Dune [Frank Herbert's Dune Saga Collection: Books 1 - 6]

“No,” he whispered.

“What?” Alia looked at him as though surprised to find him still there.

He took his hand from his eyes.

“The garments that House Corrino sent?” he asked. “Have they been sent on to the twins?”

“Of course,” Irulan said. “They’re perfectly safe.”

“No one’s going to try for the twins at Sietch Tabr,” Alia said. “Not with all of those Stilgar-trained guards around.”

Idaho stared at her. He had no particular datum to reinforce an argument based on mentat computation, but he knew. He knew. This thing he’d experienced came very close to the visionary power which Paul had known. Neither Irulan nor Alia would believe it, coming from him.

“I’d like to alert the port authorities against allowing the importation of any outside animals,” he said.

“You’re not taking Irulan’s suggestion seriously,” Alia protested.

“Why take any chances?” he asked.

“Tell that to the smugglers,” Alia said. “I’ll put my dependence on the House ferrets.”

Idaho shook his head. What could House ferrets do against claws the size of those he envisioned? But Alia was right. Bribes in the right places, one acquiescent Guild navigator, and anyplace in the Empty Quarter became a landing port. The Guild would resist a front position in any attack on House Atreides, but if the price were high enough . . . Well, the Guild could only be thought of as something like a geological barrier which made attacks difficult, but not impossible. They could always protest that they were just “a transportation agency.” How could they know to what use a particular cargo would be put?

Alia broke the silence with a purely Fremen gesture, a raised fist with thumb horizontal. She accompanied the gesture with a traditional expletive which meant, “I give Typhoon Conflict.” She obviously saw herself as the only logical target for assassins, and the gesture protested a universe full of undigested threats. She was saying she would hurl the death wind at anyone who attacked her.

Idaho felt the hopelessness of any protest. He saw that she no longer suspected him. He was going back to Tabr and she expected a perfectly executed abduction of the Lady Jessica. He lifted himself from the divan in an adrenaline surge of anger, thinking: If only Alia were the target! If only assassins could get to her! For an instant, he rested his hand on his own knife, but it was not in him to do this. Far better, though, that she die a martyr than live to be discredited and hounded into a sandy grave.

“Yes,” Alia said, misinterpreting his expression as concern for her. “You’d best hurry back to Tabr.” And she thought: How foolish of me to suspect Duncan! He’s mine, not Jessica’s! It had been the demand from the tribes that’d upset her, Alia thought. She waved an airy goodbye to Idaho as he left.

Idaho left the Council Chamber feeling hopeless. Not only was Alia blind with her alien possession, but she became more insane with each crisis. She’d already passed her danger point and was doomed. But what could be done for the twins? Whom could he convince? Stilgar? And what could Stilgar do that he wasn’t already doing?

The Lady Jessica, then?

Yes, he’d explore that possibility—but she, too, might be far gone in plotting with her Sisterhood. He carried few illusions about that Atreides concubine. She might do anything at the command of the Bene Gesserits—even turn against her own grandchildren.