Dune (15 page)

Chuckles sounded around the table.

Paul held himself apart from the humor, his attention focused on the
projection and the question that filled his mind. He pointed to the image on the
table, said: “Thufir, are there sandworms big enough to swallow that whole?”

Quick silence settled on the table. The Duke cursed under his breath, then
thought: No–they have to face the realities here.

“There’re worms in the deep desert could take this entire factory in one
gulp,” Hawat said. “Up here closer to the Shield Wall where most of the
spicing’s done there are plenty of worms that could cripple this factory and
devour it at their leisure.”
“Why don’t we shield them?” Paul asked.

“According to Idaho’s report,” Hawat said, “shields are dangerous in the
desert. A body-?size shield will call every worm for hundreds of meters around.
It appears to drive them into a killing frenzy. We’ve the Fremen word on this
and no reason to doubt it. Idaho saw no evidence of shield equipment at the
sietch.”

“None at all?” Paul asked.

“It’d be pretty hard to conceal that kind of thing among several thousand
people,” Hawat said. “Idaho had free access to every part of the sietch. He saw
no shields or any indication of their use.”

“It’s a puzzle,” the Duke said.

“The Harkonnens certainly used plenty of shields here,” Hawat said. “They
had repair depots in every garrison village, and their accounts show a heavy
expenditure for shield replacements and parts.”

“Could the Fremen have a way of nullifying shields?” Paul asked.

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Hawat said. “It’s theoretically possible, of
course–a shire-?sized static counter charge is supposed to do the trick, but no
one’s ever been able to put it to the test.”

“We’d have heard about it before now,” Halleck said. “The smugglers have
close contact with the Fremen and would’ve acquired such a device if it were
available. And they’d have had no inhibitions against marketing it off planet.”

“I don’t like an unanswered question of this importance,” Leto said.
“Thufir, I want you to give top priority to solution of this problem.”

“We’re already working on it, my Lord.” He cleared his throat. “Ah-?h, Idaho
did say one thing: he said you couldn’t mistake the Fremen attitude toward
shields. He said they were mostly amused by them.”

The Duke frowned, then: “The subject under discussion is spicing equipment.”

Hawat gestured to his aide at the projector.

The solido-?image of the harvester-?factory was replaced by a projection of a
winged device that dwarfed the images of human figures around it. “This is a
carryall,” Hawat said. “It’s essentially a large ‘thopter, whose sole function
is to deliver a factory to spice-?rich sands, then to rescue the factory when a
sandworm appears. They always appear. Harvesting the spice is a process of
getting in and getting out with as much as possible.”

“Admirably suited to Harkonnen morality,” the Duke said.

Laughter was abrupt and too loud.

An ornithopter replaced the carryall in the projection focus.

“These ‘thopters are fairly conventional,” Hawat said. “Major modifications
give them extended range. Extra care has been used in sealing essential areas
against sand and dust. Only about one in thirty is shielded–possibly discarding
the shield generator’s weight for greater range.”

“I don’t like this de-?emphasis on shields,” the Duke muttered. And he
thought: Is this the Harkonnen secret? Does it mean we won’t even be able to
escape on shielded frigates if all goes against us? He shook his head sharply to
drive out such thoughts, said: “Let’s get to the working estimate. What’ll our
profit figure be?”

Hawat turned two pages in his notebook. “After assessing the repairs and
operable equipment, we’ve worked out a first estimate on operating costs. It’s
based naturally on a depreciated figure for a clear safety margin.” He closed
his eyes in Mentat semitrance, said: “Under the Harkonnens, maintenance and
salaries were held to fourteen per cent. We’ll be lucky to make it at thirty per
cent at first. With reinvestment and growth factors accounted for, including the
CHOAM percentage and military costs, our profit margin will be reduced to a very
narrow six or seven per cent until we can replace worn-?out equipment. We then
should be able to boost it up to twelve or fifteen per cent where it belongs.”
He opened his eyes. “Unless my Lord wishes to adopt Harkonnen methods.”
“We’re working for a solid and permanent planetary base,” the Duke said. “We
have to keep a large percentage of the people happy–especially the Fremen.”

