Some part of human instinct allows people to sense things about others. It is an innate survival skill to intuit that another person is dangerous. This also applies on a larger societal scale, when a leader feels he may need to kill millions of people.
—Bene Gesserit teaching
Twenty spindly date palms stood in front of the Arrakeen Residency. On many worlds, such trees would have been unremarkable, but here on Arrakis, they stood like victory banners. The palms had been planted as a defiant affirmation that humans could conquer such an inhospitable place, that by brute force and the extravagant use of resources, those in power could make even trees grow here.
Today, Count Fenring watered them with blood.
Dressed in light, cool clothes, he and Lady Margot observed the activity, satisfied but appropriately stern. Margot looked up at the palms, admired the broad fronds and noted tiny clusters of dates, none of which were ripe.
Sullen workers came forward with bowed heads, and opened sealed containers. Bending before the base of the palms, they poured the thick red liquid into the sand, where it could seep down and water the roots. A gathered, uneasy crowd watched, but no one commented.
Humming to himself, Fenring looked up at Baron Harkonnen, who also observed the spectacle. The enormous man was dressed in grand finery, heavy garments lined with whale fur, utterly inappropriate for the desert heat. He sweated, and his fat face held a look of confusion. The Baron did not know why he had been called here.
When Fenring sniffed, the dry air burned his nostrils. “Ahhh, Baron, it is said that out in the desert, wild Fremen distill the blood of their victims and drink the resulting water.” He watched as workers moved from one palm to the next, pouring measured amounts of red liquid onto the ground around the trees. “In this instance, I thought we would simply use the pure blood and save a step of distilling, hmmm?”
“I am sure human blood has certain essential nutrients to help the palms thrive,” the Baron said. He thrust out a thick lip, clearly wondering whether or not he was in trouble. “But I am less interested in horticulture than in knowing whose blood that was.”
Fenring reassured him, or at least distracted him. “No need to fear, Baron, hmmm … although the matter does concern you. You are fully aware that my own private Mentat, Grix Dardik—”
“Failed Mentat,” the Baron interrupted. When Fenring flashed him a deadly glare, the fat man quickly added, “Very well, I will not question his competence. Go on.”
“Dardik, along with the Emperor’s Mentat accountants, discovered subtle anomalies in melange production, shipment, and reported income. Collectively, we have analyzed all available CHOAM records of sales, taxes, and fees paid, as well as the solaris allocated to the new spice surtax.”
“I am fully aware of the damnable spice surtax.” The Baron bit off his words like a man chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat.
“I also conducted a thorough analysis from the Arrakis end. I found the exercise, ahhhhh, highly informative.”
Margot slipped her arm through his. “My husband is the Imperial Spice Observer, Baron. He watches very closely.”
Fenring continued, “I assigned my spies and observers to the task, particularly my contacts within the smuggler network. I was determined to find out what is really happening here, and then inform the Emperor.”
Now the Baron looked alarmed. Fenring could read subtle changes in his expression and demeanor, although the other man covered it with swift and forced indignation. “If you are concerned about illicit spice operations, Count Fenring, you should arrest all the smugglers. I have done my part by unleashing Rabban, letting him hunt them down so we can eliminate their illegal activities.”
“Yes, ahh, that will no longer be necessary. I have taken care of the core problem.” He smiled at the blood being poured around the palm trees.
The Baron narrowed his close-set eyes. “You executed them all?”
“I found certain pirates who refused to operate within the rules, but the others have my tacit acceptance. Emperor Shaddam has long been aware of the smugglers here on Arrakis, and some of them provide worthy services. You will henceforth leave them alone.”
“You want me to just … just ignore smugglers?”
“Those smugglers are my smugglers, and they provide services and pay appropriate fees. The Emperor is satisfied with them.” Fenring paused and then spoke in a hard voice that slashed like a sharp, curved knife. “He is not pleased with those who bypassed our known network.”
The workers poured more blood around the trees, moving down the line of palms, emptying two of their containers. The crowd remained silent, cowed.
“I was able to expose a separate band of pirates working the sands,” Count Fenring said. “Parallel smuggling operations that steal spice from the desert and sell it directly to offworld customers. Their activities were isolated from our ability to monitor or document. A large amount of melange was sold on the black market, circumventing the Emperor’s spice surtax and all of the normal fees, hmmmmm, or the appropriate bribes.”
The Baron quivered, held upright by his suspensor belt. “Indeed!” He seemed shocked.
“We apprehended the ring leader of these pirates. Rulla Tuek, the wife of the primary smuggler chief. She was running a side game, cheating the Emperor and her own husband.” He paused to sniff the dry air again. “She has been dealt with.”
Fenring saw the confusion change to genuine glee on the Baron’s face. Interesting. This was not what he had expected.
* * *
BARON HARKONNEN TRIED to control himself as he heard this revelation. From his own spies, he knew that somehow the Emperor and his maddeningly clever Mentat accountants had found questionable results. They suspected the existence of an independent flow of spice from Arrakis, which meant that the Baron needed to cover up his secret business dealings with CHOAM and Malina Aru more carefully. If Shaddam was suspicious, then Fenring was damnably more dangerous.
