There was no preventing it, the Baron realized. The Sardaukar would see all. He'd know the Duke had killed Harkonnen men . . . that the Baron most likely had escaped by a narrow margin. There was the evidence of the dinner remnants on the table, and the dead Duke across from it with destruction around him.
No preventing it at all.
"I'll not be put off," the colonel bashar snarled.
"You're not being put off," the Baron said, and he stared into the Sardaukar's obsidian eyes. "I hide nothing from my Emperor." He nodded to Nefud . "The colonel bashar is to see everything, at once. Take him in by the door where you stood, Nefud ."
"This way, sir," Nefud said.
Slowly, insolently, the Sardaukar moved around the Baron, shouldered a way through the guardsmen.
And it was agonizing to realize that the Emperor and his Sardaukar were alike in their disdain for weakness. The Baron chewed at his lower lip, consoling himself that the Emperor, at least, had not learned of the Atreides raid on Giedi Prime, the destruction of the Harkonnen spice stores there.
The Baron watched the retreating backs—the arrogant Sardaukar and the stocky, efficient Nefud .
The Baron sighed.
One of the guardsmen beside him coughed.
The Baron turned toward the man. "I am hungry."
"Yes, m'Lord."
"And I wish to be diverted while you're clearing out that room and studying its secrets for me," the Baron rumbled.
The guardsman lowered his eyes. "What diversion does m'Lord wish?"
"I'll be in my sleeping chambers," the Baron said. "Bring me that young fellow we bought on Gamont, the one with the lovely eyes. Drug him well. I don't feel like wrestling."
"Yes, m'Lord."
The Baron turned away, began moving with his bouncing, suspensor-buoyed pace toward his chambers.
—from "Songs of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan
Paul felt that all his past, every experience before this night, had become sand curling in an hourglass. He sat near his mother hugging his knees within a small fabric and plastic hutment—a stilltent—that had come, like the Fremen clothing they now wore, from the pack left in the 'thopter.
There was no doubt in Paul's mind who had put the Fremkit there, who had directed the course of the 'thopter carrying them captive.
The traitor doctor had sent them directly into the hands of Duncan Idaho.
Paul stared out the transparent end of the stilltent at the moonshadowed rocks that ringed this place where Idaho had hidden them.
Something had happened to his awareness this night—he saw with sharpened clarity every circumstance and occurrence around him. He felt unable to stop the inflow of data or the cold precision with which each new item was added to his knowledge and the computation was centered in his awareness. It was Mentat power and more.
Paul thought back to the moment of impotent rage as the strange 'thopter dived out of the night onto them, stooping like a giant hawk above the desert with wind screaming through its wings. The thing in Paul's mind had happened then. The 'thopter had skidded and slewed across a sand ridge toward the running figures—his mother and himself. Paul remembered how the smell of burned sulfur from abrasion of 'thopter skids against sand had drifted across them.