Road to Dune (35 page)

T
he Atreides frigate lay clamped in a long rack in the womb of the Guild ship. Racked around it lay other frigates, some bearing House crests that required memory trance for Paul to recall—so distant and small they were. And then wedged and packed around and between the frigates stretched a jumble of cargo lighters, pickup satellites, jumpdump boxes, yachts and freight gliders … and many shapes for which Paul had no association.

He had watched through the lounge viewscreens as
his
frigate was warped into the monstrous globe of the Guild ship. The first glimpses of that gigantic hold’s contents had stunned Paul with the realization that movement of Atreides people and freight could be only a small part of this ship’s task.

Caladan was only a minor waystop!

Now, the Guild ship had linked its communications system to the frigate’s, and the screen above Paul’s floater chair remained dark except for an occasional witch flickering as a voice came from the attendant speakers with instructions.

“Atreides party, do not attempt to leave your ships … Communication with members of your party in other vessels is available through our shipsystem and under rules of Guild secrecy … In the event of a contract-covered emergency aboard your vessel, activate the
red op
circuit with which you have been provided … You will experience strange sensations on and within your flesh as we resume way. Those of you who have never before spaced in a Guild ship please do not be alarmed. These sensations are a natural and harmless part of the first ship-drive moments … The Atreides party will be happy to know that they have been picked up by a Guild highline ship. You will be at your destination within a subjective day and a half …”

And Paul thought woefully of his father’s hope to get a complete rest in deepsleep during the crossing.

The voice from the screenspeakers interested Paul. He detected the controlled modulation of
soothers
and
convincers
in its tones. They were broadband but beautifully executed. There was no sign of the face or flesh of a Guildsman behind that voice, though. Except for the witch flicker, probably sympathetic sonals, the screen remained dark. And Paul thought of the old stories about
space adaptation,
that the men of the Guild had developed long and supple limbs with prehensile toes, that they were totally depilitated, that they had grown extra limbs, that they …

Paul laughed at himself.
Perhaps I’ll get some accurate data someday,
he thought.

One of Gurney’s men, Tomo, entered the lounge through the door beneath the screen. He was a stocky man with barrel chest, heavy arms, a round face held carefully emotionless. He nodded to Paul. “Mr. Halleck’s respects, M’Lord. He asked me to tell you that you may repair to the control cone as soon as all danger’s past and we’re well under way. Duke’s orders, M’ Lord.”

“Thank you, Tomo,” Paul said. “Would you convey my regrets to Mr. Halleck? My mother has asked that I remain here until she returns.”

The man bowed. “At once, M’Lord.” He backed out the way he had come, sealed the door.

Paul glanced up at the telltale glitterings in the room’s corners where spyeyes scanned the area for those in the control cone, and he smiled. Gurney had sent the man as a gesture of human reassurance. Paul eased his position in the chair, turning stiffly against the artificial gravity.

Only a day and a half to Arrakis,
he thought.

He lay back and the chair accommodated itself to the change. There was a lesson to review, a deep lesson from his mother with all its peculiar Mentat overtones. The decision to continue with his training had not been difficult. It had been almost as though some force within himself had made the decision for him. Paul sank into the lesson-review-awareness, sensing the way the lesson linked itself to related data within his mind.

Three quick breaths triggered it. He fell into the floating state … focusing the consciousness … aortal dilation … avoiding the unfocused mechanism of consciousness … to be conscious by choice … blood enriched and swift flooding the overload regions … one does not obtain food, safety or freedom by instinct, yet some humanoid creatures long to be animals …
Harkonnen is a beast of prey
… animal consciousness does not extend beyond the given moment nor into the idea that its victims may become extinct … the animal destroys and does not produce … the animal pleasures remain close to the sensation level and avoid the perceptual … true human requires a frame of reference, a background grid through which to see his universe … bodily integrity comes through nerve/ blood flow according to the deep awareness of cell needs … man’s necessity is for a universe of experience that makes logical sense, yet logic seduces awareness … all things/ cells/beings are impermanent … one strives for the flow-permanence within …

Over and over within Paul’s awareness the lesson rolled, and at its hub lay the single conceptualization:

The human being can assess his circumstances and judge his limitations within those circumstances, all through a mental programming, never risking his flesh until an optimum course has been computed. The human being may do this within the compression of elapsed time so short that it may be called instantaneous.

