Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  Their interaction was remarkably different from how the Emperor had treated his previous five wives, a couple of whom Fenring had tolerated, while others he had loathed. He hadn’t yet decided if Aricatha would be a useful ally or a hindrance. She certainly had the powerful ruler wrapped around her finger.

  While Fenring waited, the Emperor listened to his wife coax him about new duties. “Now that so many Landsraad representatives are gone, you need someone you can trust,” she said. “I am capable of carrying out more extensive diplomatic assignments.”

  “Trust is a very difficult thing right now, my dear,” Shaddam said. He looked at Fenring and raised his voice. “How widespread is this Noble Commonwealth movement? How do we find the vile Jaxson Aru and bring him to justice?”

  “That is what we must discover, Sire.” Glancing over at the tottering Mentat, Fenring saw Dardik’s gaze wandering around. He had to pull the man back to reality, or he could drift off for hours. Count Fenring needed the Mentat to be useful right now.

  He spoke Dardik’s name sharply, noticed a slight jerk of his head, a rolling of the eyes. He spoke more sharply, and the eye rolling stopped. “We are here to make an important report.” The Mentat returned to reality with a sudden snap. “I need you to help us with this grave political crisis.”

  Though brilliant, Dardik needed constant management. The slender man had failed to become a full Mentat because of his difficult personality and social maladjustment. In the Mentat school, he’d had a disturbing habit of starting arguments, debates, and even duels to the death.

  But Fenring enjoyed a good debate to keep his own mind sharp, and though the eccentric genius might outthink him, Fenring could easily defeat him in personal combat. He had injured Dardik often enough to make his point, and the two men had managed to achieve a peculiar balance.

  Now that he had his companion’s full attention again, Fenring turned him to face the throne dais and addressed the Emperor once more. “Sire, my Mentat will talk with you directly, but I will interject the, hmmmm, niceties of conversation, if he forgets himself. He has few social graces, but his brilliance makes up for that.”

  “I want to hear what he has to say,” the Empress said.

  Shaddam waved a hand at his wife. “I have my own court Mentats, Hasimir, and this one has not even earned his basic certification. In our response to the urgent matters before us, I need only the best advice.”

  Fenring pursed his lips. “Sire, he was right about the existence of Otorio, wasn’t he? Let us hear him out.”

  The Emperor sighed. “Speak to me, Mentat, and be efficient with your words. My time is valuable.”

  “A Mentat is always efficient with words,” Dardik retorted. “My time is valuable as well.”

  Fenring considered killing him right there. “Issue your new findings and prove your worth!”

  The failed Mentat straightened. “Background summary: More than a year ago, I discovered the supposedly lost planet of Otorio, which you then commandeered as the site of your new Imperial museum complex. In light of recent events, I researched the world even more thoroughly. Jaxson Aru’s violence struck me as more than a mere political statement. It had a personal component as well.”

  “A personal component?” Shaddam asked. “It’s clear the madman wanted to kill me and destroy the Imperium.”

  “The attack was also about Otorio itself, not just you,” Dardik said, then after a momentary pause, he remembered to add, “Sire.” He blinked, as if reassessing his calculations. “I found clear evidence that the supposedly lost planet was an unacknowledged holding of the extended Aru family, used as a quiet retreat for several generations. After being removed from his duties for the CHOAM Company, Brondon Aru, Jaxson’s father, was sent to Otorio in effective exile. Jaxson spent much time on Otorio as a ward of his father.”

  The Mentat hummed, as if he had forgotten to include important information. “Jaxson’s mother is the prominent Malina Aru, the Ur-Director of CHOAM, and his brother, Frankos Aru, is the public face of CHOAM, serving as President. Malina Aru has a third child, a daughter, Jalma, married to Count Uchan on the planet Pliesse. An interesting side note: Count Uchan is listed among the casualties in the Otorio massacre.”

  As the failed Mentat rattled off the string of details, Shaddam tried to absorb the connections. “Are you saying that the insignificant world I chose for my Corrino museum is actually a CHOAM stronghold?”

