Dune (4 page)

“You have no idea how much wealth is involved, Feyd,” the Baron said. “Not
in your wildest imaginings. To begin, we’ll have an irrevocable directorship in
the CHOAM Company.”

Feyd-?Rautha nodded. Wealth was the thing. CHOAM was the key to wealth, each
noble House dipping from the company’s coffers whatever it could under the power
of the directorships. Those CHOAM directorships — they were the real evidence
of political power in the Imperium, passing with the shifts of voting strength
within the Landsraad as it balanced itself against the Emperor and his
supporters.

“The Duke Leto,” Piter said, “may attempt to flee to the new Fremen scum
along the desert’s edge. Or he may try to send his family into that imagined
security. But that path is blocked by one of His Majesty’s agents — the
planetary ecologist. You may remember him — Kynes.”

“Feyd remembers him,” the Baron said. “Get on with it.”

“You do not drool very prettily, Baron,” Piter said.

“Get on with it, I command you!” the Baron roared.

Piter shrugged. “If matters go as planned,” he said, “House Harkonnen will
have a subfief on Arrakis within a Standard year. Your uncle will have
dispensation of that fief. His own personal agent will rule on Arrakis.”

“More profits,” Feyd-?Rautha said.

“Indeed,” the Baron said. And he thought: It’s only just. We’re the ones who
tamed Arrakis . . .except for the few mongrel Fremen hiding in the skirts of the
desert . . . and some tame smugglers bound to the planet almost as tightly as
the native labor pool.

“And the Great Houses will know that the Baron has destroyed the Atreides,”
Piter said. “They will know.”

“They will know,” the Baron breathed.

“Loveliest of all,” Piter said, “is that the Duke will know, too. He knows
now. He can already feel the trap.”

“It’s true the Duke knows,” the Baron said, and his voice held a note of
sadness. “He could not help but know . . . more’s the pity.”

The Baron moved out and away from the globe of Arrakis. As he emerged from
the shadows, his figure took on dimension — grossly and immensely fat. And with
subtle bulges beneath folds of his dark robes to reveal that all this fat was
sustained partly by portable suspensors harnessed to his flesh. He might weigh
two hundred Standard kilos in actuality, but his feet would carry no more than
fifty of them.

“I am hungry,” the Baron rumbled, and he rubbed his protruding lips with a
beringed hand, stared down at Feyd-?Rautha through fat-?enfolded eyes. “Send for
food, my darling. We will eat before we retire.”

= = = = = =

Thus spoke St. Alia-?of-?the-?Knife: “The Reverend Mother must combine the
seductive wiles of a courtesan with the untouchable majesty of a virgin goddess,
holding these attributes in tension so long as the powers of her youth endure.
For when youth and beauty have gone, she will find that the place-?between, once
occupied by tension, has become a wellspring of cunning and resourcefulness.”
-from “Muad’Dib, Family Commentaries” by the Princess Irulan

“Well, Jessica, what have you to say for yourself?” asked the Reverend
Mother.
It was near sunset at Castle Caladan on the day of Paul’s ordeal. The two
women were alone in Jessica’s morning room while Paul waited in the adjoining
soundproofed Meditation Chamber.

Jessica stood facing the south windows. She saw and yet did not see the
evening’s banked colors across meadow and river. She heard and yet did not hear
the Reverend Mother’s question.

There had been another ordeal once — so many years ago. A skinny girl with
hair the color of bronze, her body tortured by the winds of puberty, had entered
the study of the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, Proctor Superior of the
Bene Gesserit school on Wallach IX. Jessica looked down at her right hand,
flexed the fingers, remembering the pain, the terror, the anger.

“Poor Paul,” she whispered.

“I asked you a question, Jessica!” The old woman’s voice was snappish,
demanding.

“What? Oh . . . ” Jessica tore her attention away from the past, faced the
Reverend Mother, who sat with back to the stone wall between the two west
windows. “What do you want me to say?”

“What do I want you to say? What do I want you to say?” The old voice
carried a tone of cruel mimicry.

“So I had a son!” Jessica flared. And she knew she was being goaded into
this anger deliberately.

“You were told to bear only daughters to the Atreides.”

“It meant so much to him,” Jessica pleaded.

“And you in your pride thought you could produce the Kwisatz Haderach!”

Jessica lifted her chin. “I sensed the possibility.”

