Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  Meanwhile, as the preparations were made, he came out to stand under the statues and be at peace. His people knew he was a private man and granted him space. His thoughts were far away when a stranger stepped up to him. “As Duke, you hold the planet in your hands. Will you do what is best for all these people?”

  He turned to see a man dressed in a common fisherman’s outfit, high boots, a vest with many pockets to carry tools, a waterproof gray cloak. His thick eyebrows were like dark caterpillars on his brow, his hair black and curly with just a hint of silver, like a cloud of black smoke. But the face and skin did not belong to a man who had endured sea weather all his life. To the contrary, his features looked patrician.

  Leto froze as he recognized the face. He had seen only a solido-hologram of the man, hundreds of identical images projected across the Corrino museum complex on Otorio. Jaxson Aru!

  His hand instantly went to his personal shield and dagger. “I know who you are.”

  Jaxson responded with a hard laugh that held no humor. “Just as I know you, Duke Leto Atreides! That is why I came here, because we have much to discuss.”

  “You’re a butcher. So many innocents died on Otorio! I barely escaped with my own life … and so many didn’t.”

  The terrorist did not act the least bit disturbed. “I’m glad you survived, and you should know you were never a target, not specifically. You are not part of the corrupt Corrino web that has to be destroyed. House Atreides is known for its honor. That’s why I’ve paid special attention to you.” Jaxson spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the nearby surf, the conversation of families, the laughing children. “I think you could be an important member of the Noble Commonwealth. We need planetary leaders like yourself.”

  Appalled, Leto took a half step back. His cloak whipped around his shoulders in a gust of wind. “I would never agree. I witnessed what you did.”

  Jaxson showed no guilt. “It was necessary action, part of a cleansing process.”

  Leto clenched the hilt of his dueling dagger. The rebel leader could not be allowed to get away with his horrific crime. From what he could see, Jaxson Aru did not even wear a personal shield. Leto could call his guards, summon Atreides security, and bring this man to Imperial justice.

  Jaxson noticed his shift, raised his eyebrows. “Leto, I came here to have a conversation. Don’t even think about trying to attack me, or have me arrested. I’ve taken precautions.” He gazed wistfully at the towering statues, the families picnicking on the grass, the fishermen dangling their lines in the water, the children running about. He seemed so calm, so confident.

  “What precautions?”

  “Before I approached you, I spent considerable time and effort planting explosives in these statues and in numerous places around Cala City. I can detonate some or all of them, however I wish.” He paused for a tense moment. “Would you like to see your own people massacred just like those ridiculous nobles on Otorio? All I ask is a few moments of your time.”

  Leto felt ice down his spine, and he did not move. “This is how you attempt to recruit me to your cause? By threatening the wholesale slaughter of my people?”

  His mind raced to understand how so many bombs could have been planted without being detected by Atreides security forces. Thufir Hawat would never have allowed such a lapse. Was the terrorist just bluffing?

  Jaxson’s eyes crackled with intensity. “Listen to me carefully, and don’t misunderstand, or underestimate, our cause. Caladan is a perfect candidate to stand against the oppressive and stagnant Imperium. You could have your own planetary defenses, your own commerce, your own independence. Why should you pay your share of an exorbitant spice surtax just because Shaddam is incensed at me? Why should you pay for that ridiculous and extravagant eyesore on Otorio in the first place?”

  Leto hardened his gaze even more. He had indeed felt the burden on the Caladan treasury when the Otorio construction began.

  Jaxson’s heavy eyebrows drew together. “You know what the Noble Commonwealth hopes to achieve, and you know in your heart we are right. House Atreides has been a pawn of Corrino schemes more than once. Oh, here on Caladan, you give a cold shoulder to Imperial politics and machinations, but you know how corrupt, petty, and manipulative Shaddam Corrino can be.”

