"Frank Herbert - Dune 2 - Dune Messiah (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

We know this moment of supreme power contained failure. There can be only one answer, that
completely accurate and total prediction is lethal.
Other histories say Muad'dib was defeated by obvious plotters -- the Guild, the Sisterhood and
the scientific amoralists of the Bene Tleilex with their Face-Dancer disguises. Other histories
point out the spies in Muad'dib's household. They make much of the Dune Tarot which clouded
Muad'dib's powers of prophecy. Some show how Muad'dib was made to accept the services of a ghola,
the flesh brought back from the dead and trained to destroy him. But certainly they must know this
ghola was Duncan Idaho, the Atreides lieutenant who perished saving the life of the young Paul.
Yet, they delineate the Qizarate cabal guided by Korba the Panegyrist. They take us step by
step through Korba's plan to make a martyr of Muad'dib and place the blame on Chani, the Fremen
concubine.
How can any of this explain the facts as history has revealed them? They cannot. Only through
the lethal nature of prophecy can we understand the failure of such enormous and far-seeing power.
Hopefully, other historians will learn something from this revelation.
-Analysis of History: Muad'dib by Bronso of Ix

===========================

There exists no separation between gods and men: one blends softly casual into the other.
-Proverbs of Muad'dib

Despite the murderous nature of the plot he hoped to devise, the thoughts of Scytale, the
Tleilaxu Face Dancer, returned again and again to rueful compassion.
I shall regret causing death and misery to Muad'dib, he told himself.
He kept this benignity carefully hidden from his fellow conspirators. Such feelings told him,
though, that he found it easier to identify with the victim than with the attackers -- a thing
characteristic of the Tleilaxu.
Scytale stood in bemused silence somewhat apart from the others. The argument about psychic
poison had been going on for some time now. It was energetic and vehement, but polite in that
blindly compulsive way adepts of the Great Schools always adopted for matters close to their
dogma.
"When you think you have him skewered, right then you'll find him unwounded!"
That was the old Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit, Gaius Helen Mohiam, their hostess here
on Wallach IX. She was a black-robed stick figure, a witch crone seated in a floater chair at
Scytale's left. Her aba hood had been thrown back to expose a leathery face beneath silver hair.
Deeply pocketed eyes stared out of skull-mask features.
They were using a mirabhasa language, honed phalange consonants and joined vowels. It was an
instrument for conveying fine emotional subtleties. Edric, the Guild Steersman, replied to the
Reverend Mother now with a vocal curtsy contained in a sneer -- a lovely touch of disdainful
politeness.
Scytale looked at the Guild envoy. Edric swam in a container of orange gas only a few paces
away. His container sat in the center of the transparent dome which the Bene Gesserit had built
for this meeting. The Guildsman was an elongated figure, vaguely humanoid with finned feet and
hugely fanned membranous hands -- a fish in a strange sea. His tank's vents emitted a pale orange
cloud rich with the smell of the geriatric spice, melange.
"If we go on this way, we'll die of stupidity!"


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