“You thought only of your Duke’s desire for a son,” the old woman snapped.
“And his desires don’t figure in this. An Atreides daughter could’ve been wed to
a Harkonnen heir and sealed the breach. You’ve hopelessly complicated matters.
We may lose both bloodlines now.”

“You’re not infallible,” Jessica said. She braved the steady stare from the
old eyes.

Presently, the old woman muttered: “What’s done is done.”

“I vowed never to regret my decision,” Jessica said.

“How noble,” the Reverend Mother sneered. “No regrets. We shall see when
you’re a fugitive with a price on your head and every man’s hand turned against
you to seek your life and the life of your son.”

Jessica paled. “Is there no alternative?”

“Alternative? A Bene Gesserit should ask that?”

“I ask only what you see in the future with your superior abilities.”

“I see in the future what I’ve seen in the past. You well know the pattern
of our affairs, Jessica. The race knows its own mortality and fears stagnation
of its heredity. It’s in the bloodstream — the urge to mingle genetic strains
without plan. The Imperium, the CHOAM Company, all the Great Houses, they are
but bits of flotsam in the path of the flood.”

“CHOAM,” Jessica muttered. “I suppose it’s already decided how they’ll
redivide the spoils of Arrakis.”

“What is CHOAM but the weather vane of our times,” the old woman said. “The
Emperor and his friends now command fifty-?nine point six-?five per cent of the
CHOAM directorship’s votes. Certainly they smell profits, and likely as others
smell those same profits his voting strength will increase. This is the pattern
of history, girl.”

“That’s certainly what I need right now,” Jessica said. “A review of
history.”

“Don’t be facetious, girl! You know as well as I do what forces surround us.
We’ve a three-?point civilization: the Imperial Household balanced against the
Federated Great Houses of the Landsraad, and between them, the Guild with its
damnable monopoly on interstellar transport. In politics, the tripod is the most
unstable of all structures. It’d be bad enough without the complication of a
feudal trade culture which turns its back on most science.“

Jessica spoke bitterly: ”Chips in the path of the flood — and this chip
here, this is the Duke Leto, and this one’s his son, and this one’s –“

”Oh, shut up, girl. You entered this with full knowledge of the delicate
edge you walked.“

” ‘I am Bene Gesserit: I exist only to serve,’ “ Jessica quoted.

”Truth.“ the old woman said. ”And all we can hope for now is to prevent this
from erupting into general conflagration, to salvage what we can of the key
bloodlines.“

Jessica closed her eyes, feeling tears press out beneath the lids. She
fought down the inner trembling, the outer trembling, the uneven breathing, the
ragged pulse, the sweating of the palms. Presently, she said, ”I’ll pay for my
own mistake.“

”And your son will pay with you.“

”I’ll shield him as well as I’m able.“

”Shield!“ the old woman snapped. ”You well know the weakness there! Shield
your son too much, Jessica, and he’ll not grow strong enough to fulfill any
destiny.“

Jessica turned away, looked out the window at the gathering darkness. ”Is it
really that terrible, this planet of Arrakis?“

”Bad enough, but not all bad. The Missionaria Protectiva has been in there
and softened it up somewhat.“ The Reverend Mother heaved herself to her feet,
straightened a fold in her gown. ”Call the boy in here. I must be leaving soon.“

”Must you?“

The old woman’s voice softened. ”Jessica, girl, I wish I could stand in your
place and take your sufferings. But each of us must make her own path.“

”I know.“

”You’re as dear to me as any of my own daughters, but I cannot let that
interfere with duty.“

”I understand . . . the necessity.“

”What you did, Jessica, and why you did it — we both know. But kindness
forces me to tell you there’s little chance your lad will be the Bene Gesserit
Totality. You mustn’t let yourself hope too much.“

Jessica shook tears from the corners of her eyes. It was an angry gesture.
”You make me feel like a little girl again — reciting my first lesson.“ She
forced the words out: ” ‘Humans must never submit to animals.’ “ A dry sob shook
her. In a low voice, she said: ”I’ve been so lonely.“

”It should be one of the tests,“ the old woman said. ”Humans are almost
always lonely. Now summon the boy. He’s had a long, frightening day. But he’s
had time to think and remember, and I must ask the other questions about these
dreams of his.“

Jessica nodded, went to the door of the Meditation Chamber, opened it.
”Paul, come in now, please.“

Paul emerged with a stubborn slowness. He stared at his mother as though she
were a stranger. Wariness veiled his eyes when he glanced at the Reverend
Mother, but this time he nodded to her, the nod one gives an equal. He heard his
mother close the door behind him.