  “Possible, but not proven. Still, Sire, it is likely that Otorio was occupied by the Aru family, personally, and your museum paved over their ancestral holdings.”

  Shaddam reddened. “One of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the Imperium hid an entire planet from our notice and paid no Imperial taxes on it? For how long?”

  Empress Aricatha interrupted, “It was pointed out at the reception that CHOAM representatives were conspicuously absent. Did they know about the plot ahead of time? Did they stay away for their own safety?”

  Fenring had heard the conclusions already, but still tried to grasp all the intricacies.

  Shaddam struggled to remember. “I have met the CHOAM President at diplomatic functions, of course, and even Ur-Director Malina Aru. But Jaxson Aru? I did not recognize him from the projected holo-image. Am I supposed to know him?”

  Fenring was not surprised the Emperor had forgotten. “Yes, Sire, but, hmmmm, it likely made little impression on you.”

  “I seem to recall him as a boy, hyperactive and nervous,” Shaddam said. “His mother had a physician tending him to calm him down. He was very intense.”

  Dardik continued, “Jaxson was a black sheep, sent away to Otorio with his father, presumably so he could cause no problems.”

  The failed Mentat gave more details about how he had arrived at his conclusions, a smattering of his supreme mental gymnastics, but the Emperor was no longer listening. Shaddam slouched back in his enormous throne and stroked his chin. He raised a hand to silence the Mentat, but Dardik kept talking.

  Fenring nudged him hard in the ribs. “Enough!”

  The Mentat looked confused, and a few more words sputtered out before he stopped speaking.

  The Emperor dismissed them both. “Go now, so I can consider this.”

  Fenring bowed, then had to drag Dardik out of the chamber. The failed Mentat was already so lost in thought, he could barely walk on his own.

  There are few more terrible times in life than when a son faces the reality of his father’s death.

  —DUKE LETO ATREIDES, introduction to the authorized biography of Duke Paulus Atreides

  Not all of Duke Leto’s noble duties were joyful. Today, he had a painful obligation to fulfill, and it was his own responsibility. He could not delegate it. His heart ached, but his shoulders were strong.

  The wife of Arko, the pilot of Leto’s space yacht, looked weary, aged by fresh grief and a hard life. Leto remembered that the pilot had referred to her as his “sweetheart,” though they had been married for many years.

  In addition to her sadness from losing her husband in the Otorio disaster, she seemed intimidated to be in Leto’s presence in a private withdrawing room in Castle Caladan. She bowed her head in a brief greeting that made her gray-flecked hair swing forward and back. “You honor me, my Duke. This meeting was not necessary. I … understand.”

  Gently, Leto placed a hand on her shoulder and felt hard muscle and bone; she was shaking. He said, “Your husband honored me with his loyal service. I brought him to Otorio as a reward, and he lost his life because of it.”

  She looked up quickly. “Not through your fault, my Lord! I knew Arko all my life, and the trip to Otorio was the most excitement he ever experienced. And he was so proud to be chosen. Even if he’d known the risk, he would still have wanted to be your pilot.”

  Leto’s heart felt heavy, knowing that the members of his retinue had been trapped, maybe hoping Leto would find a way to rescue them. They had been left behind. They had died in the fiery impact.

&n
bsp; “The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people,” Leto said, breaking her gaze. His father had taught him that, an intentional shift in the words of the Landsraad code. “I failed in that duty. I will make sure that you and your family are well taken care of.”

  He had already met with the other surviving family members, but saved this unfortunate woman for last, knowing it would be the hardest conversation.

  Arko’s wife began to weep. “You’ve been so good to us, Duke Leto.”

  He wanted to insist that he didn’t deserve such consideration, but those words would ring hollow, maybe even sound dismissive of the pilot’s loyalty and sacrifice. Now was not the place or time. Leto would provide whatever this valiant woman and her family needed, and he would try to do better. “I will host a ceremony two days hence at Crescent Cove, to honor your husband and the others we lost on Otorio. The moon will be full.”