“Most especially the Fremen,” Hawat agreed.

“Our supremacy on Caladan,” the Duke said, “depended on sea and air power.
Here, we must develop something I choose to call desert power. This may include
air power, but it’s possible it may not. I call your attention to the lack of
‘thopter shields.” He shook his head. “The Harkonnens relied on turnover from
off planet for some of their key personnel. We don’t dare. Each new lot would
have its quota of provocateurs.”

“Then we’ll have to be content with far less profit and a reduced harvest,”
Hawat said. “Our output the first two seasons should be down a third from the
Harkonnen average.”

“There it is,” the Duke said, “exactly as we expected. We’ll have to move
fast with the Fremen. I’d like five full battalions of Fremen troops before the
first CHOAM audit.”

“That’s not much time, Sire,” Hawat said.

“We don’t have much time, as you well know. They’ll be here with Sardaukar
disguised as Harkonnens at the first opportunity. How many do you think they’ll
ship in, Thufir?”

“Four or five battalions all told, Sire. No more. Guild troop-?transport
costs being what they are.”

“Then five battalions of Fremen plus our own forces ought to do it. Let us
have a few captive Sardaukar to parade in front of the Landsraad Council and
matters will be much different–profits or no profits.”

“We’ll do our best, Sire.”

Paul looked at his father, back to Hawat, suddenly conscious of the Mentat’s
great age, aware that the old man had served three generations of Atreides.
Aged. It showed in the rheumy shine of the brown eyes, in the cheeks cracked and
burned by exotic weathers, in the rounded curve of the shoulders and the thin
set of his lips with the cranberry-?colored stain of sapho juice.

So much depends on one aged man, Paul thought.

“We’re presently in a war of assassins,” the Duke said, “but it has not
achieved full scale. Thufir, what’s the condition of the Harkonnen machine
here?”

“We’ve eliminated two hundred and fifty-?nine of their key people, my Lord.
No more than three Harkonnen cells remain–perhaps a hundred people in all.”

“These Harkonnen creatures you eliminated,” the Duke said, “were they
propertied?”

“Most were well situated, my Lord–in the entrepreneur class.”

“I want you to forge certificates of allegiance over the signatures of each
of them,” the Duke said. “File copies with the Judge of the Change. We’ll take
the legal position that they stayed under false allegiance. Confiscate their
property, take everything, turn out their families, strip them. And make sure
the Crown gets its ten per cent. It must be entirely legal.”

Thufir smiled, revealing red-?stained teeth beneath the carmine lips. “A move
worthy of your grandsire, my Lord. It shames me I didn’t think of it first.”

Halleck frowned across the table, surprised a deep scowl on Paul’s face. The
others were smiling and nodding.

It’s wrong, Paul thought. This’ll only make the others fight all the harder.
They’ve nothing to gain by surrendering.

He knew the actual no-?holds-?barred convention that ruled in kanly, but this
was the sort of move that could destroy them even as it gave them victory.

“ ‘I have been a stranger in a strange land,’ ” Halleck quoted.

Paul stared at him, recognizing the quotation from the O.C. Bible,
wondering: Does Gurney, too, wish an end to devious plots?

The Duke glanced at the darkness out the windows, looked back at Halleck.
“Gurney, how many of those sandworkers did you persuade to stay with us?”
“Two hundred eighty-?six in all, Sire. I think we should take them and
consider ourselves lucky. They’re all in useful categories.”

“No more?” The Duke pursed his lips, then: “Well, pass the word along to–”

A disturbance at the door interrupted him. Duncan Idaho came through the
guard there, hurried down the length of the table and bent over the Duke’s ear.

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.”