BLUE-WITHIN-BLUE EYES

W
e’ve started a research project on this condition of blue eyes,” Hawat said. “It’s a condition not totally unfamiliar off Arrakis, of course. You’ll recall the scannos on that creature of the Harkonnens, Piter Vries.”

“The Mentat,” Leto said.

“Would that he bore some other title,” Hawat said. He shrugged. “The contention with some is that this condition of blue eyes is a derivative of radiation from the Arrakeen sun. The chief argument is comparison with the fact that the sun of Tressi is reputed to give a yellow cast to eyes of fifth-generation humans born there.”

“Piter Vries is Arrakeen?” Leto asked.

“Not according to the best information available, sire.” Hawat turned away, paced across the room and back, his old shoulders bent, the leathery skin of his face seamed with the intensity of his concentration. “One of the entrepreneurs we smoked out had an amateur biological laboratory, several cages containing kangaroo rats in a sealed ecological system. Records attached said the rats had been born in this sealed system on non-Arrakeen stock, never removed from the system, and fed only spice. They were maintained in an area sealed away from all local radiation, yet they all had the blue eyes. They were fed exclusively on the spice, mind you.”

“Others have said it might be the spice causing this condition,” Leto said.

“But others haven’t kept records of a succession of such experiments wherein the spice was eventually withdrawn from the creatures and they died rather than revert to normal diet.” He stopped his pacing, stared up at the Duke. “Died with every evidence of narcotic withdrawal symptoms.”

The Duke wet his lips with his tongue. “It doesn’t seem possible. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Many people use mélange regularly. It’s part of
our
diet, Thufir. Surely, we’d have heard reports of withdrawal symptoms before now. I, myself, have gone without spice for …” He shook his head. “Well, I’ve … Dammit, Thufir! I know I can use the stuff or leave it alone.”

“Can you, sire?” Hawat asked softly.

“But I …”

“Has anyone who can afford regular use of mélange ever put withdrawal to the test?” Hawat asked. “I’m not talking about the casual, middle-class users. I’m talking about the uppers who can easily afford it and know its proven geriatric qualities, the ones who take it daily in large quantities as a delightful medicine.”

“That would be monstrous,” Leto said.

“It wouldn’t be the first time a slow poison has been marketed under the guise of a public benefit,” Hawat said. “I invite you, sire, to remember the history of the use of saturial, of semuta, of verite, of tobacco, of …”

JESSICA & DR. YUEH: THE SPICE

I
t’s more than that,” she said. “Tuek had advance agents in here. Those guards outside now are his men. I can smell violence about this place.”

“Are you sure about the advance agents?”

“Do not forget, Wellington, that I frequently act as the Duke’s secretary. I know many things about his business.” She compressed her lips, spoke thinly. “I sometimes wonder how much the Bene Gesserit training figured in his choice of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“A secretary tied to one by love is so much safer, don’t you think?”

“Is that a worthy thought, Jessica?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps not.” She continued to stare at the sere landscape. “But still I know there’s danger here, and not from the populace. After all, they’ll soon rejoice that they’re freed from the Harkonnen yoke … most of them. But the Harkonnens will have left some who …”

“Oh, come, come, now!”

She glanced at him, looked away. “I know that all the Duke’s hatred of the Harkonnens isn’t empty. The old feud is very much alive. The Harkonnens won’t be content with holding the power at Court. This new duchy wasn’t just a plum they threw us to buy an end to the feud.” She nodded. “I’ve had time to think about it. They won’t rest until the Duke and his line are destroyed.”

“This is a very rich plum, Jessica.”

