Paul of Dune

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “But my Paul has saved you,” Jessica continued. “He has protected Caladan. He will let no harm befall you.”

  Inside the large arena, giant projectors had been rigged to display the images of the stranded and doomed rebel warships, left to drift in space, their air failing, food and water gone. By now, everyone aboard would be dead, their bodies retrieved by Guild vessels.

  “Paul will never forget Caladan.” Jessica’s voice was soft now. “The Emperor will never forget the people he knew as a boy, the people who helped shape him into a man. He cannot be simply your Duke, but this does not mean he has turned his back on you. Paul will preserve you.

  He cherishes what is beautiful about Caladan, and he will guard you with his gentle touch.”

  She smiled almost beatifically. The people seemed relieved, content. Yes, they had always known how devoted House Atreides was to them and to Caladan, how benevolent a Duke could be. They would remember.

  THE BOMBARDMENT OF Ipyr lasted thirty-three standard hours. Battleships crossed and recrossed the terrain, expending all of their stored weaponry, and when they were done, no building was left standing, no city or village unburned, no field able to produce a crop. The forests were gone, leaving only charred sticks and ash. The sky was a soup of caustic smoke and acidic vapors. The oceans were brown frothing sinks, poisonous to all life, land- and sea-based alike. Some of the larger weapons had set the atmosphere itself on fire.

  Afterward the battleships circled in low orbit for two more days, scanning for any transmissions from survivors, any signs of life, mercilessly targeting those few remaining spots that were not completely dead. The log archives and image libraries of the one hundred ships were filled with records of the absolute devastation.

  Ipyr might never again support life. It was a new scar upon the galaxy that could neither be ignored nor forgotten.

  It was a message from Muad’Dib.

  Though Reverend Mothers project unanimity to outsiders, their organization is anything but cohesive, especially since the failure of our long-awaited Kwisatz Haderach. Therefore, the Sisterhood has made allowances and contingency plans for internal strife and tension. Strict controls can go only so far.

  —Wallach IX Archives

  Through her private sources of information, Princess Irulan learned of the imminent arrival of a Bene Gesserit delegation from Wallach IX, but she could not ascertain the nature of their mission, only that the women intended to call upon her personally, without warning. She prepared herself. In order to maintain her hidden sources of information on Wallach IX, she would need to show just the right amount of surprise when they appeared.

  The three high-level Reverend Mothers came boldly to the huge citadel, as if their foundations of power remained as firm as before the overthrow of Shaddam IV. Paul had specifically banned his nemesis Gaius Helen Mohiam from setting foot on Dune, but he allowed other members of the Sisterhood to move about with some freedom, though their political clout was substantially diminished. Unlike the Padishah Emperor, he did not need his own personal Truthsayer, nor did he call upon Reverend Mothers for advice, except for Alia and possibly his mother.

  Irulan knew that the Bene Gesserit must be starving from the drastic reduction in their influence. Would they demand her cooperation in restoring them to Imperial good graces? With a terse smile, she acknowledged that would never happen. Muad’Dib already understood the Sisterhood too well.

  No doubt they would whisper to her and use coded finger-language, trying to snare her into some scheme or other. Though Irulan had been raised and trained by the Bene Gesserit, she had concluded that despite their millennia of studying human nature, even they did not fully grasp who Muad’Dib was and what he could do. It was not her place to instruct them.

  Perhaps she would give the Sisters a copy of her first volume in The Life of Muad’Dib….

  Wearing a formal day dress, she went about her regular duties in her private portion of the citadel, inspecting a small white gazebo that was being added inside the immense conservatory, at the center of a maze of hedges and pathways. It was a perfect place for writing and contemplation. Sunlight slanted through plaz window panels high above, and she saw the glint of an ever-present surveillance device high in the branches of a tree.

  At Paul’s insistence, Korba had already read every page of her current draft, marking numerous complaints and objections, but in truth he had found nothing to cause a particular uproar. She hadn’t expected him to. Irulan was adept enough to use layers upon layers of subtlety. On the whole, in fact, Korba seemed pleased with the book and impatient for the next volume to be published.

  A craftsman was putting the finishing touches on the little garden structure, attaching the last of the decorative trim pieces that she had specified. In her younger years on Kaitain she’d had a private area like this, all the way back to when she was a young girl. Here on this alien world where people had to be sealed away from the elements, she hoped to recapture some connection with less troubled times.

  The craftsman was quite aged, with a deeply creased face, snowy hair, and overhanging brows. His coveralls were worn and frayed, but relatively clean. He completed his task and began organizing his tools, taking great care to put each item where it belonged. Straightening, he looked at her inquisitively, seeking approval.

  “I have never seen better workmanship. Muad’Dib will be pleased.” She doubted Paul would ever notice this area; the contents of her gardens remained at her own discretion, a small hint of power. A faint, respectful smile formed on the man’s face as he bowed, then departed.

  She waited. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Beyond the central hedge, Irulan heard the rustle of robes as her visitors negotiated the spiral maze, coming unannounced. So, they had managed to get past the guards, although the labyrinth itself had slowed their approach. Turning to the three Reverend Mothers as they arrived, she could tell they were trying not to look flustered. “Why, Sisters! I did not expect you.”

  “And we did not expect to face such a gauntlet in order to gain an audience with one of our own,” said the one in the center, an oval-faced woman who appeared to be in her early twenties.

