He said: "You didn't know that my wife, my Wanna . . . " He shrugged, unable to speak past a sudden constriction in his throat. Then: "They . . . " The words would not come out. He felt panic, closed his eyes tightly, experiencing the agony in his chest and little else until a hand touched his arm gently.
"Forgive me," Jessica said. "I did not mean to open an old wound." And she thought: Those animals! His wife was Bene Gesserit--the signs are all over him.
And it's obvious the Harkonnens killed her. Here's another poor victim bound to the Atreides by a cherem of hate.
"I am sorry," he said. "I'm unable to talk about it." He opened his eyes, giving himself up to the internal awareness of grief. That, at least, was truth.
Jessica studied him, seeing the up-angled cheeks, the dark sequins of almond eyes, the butter complexion, and stringy mustache hanging like a curved frame around purpled lips and narrow chin. The creases of his cheeks and forehead, she saw, were as much lines of sorrow as of age. A deep affection for him came over her.
"Wellington, I'm sorry we brought you into this dangerous place," she said.
"I came willingly," he said. And that, too, was true.
"But this whole planet's a Harkonnen trap. You must know that."
"It will take more than a trap to catch the Duke Leto," he said. And that, too, was true.
"Perhaps I should be more confident of him," she said. "He is a brilliant tactician."
"We've been uprooted," he said. "That's why we're uneasy."
"And how easy it is to kill the uprooted plant," she said. "Especially when you put it down in hostile soil."
"Are we certain the soil's hostile?"
"There were water riots when it was learned how many people the Duke was adding to the population," she said. "They stopped only when the people learned we were installing new windtraps and condensers to take care of the load."
"There is only so much water to support human life here," he said. "The people know if more come to drink a limited amount of water, the price goes up and the very poor die. But the Duke has solved this. It doesn't follow that the riots mean permanent hostility toward him."
"And guards," she said. "Guards everywhere. And shields. You see the blurring of them everywhere you look. We did not live this way on Caladan."
"Give this planet a chance," he said.
But Jessica continued to stare hard-eyed out the window. "I can smell death in this place," she said. "Hawat sent advance agents in here by the battalion.
Those guards outside are his men. The cargo handlers are his men. There've been unexplained withdrawals of large sums from the treasury. The amounts mean only one thing: bribes in high places." She shook her head. "Where Thufir Hawat goes, death and deceit follow."
"You malign him."
"Malign? I praise him. Death and deceit are our only hopes now. I just do not fool myself about Thufir's methods."
"You should . . . keep busy," he said. "Give yourself no time for such morbid--"
"Busy! What is it that takes most of my time, Wellington? I am the Duke's secretary--so busy that each day I learn new things to fear . . . things even he doesn't suspect I know." She compressed her lips, spoke thinly: "Sometimes I wonder how much my Bene Gesserit business training figured in his choice of me."
"What do you mean?" He found himself caught by the cynical tone, the bitterness that he had never seen her expose.
"Don't you think, Wellington," she asked, "that a secretary bound to one by love is so much safer?"
"That is not a worthy thought, Jessica."
The rebuke came naturally to his lips. There was no doubt how the Duke felt about his concubine. One had only to watch him as he followed her with his eyes.
She sighed. "You're right. It's not worthy."
Again, she hugged herself, pressing the sheathed crysknife against her flesh and thinking of the unfinished business it represented.
"There'll be much bloodshed soon," she said. "The Harkonnens won't rest until they're dead or my Duke destroyed. The Baron cannot forget that Leto is a cousin of the royal blood--no matter what the distance--while the Harkonnen titles came out of the CHOAM pocketbook. But the poison in him, deep in his mind, is the knowledge that an Atreides had a Harkonnen banished for cowardice after, the Battle of Corrin."
"The old feud," Yueh muttered. And for a moment he felt an acid touch of hate. The old feud had trapped him in its web, killed his Wanna or--worse--left her for Harkonnen tortures until her husband did their bidding. The old feud had trapped him and these people were part of that poisonous thing. The irony was that such deadliness should come to flower here on Arrakis, the one source in the universe of melange, the prolonger of life, the giver of health.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
"I am thinking that the spice brings six hundred and twenty thousand Solaris the decagram on the open market right now. That is wealth to buy many things."
"Does greed touch even you, Wellington?"
"Not greed."
"What then?"
He shrugged. "Futility." He glanced at her. "Can you remember your first taste of spice?"
"It tasted like cinnamon."
"But never twice the same," he said. "It's like life--it presents a different face each time you take it. Some hold that the spice produces a learned-flavor reaction. The body, learning a thing is good for it, interprets the flavor as pleasurable--slightly euphoric. And, like life, never to be truly synthesized."
"I think it would've been wiser for us to go renegade, to take ourselves beyond the Imperial reach," she said.
