Leto laid out the list of his squad commanders, consulted with Gurney on the distribution of troop carriers. He felt more confident now that plans were moving forward. They selected numerous possible strike zones from the topographical maps, potential fern-growing areas and ailar processing camps, but it was all uncertain. He narrowed his gaze, as if his vision were a sophisticated scanner. “We are handicapped because we can’t be sure. I cannot afford to waste manpower on simple geographical anomalies.”
Hawat scrutinized the charts. “I can give only my best approximation of where we should strike.”
Leto had immediately increased city guard patrols throughout Cala City after the bombings, and now his Mentat suggested an even greater lockdown of the city until after the assault had launched. “My Lord, we must see that no word gets out. I suggest we blockade the city overnight, shut down transport, close the roads. Nothing until our troops set out at dawn tomorrow.”
“Gods below,” Gurney muttered. “Chaen Marek could have spies here in the city. No doubt they have already reported the damage his bombs caused.”
“We have to keep our plans confidential,” Leto said. “The soldiers will learn of the departure time only when we call them to the troop carriers.” He studied the charts again, shaking his head. So many potential target zones. “If only we had more specific information…”
A distinguished old man from the castle staff rapped on the door of the war room. “You have a visitor, my Lord. He insists on seeing you.”
“We cannot be disturbed right now,” Leto said.
The old servant was respectful, but also familiar with his Duke, whom he had served for years. “It may benefit you to listen, sir. It is Archvicar Torono, and I believe his urgency is genuine.”
“That man may be a spy,” Gurney complained. “After what his followers have done…”
“Maybe, and maybe not.” Leto still felt some remorse after his stern clash with the Muadh followers and his hard punishment, assuming they were entirely guilty. The pundi rice farmers had access to barra ferns for their mysterious ritual, so they had an obvious connection to the drug operations. The basic evidence seemed clear, yet the details did not add up. “I will grant him the courtesy of hearing what he has to say. In these times, I will not go out of my way to find other unwanted enemies.”
The stately Archvicar entered the war room, eyes downcast. He wore his sharp-angled cap with its embroidered fern frond. His brown robes flowed with importance, but his demeanor was contrite. He pressed his palms together and pulled them apart, widening his fingers as if pulling unseen elastic strands from the air.
“Duke Leto, my Duke, circumstances and honor require that I come here.” He bowed. Leto searched Torono’s face, saw only sincerity. The Archvicar continued, “Atreides honor is famed across Caladan, but so is Muadh honor. I bring you information about the barra ferns, where they grow and … and how the drug has been subverted.”
Leto stepped back, guardedly hopeful. “If you have valuable intelligence, I would very much like to hear it.”
“My people were dismayed by your unfounded accusations, my Duke. We did not understand why you would believe such terrible things about us. Pundi farmers are your peaceful and loyal subjects, but when you appeared before our temple and forbade our use of the sacred ferns, we…”
Leto thought of the appalling obliteration of his four military flyers and the hidden bombs in Cala City that nearly killed Paul. Leto couldn’t believe the pundi rice farmers were the same as the vicious fanatics who followed Chaen Marek. The first responsibility of a Duke.…
The Archvicar continued, not making excuses. “We Muadh devote ourselves to contemplation and centering. That is what the purification ritual is about. So I called my followers together, and we asked ourselves questions. We realized that we had to help our Duke. We have found answers for you.”
He touched his fingertips together and pulled them apart as if playing an imaginary game of cat’s cradle. “My people have heard whispers. Across the land, in other villages, some farmers have vanished from our fields. They stopped tending the terraces their families had worked for generations, and just … disappeared.
“I learned that a few of my people were indeed involved in growing barra ferns, in shipping and selling ailar … including the new, potent strain that has killed so many.” His brows knitted together, and his bearded face became angry. “We found the individuals who sold ailar to your Lieutenant Nupree.” His face filled with sorrow. “They … have been dealt with.”
