Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  Emperor Shaddam took an exasperated breath. “My Mentat accountants have already identified a suspected problem. What else can you add? How are the smugglers selling spice that my observers cannot see?”

  Dardik let out an odd chuckle. “Smugglers are not your problem. The smugglers are, dare I say, quite honest.”

  “Honest smugglers?” The Emperor glared at Fenring. “That is his conclusion?”

  The failed Mentat’s head bobbed. “Many things pass through my mind, Your Greatness. In my detailed projections, yes, these smugglers are more honest than many. They operate in the shadows, but in full view of Count Fenring. He sees. He knows.”

  “Then how does so much spice slip away without being accounted for?” Shaddam asked. “And without paying my surtax? Baron Harkonnen is under the most intense scrutiny. There must be a secondary channel.”

  “I project … another spice operation behind the scenes. A new operation.” The eccentric Mentat began to hum in an odd, irritating imitation of Fenring’s mannerisms. “Completely different.”

  “Details, man, details! What are the details?”

  Dardik looked up suddenly. “Details?”

  “How did you arrive at that conclusion?”

  With an arrogant stare, he replied, “Sire, a Mentat cannot unpack his mind to a non-Mentat.”

  Shaddam looked up at the ornate, painted ceiling, counted slowly to himself in an effort to remain calm. “Where is this behind-the-scenes spice operation you refer to? Who is running it?”

  “I don’t know where, and I don’t know who.”

  Frustration flared in Shaddam, but Mohiam moved quickly to his side, whispering, “He does not lie to you, Sire. He makes his projections, but is not capable of explaining how he arrived at his conclusion.”

  The Emperor looked at the old Truthsayer in her black robes, then turned to Fenring, considering the new information. He sighed. “Hasimir, you are my Imperial Spice Observer. Find the answers. Go back to Arrakis and dig deeper.” He softened his voice. “That is an area in which you excel, old friend.”

  * * *

  AFTER THE COUNT had withdrawn with his eccentric Mentat, Shaddam sat through another meeting, a request to mediate the dispute between two feuding noblemen. Both were allies he needed, but the Emperor was too preoccupied, and he dismissed them without even hearing their arguments. He stalked out of the audience chamber and went back to his contemplation chamber.

  Mohiam remained in the empty throne room, pondering, assessing. In a sense, she felt like the peculiar Mentat, contemplating an array of incomprehensible facts.

  For now, though, she found it refreshing to deal with “normal” treachery again, the familiar workings of Imperial politics. Mother Superior Harishka had given her a specific task. Here, back at court, she would begin new overtures to the recalcitrant young Viscount Giandro Tull, hoping to restore at least a thread of Bene Gesserit influence on the important noble house.

  But the bulk of her thoughts remained on Wallach IX. Mother Superior Harishka had dispatched a summons to Caladan, demanding the presence of Jessica at the Mother School, so she could face Lethea.

  What was the murderous, unstable woman’s interest in Mohiam’s secret daughter?

  The head of a House Major is expected to be the mouthpiece for the Emperor’s law, the spokesman not only for his planet but for the Imperium. He is the arbiter of justice and must act as judge over his people because the Emperor cannot be there himself. Above all, in no decision or action should that leader disappoint or dishonor the Emperor.

  —Landsraad Rules and Code of Conduct, as submitted by CROWN PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO

  After Jaxson Aru vanished from the crowded area around the lighthouse statues, Thufir Hawat and Atreides security forces scoured the promontory and the park, searched around the immense monolithic statues, and ordered a full sweep of Cala City. The Atreides Mentat looked deeply troubled by the lapse in security, even embarrassed when he reported to the Duke that afternoon.

  He held a fat metal cylinder in his hands. “You asked me to search, my Lord. We found some surprises Jaxson left for you, but it … wasn’t what we expected.”

  Leto felt prickles of sweat on the back of his neck. He couldn’t take his eyes from the thick metal cylinder. “Is that one of the bombs?”

  “In a sense.” Hawat extended the cylinder and released a small access flap in the metal.

