Dune (40th Anniversary Edition)

by Frank Herbert

  “Why is this interesting?” the banker asked.

  “Because of an observation made by my father at the time. He said the drowning man who climbs on your shoulders to save himself is understandable—except when you see it happen in the drawing room.” Paul hesitated just long enough for the banker to see the point coming, then: “And, I should add, except when you see it at the dinner table.”

  A sudden stillness enfolded the room.

  That was rash, Jessica thought. This banker might have enough rank to call my son out. She saw that Idaho was poised for instant action. The House troopers were alert. Gurney Halleck had his eyes on the men opposite him.

  “Ho-ho-ho-o-o-o!” It was the smuggler, Tuek, head thrown back laughing with complete abandon.

  Nervous smiles appeared around the table.

  Bewt was grinning.

  The banker had pushed his chair back, was glaring at Paul.

  Kynes said: “One baits an Atreides at his own risk.”

  “Is it Atreides custom to insult their guests?” the banker demanded.

  Before Paul could answer, Jessica leaned forward, said: “Sir!” And she thought: We must learn this Harkonnen creature’s game. Is he here to try for Paul? Does he have help?

  “My son displays a general garment and you claim it’s cut to your fit?” Jessica asked. “What a fascinating revelation.” She slid a hand down to her leg to the crysknife she had fastened in a calf-sheath.

  The banker turned his glare on Jessica. Eyes shifted away from Paul and she saw him ease himself back from the table, freeing himself for action. He had focused on the code word: garment. “Prepare for violence. ”

  Kynes directed a speculative look at Jessica, gave a subtle hand signal to Tuek.

  The smuggler lurched to his feet, lifted his flagon. “I’ll give you a toast,” he said. “To young Paul Atreides, still a lad by his looks, but a man by his actions.”

  Why do they intrude? Jessica asked herself.

  The banker stared now at Kynes, and Jessica saw terror return to the agent’s face.

  People began responding all around the table.

  Where Kynes leads, people follow, Jessica thought. He has told us he sides with Paul. What’s the secret of his power? It can’t be because he’s Judge of the Change. That’s temporary. And certainly not because he’s a civil servant.

  She removed her hand from the crysknife hilt, lifted her flagon to Kynes, who responded in kind.

  Only Paul and the banker—(Soo-Soo! What an idiotic nickname! Jessica thought.)—remained empty-handed. The banker’s attention stayed fixed on Kynes. Paul stared at his plate.

  I was handling it correctly, Paul thought. Why do they interfere? He glanced covertly at the male guests nearest him. Prepare for violence? From whom? Certainly not from that banker fellow.

  Halleck stirred, spoke as though to no one in particular, directing his words over the heads of the guests across from him: “In our society, people shouldn’t be quick to take offense. It’s frequently suicidal.” He looked at the stillsuit manufacturer’s daughter beside him. “Don’t you think so, miss?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes. Indeed I do,” she said. “There’s too much violence. It makes me sick. And lots of times no offense is meant, but people die anyway. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Indeed it doesn’t,” Halleck said.

  Jessica saw the near perfection of the girl’s act, realized: That empty-headed little female is not an empty-headed little female. She saw then the pattern of the threat and understood that Halleck, too, had detected it. They had planned to lure Paul with sex. Jessica relaxed. Her son had probably been the first to see it—his training hadn’t overlooked that obvious gambit.

  Kynes spoke to the banker: “Isn’t another apology in order?”

  The banker turned a sickly grin toward Jessica, said: “My Lady, I fear I’ve overindulged in your wines. You serve potent drink at table, and I’m not accustomed to it.”

  Jessica heard the venom beneath his tone, spoke sweetly: “When strangers meet, great allowance should be made for differences of custom and training.”

  “Thank you, my Lady,” he said.

  The dark-haired companion of the stillsuit manufacturer leaned toward Jessica, said: “The Duke spoke of our being secure here. I do hope that doesn’t mean more fighting.”

  She was directed to lead the conversation this way, Jessica thought.

