Now, sitting at table with her son and her Duke and their guests, hearing that Guild Bank representative, Jessica felt a chill of realization: the man was a Harkonnen agent. He had the Giedi Prime speech pattern—subtly masked, but exposed to her trained awareness as though he had announced himself.
Does this mean the Guild itself has taken sides against House Atreides? she asked herself. The thought shocked her, and she masked her emotion by calling for a new dish, all the while listening for the man to betray his purpose. He will shift the conversation next to something seemingly innocent, but with ominous overtones, she told herself. It’s his pattern.
The banker swallowed, took a sip of wine, smiled at something said to him by the woman on his right. He seemed to listen for a moment to a man down the table who was explaining to the Duke that native Arrakeen plants had no thorns.
“I enjoy watching the flights of birds on Arrakis,” the banker said, directing his words at Jessica. “All of our birds, of course, are carrion-eaters, and many exist without water, having become blood-drinkers.”
The stillsuit manufacterer’s daughter, seated between Paul and his father at the other end of the table, twisted her pretty face into a frown, said: “Oh, Soo-Soo, you say the most disgusting things.”
The banker smiled. “They call me Soo-Soo because I’m financial adviser to the Water Peddlers Union.” And, as Jessica continued to look at him without comment, he added: “Because of the water-sellers’ cry—‘Soo-Soo Sook!’ ” And he imitated the call with such accuracy that many around the table laughed.
Jessica heard the boastful tone of voice, but noted most that the young woman had spoken on cue—a set piece. She had produced the excuse for the banker to say what he had said. She glanced at Lingar Bewt. The water magnate was scowling, concentrating on his dinner. It came to Jessica that the banker had said: “I, too, control that ultimate source of power on Arrakis—water. ”
Paul had marked the falseness in his dinner companion’s voice, saw that his mother was following the conversation with Bene Gesserit intensity. On impulse, he decided to play the foil, draw the exchange out. He addressed himself to the banker.
“Do you mean, sir, that these birds are cannibals?”
“That’s an odd question, young Master,” the banker said. “I merely said the birds drink blood. It doesn’t have to be the blood of their own kind, does it?”
“It was not an odd question,” Paul said, and Jessica noted the brittle riposte quality of her training exposed in his voice. “Most educated people know that the worst potential competition for any young organism can come from its own kind.” He deliberately forked a bite of food from his companion’s plate, ate it. “They are eating from the same bowl. They have the same basic requirements.”
The banker stiffened, scowled at the Duke.
“Do not make the error of considering my son a child,” the Duke said. And he smiled.
Jessica glanced around the table, noted that Bewt had brightened, that both Kynes and the smuggler, Tuek, were grinning.
“It’s a rule of ecology,” Kynes said, “that the young Master appears to understand quite well. The struggle between life elements is the struggle for the free energy of a system. Blood’s an efficient energy source.”
The banker put down his fork, spoke in an angry voice: “It’s said that the Fremen scum drink the blood of their dead.”
Kynes shook his head, spoke in a lecturing tone: “Not the blood, sir. But all of a man’s water, ultimately, belongs to his people—to his tribe. It’s a necessity when you live near the Great Flat. All water’s precious there, and the human body is composed of some seventy per cent water by weight. A dead man, surely, no longer requires that water.”
The banker put both hands against the table beside his plate, and Jessica thought he was going to push himself back, leave in a rage.
Kynes looked at Jessica. “Forgive me, my Lady, for elaborating on such an ugly subject at table, but you were being told falsehood and it needed clarifying.”
“You’ve associated so long with Fremen that you’ve lost all sensibilities,” the banker rasped.
Kynes looked at him calmly, studied the pale, trembling face. “Are you challenging me, sir?”
The banker froze. He swallowed, spoke stiffly: “Of course not. I’d not so insult our host and hostess.”
Jessica heard the fear in the man’s voice, saw it in his face, in his breathing, in the pulse of a vein at his temple. The man was terrified of Kynes!
“Our host and hostess are quite capable of deciding for themselves when they’ve been insulted,” Kynes said. “They’re brave people who understand defense of honor. We all may attest to their courage by the fact that they are here… now… on Arrakis.”
Jessica saw that Leto was enjoying this. Most of the others were not. People all around the table sat poised for flight, hands out of sight under the table. Two notable exceptions were Bewt, who was openly smiling at the banker’s discomfiture, and the smuggler, Tuek, who appeared to be watching Kynes for a cue. Jessica saw that Paul was looking at Kynes in admiration.