“How did you deal with them?” Thufir Hawat asked. “Justice rests with the Duke.”
“We dealt with them in the Muadh way. It was sufficient.” The Archvicar gave no further details. “The barra ferns these evil people are using … they are not the same ferns we use for our ritual. Our special plants are more delicate, less mottled, and the ailar they produce is a gentler alternative. It is what benefits us.” Now his fingers clenched as if he meant to strangle the invisible lines in the air. “These other ferns have been genetically altered to produce a dangerous form of ailar. We have determined that a man named Chaen Marek is growing them by the ton. His hidden operations in the wilderness are significant.” Torono’s expression became stormy and paternal. “He has corrupted something we consider sacred. It is our desire that these people be stopped. We must end this shame, Duke Leto, my Duke.”
“The Caladan drug.” Leto felt an ache in his muscles and in his heart. “That is precisely my intent, Archvicar.”
“Good. Then perhaps I can help.”
Leto solemnly accepted the religious leader’s assistance. “If you intend to give us a blessing, we will accept it.”
“I will give you a blessing, and much more than that.” The Archvicar reached into his robes and withdrew sheets of folded brown paper. “I can identify the sites of the largest barra fields and give coordinates of where their main operations are. Your forces will know exactly where to strike.”
Leto’s heart leaped. Hawat lurched forward to pick up the papers, and Gurney let out a burst of laughter. “That is precisely what we need!”
“Thank you, Archvicar,” Leto said. “That is good news indeed.”
When the Archvicar smiled, his rough beard poked out in wild directions. He looked relieved, as if basking in forgiveness from his Duke. He touched his fingertips together again and bowed. “Now I will give you the promised blessing.”
The Sisterhood views the future of humanity by considering an infinite number of possibilities. We can step back and consider which threads are best for the species as a whole. That is the difference between the Bene Gesserit and an individual, whether noble-born or street urchin. We do not think, “What about me? What is my future?”
—Bene Gesserit Perspective on History, “Executive Summary”
Golden morning light swept like a scimitar across the high stone edifice of Castle Caladan. At the bustling military field on the headlands, dozens of troop carriers loaded up. Incendiary-filled attack flyers were piloted by grim officers, every one of them ready to go despite knowing the fate of the previous squadron. The fast ships would provide air support and bombing runs once “the fields were exposed, but the main attack would be a direct ground assault. Large carriers would bring an overwhelming force of well-armed and vengeful Atreides soldiers to the drug harvesting and processing camps, which Archvicar Torono had identified.
Duke Leto ordered a scorched-earth response. No mercy for the drug lord who had exploded bombs in Cala City, harmed his subjects, and threatened Paul.
Thufir Hawat wore a long cloak with military insignia over his uniform. He surveyed the distribution of troops and the loading of soldiers and weapons, assessing it all in Mentat silence. Duncan Idaho stood proud with a fine sword in its scabbard. Gurney Halleck barked orders as he herded fighting squads into their assigned troop carriers. He had already promised to write a song about this day.
Paul stood at his mother’s side as they watched the
large military force prepare to depart. He faced the cold breezes, and felt a chill of concern for his father’s life—again. In the few hours of sleep he’d managed before dawn, he had experienced no predictive dream, but knew the dangers the Atreides military would face.
“Come home safe to me, Leto,” Jessica said with a softness she rarely showed in front of others.
“I will, my love,” he said quietly, then became more formal in front of his troops. “I will come home victorious.”
After satisfying himself that the ships, troops, and weapons were readied according to his exacting standards, Hawat joined Leto to report. The warrior Mentat would accompany the Duke in the ornate noble frigate, which would be protected by outflyers and heavy gunships. This time, the armored Atreides craft would serve as a mobile command center, Leto’s base of operations, rather than a mere processional barge.
