prescience. Fenring was one of the might-have-beens, an almost-Kwisatz Haderach, crippled by a flaw in the genetic pattern—a eunuch, his talent concentrated into furtiveness and inner seclusion. A deep compassion for the Count flowed through Paul, the first sense of brotherhood he’d ever experienced.
Fenring, reading Paul’s emotion, said, “Majesty, I must refuse.”
Rage overcame Shaddam IV. He took two short steps through the entourage, cuffed Fenring viciously across the jaw.
A dark flush spread up and over the Count’s face. He looked directly at the Emperor, spoke with deliberate lack of emphasis: “We have been friends, Majesty. What I do now is out of friendship. I shall forget that you struck me.”
Paul cleared his throat, said: “We were speaking of the throne, Majesty.”
The Emperor whirled, glared at Paul. “I sit on the throne!” he barked.
“You shall have a throne on Salusa Secundus,” Paul said.
“I put down my arms and came here on your word of bond!” the Emperor shouted. “You dare threaten—”
“Your person is safe in my presence,” Paul said. “An Atreides promised it. Muad’Dib, however, sentences you to your prison planet. But have no fear, Majesty. I will ease the harshness of the place with all the powers at my disposal. It shall become a garden world, full of gentle things.”
As the hidden import of Paul’s words grew in the Emperor’s mind, he glared across the room at Paul. “Now we see true motives,” he sneered.
“Indeed,” Paul said.
“And what of Arrakis?” the Emperor asked. “Another garden world full of gentle things?”
“The Fremen have the word of Muad‘Dib,” Paul said. “There will be flowing water here open to the sky and green oases rich with good things. But we have the spice to think of, too. Thus, there will always be desert on Arrakis … and fierce winds, and trials to toughen a man. We Fremen have a saying: ‘God created Arrakis to train the faithful.’ One cannot go against the word of God.”
The old Truthsayer, the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam, had her own view of the hidden meaning in Paul’s words now. She glimpsed the jihad and said: “You cannot loose these people upon the universe!”
“You will think back to the gentle ways of the Sardaukar!” Paul snapped.
“You cannot,” she whispered.
“You’re a Truthsayer,” Paul said. “Review your words.” He glanced at the Princess Royal, back to the Emperor. “Best be done quickly, Majesty.”
The Emperor turned a stricken look upon his daughter. She touched his arm, spoke soothingly: “For this I was trained, Father.”
He took a deep breath.
“You cannot stay this thing,” the old Truthsayer muttered.
The Emperor straightened, standing stiffly with a look of remembered dignity. “Who will negotiate for you, kinsman?” he asked.
Paul turned, saw his mother, her eyes heavy-lidded, standing with Chani in a squad of Fedaykin guards. He crossed to them, stood looking down at Chani.
“I know the reasons,” Chani whispered. “If it must be… Usul.”
Paul, hearing the secret tears in her voice, touched her cheek. “My Sihaya need fear nothing, ever,” he whispered. He dropped his arm, faced his mother. “You will negotiate for me, Mother, with Chani by your side. She has wisdom and sharp eyes. And it is wisely said that no one bargains tougher than a Fremen. She will be looking through the eyes of her love for me and with the thought of her sons to be, what they will need. Listen to her.”
Jessica sensed the harsh calculation in her son, put down a shudder. “What are your instructions?” she asked.
“The Emperor’s entire CHOAM Company holdings as dowry,” he said.
“Entire?” She was shocked almost speechless.
“He is to be stripped. I’ll want an earldom and CHOAM directorship for Gurney Halleck, and him in the fief of Caladan. There will be titles and attendant power for every surviving Atreides man, not excepting the lowliest trooper.”
“What of the Fremen?” Jessica asked.
“The Fremen are mine,” Paul said. “What they receive shall be dispensed by Muad’Dib. It’ll begin with Stilgar as Governor on Arrakis, but that can wait.”
“And for me?” Jessica asked.
“Is there something you wish?”
“Perhaps Caladan,” she said, looking at Gurney. “I’m not certain. I’ve become too much the Fremen … and the Reverend Mother. I need a time of peace and stillness in which to think.”
“That you shall have,” Paul said, “and anything else that Gurney or I can give you.”
Jessica nodded, feeling suddenly old and tired. She looked at Chani. “And for the royal concubine?”
“No title for me,” Chani whispered. “Nothing. I beg of you.”
Paul stared down into her eyes, remembering her suddenly as she