“Wellan made trips up north to inspect the moonfish pools and the processing fisheries,” Leto said, making connections in his mind. “But it seems he also made unscheduled appearances inland near the pundi rice paddies in the northern wilderness.”
Hawat assisted the Duke, but his eyes had a faraway expression. As a Mentat, he was always at his best, alert, organizing details in his mind. “I have not applied my thoughts to Minister Wellan before, but certain data points do not align. I should have been suspicious sooner.”
The Mentat’s eyes became distant again, assembling additional connections, conversations, and encounters with unexpected personnel. “Perhaps a review of the house guard is in order. I recall three instances in which I witnessed Wellan speaking to a certain lieutenant … someone with whom he should have had no direct business.”
Dr. Yueh finally rushed in, disheveled. Wellington Yueh was a small-statured, intense man with a drawn face, sallow complexion, and lips the color of bruises. His long, dark hair was bound in a single ponytail held by a silver ring. He was a doctor of the Suk School, formerly in service to House Richese. In recent years, Yueh had remained on Caladan as the House Atreides personal physician. A diamond tattoo in the middle of his forehead indicated his deep Imperial conditioning.
The Suk doctor rushed to the convulsing patient. He slapped an injector against Wellan’s neck, glanced down at the brown remnant of barra fern on the desk, recognized it. “Oh no.”
“It is some kind of rustic drug called ailar,” Leto said. “He is reacting badly.”
The minister’s convulsions grew worse, and his staring eyes became as red as a demon’s and filled with blood.
“I have seen this before, my Duke. An extraordinarily potent strain of the barra fern that releases a high concentration of ailar. At this stage, there is little—”
“Do something!” Leto said.
Yueh opened his medpack, touched monitors to the patient so he could read his biological functions. When Wellan’s thrashing slowed, Leto thought the minister had improved, but in fact, his condition was declining. Wellan’s entire body slumped, as if melting.
The doctor stood back, dark lips downturned in a frown that etched the lines deeper in his face. “He has a severe brain hemorrhage that I would not be able to relieve even with immediate surgery, I’m afraid. We are merely here to watch him die, my Lord.”
“How can you be so sure, Yueh? Don’t give up like that!”
The Suk doctor pressed his lips together. “Because no more than an hour ago, I treated an identical case in the guard quarters, and I have noted a rash of ailar overdoses in Cala City, especially in the low-town, the taverns, and boathouses. All were fatal.”
Leto couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Such deaths are commonplace?”
“Alarmingly so, Sire. And spreading farther.”
The words of Lord Atikk echoed in his mind. Your Caladan drug killed my son!
“How is this drug here in Cala City? And in my castle? How has this drug infiltrated my people?”
Yueh stepped away from the dying minister. “I am merely a doctor, my Lord. Those are answers I cannot provide.”
“Who was the other victim?” Hawat demanded. “You said you just lost another person from ailar. In the guard quarters?”
“That is why I was slow to respond here.” Yueh’s long, dark mustaches emphasized his deep frown. “Apologies, but it would not have made any difference to Minister Wellan.”
The man twitched one more time and let out a long gurgle, a death rattle. Yueh touched his hand and closed his red-stained eyes.
“Who was the victim in the guard quarters?” Hawat asked again.
The Suk doctor glanced up. “A lieutenant named Nupree. He died in the same way.”
The Caladan drug … Leto knew of only one source of the ailar. “Barra ferns are used in a Muadh ritual, growing wild in the deep northern wilderness. Minister Wellan went up there on several trips that did not make sense. By his own request, Lieutenant Nupree led security on my recent expedition to the pundi rice farmers. There is a clear connection. They all went up to the area of the Muadh village.”
Hawat’s expression was grave. “Nupree is the officer I spoke of, my Lord. Minister Wellan and Lieutenant Nupree were observed meeting several times, but I could think of no reason they would have any business together. There was no explanation.”
“Until now.” Leto looked at the shriveled remnants of the half-consumed fern. “How is this happening among my people?” He thought of the Archvicar and his deacons passing around baskets full of the shriveled plant. “I want it stopped at once.”
