter-seeker change its trajectory and flash toward Chani, but he had become preternaturally aware of each movement around him. With furious speed, he jumped to grab the thing out of the air. Knowing the suspensor field would make a firm grip difficult, he squeezed hard as he clamped down.
He felt a painful, burning sting.
A Mentat assessment flashed the immediate answer to him. The middle of the hunter-seeker’s cylindrical shaft was girdled with
He could already feel the poison working its way into his blood, but he had the ability to neutralize it. With the Bene Gesserit cellular powers he had learned, Paul identified the chemicals, unlocked their modes of toxicity, and altered the molecules to neutralize the poison. It took only a moment, but it was a moment he did not have. More hunter-seekers sped toward him.
But now he was immune to that particular toxin, and his body’s biochemistry manufactured the antidote. Lunging back to his feet, he grabbed another hunter-seeker that buzzed directly in front of his face. He felt the sting of the needles again as he smashed it to the floor.
Turning to find another target, however, Paul realized that the second device had contained a different poison from the first — equally deadly, but one that required a new, independent effort for him to alter its chemistry and make himself immune. Either of the toxins would have been fatal to a normal human, and Paul had to expend the extra effort to counteract two toxins instead of just one. It was nonsensically redundant.
He suddenly understood that in planning this attack, someone had tailored it precisely, taking Paul’s abilities into account — someone who had intimate knowledge of the Emperor’s particular skills.
The mysterious opponent had not underestimated Paul-Muad’Dib Atreides. The assassination attempt had come when he was with those he loved, which forced him not only to protect himself but to protect all of them — which meant he was facing a threat as convoluted and extravagant as the most tortuous training sessions that Duncan Idaho and Thufir Hawat had concocted for him when he was a boy. If not for Bludd’s assistance, Irulan would probably already be dead.
Paul became like a whirling dervish, grabbing hunter-seekers, smashing them into each other, slamming them to the floor, leaping for others with hands outstretched before they could strike Chani, Irulan, Alia, or even Bludd. His chair was studded with stray hunter-seekers, and each projectile he grabbed was armed with a different poison. More and more complexities!
He was exhausted, his body clamoring from the effort of his accelerated fight as well as from driving back the toxins.
By now the air was abuzz with more hunter-seekers than he could stop, perhaps a hundred. His hands, arms, chest, and back had been stung repeatedly. He could barely concentrate now, forced to devote most of his effort to counteracting the dangerous chemicals building up in his bloodstream. Bodies lay in heaps on the dais and out in the audience. The crowd was a cacophony of screams.
From out in the audience, Korba bellowed orders, finally acting like a Fedaykin again rather than a priest. He commanded the soldiers to shoot out the cubbyholes, preventing more weapons from being launched. Someone — Bludd? — thrust a body shield at Paul and activated it; the field would slow the hunter-seekers, making it easier to intercept them. Bludd activated a shield of his own, apparently having brought the protective devices despite Paul’s orders that they were not to be used. Rather than insubordination, the act now appeared to be remarkable foresight.
Korba’s men, also wearing full shields, waded through the bodies, using clubs, stretches of fabric, and gloved hands to eliminate more of the hunter-seekers. Over half of the men perished in the effort, but their companions continued, regardless.
Despite his difficulty focusing, Paul at last saw the threat diminishing and he concentrated more of his personal energy on stopping the waves of poison within him. When he finally returned to awareness and found himself collapsed near the base of the throne, breathing heavily, he realized the attack was over.
Or was it? He sensed something more, a brooding danger like a subsonic pulse throbbing at the back of his mind.
Chani came toward him, looking exhausted, but her eyes were bright and her skin flushed pink. She was intact, though her clothes were torn and her hair in disarray. “Usul, you are hurt!”
“I will live.” Feeling uneasy, he looked around at the horrific aftermath. Most of the crowd had been evacuated from the Celestial Hall, while more guards and medical personnel were trying to push their way in. All in the audience who had been touched by a hunter-seeker’s poison were either dying or dead, and many other hapless celebrants had been injured in the panic.
Paul tried to calm himself, but a threat still clamored inside his skull. As far as he could see, all the devices had been neutralized, and the cubbyholes had been destroyed. Then why did he still feel such imminent danger? It pulsed in his mind, refused to go away.
His head rang, and he found it difficult to think clearly. Though he had counteracted the poisons in his body, their aftereffects left him physically drained.
Still, the sense of supreme danger roared around him like a wind.
Chani sat at his side and put her arms around him, imparting strength to him as she held him close. Suddenly, the silent warning blared in his mind, like an unexpected spike on a power grid. He couldn’t understand it, but couldn’t ignore it, either. Paul did not question what he felt.
Using the last of his strength, he grabbed Chani and began to move. In the same instant, Swordmaster Bludd surprised them. “My Lord! Down!” Like a juggernaut, Bludd pushed them both so that all three tumbled away from the throne and off the edge of the dais. They fell onto the grisly cushion of dead bodies strewn on the floor about them.
A fraction of a second later, a small, hidden bomb exploded from beneath the elaccawood throne, hurling a rippling fireball over the entire dais.
9
There is an arrogance to perfection. When one insists on perfection and receives only flawed humanity, the resulting disappointment breeds unrealistic anger and proves only that those in charge are human as well — and deficient.
We shall provide a new entertainment today.” Thallo’s low voice simmered with excitement as he met Marie in one of their designated training areas. The Tleilaxu observers seemed to consider their time together as constructive “play,” but Dr. Ereboam had been growing increasingly nervous as he watched the mounting strain on his Kwisatz Haderach candidate. To a great extent Thallo was like a void in human shape, revealing few answers to the questions he sparked about himself.
“What sort of entertainment?” Marie looked around, but saw nothing unusual in the small laboratory chamber. The walls were lined with interactive game simulations and exotic exercise machines. Behind one of the dark, mirrored surfaces she knew the ever-present monitors were watching them. Though she maintained a bright, childish expression, Marie was alert, wary of what Thallo might do next.
Ignoring the observers behind the mirrors, he took her small arm and led her out into the corridor. “I want you by my side. It is a special day, and I have been waiting a long time for this.” He marched her toward a security check station where two alert-looking Tleilaxu guards sat, but the lavender scanner lights dimmed and switched off as Thallo and Marie approached. The Kwisatz Haderach candidate and the little girl walked right past the apparently attentive middle-caste guards, who didn’t seem to see them at all.
Thallo’s ability to manipulate Tleilaxu technology and perceptions seemed almost supernatural. “The Masters have such high hopes for me, but apparently low expectations. They cannot guess the half of my capabilities.” His
