You’ve been here only a few days and already you don’t like it. You can taste spice in everything you eat, the smell is in everything, and you’re plain sick of it. Gavin is a little more calm about it but you don’t care about what he thinks about it right now.

“I want to leave now,” you complain.

“We’ll get out of here soon enough.”

“Maybe so. I’m going for a walk.”

You walk into the hall and move slowly, trying to calm your frazzled mind. Soon you’d be able to concentrate and do what you were ordered. Until then...

A young man walks towards you. He can’t be more than 15 or 16 years-old. He has thick black hair and reminds you right off of the Duke.

Paul then perhaps?

He stops in front of you, although it’s apparent he hadn’t planned on doing so before. He gives you a quick look-over then meets your eyes.

“You’re one of those writers that came the other day.” He spoke in a smooth, calm voice.

“That I am.”

“Why are you here?”

“To document.”

“What?”

“Your stay here, what goes on--”

“Military things?” Suspicion lined his brow.

“No. I don’t have access to those things and after meeting your father and getting to know him, I’d never even think of plotting against him.”

“Not for anything?”

“Never.”

He smiled then at you. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You extend your hand and introduce yourself.

“I’m Paul Atreides, as you know,” he says, taking your hand in a firm grip. “I must be on my way. Gooday.”

He turns and without waiting for a reply, walks the way you’d just come.