  The woman took a deep breath. “Thank you, my Lord! My children and I will be there.” She left, still grieving, but somewhat uplifted.

  Leto felt the weight of those deaths on his heart. The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people. He thought of Arko and his companions, how their eyes had sparkled with eagerness as they left Caladan with him, how amazed they had been to see the renovated planet, with its Imperial museum complex, fine foods, and dazzling sights. Arko’s widow had been right. The trip to Otorio might well have been the high point of their lives. Leto had meant the assignment as a reward for them, and yet …

  Two days later, Leto, Jessica, and Paul attended the honorance under the pale white light of the full moon. The tide had come into the perfectly formed Crescent Cove, a sheltered and serene inlet north of Cala City. The bereaved families gathered for the somber celebration, along with friends and acquaintances. Hundreds had made the short journey north, crowding into vehicles or even walking. The respectful mourners gathered along the gray gravel of the cove at the waterline.

  The families stood together, heads bowed. One tall, thin man, the young brother of a retinue member, stood by himself, shaking and weeping. Leto made a point of going over, putting an arm around his shoulders, and giving him a firm embrace.

  Leto had ordered beautiful lily wreaths interwoven with white starflowers, one for each of the men lost on Otorio. The wreaths rested on the planks of a low fishing dock that extended into the cove. Accompanied by Paul and Jessica, Leto walked to the end of the dock and turned to look at the gathered people.

  He drew a breath, ready to call on his renowned speaking ability, but the words caught in his throat. He stood for a few seconds in anticipatory silence. Paul looked up and nodded at him. Jessica’s face was filled with strength and warmth. She took Leto’s hand.

  Leto drew support from them, as well as from the somber crowd. These people were his people, mourning their own. The rebel leader Jaxson Aru was to blame for all of the death and destruction. Arko and the others had merely been collateral damage, gone in the flash of impact. So unfair! The members of Leto’s retinue had cared nothing for Imperial politics, but they had died nonetheless.

  “I remember and appreciate every individual we are here to remember. Each of them was special to you, and to me as their Duke.” He named each man aloud, making sure the mourners understood the depth of his feelings as well. This was an Atreides expression of care for his people. It was not an action that the Padishah Emperor could comprehend.

  He looked down at the beautiful lily wreaths. “Paul, would you help me?” His son came forward, and together they picked up the first woven wreath. Leto spoke Arko’s name, set the wreath in the water, and nudged it to drift out into the moonlit cove. Paul picked up a second one without Leto prompting him, spoke a second name, and they set the wreath adrift. Leto smiled proudly at him.

  Jessica named a third person who had been lost. Working together, the three of them placed all the wreaths on the water. The flowers drifted gracefully away on the gentle ripples. The full moon lit the somber group and somehow lifted them up.

  A few moments later, Leto heard a muttering sound and turned, gazing out at the calm waters of the sea, where the wreaths continued to float. This protected cove was home to many luminous jellyfish that now swam forward, drawn to the floating flower wreaths. Like a galaxy of pale blue stars, the glowing creatures clustered around the flowers and escorted them out to sea, as if souls were wafting away into the deep currents.

  The people at the honorance gasped, and Leto even saw a few smiles among them. He loved these people. He never wished to do them wrong. He looked at the silvery jellyfish and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Then he glanced at Paul and Jessica beside him, the other two pillars of his strong family. He turned to face his people and raised his voice.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  YOUNG PAUL WAS consumed with sudden thoughts of mortality. In the great dining hall of Castle Caladan, he stared at the monstrous bull’s head and the blood of his grandfather still on the horns. Years ago, Leto had told him the story. “It is an Atreides tale for you to know and never forget, but do not cry when you think about it. Remember your grandfather’s strength, and one day, you will be strong, as he was.”

  Though he was just a boy at the time, Paul had promised to be strong. “Yes, sir.”

