The Winds Of Dune Part 2

"We removed ourselves from the equation, my Lady," Gurney said, then quoted a familiar saying, " 'Those who do nothing but observe from the shadows cannot complain about the brightness of the sun.' Perhaps we can make amends now, if Alia is inclined to permit it."

During the flight up to the Heighliner, Jessica tried to relax while Gurney took out his baliset and began to strum softly. She feared he had already composed a memorial hymn for Paul, and she wasn't ready to hear that. To her relief, he merely played a familiar tune that he knew was one of her favorites.

She looked at his craggy face, the patchy blond hair that was going gray, the prominent inkvine scar. "Gurney, you always know the right piece to perform." gray, the prominent inkvine scar. "Gurney, you always know the right piece to perform."

"From practice, my Lady."

Once docked aboard the Heighliner, Jessica and Gurney left the comfort of the frigate and went out into the common areas. In nondescript clothing, they drew no attention to themselves as they entered the promenade. Isbar had already told her his version of Muad'Dib's death; Jessica wanted to hear what the people were saying.

Some pa.s.sengers never left their private vessels inside the great hold, but many of those who faced long pa.s.sages with many stopovers and roundabout routes busied themselves in the Heighliner's communal decks, visiting restaurants, drinking establishments, and shops.

She and Gurney crossed the vast open decks, looking at the wares for sale from numerous planets. Some vendors had already created items to commemorate the reign and death of Muad'Dib; she found it disturbing, and Gurney pulled her away. He led her to a brightly lit drinking establishment that was all plaz, crystal, and chrome, crowded with noisy patrons. Arrayed on the wall were colorful liquors, specialties from countless planets.

"This is the best place to eavesdrop," Gurney said. "We'll take seats and let the conversations come to us." With a gla.s.s of black wine for herself and a frothy, bitter beer for him, they sat facing each other, comfortable in their closeness. And listened.

A race of itinerant people, the Wayku, served as staff aboard all Guilds.h.i.+ps; they were a silent, oddly h.o.m.ogeneous race, well known for impersonal solicitousness. Barely noticed, dark-uniformed Wayku stewards walked about among the patrons, clearing tables, delivering drinks.

The main topic of conversation involved the death of Muad'Dib. Debates raged at table after table about whether Jessica's son had been savior or monster, whether the corrupt and decadent Corrino rule was preferable to the pure but violent reign of Paul-Muad'Dib.

They don't understand what he was doing, she thought to herself. They can never understand why he had to make the decisions he did. They can never understand why he had to make the decisions he did.

At one table, a heated argument degenerated into shouts and threats. Chairs were cast aside and two men rose, red-faced, yelling insults. One hurled a knife, while the other activated a personal s.h.i.+eld-and the fight continued until the man with the s.h.i.+eld lay dead from a slow thrust. The crowd in the bar had watched without attempting to intervene. Afterward, Guild security men came to remove the body and to arrest the befuddled-looking murderer, who could not seem to believe what his rage had led him to do.

While others were focused on the commotion, Jessica watched the silent Wayku stewards circle the tables. She saw one of them surrept.i.tiously deposit printed sheets on several empty tables, then glide away. The move was so smooth that if she hadn't been paying close attention, she never would have spotted it.

"Gurney." She gestured, and he slid his chair back to retrieve one of the doc.u.ments. He'd seen the same thing, brought it back. The t.i.tle said, The Truth About Muad'Dib The Truth About Muad'Dib.

His expression darkened. "Another one of those scurrilous propaganda leaflets, my Lady."

Jessica skimmed the flyer. Some statements were so outrageous as to be laughable, but others pointed out the excesses that Paul had allowed in his Jihad, emphasizing the corruption in Muad'Dib's government. These had the ring of truth. Bronso of Ix had been a th.o.r.n.y problem for years, and the man was so very good at what he did that he'd become a veritable legend.

