Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  “How so?”

  “I should strive to get more for House Atreides, for Paul. There are great power tides in the Imperium, and I should not feel I am above them. My heart will always remain centered on Caladan, but we can have more for ourselves and our legacy. I have been too aloof. I’ve decided to go to Kaitain and petition the Emperor for governorship over one or more of the holdings left leaderless after Otorio. I am his loyal Duke. Why should I not be the one to rule those worlds?” He lay back on the soft pillow and sighed.

  He thought of Fausto Verdun, like a carrion bird swooping down over fresh carcasses, and the image made him uneasy. Leto was not such a man. But whatever strengthened House Atreides would benefit Paul.

  Jessica said, “Everyone knows you are the one who raised the alarm and saved those people on Otorio. The Emperor, his wife, Count Fenring, and many others are only alive because of what you saw and reported. Make sure they don’t forget that fact.”

  “Shaddam does not like to be reminded of his obligations,” Leto warned. “If I press that advantage too hard, he may resent me.” He thought about their son, and hardened his resolve. “Then again, Shaddam will resent me or not as he sees fit. He makes up the reasons he needs.” He sat up in the bed. “Other pandering nobles have been pressing him. So many worlds left without noble rulers.… I consider myself a decent man and a good leader. Would those planets not all be better off with an Atreides as their ruler? Think about the poor populations suffering under Baron Harkonnen.”

  He made an angry sound deep in his throat. “House Harkonnen holds Giedi Prime as well as Lankiveil, and for eighty years, they have controlled the spice operations on Arrakis. Does a House like that deserve more holdings than House Atreides? I can get more for my family and for future generations. There may come a time in the future when our livelihood depends on it.”

  “I cannot dispute what you say, my Lord.” She paused. “My love.”

  “It is decided, then. I will go to Kaitain and speak privately, or publicly, with the Emperor. It is time House Atreides receives the holdings and respect we are entitled to.” He pulled Jessica close, feeling her against him. She hooked a smooth leg over his, and they lay without moving for a long moment. They drank in each other’s presence like a rare and expensive wine.

  “I go to Kaitain as the Duke of Caladan, and maybe I will become much more than that.”

  Lines of worry furrowed her brow. “Beware of the corruption of the Imperium, though—especially now. The nobles are displaying their raw ambition, squabbling like dogs over bones. They are not your friends.”

  He gave her a long, warm kiss. “I know whom to trust. And whom to love.”

  * * *

  AS HE THOUGHT of more ways to build a secure future for Paul, Leto returned to his private study and found the dossier Hawat had left for him. He began to peruse the candidates laid out, and he was sure someone else would be appropriate. No, more than appropriate … perfect for Paul. He studied the pages, remembering his long discussions with the Mentat and further conversations with Jessica, the negotiating, the consideration, the many Landsraad daughters who were available.

  He picked up page after page, reviewing names, reports of marriage prospects, advantages and disadvantages of their families, read the marginal notes in Hawat’s shaky handwriting. This wasn’t all politics. Leto was determined to find a better marriage for his son. Fausto Verdun’s callous rebuff had, in fact, averted what would surely have been misery for Paul.

  Leto pondered when everything had changed so dramatically. Had it truly only been a few months since he’d gone to Otorio? He remembered the glittering reception, the well-dressed nobles, all the historical artifacts displayed in the Imperial Monolith. Through the shock and turmoil, he hadn’t thought much about the chitchat, but now he did remember the hushed conversation, the mutterings about the Noble Commonwealth movement. He had been with Armand Ecaz and Lord Attik. He wondered if any of them had been coconspirators, although the grumbled words had likely been typical complaints about governments and bureaucracy.

  As he studied Hawat’s list of potential marriage candidates, he recalled one of the nobles in that airy conversation, Count Dinovo, who had mentioned his own daughter of marriageable age when Leto broached the subject of Paul. Ah, yes, Dinovo had indeed escaped, one of the few nobles rushed away in time with Armand Ecaz.

