She spoke gently out of the freshness of her grief: "Whatever you are, Paul, the heredity is as much your father as me."
"But not the training," he said. "Not the things that . . . awakened . . . the sleeper."
"Sleeper?"
"It's here." He put a hand to his head and then to his breast. "In me. It goes on and on and on and on and - "
"Paul!"
She had heard the hysteria edging his voice.
"Listen to me," he said. "You wanted the Reverend Mother to hear about my dreams: You listen in her place now. I've just had a waking dream. Do you know why?"
"You must calm yourself," she said. "If there's - "
"The spice," he said, "It's in everything here - the air, the soil, the food. The geriatric spice. It's like the Truthsayer drug. It's a poison!"
She stiffened.
His voice lowered and he repeated: "A poison - so subtle, so insidious . . . so irreversible. It won't even kill you unless you stop taking it. We can't leave Arrakis unless we take part of Arrakis with us."
The terrifying presence of his voice brooked no dispute.
"You and the spice," Paul said. "The spice changes anyone who gets this much of it, but thanks to you , I could bring the change to consciousness. I don't get to leave it in the unconscious where its disturbance can be blanked out. I can see it."
"Paul, you - "
"I see it!" he repeated.
She heard madness in his voice, didn't know what to do.
But he spoke again, and she heard the iron control return to him: "We're trapped here."
We're trapped here , she agreed.
And she accepted the truth of his words. No pressure of the Bene Gesserit, no trickery or artifice could pry them completely free from Arrakis: the spice was addictive. Her body had known the fact long before her mind awakened to it.
So here we live out our lives , she thought, on this hell-planet. The place is prepared for us, if we can evade the Harkonnens. And there's no doubt of my course: a broodmare preserving an important bloodline for the Bene Gesserit Plan .
"I must tell you about my waking dream," Paul said. (Now there was fury in his voice.) "To be sure you accept what I say, I'll tell you first I know you'll bear a daughter, my sister, here on Arrakis."
Jessica placed her hands against the tent floor, pressed back against the curving fabric wall to still a pang of fear. She knew her pregnancy could not show yet. Only her own Bene Gesserit training had allowed her to read the first faint signals of her body, to know of the embryo only a few weeks old.
"Only to serve," Jessica whispered, clinging to the Bene Gesserit motto. "We exist only to serve."
"We'll find a home among the Fremen," Paul said, "where your Missionaria Protectiva has bought us a bolt hole."
They've prepared a way for us in the desert , Jessica told herself. But how can he know of the Missionaria Protectiva? She found it increasingly difficult to subdue her terror at the overpowering strangeness in Paul.
He studied the dark shadow of her, seeing her fear and every reaction with his new awareness as though she were outlined in blinding light. A beginning of compassion for her crept over him.
"The things that can happen here, I cannot begin to tell you," he said. "I cannot even begin to tell myself, although I've seen them. This sense of the future - I seem to have no control over it. The thing just happens. The immediate future - say, a year - I can see some of that . . . a road as broad as our Central Avenue on Caladan. Some places I don't see . . . shadowed places . . . as though it went behind a hill" (and again he thought of the surface of a blowing kerchief) " . . . and there are branchings . . . "
He fell silent as memory of that seeing filled him. No prescient dream, no experience of his life had quite prepared him for the totality with which the veils had been ripped away to reveal naked time.
Recalling the experience, he recognized his own terrible purpose - the pressure of his life spreading outward like an expanding bubble . . . time retreating before it . . .
Jessica found the tent's glowtab control, activated it.
Dim green light drove back the shadows, easing her fear. She looked at Paul's face, his eyes - the inward stare. And she knew where she had seen such a look before: pictured in records of disasters - on the faces of children who experienced starvation or terrible injury. The eyes were like pits, mouth a straight line, cheeks indrawn.
It's the look of terrible awareness , she thought, of someone forced to the knowledge of his own mortality.
He was, indeed, no longer a child.
The underlying import of his words began to take over in her mind, pushing all else aside. Paul could see ahead, a way of escape for them.
"There's a way to evade the Harkonnens," she said.
"The Harkonnens!" he sneered. "Put those twisted humans out of your mind." He stared at his mother, studying the lines of her face in the light of the glowtab. The lines betrayed her.
She said: "You shouldn't refer to people as humans without - "
"Don't be so sure you know where to draw the line," he said. "We carry our past with us. And, mother mine, there's a thing you don't know and should - we are Harkonnens."
Her mind did a terrifying thing: it blanked out as though it needed to shut off all sensation. But Paul's voice went on at that implacable pace, dragging her with it.
"When next you find a mirror, study your face - study mine now. The traces are there if you don't blind yourself. Look at my hands, the set of my bones. And if none of this convinces you, then take my word for it. I've walked the future, I've looked at a record, I've seen a place, I have all the data. We're Harkonnens."