Jessica knew that neither Paul's worst critics nor his most ardent admirers fully understood her son. Here in the bar, a man had just been killed for adhering to his beliefs, thinking that he he understood Paul's motives and intentions. Muad'Dib's calling was infinitely complex, his goal too tangled, subtle, and long-term for anyone, even her, to comprehend fully. She accepted that now. understood Paul's motives and intentions. Muad'Dib's calling was infinitely complex, his goal too tangled, subtle, and long-term for anyone, even her, to comprehend fully. She accepted that now.

Gurney crumpled the leaflet, threw it aside in disgust, while Jessica shook her head, wis.h.i.+ng it could have all been different. Still, Bronso served his purpose, as did they all.

Subakh ul kuhar, Muad'Dib! Are you well? Are you out there? Muad'Dib! Are you well? Are you out there?

-Fremen chant to wind and sand

He needed the desert, the vast ocean without water that covered most of the planet. Too much time in the city with its priests and Landsraad members arguing over plans for Muad'Dib's funeral had been wearing on Stilgar. And those noisy pilgrims from other worlds! They were everywhere, clamoring and pus.h.i.+ng, giving him no s.p.a.ce or time to think.

Finally, after the envoy from Shaddam IV suffered his tragic accident, Stilgar decided to depart for Sietch Tabr, to immerse himself in the purity of Fremen life. He hoped it would cleanse his mental palate and make him feel real real again, a Naib instead of a robed ornament in Alia's court. He made the journey alone, leaving his wife Harah back at the Citadel to watch the Atreides twins. again, a Naib instead of a robed ornament in Alia's court. He made the journey alone, leaving his wife Harah back at the Citadel to watch the Atreides twins.

At Sietch Tabr, however, he found many changes that disappointed him. It was like the slow fall of sand grains down a slipface, each grain too small to be noticed, but c.u.mulatively causing a significant change. After so many years of Jihad, offworld influences had diluted the Fremen. Their hards.h.i.+ps had eased, and their lives were no longer the difficult struggle they once had been. And with comforts came weakness. Stilgar knew the signs. He had watched the changes, and the sietch could no longer offer him the purity he sought. In the end he stayed only one night. could no longer offer him the purity he sought. In the end he stayed only one night.

Early the next morning, he was out on the open sand, riding a powerful worm. As the behemoth carried him back toward the s.h.i.+eld Wall and Arrakeen, he wondered if the mother of Muad'Dib would return for her son's funeral. Jessica was a Sayyadina in her own right, and Stilgar felt that Dune had lost part of its soul when she'd chosen to go back to her water world instead of remaining here. How good it would be to see her again, though he was sure even Jessica must have changed.

As a precaution, he would gather his best Fedaykin in Arrakeen, where they could stand guard with Alia's soldiers to welcome the mother of the Messiah-if she chose to return. Jessica didn't need the pomp and ceremony, but she might need his protection.

Stilgar found his solo ride across the desert invigorating and cleansing. Sitting high on the gray-tan segments of the sandworm, he listened to the hiss of grains as the enormous sinuous body glided along. The hot desert winds caressed Stilgar's face, winds that would easily erase the tracks of the worm behind them, winds that would make the desert pristine again. This experience made him feel whole once more-planting his own thumper, mounting the worm with his hooks and spreaders, guiding the monster to his will.

Ever since Muad'Dib had gone out to face his fate, the superst.i.tious Fremen and the people of pan and graben claimed that he had joined Shai-Hulud-literally and spiritually. Some villagers had taken to placing empty pots on shelves or in windows to symbolize the fact that Muad'Dib's water had never been found, that he had mingled with the sands, with the deity Shai-Hulud....

Only hours after Muad'Dib had walked out onto the sand, sweet and bereaved Alia had asked Stilgar to follow orders that he knew were contrary to Paul's direct wishes. She tapped into the Naib's core beliefs and his need for revenge until he convinced himself that Muad'Dib's contradictory intent was merely a test. After so much pain and death, Stilgar had wanted wanted to feel blood on his hands. As a Naib he had killed many men, and as a fighter in Muad'Dib's Jihad, he had slaughtered countless others. to feel blood on his hands. As a Naib he had killed many men, and as a fighter in Muad'Dib's Jihad, he had slaughtered countless others.

