territorial battles over their tiny patch of encapsulated ground. They were like sandworms clashing at the edges of one another’s territories… or like her brother’s armies facing off in battles of the Jihad. It was only a difference of scale.
She reached into the plaz-walled chamber, reminded of an ornamental aquarium her mother had kept in Castle Caladan… a memory from long before Alia’s birth.
Black scorpions such as these were common in the deserts of Dune. In the sietches, Fremen kept scorpions for their poison, which was applied to crysknife blades. Their sting contained an extravagantly potent venom superior to many poisons used by the Tleilaxu.
But poisons didn’t bother Alia. She had emerged from the womb with the thoughts and capabilities of a Reverend Mother. When her mother had consumed the Water of Life, it had fundamentally changed Jessica’s body chemistry, along with that of her unborn daughter. A scorpion’s sting need not concern her.
Her fingers were small and stubby, still those of a child. Very little extra flesh padded her short arm. As she put her hand into the tank, the black scorpions backed away, raising their curved tails in a defensive posture. The stingers were like hooked needles. The two arachnids nearest her arm raised their pincers, ready to fight.
But Alia moved slowly, reaching her other hand into the aquarium. Grasping the backs of their segmented tails with care, she plucked out one scorpion and then another, placing it on the back of her hand. They settled down quickly; she had done this often. When they moved along her arm, their sharp legs tickled her skin. They were not afraid of her. She laughed to herself.
Within her head, she had the company of many ghostly friends, sisters, and ancestors, but they were memories of full lives, with personalities formed over uncounted years and experiences. They made poor childhood playmates, leaving Alia lonely. She had no real friends, no confidante to giggle with or whisper ideas to. The scorpions weren’t actually very good pets, either.
She heard an indrawn gasp of horror. “Child, what are you doing?”
Immediately recognizing Irulan’s voice, Alia flinched at the interruption but did not turn around.
“Was that an assassination attempt, dear Irulan?” Alia said, still stating into the tank. “By startling me, you could have made me jerk my hand, and the scorpions would have reacted by stinging me.”
Irulan came cautiously forward. “I had no such intent, Alia, as you well know — and since you so often remind me you are a Reverend Mother, you could have saved yourself from any poison.”
“Then why were you worried?”
“I could not help myself. I was frightened for you.”
“Such a lack of control suggests that you have forgotten some of your Bene Gesserit training. Shouldn’t you be writing your new book? My brother is anxious to read it.”
“The work is coming along nicely, but I have found many contradictions. I am having a difficult time choosing which version I prefer as truth. Once I write the story, most people will accept it, so I must be cautious.”
“Cautious about the facts themselves, or the politics behind them?” Alia sounded impish.
“One affects the other.” Irulan came closer to the tank. “Why do you keep those creatures?”
“I like to play with them. They haven’t stung me yet.”
Irulan seemed dismayed, but it was nothing new. The Princess did not quite understand her role regarding Paul’s sister, who was ostensibly her sister-in-law. At times, Irulan even displayed oddly maternal feelings toward her, and Alia wasn’t sure whether or not they were genuine. Irulan seemed to gain nothing by them, and yet…
“You flaunt the fact that you are more than just a child, but a part of you is still — or wants to be — a girl. I had four younger sisters with whom I could interact and squabble and share secrets, whenever some nursemaid or guard wasn’t watching over us in the Imperial Palace. I am sorry that you do not have even that much of a childhood, Alia.”
With an abrupt gesture, Alia swept the scorpions off her arm and back to the sands and rock in the tank. Agitated and disoriented, not knowing what had just happened in their world, the creatures began to fight each other, clacking pincers, jabbing with stingers.
“I have many childhoods — all of them in Other Memory.” She could not stop herself from adding a taunt. “You will understand it one day, Irulan, if you ever become a Reverend Mother.”
The Princess did not rise to the bait. “You may say that, little Alia. I know you can learn many things from Other Memory, but not everything. You need a childhood of your own.”
9
The desert erases all footprints.
Sietch Tabr.
Paul and his mother had gone there after fleeing from the Harkonnens so many years ago, but before that the isolated sietch had been merely one Fremen settlement, little different from all the others. Now, it was considered a sacred place. I change everything I
Fremen traditionalism had preserved Sietch Tabr intact even as his enormous new citadel and governmental complex continued to grow in Arrakeen under the masterful management of Whitmore Bludd. With Stilgar off on Bela Tegeuse, Gurney on Giedi Prime, and Alia left to watch the affairs of government, he and Chani came here to remember the taste of the desert again, the smells and flavors of what life had been like. They came to reconnect with themselves and to
After he and Chani settled into their old quarters within the rock walls, complete with familiar hangings across the door opening, Paul did not need prescience to know that his momentary peace would be interrupted soon.
For practical reasons, Paul had announced that he was going to Sietch Tabr to observe the expanded spice operations in the desert, to compliment the workers and the foremen, to praise their successes and mourn their losses. Melange, the lifeblood of his Imperium, continued to flow through the veins of the universe.
Dayef, the current naib of this settlement, had expressed his eagerness to take Muad’Dib out to the spice fields. Paul and Chani changed into full desert garb, took a Fremkit, checked their stillsuits. Even though he would have an army of guards, assistants, and observers with him, old habits would not permit him to be careless when facing the raw power of Arrakis. Too many accidents could occur out there.
Dayef selected a young Fremen pilot who swore he would battle the storms of hell to protect Muad’Dib. Paul simply said, “I would prefer a flight with less turbulence today.”
Dayef took the seat beside him in the ‘thopter, and they left the sheltering mountains and flew out into the vast ocean of dunes. This naib was more of a business leader than a warrior; he had a crysknife, but also carried an accounting tablet.
“Out production is now five times that of House Harkonnen at its peak,” Dayef said. “When we find spice, we dispatch at least four spice harvesters. New specialized carryalls are being manufactured on at least six different planets and more are placed into service every month.”
“What of our losses to weather and worms?” Paul remembered how such things had constantly hindered the work of House Atreides.
“We are now able to place twice as many spotters in the air. They range farther on scouting missions and can announce wormsign sooner. That lets us work with a greater margin of safety.”
“I want no accidents.” How Duke Leto had hated losing men! He felt a pang inside. His father would have been appalled by Paul’s Jihad, in which billions had already died in his name. Leto would have lamented the terrible cost, but Paul had to view the larger picture and see past the blood to the future. A safe future, he hoped.
“There are always accidents, Muad’Dib. However, with regular deliveries of new machinery, we are placing