Hawat wiped his stained lips, and his eyes were intense, as if seeing every detail in the entire assault with a single glance. He nodded formally to Jessica and Paul, then cleared his throat. “Tying up loose ends, Sire. In the middle of the night, I delivered my revised list of betrothal candidates to your office in the castle. I believe there are many acceptable options for the young Master.” He glanced at Paul and grew more somber. “I did not want to leave any unfinished business, in case … events do not go as planned today.”
Leto turned to the Mentat. “I will deal with such matters later, after I destroy all remnants of the Caladan drug.” He placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “After we return victorious.”
Gurney came up, his face flushed and his blond hair windblown, his inkvine scar prominent. “Our ground forces can’t wait to fight the scum face-to-face, my Lord. They want to look those bastards in the eyes as they cut them down, with or without shields.” He lifted his head and recited from the Orange Catholic Bible, “The hand of God goes with the hand of justice. And we are justice incarnate.” He cracked a smile. “I will use that as part of our victory song after today. This fighting is going to be personal.”
“Oh, it is personal.” Leto looked pointedly at Paul. “Chaen Marek almost killed my son.”
Paul knew he wasn’t the only one who had been at risk. So many others had already died, not just from the drug lord’s direct violence but also victims, like Lieutenant Nupree, Minister Wellan, or Lord Atikk’s son … so many others killed by the use of tainted ailar. Leto refused to let it continue. Not from his Caladan.
“It is personal,” the Duke repeated. This was his reputation and his people.
When all the soldiers were loaded aboard their respective ships, Leto walked up the ramp to the flagship frigate, which sported a fierce Atreides hawk. His gray eyes met Paul’s in a long, meaningful gaze, before he ducked inside. The hatch sealed shut, and the engines roared to life.
Paul and Jessica stood together on the edge of the field as the entire strike force lifted into the air, a silver squadron, birds of prey. The sky filled with the sounds of the aircraft and their barely contained energy. They swept north, wave after wave, heading across the cloudless multi-hued sunrise. Paul watched them go, and his heart went with them.
* * *
NOW THAT ARCHVICAR Torono had provided accurate coordinates, the Atreides battle group covered the northern terrain at top speed, squadrons of outriders, swift scouts, attack craft, and heavily loaded troop transports. Chaen Marek would have no warning other than the roar of the engines.
The wind of the passage thrummed against the hull of the flagship frigate, and Leto hunched beside his warrior Mentat, counting down the hours in flight, knowing all the aircraft were soaring at top speed into the thick wilderness. He received regular reports.
The vanguard scouts transmitted reconnaissance for the troop carriers. “Not much detail below. We’re scanning the terrain, but it’s like viewing through a fog, Sire. Obviously, a sensor web. Covers a large expanse.”
“But we do know where to find the hidden operations, thanks to the Archvicar,” Leto responded over the comm. He raised his voice over the background noise inside the flagship. “Drop the first firebombs. That should flush them out. Hit the perimeter and knock out the sensor web. Then our troops will come in and finish the fight—we’re on our way, right behind you.”
“We will hit them like a spring flood, my Lord.”
As the troop carriers roared in behind the front attack craft, Leto and Hawat watched a rain of incendiaries fall from the bellies of the warcraft, spraying lines of fire across the cultivated terrain. Inside the transport, the anxious Atreides soldiers cheered, ready for their turn.
Following the first wave of eruptions, the camouflage over the wooded landscape shifted, section by section, to reveal expansive cleared fields with a corduroy of green fern plantings surrounded by tall, mature barra trees. As another section of the sensor web faded, Leto saw several buildings arranged in clusters at the boundaries of the growth area.
“That will be their outpost, my Lord,” Hawat said.
“We will take what prisoners we can, interrogate them, scour the area for records,” Leto said. “And destroy everything else.”
With stomach-lurching deceleration, the troop carriers descended to the newly exposed fields, their suspensor engines flattening any foliage in their way. From the flagship frigate, Leto watched with hard satisfaction as his entire army swarmed over the ground. The fires from the incendiary bombs rose high along with greasy curls of smoke.