  Leto stiffened. “Has it been deactivated?”

  The security chief explained, without making excuses, “We did not initially detect these, Sire, because they contain no explosives. They pose no physical threat to our people.” Hawat reached inside and removed a strip of paper. “We found seven of them. Each one contains the same message.”

  Leto took the paper and read the words written by the terrorist. “‘I would never harm your people, Duke Leto. I would never commit such a reprehensible act against true innocents. I am sincere in my efforts to make you sympathetic to the Noble Commonwealth cause. I merely wanted to talk, to try to sway you. Please consider what I said, and remember that the Corrinos are the true villains here. Caladan has its honorable Duke, and that is all the planet needs, not an Imperial despot. I wish only prosperity for you, your world, and your people.’”

  Leto crumpled the paper and set it aside. “It was still a threat. Jaxson Aru showed us that he could harm us anytime he likes, if I do not cooperate.”

  “And will you cooperate, Sire?” The Mentat raised his bushy eyebrows.

  “Silence will be my only response—the safest response.”

  * * *

  LATE THAT AFTERNOON, four sleek Atreides attack flyers rested on the military field above Cala City. They were loaded with incendiaries and ready to depart for a swift and devastating firebombing run of the drug fields. Their hulls were heavily armored, and an Atreides hawk, a fierce bird of prey, stood out prominently on the fuselage. After they burned the barra fern field to ashes, the next phase would send additional ground troops to locate other camouflaged fields. The Duke was confident he would eradicate any cultivated areas with the potent drug ferns.

  With the cool sea breeze in his face, Leto admired the aircraft. With their articulated wings, the shielded flyers could soar swiftly overland, and their jet boosters could provide a burst of speed for faster aerial maneuvers. Paul stood next to him, as did Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck.

  “We will wipe them out, my Lord,” said Reeson, an officer in an impeccable flight suit, his rank insignia gleaming from its place on his chest. Captain Reeson had reddish hair that contrasted with his dark olive complexion. His lips were thin, highlighted by a neatly trimmed mustache. Three fellow pilots stood beside Reeson with matching military bearing.

  “Obliterate the fields and cut off the source of ailar,” Leto said. “I want to destroy the black market for this Caladan drug.”

  Hawat regarded the lined-up attack craft and spoke in a clipped voice to the four pilots. “You have the coordinates for the known field, but it is safe to assume there are other barra growths in the vicinity. The operations we uncovered at the moonfish processing plant suggest a substantial cultivated acreage. The amount of drug being harvested and distributed is far more than that lone caretaker could have managed.”

  “Ground troops will come mop them up, and they can hunt down and apprehend Chaen Marek,” Leto said. “But this is a first strike.”

  “We know what to look for, Sire,” said Reeson, and his fellow pilots nodded. “Sensor nets are tricky things, but a little operation out in the middle of nowhere can’t be too sophisticated.”

  “It certainly can be.” Hawat sounded skeptical. “We do not know how long these drug operations have been going on.”

  “No matter how long it’s been, the drug scourge ends today,” Leto said, his words laced with carefully modulated anger. “Caladan will not be the source of a deadly substance that harms my people and spreads throughout the Imperium.”

  Duncan Idaho looked cocky as he r
egarded the four attack ships about to depart. “Are you certain you do not want me to pilot, my Lord? The operation might require some fancy flying.”

  Paul stood beside him, bright-eyed and intense. “I can go with him. Duncan’s been training me.”

  “Sometimes I worry about what Duncan’s been teaching you,” Leto said with a hint of teasing. “I may need to hire a different pilot just to teach you proper safety precautions.”

  Duncan took mock offense. “I am preparing your son to deal with complex situations, my Lord. Real-life experiences.” He did not look the least bit guilty. “I would be willing to take him as my copilot. He and I can be part of the attack wing.”

  As Captain Reeson and the other pilots awaited the order to depart, Paul grew more formal with his father. “I really would like to go along, sir. I was there when we found the barra field. I should be there when we firebomb it.”

