Dune (7 page)

“Mutation?”

“No; it’s linked to saturation of the blood with melange.”

“The Fremen must be brave to live at the edge of that desert.”

“By all accounts,” Yueh said. “They compose poems to their knives. Their
women are as fierce as the men. Even Fremen children are violent and dangerous.
You’ll not be permitted to mingle with them, I daresay.”

Paul stared at Yueh, finding in these few glimpses of the Fremen a power of
words that caught his entire attention. What a people to win as allies!

“And the worms?” Paul asked.

“What?”

“I’d like to study more about the sandworms.”

“Ah-?h-?h-?h, to be sure. I’ve a filmbook on a small specimen, only one hundred
and ten meters long and twenty-?two meters in diameter. It was taken in the
northern latitudes. Worms of more than four hundred meters in length have been
recorded by reliable witnesses, and there’s reason to believe even larger ones
exist.”

Paul glanced down at a conical projection chart of the northern Arrakeen
latitudes spread on the table. “The desert belt and south polar regions are
marked uninhabitable. Is it the worms?”

“And the storms.”

“But any place can be made habitable.”

“If it’s economically feasible,” Yueh said. “Arrakis has many costly
perils.” He smoothed his drooping mustache. “Your father will be here soon.
Before I go, I’ve a gift for you, something I came across in packing.” He put an
object on the table between them — black, oblong, no larger than the end of
Paul’s thumb.

Paul looked at it. Yueh noted how the boy did not reach for it, and thought:
How cautious he is.

“It’s a very old Orange Catholic Bible made for space travelers. Not a
filmbook, but actually printed on filament paper. It has its own magnifier and
electrostatic charge system.” He picked it up, demonstrated. “The book is held
closed by the charge, which forces against spring-?locked covers. You press the
edge — thus, and the pages you’ve selected repel each other and the book
opens.”

“It’s so small.”
“But it has eighteen hundred pages. You press the edge — thus, and so . . .
and the charge moves ahead one page at a time as you read. Never touch the
actual pages with your fingers. The filament tissue is too delicate.” He closed
the book, handed it to Paul. “Try it.”

Yueh watched Paul work the page adjustment, thought: I salve my own
conscience. I give him the surcease of religion before betraying him. Thus may I
say to myself that he has gone where I cannot go.

“This must’ve been made before filmbooks,” Paul said.

“It’s quite old. Let it be our secret, eh? Your parents might think it too
valuable for one so young.”

And Yueh thought: His mother would surely wonder at my motives.

“Well . . . ” Paul closed the book, held it in his hand. “If it’s so
valuable . . . ”

“Indulge an old man’s whim,” Yueh said. “It was given to me when I was very
young.” And he thought: I must catch his mind as well as his cupidity. “Open it
to four-?sixty-?seven Kalima — where it says: ‘From water does all life begin.’
There’s a slight notch on the edge of the cover to mark the place.”

Paul felt the cover, detected two notches, one shallower than the other. He
pressed the shallower one and the book spread open on his palm, its magnifier
sliding into place.

“Read it aloud,” Yueh said.

Paul wet his lips with his tongue, read: “Think you of the fact that a deaf
person cannot hear. Then, what deafness may we not all possess? What senses do
we lack that we cannot see and cannot hear another world all around us? What is
there around us that we cannot –”

“Stop it!” Yueh barked.

Paul broke off, stared at him.

Yueh closed his eyes, fought to regain composure. What perversity caused the
book to open at my Wanna’s favorite passage? He opened his eyes, saw Paul
staring at him.

“Is something wrong?” Paul asked.

“I’m sorry,” Yueh said. “That was . . . my . . . dead wife’s favorite
passage. It’s not the one I intended you to read. It brings up memories that are
. . . painful.”

“There are two notches,” Paul said.

Of course, Yueh thought. Wanna marked her passage. His fingers are more
sensitive than mine and found her mark. It was an accident, no more.

“You may find the book interesting,” Yueh said. “It has much historical
truth in it as well as good ethical philosophy.”

Paul looked down at the tiny book in his palm — such a small thing. Yet, it
contained a mystery . . . something had happened while he read from it. He had
felt something stir his terrible purpose.

“Your father will be here any minute,” Yueh said. “Put the book away and
read it at your leisure.”

