Free Dune by Frank Herbert

possible to maintain them.”
    The metallic threads in the hawk symbol above his father’s breast glistened
as the Duke shifted his position. “You see?”
    “We’re negotiating with the Fremen right now,” Paul said.
    “I sent a mission headed by Duncan Idaho,” the Duke said. “A proud and
ruthless man, Duncan, but fond of the truth. I think the Fremen will admire him.
If we’re lucky, they may judge us by him: Duncan, the moral.”
    “Duncan, the moral,” Paul said, “and Gurney the valorous.”
    “You name them well,” the Duke said.
    And Paul thought: Gurney’s one of those the Reverend Mother meant, a
supporter of worlds — “ . . . the valor of the brave.”
    “Gurney tells me you did well in weapons today,” the Duke said.
    “That isn’t what he told me.”
    The Duke laughed aloud. “I figured Gurney to be sparse with his praise. He
says you have a nicety of awareness — in his own words — of the difference
between a blade’s edge and its tip.”
    “Gurney says there’s no artistry in killing with the tip, that it should be
done with the edge.”
    “Gurney’s a romantic,” the Duke growled. This talk of killing suddenly
disturbed him, coming from his son. “I’d sooner you never had to kill . . . but
if the need arises, you do it however you can — tip or edge.” He looked up at
the skylight, on which the rain was drumming.
    Seeing the direction of his father’s stare, Paul thought of the wet skies
out there — a thing never to be seen on Arrakis from all accounts — and this
thought of skies put him in mind of the space beyond. “Are the Guild ships
really big?” he asked.
    The Duke looked at him. “This will be your first time off planet,” he said.
“Yes, they’re big. We’ll be riding a Heighliner because it’s a long trip. A
Heighliner is truly big. Its hold will tuck all our frigates and transports into
a little corner — we’ll be just a small part of the ship’s manifest.”
    “And we won’t be able to leave our frigates?”
“That’s part of the price you pay for Guild Security. There could be
Harkonnen ships right alongside us and we’d have nothing to fear from them. The
Harkonnens know better than to endanger their shipping privileges.”
    “I’m going to watch our screens and try to see a Guildsman.”
    “You won’t. Not even their agents ever see a Guildsman. The Guild’s as
jealous of its privacy as it is of its monopoly. Don’t do anything to endanger
our shipping privileges, Paul.”
    “Do you think they hide because they’ve mutated and don’t look . . . human
anymore?”
    “Who knows?” The Duke shrugged. “It’s a mystery we’re not likely to solve.
We’ve more immediate problems — among them: you.”
    “Me?”
    “Your mother wanted me to be the one to tell you, Son. You see, you may have
Mentat capabilities.”
    Paul stared at his father, unable to speak for a moment, then: “A Mentat?
Me? But I . . . ”
    “Hawat agrees, Son. It’s true.”
    “But I thought Mentat training had to start during infancy and the subject
couldn’t be told because it might inhibit the early . . . ” He broke off, all
his past circumstances coming to focus in one flashing computation. “I see,” he
said.
    “A day comes,” the Duke said, “when the potential Mentat must learn what’s
being done. It may no longer be done to him. The Mentat has to share in the
choice of whether to continue or abandon the training. Some can continue; some
are incapable of it. Only the potential Mentat can tell this for sure about
himself.”
    Paul rubbed his chin. All the special training from Hawat and his mother —
the mnemonics, the focusing of awareness, the muscle control and sharpening of
sensitivities, the study of languages and nuances of voices — all of it clicked
into a new kind of understanding in his mind.
    “You’ll be the Duke someday, Son,” his father said. “A Mentat Duke would be
formidable indeed.