  Now the mounted head was a striking reminder that his father had almost died, too. Countless innocent victims had been killed on Otorio. If Duke Leto had been in a different part of the reception hall, if that Sardaukar officer hadn’t rushed him to the escape lighter—almost on a whim!—Leto would have been vaporized along with the rest of the complex.

  A chill ran down the young man’s back. Although his father had gone to the Imperial gala without enthusiasm, he had done it to fulfill his political obligations, representing House Atreides and Caladan. And he had nearly died, an innocent victim of a terrorist attack. Such a thin line of mortality!

  Thinking back, Paul couldn’t even remember if he had said goodbye to his father before the Duke set off for Otorio. It was likely just a casual farewell without any notion that it could have been the last time he ever saw Leto.

  If the Duke of Caladan had died, where would that have left Paul and his mother? He was the only son, the heir apparent … but did a fourteen-year-old boy have enough political acumen to hold House Atreides against what would surely have been strong political maneuvers in the Landsraad? Sensing weakness, would some other family have tried to oust the illegitimate Atreides son?

  He realized that same situation must be happening on scores of worlds even now, in the wake of Otorio.

  Paul took a long breath, his gaze unfocused. He felt frustrated. Duke Leto wanted the best for his family fortunes and for his son. He made sure that Paul trained hard, with the most intense instructors, and the young man did his best to meet expectations. His father placed a heavy burden on him, and Paul placed the same on himself.

  As the young man stood unobtrusively in the dining hall, the chief server, a dark-skinned man in formal castle livery, tested the spiderlike poison snoopers dangling over the long table. Humming quietly to himself, the server held a plate of carefully measured poisonous powders and liquids beneath each detector. Small indicators turned red as he moved down the length of the table, and then reverted to green when he passed. All the while, Thufir Hawat monitored the calibration from the doorway with a dour expression, plainly not satisfied, but that was the way of the chief of security.

  One of the snoopers failed, and Hawat barked orders to a man in work clothes. “Replace this entire unit, and I want to see it tested again.”

  The man hurried out of the hall to get a replacement.

  Paul appreciated their attentiveness. Even here on Caladan, they could not let down their guard and had to worry about a new War of Assassins, like the one he and Duncan barely survived a year ago. There were rules governing inter-House warfare, and each noble knew them, but mistakes happened, excuses were made, exceptions slipped through
the cracks.…

  Paul took nothing for granted, knowing full well he would be the primary target for any enemies, because he represented the future of House Atreides. Duke Leto had once told him the harsh truth. “To lose my son is to lose our future.” Thus, he insisted that Paul always remain alert, practice situational awareness, and never fail to have a contingency plan. Disturbing words, and hard to hear, but Paul would rather know the truth than be left in ignorance of it. His father’s next statement, though, stood out like a beacon in his memory: “Prepare to live.”

  Paul faced other challenges appropriate for the son of a Duke. In the strict nobility rules of the Imperium, he was still only a bastard, an “assumed” heir. Leto had named Jessica his bound concubine, which provided some security, but everything could change if political expediency required his father to marry some other noble daughter, as he had almost done with Ilesa Ecaz. Leto had promised Jessica that would not happen again, that he did not intend to accept any other offer of marriage. Paul wanted to believe him.

  If Leto had died on Otorio, Paul knew that Thufir, Gurney, Duncan, and the Atreides troops would remain loyal to him as the Duke’s son, but Emperor Shaddam IV could easily reassign the fief and deliver Caladan to some other noble house. It was unsettling to consider.

  Though he loved and even revered his father, Paul also resented him for not marrying his mother. The decision was wise in one way, foolish in another. As Thufir might have said during one of his intense thought exercises, Paul was not an objective observer in such matters.

  Finished with calibrating the poison snoopers, the chief server and his companions departed, leaving Paul alone in the hall. On a side table, he found paper and a stylus and took them to his customary place at the table, to his father’s right-hand side. He needed to organize and record his thoughts. He stared at the blank surface, trying to will his emotions into words.