Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  But now the question had come up again, because of political drama she had not anticipated. She would surreptitiously guide the choices again.

  But first, she had to tell Paul.

  After she explained about the rude rejection letter from Duke Verdun, she watched the flicker of emotions play across his face, cycling through various responses: insulted, confused, but also relieved. She knew how her son’s mind worked, because she had trained him in great depth.

  He folded his hands together on his desk and looked up at her. “Please sit, Mother. We have to discuss this.”

  “I know it is a blow, Paul…”

  “A blow to my father,” he answered. “For his sake, I find it offensive and disappointing, but I never met the girl. I do not have a schoolboy crush on Junu Verdun, and I am not swayed by those romantic songs Gurney always sings. That’s not what this is about.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Jessica admitted, sitting next to him. “It is about House Atreides, our rank, our wealth, our prestige.”

  Paul shook his head. “No, Mother, it is about House Verdun and a petty nobleman with poor self-esteem, a man who convinced himself he can catch larger fish with a newfound net. Duke Verdun could have declined our offer in a respectful way, yet he intentionally chose to belittle our House. It says much about his own character. He must be a weak man, frightened and small, and this response makes him feel less small.”

  Jessica raised her eyebrows. “An astute analysis.”

  “You taught me how to do it. Whether or not my father marries you, I can see you are the correct partner for him.”

  She felt a warmth spread through her chest. “The Bene Gesserit unknowingly outdid themselves when they assigned me as his concubine. They thought it a mere business transaction.” Her wry smile was faint. “Sometimes the Sisterhood is even more skilled than they themselves realize.”

  I resent being coerced or lobbied into taking actions that I would not otherwise have considered. When I am approached in this manner, even by my closest advisers and friends, I may feign interest, but whatever I do will be my own idea, for my own reasons.

  —PADISHAH EMPEROR SHADDAM CORRINO IV

  Attired in his finest robes, the Emperor glided through the Imperial Court, but his most beautiful accompaniment was Empress Aricatha. She looked as lovely and regal as he’d ever seen her, in an ermine-white robe and a tiara studded with Hagal crystals and soostones. For his own adornment, Shaddam wore commemorative medals for military campaigns he’d overseen from the throne, all of which had been declared victories. The medals made him feel proud of how he had advanced House Corrino, enlarging his power base and his personal fortune.

  Other less successful military ventures were never mentioned.

  Recently, with his secret investigators and private spies, along with work by his Sardaukar, he had pushed harder to root out Noble Commonwealth sympathizers. He was alarmed to discover that the whispered uprising was known far more widely than he thought, and now the Emperor had to work harder to eradicate the traitors. Whenever his investigative forces uncovered evidence of a potentially disloyal noble, Shaddam added the name to his list. He would soon direct his Sardaukar to take care of those traitors definitively. No more subtleties.

  Aricatha saw the mysterious smile on his face. “You are lost in your thoughts. I hope I occupy at least some of them?”

  “Of course,” he said, and she obviously knew he was lying.

  When he and the Empress walked through the court, they were like a singular parade. The throng of gaudy sycophants, dandies, and foreign dignitaries faded to a blur as they spoke niceties to him. He was adept at blocking out the bland noise while mouthing the proper responses, making the briefest eye contact. Since Aricatha was skilled in remembering names, he allowed her to add further pleasantries before the two of them strolled on.

  Now he and the Empress stood together on one side of the portrait gallery, where images of past rulers hung on the walls, extending into the distance like an optical illusion. So many Corrino Emperors in ten thousand years.…

  Silent and unobtrusive in her distinctive black robe, Mohiam stood nearby, where she could hear everything that was said. He relied on his Truthsayer to know whom he could trust. The Noble Commonwealth had already opened up too many cracks in the foundation of the Imperium.

  Court guards kept a safe perimeter around the Imperial couple, allowing dignitaries or members of various Houses to approach one at a time. Because he now needed to select names to fill the vacant Landsraad seats, Shaddam forced himself to focus more on what was actually being said to him. He considered each comment, noted the mood and mannerisms. It was an art to keep all these candidates soothed and feeling important, while never committing to anything. The Emperor made no promises, but he did make silent judgments.

