“This much is obvious... Sire.”
“Could your Fremen provide me with proof positive that the Sardaukar are here in Harkonnen uniform?”
“Quite likely.”
“The Emperor will put a Harkonnen back in power here,” Paul said. “Perhaps even Beast Rabban. Let him. Once he has involved himself beyond escaping his guilt, let the Emperor face the possibility of a Bill of Particulars laid before the Landsraad. Let him answer there where—”
“Paul!” Jessica said.
“Granted that the Landsraad High Council accepts your case,” Kynes said, “there could be only one outcome: general warfare between the Imperium and the Great Houses.”
“Chaos,” Jessica said.
“But I’d present my case to the Emperor,” Paul said, “and give him an alternative to chaos.”
Jessica spoke in a dry tone: “Blackmail?”
“One of the tools of statecraft, as you’ve said yourself,” Paul said, and Jessica heard the bitterness in his voice. “The Emperor has no sons, only daughters.”
“You’d aim for the throne?” Jessica asked.
“The Emperor will not risk having the Imperium shattered by total war,” Paul said. “Planets blasted, disorder everywhere—he’ll not risk that.”
“This is a desperate gamble you propose,” Kynes said.
“What do the Great Houses of the Landsraad fear most?” Paul asked. “They fear most what is happening here right now on Arrakis—the Sardaukar picking them off one by one. That’s why there is a Landsraad. This is the glue of the Great Convention. Only in union do they match the Imperial forces.”
“But they’re—”
“This is what they fear,” Paul said. “Arrakis would become a rallying cry. Each of them would see himself in my father—cut out of the herd and killed.”
Kynes spoke to Jessica: “Would his plan work?”
“I’m no Mentat,” Jessica said.
“But you are Bene Gesserit.”
She shot a probing stare at him, said: “His plan has good points and bad points... as any plan would at this stage. A plan depends as much upon execution as it does upon concept.”
“ ‘Law is the ultimate science,’ ” Paul quoted. “Thus it reads above the Emperor’s door. I propose to show him law.”
“And I’m not sure I could trust the person who conceived this plan,” Kynes said. “Arrakis has its own plan that we—”
“From the throne,” Paul said, “I could make a paradise of Arrakis with the wave of a hand. This is the coin I offer for your support.”
Kynes stiffened. “My loyalty’s not for sale, Sire.”
Paul stared across the desk at him, meeting the cold glare of those blue-within-blue eyes, studying the bearded face, the commanding appearance. A harsh smile touched Paul’s lips and he said: “Well spoken. I apologize.”
Kynes met Paul’s stare and, presently, said: “No Harkonnen ever admitted error. Perhaps you’re not like them, Atreides.”
“It could be a fault in their education,” Paul said. “You say you’re not for sale, but I believe I’ve the coin you’ll accept. For your loyalty I offer my loyalty to you... totally.”
My son has the Atreides sincerity, Jessica thought. He has that tremendous, almost naïve honor—and what a powerful force that truly is.
She saw that Paul’s words had shaken Kynes.
“This is nonsense,” Kynes said. “You’re just a boy and—”
“I’m the Duke,” Paul said. “I’m an Atreides. No Atreides has ever broken such a bond.”
Kynes swallowed.
“When I say totally,” Paul said, “I mean without reservation. I would give my life for you.”
“Sire!” Kynes said, and the word was torn from him, but Jessica saw that he was not now speaking to a boy of fifteen, but to a man, to a superior. Now Kynes meant the word.
In this moment he’d give his life for Paul, she thought. How do the Atreides accomplish this thing so quickly, so easily?
“I know you mean this,” Kynes said. “Yet the Harkon—”
The door behind Paul slammed open. He whirled to see reeling violence—shouting, the clash of steel, wax-image faces grimacing in the passage.
With his mother beside him, Paul leaped for the door, seeing Idaho blocking the passage, his blood-pitted eyes there visible through a shield blur, claw hands beyond him, arcs of steel chopping futilely at the shield. There was the orange fire-mouth of a stunner repelled by the shield. Idaho’s blades were through it all, flick-flicking, red dripping from them.
Then Kynes was beside Paul and they threw their weight against the door.
Paul had one last glimpse of Idaho standing against a swarm of Harkonnen uniforms—his jerking, controlled staggers, the black goat hair with a red blossom of death in it. Then the door was closed and there came a snick as Kynes threw the bolts.
“I appear to’ve decided,” Kynes said.
“Someone detected your machinery before it was shut down,” Paul said. He