Dune (78 page)

“Jessica!” the old woman screamed. “Silence him!”

“Silence him yourself,” Jessica said.

Paul glared at the old woman. “For your part in all this I could gladly have
you strangled,” he said. “You couldn’t prevent it!” he snapped as she stiffened
in rage. “But I think it better punishment that you live out your years never
able to touch me or bend me to a single thing your scheming desires.”

“Jessica, what have you done?” the old woman demanded.

“I’ll give you only one thing,” Paul said. “You saw part of what the race
needs, but how poorly you saw it. You think to control human breeding and
intermix a select few according to your master plan! How little you understand
of what –”

“You mustn’t speak of these things!” the old woman hissed.

“Silence!” Paul roared. The word seemed to take substance as it twisted
through the air between them under Paul’s control.
The old woman reeled back into the arms of those behind her, face blank with
shock at the power with which he had seized her psyche. “Jessica, ”she
whispered. “Jessica.”

“I remember your gom jabbar,” Paul said. “You remember mine. I can kill you
with a word.”

The Fremen around the ball glanced knowingly at each other. Did the legend
not say: “And his word shall carry death eternal to those who stand against
righteousness.”

Paul turned his attention to the tall Princess Royal standing beside her
Emperor father. Keeping his eyes focused on her, he said: “Majesty, we both know
the way out of our difficulty.”

The Emperor glanced at his daughter, back to Paul. “You dare? You! An
adventurer without family, a nobody from –”

“You’ve already admitted who I am,” Paul said. “Royal kinsman, you said.
Let’s stop this nonsense.”

“I am your ruler,” the Emperor said.

Paul glanced at the Guildsmen standing now at the communications equipment
and facing him. One of them nodded.

“I could force it,” Paul said.

“You will not dare!” the Emperor grated.

Paul merely stared at him.

The Princess Royal put a hand on her father’s arm. “Father,” she said, and
her voice was silky soft, soothing.

“Don’t try your tricks on me,” the Emperor said. He looked at her. “You
don’t need to do this, Daughter. We’ve other resources that –”

“But here’s a man fit to be your son,” she said.

The old Reverend Mother, her composure regained, forced her way to the
Emperor’s side, leaned close to his ear and whispered.

“She pleads your case,” Jessica said.

Paul continued to look at the golden-?haired Princess. Aside to his mother,
he said: “That’s Irulan, the oldest, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Chani moved up on Paul’s other side, said: “Do you wish me to leave,
Muad’Dib?”

He glanced at her. “Leave? You’ll never again leave my side.”

“There’s nothing binding between us,” Chani said.

Paul looked down at her for a silent moment, then: “Speak only truth with
me, my Sihaya.” As she started to reply, he silenced her with a finger to her
lips. “That which binds us cannot be loosed,” he said. “Now, watch these matters
closely for I wish to see this room later through your wisdom.”

The Emperor and his Truthsayer were carrying on a heated, low-?voiced
argument.

Paul spoke to his mother: “She reminds him that it’s part of their agreement
to place a Bene Gesserit on the throne, and Irulan is the one they’ve groomed
for it.”

“Was that their plan?” Jessica said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Paul asked.

“I see the signs!” Jessica snapped. “My question was meant to remind you
that you should not try to teach me those matters in which I instructed you.”

Paul glanced at her, caught a cold smile on her lips.

Gurney Halleck leaned between them, said: “I remind you, m’Lord, that
there’s a Harkonnen in that bunch.” He nodded toward the dark-?haired Feyd-?Rautha
pressed against a barrier lance on the left. “The one with the squinting eyes
there on the left. As evil a face as I ever say. You promised me once that –”

“Thank you, Gurney,” Paul said.

“It’s the na-?Baron . . . Baron now that the old man’s dead,” Gurney said.
“He’ll do for what I’ve in –”
“Can you take him, Gurney?” “M’Lord jests!”

“That argument between the Emperor and his witch has gone on long enough,
don’t you think, Mother?”

She nodded. “Indeed.”

Paul raised his voice, called out to the Emperor: “Majesty, is there a
Harkonnen among you?”

Royal disdain revealed itself in the way the Emperor turned to look at Paul.
“I believe my entourage has been placed under the protection of your ducal
word,” he said.

“My question was for information only,” Paul said. “I wish to know if a
Harkonnen is officially a part of your entourage or if a Harkonnen is merely
hiding behind a technicality out of cowardice.”

