"Have you taken hostages?" the Emperor asked.
"It's useless, Majesty," the Baron said. "These mad Fremen hold a burial ceremony for every captive and act as though such a one were already dead."
"So?" the Emperor said.
And the Baron waited, glancing left and right at the metal walls of the selamlik, thinking of the monstrous fanmetal tent around him. Such unlimited wealth it represented that even the Baron was awed. He brings pages, the Baron thought, and useless court lackeys, his women and their companions -- hair-dressers, designers, everything . . . all the fringe parasites of the Court. All here -- fawning, slyly plotting, "roughing it" with the Emperor . . . here to watch him put an end to this affair, to make epigrams over the battles and idolize the wounded.
"Perhaps you've never sought the right kind of hostages," the Emperor said.
He knows something, the Baron thought. Fear sat like a stone in his stomach until he could hardly bear the thought of eating. Yet, the feeling was like hunger, and he poised himself several times in his suspensors on the point of ordering food brought to him. But there was no one here to obey his summons.
"Do you have any idea who this Muad'Dib could be?" the Emperor asked.
"One of the Umma, surely," the Baron said. "A Fremen fanatic, a religious adventurer. They crop up regularly on the fringes of civilization. Your Majesty knows this."
The Emperor glanced at his Truthsayer, turned back to scowl at the Baron.
"And you have no other knowledge of this Muad'Dib?"
"A madman," the Baron said. "But all Fremen are a little mad."
"Mad?"
"His people scream his name as they leap into battle. The women throw their babies at us and hurl themselves onto our knives to open a wedge for their men to attack us. They have no . . . no . . . decency!"
"As bad as that," the Emperor murmured, and his tone of derision did not escape the Baron. "Tell me, my dear Baron, have you investigated the southern polar regions of Arrakis?"
The Baron stared up at the Emperor, shocked by the change of subject. "But .
. . well, you know, Your Majesty, the entire region is uninhabitable, open to wind and worm. There's not even any spice in those latitudes."
"You've had no reports from spice lighters that patches of greenery appear there?"
"There've always been such reports. Some were investigated -- long ago. A few plants were seen. Many 'thopters were lost. Much too costly, Your Majesty.
It's a place where men cannot survive for long."
"So," the Emperor said. He snapped his fingers and a door opened at his left behind the throne. Through the door came two Sardaukar herding a girl-child who appeared to be about four years old. She wore a black aba, the hood thrown back to reveal the attachments of a stillsuit hanging free at her throat. Her eyes were Fremen blue, staring out of a soft, round face. She appeared completely unafraid and there was a look to her stare that made the Baron feel uneasy for no reason he could explain.
Even the old Bene Gesserit Truthsayer drew back as the child passed and made a warding sign in her direction. The old witch obviously was shaken by the child's presence.
The Emperor cleared his throat to speak, but the child spoke first -- a thin voice with traces of a soft-palate lisp, but clear nonetheless. "So here he is,"
she said. She advanced to the edge of the dais. "He doesn't appear much, does he
-- one frightened old fat man too weak to support his own flesh without the help of suspensors."
It was such a totally unexpected statement from the mouth of a child that the Baron stared at her, speechless in spite of his anger. Is it a midget? he asked himself.
"My dear Baron," the Emperor said, "become acquainted with the sister of Muad'Dib."
"The sist . . . "The Baron shifted his attention to the Emperor. "I do not understand."
"I, too, sometimes err on the side of caution," the Emperor said. "It has been reported to me that your uninhabited south polar regions exhibit evidence of human activity."
"But that's impossible!" the Baron protested. "The worms . . . there's sand clear to the . . . "
"These people seem able to avoid the worms," the Emperor said.
The child sat down on the dais beside the throne, dangled her feet over the edge, kicking them. There was such an air of sureness in the way she appraised her surroundings.
The Baron stared at the kicking feet, the way they moved the black robe, the wink of sandals beneath the fabric.
"Unfortunately," the Emperor said, "I only sent in five troop carriers with a light attack force to pick up prisoners for questioning. We barely got away with three prisoners and one carrier. Mind you, Baron, my Sardaukar were almost overwhelmed by a force composed mostly of women, children, and old men. This child here was in command of one of the attacking groups."
"You see, Your Majesty!" the Baron said. "You see how they are!"
"I allowed myself to be captured," the child said. "I did not want to face my brother and have to tell him that his son had been killed."
"Only a handful of our men got away," the Emperor said. "Got away! You hear that?"
"We'd have had them, too," the child said, "except for the flames."
"My Sardaukar used the attitudinal jets on their carrier as flame-throwers,"
the Emperor said. "A move of desperation and the only thing that got them away with their three prisoners. Mark that, my dear Baron: Sardaukar forced to retreat in confusion from women and children and old men!"
"We must attack in force," the Baron rasped. "We must destroy every last vestige of --"
