Another voice rumbled from the speaker: “This is Spotter Control. Sighting confirmed. Stand by for contact fix.” There was a pause, then: “Contact in twenty-six minutes minus. That was a sharp estimate. Who’s on that unlisted flight? Over.”
Halleck had his harness off and surged forward between Kynes and the Duke. “Is this the regular working frequency, Kynes?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Who’d be listening?”
“Just the work crews in this area. Cuts down interference.”
Again, the speaker crackled, then: “This is Delta Ajax niner. Who gets bonus credit for that spot? Over.”
Halleck glanced at the Duke.
Kynes said: “There’s a bonus based on spice load for whoever gives first worm warning. They want to know – ”
“Tell them who had first sight of that worm,” Halleck said.
The Duke nodded.
Kynes hesitated, then lifted the microphone; “Spotter credit to the Duke Leto Atreides. The Duke Leto Atreides. Over.”
“Now, tell them to divide the bonus among themselves,” Halleck ordered. “Tell them it’s the Duke’s wish.”
Kynes took a deep breath, then: “It’s the Duke’s wish that you divide the bonus among your crew. Do you read? Over.”
“Acknowledged and thank you,” the speaker said.
The Duke said: “I forgot to mention that Gurney is also very talented in public relations.”
Kynes turned a puzzled frown on Halleck.
“This lets the men know their Duke is concerned for their safety,” Halleck said. “Word will get around. It was on an area working frequency – not likely Harkonnen agents heard.” He glanced out at their air cover. “And we’re a pretty strong force. It was a good risk.”
The Duke banked their craft toward the sandcloud erupting from the factory crawler. “What happens now?”
“There’s a carryall wing somewhere close,” Kynes said. “It’ll come in and lift off the crawler.”
“What if the carryall’s wrecked?” Halleck asked.
“Some equipment is lost,” Kynes said. “Get in close over the crawler, my Lord; you’ll find this interesting.”
The Duke scowled, busied himself with the controls as they came into turbulent air over the crawler.
Paul looked down, saw sand still spewing out of the metal and plastic monster beneath them. It looked like a great tan and blue beetle with many wide tracks extending on arms around it. He saw a giant inverted funnel snout poked into dark sand in front of it.
“Rich spice bed by the color,” Kynes said. “They’ll continue working until the last minute.”
The Duke fed more power to the wings, stiffened them for a steeper descent as he settled lower in a circling glide above the crawler. A glance left and right showed his cover holding altitude and circling overhead.
Paul studied the yellow cloud belching from the crawler’s pipe vents, looked out over the desert at the approaching worm track.
“Shouldn’t we be hearing them call in the carryall?” Halleck asked.
“They usually have the wing on a different frequency,” Kynes said.
“Shouldn’t they have two carryalls standing by for every crawler?” the Duke asked. “There should be twenty-six men on that machine down there, not to mention cost of equipment.”
Kynes said: “You don’t have enough ex – ”
He broke off as the speaker erupted with an angry voice: “Any of you see the wing? He isn’t answering.”
A garble of noise crackled from the speaker, drowned in an abrupt override signal, then silence and the first voice: “Report by the numbers! Over.”
“This is Spotter Control. Last I saw, the wing was pretty high and circling off northwest. I don’t see him now. Over.”
“Spotter one: negative. Over.”
“Spotter two: negative. Over.”
“Spotter three: negative. Over.”
Silence.
The Duke looked down. His own craft’s shadow was just passing over the crawler. “Only four spotters, is that right?”
“Correct,” Kynes said.
“There are five in our party,” the Duke said. “Our ships are larger. We can crowd in three extra each. Their spotters ought to be able to lift off two each.”
Paul did the mental arithmetic, said: “That’s three short.”
“Why don’t they have two carryalls to each crawler?” barked the Duke.
“You don’t have enough extra equipment,” Kynes said.
“All the more reason we should protect what we have!”
“Where could that carryall go?” Halleck asked.
“Could’ve been forced down somewhere out of sight,” Kynes said.
