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 watershipper and his woman, the pale and austere Guild Bank representative (he seemed a whistlefaced 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 planetologist 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.
"Of course, it's true!" the Duke snapped. "The blasted carryall disappeared. It shouldn't be possible for anything that big to disappear!"
"When the worm came, there was nothing to recover the crawler," Kynes said.
"It should not be possible!" the Duke repeated.
"No one saw the carryall leave?" the banker asked.
"Spotters customarily keep their eyes on the sand," Kynes said. "They're primarily interested in wormsign. A carryall's complement usually is four men--two pilots and two journeymen attachers. If one--or even two of this crew were in the pay of the Duke's foes--"
"Ah-h-h, I see," the banker said. "And you, as Judge of the Change, do you challenge this?"
"I shall have to consider my position carefully," Kynes said, "and I certainly will not discuss it at table." And he thought: That pale skeleton of a man! He knows this is the kind of infraction I was instructed to ignore.
The banker smiled, returned his attention to his food.
Jessica sat remembering a lecture from her Bene Gesserit school days. The subject had been espionage and counter-espionage. A plump, happy-faced Reverend Mother had been the lecturer, her jolly voice contrasting weirdly with the subject matter.
A thing to note about any espionage and/or counter-espionage school is the similar basic reaction pattern of all its graduates. Any enclosed discipline sets its stamp, its pattern, upon its students. That pattern is susceptible to analysis and prediction.
Now, motivational patterns are going to be similar among all espionage agents. That is to say: there will be certain types of motivation that are similar despite differing schools or opposed aims. You will study first how to separate this element for your analysis--in the beginning, through interrogation patterns that betray the inner orientation of the interrogators; secondly, by close observation of language-thought orientation of those under analysis. You will find it fairly simple to determine the root languages of your subjects, of course, both through voice inflection and speech pattern.
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 righ
t. 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 sense
d 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.
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