"Frank Herbert - Dune 1 - Dune (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

"Few products escape the CHOAM touch," the Duke said. "Logs, donkeys, horses, cows, lumber,
dung, sharks, whale fur -- the most prosaic and the most exotic . . . even our poor pundi rice
from Caladan. Anything the Guild will transport, the art forms of Ecaz, the machines of Richesse
and Ix. But all fades before melange. A handful of spice will buy a home on Tupile. It cannot be
manufactured, it must be mined on Arrakis. It is unique and it has true geriatric properties."
"And now we control it?"
"To a certain degree. But the important thing is to consider all the Houses that depend on
CHOAM profits. And think of the enormous proportion of those profits dependent upon a single
product -- the spice. Imagine what would happen if something should reduce spice production."
"Whoever had stockpiled melange could make a killing," Paul said. "Others would be out in the
cold."
The Duke permitted himself a moment of grim satisfaction, looking at his son and thinking how
penetrating, how truly educated that observation had been. He nodded. "The Harkonnens have been
stockpiling for more than twenty years."
"They mean spice production to fail and you to be blamed."
"They wish the Atreides name to become unpopular," the Duke said. "Think of the Landsraad
Houses that look to me for a certain amount of leadership -- their unofficial spokesman. Think how
they'd react if I were responsible for a serious reduction in their income. After all, one's own
profits come first. The Great Convention be damned! You can't let someone pauperize you!" A harsh
smile twisted the Duke's mouth. "They'd look the other way no matter what was done to me."
"Even if we were attacked with atomics?"
"Nothing that flagrant. No open defiance of the Convention. But almost anything else short of
that . . . perhaps even dusting and a bit of soil poisoning."
"Then why are we walking into this?"
"Paul!" The Duke frowned at his son. "Knowing where the trap is -- that's the first step in
evading it. This is like single combat, Son, only on a larger scale -- a feint within a feint
within a feint . . . seemingly without end. The task is to unravel it. Knowing that the Harkonnens
stockpile melange, we ask another question: Who else is stockpiling? That's the list of our
enemies."
"Who?"
"Certain Houses we knew were unfriendly and some we'd thought friendly. We need not consider
them for the moment because there is one other much more important: our beloved Padishah Emperor."
Paul tried to swallow in a throat suddenly dry. "Couldn't you convene the Landsraad, expose --
"
"Make our enemy aware we know which hand holds the knife? Ah, now, Paul -- we see the knife,
now. Who knows where it might be shifted next? If we put this before the Landsraad it'd only
create a great cloud of confusion. The Emperor would deny it. Who could gainsay him? All we'd gain
is a little time while risking chaos. And where would the next attack come from?"
"All the Houses might start stockpiling spice."
"Our enemies have a head start -- too much of a lead to overcome."
"The Emperor," Paul said. "That means the Sardaukar."
"Disguised in Harkonnen livery, no doubt," the Duke said. "But the soldier fanatics
nonetheless."
"How can Fremen help us against Sardaukar?"
"Did Hawat talk to you about Salusa Secundus?"
"The Emperor's prison planet? No."
"What if it were more than a prison planet, Paul? There's a question you never hear asked
about the Imperial Corps of Sardaukar: Where do they come from?"
"From the prison planet?"
"They come from somewhere."