A night of killing had ensued, as the details of the complex conspiracy began to unfold. Korba, a brave Fedaykin who had let himself become too important in the priesthood, was the first implicated, his guilt plain to a council of Fremen Naibs. His execution at Stilgar's hands had been easy, necessary, and b.l.o.o.d.y. become too important in the priesthood, was the first implicated, his guilt plain to a council of Fremen Naibs. His execution at Stilgar's hands had been easy, necessary, and b.l.o.o.d.y.

But Stilgar had never before killed a Guild Steersman, nor had he ever killed a Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit. Yet, when Alia gave the command, he'd committed the acts without question.

The captive Steersman Edric had wielded the power of the s.p.a.cing Guild and carried the political weight of an appointed amba.s.sador, but his safety depended on civilized restraints that meant nothing to Stilgar. Smas.h.i.+ng the tank had been simple. When the spice gas drained away and the Steersman flopped about like a spindly aquatic creature cast up on a hostile sh.o.r.e, Stilgar had gripped the mutant's rubbery flesh and snapped the cartilaginous neck. He had taken no great pleasure in it.

The Bene Gesserit witch Mohiam was another matter entirely. Though Stilgar was a great Fremen fighter, this old woman had powers he did not understand, fearsome ways that could have rendered an attack against her very difficult, had he not had the advantage of surprise. He succeeded in killing her only because Mohiam never believed he would actually disobey Paul's orders that she was not to be harmed.

To accomplish the task he had used a clever subterfuge to have her gagged so that she could not use the power of Voice against him, and the old witch had submitted. Had she suspected that her life was threatened, she would have fought tenaciously. Stilgar had not wanted a battle; he wanted an execution.

With the gag firmly set over her mouth, and her hands tied to the chair, Stilgar had stood before the old woman. "Chani-daughter of Liet and beloved of Muad'Dib-is dead after giving birth to twin children." Mohiam's bright eyes widened; he could see she wanted to say something, but was unable. "The ghola Hayt has broken his indoctrination and refused to kill Paul-Muad'Dib." The witch's expression had been a thunderstorm of activity as thoughts flashed through her mind. "Nevertheless, Muad'Dib has given himself to Shai-Hulud, as a blind Fremen is expected to do."

Stilgar withdrew the crysknife from his belt. "Now true justice falls to me. We know your part in the conspiracy." Mohiam began to struggle against her bonds. "The Guild Steersman is already dead, and Korba, too. Princess Irulan has been imprisoned in a death cell."

There was a sound of snapping bonds ... or perhaps it was the sound of wrist bones breaking. Regardless, Mohiam freed one of her hands. It flashed to the gag over her mouth, but Stilgar's crysknife was faster. He stabbed her chest, knowing it to be a mortal wound, but the Reverend Mother kept moving, forcing her hand to pull the gag free.

Stilgar struck again, puncturing her larynx and slas.h.i.+ng her throat, causing her to slump. He kicked the chair and body over, then looked at his sticky fingers. As he wiped the milky blade on the Reverend Mother's dark robes, he realized that the blood of the witch looked and smelled the same as any other blood....

Those had not been the only killings ordered by Alia. It had been a long and difficult night.

Now, as the great worm approached the gap that had been blasted through the s.h.i.+eld Wall by Paul's atomics, Stilgar saw a barricade of water-filled qanats that no worm could cross-especially a tired one like this. Better to release the beast here, out on the open sand. He had ridden and released so many sandworms that he had lost count. As a Fremen, guiding the sacred creatures over the dunes had always been dangerous, but not to be feared. If you followed the proper protocol.

Short of the gap, he set the creature in motion, slipped down the pebbled rings, and tumbled off onto the sand. Then he rose to his feet and remained motionless, so that the worm would not detect his presence. Sandworms had no eyes, simply sensed vibrations.