  Leto considered. “What do you think, Captain?”

  The officer seemed uneasy. “This is our mission, Sire. It could be dangerous. We don’t want to put the young Master at risk.”

  Leto chuckled. “Paul, we have to let our troops do at least some of the work defending House Atreides.” He lowered his voice. “I heard about what happened when you and Duncan flew out into the elecran storm.”

  Paul flushed with embarrassment, which was quickly replaced with pride. The four pilots laughed softly, a much-needed release from the tension. Leto said, “You can be at my side, watching from the command post. You can help with the duties of a Duke.”

  Hawat spoke in a cautionary tone. “When they drop their incendiaries, Sire, bear in mind that there may well be casualties and collateral damage, a few farmworkers perhaps. I trust you are prepared for that?”

  Leto’s expression hardened. “If those people harvest the deadly ferns, they are responsible for addicting and killing many people.” He drew in a cold breath. “I do not consider them innocent by any measure.”

  The pilots each climbed into their attack craft. Reeson reached his arm out of the cockpit, slapped his palm against the Atreides hawk on the hull, then sealed himself inside.

  Leto and his companions stepped back as the engines fired up with a roar, heating the brisk wind around them. The suspensor engines glowed. The wings unfolded as if stretching, then began to operate in a blur as the craft lifted from the ground. Flying in close formation, the four fighters moved off like angry birds of prey. Leto shaded his eyes and watched them.

  “We can better observe the operation from the post headquarters, my Lord,” Hawat said. “All four attack craft are fitted with augmented imagers.”

  “Good.” Leto was anxious to see flames eradicating the enhanced ferns from his planet.

  The headquarters building at the edge of the military field was a half-domed hut, crowded with administrative desks and operational files. Inside, Atreides officers moved about studying topographical maps on the wall, images taken from significant altitude, high-resolution scans of the wilderness areas that Leto and his companions had explored on their recent outing. Highlighted in red was the zone around the barra field they had found.

  Leto was anxious to see the strike completed. Sooner or later, Chaen Marek would realize that his hidden operation had been exposed, and the Duke wanted everything destroyed before the drug lord could respond.

  Leto looked to Thufir Hawat but spoke also to his military commanders. “Even after this operation is finished, I want multiple teams combing that landscape. I don’t want a single barra fern to remain.”

  “It will be done, my Duke,” Hawat said.

  One large screen displayed images transmitted from the foremost attack fighter. The beautiful rolling wilds of northern Caladan streaked below in a dizzying blur—trees, rivers, irrigated rice fields, rugged mountain crags.

  Leto pondered all that pristine emptiness, so many resources, so much beauty. He considered himself a steward of Caladan and realized that was how the Muadh people had thought of him.

  Reeson transmitted his report. “My squad is approaching the coordinates. Shields are up for the initial flyby, then we’ll circle around to drop the firebombs.”

  “Scout carefully,” Leto said. “If Marek found his dead worker, he may have brought in reinforcements.”

  “He will not expect an attack like this,” Duncan said.

  “Decreasing altitude. Heading in,” Reeson transmitted.

  Paul stepped closer to his father, both of them looking at the screen. They studied the towering firs and meadows filled with pale grasses and flowers. Streams ran like silver ribbons down mountain slopes. In a rush, the attack flyers swept in, following the river canyon, passing in minutes what Leto and his companions had taken days to traverse on foot.

  The four aircraft topped a rise and came upon the small growing field, which was little more than a blur of indistinct greenery thanks to the sensor web. Flying in formation, the armored vessels zoomed along. “Ready with incendiaries.”

  Suddenly, several figures ran out of the shelter of towering fern trees below. They carried projectile weapons, cylindrical launchers. “They were expecting us!” Duncan said. Others in the headquarters building muttered uneasily.

  On the ground, the attackers fired projectiles, and the pilots took evasive action. Although some of the explosives struck the flyers’ shields, they caused no damage.

  “Taking fire,” Reeson transmitted. “Coming back around.”