The Duke grabbed the microphone, hesitated with thumb poised over its switch. “How could they lose sight of a carryall?”
“They keep their attention on the ground looking for wormsign,” Kynes said.
The Duke thumbed the switch, spoke into the microphone. “This is your Duke. We are coming down to take off Delta Ajax niner’s crew. All spotters are ordered to comply. Spotters will land on the east side. We will take the west. Over.” He reached down, punched out his own command frequency, repeated the order for his own air cover, handed the microphone back to Kynes.
Kynes returned to the working frequency and a voice blasted from the speaker: ” . . . almost a full load of spice! We have almost a full load! We can’t leave that for a damned worm! Over.”
“Damn the spice!” the Duke barked. He grabbed back the microphone, said: “We can always get more spice. There are seats in our ships for all but three of you. Draw straws or decide any way you like who’s to go. But you’re going, and that’s an order!” He slammed the microphone back into Kynes’ hands, muttered: “Sorry,” as Kynes shook an injured finger.
“How much time?” Paul asked.
“Nine minutes,” Kynes said.
The Duke said: “This ship has more power than the others. If we took off under jet with three-quarter wings, we could crowd in an additional man.”
“That sand’s soft,” Kynes said.
“With four extra men aboard on a jet takeoff, we could snap the wings, Sire,” Halleck said.
“Not on this ship,” the Duke said. He hauled back on the controls as the ‘thopter glided in beside the crawler. The wings tipped up, braked the ‘thopter to a skidding stop within twenty meters of the factory.
The crawler was silent now, no sand spouting from its vents. Only a faint mechanical rumble issued from it, becoming more audible as the Duke opened his door.
Immediately, their nostrils were assailed by the odor of cinnamon – heavy and pungent.
With a loud flapping, the spotter aircraft glided down to the sand on the other side of the crawler. The Duke’s own escort swooped in to land in line with him.
Paul, looking out at the factory, saw how all the ‘thopters were dwarfed by it – gnats beside a warrior beetle.
“Gurney, you and Paul toss out that rear seat,” the Duke said. He manually cranked the wings out to three-quarters, set their angle, checked the jet pod controls. “Why the devil aren’t they coming out of that machine?”
“They’re hoping the carryall will show up,” Kynes said. “They still have a few minutes.” He glanced off to the east.
All turned to look the same direction, seeing no sign of the worm, but there was a heavy, charged feeling of anxiety in the air.
The Duke took the microphone, punched for his command frequency, said: “Two of you toss out your shield generators. By the numbers. You can carry one more man that way. We’re not leaving any men for that monster.” He keyed back to the working frequency, barked: “All right, you in Delta Ajax niner! Out! Now! This is a command from your Duke! On the double or I’ll cut that crawler apart with a lasgun!”
A hatch snapped open near the front of the factory, another at the rear, another at the top. Men came tumbling out, sliding and scrambling down to the sand. A tall man in a patched working robe was the last to emerge. He jumped down to a track and then to the sand.
The Duke hung the microphone on the panel, swung out onto the wing step, shouted: “Two men each into your spotters.”
The man in the patched robe began lolling off pairs of his crew, pushing them toward the craft waiting on the other side.
“Four over here!” the Duke shouted. “Four into that ship back there!” He jabbed a finger at an escort ‘thopter directly behind him. The guards were just wrestling the shield generator out of it. “And four into that ship over there!” He pointed to the other escort that had shed its shield generator. “Three each into the others! Run, you sand dogs!”
The tall man finished counting off his crew, came slogging across the sand followed by three of his companions.
“I hear the worm, but I can’t see it,” Kynes said.
The others heard it then – an abrasive slithering, distant and growing louder.
“Damn sloppy way to operate,” the Duke muttered.
Aircraft began flapping off the sand around them. It reminded the Duke of a time in his home planet’s jungles, a sudden emergence into a clearing, and carrion birds lifting away from the carcass of a wild ox.
The spice workers slogged up to the side of the ‘thopter, started climbing in behind the Duke. Halleck helped, dragging them into the rear.
“In you go, boys!” he snapped. “On the double!”