  “Likely this will prove unimportant,” Jessica said. “But there’s so much detail requiring the Duke’s personal attention in these times. As long as enmity continues between Atreides and Harkonnen we cannot be too careful. The Duke has sworn kanly. He will leave no Harkonnen agent alive on Arrakis, of course.” She glanced at the Guild Bank agent. “And the Conventions, naturally, support him in this.” She shifted her attention to Kynes. “Is this not so, Dr. Kynes?”

  “Indeed it is,” Kynes said.

  The stillsuit manufacturer pulled his companion gently back. She looked at him, said: “I do believe I’ll eat something now. I’d like some of that bird dish you served earlier.”

  Jessica signalled a servant, turned to the banker: “And you, sir, were speaking of birds earlier and of their habits. I find so many interesting things about Arrakis. Tell me, where is the spice found? Do the hunters go deep into the desert?”

  “Oh, no, my Lady,” he said. “Very little’s known of the deep desert. And almost nothing of the southern regions.”

  “There’s a tale that a great Mother Lode of spice is to be found in the southern reaches,” Kynes said, “but I suspect it was an imaginative invention made solely for purposes of a song. Some daring spice hunters do, on occasion, penetrate into the edge of the central belt, but that’s extremely dangerous—navigation is uncertain, storms are frequent. Casualties increase dramatically the farther you operate from Shield Wall bases. It hasn’t been found profitable to venture too far south. Perhaps if we had a weather satellite....”

  Bewt looked up, spoke around a mouthful of food: “It’s said the Fremen travel there, that they go anywhere and have hunted out soaks and sip-wells even in the southern latitudes.”

  “Soaks and sip-wells?” Jessica asked.

  Kynes spoke quickly: “Wild rumors, my Lady. These are known on other planets, not on Arrakis. A soak is a place where water seeps to the surface or near enough to the surface to be found by digging according to certain signs. A sip-well is a form of soak where a person draws water through a straw... so it is said.”

  There’s deception in his words, Jessica thought.

  Why is he lying? Paul wondered.

  “How very interesting,” Jessica said. And she thought. “It is said....” What a curious speech mannerism they have here. If they only knew what it reveals about their dependence on superstitions.

  “I’ve heard you have a saying,” Paul said, “that polish comes from the cities, wisdom from the desert.”

  “There are many sayings on Arrakis,” Kynes said.

  Before Jessica could frame a new question, a servant bent over her with a note. She opened it, saw the Duke’s handwriting and code signs, scanned it.

  “You’ll all be delighted to know,” she said, “that our Duke sends his reassurances. The matter which called him away has been settled. The missing carryall has been found. A Harkonnen agent in the crew overpowered the others and flew the machine to a smugglers’ base, hoping to sell it there. Both man and machine were turned over to our forces.” She nodded to Tuek.

  The smuggler nodded back.

  Jessica refolded the note, tucked it into her sleeve.

  “I’m glad it didn’t come to open battle,” the banker said. “The people have such hopes the Atreides will bring peace and prosperity.”

  “Especially prosperity,” Bewt said.

  “Shall we have our dessert now?” Jessica asked. “I’ve had our chef prepare a Caladan sweet: pongi rice in sauce dolsa.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” the stillsuit manufacturer said. �
�Would it be possible to get the recipe?”

  “Any recipe you desire,” Jessica said, registering the man for later mention to Hawat. The stillsuit manufacturer was a fearful little climber and could be bought.

  Small talk resumed around her: “Such a lovely fabric....” “He is having a setting made to match the jewel....” “We might try for a production increase next quarter....”

  Jessica stared down at her plate, thinking of the coded part of Leto’s message: The Harkonnens tried to get in a shipment of lasguns. We captured them. This may mean they’ve succeeded with other shipments. It certainly means they don’t place much store in shields. Take appropriate precautions.

  Jessica focused her mind on lasguns, wondering. The white-hot beams of disruptive light could cut through any known substance, provided that substance was not shielded. The fact that feedback from a shield would explode both lasgun and shield did not bother the Harkonnens. Why? A lasgun-shield explosion was a dangerous variable, could be more powerful than atomics, could kill only the gunner and his shielded target.