  “I saw you murder thousands just to draw attention to yourself.” Leto noticed a pair of city guards, but they were a distance away, talking with a couple who seemed to be asking them for information. He could wave, signal them to come running.…

  Jaxson was dismissive. “They were all sycophants to the corrupt Corrino Imperium. Even you, Leto, went to Otorio to bow before Shaddam IV, a man with the blood of countless millions on his hands.” His lips folded into a wry grimace. “The nobles may think they are innocent, but each is complicit by supporting a system that has lasted ten thousand years.”

  The city guards hadn’t noticed Leto yet, or if they did, they were giving him space. With the threat of the hidden bombs, the Duke did not dare summon them. Did Jaxson have the detonator there on his person? This madman had already proved himself to be capable of extravagant violence.

  Standing close, as if they were just two men talking about the weather, Jaxson made a passionate entreaty that did not sound rehearsed. “Think of all the inter-House warfare and family feuds over the centuries resulting in countless deaths. House Atreides versus House Harkonnen, House Ecaz versus House Moritani. You know about the extermination of House Kolona when you were young—your own father participated in that plot.” He lowered his voice. “And I admire you for trying to rectify that injustice after you became Duke. It shows what kind of man you are. I admire your core principles.”

  Leto remained guarded. He remembered the scandal and uproar, the overthrow of House Kolona, the extermination of the family. Duke Paulus had always regretted being blackmailed into the ignoble deed. After his father died, Leto had discovered that the entire scheme originated with Emperor Elrood IX, and Leto had returned the stolen planetary holdings to distaff cousins of House Kolona, removing the stain from Atreides honor.

  “The Noble Commonwealth is a fanciful notion that bored people discuss in drawing rooms,” Leto said. He remembered Armand Ecaz and several nobles discussing it in the Imperial Monolith. Lord Atikk had been part of that small group. “But what you did on Otorio proved the movement is brutal and shameful. Why should I want anything to do with what it stands for?”

  Jaxson laughed. “Then you do not know what we stand for.”

  Oddly, there was something appealing about the man’s manner, his charisma. He seemed almost convincing, although Leto considered him as dangerous as a viper. Leto said, “Even a Duke cannot simply declare independence for Caladan. The Emperor’s Sardaukar would slaughter everyone on this world.”

  Leto did not like what he had just heard himself say, but at least the rebel was listening, rather than threatening to detonate the bombs and kill more innocent people. And Leto was buying a moment of time.

  Jaxson shrugged. “Shaddam does indeed have that capability, but if Caladan declares independence along with a thousand other worlds, and if the Spacing Guild cooperates by delaying certain Heighliners to sidetrack Imperial troop movements, the Emperor could never put out so many brush fires at once. The Imperium would fall apart before he could do anything about it.” The rebel’s eyes took on a deeper intensity. “But we must begin by setting all those brush fires! The Noble Commonwealth needs you, Duke Leto Atreides.”

  Leto could only think of all those who had been killed on Otorio, the indiscriminate destruction. Before he could speak, the other man pointed out in a reasonable voice, “There is no such thing as a peaceful, bloodless civil war.”

  “I don’t want a civil war of any kind.”

  A flash of disgust crossed Jaxson’s face. “You do not even know what you want! Consider my offer, Duke Leto. Isn’t the promise of true freedom and economic independence worth expending a little effort, enduring a little pain?”

&n
bsp; Leto hardened his own response. “I am a citizen of the Imperium and a member of the Landsraad. I will not join your movement. It is my duty to turn you in.”

  Jaxson sniffed and turned to watch a whitecap that crashed into the end of the promontory. “Come now, Leto. I have done my research. You are not a person who scrambles for wealth or fawns over Imperial favor. You are a respected man of independence. That is why I came to present you with my proposal. And I know that you, a man of good conscience, will give it due consideration.”

  Leto had gone out here to be alone, to look at the memorials to his father and his lost son, but apparently Jaxson Aru knew he would be alone. Like a confidence man finding a mark. Troubling thoughts roiled through the Duke’s mind. “You are an outlaw. The entire Imperium is searching for you. If Emperor Shaddam knew you were here, a legion of Sardaukar would descend on Caladan.”

