Dune (29 page)

“I have a surprise for Piter,” the Baron said. “He thinks he has come here to collect his reward—you, Lady Jessica. But I wish to demonstrate a thing: that he does not really want you.”

“You play with me, Baron?” Piter asked, and he smiled.

Seeing that smile, Jessica wondered that the Baron did not leap to defend himself from this Piter. Then she corrected herself. The Baron could not read that smile. He did not have the Training.

“In many ways, Piter is quite naive,” the Baron said. “He doesn't admit to himself what a deadly creature you are, Lady Jessica. I'd show him, but it'd be a foolish risk.” The Baron smiled at Piter, whose face had become a waiting mask. “I know what Piter really wants. Piter wants power.”

“You promised I could have
her
,” Piter said. The tenor voice had lost some of its cold reserve.

Jessica heard the clue-tones in the man's voice, allowed herself an inward shudder.
How could the Baron have made such an animal out of a Mentat?

“I give you a choice, Piter,” the Baron said.

“What choice?”

The Baron snapped fat fingers. “This woman and exile from the Imperium, or the Duchy of Atreides on Arrakis to rule as you see fit in my name.”

Jessica watched the Baron's spider eyes study Piter.

“You could be Duke here in all but name,” the Baron said.

Is my Leto dead, then?
Jessica asked herself. She felt a silent wail begin somewhere in her mind.

The Baron kept his attention on the Mentat. “Understand yourself, Piter. You want her because she was a Duke's woman, a symbol of his power—beautiful, useful, exquisitely trained for her role. But an entire duchy, Piter! That's more than a symbol; that's the reality. With it you could have many women... and more.”

“You do not joke with Piter?”

The Baron turned with that dancing lightness the suspensors gave him. “Joke? I? Remember—
I
am giving up the boy. You heard what the traitor said about the lad's training. They are alike, this mother and son—deadly.” The Baron smiled. “I must go now. I will send in the guard I've reserved for this moment. He's stone deaf. His orders will be to convey you on the first leg of your journey into exile. He will subdue this woman if he sees her gain control of you. He'll not permit you to untie her gag until you're off Arrakis. If you choose not to leave . . . he has other orders.”

“You don't have to leave,” Piter said. “I've chosen.”

“Ah, hah!” the Baron chortled. “Such quick decision can mean only one thing.”

“I will take the duchy,” Piter said.

And Jessica thought:
Doesn't Piter know the Baron's lying to him? But—how could he know? He's a twisted Mentat.

The Baron glanced down at Jessica. “Is it not wonderful that I know Piter so well? I wagered with my Master at Arms that this would be Piter's choice. Hah! Well, I leave now. This is much better. Ah-h, much better. You understand, Lady Jessica? I had no rancor toward you. It's a necessity. Much better this way. Yes. And I've not
actually
ordered you destroyed. When it's asked of me what happened to you, I can shrug it off in all truth.”

“You leave it to me then?” Piter asked.

“The guard I send you will take your orders,” the Baron said. “Whatever's done I leave to you.” He stared at Piter. “Yes. There will be no blood on my hands here. It's your decision. Yes. I know nothing of it. You will wait until I've gone before doing whatever you must do. Yes. Well... ah, yes. Yes. Good.”

With one last glance at Jessica, the Baron turned, went out the door. She followed him with her eyes, thinking:
It's as the Reverend Mother warned
—
too potent an adversary.

Two Harkonnen troopers entered. Another, his face a scared mask, followed and stood in the doorway with drawn lasgun.

The deaf one,
Jessica thought, studying the scarred face.
The Baron knows I could use the Voice on any other man.

Scarface looked at Piter. “We've the boy on a litter outside. What are your orders?”

Piter spoke to Jessica. “I'd thought of binding you by a threat held over your son, but I begin to see that would not have worked. I let emotion cloud reason. Bad policy for a Mentat.” He looked at the first pair of troopers, turning so the deaf one could read his lips: “Take them into the desert as the traitor suggested for the boy. His plan is a good one. The worms will destroy all evidence. Their bodies must never be found.”