Paul, crowded into a corner by sweating men, smelled the perspiration of fear, saw that two of the men had poor neck adjustments on their stillsuits. He filed the information in his memory for future action. His father would have to order tighter stillsuit discipline. Men tended to become sloppy if you didn’t watch such things.
The last man came gasping into the rear, said. “The worm! It’s almost on us! Blast off!”
The Duke slid into his seat, frowning, said: “We still have almost three minutes on the original contact estimate. Is that right, Kynes?” He shut his door, checked it.
“Almost exactly, my Lord,” Kynes said, and he thought: A cool one, this duke .
“All secure here, Sire,” Halleck said.
The Duke nodded, watched the last of his escort take off. He adjusted the igniter, glanced once more at wings and instruments, punched the jet sequence.
The take-off pressed the Duke and Kynes deep into their seats, compressed the people in the rear. Kynes watched the way the Duke handled the controls – gently, surely. The ‘thopter was fully airborne now, and the Duke studied his instruments, glanced left and right at his wings.
“She’s very heavy, Sire,” Halleck said.
“Well within the tolerances of this ship,” the Duke said. “You didn’t really think I’d risk this cargo, did you, Gurney?”
Halleck grinned, said: “Not a bit of it, Sire.”
The Duke banked his craft in a long easy curve – climbing over the crawler.
Paul, crushed into a corner beside a window, stared down at the silent machine on the sand. The wormsign had broken off about four hundred meters from the crawler. And now, there appeared to be turbulence in the sand around the factory.
“The worm is now beneath the crawler,” Kynes said. “You are about to witness a thing few have seen.”
Flecks of dust shadowed the sand around the crawler now. The big machine began to tip down to the right. A gigantic sand whirlpool began forming there to the right of the crawler. It moved faster and faster. Sand and dust filled the air now for hundreds of meters around.
Then they saw it!
A wide hole emerged from the sand. Sunlight flashed from glistening white spokes within it. The hole’s diameter was at least twice the length of the crawler, Paul estimated. He watched as the machine slid into that opening in a billow of dust and sand. The hole pulled back.
“Gods, what a monster!” muttered a man beside Paul.
“Got all our floggin’ spice!” growled another.
“Someone is going to pay for this,” the Duke said. “I promise you that.”
By the very flatness of his father’s voice, Paul sensed the deep anger. He found that he shared it. This was criminal waste!
In the silence that followed, they heard Kynes.
“Bless the Maker and His water,” Kynes murmured. “Bless the coming and going of Him. May His passage cleanse the world. May He keep the world for His people.”
“What’s that you’re saying?” the Duke asked.
But Kynes remained silent.
Paul glanced at the men crowded around him. They were staring fearfully at the back of Kynes’ head. One of them whispered: “Liet.”
Kynes turned, scowling. The man sank back, abashed.
Another of the rescued men began coughing – dry and rasping. Presently, he gasped: “Curse this hell hole!”
The tall Dune man who had come last out of the crawler said; “Be you still, Coss. You but worsen your cough.” He stirred among the men until he could look through them at the back of the Duke’s head. “You be the Duke Leto, I warrant,” he said. “It’s to you we give thanks for our lives. We were ready to end it there until you came along.”
“Quiet, man, and let the Duke fly his ship,” Halleck muttered.
Paul glanced at Halleck. He, too, had seen the tension wrinkles at the corner of his father’s jaw. One walked softly when the Duke was in a rage.
Leto began easing his ‘thopter out of its great banking circle, stopped at a new sign of movement on the sand. The worm had withdrawn into the depths and now, near where the crawler had been, two figures could be seen moving north away from the sand depression. They appeared to glide over the surface with hardly a lifting of dust to mark their passage.
“Who’s that down there?” the Duke barked.
“Two Johnnies who came along for the ride, Soor,” said the tall Dune man.
“Why wasn’t something said about them?”
“It was the chance they took, Soor,” the Dune man said.
“My Lord,” said Kynes, “these men know it’s of little use to do anything about men trapped on the desert in worm country.”