But his own Harkonnen pirates continued their operations, undetected and working through their established back channel. In fact, they had just delivered another large shipment from the Orgiz refinery complex, and that spice had quietly been sent to CHOAM—for a substantial fee.
And yet Fenring said he had caught the head of the illicit smugglers? The detestable Count thought he had cracked down on the operation and executed the leader. He had already reported the victory to Shaddam.
But he had the wrong person!
Delighted, the Baron looked down at the blood the workers emptied from the containers, trying to shake out every last drop. “And that is the blood of Rulla Tuek? The guilty party?”
“Ahhhh, hmmm, that is the blood of two of her compatriots,” Fenring said. “I oversaw the execution and drained their bodies for this rather poignant gesture.”
“Then what happened to the woman? Rulla, you say?”
Fenring reached into his pocket and removed a small shigawire spool. “This contains a recording of her being staked out in the desert and devoured by a sandworm. All of the evidence is here. My lovely wife and I”—he reached over to take Margot’s hand, and she responded with an adoring smile—“will travel back to the Imperial Court. I wish to present this personally to my friend the Emperor. He will be most relieved.”
Did Fenring have to make that point, that he and the Emperor were personal friends? Was he emphasizing his power and clout in front of the Baron? Of course he was!
The Baron accepted the shigawire spool, as Fenring continued, “This is a copy for you. I thought you might like to enjoy it in private, at your leisure.”
“I will indeed, Count.” He could barely contain his joy. Fenring had found the wrong culprit! The Baron’s own operations were now safe, provided he could keep a low enough profile.
Upon discovering hints of the piracy operation, Shaddam had sent letters of demand, raging for answers from the governor of Arrakis. The Baron feared he would himself face punitive actions. In the wo
rst case, House Harkonnen might even be removed from its role here on Arrakis.
Now Fenring’s faux “pirates” had already met the Emperor’s justice. Shaddam had his scapegoat, and his fury would be deflected. The Baron and his clandestine plans were safe.
“I shall indeed review it most carefully.” The Baron pocketed the shigawire spool. “I am sure my nephew will enjoy it as well.”
“One more thing, Baron. I must emphasize that Esmar Tuek and his son, Staban, are under my protection. Their operations are carefully monitored and supervised. You are not to interfere, and you will have Rabban stop harassing them. You have your own work to do as siridar-governor.”
At the moment, the Baron was happy to concede whatever the Count wanted. “Indeed I do.”
They watched the workers take away the empty containers, letting the bloodstained palms bake in the sun. The Baron thought it was a nice gesture, an ominous and memorable showpiece for the people of Arrakeen to see.
In his own residence in Carthag, he had caught a housekeeper stealing trinkets and selling purloined water in the back alleys. His guards had apprehended the woman, and she would soon be executed. Now he had an idea. He decided to drain her completely of blood and send several more containers back here to Arrakeen, as a gift to Count Fenring.
After all, the palms would always need more water.
This sort of damage, once done, cannot be undone. I can only hope for forgiveness.
—LADY JESSICA, dispatch to Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam
Like all Sisterhood trainees on Wallach IX, Jessica was brought up to believe that emotion—especially romantic love—was a vulnerability, and therefore to be guarded against. Despite all warnings about such weakness, Jessica had slipped because her feelings for Duke Leto went far beyond what her teachers would approve of.
Earlier, Mother Superior Harishka had instructed her to eliminate certain candidates as potential wives for Paul. Of course, the Bene Gesserit did not see “wives,” but only pawns in their breeding program, chess pieces to be moved into position, as the Sisterhood planned countless moves ahead.
Jessica had been obligated to follow the Mother Superior’s commandment. She did not know what flaws or vulnerabilities those particular young women possessed, because she was not privy to the details of their breeding program. She had reluctantly completed the task, however, diverting the discussion away from the indicated names in the first round. Junu Verdun was an acceptable choice.
The second time, though, Jessica had been forced to take swifter action, and she had been caught. Even Paul knew what she had done, but Leto’s discovery was far worse. She had no answers to offer her Duke, no excuses.
She hated the fact that the Bene Gesserit had forced her to deceive him. Even now, after she had lived here so many years, they could still yank her strings, like an abused pet on a leash.
Jessica drew on her training to build a thick wall and activate a metaphorical shield around her heart, but she still felt vulnerable.
Given the closeness of their relationship, she hoped Leto would eventually forgive her. She had indeed hurt him, overstepped her role, but from his point of view, she had become yet another surprising betrayal in his life, thus increasing his distrust of the Sisterhood and their techniques. It was no small thing, and she feared that something between them had broken. He remained walled off to her, and she wanted to repair their bond, no matter how much time it might require.
Deep inside, she was still that young girl who had never known her parents, raised from infancy among the Bene Gesserit. Their goals were her goals, and their training had made her a well-placed concubine for Leto. The Sisterhood planted many women among the noble houses, wealthy CHOAM Directors, and other influential politicians and business leaders. Except for what might have been an administrative whim, the Bene Gesserit could have assigned her to some other House, offered her to any of a number of Landsraad nobles.
