-from "Muad'Dib: Conversations" by the Princess Irulan
"So you're the great Gurney Halleck," the man said.
Halleck stood staring across the round cavern office at the smuggler seated behind a metal desk. The man wore Fremen robes and had the half-tint blue eyes that told of off-planet foods in his diet. The office duplicated a space frigate's master control center--communications and viewscreens along a thirty-degree arc of wall, remote arming and firing banks adjoining, and the desk formed as a wall projection--part of the remaining curve.
"I am Staban Tuek, son of Esmar Tuek," the smuggler said.
"Then you're the one I owe thanks for the help we've received," Halleck said.
"Ah-h-h, gratitude," the smuggler said. "Sit down."
A ship-type bucket seat emerged from the wall beside the screens and Halleck sank onto it with a sigh, feeling his weariness. He could see his own reflection now in a dark surface beside the smuggler and scowled at the lines of fatigue in his lumpy face. The inkvine scar along his jaw writhed with the scowl.
Halleck turned from his reflection, stared at Tuek. He saw the family resemblance in the smuggler now--the father's heavy, over-hanging eyebrows and rock planes of cheeks and nose.
"Your men tell me your father is dead, killed by the Harkonnens," Halleck said.
"By the Harkonnens or by a traitor among your people," Tuek said.
Anger overcame part of Halleck's fatigue. He straightened, said: "Can you name the traitor?"
"We are not sure."
"Thufir Hawat suspected the Lady Jessica."
"Ah-h-h, the Bene Gesserit witch . . . perhaps. But Hawat is now a Harkonnen captive."
"I heard," Halleck took a deep breath. "It appears we've a deal more killing ahead of us."
"We will do nothing to attract attention to us," Tuek said.
Halleck stiffened. "But--"
"You and those of your men we've saved are welcome to sanctuary among us,"
Tuek said. "You speak of gratitude. Very well; work off your debt to us. We can always use good men. We'll destroy you out of hand, though, if you make the slightest open move against the Harkonnens."
"But they killed your father, man!"
"Perhaps. And if so, I'll give you my father's answer to those who act without thinking: 'A stone is heavy and the sand is weighty; but a fool's wrath is heavier than them both.' "
"You mean to do nothing about it, then?" Halleck sneered.
"You did not hear me say that. I merely say I will protect our contract with the Guild. The Guild requires that we play a circumspect game. There are other ways of destroying a foe."
"Ah-h-h-h-h."
"Ah, indeed. If you've a mind to seek out the witch, have at it. But I warn you that you're probably too late . . .and we doubt she's the one you want, any way."
"Hawat made few mistakes."
"He allowed himself to fall into Harkonnen hands."
"You think he's the traitor?"
Tuek shrugged. "This is academic. We think the witch is dead. At least the Harkonnens believe it."
"You seem to know a great deal about the Harkonnens."
"Hints and suggestions . . . rumors and hunches."
"We are seventy-four men," Halleck said. "If you seriously wish us to enlist with you, you must believe our Duke is dead."
"His body has been seen."
"And the boy, too--young Master Paul?" Halleck tried to swallow, found a lump in his throat.
"According to the last word we had, he was lost with his mother in a desert storm. Likely not even their bones will ever be found."
"So the witch is dead then . . . all dead."
Tuek nodded. "And Beast Rabban, so they say, will sit once more in the seat of power here on Dune."
"The Count Rabban of Lankiveil?"
"Yes."
It took Halleck a moment to put down the upsurge of rage that threatened to overcome him. He spoke with panting breath: "I've a score of my own against Rabban. I owe him for the lives of my family . . . " He rubbed at the scar along his jaw. " . . . and for this . . . "
