“Those minds,” he said. “They look at those trees and they think: ‘There are one hundred of us.’ That’s what they think.”
She turned a puzzled frown on him. “Why?”
“Those are date palms,” he said. “One date palm requires forty liters of water a day. A man requires but eight liters. A palm, then, equals five men. There are twenty palms out there—one hundred men.”
“But some of those people look at the trees hopefully.”
“They but hope some dates will fall, except it’s the wrong season.”
“We look at this place with too critical an eye,” she said. “There’s hope as well as danger here. The spice could make us rich. With a fat treasury, we can make this world into whatever we wish.”
And she laughed silently at herself: Who am I trying to convince? The laugh broke through her restraints, emerging brittle, without humor. “But you can’t buy security,” she said.
Yueh turned away to hide his face from her. If only it were possible to hate these people instead of love them! In her manner, in many ways, Jessica was like his Wanna. Yet that thought carried its own rigors, hardening him to his purpose. The ways of the Harkonnen cruelty were devious. Wanna might not be dead. He had to be certain.
“Do not worry for us, Wellington,” Jessica said. “The problem’s ours, not yours.”
She thinks I worry for her! He blinked back tears. And I do, of course. But I must stand before that black Baron with his deed accomplished, and take my one chance to strike him where he is weakest—in his gloating moment!
He sighed.
“Would it disturb Paul if I looked in on him?” she asked.
“Not at all. I gave him a sedative.”
“He’s taking the change well?” she asked.
“Except for getting a bit overtired. He’s excited, but what fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be under these circumstances?” He crossed to the door, opened it. “He’s in here.”
Jessica followed, peered into a shadowy room.
Paul lay on a narrow cot, one arm beneath a light cover, the other thrown back over his head. Slatted blinds at a window beside the bed wove a loom of shadows across face and blanket.
Jessica stared at her son, seeing the oval shape of face so like her own. But the hair was the Duke’s—coal-colored and tousled. Long lashes concealed the lime-toned eyes. Jessica smiled, feeling her fears retreat. She was suddenly caught by the idea of genetic traces in her son’s features—her lines in eyes and facial outline, but sharp touches of the father peering through that outline like maturity emerging from childhood.
She thought of the boy’s features as an exquisite distillation out of random patterns—endless queues of happenstance meeting at this nexus. The thought made her want to kneel beside the bed and take her son in her arms, but she was inhibited by Yueh’s presence. She stepped back, closed the door softly.
Yueh had returned to the window, unable to bear watching the way Jessica stared at her son. Why did Wanna never give me children? he asked himself. I know as a doctor there was no physical reason against it. Was there some Bene Gesserit reason? Was she, perhaps, instructed to serve a different purpose? What could it have been? She loved me, certainly.
For the first time, he was caught up in the thought that he might be part of a pattern more involuted and complicated than his mind could grasp.
Jessica stopped beside him, said: “What delicious abandon in the sleep of a child.”
He spoke mechanically: “If only adults could relax like that.”
“Yes.”
“Where do we lose it?” he murmured.
She glanced at him, catching the odd tone, but her mind was still on Paul, thinking of the new rigors in his training here, thinking of the differences in his life now—so very different from the life they once had planned for him.
“We do, indeed, lose something,” she said.
She glanced out to the right at a slope humped with a wind-troubled gray-green of bushes—dusty leaves and dry claw branches. The too-dark sky hung over the slope like a blot, and the milky light of the Arrakeen sun gave the scene a silver cast—light like the crysknife concealed in her bodice.
“The sky’s so dark,” she said.
“That’s partly the lack of moisture,” he said.
“Water!” she snapped. “Everywhere you turn here, you’re involved with the lack of water!”
“It’s the precious mystery of Arrakis,” he said.
“Why is there so little of it? There’s volcanic rock here. There’re a dozen power sources I could name. There’s polar