andr0meda's Journal: Drafts of Future

One look at the draft on the curtains told Paul something was wrong. Would it be wise to fetch the Sarduakar that were posted outside his stone walled room? Surely, both of them would quickly get the whole batallion alerted of the presence of this mysterious intruder. No, it seemed better that he'd resolve this matter personally.

As he pretended to read through the various reports of defeaten troops of the emperor-king on Giedi Prime, Paul saw, from the corner of his eye, how ever so silently and well trained, a silhouette of a man-like figure hinged itself over the window sill behind the curtains. The thick fabric revealed but only frozen minimal instances of shape that should otherwise not have been there. This snake-like movement somewhat surprised Paul. This person, whoever it was, was trained in a way that Gurney would surely have described as unearthly. Almost inhuman.

Paul felt his heart cringe, yet allowed his outer self to reveal no emotional change, no metabolistic deviation from a normal reading pattern. The instant the unexpected is uncovered, sets free the greatest danger, his mind reminded him. Somewhere in the present, Paul's self was searching both the past and the future for answers. He thought only of one particular person that possibly moved this way. That she was here now, was most inconvenient. The Landsraad was due in only a few days, after which the universe would change customs and patterns forever. In many ways, her timing in the now was disruptive, and the image of the jihad that he had so fiercly fought against for so long, started creeping through the slits of the wall he had built around the future pathways of doom. Paul's rage started to build up, but where others would act it, his body continued to be calm. No transpiration, no increased heart-beats. No stretch of hair that moved around nervously.

Seconds leapt by, without purpouse, but purpouse was waiting to be revealed, and Paul knew the advantage of initiative. "You've come in bad timing.", he said with a hint of the voice, not enough to command, but strong enough to let the hidden figure know who we was up against. While the prospect of battle could never be ruled out, Paul wanted to avoid drawing attention to this junction of pathways. The future had benefits in store for this particular meeting. Paul felt it. There was no reason not to play cards openly, while keeping a firm grip on them.

A small hand drew the curtain aside. He had never seen her face, but he knew who she was. She was one of them. A Reverend Mother, trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, soft like silk, but powerfull in ways that could not be described with matching words. "I've seen you die.", she said with a soft voice. The shape of her face looked familiar to the lines of the woman he did not know at all, but who was, at least technically, his wife. "Give my regards to your sister.", he completed the formal greeting part. "What unconfortable change hides inside your words, princess Laruni?". She stepped up closer, but still safely outside the shield-range. He saw how her eyes calculated every risk and possibility, how she restrained her muscles from drawing that blade and stab it right into his chest. Then suddenly, he saw the message that she brought. Her hand wore the seal of his father, the very seal he had used to claim his throne. In a flash he understood that a traitor must have had the ring stolen, so that it could be used to order that which he wanted to avoid at all cost. That which was now in full play. He looked at the fake reports on the table. The present seemed to collapse upon his head, millions of white threads woven around and connected to his present started to cut away from him.

Princess Lurani, aware of the power that Paul posessed, knew the stories of the battles, the legends of the makers, what a great fighter he was trained to be. Now she saw, for the first time, how the man that she had always adored, much to her own personal grief, started to fall appart. In his eyes she could see the fury of the battles, the pain of the massacres, the towers of hope that started to sink down in endless deserts of sand and rock and emptyness, and above it all, the new Atreides-bannered jihad that finally unleashed it's rage across the galaxy.