The Winds of Dune by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page B

wrinkled uniforms, even the boozy odor of spice beer in the morning air.
    Gurney couldn’t blame him for being displeased with the level of disarray, but he also remembered the faltering morale among Atreides troops after Duke Leto had arrived on Arrakis. “With Paul gone, these men are adrift and uncertain. ‘A soldier will always fight, but he fights hardest when he fights
for something
.’ Isn’t that one of your Swordmaster sayings?”
    “We are both masters of the sword, Gurney Halleck, even if you didn’t do your own training on Ginaz. I taught you a few things, you know.” Looking at the men, Duncan had made his own Mentat analysis. “They will adjust. Alia needs to be made aware of this sloppiness. After Paul’s funeral, I will implement a thorough crackdown on her behalf, punishing the worst offenders harshly to shake up the others.”
    The statement made Gurney uneasy, because the Atreides had not historically ruled through fear. But all of that had changed when Paul Atreides became a messianic Fremen and ascended to the throne of Dune, ruling an empire with thousands of restless worlds.
    “I wish you could do it some other way,” he said.
    The ghola turned to him with his metal eyes, and in that moment he did not look at all like Duncan. “You must think of realities, my old comrade. If Alia shows weakness now, it could lead to our downfall. I must protect her.”
    From a high battlement, Gurney gazed out into the rugged distance at a rock escarpment that partially framed the expanse of desert. Heknew Duncan was right, but there seemed no end to the governmental brutality.
    “I noted subtle weaknesses in the eyes of the soldiers, and I heard it in the voice of their station commander.” Duncan glanced at his companion. “I have learned how to read the most minute details, for there are always messages beneath the surface. I even see them in your face at this very moment, the way you look at me. I am not an alien creature.”
    Gurney took a moment to consider his response. “I was a friend of Duncan Idaho’s, that’s true, and I lamented his death. Such a brave, loyal warrior. You look and act like him, though you’re a bit more reserved. But a ghola is . . . beyond my comprehension. What was it like?”
    Duncan had a distant gaze as he stared away into the past. “I remember my first moment of awareness, huddled afraid and confused in a pool of liquid on a hard floor. The Tleilaxu said I had been a friend of the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib, and that I was to ingratiate myself so that I could destroy him. They gave me subconscious programming . . . and ultimately I found it
unbearable
. In refusing to follow the fundamental commands they imposed upon me, I shattered that artificial psyche, and in that moment I became Duncan Idaho again. It’s me, Gurney. Really, I’m back.”
    Gurney’s voice was a low growl, more of a promise than a threat, and he held his hand on the hilt of his sheathed knife. “If I ever suspect that you intend to harm the Atreides family, I’ll kill you.”
    “And if that were truly the case, then I would let you.” Duncan lifted his chin, tilted his head back. “Draw your dagger, Gurney Halleck. Here, I bare my throat to you now, if you feel this is the time.”
    A long moment passed, and Gurney did not move. Finally, he removed his hand from the hilt of his weapon. “The real Duncan would offer his life like that. I’ll accept you, for now . . . and accept that I’ll never be able to understand what you’ve been through.”
    Duncan shook his head as they went down the steep, winding staircase to the landing field and the waiting ’thopter. “One day you’ll die, and then you’ll be halfway to understanding.”

 

     
     
True forgiveness is a rarer thing than melange.
—Fremen wisdom

     
     
     
     
     
    T he crowd surrounding Alia’s Fane surged with an energy of humanity. So many lives, so many minds, all in a single mood. . . . Standing on the