  Dinovo’s daughter had also come up during the earlier discussion down in his father’s fishing shack. What was the girl’s name? Something from ancient history, the Time of Titans. Hecate! Yes, that was it. Hecate Dinovo.

  Count Dinovo had seemed pleasant enough, not arrogant like Fausto Verdun. Leto wanted to look at his daughter as a possibility, but as he flipped through the pages, he did not see an entry for Hecate Dinovo. He double-checked and wondered why Hawat would have removed her.

  In the previous discussion, a couple of other names had been considered seriously, and they came to mind as well: Noria Bonner, Maya Ginia, or Greta Naribo. He searched for their listings, since they had been close runners-up in the previous round, and found Naribo but not the other two. His brow furrowed.

  He had expected to make his own decision, but it seemed the Atreides Mentat was already eliminating good candidates without discussion. Wanting to hear more, Leto sent for Thufir Hawat, and within moments, the old veteran arrived.

  “When I send my next letter of invitation, I want to make a better choice for Paul,” Leto said, tapping the report.

  “Considering Duke Verdun’s rude response, that would not be difficult, my Lord.”

  Leto held up the dossier. “I wanted to look further at Hecate Dinovo, but I see you have removed her name. What made her unacceptable after all?”

  Hawat’s heavy brows drew together. “Hecate Dinovo? She was indeed a strong possibility, Sire. I did not remove her.”

  “She is not listed here,” Leto said. “And what about Noria Bonner or Maya Ginia? They were also under serious consideration before.”

  The old Mentat shook his head. “No, Sire. I assure you I included them with my recommendations.” He took the report and paged through it, then paused and turned back, scrutinizing the details. “My Lord, this has been altered. Some of these other marginal notes are not my handwriting. A clever forgery.”

  Leto felt a sudden chill. Someone had tampered with the report? Right here in his office? It had to be a person from the household. Was there a spy in their midst, manipulating the choice of who would marry the Duke’s heir?

  He turned as Jessica appeared at the doorway, smiling. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she wore an Atreides-green house gown with a softly glowing soostone brooch on her left shoulder. “Time to choose another candidate for Paul? Together we can find the best one. I have some suggestions.”

  Hawat kept paging through the dossier, clearly astonished.

  Leto looked up, feeling incredulous and angry. “Someone altered the report my Mentat delivered! It must have been done while I led our assault on the drug fields to the north.” His nostrils flared as he drew in a quick breath. “Here in my own house!”

  Jessica paled, and Leto immediately sensed something odd as her expression became wary. She calmed herself and seemed to come to a conclusion. In a quiet voice, she said, “I … revised the list myself, my Lord. There were candidates I considered unacceptable, as we previously discussed. I wanted to save argument, especially after your recent trying times.”

  Leto’s breathing quickened and his stomach lurched as this unexpected trapdoor opened beneath him. “Without consulting me?”

  Jessica did not look away. “I had no reason to believe you would not take my advice. I was thinking of Paul’s best interests, as we discussed.” Leto could see she was intentionally being quiet, calm. Now she averted her green eyes. “My apologies, my Lord. I overstepped my bounds. You know I would do nothing to harm you or House Atreides.”

  For a moment, Leto could not find words to respond. He wrestled with his s
torm of emotions, feeling as if some predator had dropped down out of a tree and attacked him.

  The old Mentat quietly listened to every word and observed every detail. Leto would ask Hawat for his analysis later, but now he wrestled with his own feelings, his own surprise. He had never distrusted Jessica, never even imagined such a thing.

  She remained silent, poised and beautiful with her chin lifted just slightly, exposing her graceful neck. A subliminal gesture of submission?

  Leto barked, “Hawat, leave us!”

  The Master of Assassins briskly departed without a word.

  Leto rose and approached Jessica, who stood where she was, looking down. “Hawat says you forged his handwriting in the additional notes.” She didn’t respond. “Nothing? I suppose silence is better than a lie. Tell me what was so unacceptable about Hecate Dinovo? Or Noria Bonner? Maya Ginia? You could have talked with me about it.” Before she could answer him, he added, “I’ll have my Mentat verify whatever you say, and I will also have him re-create his original list, so I can verify every name that was removed.”

