Leto waved him back, said: "Speak out, Duncan. You can see this is strategy staff."
Paul studied Idaho, marking the feline movements, the swiftness of reflex that made him such a difficult weapons teacher to emulate. Idaho's dark round face turned toward Paul, the cave-sitter eyes giving no hint of recognition, but Paul recognized the mask of serenity over excitement.
Idaho looked down the length of the table, said: "We've taken a force of Harkonnen mercenaries disguised as Fremen. The Fremen themselves sent us a courier to warn of the false band. In the attack, however, we found the Harkonnens had waylaid the Fremen courier--badly wounded him. We were bringing him here for treatment by our medics when he died. I'd seen how badly off the man was and stopped to do what I could. I surprised him in the attempt to throw something away." Idaho glanced down at Leto. "A knife, m'Lord, a knife the like of which you've never seen."
"Crysknife?" someone asked.
"No doubt of it," Idaho said. "Milky white and glowing with a light of its own like." He reached into his tunic, brought out a sheath with a black-ridged handle protruding from it.
"Keep that blade in its sheath!"
The voice came from the open door at the end of the room, a vibrant and penetrating voice that brought them all up, staring.
A tall, robed figure stood in the door, barred by the crossed swords of the guard. A light tan robe completely enveloped the man except for a gap in the hood and black veil that exposed eyes of total blue--no white in them at all.
"Let him enter," Idaho whispered.
"Pass that man," the Duke said.
The guards hesitated, then lowered their swords.
The man swept into the room, stood across from the Duke.
"This is Stilgar, chief of the sietch I visited, leader of those who warned us of the false band," Idaho said.
"Welcome, sir," Leto said. "And why shouldn't we unsheath this blade?"
Stilgar glanced at Idaho, said: "You observed the customs of cleanliness and honor among us. I would permit you to see the blade of the man you befriended." His gaze swept the others in the room. "But I do not know these others. Would you have them defile an honorable weapon?"
"I am the Duke Leto," the Duke said. "Would you permit me to see this blade?"
"I'll permit you to earn the right to unsheath it," Stilgar said, and, as a mutter of protest sounded around the table, he raised a thin, darkly veined hand. "I remind you this is the blade of one who befriended you."
In the waiting silence, Paul studied the man, sensing the aura of power that radiated from him. He was a leader--a Fremen leader.
A man near the center of the table across from Paul muttered: "Who's he to tell us what rights we have on Arrakis?"
"It is said that the Duke Leto Atreides rules with the consent of the governed," the Fremen said. "Thus I must tell you the way it is with us: a certain responsibility falls on those who have seen a crysknife." He passed a dark glance across Idaho. "They are ours. They may never leave Arrakis without our consent."
Halleck and several of the others started to rise, angry expressions on their faces. Halleck said: "The Duke Leto determines whether--"
"One moment, please," Leto said, and the very mildness of his voice held them. This must not get out of hand, he thought. He addressed himself to the Fremen: "Sir, I honor and respect the personal dignity of any man who respects my dignity. I am indeed indebted to you. And I always pay my debts. If it is your custom that this knife remain sheathed here, then it is so ordered--by me. And if there is any other way we may honor the man who died in our service, you have but to name it."
The Fremen stared at the Duke, then slowly pulled aside his veil, revealing a thin nose and full-lipped mouth in a glistening black beard. Deliberately he bent over the end of the table, spat on its polished surface.
As the men around the table started to surge to their feet, Idaho's voice boomed across the room: "Hold!"
Into the sudden charged stillness, Idaho said: "We thank you, Stilgar, for the gift of your body's moisture. We accept it in the spirit with which it is given." And Idaho spat on the table in front of the Duke.
Aside to the Duke, he said: "Remember how precious water is here, Sire. That was a token of respect."
Leto sank back into his own chair, caught Paul's eye, a rueful grin on his son's face, sensed the slow relaxation of tension around the table as understanding came to his men.
The Fremen looked at Idaho, said: "You measured well in my sietch, Duncan Idaho. Is there a bond on your allegiance to your Duke?"
