"Whoever had stockpiled melange could make a killing," Paul said. "Others would be out in the cold."
The Duke permitted himself a moment of grim satisfaction, looking at his son and thinking how penetrating, how truly educated that observation had been. He nodded. "The Harkonnens have been stockpiling for more than twenty years."
"They mean spice production to fail and you to be blamed."
"They wish the Atreides name to become unpopular," the Duke said. "Think of the Landsraad Houses that look to me for a certain amount of leadership -- their unofficial spokesman. Think how they'd react if I were responsible for a serious reduction in their income. After all, one's own profits come first. The Great Convention be damned! You can't let someone pauperize you!" A harsh smile twisted the Duke's mouth. "They'd look the other way no matter what was done to me."
"Even if we were attacked with atomics?"
"Nothing that flagrant. No open defiance of the Convention. But almost anything else short of that . . . perhaps even dusting and a bit of soil poisoning."
"Then why are we walking into this?"
"Paul!" The Duke frowned at his son. "Knowing where the trap is -- that's the first step in evading it. This is like single combat, Son, only on a larger scale -- a feint within a feint within a feint . . . seemingly without end. The task is to unravel it. Knowing that the Harkonnens stockpile melange, we ask another question: Who else is stockpiling? That's the list of our enemies."
"Who?"
"Certain Houses we knew were unfriendly and some we'd thought friendly. We need not consider them for the moment because there is one other much more important: our beloved Padishah Emperor."
Paul tried to swallow in a throat suddenly dry. "Couldn't you convene the Landsraad, expose --"
"Make our enemy aware we know which hand holds the knife? Ah, now, Paul --
we see the knife, now. Who knows where it might be shifted next? If we put this before the Landsraad it'd only create a great cloud of confusion. The Emperor would deny it. Who could gainsay him? All we'd gain is a little time while risking chaos. And where would the next attack come from?"
"All the Houses might start stockpiling spice."
"Our enemies have a head start -- too much of a lead to overcome."
"The Emperor," Paul said. "That means the Sardaukar."
"Disguised in Harkonnen livery, no doubt," the Duke said. "But the soldier fanatics nonetheless."
"How can Fremen help us against Sardaukar?"
"Did Hawat talk to you about Salusa Secundus?"
"The Emperor's prison planet? No."
"What if it were more than a prison planet, Paul? There's a question you never hear asked about the Imperial Corps of Sardaukar: Where do they come from?"
"From the prison planet?"
"They come from somewhere."
"But the supporting levies the Emperor demands from --"
"That's what we're led to believe: they're just the Emperor's levies trained young and superbly. You hear an occasional muttering about the Emperor's training cadres, but the balance of our civilization remains the same: the military forces of the Landsraad Great Houses on one side, the Sardaukar and their supporting levies on the other. And their supporting levies, Paul. The Sardaukar remain the Sardaukar."
"But every report on Salusa Secundus says S.S. is a hell world!"
"Undoubtedly. But if you were going to raise tough, strong, ferocious men, what environmental conditions would you impose on them?"
"How could you win the loyalty of such men?"
"There are proven ways: play on the certain knowledge of their superiority, the mystique of secret covenant, the esprit of shared suffering. It can be done.
It has been done on many worlds in many times."
Paul nodded, holding his attention on his father's face. He felt some revelation impending.
"Consider Arrakis," the Duke said. "When you get outside the towns and garrison villages, it's every bit as terrible a place as Salusa Secundus."
Paul's eyes went wide. "The Fremen!"
"We have there the potential of a corps as strong and deadly as the Sardaukar. It'll require patience to exploit them secretly and wealth to equip them properly. But the Fremen are there . . . and the spice wealth is there. You see now why we walk into Arrakis, knowing the trap is there."
"Don't the Harkonnens know about the Fremen?"
"The Harkonnens sneered at the Fremen, hunted them for sport, never even bothered trying to count them. We know the Harkonnen policy with planetary populations -- spend as little as possible to maintain them."
The metallic threads in the hawk symbol above his father's breast glistened as the Duke shifted his position. "You see?"
"We're negotiating with the Fremen right now," Paul said.
"I sent a mission headed by Duncan Idaho," the Duke said. "A proud and ruthless man, Duncan, but fond of the truth. I think the Fremen will admire him.
If we're lucky, they may judge us by him: Duncan, the moral."