“You don't wish to dispatch them yourself?” Scarface asked.

He reads lips,
Jessica thought.

“I follow my Baron's example,” Piter said. “Take them where the traitor said.”

Jessica heard the harsh Mentat control in Piter's voice, thought:
He, too, fears the Truthsayer.

Piter shrugged, turned, and went through the doorway. He hesitated there, and Jessica thought he might turn back for a last look at her, but he went out without turning.

“Me, I wouldn't like the thought of facing that Truthsayer after this night's work,” Scarface said.

“You ain't likely ever to run into that old witch,” one of the other troopers said. He went around to Jessica's head, bent over her.” It ain't getting our work done standing around here chattering. Take her feet and—”

“Why'n't we kill 'em here?” Scarface asked.

“Too messy,” the first one said. “Unless you wants to strangle 'em. Me, I likes a nice straightforward job. Drop 'em on the desert like that traitor said, cut 'em once or twice, leave the evidence for the worms. Nothing to clean up afterwards.”

“Yeah... well, I guess you're right,” Scarface said.

Jessica listened to them, watching, registering. But the gag blocked her Voice, and there was the deaf one to consider.

Scarface holstered his lasgun, took her feet. They lifted her like a sack of grain, maneuvered her through the door and dumped her onto a suspensor-buoyed litter with another bound figure. As they turned her, fitting her to the litter, she saw her companion's face—Paul! He was bound, but not gagged. His face was no more than ten centimeters from hers, eyes closed, his breathing even.

Is he drugged?
she wondered.

The troopers lifted the litter, and Paul's eyes opened the smallest fraction—dark slits staring at her.

He mustn't try the Voice!
she prayed.
The deaf guard!

Paul's eyes closed.

He had been practicing the awareness-breathing, calming his mind, listening to their captors. The deaf one posed a problem, but Paul contained his despair. The mind-calming Bene Gesserit regimen his mother had taught him kept him poised, ready to expand any opportunity.

Paul allowed himself another slit-eyed inspection of his mother's face. She appeared unharmed. Gagged, though.

He wondered who could've captured her. His own captivity was plain enough—to bed with a capsule prescribed by Yueh, awaking to find himself bound to this litter. Perhaps a similar thing had befallen her. Logic said the traitor was Yueh, but he held final decision in abeyance. There was no understanding it—a Suk doctor a traitor.

The litter tipped slightly as the Harkonnen troopers maneuvered it through a doorway into starlit night. A suspensor-buoy rasped against the doorway. Then they were on sand, feet grating in it. A 'thopter wing loomed overhead, blotting the stars. The litter settled to the ground.

Paul's eyes adjusted to the faint light. He recognized the deaf trooper as the man who opened the 'thopter door, peered inside at the green gloom illuminated by the instrument panel.

“This the 'thopter we're supposed to use?” he asked, and turned to watch his companion's lips.

“It's the one the traitor said was fixed for desert work,” the other said.

Scarface nodded. “But—it's one of them little liaison jobs. Ain't room in there for more'n them an' two of us.”

“Two's enough,” said the litter-bearer, moving up close and presenting his lips for reading. “We can take care of it from here on, Kinet.”

“The Baron he told me to make sure what happened to them two,” Scarface said.

“What you so worried about?” asked another trooper from behind the litter-bearer.

“She is a Bene Gesserit witch,” the deaf one said. “They have powers.”

“Ah-h-h. . . .” The litter-bearer made the sign of the fist at his ear. “One of them, eh? Know whatcha mean.”

The trooper behind him grunted. “She'll be worm meat soon enough. Don't suppose even a Bene Gesserit witch has powers over one of them big worms. Eh, Czigo?” He nudged the litter-bearer.

“Yee-up,” the litter-bearer said. He returned to the litter, took Jessica's shoulders. “C'mon, Kinet. You can go along if you wants to make sure what happens.”

“It is nice of you to invite me, Czigo,” Scarface said.