  The unknowns here filled her with uneasiness.

  Paul said: “I never doubted we’d find the carryall. Once my father moves to solve a problem, he solves it. This is a fact the Harkonnens are beginning to discover.”

  He’s boasting, Jessica thought. He shouldn’t boast. No person who’ll be sleeping far below ground level this night as a precaution against lasguns has the right to boast.

  “There is no escape—we pay for the violence of our ancestors.”

  —from “The Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan

  JESSICA HEARD the disturbance in the great hall, turned on the light beside her bed. The clock there had not been properly adjusted to local time, and she had to subtract twenty-one minutes to determine that it was about 2 A.M.

  The disturbance was loud and incoherent.

  Is this the Harkonnen attack? she wondered.

  She slipped out of bed, checked the screen monitors to see where her family was. The screen showed Paul asleep in the deep cellar room they’d hastily converted to a bedroom for him. The noise obviously wasn’t penetrating to his quarters. There was no one in the Duke’s room, his bed was unrumpled. Was he still at the field C.P.?

  There were no screens yet to the front of the house.

  Jessica stood in the middle of her room, listening.

  There was one shouting, incoherent voice. She heard someone call for Dr. Yueh. Jessica found a robe, pulled it over her shoulders, pushed her feet into slippers, strapped the crysknife to her leg.

  Again, a voice called out for Yueh.

  Jessica belted the robe around her, stepped into the hallway. Then the thought struck her: What if Leto’s hurt?

  The hall seemed to stretch out forever under her running feet. She turned through the arch at the end, dashed past the dining hall and down the passage to the Great Hall, finding the place brightly lighted, all the wall suspensors glowing at maximum.

  To her right near the front entry, she saw two house guards holding Duncan Idaho between them. His head lolled forward, and there was an abrupt, panting silence to the scene.

  One of the house guards spoke accusingly to Idaho: “You see what you did? You woke the Lady Jessica.”

  The great draperies billowed behind the men, showing that the front door remained open. There was no sign of the Duke or Yueh. Mapes stood to one side staring coldly at Idaho. She wore a long brown robe with serpentine design at the hem. Her feet were pushed into unlaced desert boots.

  “So I woke the Lady Jessica,” Idaho muttered. He lifted his face toward the ceiling, bellowed: “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman!”

  Great Mother! He’s drunk! Jessica thought.

  Idaho’s dark, round face was drawn into a frown. His hair, curling like the fur of a black goat, was plastered with dirt. A jagged rent in his tunic exposed an expanse of the dress shirt he had worn at the dinner party earlier.

  Jessica crossed to him.

  One of the guards nodded to her without releasing his hold on Idaho. “We didn’t know what to do with him, my Lady. He was creating a disturbance out front, refusing to come inside. We were afraid locals might come along and see him. That wouldn’t do at all. Give us a bad name here.”

  “Where has he been?” Jessica asked.

  “He escorted one of the young ladies home from the dinner, my Lady. Hawat’s orders.”

  “Which young lady?”

  “One of the escort wenches. You understand, my Lady?” He glanced at Mapes, lowered his voice. “They’re always calling on Idaho for special surveillance of the ladies.”

  And Jessica thought: So they are. But why is he drunk?

  She frowned, turned to Mapes. “Mapes, bring a stimulant. I’d suggest caffeine. Perhaps there’s some of the spice coffee left.”

  Mapes shrugged, headed for the kitchen. Her unlaced desert boots slap-slapped against the stone floor.

  Idaho swung his unsteady head around to peer at an angle toward Jessica. “Killed more’n three hunner’ men f‘r the Duke,” he muttered. “Whadduh wanna know is why’m mere? Can’t live unner th’ groun’ here. Can’t live onna groun’ here. Wha’ kinna place is ’iss, huh?”

  A sound from the side hall entry caught Jessica’s attention. She turned, saw Yueh crossing to them, his medical kit swinging in his left hand. He was fully dressed, looked pale, exhausted. The diamond tattoo stood out sharply on his forehead.

