Chapter 15: The New Masters Approach
The market felt different. Cleaner. Harkonnen patrols had decreased—just token presence now. In their place, new soldiers walked in disciplined formations. Green and black uniforms instead of Harkonnen orange and black. Atreides.
I watched from a vendor's stall, pretending to examine dried fruit I had no intention of buying.
The Atreides patrol moved like a single organism. Six soldiers, perfectly synchronized. Their leader was compact, maybe five-eight, with the kind of build that spoke of decades of combat training. He moved like water—fluid, efficient, no wasted motion.
Duncan Idaho. Had to be. The character descriptions from the books matched perfectly. Loyal unto death. Master of combat. The man who would die holding a door against Sardaukar troops so Paul and Jessica could escape.
He looked very alive right now. Alert eyes scanning the market. Not paranoid—just aware. Professional.
I committed every detail to memory. The way he carried himself. How he interacted with his squad. The routes they patrolled. Information was currency, and I was gathering wealth.
"Strange, isn't it?" The vendor spoke without looking at me. Old woman, gap-toothed, sharp eyes. "New masters, same desert."
"You think they'll be different?"
"Everyone's different until they're not." She bagged fruit I hadn't purchased. "Four solari."
I paid. Took the bag. "What do you know about them?"
"The Atreides? Honor-bound. Fair rulers. Treat their people well." She spat. "Which means they're fools. Honor doesn't survive on Arrakis. The desert eats honor for breakfast."
I thought about Paul. About what he'd become. God-emperor, despot, the very thing his father had tried not to be. The desert would definitely eat his honor.
"Thanks for the fruit."
"Thanks for the coin." She turned to another customer. Conversation over.
I moved through the market, gathering more observations. Atreides presence was everywhere now—not oppressive like the Harkonnens, but thorough. They were mapping the city. Understanding the population. Preparing for transition.
At Hetch's stall, I found better information.
"They're different," he confirmed. Took my water payment—half a liter, standard rate. "Atreides value loyalty. Reward competence. Punish betrayal swiftly but fairly. Duke Leto is known for mercy tempered with justice."
"What about the man leading their patrols?"
"Duncan Idaho. Swordmaster. Been with House Atreides for years. Leto trusts him completely." Hetch leaned forward. "If you're thinking of making contact, that's the avenue. Idaho handles local intelligence, recruitment, integration. He's the door into their organization."
"I'm just gathering information."
"Of course you are." Hetch smiled. "Everyone is. Smart ones are figuring out what information the Atreides want to buy."
That was the angle. Atreides needed local intelligence. They were walking into a situation the Harkonnens understood intimately—and they'd understand nothing. Smuggling routes. Water caches. Fremen territories. Guild operations. Bene Gesserit movements.
I knew most of that. Had access through Turok to even more.
If I could position myself as valuable before the official transition...
"What do the Atreides pay for intelligence?"
"Depends on quality. Minor information? Water, coin. Major intelligence? Positions. Authority. Protection." Hetch's eyes gleamed. "The kind of rewards that clear debts and open futures."
My debt was down to two months. Two more successful runs would clear it. But if the Atreides paid well enough...
Options multiplied.
I left Hetch with my mind spinning. Walked through the changing city. Harkonnen officials were packing. CHOAM representatives were repositioning. Spacing Guild observers watched everything with inscrutable interest.
The power vacuum was opening. In two weeks, maybe less, everything would shift. The competent would rise. The incompetent would fall. And the truly smart would position themselves before the chaos hit.
I needed to approach Duncan Idaho. Offer something valuable. Establish trust before the Harkonnen trap closed.
But what could I offer that wouldn't expose my meta-knowledge? What intelligence would seem natural for a smuggler to have?
The answer crystallized as I watched another Atreides patrol pass.
Fremen. I could offer Fremen intelligence. The Atreides needed to understand the desert people. Make contact. Establish relations. And I had territory claims. I'd seen Fremen markers. I knew routes near their lands.
It wasn't much. But it was real. Verifiable. Valuable.
And it positioned me perfectly for what came next.
An Atreides soldier approached a vendor. Asked for directions in heavily accented Galach. The vendor struggled to understand—the accent was formal, clipped, nothing like local speech.
I almost stepped in to help. Stopped myself. Too early. Too visible.
But the moment showed something important: the Atreides were outsiders. Well-intentioned, honorable, competent—but outsiders. They'd make mistakes. Cultural errors. Miss signals locals would catch instantly.
That gap was opportunity.
I made my way back to headquarters. Let my mind catalog everything I'd observed. Duncan Idaho's patterns. Atreides patrol routes. The administrative gaps opening as Harkonnens withdrew.
Turok wanted a complete picture. I'd give him one. Then I'd use that same information to make my own moves.
The Atreides were coming. In ten days, maybe less, Duke Leto would arrive. Paul and Jessica with him. And shortly after—when the Harkonnens sprung their trap—the blood would flow.
But that was later. Now was preparation.
I found my corner in headquarters. Started drafting the intelligence report. Detailed. Professional. Everything Turok needed to position the syndicate for the transition.
As I worked, I thought about Duncan Idaho. The man who'd die for Paul. Who'd sacrifice himself without hesitation because loyalty meant more than life.
In the books, I'd admired that. In person, watching him walk through markets with that alert confidence, knowing what was coming...
I could warn him. The Harkonnen trap. The Sardaukar. The betrayal. I had time. Information. Opportunity.
But changing Duncan's fate changed everything. Paul's development. The Fremen integration. The path to becoming Muad'Dib. The entire timeline would cascade into unknown territory.
I wasn't here to save people. I was here to survive. Build power. Claim my place in this universe.
Duncan Idaho was a casualty of that choice.
I finished the report. Set it aside. The words felt heavier than they should.
Later, when I delivered it to Turok, he read through carefully. Nodded approval. "This is good. Detailed. Useful." He looked up. "You've been paying attention."
"Information is survival."
"It is." He filed the report. "The Atreides will be looking for local assets. People who know the city. The smuggling networks. The desert. If they approach you, report to me first. Understand?"
"Understood."
But I was already planning my own approach. Turok's interests and mine aligned—for now. That would change when the Harkonnens attacked. When chaos opened and every person made their own play for survival.
I left his office. Walked through the headquarters that had become familiar. Saw Venn in his corner, still working grunt tasks. Saw Jorik maintaining equipment. Saw Torren pretending not to exist.
The Atreides were approaching. The old masters were leaving. And somewhere in that transition, I'd make my move.
Duncan Idaho walked through Arrakeen like he owned it. Confident. Alert. Honorable.
In weeks, he'd die holding a door.
I could warn him. Save him. Change everything.
I wouldn't.
But maybe—maybe I could save something else. Someone else. The pieces I could afford to protect without breaking the timeline.
Those calculations would come later.
Tonight, I'd rest. Tomorrow, I'd begin positioning for the approach. For the moment when I'd stand before Duncan Idaho and offer information that would make me valuable.
For the moment when survival and opportunity aligned.
The desert inside me was patient. Hungry. But patient.
One grain at a time. One step at a time. One careful move at a time.
The game was accelerating. I intended to be ready.
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