Dune: House Harkonnen

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  An organized assault team might be doomed to failure, but Earl Vernius was confident that by himself he could still get back inside his own world. He had to see it with his own eyes.

  Although each of the hidden openings into the subterranean realms made for weak spots in overall security, Dominic had understood the need for emergency exits and secret routes known only to himself and his family. Deep within the crustal city of Vernii— his beloved capital city— there had been numerous shielded chambers, hidden tunnels, and escape hatches. Dominic’s children, along with young Leto Atreides, had used those bolt-holes during the bloody overthrow. Now Dominic would use one of the many long-hidden back doors to slip in.

  He flew the lighter over a series of poorly concealed ventilation shafts, from which steam emerged like thermal geysers. Elsewhere out on the flat plains, large shafts and cargo platforms opened to allow shipments of materials, mostly outbound. In this deep, forested canyon, narrow guarded ledges and hollows allowed occasional ships to land. Dominic scanned the terrain as he cruised along until he spotted the subtle markings, the fallen trees, the stains on rugged rock walls.

  The first disguised entry door was sealed up, the tunnel filled with what must have been meters of solid plascrete. The second door was booby-trapped, but Dominic spotted the explosive connections before he entered his pass-code. He didn’t try to disarm the device. He flew off again.

  Dominic dreaded what he might find below in his once-beautiful city. In addition to the horrifying message passed along from the Ixian patriot C’tair Pilru, his own bribed investigators had brought rumors about conditions on Ix. Yet he had to know what the Tleilaxu and the damned Corrinos had done to his cherished planet.

  Then they would all pay.

  Next, Dominic landed the lighter in a small hollow surrounded by dark firs. Hoping he remained within the surveillance grid, he stepped out and stood still, smelling the cold clear air, the spicy pungency of copper-pine needles, the wet sharpness of rushing water. In the grottoes beneath him, under a kilometer of rock, the air would be warm and thick, redolent of chemicals and a crowded populace. He could almost hear and feel familiar sounds, a faint buzz of activity, a barely discernible vibration under his feet.

  He located the brush-covered hatch opening of the escape shaft and operated the controls after careful inspection for further traps and explosives. If the Tleilaxu had found this one, then they had been thorough indeed. But he found no sign. Then he waited, hoping the systems still functioned.

  At last, after the brisk wind had raised goose bumps on his flesh, a self-guided lift chamber rose up, ready to take him deep into the network of caves to a secret personal storeroom at the rear of what had once been the Grand Palais. It was one of several rooms that he had set up in his younger days for “contingencies.” That had been before the Ecazi Revolt, before he had married . . . long before the Tleilaxu takeover. It was safe.

  Whispering Shando’s name, Dominic closed his eyes. The chamber descended at frightening speed, and now he hoped that C’tair’s sabotage efforts hadn’t damaged these hidden systems. He took deep breaths, summoning images from his past on the projection screen of his eyelids. He longed to return to the magical underground city— but feared the harsh reality that awaited him.

  When the lift chamber came to a stop, Dominic emerged holding a compact lasgun. He also had a flèchette pistol in a shoulder holster. The dark storeroom smelled of dust and the mildew of inactivity. No one had been there for a long time.

  He moved about carefully, went to the hidden locker where he’d stored a pair of nondescript coveralls worn by midlevel workers. Hoping the Tleilaxu had not made drastic changes in work uniforms, he dressed and slipped the lasgun into a custom-fitted holster strapped to his skin, beneath the clothing.

  Disguised and hoping for the best, knowing he could not turn back, Dominic crept through the dim corridors and located a plaz-walled observation deck. After two decades, he took his first look at the reshaped city beneath the ground.

  He blinked in disbelief. The magnificent Grand Palais had been stripped, all the glittering marble taken away, one entire wing destroyed in an explosion. The immense building now looked like a warehouse with injured shadows of greatness, now an ugly warren of bureaucratic offices. Through panes of windowplaz he saw disgusting Tleilaxu going about their business like cockroaches.