Paul touched the edge of it as Yueh had shown him. The book sealed itself.
He slipped it into his tunic. For a moment there when Yueh had barked at him,
Paul had feared the man would demand the book’s return.

“I thank you for the gift. Dr. Yueh,” Paul said, speaking formally. “It will
be our secret. If there is a gift of favor you wish from me, please do not
hesitate to ask.”

“I . . . need for nothing,” Yueh said.

And he thought: Why do I stand here torturing myself? And torturing this
poor lad . . . though he does not know it. Oeyh! Damn those Harkonnen beasts!
Why did they choose me for their abomination?

= = = = = =
How do we approach the study of Muad’Dib’s father? A man of surpassing warmth
and surprising coldness was the Duke Leto Atreides. Yet, many facts open the way
to this Duke: his abiding love for his Bene Gesserit lady; the dreams he held
for his son; the devotion with which men served him. You see him there — a man
snared by Destiny, a lonely figure with his light dimmed behind the glory of his
son. Still, one must ask: What is the son but an extension of the father?
-from “Muad’Dib, Family Commentaries” by the Princess Irulan

Paul watched his father enter the training room, saw the guards take up
stations outside. One of them closed the door. As always, Paul experienced a
sense of presence in his father, someone totally here.

The Duke was tall, olive-?skinned. His thin face held harsh angles warmed
only by deep gray eyes. He wore a black working uniform with red armorial hawk
crest at the breast. A silvered shield belt with the patina of much use girded
his narrow waist.

The Duke said: “Hard at work, Son?”

He crossed to the ell table, glanced at the papers on it, swept his gaze
around the room and back to Paul. He felt tired, filled with the ache of not
showing his fatigue. I must use every opportunity to rest during the crossing to
Arrakis, he thought. There’ll be no rest on Arrakis.

“Not very hard,” Paul said. “Everything’s so . . . ” He shrugged.

“Yes. Well, tomorrow we leave. It’ll be good to get settled in our new home,
put all this upset behind.”

Paul nodded, suddenly overcome by memory of the Reverend Mother’s words: “ .
. . for the father, nothing.”

“Father,” Paul said, “will Arrakis be as dangerous as everyone says?”

The Duke forced himself to the casual gesture, sat down on a corner of the
table, smiled. A whole pattern of conversation welled up in his mind — the kind
of thing he might use to dispel the vapors in his men before a battle. The
pattern froze before it could be vocalized, confronted by the single thought:

This is my son.

“It’ll be dangerous,” he admitted.

“Hawat tells me we have a plan for the Fremen,” Paul said. And he wondered:
Why don’t I tell him what that old woman said? How did she seal my tongue?

The Duke noted his son’s distress, said: “As always, Hawat sees the main
chance. But there’s much more. I see also the Combine Honnete Ober Advancer
Mercantiles — the CHOAM Company. By giving me Arrakis, His Majesty is forced to
give us a CHOAM directorship . . . a subtle gain.”

“CHOAM controls the spice,” Paul said.

“And Arrakis with its spice is our avenue into CHOAM,” the Duke said.
“There’s more to CHOAM than melange.”

“Did the Reverend Mother warn you?” Paul blurted. He clenched his fists,
feeling his palms slippery with perspiration. The effort it had taken to ask
that question.

“Hawat tells me she frightened you with warnings about Arrakis,” the Duke
said. “Don’t let a woman’s fears cloud your mind. No woman wants her loved ones
endangered. The hand behind those warnings was your mother’s. Take this as a
sign of her love for us.”

“Does she know about the Fremen?”

“Yes, and about much more.”

“What?”

And the Duke thought: The truth could be worse than he imagines, but even
dangerous facts are valuable if you’ve been trained to deal with them. And
there’s one place where nothing has been spared for my son — dealing with
dangerous facts. This must be leavened, though; he is young.