“We’ll send a ship from base for them!” the Duke snapped.
“As you wish, my Lord,” Kynes said. “But likely when the ship gets here there’ll be no one to rescue.”
“We’ll send a ship, anyway,” the Duke said.
“They were right beside where the worm came up,” Paul said. “How’d they escape?”
“The sides of the hole cave in and make the distances deceptive,” Kynes said.
“You waste fuel here, Sire,” Halleck ventured.
“Aye, Gurney.”
The Duke brought his craft around toward the Shield Wall. His escort came down from circling stations, took up positions above and on both sides.
Paul thought about what the Dune man and Kynes had said. He sensed half-truths, outright lies. The men on the sand had glided across the surface so surely, moving in a way obviously calculated to keep from luring the worm back out of its depths.
Fremen! Paul thought. Who else would be so sure on the sand? Who else might be left out of your worries as a matter of course – because they are in no danger? They know how to live here! They know how to outwit the worm!
“What were Fremen doing on that crawler?” Paul asked.
Kynes whirled.
The tall Dune man turned wide eyes on Paul – blue within blue within blue. “Who be this lad?” he asked.
Halleck moved to place himself between the man and Paul, said: “This is Paul Atreides, the ducal heir.”
“Why says he there were Fremen on our rumbler?” the man asked.
“They fit the description,” Paul said.
Kynes snorted. “You can’t tell Fremen just by looking at them!” He looked at the Dune man. “You. Who were those men?”
“Friends of one of the others,” the Dune man said. “Just friends from a village who wanted to see the spice sands.”
Kynes turned away. “Fremen!”
But he was remembering the words of the legend: “The Lisan al-Gaib shall see through all subterfuge .”
“They be dead now, most likely, young Soor,” the Dune man said. “We should not speak unkindly on them.”
But Paul heard the falsehood in their voices, felt the menace that had brought Halleck instinctively into guarding position.
Paul spoke dryly: “A terrible place for them to die.”
Without turning, Kynes said; “When God hath ordained a creature to die in a particular place. He causeth that creature’s wants to direct him to that place.”
Leto turned a hard stare at Kynes.
And Kynes, returning the stare, found himself troubled by a fact he had observed here: This Duke was concerned more over the men that he was over the spice. He risked his own life and that of his son to save the men. He passed off the loss of a spice crawler with a gesture. The threat to men’s lives had him in a rage. A leader such as that would command fanatic loyalty. He would be difficult to defeat .
Against his own will and all previous judgments, Kynes admitted to himself: I like this Duke .
Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.
– from “Collected Sayings of Muad’Dib” by the Princess Irulan
In the dining hall of the Arrakeen great house, suspensor lamps had been lighted against the early dark. They cast their yellow glows upward onto the black bull’s head with its bloody horns, and onto the darkly glistening oil painting of the Old Duke.
Beneath these talismans, white linen shone around the burnished reflections of the Atreides silver, which had been placed in precise arrangements along the great table – little archipelagos of service waiting beside crystal glasses, each setting squared off before a heavy wooden chair. The classic central chandelier remained unlighted, and its chain twisted upward into shadows where the mechanism of the poison-snooper had been concealed.
Pausing in the doorway to inspect the arrangements, the Duke thought about the poison-snooper and what it signified in his society.
All of a pattern , he thought. You can plumb us by our language – the precise and delicate delineations for ways to administer treacherous death. Will someone try chaumurky tonight – poison in the drink? Or will it be chaumas – poison in the food?
He shook his head.
Beside each plate on the long table stood a flagon of water. There was enough water along the table, the Duke estimated, to keep a poor Arrakeen family for more than a year.
Flanking the doorway in which he stood were broad laving basins of ornate yellow and green tile. Each basin had its rack of towels. It was the custom, the housekeeper had explained, for guests as they entered to dip their hands ceremoniously into a basin, slop several cups of water onto the floor, dry their hands on a towel and fling the towel into the growing puddle at the door. After the dinner, beggars gathered outside to get the water squeezings from the towels.