  The four flyers soared past the cultivated area, then arced and accelerated toward the camouflaged field. “Target confirmed, my Lord Duke. Ready to begin our attack run.” He hesitated. “Is there a change of plan now that civilians are below?”

  “Not civilians—enemies,” Leto said, cold as he spoke the words. The first responsibility of a Duke … “Those are not peasants or pundi rice farmers. Destroy the field, as planned.”

  The audio on the transmission grew to a roar, a background thrum as jet boosters drove the craft down toward the barra ferns. Captain Reeson modulated the shields and dropped a line of firebombs, with the other three aircraft right behind him.

  Rows of red-orange fire ripped like waves across the drug field. Leto did not tear his gaze away as the flames washed over and incinerated the workers along with the ferns.

  Paul stared, said nothing.

  “There won’t be a frond left, my Lord,” Reeson promised.

  “Exactly as I wanted,” Leto said. “Now circle out and expand your operations. Given those armed workers we just saw, there may well be other fields nearby. Find them and burn them, too.”

  The four attack craft streaked away from the rising curtain of smoke, then banked and flew at lower altitude for a more intensive search. Their scan penetrators dissected the landscape below, peeled apart the thick fir forests. “I see several likely patches on the next ridge,” Reeson said.

  Two other pilots transmitted, their voices partially overlapping as they identified more terrain as being camouflaged. “Significant areas of cultivation.” A pause and then, “Shall we investigate further or destroy, Sire?”

  Leto saw the mottled green and gray of blurred foliage on the screen and knew what it was. “Destroy. That is your mission.”

  The attack ships flew in close formation, readying their incendiary loads.

  Then, ahead of them, six small black ships rose like flies startled from a bloated corpse—unmarked, armored ’thopters. Leto hadn’t even seen the clearing on the scans.

  “They’ve got their own aircraft,” Hawat said. “Expensive ones.”

  “Military-grade ’thopters, my Lord,” Duncan said with an edge of alarm in his voice. “That’s nothing they picked up from a salvage yard.”

  Leto transmitted to the squadron. “Be careful. They are likely armed and shielded.”

  The Atreides flyers dropped their shields for a fraction of a second, just long enough to launch their own artillery, but the projectiles deflected harmlessly off the shielded enemy craft. The dark ’thopters dro
ve in on a collision course, trying to intimidate the Atreides vessels. Captain Reeson entered a tight roll, but the enemy ship struck the top of his shield a glancing blow, deflecting both craft.

  The other Atreides pilots also attempted to evade, struggling to gain control. The attack flyers realigned themselves, soared side by side, and launched a more significant defense, hitting the dark ’thopters with another round of high-powered projectiles.

  “Our armaments will burn out their shield generators, given enough time,” Reeson said. Then he spoke to the other pilots in his squadron, sending two of them against the black craft while he and the last fighter continued to drop firebombs on the fern-growing area below.

  Under another spray of fiery explosives, the sensor web shorted out. With the camouflage gone, extensive acres of ferns were revealed, wave after wave of cultivated ground.

  In the headquarters building, the observers let out a collective gasp to see the magnitude of the drug operations, dozens of huts and camouflaged processing areas. The fields’ edges were on fire, but now there was so much more acreage to be destroyed.

  Captain Reeson and his companion came back for yet another run.

  The enemy ’thopters continued to pummel the shielded Atreides fighters in an aerial battle. One of the enemy craft drove in, buffeting Reeson’s vessel, then the attacker dropped his shields, and new gunports lit up.

  “I can destroy them now, Sire,” Reeson said. “Targeting—”

  Paul’s eyes flicked back and forth. “Those are lasguns! And we’ve got shields. They wouldn’t—”

  Realizing the danger, Leto shouted, “Get out of—”

  The screen flared with a white-hot surge, blinding them. Leto flinched, covered his eyes as the transmission went to static.

  Even Hawat was astounded. “They knew our ships were shielded. He intentionally used lasguns—against shields!”