Hawat arose, glancing 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—subtie 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 hisfears 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 orpha
n, 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?”
“The Harkonnens mean to destroy you, my Lord. Their intent is not just to kill. There’s a range of fine distinctions in kanly. This could be a work of art among vendettas.”
The Duke’s shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes, looking old and tired. It cannot be, he thought. The woman has opened her heart to me.
“What better way to destroy me than to sow suspicion of the woman I love?” he asked.
“An interpretation I’ve considered,” Hawat said. “Still….”
The Duke opened his eyes, stared at Hawat, thinking: Let him be suspicious. Suspicion is his trade, not mine. Perhaps if I appear to believe this, that will make another man careless.
“What do you suggest?” the Duke whispered.
“For now, constant surveillance, my Lord. She should be watched at all times. I will see it’s done unobtrusively. Idaho would be the ideal choice for the job. Perhaps in a week or so we can bring him back. There’s a young man we’ve been training in Idaho’s troop who might be ideal to send to the Fremen as a replacement. He’s gifted in diplomacy.”
“Don’t jeopardize our foothold with the Fremen.”
“Of course not, Sir.”
“And what about Paul?”
“Perhaps we could alert Dr. Yueh.”
Leto turned his back on Hawat. “I leave it in your hands.”
“I shall use discretion, my Lord.”
At least I can count on that, Leto thought. And he said: “I will take a walk. If you need me, I’ll be within the perimeter. The guard can—”
“My Lord, before you go, I’ve a filmclip you should read. It’s a first-approximation analysis on the Fremen religion. You’ll recall you asked me to report on it.”
The Duke paused, spoke without turning. “Will it not wait?”
“Of course, my Lord. You asked what they were shouting, though. It was ‘Mahdi!’ They directed the term at the young master. When they—”
“At Paul?”
“Yes, my Lord. They’ve a legend here, a prophecy, that a leader will come to them, child of a Bene Gesserit, to lead them to true freedom. It follows the familiar messiah pattern.”
“They think Paul is this… this….”
“They only hope, my Lord.” Hawat extended a filmclip capsule.
The Duke accepted it, thrust it into a pocket. “I’ll look at it later.”
“Certainly, my Lord.”
“Right now, I need time to … think.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
The Duke took a deep sighing breath, strode out the door. He turned to his right down the hall, began walking, hands behind his back, paying little attention to where he was. There were corridors and stairs and balconies and halls… people who saluted and stood aside for him.
In time he came back to the conference room, found it dark and Paul asleep on the table with a guard’s robe thrown over him and a ditty pack for a pillow. The Duke walked softly down the length of the room and onto the balcony overlooking the landing field. A guard at the corner of the balcony, recognizing the Duke by the dim reflection of lights from the field, snapped to attention.
“At ease,” the Duke murmured. He leaned against the cold metal of the balcony rail.
A predawn hush had come over the desert basin. He looked up. Straight overhead, the stars were a sequin shawl flung over blue-black. Low on the southern horizon, the night’s second moon peered through a thin dust haze—an unbelieving moon that looked at him with a cynical light.
As the Duke watched, the moon dipped beneath the Shield Wall cliffs, frosting them, and in the sudden intensity of darkness, he experienced a chill. He shivered.
Anger shot through him.
The Harkonnens have hindered and hounded and hunted me for the last time, he thought. They are dung heaps with village provost minds! Here I make my stand! And he thought with a touch of sadness: I must rule with eye and claw—asthe hawk among lesser birds. Unconsciously, his hand brushed the hawk emblem on his tunic.
To the east, the night grew a faggot of luminous gray, then seashell opalescence that dimmed the stars. There came the long, bell-tolling movement of dawn striking across a broken horizon.
It was a scene of such beauty it caught all his attention.
Some things beggar likeness, he thought.
He had never imagined anything here could be as beautiful as that shattered red horizon and the purple and ochre cliffs. Beyond the landing field where the night’s faint dew had touched life into the hurried seeds of Arrakis, he saw great puddles of red blooms and, running through them, an articulate tread of violet… like giant footsteps.
“It’s a beautiful morning, Sire,” the guard said.
“Yes, it is.”
The Duke nodded, thinking: Perhaps this planet could grow on one. Perhaps it could become a good home for my son.
Then he saw the human figures moving into the flower fields, sweeping them with strange scythe-like devices—dew gatherers. Water so precious here that even the dew must be collected.