  She was pale, but her voice remained calm and soft. “I have reasons that I considered sufficient. I am sorry that I am unable to justify them for you.”

  He was dismayed to realize that she had no better answer for him. Even if she made excuses, he wasn’t sure he would want to hear them. He could not comprehend what her reasons might have been.

  Then further suspicion tingled at the back of his mind, scraped along his nerve endings, and brought a heated flush to his skin. She had done this so easily, seemingly without a second thought. How many other times had Jessica taken similar actions, making decisions in his name without being caught? Without him realizing?

  She knew him so well.…

  Was he truly so naïve that he hadn’t seen it earlier?

  That was when he suspected that her manipulation was likely part of some insidious Sisterhood scheme, which made him even more upset. It reminded him that the Bene Gesserit dispatched their concubines with instructions to pull strings as if they were puppeteers in order to achieve the Sisterhood’s goals. Another thing and another thing.

  He should have kept in mind that her beauty and shrewd intelligence came with a price: conflicted loyalties. The very people who raised and trained Jessica also had a claim on her allegiance.

  “You learned too damned much in that Bene Gesserit school,” he muttered, taking her off guard. “But I have learned, too.”

  Jessica’s expression fell, and she looked lost and devastated, completely convincing. Leto didn’t think it was an act, but he did not know what to believe right now. “Leto, I—”

  “You should leave. I do not trust myself right now. Go, and close the door before I make a decision that I cannot retract.”

  The person who appears to be stark raving mad, especially a Reverend Mother with an ocean of Other Memories churning inside her head, might be much more than what she seems. Rather, she could have a sharper grasp on sanity, because she sees things no one else can see.

  —LARIBA PYLE, embattled Mother Superior in the Dark Ages after the Butlerian Jihad

  Lethea had begun her precipitous decline only a few days earlier, but the crone’s violent instability made the time seem much longer to Harishka. The Mother Superior hated going to the guarded medical room, where danger simmered in the air. Instead, she viewed the patient remotely, from her own office.

  Before departing for Kaitain, Reverend Mother Mohiam had helped Harishka craft an appropriate letter to Lady Jessica on Caladan. A firm, undeniable letter laying out the other woman’s obligations. Considering Lethea’s rasping demands, and dire warnings, Jessica might be the only person who could unlock the mind of the failing old Kwisatz Mother. She needed her to come here immediately. Take her away from the boy! Disaster to the Sisterhood!

  If Lethea lived long enough …

  They had no choice but to pull Jessica from Caladan. Perhaps permanently.

  The Mother Superior stood at a wallscreen observing the seemingly harmless old woman on her bed. As anxious medical Sisters tended the ancient patient, Lethea squirmed and struggled to get out of bed. She showed surprising strength and resistance when four Acolytes and a Reverend Mother named Venedicto tried to get her under control.

  An Acolyte approached with an injector, but Venedicto expressed reservations about the harsh tranquilizers and antipsychotics. “Not yet. It could harm her prescience, and we need to know what she will say.”

  “If she says anything worthwhile,” Harishka muttered to herself as she watched the images. “We have always needed to know, but that woman withholds it from us.”

  In a croaking voice, Lethea began to rant. “It is not right! I see it in my mind, and it is not right! Jessica … I must see Jessica of Caladan. Now! She and the boy. The patterns are not correct!”

  The medical Sisters managed to wrestle Lethea back into bed. Reverend Mother Venedicto leaned close and spoke soothingly, her words clearly picked up by the wallscreen in Harishka’s room. “Lethea, listen to me. Jessica has been summoned. The message was already sent.”

  Harishka whispered, “She will be here soon. She must obey.”

  Venedicto made another soothing sound, leaning close to the old woman. “Please calm your thoughts, so they do not overwhelm you. Use prana-bindu breathing exercises and find your inner calmness. When you reach that serene place inside, all will be better.”