“Well?” Kynes said.
“I meant no offense,” the banker muttered. “If offense was taken, please accept my apologies.”
“Freely given, freely accepted,” Kynes said. He smiled at Jessica, resumed eating as though nothing had happened.
Jessica saw that the smuggler, too, had relaxed. She marked this: the man had shown every aspect of an aide ready to leap to Kynes’ assistance. There existed an accord of some sort between Kynes and Tuek.
Leto toyed with a fork, looked speculatively at Kynes. The ecologist’s manner indicated a change in attitude toward the House of Atreides. Kynes had seemed colder on their trip over the desert.
Jessica signaled for another course of food and drink. Servants appeared with langues de lapins de garenne—red wine and a sauce of mushroom-yeast on the side.
Slowly, the dinner conversation resumed, but Jessica heard the agitation in it, the brittle quality, saw that the banker ate in sullen silence. Kynes would have killed him without hesitating, she thought. And she realized that there was an offhand attitude toward killing in Kynes’ manner. He was a casual killer, and she guessed that this was a Fremen quality.
Jessica turned to the stillsuit manufacturer on her left, said: “I find myself continually amazed by the importance of water on Arrakis.”
“Very important,” he agreed. “What is this dish? It’s delicious.”
“Tongues of wild rabbit in a special sauce,” she said. “A very old recipe.”
“I must have that recipe,” the man said.
She nodded. “I’ll see that you get it.”
Kynes looked at Jessica, said: “The newcomer to Arrakis frequently underestimates the importance of water here. You are dealing, you see, with the Law of the Minimum.”
She heard the testing quality in his voice, said, “Growth is limited by that necessity which is present in the least amount. And, naturally, the least favorable condition controls the growth rate.”
“It’s rare to find members of a Great House aware of planetological problems,” Kynes said. “Water is the least favorable condition for life on Arrakis. And remember that growth itself can produce unfavorable conditions unless treated with extreme care.”
Jessica sensed a hidden message in Kynes’ words, but knew she was missing it. “Growth,” she said. “Do you mean Arrakis can have an orderly cycle of water to sustain human life under more favorable conditions?”
“Impossible!” the water magnate barked.
Jessica turned her attention to Bewt. “Impossible?”
“Impossible on Arrakis,” he said. “Don’t listen to this dreamer. All the laboratory evidence is against him.”
Kynes looked at Bewt, and Jessica noted that the other conversations around the table had stopped while people concentrated on this new interchange.
“Laboratory evidence tends to blind us to a very simple fact,
” Kynes said. “That fact is this: we are dealing here with matters that originated and exist out-of-doors where plants and animals carry on their normal existence.”
“Normal!” Bewt snorted. “Nothing about Arrakis is normal!”
“Quite the contrary,” Kynes said. “Certain harmonies could be set up here along self-sustaining lines. You merely have to understand the limits of the planet and the pressures upon it.”
“It’ll never be done,” Bewt said.
The Duke came to a sudden realization, placing the point where Kynes’ attitude had changed—it had been when Jessica had spoken of holding the conservatory plants in trust for Arrakis.
“What would it take to set up the self-sustaining system, Doctor Kynes?” Leto asked.
“If we can get three per cent of the green plant element on Arrakis involved in forming carbon compounds as foodstuffs, we’ve started the cyclic system,” Kynes said.
“Water’s the only problem?” the Duke asked. He sensed Kynes’ excitement, felt himself caught up in it.
“Water overshadows the other problems,” Kynes said. “This planet has much oxygen without its usual concomitants—widespread plant life and large sources of free carbon dioxide from such phenomena as volcanoes. There are unusual chemical interchanges over large surface areas here.”
“Do you have pilot projects?” the Duke asked.
“We’ve had a long time in which to build up the Tansley Effect—small-unit experiments on an amateur basis from which my science may now draw its working facts,” Kynes said.
“There isn’t enough water,” Bewt said. “There just isn’t enough water.”
“Master Bewt is an expert on water,” Kynes said. He smiled, turned back to his dinner.
The Duke gestured sharply down with his right hand, barked: “No! I want an answer! Is there enough water, Doctor Kynes?”
Kynes stared at his plate.
Jessica watched the play of emotion on his face. He masks himself well, she thought, but she had him registered now and read that he regretted his words.
