Leto’s acute senses detected the explosion and located it. With an instant fury which he was later to regret, he shouted for his Fish Speakers and commanded them to “wipe out the Face Dancers,” even the ones he had spared earlier.
On immediate reflection, the sensation of fury itself fascinated Leto. It had been so long since he had felt even mild anger. Frustration, irritation—these had been his limits. But now, at a threat to Hwi Noree, fury!
Reflection caused him to modify his initial command, but not before some Fish Speakers had raced from the Royal Presence, their most violent desires released by what they had seen in their Lord.
“God is furious!” some of them shouted.
The second blast caught some of the Fish Speakers emerging into the plaza, limiting the spread of Leto’s modified command and igniting more violence. The third explosion, located near the first one, sent Leto himself into action. He propelled his cart like a berserk juggernaut out of his resting chamber into the Ixian lift and surged to the surface.
Leto emerged at the edge of the plaza to find a scene of chaos lighted by thousands of free-floating glowglobes released by his Fish Speakers. The central stage of the plaza had been shattered, leaving only the plasteel base intact beneath the paved surface. Broken pieces of masonry lay all around, mixed with dead and wounded.
In the direction of the Ixian Embassy, directly across the plaza from him, there was a wild surging of combat.
“Where is my Duncan?” Leto bellowed.
A guard bashar came racing across the plaza to his side where she reported through panting breaths: “We have taken him to the Citadel, Lord!”
“What is happening over there?” Leto demanded, pointing at the battle outside the Ixian Embassy.
“The rebels and the Tleilaxu are attacking the Ixian Embassy, Lord. They have explosives.”
Even as she spoke, another blast erupted in front of the Embassy’s shattered facade. He saw bodies twisting in the air, arching outward and falling at the perimeter of a bright flash which left an orange afterimage, studded with black dots.
With no thought of consequences, Leto shifted his cart onto suspensors and sent it bulleting across the plaza—a hurtling behemoth which sucked glowglobes into its wake. At the battle’s edge, he arched over his own defenders and plunged into the attackers’ flank, aware only then of lasguns which sent livid blue arcs leaping toward him. He felt his cart thudding into flesh, scattering bodies all around.
The cart spilled him directly in front of the Embassy, rolling him off onto a hard surface as it struck the rubble there. He felt lasgun beams tickle his ribbed body, then the inner surge of heat followed by a venting belch of oxygen at his tail. Instinct tucked his face deep into its cowl and folded his arms into the protective depths of his front segment. The worm-body took over, arching and flailing, rolling like an insane wheel, lashing out on all sides.
Blood lubricated the street. Blood was buffered water to his body, but death released the water. His flailing body slipped and slithered in it, the water igniting blue smoke from every flexion place where it slipped through the sandtrout skin. This filled him with water-agony which ignited more violence in the great flailing body.
At Leto’s first lashing out, the Fish Speaker perimeter fell back. An alert bashar saw the opportunity now presented. She shouted above the battle noise:
“Pick off the stragglers!”
The ranks of guardian women rushed forward.
It was bloody play among the Fish Speakers for a few minutes, blades thrusting in the merciless light of the glowglobes, the dancing of lasgun arcs, even hands chopping and toes digging into vulnerable flesh. The Fish Speakers left no survivors.
Leto rolled beyond the bloody mush in front of the Embassy, barely able to think through the waves of water-agony. The air was heavy with oxygen all around him and this helped his human senses. He summoned his cart and it drifted toward him, tipping perilously on damaged suspensors. Slowly, he wriggled onto the tipping cart and gave it the mental command to return to his quarters beneath the plaza.
Long ago, he had prepared himself against water-damage—a room where blasts of superheated dry air would cleanse and restore him. Sand would serve but there was no place in the confines of Onn for the necessary expanse of sand in which he might heat and rasp his surface to its normal purity.
In the lift, he thought of Hwi and sent a message to have her brought down to him immediately.
He had no time now to make a prescient search; he could only hope while his body, both pre-worm and human, longed for the cleansing heat.
Once into the cleansing room, he thought to reaffirm his modified command—“Save some of the Face Dancers!” But by then the maddened Fish Speakers were spreading out through the City and he had not the strength to make a prescient sweep which would send his messengers to the proper meeting points.