The Emperor’s smile was calculating. “Anyone accepted into the Imperial
company is a member of my entourage.”

“You have the word of a Duke,” Paul said, “but Muad’Dib is another matter.
He may not recognize your definition of what constitutes an entourage. My friend
Gurney Halleck wishes to kill a Harkonnen. If he –”

“Kanly!” Feyd-?Rautha shouted. He pressed against the barrier lance. “Your
father named this vendetta, Atreides. You call me coward while you hide among
your women and offer to send a lackey against me!”

The old Truthsayer whispered something fiercely into the Emperor’s ear, but
he pushed her aside, said: “Kanly, is it? There are strict rules for kanly.”

“Paul, put a stop to this,” Jessica said.

“M’Lord,” Gurney said, “You promised me my day against the Harkonnens.”

“You’ve had your day against them,” Paul said and he felt a harlequin
abandon take over his emotions. He slipped his robe and hood from his shoulders,
handed them to his mother with his belt and crysknife, began unstrapping his
stillsuit. He sensed now that the universe focused on this moment.

“There’s no need for this,” Jessica said. “There are easier ways, Paul.”

Paul stepped out of his stillsuit, slipped the crysknife from its sheath in
his mother’s hand. “I know,” he said. “Poison, an assassin, all the old familiar
ways.”

“You promised me a Harkonnen!” Gurney hissed, and Paul marked the rage in
the man’s face, the way the inkvine scar stood out dark and ridged. “You owe it
to me, m’Lord!”

“Have you suffered more from them than I?” Paul asked.

“My sister,” Gurney rasped. “My years in the slave pits –”

“My father,” Paul said. “My good friends and companions, Thufir Hawat and
Duncan Idaho, my years as a fugitive without rank or succor . . . and one more
thing: it is now kanly and you know as well as I the rules that must prevail.”

Halleck’s shoulders sagged. “M’Lord, if that swine . . . he’s no more than a
beast you’d spurn with your foot and discard the shoe because it’d been
contaminated. Call in an executioner, if you must, or let me do it, but don’t
offer yourself to –”

“Muad’Dib need not do this thing,” Chani said.

He glanced at her, saw the fear for him in her eyes. “But the Duke Paul
must,” he said.

“This is a Harkonnen animal!” Gurney rasped.

Paul hesitated on the point of revealing his own Harkonnen ancestry, stopped
at a sharp look from his mother, said merely: “But this being has human shape,
Gurney, and deserves human doubt.”

Gurney said: “If he so much as –”

“Please stand aside,” Paul said. He hefted the crysknife, pushed Gurney
gently aside.

“Gurney!” Jessica said. She touched Gurney’s arm. “He’s like his grandfather
in this mood. Don’t distract him. It’s the only thing you can do for him now.”
And she thought: Great Mother! What irony.
The Emperor was studying Feyd-?Rautha, seeing the heavy shoulders, the thick
muscles. He turned to look at Paul — a stringy whipcord of a youth, not as
desiccated as the Arrakeen natives, but with ribs there to count, and sunken in
the flanks so that the ripple and gather of muscles could be followed under the
skin.

Jessica leaned close to Paul, pitched her voice for his ears alone: “One
thing, Son. Sometimes a dangerous person is prepared by the Bene Gesserit, a
word implanted into the deepest recesses by the old pleasure-?pain methods. The
word-?sound most frequently used is Uroshnor. If this one’s been prepared, as I
strongly suspect, that word uttered in his ear will render his muscles flaccid
and –”

“I want no special advantage for this one,” Paul said. “Step back out of my
way.”

Gurney spoke to her: “Why is he doing this? Does he think to get himself
killed and achieve martyrdom? This Fremen religious prattle, is that what clouds
his reason?”

Jessica hid her face in her hands, realizing that she did not know fully why
Paul took this course. She could feel death in the room and knew that the
changed Paul was capable of such a thing as Gurney suggested. Every talent
within her focused on the need to protect her son, but there was nothing she
could do.

“Is it this religious prattle?” Gurney insisted.

“Be silent,” Jessica whispered. “And pray.”