  Lethea lunged at her, trying to claw out Venedicto’s eyes, and the Acolytes barely grabbed her in time. “My inner calmness? Do I appear calm? There is no reason for calm.” Faint, rippling waves appeared in the air around Lethea’s head, and her brittle white hair crawled and whipped around from the psychic energy stirred up by her powerful mind.

  Venedicto tried to control the writhing crone while the medical Sisters retreated, terrified. “Be still. You must not fear! Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is—”

  Lethea fought back with surprising strength. “You do not understand! Patterns are out of alignment! One failed Kwisatz Haderach after another, dead-end breeding lines, birth mothers unwilling to follow commands, not considering the consequences of their actions. Jessica must not remain on Caladan! It may already be too late!”

  Her voice rattled, and she wheezed exhausted breaths. “Some Sisters allow themselves to fall in love! What can we do about that? Put them all to death?” She let out a staccato, acid laugh. The psychic waves rippled around her head, reflecting her internal turmoil. “It is breeding chaos, completely out of control!”

  Harishka continued to observe, growing tense but listening carefully as Venedicto asked the necessary questions. “What patterns are out of alignment? Kwisatz Mother, tell us what you mean!”

  The old woman slumped back on her bed and began to cackle. Before long, her laughter turned into a moan. “You could never begin to understand what I am saying, what I am seeing, images folding off into the past and the future.” She tried to throw herself out of bed again. “Let me out of here. I will go to Jessica myself.”

  The strange energy continued to swirl, pounding ripples that seemed to emanate from within her anguished, dangerous mind. Lethea’s crackling hair gave her a feral, crazed look. Such a dramatic manifestation of her mental abilities alarmed Harishka. She recalled the terrible, long-vanished Sorceresses of Rossak back in the time of the Butlerian Jihad. There might still be genetic markers of Sorceress bloodlines in the human race. Perhaps Lethea had them.

  The crone’s powerful mind shifted like a burning beacon in the cosmos, searching for one thing, and one thing only.

  Making up her mind, Harishka activated a speaker in the room. “Lethea, I will be there right away. I need to talk with you.”

  The fragile patient looked around the medical room, desperate and confused, as if she did not know who was speaking to her.

  Leaving her office, the Mother Superior began to run. She reached the medical chamber in minutes. Venedicto met her at the door, hurrying her inside
. “Your voice triggered something. She is much worse.” On the bed, all four Acolytes used their strength to hold Lethea down.

  Instead of ranting, though, Lethea had lapsed into senseless muttering. Her hair still crackled with energy, and translucent ripples swirled over her bed.

  “You have given her no drugs?” Harishka asked. “Nothing to alter her mind?”

  “Nothing, Mother Superior. Her mind is … twisting on its own. She needs deep psychological treatment, not drugs.”

  “I do not need a psychologist!” Lethea shrieked. “I need Jessica. Bring her to me from Caladan! There are things I must say to her, things she must realize! We have little time to control her! Take her away!”

  Harishka went to the bed and placed a reassuring hand on Lethea’s forearm. “She will be coming. Our summons will arrive very soon.”

  The ancient Kwisatz Mother was drenched in sweat from the effort she expended, but Harishka’s words finally calmed her. She relaxed her shoulders and looked up with filmy, bloodshot eyes. “Is that true? She will be here?”

  “I sent the command myself. She must obey.”

  Lethea shuddered and sighed. “Then the patterns may be back in alignment. Take her away from Caladan. You would not understand. Only a Kwisatz Mother can comprehend this.” She closed her eyes and appeared to fall into a deep sleep. The roiling energy faded, and her waving hair settled.

  Filled with questions, Harishka stared down at her. For decades, the Sisterhood’s breeding program had been Lethea’s sole domain, and this woman grasped threads and tangles that no one else could, and straightened them out. Lethea saw the countless necessary paths that would someday lead to the ultimate Bene Gesserit goal: creating the Kwisatz Haderach, the male superhuman who could bridge space and time.

  Jessica, daughter of Mohiam and concubine of Duke Leto Atreides, somehow played a key role here. But when she finally received her summons and traveled to Wallach IX, Mother Superior Harishka would have to protect her. Lethea had already proved deadly.