“Few products escape the CHOAM touch,” the Duke said. “Logs, donkeys,
horses, cows, lumber, dung, sharks, whale fur — the most prosaic and the most
exotic . . . even our poor pundi rice from Caladan. Anything the Guild will
transport, the art forms of Ecaz, the machines of Richesse and Ix. But all fades
before melange. A handful of spice will buy a home on Tupile. It cannot be
manufactured, it must be mined on Arrakis. It is unique and it has true
geriatric properties.“

”And now we control it?“

”To a certain degree. But the important thing is to consider all the Houses
that depend on CHOAM profits. And think of the enormous proportion of those
profits dependent upon a single product — the spice. Imagine what would happen
if something should reduce spice production.“

”Whoever had stockpiled melange could make a killing,“ Paul said. ”Others
would be out in the cold.“

The Duke permitted himself a moment of grim satisfaction, looking at his son
and thinking how penetrating, how truly educated that observation had been. He
nodded. ”The Harkonnens have been stockpiling for more than twenty years.“

”They mean spice production to fail and you to be blamed.“

”They wish the Atreides name to become unpopular,“ the Duke said. ”Think of
the Landsraad Houses that look to me for a certain amount of leadership — their
unofficial spokesman. Think how they’d react if I were responsible for a serious
reduction in their income. After all, one’s own profits come first. The Great
Convention be damned! You can’t let someone pauperize you!“ A harsh smile
twisted the Duke’s mouth. ”They’d look the other way no matter what was done to
me.“

”Even if we were attacked with atomics?“

”Nothing that flagrant. No open defiance of the Convention. But almost
anything else short of that . . . perhaps even dusting and a bit of soil
poisoning.“

”Then why are we walking into this?“

”Paul!“ The Duke frowned at his son. ”Knowing where the trap is — that’s
the first step in evading it. This is like single combat, Son, only on a larger
scale — a feint within a feint within a feint . . . seemingly without end. The
task is to unravel it. Knowing that the Harkonnens stockpile melange, we ask
another question: Who else is stockpiling? That’s the list of our enemies.“

”Who?“

”Certain Houses we knew were unfriendly and some we’d thought friendly. We
need not consider them for the moment because there is one other much more
important: our beloved Padishah Emperor.“

Paul tried to swallow in a throat suddenly dry. ”Couldn’t you convene the
Landsraad, expose –“

”Make our enemy aware we know which hand holds the knife? Ah, now, Paul —
we see the knife, now. Who knows where it might be shifted next? If we put this
before the Landsraad it’d only create a great cloud of confusion. The Emperor
would deny it. Who could gainsay him? All we’d gain is a little time while
risking chaos. And where would the next attack come from?“

”All the Houses might start stockpiling spice.“

”Our enemies have a head start — too much of a lead to overcome.“

”The Emperor,“ Paul said. ”That means the Sardaukar.“

”Disguised in Harkonnen livery, no doubt,“ the Duke said. ”But the soldier
fanatics nonetheless.“

”How can Fremen help us against Sardaukar?“

”Did Hawat talk to you about Salusa Secundus?“

”The Emperor’s prison planet? No.“

”What if it were more than a prison planet, Paul? There’s a question you
never hear asked about the Imperial Corps of Sardaukar: Where do they come
from?“

”From the prison planet?“

”They come from somewhere.”
“But the supporting levies the Emperor demands from –”

“That’s what we’re led to believe: they’re just the Emperor’s levies trained
young and superbly. You hear an occasional muttering about the Emperor’s
training cadres, but the balance of our civilization remains the same: the
military forces of the Landsraad Great Houses on one side, the Sardaukar and
their supporting levies on the other. And their supporting levies, Paul. The
Sardaukar remain the Sardaukar.”

“But every report on Salusa Secundus says S.S. is a hell world!”

“Undoubtedly. But if you were going to raise tough, strong, ferocious men,
what environmental conditions would you impose on them?”

“How could you win the loyalty of such men?”

“There are proven ways: play on the certain knowledge of their superiority,
the mystique of secret covenant, the esprit of shared suffering. It can be done.
It has been done on many worlds in many times.”

Paul nodded, holding his attention on his father’s face. He felt some
revelation impending.

“Consider Arrakis,” the Duke said. “When you get outside the towns and
garrison villages, it’s every bit as terrible a place as Salusa Secundus.”

Paul’s eyes went wide. “The Fremen!”

“We have there the potential of a corps as strong and deadly as the
Sardaukar. It’ll require patience to exploit them secretly and wealth to equip
them properly. But the Fremen are there . . . and the spice wealth is there. You
see now why we walk into Arrakis, knowing the trap is there.”