MOVE OVER JONGLEURS! HERE COME ... THE JERVISH UPDANCERS!!!
I think I've already mentioned these "Jervish Updancers". They seem to be some kind of acrobatic dance troupe. No doubt just another clever but unnecessary addition by KJA. Or maybe they'll turn out to be some major or minor plot complication in future books.
Fook me if I care at this point.
They moved in a lissome blur, dressed in the blue and gold costumes of their remote planet.
OK, this is probably going to be my last spoiler post. There's still more shit to mine from this mother of a lode, but I'm getting bored. The last few items concern
BRONSO IN HIS DEATHCELL AND HIS DYING...
With each stirring in the corridors outside the thick-walled cell, he sat up, remembering how Paul had come to him the last time he was here. The Emperor Paul-Muad'Dib himself had dismissed or diverted all the guards, then opened the cell door to let Bronso flee down empty corridors and dusty tunnels.
Well, answers that question, huh? Needed an answer, seeing how KJA had him escaping from a cell deep within the Keep.
I've mentioned a little about this next already. Jessica insists on visiting Bronso and cowls Alia's guards into letting her in with him alone. She offers to kill him mercifully with a gom jabbar, but he refuses, insisting on playing out the role fate has prepared for him. She offers him a bottle of water, since Alia is neither feeding him nor giving him anything to drink, calling it a waste of resources.
When he was off guard, she embraced him. "I'm grateful to you, Bronso. And so sorry." In doing so, she brushed the back of his neck with a different needle, leaving just a trace of potent residual chemical—another one of the new Ixian toys that the technocrats gave to Alia in hopes of impressing her. Bronso didn't even notice. As they drew apart, she thought, I've done everything I can for you. Paul's good and loyal friend, and a true patriot of the Imperium.
Then, later at his execution...
The priest guards cuffed Bronso forward, and he stumbled toward the deathstill. Jessica felt her heart burning with tears that her eyes could not shed, and decided it was time. She had her own trick that Bronso did not expect. In her conscious thoughts she triggered an activation code, then formed words, which she spoke silently deep in her throat and in her mind.
Tommy, can you hear me? She saw the prisoner's unmistakable reaction, as his hed jerked in surprise and he looked around. I know that song, from Old Terra! he thought. The Who? But how?!
Communication by nerve induction, she explained, never opening her mouth. A prototype Ixian technology—extremely expensive, designed for espionage and surveillance. I applied the chemical to you in your cell. I wanted to be there for you. Now.
...
Bronso stood at the deathstill, looking inside. Jessica heard his thought via her own chemical receivers. I feel much calmer now, my Lady. Thank you.
OK ... what to say about this complete bullshit?
First, it's KJA's way of working in the telepathy needed by his plot by some mechanical—well, no, he says "chemical", doesn't he? What the fuck is that even supposed to mean?—means. Maybe he thinks that makes it "science fiction", since he's not relying on some psychic hand-waving bullshit this time, not understanding that it's still just another science fantasy cop-out.
But WOW, how about that Ixian tech, huh? Talk about yer super science gongfu! They create a CHEMICAL that when applied to the SKIN creates a system (wave hands!) within the body that, once ACTIVATED BY THINKING A CODE, READS YOUR MIND (wave hands and pray to the Great Gods Below that no one quotes OCB prohibitions!) and somehow BOTH TRANSMITS & RECEIVES THOUGHTS (wave hands frantically and point, look over there!!!) to and from someone else the "chemical" has been applied to.
Talk about your TOTAL FUCKING STUPID KJA BULLSHIT.
But get this, the second point: This will be presented as the origin of the technology that allows Leto II to communicate with his journal dictation machines, just wait and see.
That's right, once again KJA has to preempt and mangle some aspect of technology (or some other story element) imagined by Frank Herbert.
MOTHERFUCKER.
"Let the dead give water to the dead. As for me, it's NO MORE FUCKING TEARS!"
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