But the creature paused and turned his way as soon as Stilgar released it. Usually, a worm set free of its rider would lurch away into the desert, or bury itself under the sand and sulk. But this one remained where it was, looming, intimidating. It raised its giant head high, facing down, toward him. Its mouth was a round cave bristling with tiny crystalline knives.

Stilgar froze in the enormous presence of the creature. It knew he was there, yet it did not move toward him, did not attack. Trembling slightly, the Naib could not forget the whispered rumors that Muad'Dib, having trekked out on the sands, had become one with Shai-Hulud. The sandworm's eyeless head had an eerie, sightless gaze ... making him think of Muad'Dib. Though blinded, the great man had been able to see Stilgar through prescience.

He felt a sudden chill. Something was different. He breathed slowly, forming the words in his thoughts but with barely a sound pa.s.sing across his dry lips. "Muad'Dib, are you there?" slowly, forming the words in his thoughts but with barely a sound pa.s.sing across his dry lips. "Muad'Dib, are you there?"

It seemed foolish, but he could not escape the feeling. In an instant, the sandworm could dive down and devour him, but it did not.

After several long, tense moments, the enormous creature turned and glided off into the sands, leaving Stilgar standing there, shaking. He watched as the creature drifted off and burrowed itself deep, leaving barely a ripple to mark its pa.s.sage.

Tingling with awe, wondering what exactly he had just experienced, Stilgar sprinted with a well-practiced stutter-step across the dunes toward the s.h.i.+eld Wall and the great city beyond.

There is a rule about surprises: Most of them are not good.

-ANONYMOUS, of Old Terra

Jessica had been a long time away from the desert, from the Fremen, and from the mind-set that permeated Arrakis. Dune Dune. She drew a deep breath, sure that the air inside the pa.s.senger cabin already felt dryer.

As the showy political transport descended from orbit, she stared down at the sprawling city beyond the s.p.a.ceport, picking out familiar Arrakeen landmarks, noting swaths of new construction. The immense Citadel of Muad'Dib dominated the north side of the city, though many additional new structures vied for attention on the skyline. Numerous government buildings shouldered up against enormous temples to Muad'Dib and even to Alia.

With her knowledge of Bene Gesserit methods for controlling impressions, manipulating history, and herding large populations, Jessica saw exactly what Paul-or, more accurately, his bureaucracy-intended to do. Much of government was about creating perceptions and moods. Long ago, the Bene Gesserit had unleashed their Missionaria Protectiva here on Arrakis to plant legends and prime the people for a myth. Under Paul-Muad'Dib, those seeds had come to fruition, but not in the way the Sisterhood had antic.i.p.ated....

The transport settled on a demarcated area reserved for important visitors. Swirls of sand obscured Jessica's view through the porthole.

When the exit doors opened, she smelled dust in the air, heard the susurration of a waiting crowd. The mobs had already gathered, a sea of dirty robes and covered faces. It was late afternoon by local time, and the white sun cast long shadows. She saw hundreds of people in brown and gray desert garb intermixed with those who wore city clothing in a variety of colors.

All had come to see her. Still inside the transport, Jessica hesitated. "I wasn't anxious to return here, Gurney. Not at all."

For a long moment, he remained silent in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his emotions, his uneasiness, maybe even his dread of facing the wailing ma.s.ses. Finally, he said, "What is this place without Paul? It isn't Arrakis."

" Dune, Dune, Gurney. It will always be Dune." Gurney. It will always be Dune."

Though Jessica still could not grieve-with those feelings locked down, or trapped, inside of her-now she felt moistness in her eyes, a stinging hint of the release she wanted and needed. But she didn't allow a single tear. Dune Dune did not permit her to give water to the dead, not even for her son-and the Sisterhood discouraged emotions, except as a means of manipulating outsiders. Thus, both disciplines-Fremen and Bene Gesserit-prevented her from letting the tears flow. did not permit her to give water to the dead, not even for her son-and the Sisterhood discouraged emotions, except as a means of manipulating outsiders. Thus, both disciplines-Fremen and Bene Gesserit-prevented her from letting the tears flow.

