“Duncan?” Leto asked.
“I understand, Sire,” Idaho said.
“It is agreed, then,” Leto said.
“Your water is ours, Duncan Idaho.” Stilgar said. “The body of our friend
remains with your Duke. His water is Atreides water. It is a bond between us.”
Leto sighed, glanced at Hawat, catching the old Mentat’s eye. Hawat nodded,
his expression pleased.
“I will await below,” Stilgar said, “while Idaho makes farewell with his
friends. Turok was the name of our dead friend. Remember that when it comes time
to release his spirit. You are friends of Turok.”
Stilgar started to turn away.
“Will you not stay a while?” Leto asked.
The Fremen turned back, whipping his veil into place with a casual gesture,
adjusting something beneath it. Paul glimpsed what looked like a thin tube
before the veil settled into place.
“Is there reason to stay?” the Fremen asked.
“We would honor you,” the Duke said.
“Honor requires that I be elsewhere soon,” the Fremen said. He shot another
glance at Idaho, whirled, and strode out past the door guards.
“If the other Fremen match him, we’ll serve each other well,” Leto said.
Idaho spoke in a dry voice: “He’s a fair sample, Sire.”
“You understand what you’re to do, Duncan?”
“I’m your ambassador to the Fremen, Sire.”
“Much depends on you, Duncan. We’re going to need at least five battalions
of those people before the Sardaukar descend on us.”
“This is going to take some doing, Sire. The Fremen are a pretty independent
bunch.” Idaho hesitated, then: “And, Sire, there’s one other thing. One of the
mercenaries we knocked over was trying to get this blade from our dead Fremen
friend. The mercenary says there’s a Harkonnen reward of a million Solaris for
anyone who’ll bring in a single crysknife.”
Leto’s chin came up in a movement of obvious surprise. “Why do they want one
of those blades so badly?”
“The knife is ground from a sandworm’s tooth; it’s the mark of the Fremen,
Sire. With it, a blue-?eyed man could penetrate any sietch in the land. They’d
question me unless I were known. I don’t look Fremen. But . . . ”
“Piter de Vries,” the Duke said.
“A man of devilish cunning, my Lord,” Hawat said.
Idaho slipped the sheathed knife beneath his tunic.
“Guard that knife,” the Duke said.
“I understand, m’Lord.” He patted the transceiver on his belt kit. “I’ll
report soon as possible. Thufir has my call code. Use battle language.” He
saluted, spun about, and hurried after the Fremen.
They heard his footsteps drumming down the corridor.
A look of understanding passed between Leto and Hawat. They smiled.
“We’ve much to do, Sire,” Halleck said.
“And I keep you from your work,” Leto said.
“I have the report on the advance bases,” Hawat said. “Shall I give it
another time, Sire?”
“Will it take long?”
“Not for a briefing. It’s said among the Fremen that there were more than
two hundred of these advance bases built here on Arrakis during the Desert
Botanical Testing Station period. All supposedly have been abandoned, but there
are reports they were sealed off before being abandoned.”
“Equipment in them?” the Duke asked.
“According to the reports I have from Duncan.”
“Where are they located?” Halleck asked.
“The answer to that question,” Hawat said, “is invariably: ‘Liet knows.’ ”
“God knows,” Leto muttered.
“Perhaps not. Sire,” Hawat said. “You heard this Stilgar use the name. Could
he have been referring to a real person?”
“Serving two masters,” Halleck said. “It sounds like a religious quotation.”
“And you should know,” the Duke said.
Halleck smiled.
“This Judge of the Change,” Leto said, “the Imperial ecologist–Kynes . . .
Wouldn’t he know where those bases are?”
“Sire,” Hawat cautioned, “this Kynes is an Imperial servant.”
“And he’s a long way from the Emperor,” Leto said. “I want those bases.
They’d be loaded with materials we could salvage and use for repair of our
working equipment.”
“Sire!” Hawat said. “Those bases are still legally His Majesty’s fief.”
“The weather here’s savage enough to destroy anything,” the Duke said. “We
can always blame the weather. Get this Kynes and at least find out if the bases
exist.”
“ ‘Twere dangerous to commandeer them,” Hawat said. “Duncan was clear on one
thing: those bases or the idea of them hold some deep significance for the
Fremen. We might alienate the Fremen if we took those bases.”
