a fork, looked speculatively at Kynes. The ecologist’s manner indicated a change in attitude toward the House of Atreides. Kynes had seemed colder on their trip over the desert.
Jessica signaled for another course of food and drink. Servants appeared with langues de lapins de garenne—red wine and a sauce of mushroom-yeast on the side.
Slowly, the dinner conversation resumed, but Jessica heard the agitation in it, the brittle quality, saw that the banker ate in sullen silence. Kynes would have killed him without hesitating, she thought. And she realized that there was an offhand attitude toward killing in Kynes’ manner. He was a casual killer, and she guessed that this was a Fremen quality.
Jessica turned to the stillsuit manufacturer on her left, said: “I find myself continually amazed by the importance of water on Arrakis.”
“Very important,” he agreed. “What is this dish? It’s delicious.”
“Tongues of wild rabbit in a special sauce,” she said. “A very old recipe.”
“I must have that recipe,” the man said.
She nodded. “I’ll see that you get it.”
Kynes looked at Jessica, said: “The newcomer to Arrakis frequently underestimates the importance of water here. You are dealing, you see, with the Law of the Minimum.”
She heard the testing quality in his voice, said, “Growth is limited by that necessity which is present in the least amount. And, naturally, the least favorable condition controls the growth rate.”
“It’s rare to find members of a Great House aware of planetological problems,” Kynes said. “Water is the least favorable condition for life on Arrakis. And remember that growth itself can produce unfavorable conditions unless treated with extreme care.”
Jessica sensed a hidden message in Kynes’ words, but knew she was missing it. “Growth,” she said. “Do you mean Arrakis can have an orderly cycle of water to sustain human life under more favorable conditions?”
“Impossible!” the water magnate barked.
Jessica turned her attention to Bewt. “Impossible?”
“Impossible on Arrakis,” he said. “Don’t listen to this dreamer. All the laboratory evidence is against him.”
Kynes looked at Bewt, and Jessica noted that the other conversations around the table had stopped while people concentrated on this new interchange.
“Laboratory evidence tends to blind us to a very simple fact,” Kynes said. “That fact is this: we are dealing here with matters that originated and exist out-of-doors where plants and animals carry on their normal existence.”
“Normal!” Bewt snorted. “Nothing about Arrakis is normal!”
“Quite the contrary,” Kynes said. “Certain harmonies could be set up here along self-sustaining lines. You merely have to understand the limits of the planet and the pressures upon it.”
“It’ll never be done,” Bewt said.
The Duke came to a sudden realization, placing the point where Kynes’ attitude had changed—it had been when Jessica had spoken of holding the conservatory plants in trust for Arrakis.
“What would it take to set up the self-sustaining system, Doctor Kynes?” Leto asked.
“If we can get three per cent of the green plant element on Arrakis involved in forming carbon compounds as foodstuffs, we’ve started the cyclic system,” Kynes said.
“Water’s the only problem?” the Duke asked. He sensed Kynes’ excitement, felt himself caught up in it.
“Water overshadows the other problems,” Kynes said. “This planet has much oxygen without its usual concomitants—widespread plant life and large sources of free carbon dioxide from such phenomena as volcanoes. There are unusual chemical interchanges over large surface areas here.”
“Do you have pilot projects?” the Duke asked.
“We’ve had a long time in which to build up the Tansley Effect—small-unit experiments on an amateur basis from which my science may now draw its working facts,” Kynes said.
“Master Bewt is an expert on water,” Kynes said. He smiled, turned back to his dinner.
The Duke gestured sharply down with his right hand, barked: “No! I want an answer! Is there enough water, Doctor Kynes?”
Kynes stared at his plate.
Jessica watched the play of emotion on his face. He masks himself well, she thought, but she had him registered now and read that he regretted his words.
“Is there enough water!” the Duke demanded.
“There… may be,” Kynes said.
He’s faking uncertainty! Jessica thought.
With his deeper truthsense, Paul caught the underlying motive, had to use every ounce of his training to mask his excitement. There is enough water! But Kynes doesn’t wish it to be known.
“Our planetologist has many interesting dreams,” Bewt said. “He dreams with the Fremen—of prophecies and messiahs.”
Chuckles sounded at odd places around the table. Jessica marked them—the smuggler, the stillsuit manufacturer’s daughter, Duncan Idaho, the woman with the mysterious escort service.