“That’s why I chose this hour for our meeting.”
“But why this place?” .
“Because it is the last place where I can feel at home.”
Siona turned against the rail, leaning on it and looking at him. “I want to see you.”
He turned on all of the aerie’s lights, including the harsh white globes along the roof of the balcony’s outer edge. As the light came on, an Ixian-made transparent mask slid out of wall recesses and sealed off the balcony behind Siona. She felt it move behind her and was startled, but nodded as though she understood. She thought it was a defense against attack. It was not. The wall merely kept out the damp insects of the night.
Siona stared at Leto, sweeping her gaze along his body, pausing at the stubs which once had been his legs, bringing her attention then to his arms and hands, then to his face.
“Your approved histories tell us that all Atreides are descended from you and your sister, Ghanima,” she said. “The Oral History disagrees.”
“The Oral History is correct. Your ancestor was Harq al Ada Ghani and I were married only in name, a move to consolidate the power.”
“Like your marriage to this Ixian woman?”
“That is different.”
“You will have children?”
“I have never been capable of having children. I chose the metamorphosis before that was possible.”
“You were a child and then you were-” she pointed “this?”
“Nothing between.”
“How does a child know what to choose?”
“I was one of the oldest children this universe has ever seen. Ghani was the other.”
“That story about your ancestral memories!”
“A true story. We’re all here. Doesn’t the Oral History agree?”
She whirled away and held her back stiffly presented to him. Once more, Leto found himself fascinated by this human gesture: rejection coupled to vulnerability. Presently, she turned around and concentrated on his features within the hooded folds.
“You have the Atreides look,” she said.
“I come by it just as honestly as you do.”
“You’re so old . . . why aren’t you wrinkled?”
“Nothing about the human part of me ages in a normal way.”
“Is that why you did this to yourself?”
“To enjoy long life? No.” “I don’t see how anyone could make such a choice,” she muttered. Then louder: “Never to know love. . .” “You’re playing the fool!” he said. “You don’t mean love, you mean sex.” She shrugged. “You think the most terrible thing I gave up was sex? No, the greatest loss was something far different.” “What?” She asked it reluctantly, betraying how deeply he touched her. “I cannot walk among my fellows without their special notice. I am no longer one of you. I am alone. Love? Many people love me, but my shape keeps us apart. We are separated, Siona, by a gulf that no other human dares to bridge.” “Not even your Ixian woman?” “Yes, she would if she could, but she cannot. She’s not an Atreides.” “You mean that I . . . could?” She touched her breast with a finger. “If there were enough sandtrout around. Unfortunately, all of them enclose my flesh. However, if I were to die. . .” She shook her head in dumb horror at the thought. “The Oral History tells it accurately,” he said. “And we must never forget that you believe the Oral History.” She continued to shake her head from side to side. “There’s no secret about it,” he said. “The first moments of the transformation are the critical ones. Your awareness must drive inward and outward simultaneously, one with Infinity. I could provide you with enough melange to accomplish this. Given enough spice, you can live through those first awful moments . . . and all the other moments.” She shuddered uncontrollably, her gaze fixed on his eyes. “You know I’m telling you the truth, don’t you?” She nodded, inhaled a deep trembling breath, then: “Why did you do it?” “The alternative was far more horrible.” “What alternative?” “In time, you may understand it. Moneo did.” “Your damned Golden Path!” “Not damned at all. Quite holy.” “You think I’m a fool who can’t…” “I think you’re inexperienced, but possessed of great capability whose potential you do not even suspect.”