Paul looked at the faces of the men around them, saw the intensity of the
way they followed every word. They appeared deeply disturbed by his father’s
attitude.
“Listen to him, Father,” Paul said in a low voice. “He speaks truth.”
“Sire,” Hawat said, “those bases could give us material to repair every
piece of equipment left us, yet be beyond reach for strategic reasons. It’d be
rash to move without greater knowledge. This Kynes has arbiter authority from
the Imperium. We mustn’t forget that. And the Fremen defer to him.”
“Do it gently, then,” the Duke said. “I wish to know only if those bases
exist.”
“As you will, Sire.” Hawat sat back, lowered his eyes.
“All right, then,” the Duke said. “We know what we have ahead of us–work.
We’ve been trained for it. We’ve some experience in it. We know what the rewards
are and the alternatives are clear enough. You all have your assignments.” He
looked at Halleck. “Gurney, take care of that smuggler situation first.”
“ ‘I shall go unto the rebellious that dwell in the dry land,’ ” Halleck
intoned.
“Someday I’ll catch that man without a quotation and he’ll look undressed,”
the Duke said.
Chuckles echoed around the table, but Paul heard the effort in them.
The Duke turned to Hawat. “Set up another command post for intelligence and
communications on this floor, Thufir. When you have them ready, I’ll want to see
you.”
Hawat arose, glanced around the room as though seeking support. He turned
away, led the procession out of the room. The others moved hurriedly, scraping
their chairs on the floor, balling up in little knots of confusion.
It ended up in confusion, Paul thought, staring at the backs of the last men
to leave. Always before, Staff had ended on an incisive air. This meeting had
just seemed to trickle out, worn down by its own inadequacies, and with an
argument to top it off.
For the first time, Paul allowed himself to think about the real possibility
of defeat–not thinking about it out of fear or because of warnings such as that
of the old Reverend Mother, but facing up to it because of his own assessment of
the situation.
My father is desperate, he thought. Things aren’t going well for us at all.
And Hawat–Paul recalled how the old Mentat had acted during the conference-
-subtle hesitations, signs of unrest.
Hawat was deeply troubled by something.
“Best you remain here the rest of the night, Son,” the Duke said. “It’ll be
dawn soon, anyway. I’ll inform your mother.” He got to his feet, slowly,
stiffly. “Why don’t you pull a few of these chairs together and stretch out on
them for some rest.”
“I’m not very tired, sir.”
“As you will.”
The Duke folded his hands behind him, began pacing up and down the length of
the table.
Like a caged animal, Paul thought.
“Are you going to discuss the traitor possibility with Hawat?” Paul asked.
The Duke stopped across from his son, spoke to the dark windows. “We’ve
discussed the possibility many times.”
“The old woman seemed so sure of herself,” Paul said. “And the message
Mother–”
“Precautions have been taken,” the Duke said. He looked around the room, and
Paul marked the hunted wildness in his father’s eyes. “Remain here. There are
some things about the command posts I want to discuss with Thufir.” He turned,
strode out of the room, nodding shortly to the door guards.
Paul stared at the place where his father had stood. The space had been
empty even before the Duke left the room. And he recalled the old woman’s
warning: “ . . . for the father, nothing.”
= = = = = =
On that first day when Muad’Dib rode through the streets of Arrakeen with his
family, some of the people along the way recalled the legends and the prophecy
and they ventured to shout: “Mahdi!” But their shout was more a question than a
statement, for as yet they could only hope he was the one foretold as the Lisan
al-?Gaib, the Voice from the Outer World. Their attention was focused, too, on
the mother, because they had heard she was a Bene Gesserit and it was obvious to
them that she was like the other Lisan al-?Gaib.
-from “Manual of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
The Duke found Thufir Hawat alone in the corner room to which a guard
directed him. There was the sound of men setting up communications equipment in
an adjoining room, but this place was fairly quiet. The Duke glanced around as
Hawat arose from a paper-?cluttered table. It was a green-?walled enclosure with,
in addition to the table, three suspensor chairs from which the Harkonnen “H”
had been hastily removed, leaving an imperfect color patch.
“The chairs are liberated but quite safe,” Hawat said. “Where is Paul,
Sire?”
“I left him in the conference room. I’m hoping he’ll get some rest without
me there to distract him.”
