Moneo stopped two paces from the cart and looked up at Leto. Something in his eyes reminded Leto of the look on the face of a pagan priest in the Terran times, a crafty supplication at the familiar shrine.

“Lord, you have spent many hours observing the new Duncan,” Moneo said. “Have the Tleilaxu tampered with his cells or his psyche?”

“He is untainted.”

A deep sigh shook Moneo. There was no pleasure in it.

“You object to his use as a stud?” Leto asked.

“I find it peculiar to think of him as both an ancestor and the father of my descendants.”

“But he gives me access to a first-generation cross between an older human form and the current products of my breeding programme. Siona is twenty-one generations removed from such a cross.”

“I fail to see the purpose. The Duncans are slower and less alert than anyone in your Guard.”

“I am not looking for good segregant offspring, Moneo. Did you think me unaware of the progression geometries dictated by the laws which govern my breeding programme?”

“I have seen your stock book, Lord.”

“Then you know that I keep track of the recessives and weed them out. The key genetic dominants are my concern.”

“And the mutations, Lord?” There was a sly note in Moneo’s voice which caused Leto to study the man intently.

“We will not discuss that subject, Moneo.”

Leto watched Moneo pull back into his cautious shell.

How extremely sensitive he is to my moods, Leto thought. I do believe he has some of my abilities there, although they operate at an unconscious level. His question suggests that he may even suspect what we have achieved in Siona.

Testing this, Leto said: “It is clear to me that you do not yet understand what I hope to achieve in my breeding programme.”

Moneo brightened. “My Lord knows I try to fathom the rules of it.”

“Laws tend to be temporary over the long haul, Moneo. There is no such thing as rule-governed creativity.”

“But Lord, you yourself speak of laws which govern your breeding programme.”

“What have I just said to you, Moneo? Trying to find rules for creation is like trying to separate mind from body.”

“But something is evolving, Lord. I know it in myself!”

He knows it in himself! Dear Moneo. He is so close.

“Why do you always seek after absolutely derivative translations, Moneo?”

“I have heard you speak of transformational evolution, Lord. That is the label on your stock book. But what of surprise…”

“Moneo! Rules change with each surprise.”

“Lord, have you no improvement of the human stock in mind?”

Leto glared down at him, thinking: If I use the key word now will he understand? Perhaps…

“I am a predator, Moneo.”

“Pred…” Moneo broke off and shook his head. He knew the meaning of the word, he thought, but the word itself shocked him. Was the God Emperor joking?

“Predator, Lord?”

“The predator improves the stock.”

“How can this be, Lord? You do not hate us.”