Jessica stepped toward the open hatch and the bright sunlight. "Did I retire from this place, Gurney, or did I retreat retreat?" She had hoped to spend the rest of her life on Caladan, never setting foot on this world again. "Think of what this planet has done to us. Dune took my Duke and my son and shattered all our hopes and dreams as a family. It swallows swallows people." people."

" 'Each person makes his own paradise, or his own h.e.l.l.' " Gurney extended his arm, and she reluctantly took it. He activated his body s.h.i.+eld before they stepped out into the open. "I recommend you do the same, my Lady. With a mob this size, they can't all be searched for weapons." Jessica did as he suggested, but even the s.h.i.+mmering field did not make her feel entirely safe.

Flanked by six big Fedaykin guards, Stilgar appeared at the shuttle ramp to escort her. He looked weathered, dusty, and grim-as always. The same old Stilgar. She was rea.s.sured to see the Naib again. "Sayyadina, I am here to ensure your safety." It was both a greeting and a promise; he did not allow himself to show any overt joy at seeing her again after so many years. "I will take you directly to Regent Alia." The same old Stilgar. She was rea.s.sured to see the Naib again. "Sayyadina, I am here to ensure your safety." It was both a greeting and a promise; he did not allow himself to show any overt joy at seeing her again after so many years. "I will take you directly to Regent Alia."

"I am in your care, Stilgar." Though he was all business now, she expected they would share spice coffee later and talk, after he and Gurney got her away from the throng.

More Fremen warriors waited at the base of the shuttle ramp, forming a cordon to clear a way through the crowd for the Mother of Muad'Dib, as if sheltering her from the winds of a sandstorm. Stilgar led the visitors forward.

Overlapping voices in the crowd called out her name, shouting, chanting, cheering, begging for blessings from Muad'Dib. The people wore grimy clothes of green, the color of Fremen mourning. Some had scratched at their eyes until blood ran down their cheeks in some kind of eerie homage to Paul's blindness.

With her heightened attention, Jessica perceived a thread of animosity woven into the tapestry of voices, calling out from every direction. They wanted, they needed, they demanded and grieved, but could not crystallize their feelings. The loss of Paul had left an immense void in society.

Stilgar hurried her along. "We must not delay. There is danger here today."

There is always danger here, she thought. she thought.

As the Fedaykin guards pushed at the crowd, she heard a clatter of metal and a scream. Behind them, two of the guards threw themselves to the ground, covering something with their own bodies. Gurney put himself between them and Jessica, further protecting her with his body s.h.i.+eld.

An explosion tore the two guards into b.l.o.o.d.y fragments that splattered back into the crowd. Stunned by the shock wave, some people touched the red wetness, marveling at the moisture that had suddenly appeared on their clothes.

Stilgar pulled Jessica toward the terminal building, hurting her arm. "Hurry," he said, "there may be other a.s.sa.s.sins." He did not look back at the fallen guards.

With the shrieks and shouts rising to a roar of vengeance and anger, Jessica moved quickly into the guarded structure. Gurney and the remaining Fedaykin closed a heavy door behind them, greatly diminis.h.i.+ng the crowd noise. Jessica moved quickly into the guarded structure. Gurney and the remaining Fedaykin closed a heavy door behind them, greatly diminis.h.i.+ng the crowd noise.

The cavernous building had been swept and cleared for her arrival, and now it echoed with emptiness. "What happened, Stilgar? Who wants me dead?"

"Some people wish only to cause harm, and any target will do. They want to hurt others as they have been hurt." His voice was dark with disapproval. "Even when Muad'Dib was alive, there was much turmoil, resentment, and discontent. People are weak, and do not understand."

Gurney looked carefully at Jessica to make certain she was not injured. "Angry people lash out wildly-and some will blame you, as the mother of Muad'Dib."