Marek’s people scrambled to respond. As the assault began, the compound looked like a nest of riled-up cliff beetles. Astonished workers in drab jumpsuits ran from camouflaged huts. Others raced to grab weapons. The building clusters consisted of long barracks, processing structures, small huts, and a cleared landing field with several ready unmarked aircraft.
Once solidly landed, his flagship shut down its engines, gull-wing doors opened, and his personal guard troops boiled out. The Duke himself emerged with a hand on the hilt of his favorite sword. Dour Thufir Hawat stood beside him, surveying the operations with Mentat intensity. Nearby, the last of the troop carriers set down heavily across the fern plantings, the roaring engines overwhelming the shouts of both Atreides fighters and compound workers.
Squads of troops quickly formed fighting ranks. With blades drawn, though without shields, they moved like predators in a pack. Emerging from separate transports, Gurney Halleck led one large group of fighters and Duncan Idaho another. With green-and-black colors prominent, the soldiers jogged into the exposed compound, howling their own battle cries.
Leto and the old veteran stood outside the flagship frigate as the last soldiers charged in to overwhelm the drug operations. Leto felt immense pride in his Caladan troops.
Hawat observed with sharp eyes. “The size of this complex is far more significant than I anticipated, my Lord.”
Leto could see lines of small barra ferns poking out of the ground like scorpion tails, thousands and thousands of them waiting to be harvested. The air had a sharp resinous scent, a dangerous undertone he recalled from the dried ferns in the Muadh village, but now there was also fear, smoke, and blood.
Soldiers hurried forward, wearing full protective gear and masks. They extended flame-nozzle weapons, squirting and igniting gel fuel so that the stockpile of dried ferns became an inferno, gushing noxious smoke. More suited fire warriors made their way methodically through the cleared fields, and the long rows of growing ferns went up in smoke. The smoke in the air made Leto’s eyes burn, and he fitted his own mask in place. Hawat did the same.
Angry shouts filled the air, mixed with the crackle of flames. Workers in roughspun clothes bolted into the fields and the thick sheltering forest, trying to hide. Others, though, stood their ground with weapons raised and turned to fight. They had an intense gleam in their eyes and a fanatical set to their expressions. From the way the determined opponents moved to defend themselves, Leto recognized hardened mercenary fighters. But they had to be more than just paid fighters—th
ese people had a cause. The drug lord’s security men were not merely frightened peasants out of their depth. They were trained and deadly, and would clearly fight to the death.
“Round up prisoners if we can,” Leto said. “Some of those out in the fields are truly just uneducated workers. The rest will face the Duke’s punishment in my own time.”
Duncan and Gurney led their squads deeper into the ailar processing camp. An explosion erupted near one of the outbuildings, and Leto saw a front line of Atreides attackers flattened by a hurled explosive, while mercenary fighters had been protected from the brunt of the blast by body shields.
With a whistling shriek of engines, the Atreides attack craft circled overhead. Leto glanced up. “Our air support needs to have the other sensor nets down.”
Hawat shouted orders into the comm. “Priority, find the sensor webs so we can expose this entire area.”
The first sorties cut down the tall fern trees, and as the stalks tumbled, the sensor webs snapped with a twang. The shimmering field overhead disappeared. The Atreides forces pushed forward.
Leto and the warrior Mentat strode away from the flagship frigate, while Atreides combatants swept forward to clash with Marek’s fighters.
At the edge of the hidden landing field, two insect-like vehicles began to move, armored black aircraft that had been covered with protective nets, now exposed. Their engines were powering up.
Leto shouted a warning, “They have combat ’thopters!”
The illicit aircraft lifted into the air, pumping their jointed wings either to escape or to attack. Nearby, Duncan Idaho led his squad of fighters toward the landing field. As the ’thopter rose above the tall fern trees, Duncan hurled a compact explosive that detonated just shy of the lower hull. The second ’thopter powered up its shields swiftly enough to thwart another thrown explosive.
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 33