Jessica felt herself lifted, the wing shadow spinning—stars. She was pushed into the rear of the 'thopter, her
krimskell
fiber bindings examined, and she was strapped down. Paul was jammed in beside her, strapped securely, and she noted his bonds were simple rope.

Scarface, the deaf one they called Kinet, took his place in front. The litter-bearer, the one they called Czigo, came around and took the other front seat.

Kinet closed his door, bent to the controls. The 'thopter took off in a wing-tucked surge, headed south over the Shield Wall. Czigo tapped his companion's shoulder, said: “Whyn't you turn around and keep an eye on them two?”

“Sure you know the way to go?” Kinet watched Czigo's lips.

“I listened to the traitor same's you.”

Kinet swiveled his seat. Jessica saw the glint of starlight on a lasgun in his hand. The 'thopter's light-walled interior seemed to collect illumination as her eyes adjusted, but the guard's scarred face remained dim. Jessica tested her seat belt, found it loose. She felt roughness in the strap against her left arm, realized the strap had been almost severed, would snap at a sudden jerk.

Has someone been at this 'thopter, preparing it for us?
she wondered.
Who?
Slowly, she twisted her bound feet clear of Paul's.

“Sure do seem a shame to waste a good-looking woman like this,” Scarface said. “You ever have any highborn types?” He turned to look at the pilot.

“Bene Gesserit ain't all highborn,” the pilot said.

“But they all looks heighty.”

He can see me plain enough,
Jessica thought. She brought her bound legs up onto the seat, curled into a sinuous ball, staring at Scarface.

“Real pretty, she is,” Kinet said. He wet his lips with his tongue. “Sure do seem a shame.” He looked at Czigo.

“You thinking what I think you're thinking?” the pilot asked.

“Who'd be to know?” the guard asked. “Afterwards. . . .” He shrugged. “I just never had me no highborns. Might never get a chance like this one again.”

“You lay a hand on my mother. . . .” Paul grated. He glared at Scarface.

“Hey!” the pilot laughed. “Cub's got a bark. Ain't got no bite, though.”

And Jessica thought:
Paul's pitching his voice too high. It may work, though.

They flew on in silence.

These poor fools,
Jessica thought, studying her guards and reviewing the Baron's words.
They'll be killed as soon as they report success on their mission. The Baron wants no witnesses.

The 'thopter banked over the southern rim of the Shield Wall, and Jessica saw a moonshadowed expanse of sand beneath them.

“This oughta be far enough,” the pilot said. “The traitor said to put 'em on the sand anywhere near the Shield Wall.” He dipped the craft toward the dunes in a long, falling stoop, brought it up stiffly over the desert surface.

Jessica saw Paul begin taking the rhythmic breaths of the calming exercise. He closed his eyes, opened them. Jessica stared, helpless to aid him.
He hasn't mastered the Voice yet,
she thought,
if he fails. . . .

The 'thopter touched sand with a soft lurch, and Jessica, looking north back across the Shield Wall, saw a shadow of wings settle out of sight up there.

Someone's following us!
she thought.
Who?
Then:
The ones the Baron set to watch this pair. And there'll be watchers for the watchers, too.

Czigo shut off his wing rotors. Silence flooded in upon them.

Jessica turned her head. She could see out the window beyond Scarface a dim glow of light from a rising moon, a frosted rim of rock rising from the desert. Sandblast ridges streaked its sides.

Paul cleared his throat.

The pilot said: “Now, Kinet?”

“I dunno, Czigo.”

Czigo turned, said: “Ah-h-h, look.” He reached out for Jessica's skirt.

“Remove her gag,” Paul commanded.

Jessica felt the words rolling in the air. The tone, the timbre excellent—imperative, very sharp. A slightly lower pitch would have been better, but it could still fall within this man's spectrum.

Czigo shifted his hand up to the band around Jessica's mouth, slipped the knot on the gag.

“Stop that!” Kinet ordered.

“Ah, shut your trap,” Czigo said. “Her hands're tied.” He freed the knot and the binding dropped. His eyes glittered as he studied Jessica.