How typical of a Harkonnen fief , the Duke thought. Every degradation of the spirit that can be conceived . He took a deep breath, feeling rage tighten his stomach.
“The custom stops here!” he muttered.
He saw a serving woman – one of the old and gnarled ones the housekeeper had recommended – hovering at the doorway from the kitchen across from him. The Duke signaled with upraised hand. She moved out of the shadows, scurried around the table toward him, and he noted the leathery face, the blue-within-blue eyes.
“My Lord wishes?” She kept her head bowed, eyes shielded.
He gestured. “Have these basins and towels removed.”
“But . . . Noble Born . . .” She looked up, mouth gaping.
“I know the custom!” he barked. “Take these basins to the front door. While we’re eating and until we’ve finished, each beggar who calls may have a full cup of water. Understood?”
Her leathery face displayed a twisting of emotions: dismay, anger . . .
With sudden insight, Leto realized that she must have planned to sell the water squeezings from the foot-trampled towels, wringing a few coppers from the wretches who came to the door. Perhaps that also was a custom.
His face clouded, and he growled: “I’m posting a guard to see that my orders are carried out to the letter.”
He whirled, strode back down the passage to the Great Hall. Memories rolled in his mind like the toothless mutterings of old women. He remembered open water and waves – days of grass instead of sand – dazed summers that had whipped past him like windstorm leaves.
All gone.
I’m getting old , he thought. I’ve felt the cold hand of my mortality. And in what? An old woman’s greed .
In the Great Hall, the Lady Jessica was the center of a mixed group standing in front of the fireplace. An open blaze crackled there, casting flickers of orange light onto jewels and laces and costly fabrics. He recognized in the group a stillsuit manufacturer down from Carthag, an electronics equipment importer, a water-shipper whose summer mansion was near his polar-cap factory, a representative of the Guild Bank (lean and remote, that one), a dealer in replacement parts for spice mining equipment, a thin and hard-faced woman whose escort service for off-planet visitors reputedly operated as cover for various smuggling, spying, and blackmail operations.
Most of the women in the hall seemed cast from a specific type – decorative, precisely turned out, an odd mingling of untouchable sensuousness.
Even without her position as hostess, Jessica would have dominated the group, he thought. She wore no jewelry and had chosen warm colors – a long dress almost the shade of the open blaze, and an earth-brown band around her bronzed hair.
He realized she had done this to taunt him subtly, a reproof against his recent pose of coldness. She was well aware that he liked her best in these shades – that he saw her as a rustling of warm colors.
Nearby, more an outflanker than a member of the group, stood Duncan Idaho in glittering dress uniform, flat face unreadable, the curling black hair neatly combed. He had been summoned back from the Fremen and had his orders from Hawat – “Under pretext of guarding her, you will keep the Lady Jessica under constant surveillance .”
The Duke glanced around the room.
There was Paul in the corner surrounded by a fawning group of the younger Arrakeen richece, and, aloof among them, three officers of the House Troop. The Duke took particular note of the young women. What a catch a ducal heir would make. But Paul was treating all equally with an air of reserved nobility.
He’ll wear the title well , the Duke thought, and realized with a sudden chill that this was another death thought.
Paul saw his father in the doorway, avoided his eyes. He looked around at the clusterings of guests, the jeweled hands clutching drinks (and the unobtrusive inspections with tiny remote-cast snoopers). Seeing all the chattering faces, Paul was suddenly repelled by them. They were cheap masks locked on festering thoughts – voices gabbling to drown out the loud silence in every breast.
I’m in a sour mood , he thought, and wondered what Gurney would say to that.
He knew his mood’s source. He hadn’t wanted to attend this function, but his father had been firm. “You have a place – a position to uphold. You’re old enough to do this. You’re almost a man.”
Paul saw his father emerge from the doorway, inspect the room, then cross to the group around the Lady Jessica.
As Leto approached Jessica’s group, the water-shipper was asking: “Is it true the Duke will put in weather control?”
From behind the man, the Duke said: “We haven’t gone that far in our thinking, sir.”