  “Th’ good docker!” Idaho shouted. “Whad’re you, Doc? Splint ‘n’ pill man?” He turned blearily toward Jessica. “Makin’ uh damn fool uh m’self, huh?”

  Jessica frowned, remained silent, wondering: Why would Idaho get drunk? Was he drugged?

  “Too much spice beer,” Idaho said, attempting to straighten.

  Mapes returned with a steaming cup in her hands, stopped uncertainly behind Yueh. She looked at Jessica, who shook her head.

  Yueh put his kit on the floor, nodded greeting to Jessica, said: “Spice beer, eh?”

  “Bes’ damn stuff ever tas‘ed,” Idaho said. He tried to pull himself to attention. “My sword was firs’ blooded on Grumman! Killed a Harkon ... Harkon ... killed ’im f’r th’ Duke.”

  Yueh turned, looked at the cup in Mapes’ hand. “What is that?” “Caffeine,” Jessica said.

  Yueh took the cup, held it toward Idaho. “Drink this, lad.” “Don’t wan’ any more t’ drink.”

  “Drink it, I say!”

  Idaho’s head wobbled toward Yueh, and he stumbled one step ahead, dragging the guards with him. “I’m almighdy fed up with pleasin’ th’ ’Mperial Universe, Doc. Jus’ once, we’re gonna do th’ thing my way.”

  “After you drink this,” Yueh said. “It’s just caffeine.”

  “‘Sprolly like all res’ uh this place! Damn’ sun ’stoo brighd. Nothin’ has uh righd color. Ever’thing’s wrong or....”

  “Well, it’s nighttime now,” Yueh said. He spoke reasonably. “Drink this like a good lad. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Don’ wanna feel bedder!”

  “We can’t argue with him all night,” Jessica said. And she thought: This calls for shock treatment.

  “There’s no reason for you to stay, my Lady,” Yueh said. “I can take care of this.”

  Jessica shook her head. She stepped forward, slapped Idaho sharply across the cheek.

  He stumbled back with his guards, glaring at her.

  “This is no way to act in your Duke’s home,” she said. She snatched the cup from Yueh’s hands, spilling part of it, thrust the cup toward Idaho. “Now drink this! That’s an order!”

  Idaho jerked himself upright, scowling down at her. He spoke slowly, with careful and precise enunciation: “I do not take orders from a damn’ Harkonnen spy.”

  Yueh stiffened, whirled to face Jessica.

  Her face had gone pale, but she was nodding. It all became clear to her—the broken stems of meaning she had seen in words and actions arou
nd her these past few days could now be translated. She found herself in the grip of anger almost too great to contain. It took the most profound of her Bene Gesserit training to quiet her pulse and smooth her breathing. Even then she could feel the blaze flickering.

  They were always calling on Idaho for surveillance of the ladies!

  She shot a glance at Yueh. The doctor lowered his eyes.

  “You knew this?” she demanded.

  “I ... heard rumors, my Lady. But I didn’t want to add to your burdens.”

  “Hawat!” she snapped. “I want Thufir Hawat brought to me immediately!”

  “But, my Lady....”

  “Immediately!”

  It has to be Hawat, she thought. Suspicion such as this could come from no other source without being discarded immediately.

  Idaho shook his head, mumbled. “Chuck th’ whole damn thing.” Jessica looked down at the cup in her hand, abruptly dashed its contents across Idaho’s face. “Lock him in one of the guest rooms of the east wing,” she ordered. “Let him sleep it off.”

  The two guards stared at her unhappily. One ventured: “Perhaps we should take him someplace else, m’Lady. We could....”

  “He’s supposed to be here!” Jessica snapped. “He has a job to do here.” Her voice dripped bitterness. “He’s so good at watching the ladies.”

  The guard swallowed.

  “Do you know where the Duke is?” she demanded.

  “He’s at the command post, my Lady.”

  “Is Hawat with him?”

  “Hawat’s in the city, my Lady.”

  “You will bring Hawat to me at once,” Jessica said. “I will be in my sitting room when he arrives.”