The "War Room" of the Arrakeen residency was a subterranean chamber carved from the very bedrock of the planet. It was cold, shielded against electronic eavesdropping, and smelled faintly of ancient dust and filtered oxygen.
Duke Leto sat at the head of the heavy stone table, his face illuminated by the flickering blue light of a holomap showing the northern hemisphere of Arrakis. Beside him, Paul stood with his arms crossed, his young face already hardening into the mask of a future Emperor.
Facing them were the "Common Leaders"—the heads of the local merchant guilds, the water-smugglers, and the labor unions of the spice-fields. These were men and women who had survived decades of Harkonnen cruelty; they were suspicious, their eyes stained deep blue by the spice, their hands calloused and scarred.
"The spice quotas are increasing," Leto said, his voice steady and resonant. "But my House does not rule through the lash. In the coming months, we will transition to a system of fair water-exchange. For every kilo of spice harvested, a percentage of moisture-credits will be deposited directly into the communal basins of the workers."
The Shadow's WhispersA merchant leader, a man named Hawat-al-Din, leaned forward, his voice raspy. "We have heard these promises before, My Lord. The Harkonnens spoke of 'bonuses' while they mined our children's lives. Why should we believe the Atreides are any different?"
Paul stepped forward, his gaze locking onto the merchant's eyes. He didn't use the Voice, but his presence was overwhelming—a mix of Ducal authority and a dark, protective intensity.
"Because the Atreides do not just bring water," Paul said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "We bring a future. My sister, the Princess Anastasia, has already seen the conditions of your fields. She has personally requested that the water rations be doubled. Do you think her kindness is a lie?"
The mention of the "Goddess" caused a ripple through the room. The common leaders shifted in their seats. Even in the depths of the city, the stories of the petite girl who waved at the miners and loved the "Big Ones" had spread like wildfire.
"The Princess..." a woman from the labor guild whispered. "They say she weeps for the thirsty. They call her the Water-Bringer."
The Hidden HandIn the corner of the room, half-hidden by a heavy tapestry, Jia stood like a gargoyle. She wasn't part of the council, but she never left the Duke and Paul's side when the "Goddess" wasn't around. Her hand rested on the hilt of her blade, her eyes scanning the common leaders for any hint of treachery.
Her yandere-like jealousy extended even to the political sphere. She hated that these "commoners" were the reason Anastasia felt so much worry. If it were up to her, she would silence their complaints permanently just to keep a frown off the Princess's face.
"Our plan for the next quarter is simple," Duke Leto continued, pointing to a series of coordinates on the map. "We will fortify the southern outposts and open the schools. We want your children to read, not just sift sand. But in return, we need total loyalty. If a single Harkonnen spy is found in your ranks, the water stops."
The Divine InterruptionThe heavy plasteel doors at the back of the chamber hissed open. The guards outside—usually immovable—had stepped aside.
Anastasia walked in, looking small and radiant in a simple white tunic. She was carrying a tray with a heavy ceramic pitcher and several cups. Behind her, the twin maids, Lila and Mina, followed with baskets of Caladan dried fruits.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Papa," she chirped, her "naive" voice melting the cold tension of the war room. "But you've been down here for hours. Everyone must be so thirsty! The desert is very dry today."
She didn't wait for permission. She walked right up to the merchant, Hawat-al-Din, and poured him a cup of cool, clear water with a soft, radiant smile.
"Please drink," she said, her Influence washing over the grizzled man. "You're helping my family make the world better. That must be very hard work."
The merchant stared at the cup, then at the petite, golden-haired girl. His suspicion vanished, replaced by a sudden, fanatical devotion. He took the water with trembling hands, bowing his head so low it nearly touched the table.
"Thank you... My Goddess," he whispered.
Paul and Leto exchanged a glance. The meeting was over. The common leaders weren't looking at the maps anymore; they were looking at the girl. They would die for her.
"The plan is accepted, Duke Leto," the labor leader said, her voice thick with emotion. "For the Princess, we will harvest the very stars if you ask."
As Anastasia led her "helpers" out of the room, Paul put a hand on his father's shoulder. "She is the only diplomat we ever needed," he whispered, his eyes dark with a possessive, brotherly pride.