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

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.
Why do the Duncans never really hear me when I tell them about this? I have had
the argument with this very Duncan. It was one of our earliest confrontations
and right here in the crypt.
"The art of government requires that you never give up the initiative to radical
elements," he said.
How pedantic. Radicals crop up in every generation and you must not try to