“Is there enough water!” the Duke demanded.
“There… may be,” Kynes said.
He’s faking uncertainty! Jessica thought.
With his deeper truthsense, Paul caught the underlying motive, had to use every ounce of his training to mask his excitement. There is enough water! But Kynes doesn’t wish it to be known.
“Our planetologist has many interesting dreams,” Bewt said. “He dreams with the Fremen—of prophecies and messiahs.”
Chuckles sounded at odd places around the table. Jessica marked them—the smuggler, the stillsuit manufacturer’s daughter, Duncan Idaho, the woman with the mysterious escort service.
Tensions are oddly distributed here tonight, Jessica thought. There’s too much going on of which I’m not aware. I’ll have to develop new information sources.
The Duke passed his gaze from Kynes to Bewt to Jessica. He felt oddly let down, as though something vital had passed him here. “Maybe,” he muttered.
Kynes spoke quickly: “Perhaps we should discuss this another time, my Lord. There are so many—”
The planetologist broke off as a uniformed Atreides trooper hurried in through the service door, was passed by the guard and rushed to the Duke’s side. The man bent, whispering into Leto’s ear.
Jessica recognized the capsign of Hawat’s corps, fought down uneasiness. She addressed herself to the stillsuit manufacturer’s feminine companion—a tiny, dark-haired woman with a doll face, a touch of epicanthic fold to the eyes.
“You’ve hardly touched your dinner, my dear,” Jessica said. “May I order you something?”
The woman looked at the stillsuit manufacturer before answering, then: “I’m not very hungry.”
Abruptly, the Duke stood up beside his trooper, spoke in a harsh tone of command: “Stay seated, everyone. You will have to forgive me, but a matter has arisen that requires my personal attention.” He stepped aside. “Paul, take over as host for me, if you please.”
Paul stood, wanting to ask why his father had to leave, knowing he had to play this with the grand manner. He moved around to his father’s chair, sat down in it.
The Duke turned to the alcove where Halleck sat, said: “Gurney, please take Paul’s place at table. We mustn’t have an odd number here. When the dinner’s over, I may want you to bring Paul to the field C.P. Wait for my call.”
Halleck emerged from the alcove in dress uniform, his lumpy ugliness seeming out of place in the glittering finery. He leaned his baliset against the wall, crossed to the chair Paul had occupied, sat down.
“There’s no need for alarm,” the Duke said, “but I must ask that no one leave until our house guard says it’s safe. You will be perfectly secure as long as you remain here, and we’ll have this little trouble cleared up very shortly.”
Paul caught the code words in his father’s message—guard—safe—secure-shortly. The problem was security, not violence. He saw that his mother had read the same message. They both relaxed.
The Duke gave a short nod, wheeled and strode through the service door followed by his trooper.
Paul said: “Please go on with your dinner. I believe Doctor Kynes was discussing water.”
“May we discuss it another time?” Kynes asked.”
“By all means,” Paul said.
And Jessica noted with pride her son’s dignity, the mature sense of assurance.
The banker picked up his water flagon, gestured with it at Bewt. “None of us here can surpass Master Lingar Bewt in flowery phrases. One might almost assume he aspired to Great House status. Come, Master Bewt, lead us in a toast. Perhaps you’ve a dollop of wisdom for the boy who must be treated like a man.”
Jessica clenched her right hand into a fist beneath the table. She saw a handsignal pass from Halleck to Idaho, saw the house troopers along the walls move into positions of maximum guard.
Bewt cast a venomous glare at the banker.
Paul glanced at Halleck, took in the defensive positions of his guards, looked at the banker until the man lowered the water flagon. He said: “Once, on Caladan, I saw the body of a drowned fisherman recovered. He—”
“Drowned?” It was the stillsuit manufacturer’s daughter.
Paul hesitated, then: “Yes. Immersed in water until dead. Drowned. ”
“What an interesting way to die,” she murmured.
Paul’s smile became brittle. He returned his attention to the banker. “The interesting thing about this man was the wounds on his shoulders—made by another fisherman’s claw-boots. This fisherman was one of several in a boat—a craft for traveling on water—that foundered … sank beneath the water. Another fisherman helping recover the body said he’d seen marks like this man’s wounds several times. They meant another drowning fisherman had tried to stand on this poor fellow’s shoulders in the attempt to reach up to the surface—to reach air.”
“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 demand
ed.
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.
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