The man turned, exposing a bland round face, darkly tanned. “Ah-h, the Duke,” he said. “We missed you.”
Leto glanced at Jessica. “A thing needed doing.” He returned his attention to the water-shipper, explained what he had ordered for the laving basins, adding: “As far as I’m concerned, the old custom ends now.”
“Is this a ducal order, m’Lord?” the man asked.
“I leave that to your own . . . ah . . . conscience,” the Duke said. He turned, noting Kynes come up to the group.
One of the women said: “I think it’s a very generous gesture – giving water to the – ” Someone shushed her.
The Duke looked at Kynes, noting that the planetologist wore an old-style dark brown uniform with epaulets of the Imperial Civil Servant and a tiny gold teardrop of rank at his collar.
The water-shipper asked in an angry voice: “Does the Duke imply criticism of our custom?”
“This custom has been changed,” Leto said. He nodded to Kynes, marked the frown on Jessica’s face, thought: A frown does not become her, but it’ll increase rumors of friction between us .
“With the Duke’s permission,” the water-shipper said, “I’d like to inquire further about customs.”
Leto heard the sudden oily tone in the man’s voice, noted the watchful silence in this group, the way heads were beginning to turn toward them around the room.
“Isn’t it almost time for dinner?” Jessica asked.
“But our guest has some questions,” Leto said. And he looked at the water-shipper, seeing a round-faced man with large eyes and thick lips, recalling Hawat’s memorandum: “. . . and this water-shipper is a man to watch – Lingar Bewt, remember the name. The Harkonnens used him but never fully controlled him .”
“Water customs are so interesting,” Bewt said, and there was a smile on his face. “I’m curious what you intend about the conservatory attached to this house. Do you intend to continue flaunting it in the people’s faces . . . m’Lord?”
Leto held anger in check, staring at the man. Thoughts raced through his mind. It had taken bravery to challenge him in his own ducal castle, especially since they now had Bewt’s signature over a contract of allegiance. The action had taken, also, a knowledge of personal power. Water was, indeed, power here. If water facilities were mined, for instance, ready to be destroyed at a signal . . . The man looked capable of such a thing. Destruction of water facilities might well destroy Arrakis. That could well have been the club this Bewt held over the Harkonnens.
“My Lord, the Duke, and I have other plans for our conservatory,” Jessica said. She smiled at Leto. “We intend to keep it, certainly, but only to hold it in trust for the people of Arrakis. It is our dream that someday the climate of Arrakis may be changed sufficiently to grow such plants anywhere in the open.”
Bless her! Leto thought. Let our water-shipper chew on that .
“Your interest in water and weather control is obvious,” the Duke said. “I’d advise you to diversify your holdings. One day, water will not be a precious commodity on Arrakis.”
And he thought: Hawat must redouble his efforts at infiltrating this Bewt’s organization. And we must start on stand-by water facilities at once. No man is going to hold a club over my head!
Bewt nodded, the smile still on his face. “A commendable dream, my Lord.” He withdrew a pace.
Leto’s attention was caught by the expression on Kynes’ face. The man was staring at Jessica. He appeared transfigured – like a man in love . . . or caught in a religious trance.
Kynes’ thoughts were overwhelmed at last by the words of prophecy: “And they shall share your most precious dream . “He spoke directly to Jessica: “Do you bring the shortening of the way?”
“Ah, Dr. Kynes,” the water-shipper said. “You’ve come in from tramping around with your mobs of Fremen. How gracious of you.”
Kynes passed an unreadable glance across Bewt, said: “It is said in the desert that possession of water in great amount can inflict a man with fatal carelessness.”
“They have many strange sayings in the desert,” Bewt said, but his voice betrayed uneasiness.
Jessica crossed to Leto, slipped her hand under his arm to gain a moment in which to calm herself. Kynes had said: ” . . . the shortening of the way.” In the old tongue, the phrase translated as “Kwisatz Haderach.” The planetologist’s odd question seemed to have gone unnoticed by the others, and now Kynes was bending over one of the consort women, listening to a low-voiced coquetry.