  Jaxson seemed amused by the idea. “But the Emperor does not know. He has no idea of my movements or whereabouts, and you will not tell him. Would you really want the Emperor’s special forces to swarm over your lovely planet?”

  “If that is what justice requires,” Leto said.

  “I came here meaning no harm to you.” The rebel leader shrugged. “I just want to talk.”

  “Talk? While you threaten my people with bombs?”

  Jaxson pouted. “Only to get your attention. My visit was not wasted, because I have begun a dialogue with you. I gave you things to think about. You don’t know it, but I find myself on Caladan on occasion. We can speak again later, after you have had time to consider.”

  “You need to face justice for what you did.”

  “Justice, yes, that is what I seek. Just remember what I said to you.”

  When Leto bristled, Jaxson swirled his fisherman’s cloak around him and prepared to leave. “You have a choice to make, a difficult but important choice.” He gave a rakish laugh in parting. “If you wanted only simple choices, perhaps you should have been a fisherman instead of a Duke.”

  Jaxson stalked off, folding himself among the other people gathered there.

  We operate on the fringes of rules and of Imperial law. In these nether regions between destruction and success the most money is made.

  —ENGER RISTOS, Guild Banker

  Shaddam Corrino IV received many briefings in various forms and from numerous sources, but this morning, he read a report so disturbing that he skipped breakfast with his dear Empress Aricatha.

  The initial report of income generated by his new spice surtax had proved disappointing. He had established the surtax to fill the hole in the treasury left by the gigantic, expensive, and now-vaporized Corrino museum complex, but the increased income was far less than he had expected.

  He was upset with his financial experts and their now-useless projections. Hasimir Fenring had clearly warned him of the risks of such a high surtax. The price of melange was already prohibitively high, due to the outrageous cost of production. The Arrakis environment wrecked equipment regularly, destroying expensive harvesters and spice factories. Baron Harkonnen had reported five harvesters destroyed or scuttled in just the past month, due to sandworm attacks and an exceptionally heavy storm season.

  His surtax had pushed melange above the price where anyone but the wealthy could afford it, which had resulted in a precipitous decline in use. Worse, the tightening market was causing great unrest among nobles, merchants, and businessmen who consumed spice but could no longer purchase what they needed. Instead, as a poor substitute, they turned to alternative, illicit euphoric drugs.

  Because of the disruption and inconvenience, they were also less reticent about voicing complaints about House Corrino, and that, in turn, played directly into the hands of the Noble Commonwealth rebels who were busily spreading sedition. Violent scoundrels like Jaxson Aru must be laughing at his conundrum.

  Shaddam needed time alone in his private contemplation chamber to review the report. His young daughters Josifa and Rugi came to him dressed in colorful gowns. They asked permission to throw a party in the palace orchards, which were just now blossoming, but he sent them away, telling them to consult with Aricatha. He knew the Empress would do the right thing.

  Sighing, he concentrated on all the information in the surtax summary, a dizzying roil of numbers. A forensic accounting traced spice sales and distribution, along with careful records of all harvesting and processing on Arrakis, tracked almost down to the kilogram. As his Imperial Spice Observer, Count Fenring watched every Harkonnen move with a careful eye, and he had even interrogated his smuggler contacts. The melange records seemed to be accurate. But off.

  The Mentat accountants insisted that they saw something missing, a gap where there should have been none. Some of the tracked usage of spice did not have corresponding sales channels. Their conclusions were fourth- and fifth-order projections, subtleties beyond subtleties, and Shaddam simply could not follow it all. He tightened the sash of his embroidered formal robe and carried the rolled instroy parchment of the report as he left his contemplation chamber and strode toward his throne room.

  Reverend Mother Mohiam stood waiting at the entrance to the audience chamber. He was surprised to see her back from Wallach IX. He had not seen his Truthsayer in some time, not since she had rushed off—without requesting his permission—on some errand back at the Bene Gesserit Mother School. She had left an apologetic message claiming that in this emergency her obligations to the Sisterhood superseded any duties for the Emperor, and she was gone before he could argue with her. He had keenly felt her absence.