The Emperor’s face was touched by an abrupt smile. “If Feyd-?Rautha Harkonnen
. . . of my entourage . . . so wishes,” he said, “I relieve him of all restraint
and give him freedom to choose his own course in this.” The Emperor waved a hand
toward Paul’s Fedaykin guards. “One of your rabble has my belt and short blade.
If Feyd-?Rautha wishes it, he may meet you with my blade in his hand.”

“I wish it,” Feyd-?Rautha said, and Paul saw the elation on the man’s face.

He’s overconfident, Paul thought. There’s a natural advantage I can accept.

“Get the Emperor’s blade,” Paul said, and watched as his command was obeyed.
“Put it on the floor there.” He indicated a place with his foot. “Clear the
Imperial rabble back against the wall and let the Harkonnen stand clear.”

A flurry of robes, scraping of feet, low-?voiced commands and protests
accompanied obedience to Paul’s command. The Guildsmen remained standing near
the communications equipment. They frowned at Paul in obvious indecision.

They’re accustomed to seeing the future, Paul thought. In this place and
time they’re blind . . . even as I am. And he sampled the time-?winds, sensing
the turmoil, the storm nexus that now focused on this moment place. Even the
faint gaps were closed now. Here was the unborn jihad, he knew. Here was the
race consciousness that he had known once as his own terrible purpose. Here was
reason enough for a Kwisatz Haderach or a Lisan al-?Gaib or even the halting
schemes of the Bene Gesserit. The race of humans had felt its own dormancy,
sensed itself grown stale and knew now only the need to experience turmoil in
which the genes would mingle and the strong new mixtures survive. All humans
were alive as an unconscious single organism in this moment, experiencing a kind
of sexual heat that could override any barrier.

And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit
of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would
be. His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only
the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery
even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist.

A sense of failure pervaded him, and he saw through it that Feyd-?Rautha
Harkonnen had slipped out of the torn uniform, stripped down to a fighting
girdle with a mail core.

This is the climax, Paul thought. From here, the future will open, the
clouds part onto a kind of glory. And if I die here, they’ll say I sacrificed
myself that my spirit might lead them. And if I live, they’ll say nothing can
oppose Muad’Dib.

“Is the Atreides ready?” Feyd-?Rautha called, using the words of the ancient
kanly ritual.

Paul chose to answer him in the Fremen way: “May thy knife chip and
shatter!” He pointed to the Emperor’s blade on the floor, indicating that Feyd-
Rautha should advance and take it.

Keeping his attention on Paul, Feyd-?Rautha picked up the knife, balancing it
a moment in his hand to get the feel of it. Excitement kindled in him. This was
a fight he had dreamed about — man against man, skill against skill with no
shields intervening. He could see a way to power opening before him because the
Emperor surely would reward whoever killed this troublesome duke. The reward
might even be that haughty daughter and a share of the throne. And this yokel
duke, this back-?world adventurer could not possibly be a match for a Harkonnen
trained in every device and every treachery by a thousand arena combats. And the
yokel had no way of knowing he faced more weapons than a knife here.

Let us see if you’re proof against poison! Feyd-?Rautha thought. He saluted
Paul with the Emperor’s blade, said: “Meet your death, fool.”

“Shall we fight, cousin?” Paul asked. And he cat-?footed forward, eyes on the
waiting blade, his body crouched low with his own milk-?white crysknife pointing
out as though an extension of his arm.

They circled each other, bare feet grating on the floor, watching with eyes
intent for the slightest opening.

“How beautifully you dance,” Feyd-?Rautha said.

He’s a talker, Paul thought. There’s another weakness. He grows uneasy in
the face of silence.

“Have you been shriven?” Feyd-?Rautha asked.

Still, Paul circled in silence.

And the old Reverend Mother, watching the fight from the press of the
Emperor’s suite, felt herself trembling. The Atreides youth had called the
Harkonnen cousin. It could only mean he knew the ancestry they shared, easy to
understand because he was the Kwisatz Haderach. But the words forced her to
focus on the only thing that mattered to her here.

This could be a major catastrophe for the Bene Gesserit breeding scheme.

She had seen something of what Paul had seen here, that Feyd-?Rautha might
kill but not be victorious. Another thought, though, almost overwhelmed her. Two
end products of this long and costly program faced each other in a fight to the
death that might easily claim both of them. If both died here that would leave
only Feyd-?Rautha’s bastard daughter, still a baby, an unknown, an unmeasured
factor, and Alia, the abomination.