[That's a more weighted question than Anna could possibly know. More weighted than anyone could know, even those with the most intimate knowledge of what it means to ask Paul Atreides about his long-lost future. He has to laugh, a nearly soundless rise and fall of his shoulders as he shakes his head.

(He has to laugh. That's part of the living with it.)]

Wrangling spice, actually. That's the only export worth mentioning on Arrakis. So managing the mining operations, negotiating shipping with the Spacing Guild, representing our House interests by proxy in the Landsraad - that's our governing body, below the Emperor - that kind of thing.

[He says it so convincingly he almost believes himself. It's what was supposed to happen. (And if she believes it, just for a while, it's like it's true again.)]

I'm a noble, where I come from. It doesn't mean anything here, of course. But what about you? What would you be doing? [He angles his head to the side, a veil crossing his expression.] Or her, if she was where she came from? Your android?