"Why haven't you ever bought a Bene Gesserit, Uncle?" Feyd-Rautha asked. "With a Truthsayer at your side--"
"You know my tastes!" the Baron snapped.
Feyd-Rautha studied his uncle, said: "Still, one would be valuable for--"
"I trust them not!" the Baron snarled. "And stop trying to change the subject!"
Feyd-Rautha spoke mildly: "As you wish, Uncle."
"I remember a time in the arena several years ago," the Baron said.
"It seemed there that day a slave had been set to kill you. Is that truly how it was?"
"It's been so long ago, Uncle. After all, I--"
"No evasions, please," the Baron said, and the tightness of his voice exposed the rein on his anger.
Feyd-Rautha looked at his uncle, thinking: He knows, else he wouldn't ask.
"It was a sham, Uncle. I arranged it to discredit your slavemaster."
"Very clever," the Baron said. "Brave, too. That slave-gladiator almost took you, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"If you had finesse and subtlety to match such courage, you'd be truly formidable." The Baron shook his head from side to side. And as he had done many times since that terrible day on Arrakis, he found himself regretting the loss of Piter, the Mentat. There'd been a man of delicate, devilish subtlety. It hadn't saved him, though. Again, the Baron shook his head. Fate was sometimes inscrutable.
Feyd-Rautha glanced around the bedchamber, studying the signs of the struggle, wondering how his uncle had overcome the slave they'd prepared so carefully.
"How did I best him?" the Baron asked, "Ah-h-h, now, Feyd--let me keep some weapons to preserve me in my old age. It's better we use this time to strike a bargain."
Feyd-Rautha stared at him. A bargain! He means to keep me as his heir for certain, then. Else why bargain. One bargains with equals or near equals!
"What bargain, Uncle?" And Feyd-Rautha felt proud that his voice remained calm and reasonable, betraying none of the elation that filled him.
The Baron, too, noted the control. He nodded. "You're good material, Feyd. I don't waste good material. You persist, however, in refusing to learn my true value to you. You are obstinate. You do not see why I should be preserved as someone of the utmost value to you. This ...." He gestured at the evidence of the struggle in the bedchamber. "This was foolishness. I do not reward foolishness."
Get to the point, you oldfool! Feyd-Rautha thought.
"You think of me as an old fool," the Baron said. "I must dissuade you of that."
"You speak of a bargain."
"Ah, the impatience of youth," the Baron said. "Well, this is the substance of it, then: You will cease these foolish attempts on my life. And I, when you are ready for it, will step aside in your favor. I will retire to an advisory position, leaving you in the seat of power."
"Retire, Uncle?"
"You still think me the fool," the Baron said, "and this but confirms it, eh? You think I'm begging you! Step cautiously, Feyd. This old fool saw through the shielded needle you'd planted in that slave boy's thigh. Right where I'd put my hand on it, eh? The smallest pressure and--snick! A poison needle in the old fool's palm! Ah-h-h, Feyd...."
The Baron shook his head, thinking: It would've worked, too, if Hawat hadn't warned me. Well, let the lad believe I saw the plot on my own. In a way, I did. I was the one who saved Hawat from the wreckage of Arrakis. And this lad needs greater respect for my prowess.
Feyd-Rautha remained silent, struggling with himself. Is he being truthful? Does he really mean to retire? Why not? I'm sure to succeed him one day if I move carefully. He can't live forever. Perhaps it was foolish to try hurrying the process.
"You speak of a bargain," Feyd-Rautha said. "What pledge do we give to bind it?"
"How can we trust each other, eh?" the Baron asked. "Well, Feyd, as for you: I'm setting Thufir Hawat to watch over you. I trust Hawat's Mentat capabilities in this. Do you understand me? And as for me, you'll have to take me on faith. But I can't live forever, can I, Feyd? And perhaps you should begin to suspect now that there're things I know which you should know."
"I give you my pledge and what do you give me?" Feyd-Rautha asked.
"I let you go on living," the Baron said.
