The Winds of Dune (8 page)

Irulan skewered Jessica with her desperate gaze. “Now you know the truth. If you want me to return to the death cell, I’ll go willingly, so long as the punishment you decree is honest and swift.”

Jessica found it hard to maintain her composure. “Maybe we’ll exile you to Salusa Secundus with your father . . . or maybe you should stay here, where you can be watched.”

“I can watch over Paul’s children. That is what I want, and need.”

Jessica wasn’t convinced that this woman should be allowed near the twins. “That will be decided later—if you survive.” She guided the Princess out of the prison levels. “Enjoy your freedom. I can’t guarantee how long it will last.”

Though furious, Alia had the presence of mind to confront Jessica in private, thus avoiding a spectacle. “You forced the guards to disobey me, Mother. In this time of crisis, you made me look
weak
, and you cast doubt on an aspect of my rule.”

They stood in a large, well-appointed chamber, just the two of them. Yellow-tinted sunlight passed through a filtered skylight over their heads, but patterns of dust on the panes cast cloudy shadows. Jessica was surprised that Alia hadn’t summoned Duncan Idaho, or Stilgar, or her amazon guards to be there at her side for authority. Apparently Alia really did want to have a candid, if uncomfortable, discussion.

Jessica replied in an even voice, “Frankly, your orders concerning
the Princess were poorly conceived. I only hope I acted quickly enough to prevent further damage.”

“Why do you stir up trouble? After being gone for years, you sweep in here, release an important prisoner, and disrupt the legitimate workings of my government. Is that why you’ve come to Dune, to undermine my Regency, and take it over?” Looking young and forlorn, Alia sat down at the long, empty table. “Be careful—I have half a mind to give it to you.”

Jessica detected an unexpected note of pleading in her daughter’s voice. Some part of Alia, however small,
wanted
to surrender rule to her mother, wanted to give up the pressure and responsibility. That sad agony was a part of leadership—whether one ruled a city, a planet, or an empire.

Jessica took a seat across the table from Alia and took care to soften her words. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve had enough of power games from the Bene Gesserit, and I have no interest in leading an empire. I am here as your mother and the grandmother of Paul’s children. I’ll stay for a month or two, then return to Caladan. That’s where I belong.” She straightened, made her voice harder. “But in the meantime I will protect you from your decisions, when I must. Executing Irulan would have been a titanic mistake.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Mother. I contemplate my decisions, I make them, and I stand by them.” With a little shrug, changing her mood with surprising swiftness, Alia admitted, “Don’t worry, I would have let the Princess out sooner or later. The mob demanded as many scapegoats as I could give them, and they howled for her blood in particular. Irulan’s incarceration was for her own protection, as well as to make her face her own conscience, because of the mistakes
she
made. Irulan has very important uses, once she is properly controlled.”

Jessica stared at her. “You hope to control Irulan?”

“She is the official source of knowledge about Muad’Dib, his own official biographer, appointed by him. If we executed her as a traitor, that would cast doubt on everything she’s written. I’m not that stupid.” Alia studied an imagined speck at the end of one fingernail. “Now that she has been sufficiently chastised, we need her to counter the heresies of Bronso of Ix.”

“Is Paul’s legacy so fragile that it can’t withstand a bit of criticism?
You worry too much about Bronso. Perhaps the people need to hear the truth, not myths. My son was great enough as a man. He doesn’t need to be turned into a messiah.”

Alia shook her head, letting Jessica see her vulnerability. Her shoulders trembled, her voice hitched. “What was he
thinking,
Mother? How could Paul just walk off like that and leave us?” The waves of sudden grief coming from Alia surprised her, this girl showing naked emotions that Jessica herself had not been able to express. “Chani’s body not even in the deathstill, two newborn children, and he abandoned us all! How could Paul be so selfish, so . . .
blind
?”

Jessica wanted to hold her daughter and reassure her, but held back. Her own walls remained too rigid. “Grief can do terrible things to a person, chasing away all hope and logic. I doubt Paul was thinking beyond just running away from the pain.”

Squaring her shoulders, Alia summoned inner strength. “Well, I won’t run away. This Regency is a big problem Paul dumped in my lap, and I refuse to do the same thing he did.
I
won’t leave others to clean up the mess.
I
won’t turn my back on humanity, on the future.”

“I know you won’t.” Jessica hesitated, lowered her gaze. “I should have consulted you first about Irulan. I acted . . . impulsively.”

Alia looked at her, long and hard. “We can fix this. Provided I have your cooperation, my ministers will announce that
I
issued the orders to release Irulan, and you simply carried them out.”

Jessica smiled. The end result was the same, and the news would not be seen as a conflict between mother and daughter. “Thank you, Alia. I see that you’re learning the art of statecraft already. That is a good decision.”

Crucial events from my first life stand at the forefront of my mind: the murder of Old Duke Paulus in the bull ring, the War of Assassins between Ecaz and Grumman, young Paul running off to join the Jongleurs, that terrible night in Arrakeen when the Harkonnens came . . . my own death at the hands of the attacking Sardaukar in the stronghold of Dr. Kynes. The details remain vivid.

