Dune

“Have I stumbled?” she asked.

He marked how deeply she breathed, with tension in every movement, the glazed appearance of her eyes.

“When you stumble,” he said, “you may regain your balance by jumping beyond the thing that tripped you.”

“The Bene Gesserit stumbled,” she said. “Now they wish to regain their balance by leaping beyond my brother. They want Chani’s baby . . . or mine.”

“Are you with child?”

She struggled to fix herself in a timespace relationship to this question. With child? When? Where?

“I see . . . my child,” she whispered.

She moved away from the balcony’s edge, turned her head to look at the ghola. He had a face of salt, bitter eyes—two circles of glistening lead . . . and, as he turned away from the light to follow her movement, blue shadows.

“What . . . do you see with such eyes?” she whispered.

“What other eyes see,” he said.

His words rang in her ears, stretching her awareness. She felt that she reached across the universe—such a stretching . . . out . . . out. She lay intertwined with all Time.

“You’ve taken the spice, a large dose,” he said.

“Why can’t I see him?” she muttered. The womb of all creation held her captive. “Tell me, Duncan, why I cannot see him.”

“Who can’t you see?”

“I cannot see the father of my children. I’m lost in a Tarot fog. Help me.”

Mentat logic offered its prime computation, and he said: “The Bene Gesserit want a mating between you and your brother. It would lock the genetic . . .”

A wail escaped her. “The egg in the flesh,” she gasped. A sensation of chill swept over her, followed by intense heat. The unseen mate of her darkest dreams! Flesh of her flesh that the oracle could not reveal—would it come to that?

“Have you risked a dangerous dose of the spice?” he asked. Something within him fought to express the utmost terror at the thought that an Atreides woman might die, that Paul might face him with the knowledge that a female of the royal family had . . . gone.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hunt the future,” she said. “Sometimes I glimpse myself . . . but I get in my own way. I cannot see through myself.” She lowered her head, shook it from side to side.

“How much of the spice did you take?” he asked.

“Nature abhors prescience,” she said, raising her head. “Did you know that, Duncan?”

He spoke softly, reasonably, as to a small child: “Tell me how much of the spice you took.” He took hold of her shoulder with his left hand.

“Words are such gross machinery, so primitive and ambiguous,” she said. She pulled away from his hand.

“You must tell me,” he said.

“Look at the Shield Wall,” she commanded, pointing. She sent her gaze along her own outstretched hand, trembled as the landscape crumbled in an overwhelming vision—a sandcastle destroyed by invisible waves. She averted her eyes, was transfixed by the appearance of the ghola’s face. His features crawled, became aged, then young . . . aged . . . young. He was life itself, assertive, endless . . . She turned to flee, but he grabbed her left wrist.

“I am going to summon a doctor,” he said.

“No! You must let me have the vision! I have to know!”

“You are going inside now,” he said.

She stared down at his hand. Where their flesh touched, she felt an electric presence that both lured and frightened her. She jerked free, gasped: “You can’t hold the whirlwind!”

“You must have medical help!” he snapped.

“Don’t you understand?” she demanded. “My vision’s incomplete, just fragments. It flickers and jumps. I have to remember the future. Can’t you see that?”

“What is the future if you die?” he asked, forcing her gently into the Family chambers.

“Words . . . words,” she muttered. “I can’t explain it. One thing is the occasion of another thing, but there’s no cause . . . no effect. We can’t leave the universe as it was. Try as we may, there’s a gap.”

“Stretch out here,” he commanded.

He is so dense! she thought.

Cool shadows enveloped her. She felt her own muscles crawling like worms—a firm bed that she knew to be insubstantial. Only space was permanent. Nothing else had substance. The bed flowed with many bodies, all of them her own. Time became a multiple sensation, overloaded. It presented no single reaction for her to abstract. It was Time. It moved. The whole universe slipped backward, forward, sideways.

“It has no thing-aspect,” she explained. “You can’t get under it or around it. There’s no place to get leverage.”

There came a fluttering of people all around her. Many someones held her left hand. She looked at her own moving flesh, followed a twining arm out to a fluid mask of face: Duncan Idaho! His eyes were . . . wrong, but it was Duncan—child-man-adolescent-child-man-adolescent . . . Every line of his features betrayed concern for her.

“Duncan, don’t be afraid,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand, nodded. “Be still,” he said.