Jessica had always considered her role special. She genuinely loved Leto, and her heart was heavy with the rift between them. He had been icy to her for days. Jessica tried to speak with him, but he refused.
She would have to let the fires of his anger subside and hope they could eventually come to a resolution.
Perhaps to distract himself, Leto had embraced his new decision with Atreides tenacity, and he was more determined than ever to expand the holdings and respectability of his House. He made prompt arrangements to travel to Kaitain, anxious to leave Caladan—and her. A Guild Heighliner was due to arrive the following day. He would go to the Imperial capital alone, and perhaps that was the distance he needed from her right now. As the Duke of Caladan, he would use the weight of his noble blood, as the cousin of the Emperor himself, to present his case and negotiate more political power and holdings. When he returned, Jessica hoped they could repair their relationship, for Paul’s sake if nothing else.
That was when a new message cylinder arrived from Wallach IX, covertly delivered and sealed to Jessica’s thumbprint only. Apprehension settled deep within her as she opened the metal cylinder, unfurled the note, and read words that terrified her.
She sat heavily in her high-backed chair in her private withdrawing room. She set the cylinder aside and read the message again, as if she could somehow change the words.
“Sister Jessica, come immediately to Wallach IX. The Mother School has urgent need of your presence. This is not a request. Do your duty. Your Mother Superior commands it.” Harishka had signed her name.
The words, the seal, and the signature triggered a response within her. Her life, her mind, and her heart had been indoctrinated by the Bene Gesserit, and every cell in her body was wired to respond as components of that intricate machine. She was a part of it, and it was a part of her. Throughout the Imperium, the Sisterhood’s net was invisible, but as strong as shigawire. If she struggled against it, those wires would tighten and strangle her.
Worse, there was a second message.
Hidden, encoded, from her teacher and taskmaster, the woman who knew her better than anyone, in some ways even better than Leto did. The words sent a river of ice down her spine. Fighting a building sense of dread, Jessica ran her fingers over the raised dots of code and began to read.
“You belong to the Bene Gesserit, Jessica. We assigned you to the Duke of Caladan and can change your assignment if we so choose. You may believe yourself free, but you are ours to command. Come to Wallach IX now, or you may have nothing on Caladan to return to.
“I know your obstinate nature all too well. If you defy us, we will destroy not only you but Leto and everyone around him. As the Emperor’s Truthsayer, I can see to it that the Duke and all of House Atreides are disgraced and ruined. And in the end, you will still be ours. Come at once!”
Breathing hard, Jessica sat back, thinking through the implications. Black specks danced around her vision, and the room spun. She used her Bene Gesserit techniques to bring herself back under control.
Leto would never understand, but she could not refuse the summons. Even though she was the Duke’s bound concubine, the Sisterhood still owned her soul.
But this was the worst possible time! She could not leave now. Everyone in Castle Caladan could sense the icy barrier between them. Leto was departing for Kaitain, and if she also went her separate way …
Why did the Mother Superior want her? How long would she be gone? Jessica was forced to make an impossible choice and could not appeal the order. The Bene Gesserit would show her no compassion.
As she went to tell Leto about the message, at least to tell him she had to go, she murmured the Litany Against Fear. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. It did little to comfort her.
She stood at the doorway of Leto’s study until he looked
up from his desk. Today, his expression was especially unreadable, even to her. He could be brusque when he was preoccupied, but it felt different now, as if she had become an outsider, suddenly excluded from his inner circle where she had been for so long.
He looked back down at his papers. “I asked not to be disturbed.”
She controlled her breathing, her pulse. “Apologies, my Lord, but I have received a summons. The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood has recalled me to Wallach IX.” She swallowed hard. “I must go immediately.”
He looked up at her, and his gray eyes probed deep into her expression with a gaze as sharp as a scalpel. “No. I cannot let you leave now. I am about to depart for Kaitain, and you must remain here to manage Castle Caladan and watch Paul. No matter what issues stand between us, you are still the Lady here, and I depend on you. We cannot both be gone at the same time.” He looked back down, as if that put an end to the matter.
“The command comes from Mother Superior Harishka herself,” Jessica said. “I have no choice.”
Leto flushed. “The person who claims to have no choice has no imagination. Find a way around it.”
“I cannot, Leto. I belong to the Sisterhood. They raised me and trained me. They dispatched me here.”
“And you accepted the terms. You are also my bound concubine, the mother of my son. I don’t care what those manipulative witches want from you. Your obligation is here on Caladan. To me.”
Jessica hung her head. She could not reveal the threat Mohiam had made, because that would merely make matters worse. “If only I could refuse. This is not unlike when I was pregnant with Paul and Lady Anirul summoned me to Kaitain so the Bene Gesserit could monitor the birth.”
Leto was not convinced. “I know all about your Sisterhood training. I’ve always known, and I accepted it. Yet I opened my heart to you. All these years, I believed you were ultimately on my side, my true partner, but of late, I have seen evidence to the contrary.”
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 38