"He's asking me to enlist with him, Sire," Idaho said.
"Would he accept a dual allegiance?" Leto asked.
"You wish me to go with him, Sire?"
"I wish you to make your own decision in the matter," Leto said, and he could not keep the urgency out of his voice.
Idaho studied the Fremen. "Would you have me under these conditions, Stilgar? There'd be times when I'd have to return to serve my Duke."
"You fight well and you did your best for our friend," Stilgar said. He looked at Leto. "Let it be thus: the man Idaho keeps the crysknife he holds as a mark of his allegiance to us. He must be cleansed, of course, and the rites observed, but this can be done. He will be Fremen and soldier of the Atreides. There is precedent for this: Liet serves two masters."
"Duncan?" Leto asked.
"I understand, Sire," Idaho said.
"It is agreed, then," Leto said.
"Your water is ours, Duncan Idaho," Stilgar said. "The body of our friend remains with your Duke. His water is Atreides water. It is a bond between us."
Leto sighed, glanced at Hawat, catching the old Mentat's eye. Hawat nodded, his expression pleased.
"I will await below," Stilgar said, "while Idaho makes farewell with his friends. Turok was the name of our dead friend. Remember that when it comes time to release his spirit. You are friends of Turok."
Stilgar started to turn away.
"Will you not stay a while?" Leto asked.
The Fremen turned back, whipping his veil into place with a casual gesture, adjusting something beneath it. Paul glimpsed what looked like a thin tube before the veil settled into place.
"Is there reason to stay?" the Fremen asked.
"We would honor you," the Duke said.
"Honor requires that I be elsewhere soon," the Fremen said. He shot another glance at Idaho, whirled, and strode out past the door guards.
"If the other Fremen match him, we'll serve each other well," Leto said.
Idaho spoke in a dry voice: "He's a fair sample, Sire."
"You understand what you're to do, Duncan?"
"I'm your ambassador to the Fremen, Sire."
"Much depends on you, Duncan. We're going to need at least five battalions of those people before the Sardaukar descend on us."
"This is going to take some doing, Sire. The Fremen are a pretty independent bunch." Idaho hesitated, then: "And, Sire, there's one other thing. One of the mercenaries we knocked over was trying to get this blade from our dead Fremen friend. The mercenary says there's a Harkonnen reward of a million solaris for anyone who'll bring in a single crysknife."
Leto's chin came up in a movement of obvious surprise. "Why do they want one of those blades so badly?"
"The knife is ground from a sandworm's tooth; it's the mark of the Fremen, Sire. With it, a blue-eyed man could penetrate any sietch in the land. They'd question me unless I were known. I don't look Fremen. But...."
"Piter de Vries," the Duke said.
"A man of devilish cunning, my Lord," Hawat said.
Idaho slipped the sheathed knife beneath his tunic.
"Guard that knife," the Duke said.
"I understand, m'Lord." He patted the transceiver on his belt kit. "I'll report soon as possible. Thufir has my call code. Use battle language." He saluted, spun about, and hurried after the Fremen.
They heard his footsteps drumming down the corridor.
A look of understandin
g passed between Leto and Hawat. They smiled.
"We've much to do, Sire," Halleck said.
"And I keep you from your work," Leto said.
"I have the report on the advance bases," Hawat said. "Shall I give it another time, Sire?"
"Will it take long?"
"Not for a briefing. It's said among the Fremen that there were more than two hundred of these advance bases built here on Arrakis during the Desert Botanical Testing Station period. All supposedly have been abandoned, but there are reports they were sealed off before being abandoned."
"Equipment in them?" the Duke asked.
"According to the reports I have from Duncan."
"Where are they located?" Halleck asked.
"The answer to that question," Hawat said, "is invariably: 'Liet knows.' "
"God knows," Leto muttered.
"Perhaps not, Sire," Hawat said. "You heard this Stilgar use the name. Could he have been referring to a real person?"
"Serving two masters," Halleck said. "It sounds like a religious quotation."
"And you should know," the Duke said.
Halleck smiled.