Hawat nodded, crossed to the door to the adjoining room, closed it, shutting
off the noise of static and electronic sparking.
“Thufir,” Leto said, “the Imperial and Harkonnen stockpiles of spice attract
my attention.”
“M’Lord?”
The Duke pursed his lips. “Storehouses are susceptible to destruction.” He
raised a hand as Hawat started to speak. “Ignore the Emperor’s hoard. He’d
secretly enjoy it if the Harkonnens were embarrassed. And can the Baron object
if something is destroyed which he cannot openly admit that he has?”
Hawat shook his head. “We’ve few men to spare. Sire.”
“Use some of Idaho’s men. And perhaps some of the Fremen would enjoy a trip
off planet. A raid on Giedi Prime–there are tactical advantages to such a
diversion, Thufir.”
“As you say, my Lord.” Hawat turned away, and the Duke saw evidence of
nervousness in the old man, thought: Perhaps he suspects I distrust him. He must
know I’ve private reports of traitors. Well–best quiet his fears immediately.
“Thufir,” he said, “since you’re one of the few I can trust completely,
there’s another matter bears discussion. We both know how constant a watch we
must keep to prevent traitors from infiltrating our forces . . . but I have two
new reports.”
Hawat turned, stared at him.
And Leto repeated the stories Paul had brought.
Instead of bringing on the intense Mentat concentration, the reports only
increased Hawat’s agitation.
Leto studied the old man and, presently, said: “You’ve been holding
something back, old friend. I should’ve suspected when you were so nervous
during Staff. What is it that was too hot to dump in front of the full
conference?”
Hawat’s sapho-?stained lips were pulled into a prim, straight line with tiny
wrinkles radiating into them. They maintained their wrinkled stiffness as he
said: “My Lord, I don’t quite know how to broach this.”
“We’ve suffered many a scar for each other, Thufir,” the Duke said. “You
know you can broach any subject with me.”
Hawat continued to stare at him, thinking: This is how I like him best. This
is the man of honor who deserves every bit of my loyalty and service. Why must I
hurt him?
“Well?” Leto demanded.
Hawat shrugged. “It’s a scrap of a note. We took it from a Harkonnen
courier. The note was intended for an agent named Pardee. We’ve good reason to
believe Pardee was top man in the Harkonnen underground here. The note–it’s a
thing that could have great consequence or no consequence. It’s susceptible to
various interpretations.”
“What’s the delicate content of this note?”
“Scrap of a note, my Lord. Incomplete. It was on minimic film with the usual
destruction capsule attached. We stopped the acid action just short of full
erasure, leaving only a fragment. The fragment, however, is extremely
suggestive.”
“Yes?”
Hawat rubbed at his lips. “It says: ‘ . . . eto will never suspect, and when
the blow falls on him from a beloved hand, its source alone should be enough to
destroy him.’ The note was under the Baron’s own seal and I’ve authenticated the
seal.”
“Your suspicion is obvious,” the Duke said and his voice was suddenly cold.
“I’d sooner cut off my arms than hurt you,” Hawat said. “My Lord, what if .
. .”
“The Lady Jessica,” Leto said, and he felt anger consuming him. “Couldn’t
you wring the facts out of this Pardee?”
“Unfortunately, Pardee no longer was among the living when we intercepted
the courier. The courier, I’m certain, did not know what he carried.”
“I see.”
Leto shook his head, thinking: What a slimy piece of business. There can’t
be anything in it. I know my woman.
“My Lord, if–”
“No!” the Duke barked. “There’s a mistake here that–”
“We cannot ignore it, my Lord.”
“She’s been with me for sixteen years! There’ve been countless opportunities
for–You yourself investigated the school and the woman!”
Hawat spoke bitterly: “Things have been known to escape me.”
“It’s impossible, I tell you! The Harkonnens want to destroy the Atreides
line–meaning Paul, too. They’ve already tried once. Could a woman conspire
against her own son?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t conspire against her son. And yesterday’s attempt
could’ve been a clever sham.”
“It couldn’t have been a sham.”
“Sire, she isn’t supposed to know her parentage, but what if she does know?
What if she were an orphan, say, orphaned by an Atreides?”
“She’d have moved long before now. Poison in my drink . . . a stiletto at
night. Who has had better opportunity?”