He saw that she hadn't been listening to him, focused on her words, wondering: Yes--why didn't she make him do this? She could make him do virtually anything.
He spoke quickly because here was truth and a change of subject: "Would you think it bold of me . . . Jessica, if I asked a personal question?"
She pressed against the window ledge in an unexplainable pang of disquiet.
"Of course not. You're . . . my friend."
"Why haven't you made the Duke marry you?"
She whirled, head up, glaring. "Made him marry me? But--"
"I should not have asked," he said.
"No." She shrugged. "There's good political reason--as long as my Duke remains unmarried some of the Great Houses can still hope for alliance. And . .
. " She sighed. " . . . motivating people, forcing them to your will, gives you a cynical attitude toward humanity. It degrades everything it touches. If I made him do . . . this, then it would not be his doing."
"It's a thing my Wanna might have said," he murmured. And this, too, was truth. He put a hand to his mouth, swallowing convulsively. He had never been closer to speaking out, confessing his secret role.
Jessica spoke, shattering the moment. "Besides, Wellington, the Duke is really two men. One of them I love very much. He's charming, witty, considerate
. . . tender--everything a woman could desire. But the other man is . . . cold, callous, demanding, selfish--as harsh and cruel as a winter wind. That's the man shaped by the father." Her face contorted. "If only that old man had died when my Duke was born!"
In the silence that came between them, a breeze from a ventilator could be heard fingering the blinds.
Presently, she took a deep breath, said, "Leto's right--these rooms are nicer than the ones in the other sections of the house." She turned, sweeping the room with her gaze. "If you'll excuse me, Wellington, I want another look through this wing before I assign quarters."
He nodded. "Of course." And he thought: if only there were some way not to do this thing that I must do.
Jessica dropped her arms, crossed to the hall door and stood there a moment, hesitating, then let herself out. All the time we talked he was hiding something, holding something back, she thought. To save my feelings, no doubt.
He's a good man. Again, she hesitated, almost turned back to confront Yueh and drag the hidden thing from him. But that would only shame him, frighten him to learn he's so easily read. I should place more trust in my friends.
= = = = = =
Many have marked the speed with which Muad'Dib learned the necessities of Arrakis. The Bene Gesserit, of course, know the basis of this speed. For the others, we can say that Muad'Dib learned rapidly because his first training was in how to learn. And the first lesson of all was the basic trust that he could learn. It is shocking to find how many people do not believe they can learn, and how many more believe learning to be difficult. Muad'Dib knew that every experience carries its lesson.
-from "The Humanity of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan Paul lay on the bed feigning sleep. It had been easy to palm Dr. Yueh's sleeping tablet, to pretend to swallow it. Paul suppressed a laugh. Even his mother had believed him asleep. He had wanted to jump up and ask her permission to go exploring the house, but had realized she wouldn't approve. Things were too unsettled yet. No. This way was best.
If I slip out without asking I haven't disobeyed orders. And I will stay in the house where it's safe.
He heard his mother and Yueh talking in the other room. Their words were indistinct--something about the spice . . . the Harkonnens. The conversation rose and fell.
Paul's attention went to the carved headboard of his bed--a false headboard attached to the wall and concealing the controls for this room's functions. A
leaping fish had been shaped on the wood with thick brown waves beneath it. He knew if he pushed the fish's one visible eye that would turn on the room's suspensor lamps. One of the waves, when twisted, controlled ventilation. Another changed the temperature.
Quietly, Paul sat up in bed. A tall bookcase stood against the wall to his left. It could be swung aside to reveal a closet with drawers along one side.
The handle on the door into the hall was patterned on an ornithopter thrust bar.
It was as though the room had been designed to entice him.
The room and this planet.
He thought of the filmbook Yueh had shown him--"Arrakis: His Imperial Majesty's Desert Botanical Testing Station." It was an old filmbook from before discovery of the spice. Names flitted through Paul's mind, each with its picture imprinted by the book's mnemonic pulse: saguaro, burro bush, date palm, sand verbena, evening primrose, barrel cactus, incense bush, smoke tree, creosote bush . . . kit fox, desert hawk, kangaroo mouse . . .
Names and pictures, names and pictures from man's terranic past--and many to be found now nowhere else in the universe except here on Arrakis.
So many new things to learn about--the spice.
And the sandworms.
A door closed in the other room. Paul heard his mother's footsteps retreating down the hall. Dr. Yueh, he knew, would find something to read and remain in the other room.
Now was the moment to go exploring.
Paul slipped out of the bed, headed for the bookcase door that opened into the closet. He stopped at a sound behind him, turned. The carved headboard of the bed was folding down onto the spot where he had been sleeping. Paul froze, and immobility saved his life.
From behind the headboard slipped a tiny hunter-seeker no more than five centimeters long. Paul recognized it at once--a common assassination weapon that every child of royal blood learned about at an early age. It was a ravening sliver of metal guided by some near-by hand and eye. It could burrow into moving flesh and chew its way up nerve channels to the nearest vital organ.
The seeker lifted, swung sideways across the room and back.
Through Paul's mind flashed the related knowledge, the hunter-seeker limitations: Its compressed suspensor field distorted the vision of its transmitter eye. With nothing but the dim light of the room to reflect his target, the operator would be relying on motion--anything that moved. A shield could slow a hunter, give time to destroy it, but Paul had put aside his shield on the bed. Lasguns would knock them down, but lasguns were expensive and notoriously cranky of maintenance--and there was always the peril of explosive pyrotechnics if the laser beam intersected a hot shield. The Atreides relied on their body shields and their wits.
Now, Paul held himself in near catatonic immobility, knowing he had only his wits to meet this threat.
The hunter-seeker lifted another half meter. It rippled through the slatted light from the window blinds, back and forth, quartering the room.
