saw cages with small animals in them stacked against the wall.
“You’ve recognized this place correctly,” Kynes said. “For what would you use such a place, Paul Atreides?”
“To make this planet a fit place for humans,” Paul said.
Perhaps that’s why I help them, Kynes thought.
The machine sounds abruptly hummed away to silence. Into this void there came a thin animal squeak from the cages. It was cut off abruptly as though in embarrassment.
Paul returned his attention to the cages, saw that the animals were brown-winged bats. An automatic feeder extended from the side wall across the cages.
A Fremen emerged from the hidden area of the chamber, spoke to Kynes: “Liet, the field-generator equipment is not working. I am unable to mask us from proximity detectors.”
“Can you repair it?” Kynes asked.
“Not quickly. The parts….” The man shrugged.
“Yes,” Kynes said. “Then we’ll do without machinery. Get a hand pump for air out to the surface.”
“Immediately.” The man hurried away.
Kynes turned back to Paul. “You gave a good answer.”
Jessica marked the easy rumble of the man’s voice. It was a royal voice, accustomed to command. And she had not missed the reference to him as Liet. Liet was the Fremen alter ego, the other face of the tame planetologist.
“We’re most grateful for your help, Doctor Kynes,” she said.
“Mm-m-m, we’ll see,” Kynes said. He nodded to one of his men. “Spice coffee in my quarters, Shamir.”
“At once, Liet,” the man said.
Kynes indicated an arched opening in the side wall of the chamber. “If you please?”
Jessica allowed herself a regal nod before accepting. She saw Paul give a hand signal to Idaho, telling him to mount guard here.
The passage, two paces deep, opened through a heavy door into a square office lighted by golden glowglobes. Jessica passed her hand across the door as she entered, was startled to identify plasteel.
Paul stepped three paces into the room, dropped his pack to the floor. He heard the door close behind him, studied the place—about eight meters to a side, walls of natural rock, curry-colored, broken by metal filing cabinets on their right. A low desk with milk glass top shot full of yellow bubbles occupied the room’s center. Four suspensor chairs ringed the desk.
Kynes moved around Paul, held a chair for Jessica. She sat down, noting the way her son examined the room.
Paul remained standing for another eyeblink. A faint anomaly in the room’s air currents told him there was a secret exit to their right behind the filing cabinets.
“Will you sit down, Paul Atreides?” Kynes asked.
How carefully he avoids my title, Paul thought. But he accepted the chair, remained silent while Kynes sat down.
“You sense that Arrakis could be a paradise,” Kynes said. “Yet, as you see, the Imperium sends here only its trained hatchetmen, its seekers after the spice!”
Paul held up his thumb with its ducal signet. “Do you see this ring?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know its significance?”
Jessica turned sharply to stare at her son.
“Your father lies dead in the ruins of Arrakeen,” Kynes said. “You are technically the Duke.”
“I’m a soldier of the Imperium,” Paul said, “technically a hatchetman.”
Kynes face darkened. “Even with the Emperor’s Sardaukar standing over your father’s body?”
“The Sardaukar are one thing, the legal source of my authority is another,” Paul said.
“Arrakis has its own way of determining who wears the mantle of authority,” Kynes said.
And Jessica, turning back to look at him, thought: There’s steel in this man that no one has taken the temper out of… and we’ve need of steel. Paul’s doing a dangerous thing.
Paul said: “The Sardaukar on Arrakis are a measure of how much our beloved Emperor feared my father. Now, I will give the Padishah Emperor reasons to fear the—”
“Lad,” Kynes said, “there are things you don’t—”
“You will address me as Sire or My Lord,” Paul said.
Gently, Jessica thought.
Kynes stared at Paul, and Jessica noted the glint of admiration in the planetologist’s face, the touch of humor there.
“Sire,” Kynes said.
“I am an embarrassment to the Emperor,” Paul said. “I am an embarrassment to all who would divide Arrakis as their spoil. As I live, I shall continue to be such an embarrassment that I stick in their throats and choke them to death!”
“Words,” Kynes said.
Paul stared at him. Presently, Paul said: “You have a legend of the Lisan al-Gaib here, the Voice from the Outer World, the one who will lead the Fremen to paradise. Your men have—”
“Superstition!” Kynes said.
“Perhaps,” Paul agreed. “Yet perhaps not. Superstitions sometimes have strange roots and stranger branchings.”