"That's who I am, for good or ill."

The terminal building looked brighter than she remembered, but not much different: a fresh coat of paint and more decorations, perhaps. She didn't recall seeing so many Atreides hawks on the walls the last time-Paul's doing, or Alia's? New alcoves displayed statues of Muad'Dib in various heroic poses.

Stilgar led them up a staircase to the rooftop landing platform, where a gray armored ornithopter sat waiting for them. "This will take you to the protection of the Citadel. You are in good hands now." Without further words, Stilgar hurried away, anxious to get back to the crowds to investigate the explosion.

A man strode toward them dressed in a stillsuit marked with Atreides green and black; the face mask hung loose. A chill of amazed recognition ran down her spine. "Lady Jessica, welcome back to Dune. Much has happened since the time I died here."

Gurney shouted his own disbelief. "G.o.ds below-Duncan?"

The man was almost an exact duplicate of Duncan Idaho. Even his voice was perfect; only the gray, metallic eyes distinguished him from the original. "In the flesh, Gurney Halleck-ghola flesh, but the memories are mine."

He extended his right hand, but Gurney hesitated. "Or are you the one the Tleilaxu call Hayt?"

"Hayt was a ghola without his memories, a biological machine programmed to destroy Paul Atreides. I am no longer that one. I'm Duncan again-the same old Duncan. The boy who worked in the Old Duke's bull stables on Caladan, the young man who trained on Ginaz to become a Swordmaster, the man who protected Paul from House Moritani a.s.sa.s.sins and fought to liberate Ix from the Tleilaxu." He offered Jessica a sheepish smile. "And, yes, the man who got drunk on spice beer and blurted to everyone awake in the Arrakeen Residency that you were a Harkonnen traitor, my Lady." Duncan again-the same old Duncan. The boy who worked in the Old Duke's bull stables on Caladan, the young man who trained on Ginaz to become a Swordmaster, the man who protected Paul from House Moritani a.s.sa.s.sins and fought to liberate Ix from the Tleilaxu." He offered Jessica a sheepish smile. "And, yes, the man who got drunk on spice beer and blurted to everyone awake in the Arrakeen Residency that you were a Harkonnen traitor, my Lady."

Jessica met his strange eyes. "You also gave your life so Paul and I could escape after Dr. Kynes's base was raided." She could not drive away the memory of the original Duncan falling under a flurry of Sardaukar dressed in Harkonnen uniforms. Seeing the ghola gave her an unsettled feeling, as if time had folded in on itself.

Now this Duncan gestured toward the 'thopter, inviting them to climb aboard. Despite its thick armor, the large aircraft had a luxurious interior.

When she entered the pa.s.senger compartment, Jessica was startled to see Alia seated, facing her direction. "Thank you for coming, Mother. I need you here." Seemingly embarra.s.sed by the admission, she added, "We all do." The teenager's coppery hair was long, and her face thinner than before, making her blue-within-blue eyes look larger.

"Of course I came." Jessica took a seat beside her daughter. "I came for Paul, for you, and for my new grandchildren."

" 'Tragedy brings us together, when convenience fails to do so,' " Gurney recited.

No one is ever completely forced into his position in life. We all have opportunities to take different paths.

-Conversations with Muad'Dib by the by the PRINCESS IRULAN PRINCESS IRULAN

Inside the 'thopter, Jessica was surprised when Duncan sat close to Alia, rather than taking the pilot's controls, leaving that particular task to a Fremen guard. Smiling, Alia touched his arm with genuine warmth, an obvious romantic bond. So much had changed on Dune, and in House Atreides....

"Of course, you will want to see that the twins are safe, Mother." Alia turned to Duncan. "Tell the pilot to use the west landing pad. We'll go directly to the creche."

The boy and girl, Paul's children, would never know their father. The twins were the heirs of Muad'Dib, the next step in a new dynasty, political p.a.w.ns. Her grandchildren grandchildren. "Have they been named yet? Did Paul ... ?"