"This Judge of the Change," Leto said, "the Imperial ecologist--Kynes.... Wouldn't he know where those bases are?"
"Sire," Hawat cautioned, "this Kynes is an Imperial servant."
"And he's a long way from the Emperor," Leto said. "I want those bases. They'd be loaded with materials we could salvage and use for repair of our working equipment."
"Sire!" Hawat said. "Those bases are still legally His Majesty's fief."
"The weather here's savage enough to destroy anything," the Duke said. "We can always blame the weather. Get this Kynes and at least find out if the bases exist."
"'Twere dangerous to commandeer them," Hawat said. "Duncan was clear on one thing: those bases or the idea of them hold some deep significance for the Fremen. We might alienate the Fremen if we took those bases."
Paul looked at the faces of the men around them, saw the intensity of the way they followed every word. They appeared deeply disturbed by his father's attitude.
"Listen to him, Father," Paul said in a low voice. "He speaks truth."
"Sire," Hawat said, "those bases could give us material to repair every piece of equipment left us, yet be beyond reach for strategic reasons. It'd be rash to move without greater knowledge. This Kynes has arbiter authority from the Imperium. We mustn't forget that. And the Fremen defer to him."
"Do it gently, then," the Duke said. "I wish to know only if those bases exist."
"As you will, Sire." Hawat sat back, lowered his eyes.
"All right, then," the Duke said. "We know what we have ahead of us--work. We've been trained for it. We've some experience in it. We know what the rewards are and the alternatives are clear enough. You all have your assignments." He looked at Halleck. "Gurney, take care of that smuggler situation first."
"'I shall go unto the rebellious that dwell in the dry land,' " Halleck intoned.
"Someday I'll catch that man without a quotation and he'll look undressed," the Duke said.
Chuckles echoed around the table, but Paul heard the effort in them.
The Duke turned to Hawat. "Set up another command post for intelligence and communications on this floor, Thufir. When you have them ready, I'll want to see you."
Hawat arose, glancing around the room as though seeking support. He turned away, led the procession out of the room. The others moved hurriedly, scraping their chairs on the floor, balling up in little knots of confusion.
It ended up in confusion, Paul thought, staring at the backs of the last men to leave. Always before, Staff had ended on an incisive air. This meeting had just seemed to trickle out, worn down by its own inadequacies, and with an argument to top it off.
For the first time, Paul allowed himself to think about the real possibility of defeat--not thinking about it out of fear or because of warnings such as that of the old Reverend Mother, but facing up to it because of his own assessment of the situation.
My father is desperate, he thought. Things aren't going well for us at all.
And Hawat--Paul recalled how the old Mentat had acted during the conference--subtie hesitations, signs of unrest.
Hawat was deeply troubled by something.
"Best you remain here the rest of the night, Son," the Duke said. "It'll be dawn soon, anyway. I'll inform your mother." He got to his feet, slowly, stiffly. "Why don't you pull a few of these chairs together and stretch out on them for some rest."
"I'm not very tired, sir."
"As you will."
The Duke folded his hands behind him, began pacing up and down the length of the table.
Like a caged animal, Paul thought.
"Are you going to discuss the traitor possibility with Hawat?" Paul asked.
The Duke stopped across from his son, spoke to the dark windows. "We've discussed the possibility many times."
"The old woman seemed so sure of herself," Paul said. "And the message Mother--"
"Precautions have been taken," the Duke said. He looked around the room, and Paul marked the hunted wildness in his father's eyes. "Remain here. There are some things about the command posts I want to discuss with Thufir." He turned, strode out of the room, nodding shortly to the door guards.
Paul stared at the place where his father had stood. The space had been empty even before the Duke left the room. And he recalled the old woman's warning: "... for the father, nothing."
On that first day when Muad'Dib rode through the streets of Arrakeen with his family, some of the people along the way recalled the legends and the prophecy and they ventured to shout: "Mahdi!" But their shout was more a question than a statement, for as yet they could only hope he was the one foretold as the Lisan al-Gaib, the Voice from the Outer World. Their attention was focused, too, on the mother, because they had heard she was a Bene Gesserit and it was obvious to them that she was like the other Lisan al-Gaib.