And it could be a hideous place, the Duke thought.
***
“Thereis probably no more terrible instant of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man—with human flesh.”
—from“Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
THE DUKE SAID: “Paul, I’m doing a hateful thing, but I must.” He stood beside the portable poison snooper that had been brought into the conference room for their breakfast. The thing’s sensor arms hung limply over the table, reminding Paul of some weird insect newly dead.
The Duke’s attention was directed out the windows at the landing field and its roiling of dust against the morning sky.
Paul had a viewer in front of him containing a short filmclip on Fremen religious practices. The clip had been compiled by one of Hawat’s experts and Paul found himself disturbed by the references to himself.
“Mahdi!”
“Lisan al-Gaib!”
He could close his eyes and recall the shouts of the crowds. So that is what they hope, he thought. And he remembered what the old Reverend Mother had said: Kwisatz Haderach. The memories touched his feelings of terrible purpose, shading this strange world with sensations of familiarity that he could not understand.
“A hateful thing,” the Duke said.
“What do you mean, sir?”
Leto turned, looked down at his son. “Because the Harkonnens think to trick me by making me distrust your mother. They don’t know that I’d sooner distrust myself.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
Again, Leto looked out the windows. The white sun was well up into its morning quadrant. Milky light picked out a boiling of dust clouds that spilled over into the blind canyons interfingering the Shield Wall.
Slowly, speaking in a slow voice to contain his anger, the Duke explained to Paul about the mysterious note.
“You might just as well mistrust me,” Paul said.
“They have to think they’ve succeeded,” the Duke said. “They must think me this much of a fool. It must look real. Even your mother may not know the sham.”
“But, sir! Why?”
“Your mother’s response must not be an act. Oh, she’s capable of a supreme act… but too much rides on this. I hope to smoke out a traitor. It must seem that I’ve been completely cozened. She must be hurt this way that she does not suffer greater hurt.”
“Why do you tell me, Father? Maybe I’ll give it away.”
“They’ll not watch you in this thing,” the Duke said. “You’ll keep the secret. You must.” He walked to the windows, spoke without turning. “This way, if anything should happen to me, you can tell her the truth—that I never doubted her, not for the smallest instant. I should want her to know this.”
Paul recognized the death thoughts in his fat
her’s words, spoke quickly: “Nothing’s going to happen to you, sir. The—”
“Be silent, Son.”
Paul stared at his father’s back, seeing the fatigue in the angle of the neck, in the line of the shoulders, in the slow movements.
“You’re just tired, Father.”
“I am tired,” the Duke agreed. “I’m morally tired. The melancholy degeneration of the Great Houses has afflicted me at last, perhaps. And we were such strong people once.”
Paul spoke in quick anger: “Our House hasn’t degenerated!”
“Hasn’t it?”
The Duke turned, faced his son, revealing dark circles beneath hard eyes, a cynical twist of mouth. “I should wed your mother, make her my Duchess. Yet… my unwedded state give some Houses hope they may yet ally with me through their marriageable daughters.” He shrugged. “So, I….”
“Mother has explained this to me.”
“Nothing wins more loyalty for a leader than an air of bravura,” the Duke said. “I, therefore, cultivate an air of bravura.”
“You lead well,” Paul protested. “You govern well. Men follow you willingly and love you.”
“My propaganda corps is one of the finest,” the Duke’said. Again, he turned to stare out at the basin. “There’s greater possibility for us here on Arrakis than the Imperium could ever suspect. Yet sometimes I think it’d have been better if we’d run for it, gone renegade. Sometimes I wish we could sink back into anonymity among the people, become less exposed to….”
“Father!”
“Yes, I am tired,” the Duke said. “Did you know we’re using spice residue as raw material and already have our own factory to manufacture filmbase?”
“Sir?”
“We mustn’t run short of filmbase,” the Duke said. “Else, how could we flood village and city with our information? The people must learn how well I govern them. How would they know if we didn’t tell them?”
“You should get some rest,” Paul said.
Again, the Duke faced his son. “Arrakis has another advantage I almost forgot to mention. Spice is in everything here. You breathe it and eat it in almost everything. And I find that this imparts a certain natural immunity to some of the most common poisons of the Assassins’ Handbook. And the need to watch every drop of water puts all food production—yeast culture, hydroponics, chemavit, everything—under the strictest surveillance. We cannot kill off large segments of our population with poison—and we cannot be attacked this way, either. Arrakis makes us moral and ethical.”
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