“And there’s poison in it. The plum offered in such a way that we had to take it. The Baron cannot forget that Leto is a cousin of the Emperor while the Harkonnen titles came out of a pocketbook. He will not forget that my Duke’s great-great-grandfather had a Harkonnen banished for cowardice at Corrin.”

“You’re becoming morbid, Jessica. You’ve had
too much
time to think during this journey. You should be busy with things that hold your interest.”

“You’re very kind to try to spare me, old friend,” she said. “But I cannot keep my mind from wondering at the things I see.” She smiled wanly. “Tell me about the spice trade. Is it really as rich as they say?”

“Mélange is the costliest spice ever known. It’s bringing six hundred and twenty thousand credits the decagram on the open market right now.”

She turned away, crossed to one of the empty bookcases, rubbed its glistening surface. “Does it really make people live longer?”

He nodded. “It has some geriatric qualities, yes, because it aids digestion. It sets up a protein digestive balance that helps you get more energy out of what you eat.”

“It tasted like cinnamon to me the first time I ate it,” she said.

“Sometimes it’s cut with cassia or cinnamon,” he said, “but it does have some cinnamic aldehyde of its own, and eugenol. That’s why many say it smells like cinnamon.”

“But it never tastes the same twice,” she protested. “I’ve never had a satisfactory explanation for that.”

“You know there are only four fundamental tastes?” he asked.

“Certainly. Acid, bitter, salt and sweet.”

He inclined his head toward her. “It is the characteristic of mélange that it can blend odd pairs of taste and make them acceptable to the tongue. Some hold that it’s a
learned
flavor.”

“The body, learning that a thing is good for it, then interprets the flavor always as pleasurable,” she said. “That is what you mean?”

“Yes. And for that reason it’s also slightly euphoric.”

“How does it grow? Is it a plant?”

“Well, the Harkonnens kept the biology of mélange under wraps, but a few facts have leaked out. Apparently, it is fungasoid, and it must grow violently under the proper conditions.”

“Which are?”

“We do not know. Attempts to grow it artificially have failed for unknown reasons. And because of the sandworms [he saw her shudder] it has been impossible to study the spice thoroughly in situ.”

“So it’s a fungus.”

“Not exactly. It has some of the properties of fungus, we believe. But it’s much more complicated than that. The phenol chain with its odd bifurcation, for example. How can that come from a fungus? And there’s a cymene counterpart. Mélange is a fascinating chemical-botanical problem. We can say little more.”

“See how I have to pry for technical information?” she said. “Aside from my secretarial duties, the Duke does not expect me to be intelligent.”

“Is he aware that you are?”

PAUL & JESSICA

(In hiding after the hunter-seeker attack)

W
hat does it mean that you are Bene Gesserit, Mother?”

He has inherited my perceptivity,
she thought, and said: “That is the name of the school where I was trained.”

“I know that, Mother. But it means something different, too. When my father, the Duke, is bothered by something you have done he says ‘Bene Gesserit’ like a swear word.”

She couldn’t suppress the smile that twisted her lips. “And what is it about me that bothers your father, the Duke?”

“When you thwart him. I have heard him call you ‘a Bene Gesserit witch.’”

Silent laughter shook her.

Paul’s face remained sturdily somber. “Will you teach me the secret things you know, Mother?”

Jessica breathed a silent prayer to Sister Nartha and the oath of succession.
I was careless and have a son instead of a daughter,
she thought.
No! I was not careless. I knew how much my Duke wanted a son. But still it is a son … of a Bene Gesserit witch.

“I will teach you some of the things I know,” she said.

He stared at her, dissatisfied with the answer, then: “Now I know how my father, the Duke, feels about you sometimes,” he said.

She kept her wry feeling of humor from showing on her face, but still he sensed it.

“We are not amused,” he said.

And suddenly she saw a veil parted into the future.
If he lives he will be a great ruler,
she thought.
He has the perceptivity, the quickness, the deep intelligence, but above all else, he has the dignity.

She spoke formally: “I am sorry if I have offended my son,” she said. “I beg the prerogative of my privacy.”