  Across the projected sky, he watched oblong devices studded with blinking lights cruising in random paths, studying all movement. Surveillance pods. Military equipment designed by Ixians to be sent into battle zones. Now the Tleilaxu used that same technology to spy on his people, to keep them cowering in fear.

  Sickened, Dominic moved to other observation decks in the grotto ceiling, slipping in and out of groups of people. He stared at their haunted eyes and gaunt faces, trying to remind himself that these were his people, rather than images from a nightmare. He wanted to talk to them, to reassure them that he would do something, and soon. But he could not reveal his identity. He did not know enough about what had occurred there since he and his family had gone renegade.

  These loyal Ixians had depended on Dominic Vernius, their rightful Earl, but he had failed them. He had fled, leaving all of them to their own fates. A feeling of unbearable guilt overwhelmed him; his stomach knotted.

  With cold calculation, Dominic stared across the cavernous city, looking for the best observation points, pinpointing heavily guarded industrial facilities. Some were shut down and abandoned, others surrounded by buzzing security fields. On the grotto floor, suboids and Ixian inhabitants worked together like downtrodden slaves.

  Lights flared on the balconies of the freakishly altered Grand Palais. Public address speakers boomed out, the words reverberating and synchronized so that echoes rippled like force waves up and down the grotto.

  “People of Xuttuh,” said an accented voice in Galach, “we continue to find parasites in our midst. We will do what we must to obliterate this cancer of conspirators and traitors. We Bene Tleilax have generously provided for your needs and granted you a part in our holy mission. Therefore, we will punish those who would distract you from your sacred tasks. You must understand and accept your new place in the universe.”

  Down on the grotto floor, Dominic could see squads of soldiers rounding up work gangs. The troops wore the distinctive gray-and-black uniforms of Sardaukar and carried deadly Imperial weapons. So, Shaddam no longer even tried to hide his involvement. Dominic seethed.

  On a Grand Palais balcony, a pair of terrified prisoners flanked by Sardaukar were nudged forward by robed Tleilaxu Masters. The speaker boomed again. “These two were captured in the act of committing sabotage against essential industries. During interrogation they identified other conspirators.” An ominous pause followed. “You may anticipate further executions within the week.”

  Only a few isolated voices in the throng dared to cry out in protest. High above, Sardaukar guards pushed the thrashing prisoners to the brink of the balcony. “Death to those who oppose us!” The guards— Imperial guards— shoved them over the edge, and the crowds scattered below. The victims fell across the gulf of empty air, with hideous shrieks that ended abruptly.

  In horrified fury, Dominic stared. Many times he had stood on that balcony to deliver orations. He had addressed his subjects from there, praising them for their work, promising greater rewards for productivity. The balcony of the Grand Palais should have been a place for the people to see the kindness of their leaders— not an execution platform.

  Below, shots rang out, and the sizzle of lasgun fire. The Sardaukar clamped down, enforcing order among the angry and restless populace.

  The voice from the speakers crackled out a final punishment. “For the next three weeks, rations will be reduced by twenty percent. Productivity will remain the same, or further restrictions will be imposed. If volunteers come forward to identify additional conspirators, our rewards will be generous.”

  With a swish of robes, the smug Tleil
axu Masters turned about and followed the Sardaukar guards back into the desecrated Palais structure.

  Outraged, Dominic wanted to charge into the city and open fire on the Sardaukar and the Tleilaxu. But alone, a surreptitious spy, he didn’t have the firepower to accomplish more than a token attack— and he dared not expose his identity in such a futile gesture.

  His jaw ached as he ground his teeth together. Gripping the railing, he realized that he had stood on this very observation platform, long ago, with his new bride, Lady Shando. Holding hands, they had gazed across the immense cavern at the fairyland structures of Vernii. She had been bright-eyed, wearing elegant clothes from the Imperial Court at Kaitain.

  But the Emperor had never forgotten the insult of her departure from his concubine service. Elrood had waited many years for his chance at revenge, and all of Ix had paid for it. . . .

  Dominic’s chest clenched. He’d had it all: wealth, power, a prosperous world, a perfect wife, a fine family. Now the cavern city was severely wounded, with barely a hint remaining of its former splendor.