--from "Manual of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan
THE DUKE found Thufir Hawat alone in the corner room to which a guard directed him. There was the sound of men setting up communications equipment in an adjoining room, but this place was fairly quiet. The Duke glanced around as Hawat arose from a paper-cluttered table. It was a green-walled enclosure with, in addition to the table, three suspensor chairs from which the Harkonnen "H" had been hastily removed, leaving an imperfect color patch.
"The chairs are liberated but quite safe," Hawat said. "Where is Paul, Sire?"
"I left him in the conference room. I'm hoping he'll get some rest without me there to distract him."
Hawat nodded, crossed to the door to the adjoining room, closed it, shutting off the noise of static and electronic sparking.
"Thufir," Leto said, "the Imperial and Harkonnen stockpiles of spice attract my attention."
"M'Lord?"
The Duke pursed his lips. "Storehouses are susceptible to destruction." He raised a hand as Hawat started to speak. "Ignore the Emperor's hoard. He'd secretly enjoy it if the Harkonnens were embarrassed. And can the Baron object if something is destroyed which he cannot openly admit that he has?"
Hawat shook his head. "We've few men to spare, Sire."
"Use some of Idaho's men. And perhaps some of the Fremen would enjoy a trip off planet. A raid on Giedi Prime--there are tactical advantages to such a diversion, Thufir."
"As you say, my Lord." Hawat turned away, and the Duke saw evidence of nervousness in the old man, thought: Perhaps he suspects I distrust him. He must know I've private reports of traitors. Well-best quiet hisfears immediately.
"Thufir," he said, "since you're one of the few I can trust completely, there's another matter bears discussion. We both know how constant a watch we must keep to prevent traitors from infiltrating our forces... but I have two new reports."
Hawat turned, stared at him.
And Leto repeated the stories Paul had brought.
Instead of bringing on the
intense Mentat concentration, the reports only increased Hawat's agitation.
Leto studied the old man and, presently, said: "You've been holding something back, old friend. I should've suspected when you were so nervous during Staff. What is it that was too hot to dump in front of the full conference?"
Hawat's sapho-stained lips were pulled into a prim, straight line with tiny wrinkles radiating into them. They maintained their wrinkled stiffness as he said: "My Lord, I don't quite know how to broach this."
"We've suffered many a scar for each other, Thufir," the Duke said. "You know you can broach any subject with me."
Hawat continued to stare at him, thinking: This is how I like him best. This is the man of honor who deserves every bit of my loyalty and service. Why must I hurt him?
"Well?" Leto demanded.
Hawat shrugged. "It's a scrap of a note. We took it from a Harkonnen courier. The note was intended for an agent named Pardee. We've good reason to believe Pardee was top man in the Harkonnen underground here. The note--it's a thing that could have great consequence or no consequence. It's susceptible to various interpretations."
"What's the delicate content of this note?"
"Scrap of a note, my Lord. Incomplete. It was on minimic film with the usual destruction capsule attached. We stopped the acid action just short of full erasure, leaving only a fragment. The fragment, however, is extremely suggestive."
"Yes?"
Hawat rubbed at his lips. "It says: '... eto will never suspect, and when the blow falls on him from a beloved hand, its source alone should be enough to destroy him.' The note was under the Baron's own seal and I've authenticated the seal."
"Your suspicion is obvious," the Duke said and his voice was suddenly cold.
"I'd sooner cut off my arms than hurt you," Hawat said. "My Lord, what if...."
"The Lady Jessica," Leto said, and he felt anger consuming him. "Couldn't you wring the facts out of this Pardee?"
"Unfortunately, Pardee no longer was among the living when we intercepted the courier. The courier, I'm certain, did not know what he carried."
"I see."
Leto shook his head, thinking: What a slimy piece of business. There can't be anything in it. I know my woman.
"My Lord, if--"
"No!" the Duke barked. "There's a mistake here that--"
"We cannot ignore it, my Lord."
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