When you listen to the voices of power, do not heed only the loudest. Those that whisper may yield greater knowledge.
—Bene Gesserit training manual, Studies in Influence
The Silver Needle thrust above the skyline of Kaitain with liquid metal curves. The CHOAM administrative building was a prominent landmark, drawing so much attention that no one thought to look for the company’s real center of power hidden on Tupile.
After her necessary speech in the Landsraad Hall, and then the meeting with Empress Aricatha, Malina Aru had withdrawn to the Silver Needle, where she could seal herself behind plaz doors and pentashields.
No one challenged the Ur-Director when she entered the soaring complex. With the speed of a projectile, an accelerated lift took her to the pinnacle, and she emerged unruffled in the headquarters of CHOAM’s figurehead President.
Frankos stood waiting for her when the lift doors slid aside, as if he had anticipated the precise second of her arrival. “The others are here, Mother.” He bowed slightly. “They await your guidance.”
“My guidance will come after I hear their input,” she said, stepping briskly forward. “The upper-echelon Directors of CHOAM are selected for their wisdom and imagination. I am not an autocrat.”
“Of course, Mother.” Frankos gave her a knowing smile.
Her older son had an air of maturity and respectability. Dark hair salted with silver gave him a distinguished look, while his smooth, tanned face and sharp blue-gray eyes implied confident energy. His appearance matched the role he had to play. Frankos had served as CHOAM President for a decade, and he performed exactly as Malina had taught him to.
As President, he made the public appearances his mother did not want to make. Standing in front of the yellow CHOAM banner with its red-and-black circles, he would issue public announcements about company policy. He occupied offices at the apex of the Silver Needle and held the highest rank of the thousand CHOAM Directors across the Imperium.
Because Malina enhanced her health and slowed her visible aging through a steady diet of spice, the mother looked the same age as her son. Both had been crafted to exude power through training, expectations, and poise.
Frankos gestured her toward the closed onyxwood doors of the main conference room. Two monolithic guards stood motionless outside, staring down the hall.
Malina led the way. “Are Har and Kar inside? You’ve cared for them?”
“Of course, and they are content, though they will be glad to see you.” His voice took on an amused undertone. “I think Duke Verdun is intimidated by them.”
“He should be.” Warmed by the thought of seeing her pets, she approached the guards in front of the closed onyx doors. The men looked like boulders with arms and legs, but they moved nimbly to open the door for her. She entered the conference room, where several other key allied Directors sat around the mirror-polished table. As soon as the doors opened, the high-ranking men and women rose respectfully to their feet.
“Welcome, Urdir,” said old Rajiv Londine in his reedy voice. The elder lord wore intense red-and-violet colors, as if to show his verve for life.
Viscount Giandro Tull bowed as he rose. “Urdir.” In contrast to Lord Londine, he wore brown-and-charcoal formal business attire. He was a young and handsome man, only recently installed in his position after the unexpected death of
his father.
Duke Fausto Verdun took a step toward her, smiling. He had long, wavy hair and a stylish Vandyke beard and mustache, artfully pointed and waxed. Four others also stood to acknowledge her arrival. It was a tight inner circle.
Malina, though, turned her attention to the bristling silver spinehounds crouched beside her daughter, Jalma, who remained seated holding their krimskell collars. Har and Kar were eager to see their mistress, but well enough trained that they waited for her to stroll toward them. Malina gently stroked the hard gray needles that comprised the animals’ fur, scratched behind the spikes in their upright ears. Such beautiful animals, created and perfected by Tleilaxu breeding and genetic manipulation. Their long and terrifying teeth could rip a human apart in seconds, but Malina was not afraid.
With one command, she could turn the spinehounds loose on everyone in this room, but she didn’t have to. That was why she had summoned these important men and women to the secret CHOAM meeting. The Noble Commonwealth movement needed them and trusted them.
