Free Dune by Frank Herbert Page B

own words—of the difference between a blade’s edge and its tip.”
    â€œGurney says there’s no artistry in killing with the tip, that it should be done with the edge.”
    â€œGurney’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.”
    â€œAnd we won’t be able to leave our frigates?”
    â€œThat’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.”
    â€œI’m going to watch our screens and try to see a Guildsman.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œDo you think they hide because they’ve mutated and don’t look ... human anymore?”
    â€œWho knows?” The Duke shrugged. “It’s a mystery we’re not likely to solve. We’ve more immediate problems—among them: you.”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYour 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. . . .”
    â€œHawat agrees, Son. It’s true.”
    â€œBut 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.
    â€œA 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.
    â€œYou’ll be the Duke someday, Son,” his father said. “A Mentat Duke would be formidable indeed. Can you decide now . . . or do you need more time?”
    There was no hesitation in his answer. “I’ll go on with the training.”
    â€œFormidable indeed,” the Duke murmured, and Paul saw the proud smile on his father’s face. The smile shocked Paul: it had a skull look on the Duke’s narrow features. Paul closed his eyes, feeling the terrible purpose reawaken within him. Perhaps being a Mentat is terrible purpose, he thought.
    But even as he focused on this thought, his new awareness denied it.

With the Lady Jessica and Arrakis, the Bene Gesserit system of sowing implant- legends through the Missionaria Protectiva came to its full fruition. The wisdom of seeding the known universe with a