Dune (23 page)

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 Geologist’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 surf ace 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 . . . maybe,” 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. “May be,” he muttered.

Kynes spoke quickly: “Perhaps we should discuss this another time, my Lord.
There are so many–”

The planetologist broke off as an 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 demanded.