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 geometrics dictated by the laws which govern my breeding program?”
“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 program.”
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 program.”
“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.”
“You disappoint me, Moneo. The predator does not hate its prey.”
“Predators kill, Lord.”
“I kill, but I do not hate. Prey assuages hunger. Prey is good.”
Moneo peered up at Leto’s face in its gray cowl.
Have I missed the approach of the Worm? Moneo wondered.
Fearfully, Moneo looked for the signs. There were no tremors in the giant body, no glazing of the eyes, no twisting of the useless flippers.
“For what do you hunger, Lord?” Moneo ventured.
“For a humankind which can make truly long-term decisions. Do you know the key to that ability, Moneo?”
“You have said it many times, Lord. It is the ability to change your mind.”
“Change, yes. And do you know what I mean by long-term?”
“For you, it must be measured in millennia, Lord.”
“Moneo, even my thousands of years are but a puny blip against Infinity.”
“But your perspective must be different from mine, Lord.”
“In the view of Infinity, any defined long-term is short-term.”
“Then are there no rules at all, Lord?” Moneo’s voice conveyed a faint hint of hysteria.
Leto smiled to ease the man’s tensions. “Perhaps one. Short-term decisions tend to fail in the long-term.”
Moneo shook his head in frustration. “But, Lord, your perspective is …”
“Time runs out for any finite observer. There are no closed systems. Even I only stretch the finite matrix.”
Moneo jerked his attention from Leto’s face and peered into the distances of the mausoleum corridors. I will be here someday. The Golden Path may continue, but I will end. That was not important, of course. Only the Golden Path which he could sense in unbroken continuity, only that mattered. He returned his attention to
“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 geometrics dictated by the laws which govern my breeding program?”
“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 program.”
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 program.”
“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.”
“You disappoint me, Moneo. The predator does not hate its prey.”
“Predators kill, Lord.”
“I kill, but I do not hate. Prey assuages hunger. Prey is good.”
Moneo peered up at Leto’s face in its gray cowl.
Have I missed the approach of the Worm? Moneo wondered.
Fearfully, Moneo looked for the signs. There were no tremors in the giant body, no glazing of the eyes, no twisting of the useless flippers.
“For what do you hunger, Lord?” Moneo ventured.
“For a humankind which can make truly long-term decisions. Do you know the key to that ability, Moneo?”
“You have said it many times, Lord. It is the ability to change your mind.”
“Change, yes. And do you know what I mean by long-term?”
“For you, it must be measured in millennia, Lord.”
“Moneo, even my thousands of years are but a puny blip against Infinity.”
“But your perspective must be different from mine, Lord.”
“In the view of Infinity, any defined long-term is short-term.”
“Then are there no rules at all, Lord?” Moneo’s voice conveyed a faint hint of hysteria.
Leto smiled to ease the man’s tensions. “Perhaps one. Short-term decisions tend to fail in the long-term.”
Moneo shook his head in frustration. “But, Lord, your perspective is …”
“Time runs out for any finite observer. There are no closed systems. Even I only stretch the finite matrix.”
Moneo jerked his attention from Leto’s face and peered into the distances of the mausoleum corridors. I will be here someday. The Golden Path may continue, but I will end. That was not important, of course. Only the Golden Path which he could sense in unbroken continuity, only that mattered. He returned his attention to
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