—
DUNCAN IDAHO
, as put to paper by Alia Atreides

D
awn light touched the surface of the desert and the rock escarpments as a lone ornithopter flew high enough that its vibrations would not disturb the great worms. Duncan Idaho piloted the craft.

Like old times,
Gurney thought.
And yet completely different
. For sixteen years he had known that his friend was dead, but death wasn’t always a permanent condition, thanks to the axlotl tanks of the Tleilaxu.

Ahead, flashing in the low-angled sunlight, they could see the silvery rooftops and bastions of a ground-based scanner facility. “There’s our destination,” Duncan said. “A typical base. It will tell us much about our general security status before the funeral ceremony. Tens of thousands of ships are arriving for the event from countless worlds. We have to be ready.”

While preparations for the grand spectacle continued, a stream of mourners arrived on Dune, from diplomats hoping to curry favor with the Regency to the lowliest paupers who had sacrificed everything to pay for space passage. Gurney was not sure the planetary defenses could handle the extra influx and constant turmoil.

The evening before, he had asked Duncan about the state of the defensive facilities on the outskirts of Arrakeen. Still feeling out their new/old friendship, the two men sat at a worn table in the Citadel’s
commissary levels, drinking outrageously expensive spice beers, hardly caring about the cost.

Taking a long sip, Duncan had said, “I intended to inspect those sites in due course, but other duties kept me away. Now you and I can do it together.”

“The death of an emperor certainly wreaks havoc with schedules,” Gurney said bitterly.

Duncan’s previously sociable nature had been supplanted by Mentat mysticism programmed into him by the Tleilaxu, but he began to open up by the second spice beer, and Gurney’s heart felt both heavy and happy to see glimmers of his old friend. Still wary, though, he said, as a test, “I could sing us a song. I have my baliset back in my quarters—it’s the same old instrument I bought on Chusuk, when the two of us went with Thufir Hawat to search for Paul after he ran away from Ix.”

Duncan responded with a thin smile. “Thufir did not go with us. It was just you and me.”

Gurney chuckled. “Just making sure you really have all your memories.”

“I do.”

Now, as the ’thopter approached the perimeter outpost, Gurney recognized it as one of the old Harkonnen scanner stations dotted around the Plain of Arrakeen. What had once been a moderately armed facility now sported new battlements and utility structures, its multiple roofs and high walls studded with powerful ion cannons capable of destroying vessels in orbit—even Guild Heighliners, should the situation demand it.

“Because Arrakis was always a target, Paul expanded planetary defenses during the Jihad. Now that he is gone, Alia wants me to make certain we are ready to stand against opportunists.”

“Shaddam is still alive and in exile on Salusa Secundus,” Gurney pointed out. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I worry about many things, and try to be prepared for all of them.” He transmitted their identification signal as he circled the ’thopter in toward the outpost’s landing pad, retracting the wing thrusters. “I’d never turn down your assistance, Gurney. Paul would have wanted us to work together.”

Paul
, Gurney thought with a wave of sadness. Though it was how the real Duncan Idaho would have remembered him, that Atreides name was a remnant of Caladan, a historical artifact. Here on Dune, Paul had become
Muad’Dib,
a far different person from the Duke’s son.

With a roar of jets and a masterful dance of subtle stabilizers, Duncan landed the ornithopter on a fused stone apron inside the outpost’s fortified walls. The pair disembarked and made their way to a central mustering area, where soldiers hurried through a nearby portico for the unannounced inspection.

With Gurney at his side, Duncan proceeded methodically from one station to another, chastising the soldiers for sloppy conditions. He pointed out unpolished and uncalibrated guns, dust in the tracking mechanisms, wrinkled uniforms, even the boozy odor of spice beer in the morning air.

Gurney couldn’t blame him for being displeased with the level of disarray, but he also remembered the faltering morale among Atreides troops after Duke Leto had arrived on Arrakis. “With Paul gone, these men are adrift and uncertain. ‘A soldier will always fight, but he fights hardest when he fights
for something
.’ Isn’t that one of your Swordmaster sayings?”

“We are both masters of the sword, Gurney Halleck, even if you didn’t do your own training on Ginaz. I taught you a few things, you know.” Looking at the men, Duncan had made his own Mentat analysis. “They will adjust. Alia needs to be made aware of this sloppiness. After Paul’s funeral, I will implement a thorough crackdown on her behalf, punishing the worst offenders harshly to shake up the others.”

The statement made Gurney uneasy, because the Atreides had not historically ruled through fear. But all of that had changed when Paul Atreides became a messianic Fremen and ascended to the throne of Dune, ruling an empire with thousands of restless worlds.

“I wish you could do it some other way,” he said.

The ghola turned to him with his metal eyes, and in that moment he did not look at all like Duncan. “You must think of realities, my old comrade. If Alia shows weakness now, it could lead to our downfall. I must protect her.”