  “Oh, look what they’ve done, Shando,” he whispered in a morose voice, as if he were a ghost along with her. “Look what they’ve done.”

  He remained in the city of Vernii for as long as he dared, letting the wheels of reprisal turn in his mind. By the time he made ready to depart, Dominic Vernius knew exactly what he would do to strike back.

  History would never forget his vengeance.

  Power and deceit are tools of statecraft, yes. But remember that power deludes the ones who wield it— making them believe it can overcome the defects of their ignorance.

  — COUNT FLAMBERT MUTELLI,

  early speech in Landsraad Hall of Oratory

  Once again, Abulurd enjoyed the peaceful nights on Lankiveil. He had no regrets about renouncing his powerful family connections. He was content.

  Roaring fires in the hearths of the great rooms warmed the restored and redecorated main lodge in Tula Fjord. Lounging in the common area adjacent to the big kitchen, he and Emmi felt satisfied, their stomachs full from a large feast of grupper paella they had shared with the servants to celebrate being together again. Most of the original staff had been located and brought back. Finally, Abulurd looked forward to the future.

  That very morning two Bjondax whales had been seen at the mouth of the fjord, testing the waters. Fishermen reported that recent catches were the best in over a year. The normally dismal weather had turned sharply cold and dusted the cliffs with a clean blanket of snow; even under the cloudy night skies, the whiteness added a pearly overtone to the shadows.

  Baby Feyd-Rautha sat on a handwoven carpet beside Emmi. Good-natured, the boy was prone to giggles and a variety of facial expressions. Clinging to one of his mother’s fingers as she held him upright, Feyd began to take his first wobbly steps, testing his balance. The bright child already had a small vocabulary, which he employed often.

  In celebration, Abulurd considered bringing out a few old instruments and calling for folk music, but before he could do so he heard a grating noise outside, the hum of engines. “Are those boats?” When the servants fell silent, he could indeed make out the sounds of aquatic motors.

  The fishmistress, who was also their cook, had brought a large basin into the sitting room adjacent to the common area, where she used a flat knife to pry open stoneclams and shuck the meat into a pot of salted broth. Hearing the commotion outside, she wiped her hands on a towel and looked over her shoulder through the windowplaz. “Lights. Boats coming up the fjord. Movin’ too fast, if you ask me. Dark outside— they could hit somethin’.”

  “Turn up the house glowglobes,” Abulurd commanded. “We need to welcome our visitors.” Outside, a wreath of illumination blazed around the wooden structure, shedding a warm glow onto the docks.

  Three seacraft roared along the rocky waterline, arrowing straight for the main lodge. Emmi clutched baby Feyd. Her wide, normally calm face carried a ripple of uneasiness, and she looked at her husband for reassurance. Abulurd made a soft gesture to quell her fears, though he felt a knot forming in his own stomach.

  He opened the big wooden doors just as the armored boats lashed up against the docks. Uniformed Harkonnen soldiers disembarked onto the quay, their heavy bootsteps like cannon fire. Abulurd took a step backward as the troops marched up the steep stairs toward him, weapons shouldered but ready for use.

  Abulurd sensed that all of his peace was about to end.

  Glossu Rabban strode onto the dockboards; with brisk stomping footsteps, he followed the vanguard of armed men.

  “Emmi, it’s . . . it’s him.” Abulurd couldn’t utter his son’s name. More than four decades separated Glossu Rabban from his young sibling, in whom the parents now placed all their hopes. The baby seemed incredibly vulnerable— Abulurd’s household had no defenses.

  On impulse, reacting foolishly, Abulurd swung shut the heavy door and barred it, which only served to provoke the oncoming soldiers. They opened fire and blasted the century-old barricade. Abulurd scrambled back to protect his wife and child. The aged wood smoked and splintered, falling to one side with a dreadful sound like a headsman’s ax.

  “Is this how you welcome me, Father?” Rabban gave a gruff laugh as he stepped through the smoke and over the wreckage.