Again, Feyd-Rautha studied his uncle. He sets Hawat over me! What would he say if I told him Hawat planned the trick with the gladiator that cost him his slavemaster? He'd likely say I was lying in the attempt to discredit Hawat. No, the good Thufir is a Mentat and has anticipated this moment.
"Well, what do you say?" the Baron asked.
"What can I say? I accept, of course."
And Feyd-Rautha thought: Hawat! He plays both ends against the middle... is that it? Has he moved to my uncle's camp because I didn't counsel with him over the slave boy attempt?
"You haven't said anything about my setting Hawat to watch you," the Baron said.
Feyd-Rautha betrayed anger by a flaring of nostrils. The name of Hawat had been a danger signal in the Harkonnen family for so many years... and now it had a new meaning: still dangerous.
"Hawat's a dangerous toy," Feyd-Rautha said.
"Toy! Don't be stupid. I know what I have in Hawat and how to control it. Hawat has deep emotions, Feyd. The man without emotions is the one to fear. But deep emotions... ah, now, those can be bent to your needs."
"Uncle, I don't understand you."
"Yes, that's plain enough."
Only a flicker of eyelids betrayed the passage of resentment through Feyd-Rautha.
"And you do not understand Hawat," the Baron said.
Nor do you! Feyd-Rautha thought.
"Who does Hawat blame for his present circumstances?" the Baron asked. "Me? Certainly. But he was an Atreides tool and bested me for years until the Imperium took a hand. That's how he sees it. His hate for me is a casual thing now. He believes he can best me any time. Believing this, he is bested. For I direct his attention where I want it--against the Imperium."
Tensions of a new understanding drew tight lines across Feyd-Rautha's forehead, thinned his mouth. "Against the Emperor?"
Let my dear nephew try the taste of that, the Baron thought. Let him say to himself: "The Emperor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen!" Let him ask himself how much that's worth. Surely it must be worth the life of one old uncle who could make that dream come to pass!
Slowly, Feyd-Rautha wet his lips with his tongue. Could it be true what the old fool was saying? There was more here than there seemed to be.
"And what has Hawat to do with this?" Feyd-Rautha asked.
"He thinks he uses us to wreak his revenge upon the Emperor."
"And when that's accomplished?"
"He does not think beyond his revenge. Hawat's a man who must serve others, and doesn't even know this about himself."
"I've learned much from Hawat," Feyd-Rautha agreed, and felt the truth of the words as he spoke them. "But the more I learn, the more I feel we should dispose of him... and soon."
"You don't like the idea of his watching you?"
"Hawat watches everybody."
"And he may put you on a throne. Hawat is subtle. He is dangerous, devious. But I'll not yet withhold the antidote from him. A sword is dangerous, too, Feyd. We have the scabbard for this one, though. The poison's in him. When we withdraw the antidote, death will sheathe him."
"In a way, it's like the arena," Feyd-Rautha said. "Feints within feints within feints. You watch to see which way the gladiator leans, which way he looks, how he holds his knife."
He nodded to himself, seeing that these words pleased his uncle, but thinking: Yes! Like the arena! And the cutting edge is the mind!
"Now you see how you need me," the Baron said. "I'm yet of use, Feyd."
A sword to be wielded until he's too blunt for use, Feyd-Rautha thought.
"Yes, Uncle," he said.
"And now," the Baron said, "we will go down to the slave quarters, we two. And I will watch while you, with your own hands, kill all the women in the pleasure wing."
"Uncle!"
"There will be other women, Feyd. But I have said that you do not make a mistake casually with me."
Feyd-Rautha's face darkened. "Uncle, you--"
"You will accept your punishment and learn something from it," the Baron said.
Feyd-Rautha met the gloating stare in his uncle's eyes. And I must remember this night, he thought. And remembering it, I must remember other nights.
"You will not refuse," the Baron said.
What could you do if I refused, old man? Feyd-Rautha asked himself. But he knew there might be some other punishment, perhaps a more subtle one, a more brutal lever to bend him.
"I know you, Feyd," the Baron said. "You will not refuse."
All right, Feyd-Rautha thought. I need you now. I see that. The bargain's made. But I'll not always need you. And... someday ...
Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic.
--from "The Sayings of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan
I'VE SAT across from many rulers of Great Houses, but never seen a more gross and dangerous pig than this one, Thufir Hawat told himself.
"You may speak plainly with me, Hawat," the Baron rumbled. He leaned back in his suspensor chair, the eyes in their folds of fat boring into Hawat.
The old Mentat looked down at the table between him and the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, noting the opulence of its grain. Even this was a factor to consider in assessing the Baron, as were the red walls of this private conference room and the faint sweet herb scent that hung on the air, masking a deeper musk.
"You didn't have me send that warning to Rabban as an idle whim," the Baron said.
Hawat's leathery old face remained impassive, betraying none of the loathing he felt. "I suspect many things, my Lord," he said.
"Yes. Well, I wish to know how Arrakis figures in your suspicions about Salusa Secundus. It is not enough that you say to me the Emperor is in a ferment about some association between Arrakis and his mysterious prison planet. Now, I rushed the warning out to Rabban only because the courier had to leave on that Heighliner. You said there could be no delay. Well and good. But now I will have an explanation."
He babbles too much, Hawat thought. He's not like Leto who could tell me a thing with the lift of an eyebrow or the wave of a hand. Nor like the Old Duke who could express an entire sentence in the way he accented a single word. This is a clod! Destroying him will be a service to mankind.
"You will not leave here until I've had a full and complete explanation," the Baron said.
"You speak too casually of Salusa Secundus," Hawat said.
"It's a penal colony," the Baron said. "The worst riff-raff in the galaxy are sent to Salusa Secundus. What else do we need to know?"
"That conditions on the prison planet are more oppressive than anywhere else," Hawat said. "You hear that the mortality rate among new prisoners is higher than sixty per cent. You hear that the Emperor practices every form of oppression there. You hear all this and do not ask questions?"
"The Emperor doesn't permit the Great Houses to inspect his prison," the Baron growled. "But he hasn't seen into my dungeons, either."
"And curiosity about Salusa Secundus is... ah...." Hawat put a bony finger to his lips. "... discouraged."
"So he's not proud of some of the things he must do there!"
Hawat allowed the faintest of smiles to touch his dark lips. His eyes glinted in the glowtube light as he stared at the Baron. "And you've never wondered where the Emperor gets his Sardaukar?"
The Baron pursed his fat lips. This gave his features the look of a pouting baby, and his voice carried a tone of petulance as he said: "Why ... he recruits... that is to say, there are the levies and he enlists from--"
"Faaa!" Hawat snapped. "The stories you hear about the exploits of the Sardaukar, they're not rumors, are they? Those are first-hand accounts from the limited number of survivors who've fought against the Sardaukar, eh?"
"The Sardaukar are excellent fighting men, no doubt of it," the Baron said. "But I think my own legions--"
"A pack of holiday excursionists by comparison!" Hawat snarled. "You think I don't know why the Emperor turned against House Atreides?"
"This is not a realm open to your speculation," the Baron warned.
Is it possible that even he doesn't know what motivated the Emperor in this? Hawat asked himself.
"Any area is open to my speculation if it does what you've hired me to do," Hawat said. "I am a Mentat. You do not withhold information or computation lines from a Mentat."
For a long minute, the Baron stared at him, then: "Say what you must say, Mentat."
"The Padishah Emperor turned against House Atreides because the Duke's Warmasters Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho had trained a fighting force--a small fighting force--to within a hair as good as the Sardaukar. Some of them were even better. And the Duke was in a position to enlarge his force, to make it every bit as strong as the Emperor's."
The Baron weighed this disclosure, then: "What has Arrakis to do with this?"
"It provides a pool of recruits already conditioned to the bitterest survival training."
The Baron shook his head. "You cannot mean the Fremen?"
"I mean the Fremen."
"Hah! Then why warn Rabban? There cannot be more than a handful of Fremen left after the Sardaukar pogrom and Rabban's oppression."
Hawat continued to stare at him silently.
"Not more than a handful!" the baron repeated. "Rabban killed six thousand of them last year alone!"
