"Frank Herbert - Dune 4 - God Emporer of Dune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

making another Duncan, another ghola created to the specifications demanded by
the God Emperor. This Duncan feared that he was being replaced after almost
sixty years of service. It was always something of that nature which began the
subversion of the Duncans. A Guild envoy had waited upon Leto earlier to warn
that the Ixians had delivered a lasgun to this Duncan.
Leto chuckled. The Guild remained extremely sensitive to anything which might
threaten their slender supply of spice. They were terrified at the thought that
Leto was the last link with the sandworms which had produced the original
stockpiles of melange.
If II die away from water, there will be no more spice-not ever.
That was the Guild's fear. And their historian-accountants assured them Leto sat
on the largest store of melange in the universe. This knowledge made the Guild
almost reliable as allies.
While he waited, Leto did the hand and finger exercises of his Bene Gesserit
inheritance. The hands were his pride. Beneath a gray membrane of sandtrout
skin, their long digits and opposable thumbs could be used much as any human
hands. The almost useless flippers which once had been his feet and legs were
more inconvenience than shame. He could crawl, roll and toss his body with
astonishing speed, but he sometimes fell on the flippers and there was pain.
What was delaying the Duncan?
Leto imagined the man vacillating, staring out a window across the fluid horizon
of the Sareer. The air was alive with heat today. Before descending to the
crypt, Leto had seen a mirage in the southwest. The heat-mirror tipped and
flashed an image across the sand, showing him a band of Museum Fremen trudging
past a Display Sietch for the edification of tourists.
It was cool in the crypt, always cool, the illumination always low. Tunnel
spokes were dark holes sloping upward and downward in gentle gradients to
accommodate the Royal Cart. Some tunnels extended beyond false walls for many
kilometers, passages Leto had created for himself with lxian tools-feeding
tunnels and secret ways.
As he contemplated the coming interview, a sense of nervousness began to grow in
Leto. He found this an interesting emotion, one he had been known to enjoy. Leto
knew that he had grown reasonably fond of the current Duncan. There was a
reservoir of hope in Leto that the man would survive the coming interview.
Sometimes they did. There was little likelihood the Duncan posed a mortal
threat, although this had to be left to such chance as existed. Leto had tried
to explain this to one of the earlier Duncans . . . right here in this room.
"You will think it strange that , with my powers, can speak of luck and chance,"
Leto had said.
The Duncan had been angry. "You leave nothing to chance! I know you!"
"How naive. Chance is the nature of our universe."
"Not chance! Mischief. And you're the author of mischief!"
"Excellent, Duncan! Mischief is a most profound pleasure. It's in the ways we
deal with mischief that we sharpen creativity."
"You're not even human anymore!" Oh, how angry the Duncan had been.
Leto had found his accusation irritating, like a grain of sand in an eye. He
held onto the remnants of his once-human self with a grimness which could not be
denied, although irritation was the closest he could come to anger.
"Your life is becoming a cliche," Leto had accused.
Whereupon the Duncan had produced a small explosive