After she had paid appropriate attention to her hounds, Malina finally acknowledged the rest of the attendees in the room. The seven high-echelon Directors remained standing out of respect, each wearing the colors of their Houses and the garment styles of their planets.
As if they had all held their breaths until the Urdir’s arrival, the conversation flooded back louder, overlapping voices trying to get her attention. She took a seat next to Jalma, and in doing so became the anchor that defined the head of the irregularly shaped table. The two spinehounds came to take up positions next to her. She was pleased to see that they looked healthy and eager.
Jalma wore a dress overburdened with ornate but prim finery, as was the custom on Pliesse. Over her years of being married to the wealthy and frail old Count Uchan, she had adopted the local customs and now wore such constraining clothes as if they were her due.
Duke Fausto Verdun leaned forward and spoke as if he intended to earn points from the Ur-Director. “Before we begin, let me express my deepest sympathy to Lady Jalma at the loss of her husband on Otorio.” He shook his head, made a soothing sound. “So many nobles died there. The Landsraad will be reeling for generations.”
“Indeed, a terrible tragedy,” said Lord Londine.
Jalma’s face remained impassive, showing not a hint of grief. “Thank you for your condolences. The Pliesse government remains stable. With my husband’s long-standing ailments, I myself had to conduct more and more of the daily affairs.”
Malina gave her daughter a respectful nod, affirming the story they had concocted. “It was your husband’s last wish to see the lovely new Corrino museum on Otorio. I’m glad he got that opportunity before he died.”
She knew full well that Count Uchan had never even left his deathbed in the old family mansion on Pliesse, but falsified records now showed that he had traveled to Otorio, where he’d perished in the explosion. None of the survivors would remember whether or not he had attended the gala reception, and his body would never be found. Everything for a kilometer around the impact point had been vaporized.
Years ago, Jalma had married Count Uchan, an older, powerful Landsraad noble who controlled seven planets, including Pliesse. Soon after the marriage, Jalma dominated House Uchan, received a power of attorney that enabled her to speak for her increasingly frail and confused husband. The Count had not been seen in public for the past five years. Malina knew that the doddering old man had actually fallen into a coma, unable to interfere with Jalma’s work.
Upon learning of the Otorio disaster, Jalma had reacted swiftly, manufacturing the story and the evidence, which became an effective way to erase the pustule of a husband she had endured for so long. Jalma had killed him herself, erased his remains, and secured her power over the House.
Malina approved, though she wished her daughter had asked permission before taking such impulsive action, but she understood there had been no time. At least that was one silver lining from Jaxson’s outrageous act. The Aru family had learned to be flexible, to seize opportunities.
Now in the meeting, Frankos also expressed insincere condolences to his sister. He knew, of course, what had actually happened. He took the seat beside Jalma and deferred to his mother as the leader of the meeting.
Malina called the group to order. “We begin by stating the obvious. We must discuss and understand what my foolish son Jaxson has done. What do we say, how do we respond? And how can CHOAM benefit from it?”
“Benefit?” asked Duke Verdun. “He has eviscerated the Landsraad, disrupted commerce across hundreds of systems! We are Landsraad nobles, each of us, but we are also CHOAM Directors. Your son’s act unravels the fabric of the Imperium.”
“Our objective is to unravel the fabric of the Imperium,” said Rajiv Londine. “Is that not the stated purpose of the Noble Commonwealth? Is that what you mean, Urdir? Can we use your son’s act to expand our work?”
“We have the same goal as my foolish son, but fundamentally different methods,” Malina said.
“The Noble Commonwealth has worked steadily for generations,” said Viscount Tull, “but now our careful plans are ruined.” He groaned deep in his chest. “Through constant, gradual pressure, we have weakened the underpinnings of the Imperium and continued to spread our ideals.”
“It was taking hold,” Malina said, “but now we must survive and adapt. What Jaxson did is already done.” She should have planned better, should have anticipated her younger son’s outrage and impetuous behavior, but she had not grasped how deeply the desecration of the family estate would affect Jaxson.
