Paul of Dune

conversation. Irulan was obviously engaged in the meeting, waiting for a chance to participate.

“I wish to discuss the growth of Arrakeen,” Paul said, “and I need candid answers. As world after world swears allegiance to me, the city’s population increases much faster than our infrastructure can accommodate. Pilgrims, refugees, and all sorts of displaced people arrive on Dune every day, and the limited resources cannot support them.”

“They do not bring enough of their own water,” Alia said.

Korba made a grunt of agreement. “In the old days, Fremen tribes had to place thousands of windtraps, install catchbasins, and glean every drop of dew just so we could survive. Now too many outworlders bring their bodies and their mouths, without a way to support themselves and without knowledge of the desert, either.”

Chani agreed. “They buy costume stillsuits from charlatans. They believe they can simply purchase water whenever they need it, or that it will fall from the sky as it does on their own worlds. Fremen tradition would say they deserve to die and give up their body’s water to more intelligent people.”

Irulan spoke up. “Many temporary settlements have been erected up on the Shield Wall, despite the residual radiation from your atomics.”

“They do so without permits,” Korba said.

“Nevertheless, they do it,” Paul said. “A lack of permits means nothing to the desperate and determined.”

“Radiation is not the only danger,” Irulan went on. “I read the weekly reports. Every day bodies are dragged away. People are murdered and robbed, and who can say how many more corpses are never found? We know of gangs who steal the living and the dead for their water.”

Paul, though, was not surprised to hear the news. “Under the circumstances, it is to be expected.”

After glancing at his agenda, Korba presented a tally of melange export shipments. As the Empire expanded, so did Paul’s need for a stronger goad to use against the Guild and CHOAM, so he had asked for increased spice production from the desert. And whatever Muad’Dib wished, Muad’Dib received.

Next, he reviewed reports from the latest battlefields of the Jihad. Many of the Landsraad nobles who had allied themselves with him helped to spread his banners to other worlds, to subdue those planets that still resisted. But he noted a surprising pattern: few of the worlds being “conquered” were genuine threats to his reign. Rather, the friendly nobles had a tendency to choose targets based on bygone feuds and family hatreds, using the violent Jihad as an excuse to settle old grudges. Paul had seen this, but knew that these unfortunate and unconscionable excesses added fuel to build the necessary flames higher.

Listening to the succession of victories, the offhanded recitation of casualty figures, Irulan warned, “Before long, the people will cry out for the days of my father’s rule.”

“Chaos always brings regrets,” Paul said. Including my own. “We will have peace once the deadwood is removed from the old and decayed Imperium. I cannot say, though, how long that will take.”

Irulan retorted, “I see how your own government is shaping up, Emperor Paul Atreides. Do you truly believe your methods can yield something superior to the Corrino Imperium? With only a few interruptions, my bloodline ruled humanity for ten thousand years. Do you imagine that yours will do the same?”

Korba shot to his feet, spouting a phrase his Qizarate chanted in the streets. “Muad’Dib will endure forever!”

“Oh, enough, Korba,” Paul said wearily. “Use your maxims for the crowds, not here in private counsel.”

The Fedaykin leader collapsed backward into his chair as if deflated by Paul’s words.

Paul leaned forward, looking for cracks in the usual Bene Gesserit reserve. “Continue, Irulan. I find this interesting.”

She drew her rosebud lips together, pleased and surprised to be taken seriously. “You claim the best of intentions, but in many ways you have become too Fremen to rule an interplanetary empire. Rulership requires finesse. Once established, political alliances do not remain static. You must monitor and tend to your allies among the noble families and their respective planets. That is why Earl Thorvald has been adept at gathering supporters to resist you. After he walked out of the Landsraad Hall in Kaitain, he began to build his own alliances, and many see him as their only viable alternative. You have embraced brute force, while he uses intricate bureaucratic machinery.”

“His little rebellion consists mainly of making bold pronouncements and then hiding,” Paul pointed out.

“So far.” She shook her head. “I will be proven right on this. Fremen simplicity and crude violence will never master the Imperium.”

“I am also the son of a noble Duke, Irulan. I can balance both sides and draw from each as necessary. I am Paul Atreides and Paul-Muad’Dib.”

The Princess met him with a sharp gaze. “And how much do you use of what your father taught you? I see no advantage in what you are creating: A fanatically united populace under a charismatic leader, following dogma instead of a bill of rights. You have thrown out the complex — and yes, inefficient — bureaucracy of the Landsraad. But you cannot replace it with anarchy! We need a safety net of laws and procedures, a uniform code by which decisions on all planets are made. And yet, you seek to do away with everything that preceded you!”

“Do you suggest that I let my administration grow into a bloated behemoth that wallows in its own self- important rules?”

“That is what a government is, Husband — as you well know.”

Giving Irulan a dangerous look, Chani started to get up, but Paul stopped her by raising his hand. He kept his own annoyance under tight control. “After defeating so many planetary rulers, I will not lose my Empire to bureaucrats.”

“Your target should not be bureaucracy, but efficiency,” Irulan insisted. “Appoint good leaders and competent administrators — people who value achieving an end result over maintaining the status quo or cementing their own importance. Any man who can delay the processing of a form has power over all those who need that form.”

Paul was glad that he’d seen the value of letting the Princess attend this meeting. Of all perspectives in his new Empire, hers was unique, but Irulan had to be kept on a short leash.

Though his mother had not been gone for long, perhaps he needed to bring her back from Caladan. She could fill an important position in his central government. Yet another strong woman in his inner circle.

“You can trust me to follow your wishes, Usul,” Korba said.

“And me,” added Chatt, the first words he had spoken in the meeting.

“And me.” Bitterness edged Irulan’s voice. “I know you do not value me as wife or mate, but you cannot fail to recognize my talent in the field of diplomacy.”

“Oh, I recognize much in you, Irulan. Your skills, like your loyalties, are many, but I will not risk giving you too much power. As daughter of a Padishah Emperor, trained by the Bene Gesserit, you know why.”

Irulan responded with cool annoyance. “Then what would you have me do with all my skills? Shall I simply be an ornament in my husband’s court, like one of the newly planted date palms?”

Paul considered. “I am familiar with your interests, and your usefulness. Your initial book of my life, incomplete and somewhat inaccurate as it is, has proved immensely popular and effective. I shall make you my official biographer.”

17

One does not need to participate in history to create history.

—the PRINCESS IRULAN, unpublished private journals

As a Princess of the old Imperium, Irulan had been instructed in the esoterica of social protocol, how to sit prettily at court functions and perform musical pieces and recitations. She had been encouraged to write poetry about meaningless things that would amuse well-bred people with shallow interests.