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delegation-the Naib, no doubt. Children waited to one side with flowers.
Black-hooded women could be seen peering from side-streets in the background.
Idaho found the whole scene distressing.
"Let's get it over with," Siona said.
Nayla nodded and led the way down the slope onto the street. Siona and Idaho
stayed a few paces behind her. The rest of the troop straggled along after
them, silent now and peering around with undisguised curiosity.
As Nayla neared the delegation, the one with the green headband stepped
forward and bowed. He moved like an old man but Idaho saw that he was not old,
barely into his middle years, the cheeks smooth and unwrinkled, a stubby nose
with no scars from breath-filter tubes, and the eyes! The eyes revealed
definite pupils, not the all-blue of spice addiction. They were brown eyes.
Brown eyes in a Fremen!
"I am Garun," the man said as Nayla stopped in front of him. "I am Naib of
this place. I give you a Fremen welcome to Tuono."
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Nayla gestured over her shoulder at Siona and Idaho, who had stopped just
behind her. "Are quarters prepared for your guests?"
"We Fremen are noted for our hospitality," Garun said. "All is ready."
Idaho sniffed at the sour smells and sounds of this place. He glanced through
open windows of the flag-topped building on his right. The Atreides banner
flying over that? The window opened into an auditorium with low ceiling, a
band-shell at the far end enclosing a small platform. He saw rows of seats,
maroon carpeting on the floor. It had all the look of a stage setting, a place
to entertain tourists.
The sound of shuffling feet brought Idaho's attention back to Garun. Children
were pressing forward around the delegation, extending clumps of garish red
flowers in their grimy hands. The flowers were wilted.
Garun addressed himself to Siona, correctly identifying the gold piping of
Fish Speaker Command in her uniform.
"Will you wish a performance of our Fremen rituals?" he asked. "The music,
perhaps? The dance?"
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Nayla accepted a bunch of flowers from one of the children, sniffed them and
sneezed.
Another urchin extended flowers toward Siona, lifting a wide-eyed stare toward
her. She accepted the flowers without looking at the child. Idaho merely waved
the children aside as they approached him. They hesitated, staring up at him,
then scurried around him toward the rest of the troop.
Garun spoke to Idaho. "If you give them a few coins, they will not bother
you."
Idaho shuddered. Was this the training for Fremen children?
Garun returned his attention to Siona. With Nayla listening, Garun began
explaining the layout of his village.
Idaho moved away from them down the street, noting how glances flicked toward
him and then avoided his gaze. He felt deeply offended by the surface
decorations on the buildings, none of it disguising the evidence of decay. He
stared in an open doorway at the auditorium. There was a harshness in Tuono, a
struggling something behind the wilting flowers and the servile tone of
Garun's voice. In another time and on another planet, this would have been a
donkey-in-the-street village rope-belted peasants pressing forward with
petitions. He could hear the whine of supplication in Garun's voice. These
were not Fremen! These poor creatures lived on the margins, trying to retain
parts of an ancient wholeness. And all the while, that lost reality slipped
farther and farther from their grasp. What had Leto created here? These Museum
Fremen were lost to everything except a bare existence and the rote mouthing
of old words which they did not understand and which they did not even
pronounce correctly!
Returning to Siona, Idaho bent to study the cut of Garun's brown robe, seeing
a tightness in it dictated by a need to conserve fabric. The gray slick of a
stillsuit could be seen underneath, exposed to sunlight which no real Fremen
would ever have let touch his stillsuit that way. Idaho looked at the rest of
the delegation, noting an identical parsimonious treatment of fabric. It
betrayed their emotional bent. Such garments allowed no expansive gestures, no
freedom of movement. The robes were tight and confining in the way of these
entire people!
Disgust propelling him, Idaho strode forward abruptly and parted Garun's robe
to look at the stillsuit. Just as he suspected! The suit was another sham-no
arms to it, no boot-pumps!
Garun pulled back, putting a hand to the knife hilt Idaho
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had exposed at the man's belt. "Here! What're you doing?" Garun demanded, his
voice querulous.
"You don't touch a Fremen thus!"
"You, a Fremen?" Idaho demanded. "I lived with Fremen! I fought by their sides
against Harkonnens!
I died with Fremen! You? You're a sham!"
Garun's knuckles went white on the knife haft. He addressed himself to Siona.
"Who is this man?"
Nayla spoke up: "This is Duncan Idaho."
"The ghola?" Garun turned to look at Idaho's face. "We have never seen your
like here before."
Idaho felt himself almost overcome with desire to cleanse this place even if
it cost him his life, this diminished life which could be repeated endlessly
by people who had no real concerns for him.
An older model, yes! But this was no Fremen.
"Draw that knife or take your hand off it," Idaho said.
Garun jerked his hand away from the knife. "It is not a real knife," he said.
"Only for decoration." His voice became eager. "But we have real knives, even
crysknives! They are kept locked in the display cases to preserve them."
Idaho could not help himself. He threw his head back in laughter. Siona
smiled, but Nayla looked thoughtful and the rest of the Fish Speaker troop
drew into a close, watchful circle around them.
The laughter had an odd effect on Garun. He lowered his head and clasped his
hands tightly together, but not before Idaho saw them trembling. When Garun
peered upward once more, it was to look at Idaho from beneath heavy brows.
Idaho felt abruptly sobered. It was as though some terrible boot had crushed
Garun's ego into fearful subservience. There was watchful waiting in the man's
eyes. And for no reason he could explain, Idaho remembered a passage from the
Orange
Catholic Bible. He asked himself: Are these the meek who will outwait us all
and inherit the universe?
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Garun cleared his throat, then: "Perhaps the ghola Duncan Idaho will witness
our ways and our ritual and judge them?"
Idaho felt shamed by the plaintive request. He spoke without thinking: "I will
teach you anything
Fremen that I know." He looked up to see Nayla scowling at him. "It will help
to pass the time,"
he said. "And who knows? It may return something of the true Fremen to this
land."
Siona said: "We've no need to play old cultish games! Take us to our
quarters."
Nayla lowered her head in embarrassment and spoke without looking at Siona.
"Commander, there is a thing I have not ventured to tell you."
"That you must make sure we stay in this filthy place," Siona said.
"Oh, no!" Nayla looked up at Siona's face. "Where could you go? The Wall
cannot be climbed and there is only the river beyond it, anyway. And in the
other direction, it is the Sareer. Oh, no .
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