”Young man,“ the old woman said, ”let’s return to this dream business.“

”What do you want?“

”Do you dream every night?“

”Not dreams worth remembering. I can remember every dream, but some are
worth remembering and some aren’t.“

”How do you know the difference?“

”I just know it.“

The old woman glanced at Jessica, back to Paul. ”What did you dream last
night? Was it worth remembering?”
“Yes.” Paul closed his eyes. “I dreamed a cavern . . . and water . . . and a
girl there — very skinny with big eyes. Her eyes are all blue, no whites in
them. I talk to her and tell her about you, about seeing the Reverend Mother on
Caladan.” Paul opened his eyes.

“And the thing you tell this strange girl about seeing me, did it happen
today?”

Paul thought about this, then: “Yes. I tell the girl you came and put a
stamp of strangeness on me.”

“Stamp of strangeness,” the old woman breathed, and again she shot a glance
at Jessica, returned her attention to Paul. “Tell me truly now, Paul, do you
often have dreams of things that happen afterward exactly as you dreamed them?”

“Yes. And I’ve dreamed about that girl before.”

“Oh? You know her?”

“I will know her.”

“Tell me about her.”

Again, Paul closed his eyes. “We’re in a little place in some rocks where
it’s sheltered. It’s almost night, but it’s hot and I can see patches of sand
out of an opening in the rocks. We’re . . . waiting for something . . . for me
to go meet some people. And she’s frightened but trying to hide it from me, and
I’m excited. And she says: ‘Tell me about the waters of your homeworld, Usul.’ ”
Paul opened his eyes. “Isn’t that strange? My homeworld’s Caladan. I’ve never
even heard of a planet called Usul.”

“Is there more to this dream?” Jessica prompted.

“Yes. But maybe she was calling me Usul,” Paul said. “I just thought of
that.” Again, he closed his eyes. “She asks me to tell her about the waters. And
I take her hand. And I say I’ll tell her a poem. And I tell her the poem, but I
have to explain some of the words — like beach and surf and seaweed and
seagulls.”

“What poem?” the Reverend Mother asked.

Paul opened his eyes. “It’s just one of Gurney Halleck’s tone poems for sad
times.”

Behind Paul Jessica began to recite:

“I remember salt smoke from a beach fire
And shadows under the pines —
Solid, clean . . . fixed —
Seagulls perched at the tip of land,
White upon green . . .
And a wind comes through the pines
To sway the shadows;
The seagulls spread their wings,
Lift
And fill the sky with screeches.
And I hear the wind
Blowing across our beach,
And the surf,
And I see that our fire
Has scorched the seaweed.”

“That’s the one,” Paul said.

The old woman stared at Paul, then: “Young man, as a Proctor of the Bene
Gesserit, I seek the Kwisatz Haderach, the male who truly can become one of us.
Your mother sees this possibility in you, but she sees with the eyes of a
mother. Possibility I see, too, but no more.”

She fell silent and Paul saw that she wanted him to speak. He waited her
out.
Presently, she said: “As you will, then. You’ve depths in you; that I’ll
grant.”

“May I go now?” he asked.

“Don’t you want to hear what the Reverend Mother can tell you about the
Kwisatz Haderach?” Jessica asked.

“She said those who tried for it died.”

“But I can help you with a few hints at why they failed,” the Reverend
Mother said.

She talks of hints, Paul thought. She doesn’t really know anything. And he
said: “Hint then.”

“And be damned to me?” She smiled wryly, a crisscross of wrinkles in the old
face. “Very well: ‘That which submits rules.’ ”

He felt astonishment: she was talking about such elementary things as
tension within meaning. Did she think his mother had taught him nothing at all?

“That’s a hint?” he asked.

“We’re not here to bandy words or quibble over their meaning,” the old woman
said. “The willow submits to the wind and prospers until one day it is many
willows — a wall against the wind. This is the willow’s purpose.”

Paul stared at her. She said purpose and he felt the word buffet him,
reinfecting him with terrible purpose. He experienced a sudden anger at her:
fatuous old witch with her mouth full of platitudes.