Kwisatz Haderach , Jessica thought. Did our Missionaria Protectiva plant that legend here, too? The thought fanned her secret hope for Paul. He could be the Kwisatz Haderach. He could be .
The Guild Bank representative had fallen into conversation with the water-shipper, and Bewt’s voice lifted above the renewed hum of conversations: “Many people have sought to change Arrakis.”
The Duke saw how the words seemed to pierce Kynes, jerking the planetologist upright and away from the flirting woman.
Into the sudden silence, a house trooper in uniform of a footman cleared his throat behind Leto, said: “Dinner is served, my Lord.”
The Duke directed a questioning glance down at Jessica.
“The custom here is for host and hostess to follow their guests to table,” She said, and smiled; “Shall we change that one, too, my Lord?”
He spoke coldly: “That seems a goodly custom. We shall let it stand for now.”
The illusion that I suspect her of treachery must be maintained , he thought. He glanced at the guests filing past them. Who among you believes this lie?
Jessica, sensing his remoteness, wondered at it as she had done frequently the past week. He acts like a man struggling with himself, she thought. Is it because I moved so swiftly setting up this dinner party? Yet, he knows how important it is that we begin to mix our officers and men with the locals on a social plane. We are father and mother surrogate to them all. Nothing impresses that fact more firmly than this sort of social sharing .
Leto, watching the guests file past, recalled what Thufir Hawat had said when informed of the affair: “Sire! I forbid it! ”
A grim smile touched the Duke’s mouth. What a scene that had been. And when the Duke had remained adamant about attending the dinner, Hawat had shaken his head. “I have bad feelings about this, my Lord,” he’d said. “Things move too swiftly on Arrakis. That’s not like the Harkonnens. Not like them at all.”
Paul passed his father escorting a young woman half a head taller than himself. He shot a sour glance at his father, nodded at something the young woman said.
“Her father manufactures stillsuits,” Jessica said. “I’m told that only a fool would be caught in the deep desert wearing one of the man’s suits.”
“Who’s the man with the scarred face ahead of Paul?” the Duke asked. “I don’t place him.”
“A late addition to the list,” she whispered. “Gurney arranged the invitation. Smuggler.”
“Gurney arranged?”
“At my request. It was cleared with Hawat, although I thought Hawat was a little stiff about it. The smuggler’s called Tuek, Esmar Tuek. He’s a power among his kind. They all know him here. He’s dined at many of the houses.”
“Why is he here?”
“Everyone here will ask that question,” she said. “Tuek will sow doubt and suspicion just by his presence. He’ll also serve notice that you’re prepared to back up your orders against graft – by enforcement from the smugglers’ end as well. This was the point Hawat appeared to like.”
“I’m not sure I like it.” He nodded to a passing couple, saw only a few of their guests remained to precede them. “Why didn’t you invite some Fremen?”
“There’s Kynes,” she said.
“Yes, there’s Kynes,” he said. “Have you arranged any other little surprises for me?” He led her into step behind the procession.
“All else is most conventional,” she said.
And she thought: My darling, can’t you see that this smuggler controls fast ships, that he can be bribed? We must have a way out, a door of escape from Arrakis if all else fails us here .
As they emerged into the dining hall, she disengaged her arm, allowed Leto to seat her. He strode to his end of the table. A footman held his chair for him. The others settled with a swishing of fabrics, a scraping of chairs, but the Duke remained standing. He gave a hand signal, and the house troopers in footman uniform around the table stepped back, standing at attention.
Uneasy silence settled over the room.
Jessica, looking down the length of the table, saw a faint trembling at the corners of Leto’s mouth, noted the dark flush of anger on his cheeks. What has angered him? she asked herself. Surely not my invitation to the smuggler .
“Some question my changing of the laving basin custom,” Leto said. “This is my way of telling you that many things will change.”
Embarrassed silence settled over the table.
They think him drunk , Jessica thought.
Leto lifted his water flagon, held it aloft where the suspensor, lights shot beams of reflection off it. “As a Chevalier of the Imperium, then,” he said, “I give you a toast.”