  He spoke to the obsequious lords of House Bonner and Suruda, and the reticent Lord Onivondi, none of whom made much of an impression on him, and they were ushered away. Next came a tall and dashing man with a pointed Vandyke beard and colorful clothing, who was introduced as Duke Fausto Verdun of Dross. He made a sweeping bow, as if to demonstrate his limberness.

  “Sire, I am honored that you invited me to call upon you at court, and I am pleased to be considered for an expanded holding in the Landsraad.” His voice had an erudite accent that struck Shaddam as an affectation.

  Empress Aricatha smiled and filled in the conversation, “We invited you, Duke Verdun, as well as many others, as a courtesy. We consider all members of the Landsraad to be equally important.”

  Verdun laughed and said with forced wit, “Certainly, some nobles are more equal than others. For instance, I hold an important upper-echelon CHOAM Directorship, even though my planet’s exports are comparable to other worlds’. Thus, I demonstrate my skill in leadership as well as commerce. I could do the same on other planets that now need new administration.” He stroked his pointed mustache. “All in the name of my Emperor. The first responsibility of a Duke is to the Imperium.”

  Shaddam had mixed feelings about this ambitious nobleman. He remembered the briefing compiled by the young aide Aina Tere about potential candidates. For the most part, according to Tere’s analysis, Verdun showed loyalty to the throne, but he had been frustratingly neutral or absent a number of times, enough to make the Imperial investigators study him more closely. Verdun had close familial relationships with two other Major Houses that had expressed criticism of House Corrino.

  And he had conveniently not been in attendance at Otorio.

  The Emperor noted Mohiam standing silently to the side, listening carefully to every word Verdun said.

  The lord went on without a pause. “I’ve written a proposal on how I might expand my ventures beyond Dross, with Imperial cooperation, to our mutual benefit. I will have my ambassador submit the document to your court chamberlain. I hope you have a chance to review it, Sire.”

  “It will be given the attention it deserves,” Shaddam said coolly.

  Verdun was cocksure about himself. He wore silks and jewels, as if trying to outshine the Emperor’s raiment. Something in his tone of voice, his demeanor, made Shaddam wary.

  Barely taking a breath, Verdun continued, “Sire, as a voting member of the Landsraad, let me express my earnest desire to increase my value to the Imperium, to make more substantial contributions for the benefit of our citizens. I hope that now, in the wake of the tragedy, I might have a fresh opportunity to serve.” He listed humanitarian causes that he and his wife had sponsored.

  Noting the hungry sparkle in Duke Verdun’s eyes, Shaddam said, “This is not really the place for such a discussion, is it?”

  Of course, that was exactly the reason for this reception, so Shaddam could review the names the exploratory committees had given him. Positions needed to be filled, and he had already dismissed many suggested candidates. He needed only loyalists.

  “Apologies, Your Eminence, but if I am allowed just a few moments to make my case, I believe you w
ill be quite satisfied.”

  Shaddam looked at him dispassionately, but let the man keep talking. He wanted Mohiam to absorb more information. “Duke Verdun, I am eager to hear more, but perhaps first you can explain why you did not attend the grand opening of my Corrino museum on Otorio? How did you manage to stay safe, when so many thousands died?”

  Verdun paled. “I-I intended to be there, Sire, but my life was in danger, too. My palais on Dross was encircled and attacked by a rebel force, and all my resources and attention were required to quash the unrest. It is a local matter, but the rebels are also implicated in a wider plot against the Imperial throne. I dealt with them, and now my prisons are filled to bursting, nearly five hundred agitators. A full report is being prepared at this moment. I can show you how the throne benefited from my actions.”

  “My, you have been busy.” Shaddam’s voice oozed skepticism.