Still, Hawat stared at him.
"And the year before it was nine thousand," the baron said. "And before they left, the Sardaukar must've accounted for at least twenty thousand."
"What are Rabban's troop losses for the past two years?" Hawat asked.
The Baron rubbed his jowls. "Well, he has been recruiting rather heavily, to be sure. His agents make rather extravagant promises and--"
"Shall we say thirty thousand in round numbers?" Hawat asked.
"That would seem a little high," the baron said.
"Quite the contrary," Hawat said. "I can read between the lines of Rabban's reports as well as you can. And you certainly must've understood my reports from our agents."
"Arrakis is a fierce planet," the Baron said. "Storm losses can--"
"We both know the figure for storm accretion," Hawat said.
"What if he has lost thirty thousand?" the Baron demanded, and blood darkened his face.
"By your own count," Hawat said, "he killed fifteen thousand over two years while losing twice that number. You say the Sardaukar accounted for another twenty thousand, possibly a few more. And I've seen the transportation manifests for their return from Arrakis. If they killed twenty thousand, they lost almost five for one. Why won't you face these figures, Baron, and understand what they mean?"
The Baron spoke in a coldly measured cadence: "This is your job, Mentat. What do they mean?"
"I gave you Duncan Idaho's head count on the sietch he visited," Hawat said. "It all fits. If they had just two hundred and fifty such sietch communities, their population would be about five million. My best estimate is that they had at least twice that many communities. You scatter your population on such a planet."
"Ten million?"
The Baron's jowls quivered with amazement.
"At least."
The Baron pursed his fat lips. The beady eyes stared without wavering at Hawat. Is this true Mentat computation? he wondered. How could this be and no one suspect?
"We haven't even cut heavily into their birth-rate-growth figure," Hawat said. "We've just weeded out some of their less successful specimens, leaving the strong to grow stronger--just like on Salusa Secundus."
"Salusa Secundus!" the Baron barked. "What has this to do with the Emperor's prison planet?"
"A man who survives Salusa Secundus starts out being tougher than m
ost others," Hawat said. "When you add the very best of military training--"
"Nonsense! By your argument, Icould recruit from among the Fremen after the way they've been oppressed by my nephew."
Hawat spoke in a mild voice: "Don't you oppress any of your troops?"
"Well... I... but--"
"Oppression is a relative thing," Hawat said. "Your fighting men are much better off than those around them, heh? They see unpleasant alternative to being soldiers of the Baron, heh?"
The Baron fell silent, eyes unfocused. The possibilities--had Rabban unwittingly given House Harkonnen its ultimate weapon?
Presently he said: "How could you be sure of the loyalty of such recruits?"
"I would take them in small groups, not larger than platoon strength," Hawat said. "I'd remove them from their oppressive situation and isolate them with a training cadre of people who understood their background, preferably people who had preceded them from the same oppressive situation. Then I'd fill them with the mystique that their planet had really been a secret training ground to produce just such superior beings as themselves. And all the while, I'd show them what such superior beings could earn: rich living, beautiful women, fine mansions... whatever they desired."
The Baron began to nod. "The way the Sardaukar live at home."
"The recruits come to believe in time that such a place as Salusa Secundus is justified because it produced them--the elite. The commonest Sardaukar trooper lives a life, in many respects, as exalted as that of any member of a Great House."
"Such an idea!" the Baron whispered.
"You begin to share my suspicions," Hawat said.
"Where did such a thing start?" the Baron asked.
"Ah, yes: Where did House Corrino originate? Were there people on Salusa Secundus before the Emperor sent his first contingents of prisoners there? Even the Duke Leto, a cousin on the distaff side, never knew for sure. Such questions are not encouraged."
The Baron's eyes glazed with thought. "Yes, a very carefully kept secret. They'd use every device of--"
"Besides, what's there to conceal?" Hawat asked. "That the Padishah Emperor has a prison planet? Everyone knows this. That he has--"
"Count Fenring!" the Baron blurted.
Hawat broke off, studied the Baron with a puzzled frown. "What of Count Fenring?"