The others grasped their flagons, all eyes focused on the Duke. In the sudden stillness, a suspensor light drifted slightly in an errant breeze from the serving kitchen hallway. Shadows played across the Duke’s hawk features.
“Here I am and here I remain!” he barked.
There was an abortive movement of flagons toward mouths – stopped as the Duke remained with arm upraised. “My toast is one of those maxims so dear to our hearts: ‘Business makes progress! Fortune passes everywhere!’ ”
He sipped his water.
The others joined him. Questioning glances passed among them.
“Gurney!” the Duke called.
From an alcove at Leto’s end of the room came Halleck’s voice. “Here, my Lord.”
“Give us a tune, Gurney.”
A minor chord from the baliset floated out of the alcove. Servants began putting plates of food on the table at the Duke’s gesture releasing them – roast desert hare in sauce cepeda, aplomage sirian, chukka under glass, coffee with melange (a rich cinnamon odor from the spice wafted across the table), a true pot-a-oie served with sparkling Caladan wine.
Still, the Duke remained standing.
As the guests waited, their attention torn between the dishes placed before them and the standing Duke, Leto said: “In olden times, it was the duty of the host to entertain his guests with his own talents.” His knuckles turned white, so fiercely did he grip his water flagon. “I cannot sing, but I give you the words of Gurney’s song. Consider it another toast – a toast to all who’ve died bringing us to this station.”
An uncomfortable stirring sounded around the table.
Jessica lowered her gaze, glanced at the people seated nearest her – there was the round-faced water-shipper and his woman, the pale and austere Guild Bank representative (he seemed a whistle-faced scarecrow with his eyes fixed on Leto), the rugged and scar-faced Tuek, his blue-within-blue eyes downcast.
“Review, friends – troops long past review,” the Duke intoned. “All to fate a weight of pains and dollars. Their spirits wear our silver collars. Review, friends – troops long past review: Each a dot of time without pretense or guile. With them passes the lure of fortune. Review, friends – troops long past review. When our time ends on its rictus smile, we’ll pass the lure of fortune.”
The Duke allowed his voice to trail off on the last line, took a deep drink from his water flagon, slammed it back onto the table. Water slopped over the brim onto the linen.
The others drank in embarrassed silence.
Again, the Duke lifted his water flagon, and this time emptied its remaining half onto the floor, knowing that the others around the table must do the same.
Jessica was first to follow his example.
There was a frozen moment before the others began emptying their flagons. Jessica saw how Paul, seated near his father, was studying the reactions around him. She found herself also fascinated by what her guests’ actions revealed – especially among the women. This was clean, potable water, not something already cast away in a sopping towel. Reluctance to just discard it exposed itself in trembling hands, delayed reactions’ nervous laughter . . . and violent obedience to the necessity. One woman dropped her flagon, looked the other way as her male companion recovered it.
Kynes, though, caught her attention most sharply. The planetotogist hesitated, then emptied his flagon into a container beneath his jacket. He smiled at Jessica as he caught her watching him, raised the empty flagon to her in a silent toast. He appeared completely unembarrassed by his action.
Halleck’s music still wafted over the room, but it had come out of its minor key, lilting and lively now as though he were trying to lift the mood.
“Let the dinner commence,” the Duke said, and sank into his chair.
He’s angry and uncertain , Jessica thought. The loss of that factory crawler hit him more deeply than it should have. It must be something more than that loss. He acts like a desperate man . She lifted her fork, hoping in the motion to hide her own sudden bitterness. Why not? He is desperate .
Slowly at first, then with increasing animation, the dinner got under way. The stillsuit manufacturer complimented Jessica on her chef and wine.
“We brought both from Caladan,” she said.
“Superb!” he said, tasting the chukka. “Simply superb! And not a hint of melange in it. One gets so tired of the spice in everything.”
The Guild Bank representative looked across at Kynes. “I understand, Doctor Kynes, that another factory crawler has been lost to a worm.”
“News’ travels fast,” the Duke said.
“Then it’s true?” the banker asked, shifting his attention to Leto.