  The Duke of Dross—a ridiculous name, he thought—was preoccupied enough with the Emperor’s attention that he had forgotten completely about the Truthsayer standing nearby. Excellent. Mohiam had a talent for sliding into shadows, so people often forgot she was there.

  Shaddam decided to cut off further discussion. “I suggest you apply your energies to finishing that most vital report. I am still assembling applicants for the open holdings in the Landsraad. You will be notified of my decision.”

  After Duke Verdun retreated, clearly dissatisfied, the Emperor motioned for the guards to block further supplicants so he could consult with Mohiam. He could tell by the sour expression on her face that she had something to say.

  “Verdun is the most blatant of liars,” she said, in a low tone. Aricatha leaned closer to listen, and Shaddam allowed it. “He is fabricating that story about rebels and the attack on his palais. I suspect his report is ‘delayed’ because he is fabricating evidence and falsifying witness accounts.”

  The extent of the ruse surprised Shaddam. “He did not expect me to ask about it. Now he is caught.”

  “There is more,” Mohiam said, glancing around to make sure they were not overheard. “Fausto Verdun, Landsraad member and proud descendant of Imperial heroes for centuries, holds clear sympathies to this alleged plot against the Imperial throne. I heard the intonation in his words. Any ‘rebel’ prisoners he holds must be for show, perhaps even reserve troops of his own.”

  The Emperor felt a deep chill. “He endorses the Noble Commonwealth? Do you think he supported Jaxson Aru’s attack? He was conspicuously absent from Otorio when the impacts occurred.”

  The Reverend Mother bowed. “That is beyond what even my abilities can determine, Sire, but the implication is clear.”

  Flushed and wanting to go, the Emperor extricated his arm so he could leave Aricatha behind. “I was expected to welcome the visitors, my dear. You go ahead and deliver the speech for me. Just say nice things and then host the banquet. Keep them calm and happy.”

  She smiled and accepted her new task. Sensing his urgency, the Imperial guards swept the other nobles and dignitaries clear so Shaddam could depart without delay.

  * * *

  ALONE IN HIS private offices, Shaddam summoned his Sardaukar commanders in order to seize this opportunity. They marched in with a crisp, alert demeanor, and he felt energized. He finally had the excuse he had been waiting for. He would at last make a very clear statement.

  Colonel Bashar Kolona stood in front of the ornate desk, holding his officer’s cap. Two officers of equal rank joined him.

  Shaddam sat in his plush chair, faced them. “I have identified a member of the insurrection, Duke Fausto Verdun. My Truthsayer confirms this.”

  He had expected some flicker of surprise or dispute on their faces, but the Sardaukar remained implacable, waiting.

  “Prepare a strike force. Wait for Duke Verdun to return to his homeworld, then lead a punitive raid. Wipe out that treacherous man and his entire family. It will be a message the Noble Commonwealth cannot fail to comprehend.”

  Two of the officers straightened and acknowledged the orders. Only Kolona showed some hesitation. “Sire, all of the family? Some of Verdun’s children and relatives are young. They could not have done anything against the Imperium. Is it necessary to punish the entire family?”

  “No survivors! I want the Verdun bloodline terminated, every last one of them erased from Imperial records.” He rested his elbows on the desktop. “This will be a warning for all to know.”

  Nodding, Kolona took a half step back. “Yes, my Emperor.”

  Shaddam thought of the “rebels” that Verdun had mentioned, the captives supposedly held in the prisons. They were likely part of the overall plot as well. “And bomb every prison, too. Kill all of them.”

  Kolona was the first with a brisk salute. Shaddam liked him, this good man. All three officers left.

  The Emperor looked down at the paperwork on his desk, saw files of candidates proposed by Aina Tere, possibilities of nobles to be elevated.

  After the strike on Fausto Verdun, there would be yet another vacant holding in the Landsraad.

  Historically, great progress comes about through bold visions. Only weak leaders make decisions based upon the phrase “Thus it has always been done.”