A crack finally showed on Frankos’s businesslike expression. “I remember my brother sitting in this very room, listening in on official CHOAM meetings.” He shook his head. “Jaxson always seemed unstable, out of place. I thought we were beginning to rein him in, make him see the bigger picture. But what he just did…”
“When Jaxson decides on a goal, he is as focused as a lasbeam,” Jalma said. “He saw only a hot red targeting cross in front of him instead of the whole plan.”
“We cannot undo the attack on Otorio no matter how much we complain,” Malina repeated. “But we must be careful to mitigate what we can. Shaddam is already volatile and capricious. After such destruction, if the Emperor becomes reactionary, that would harm us. We must deflect him.”
“He’s already imposed a heavy new spice surtax!” groaned one of the more introspective upper Directors, Earl Leeper. “Even I cannot afford it, no matter how desperate my need for melange may become. People are going to die of withdrawal. They are not able to live without spice.”
“We will find a way around it,” Malina said.
“Your son has exposed the Noble Commonwealth, set back all the progress we made!” huffed Fausto Verdun. His voice was so loud that both spinehounds began to growl, and the Duke sat back, looking nervous.
Malina extended her hands on either side of her chair, and Har and Kar took solace in licking her palms. “You Directors understand the intricacies of commerce—supply and demand. The Otorio disaster disrupted normal trade routes, and with so much uncertainty in the Landsraad, the markets are falling. We must find a way to arrest the economic collapse.”
“We should arrest your son, bring him to justice. Then the markets would calm,” Verdun grumbled, then clamped his lips shut as the spinehounds growled again.
“I do not know where he is,” Malina said, and it was a true statement. “He has cut off ties with me as well.”
Old Rajiv Londine, a quiet and reserved man despite his garish colors, expressed his frustration. “Our forefathers developed a long-term plan for the independence of thousands of planets. Now Jaxson’s attack not only provokes the Emperor, it also turns countless potential sympathizers into enemies.”
Viscount Tull nodded, tugging the sleeve of his charcoal suit. He was still uncertain of his position in the inner circle, but he filled his father’s shoes well. “For a long time, rumors about the Noble
Commonwealth were dismissed or ignored. We were very careful! But Jaxson’s manifesto shone a beacon on all our work, and the fool Shaddam is paying close attention. He sees it as a personal affront. We are not ready to unravel the whole Imperium yet.”
“By design, Jaxson killed only those nobles who are not allied with our cause,” Malina pointed out, reluctant to entirely disown and destroy her son, despite her words in the Landsraad Hall. “No one from CHOAM officially attended the museum ceremony. All of our secret loyalists were instructed to make excuses—even without knowing what my son intended.” She sighed. “I had meant it as a quiet snub of House Corrino.”
Jalma’s face bore a pinched expression. “Many have dual loyalties between CHOAM and the Landsraad, Mother. Our movement did lose some allies.”
“Then they made their choice,” she said, resting her elbows on the mirror-polished table. “I suspected Jaxson might do something unwise, but I never guessed the sheer magnitude of his violence.” She braced herself, squared her shoulders. “Yet we are resilient. In fact, my son’s blatant violence helps us camouflage the Noble Commonwealth’s true work. We can make use of this.”
Frankos sat up straighter, looking at his mother with surprise and even a glint of hope. “How so?”
“Your brother is unpredictable, but at times, he serves a purpose. His action was like a red flag in a bullfight, and he will draw the full attention of Shaddam and his Sardaukar forces. They will be busy hunting him down.” She rose from her chair, and the two spinehounds climbed to their feet, shaking themselves vigorously so that their silver spines fluffed out like the thorns of a thistle.
Malina swung her gaze around the irregular table, looking at her children and the inner-circle Directors. These were only a handful of the secret supporters of the Noble Commonwealth. “You heard my address in the Landsraad Hall. I personally disavowed Jaxson, broke ties with my own son, although that was merely a formality. He is my son and will always be my son. I believe Jaxson will come back into the fold, and we can use him. For now, he will draw attention while we continue to quietly dismantle the Imperium.”
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 17