  Seeing him, Mohiam lowered her eyes in a respectful manner. He resented the fact that she had been gone when he needed her to help review candidates for the empty seats in the Landsraad. Now he confronted her. “You and your damnable witch Sisters. What have you been up to?”

  The Reverend Mother was reserved, deferential. “We exist only to serve, Sire. Our Sisterhood furthers the cause of humankind.”

  “And does it further the cause of this throne?”

  She bowed again, even deeper. He was surprised the old woman was so limber. “The Imperium represents humanity. The Sisterhood has never done anything to hinder your rule, Sire. How may I assist you now?”

  She followed as he entered and climbed to the shimmering throne. Despite his frustration, he was oddly comforted to have his Truthsayer at his side again. Count Fenring also waited for him in the audience chamber, having just returned from his own trip to Arrakis and prepared to give a report on spice operations. With Mohiam and Fenring here, at last he would receive good, reliable advice. They could get to the bottom of this damnable report.

  Dressed in a white lace tunic with billowing sleeves and black trousers, Count Fenring approached the throne with supple moves like a dancer. Though he was glad to see his childhood friend, Shaddam thrust the instroy pages at Fenring. “There are serious shortfalls, Hasimir. I suspect that someone is cheating me, somehow. My Mentat accountants have raised a faint specter of impropriety. I must know the merits of their suspicions.”

  Fenring scrutinized the report and the veiled conclusions. With eyes flicking back and forth, he absorbed the summary, then reviewed the original data. “Ahhh, hmmm, they suspect that melange is somehow leaving Arrakis without being accounted for. There is a leak in some distribution channel.”

  “Your smugglers are getting out of control. I will no longer tolerate it.”

  Fenring was taken aback. “Hmmm-ahh, the smugglers are carefully monitored, and they know their place. We choose not to notice their operations in exchange for information they provide. We would not want to lose that source of valuable data.”

  “They are cheating us.” Shaddam looked down at the report. “It is clear that they are selling spice elsewhere without reporting the income, or paying the agreed-upon bribes.”

  “Esmar Tuek is aware of his tenuous position, Sire. He keeps his crew under tight scrutiny, mmmmm, and I keep them all under careful observation. It may not be them.”
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  The Emperor didn’t believe it. “Obviously, they have another channel of spice export, beyond your purview. We must learn what they are doing and punish them accordingly.”

  Fenring perfunctorily studied the report again, but he did not seem surprised by the results he saw. “I, ahhhh, received a copy of this an hour ago. I have already enlisted Grix Dardik to analyze it as, mmmmm, a check on your own Mentat accountants. I expect he will have insights.”

  Shaddam frowned at the mention of the odd man. “You depend too much on that failed Mentat. You could afford someone better.”

  “Hmmmm, ‘better’ is a subjective term. I am attracted to his unorthodox methods and conclusions. I salvaged Dardik from the trash heap of Imperial history.”

  “Then let us see if he can provide a satisfactory explanation.” Shaddam leaned back to wait. The two men knew each other too well.

  One of the court functionaries hurried away and soon returned with a hesitant, jittery Dardik, who seemed confused. His oversized head lolled to one side, and his gaze wandered, as if the man were trapped inside his body and wanted to escape.

  The Count took him by the arm, and led him toward the throne. The Sardaukar guards stood wary, as if afraid the Mentat might lunge toward the Emperor. Fenring turned the slender man to face the throne and shook him by the shoulders. He said apologetically to the Emperor, “He is deep in his projections and analyses, Sire.”

  The failed Mentat reached into a fold in his tunic and withdrew a vial of sapho juice, which he gulped. A drop of the blood-red liquid ran from the corner of his mouth.

  Count Fenring snapped, “Tell His Majesty what you said about Imperial spice shortages.”

  “Spice, spice, spice…” Dardik stared at the floor, not meeting the Emperor’s gaze. Suddenly, his expression brightened, and he grinned up at the throne with stained lips. “Ah, you want to know where all the missing spice is! How it is being sold through illicit channels!”