“Rest yourself on a cushion, Nyshae,” he said. “You have been working hard.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

She sank on to the red cushion which Hwi had used. Leto noted the fatigue lines around Nyshae’s mouth, but her eyes remained alert. She stared up at him, eager to hear his words.

“Matters are once more tranquil in my city.” He made it not quite a question, leaving the interpretation to Nyshae.

“Tranquil but not good, Lord.”

He glanced at the gore on her boots.

“The street in front of the Ixian Embassy?”

“It is being cleansed, Lord. Repairs already are underway.”

“The plaza?”

“By morning, it will appear as it has always appeared.”

Her gaze remained steady on his face. Both of them knew he had not yet reached the nubbin of this interview. But Leto now identified a thing lurking within Nyshae’s expression.

Pride in her Lord!

For the first time, she had seen the God Emperor kill. The seeds of a terrible dependency had been planted. If disaster threatens, my Lord will come. That was how it appeared in her eyes. She would no longer act with complete independence, taking her power from the God Emperor and being personally responsible for the use of that power. There was something possessive in her expression. A terrible death-machine waited in the wings, available at her summons.

Leto did not like what he saw, but the damage had been done. Any remedies would require slow and subtle pressures.

“Where did the attackers get lasguns?” he asked.

“From our own stores, Lord. The Arsenal Guard has been replaced.”

Replaced. It was a euphemism with a certain nicety. Errant Fish Speakers were isolated and reserved until Leto found a problem which required Death Commandos. They would die gladly, of course, believing that thus they expiated their sin. And even the rumour that such berserkers had been dispatched could quiet a trouble spot.

“The Arsenal was breached by explosives?” he asked.

“Stealth and explosives, Lord. The Arsenal Guard was careless.”

“The source of the explosives?”

Some of Nyshae’s fatigue was visible in her shrug.

Leto could only agree. He knew he could search out and identify those sources, but it would serve little purpose. Resourceful people could always find the ingredients for home-made explosives—common things such as sugar and bleaches, quite ordinary oils and innocent fertilizers, plastics and solvents and extracts from the dirt beneath a manure pile. The list was virtually endless, growing with each addition to human experience and knowledge. Even a society such as the one he had created, one which tried to limit the admixture of technology and new ideas, had no real hope of totally eliminating dangerously violent small weapons. The whole idea of controlling such things was a chimera, a dangerous and distracting myth. The key was to limit the desire for violence. In that respect, this night had been a disaster.

So much new injustice, he thought.

As though she read his thoughts, Nyshae sighed.

Of course. Fish Speakers were trained from childhood to avoid injustice wherever possible.