  —JAXSON ARU, Justifications for the Noble Commonwealth, widely distributed leaflet

  Tucked inside her CHOAM craft aboard the Guild Heighliner, Malina Aru pondered and worked, confident no one had any inkling she was aboard the great ship. The Guild always supported her privacy.

  Malina’s mind was her office, and she continued her work wherever she was. Now on her way back to Tupile, she was almost home, and she longed to be there. Her planet was not on any marked route, but the Guild representative had quietly acknowledged her presence when the private ship docked. All transport records would be disguised and filed away. Security and secrecy were paramount to her.

  It was a weakness to be homesick, but she did miss the bubble of safety that Tupile offered, both physically and psychologically. She longed to sit on her veranda and gaze toward the smoky-purple horizon, where other worries droned into background noise.

  She also missed her two adoring spinehounds. Har and Kar were the only soft spot she allowed herself.

  In her private stateroom, Malina studied documents, looked at the subtle connections and threads of commerce, reviewed hints and fine shadings that resulted in millions of solaris, profit or loss. She was intrigued to see that, due to the increased cost of melange, many minor nobles had turned away from the consumption of spice to alternative, lesser drugs. In particular, something called ailar, or the Caladan drug, was on the upswing, even though she couldn’t see how it was moved through normal CHOAM channels. Interesting.

  Once she committed the financial analysis to memory, she tapped a glyph on the upper-right-hand corner of the document, which activated the acid in the ink and destroyed the papers in front of her.

  Even though the Noble Commonwealth had been shocked to its core by Jaxson’s violence, supporters of the rebellion continued to sow the seeds of doubt among ruling families. The brash attack on Otorio had rattled the staid, contented nobles who had spoken, theoretically, about independence for generations, but perhaps the people needed a shock to the system. Other potential supporters had actually been inspired by the enthusiasm (fanaticism?) that Jaxson’s act had demonstrated.

  As a mother, she loved him, but she did not approve of such wanton bloodshed, which served no purpose other than to underscore his impatience. She could not justify what he had done, although now she began to see some of the effects. Positive effects. New recruits had appeared unexpectedly, and maybe the movement was growing again. Perhaps her son could be an unwitting catalyst. Disavowing him and declaring him an outlaw before the Landsraad had only been part of what she had in mind. Ur-Director Malina Aru never did anything for simplistic reasons.

  Though Jaxson should not have gone off on his own, perhaps he was right, at least in some sense. A strong hand was necessary to force the eve
ntual breakup of the Imperium, a cudgel instead of a scalpel. His resounding strike had caused titanic shock waves across the galaxy, revealing just what the Noble Commonwealth could accomplish if they were inflamed.

  Now Shaddam’s reactionary spice surtax served Malina’s purpose further, by driving countless wedges and angering noble houses that would not have previously considered leaving the Imperium. On the other hand, with so many slots open in the Landsraad, Shaddam IV would install only loyalists and lapdogs, and that would make the Noble Commonwealth’s work more difficult.…

  While the Heighliner was in transit on its roundabout route home, Malina received a transmission on her private comm from the Guild contact, and it surprised her. “Urdir, we have arrived over planet Borhees for a scheduled stopover. We will experience two days of loading and off-loading. In the interim, we request a private meeting with you. An escort will come and provide access to the Steersmen’s piloting deck.”

  The voice cut off before she could respond. She suddenly wondered if the Spacing Guild had uncovered her agreement with Baron Harkonnen to provide off-books melange. Though that spice was still prohibitively expensive, it remained out of Shaddam’s clutches. Since her actions were technically against Guild policy as well, she had hoped to keep the matter secret, but she was not so naïve as to think that the Guild did not also have discreet side channels for spice.

  Malina couldn’t decide if this summons was some sort of provocation or power play. The Spacing Guild was as important a pillar to the Imperium’s stability as CHOAM, separate but intertwined, associates of equal rank. No Guild representative could command the Urdir, yet neither could the Ur-Director ignore such a meeting. Malina rose from her desk and brushed away the fine powder of ashes from the destroyed document. She hoped this was an opportunity rather than an obligation.