Dune by Frank Herbert Page A

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