  The servants began to move about in a flurry. Behind the basin of salted broth, the fishmistress held her little shellfish knife as a pathetic weapon. Two manservants emerged from the back rooms with spears and fishing knives, but Abulurd raised his hands to keep them calm. The Harkonnen soldiers would slaughter them all, just like at Bifrost Eyrie, if he didn’t handle this properly.

  “Is this how you ask for a welcome, Son?” Abulurd gestured to the wreckage of the door. “With armed soldiers and military boats arriving in the middle of the night?”

  “My uncle has been teaching me how to make an entrance.”

  The men in blue Harkonnen livery stood motionless, weapons in plain view. Abulurd didn’t know what to do. He looked at his wife, but she sat by the roaring fire, clutching the baby close. By the hunted look in her eyes, Abulurd knew she was wishing she’d hidden the child somewhere in the main lodge.

  “Is that my new little brother, Feyd-Rautha? A prissy-sounding name.” Rabban shrugged. “But if he’s my own flesh and blood . . . I suppose I have to love him.”

  Holding the child even tighter, Emmi tossed her straight hair behind her shoulders, hair that was still black despite her advancing years. She met Rabban’s gaze with hard eyes, angry at what she saw and torn by a few scraps of love for her own son, whom she could not abandon. “Let us hope that blood is all you two share. You did not learn to be cruel in this house, Glossu. Not from me, and not from your father. We always loved you, even after you caused us so much pain.” Surprisingly, she stood and took a step toward him, and Rabban flushed with flustered anger as he inadvertently took a step back. “How could you have turned out the way you have?”

  He glowered at her.

  Emmi lowered her voice, as if she were asking herself the question, not him. “We are so disappointed in you. Where did we go wrong? I don’t understand it.”

  Her wide, plain face softened with love and pity, but hardened again as Rabban burst out in cruel laughter to cover his own unease. “Oh? I’m disappointed in you two as well. My own parents, and you didn’t even invite me to the naming ceremony of my little brother.” He stepped forward. “Let me hold the brat.”

  Emmi drew back, protecting her good son from the bad. Rabban feigned a look of sadness, then strode closer. The Harkonnen troops raised their weapons and advanced.

  “Leave your mother alone!” Abulurd said. One of the soldiers put up a single hand and stopped him from rushing forward.

  Rabban turned to him. “I can’t sit idly by and let my own brother be corrupted by an embarrassing weakling like you, Father. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, your half-brother and head of our Great House, has already filed documents and received full La
ndsraad approval to raise Feyd-Rautha in his own household on Giedi Prime.” One of the guards took out an ornate scroll of imprinted saarti parchment and tossed it on the floor at Abulurd’s feet. Abulurd could only stare at it. “He has adopted the boy formally and legally as his foster son.”

  Smiling at his parents’ horrified expressions, Rabban said, “In the same manner that he has already adopted me. I am his heir-designate, the na-Baron. I’m a Harkonnen as pure and proper as the Baron himself.” He extended his thick arms. The troops kept their weapons steady, but Emmi backed closer to the fire. “See, you have nothing to worry about.”

  Jerking his head to one side, Rabban signaled two of the nearest men, who opened fire on the fishmistress where she stood, still holding the little curved knife. During Rabban’s brief stay in the main lodge, the husky woman had cooked many meals for him. But now the lasgun beams cut her down before she could even scream; the fishmistress dropped her knife and tumbled forward into the basin. Clams turned over, and sour-smelling water spilled onto the wooden floor.

  “How many more of them will you force me to kill, Mother?” he inquired, almost plaintively, still reaching out with his thick-fingered hands. “You know I’ll do it. Now give me my brother.”

  Emmi’s gaze flicked from Rabban’s to all of the terrified household servants, to the baby boy, and then to Abulurd, who did not have the courage to meet her eyes. He could only make a strangled cry in his throat.

  Though she gave him no sign of surrender, Rabban pulled the infant roughly from her numb arms, and she did not resist— out of fear that all the other people in the house would be slaughtered just the way the Harkonnen troops had slaughtered the innocent workers at Bifrost Eyrie.