  Irulan already knew the woman’s identity — Reverend Mother Genino — and her younger companions were Naliki and Osted. All three looked too young to have undergone the Agony, but already they were successful and powerful, and counted themselves among the select personal advisers to the Mother Superior herself.

  Irulan offered no sympathy. “I am the wife of Emperor Muad’Dib. Security measures are unavoidable, as you well know. If you had informed me you were coming, I could have made your passage more seamless.”

  “We wished to be… discreet,” said Naliki. She was a large-boned woman whose face was florid from the exertion of the walk through the complex maze.

  “Ah, then a few complications are to be expected,” Irulan said. “Come, let us go where we can talk. I am interested to learn your business here.” She led the way up three steps into the small open-walled gazebo, where they all took seats on benches.

  Genino shifted to pleasantries. “You are even more beautiful in person than I had heard. Fine breeding from the Corrinos, grace acquired from the Sisterhood, and confidence from being wed to an Emperor.” The small, dark eyes of this woman concealed much, but not all.

  Irulan smoothed a fold on her elegant dress, then tested her hands on her lap. “I so rarely receive Bene Gesserit visitors. What brings you to Arrakis?”

  “Surely, you must have guessed,” Osted said. She was the shortest of the delegation, with close-cropped auburn hair and an overlarge nose that detracted from her beauty.

  Irulan allowed a bit of impatience to seep into her voice. “I am quite busy with my duties here. State the purpose of your visit, please.”

  “Time is not a good thing to waste,” said Genino. “The Mother School has dispatched the three of us to help train Alia Atreides and Marie Fenring. Given the inherent potential in their bl
oodlines, their youthful interaction should not be left to chance. You will see that we have the appropriate access to them.”

  The Princess bristled. Paul would not like this at all. “Their instruction is well in hand. I have taken a personal interest in Alia, and in Marie as well. Your assistance is not required.”

  “You do not understand the importance of Margot Fenring’s daughter,” Osted warned.

  “Lady Margot herself told me when she delivered the child here. I am aware that the Sisterhood closely monitored her upbringing among the Tleilaxu. And as for Alia… she could teach the three of you some things.”

  With her hand sheltered in the folds of her robe, Genino used her fingers to transmit a message, assuming Irulan could not speak freely because their words were being monitored. But Irulan looked away, refusing to accept that form of communication. With a frustrated scowl, Genino spoke aloud. “Monitoring of important persons is only standard practice.”

  “The Atreides daughter is an Abomination,” Naliki said. “We cannot have a pre-born contaminate the delicate balance of Marie’s education. We must intervene.”

  Irulan smiled at the comment. “I see very little that is delicate about Marie Fenring.” She had her own suspicions that the child’s purpose here wasn’t entirely innocent. She suspected it had something to do with spying for the Sisterhood, with their craving for information.

  Genino said, “Nevertheless, the interaction between Marie and Alia must be managed properly.”

  “Managed by you?” Irulan said. “And does Lady Margot approve? Before she departed, she did not express a need or desire for any further Bene Gesserit teachers.”

  “The birth mother’s wishes are not relevant in this matter,” Naliki said.

  Irulan struggled to keep her expression neutral. Typical Bene Gesserit arrogance. “Muad’Dib will not permit anyone to interfere with his sister, or with the daughter of Lady Margot, who has been entrusted to our care.”

  Osted’s expression became sly. “But you can influence him. It is a small request to provide the girls with a Bene Gesserit education. How could he refuse?”

  “How little you know Muad’Dib! Any attempt to manipulate him would be fruitless.”

  “Do not forget your allegiance is to the Sisterhood!” Genino exclaimed, rising from her bench. “Out of respect for your royal station, we have been polite, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that this is a matter open to discussion. We command you to do as we say.”

  Irulan also stood, making no further pretense of welcome. “Indeed, it is not a matter open to discussion, so I shall debate with you no more. Did you disembark with luggage? If so, I will arrange to have it sent back to the spaceport. I advise you to depart on this evening’s shuttle, to avoid incurring the Emperor’s displeasure. Reverend Mother Mohiam has already been banned from traveling here. Would you like that stricture to be extended to all members of the Sisterhood?”

  “We will not be herded around!” Genino’s anger and surprise were so great that she allowed hints of it to slip past her control. Irulan was astonished, marking the reaction with great interest. Obviously, Marie Fenring was even more important to the Sisterhood than Lady Margot had revealed.

  Irulan heard footsteps from the pathway on the other side of the hedge. Familiar footsteps. “Ah, the Emperor approaches — he must have been informed of your arrival. You may ask him yourselves, if you like.”

  Paul emerged from the labyrinth, attired in an elegant green-and-gold robe of state. He looked as if he had just interrupted his duties, and his expression showed palpable annoyance. He strode directly to the gazebo. “Why was I not informed immediately that Reverend Mothers had arrived in Arrakeen?”

  Irulan formally curtsied. Half a beat later, the other three women did the same. Genino found her voice quickly. “We came to visit Princess Irulan, noble Sire.”

  Irulan said in a soft voice, “They did not come at my invitation, and they are departing immediately.” She shot a cool smile at the three women. “They demanded influence over the education of Alia and Marie.”

  “Absolutely not.” Paul didn’t take even a moment to decide. “I forbid it.”

  Irulan added, “Apparently, Lady Margot Fenring was not aware of their intentions, either.”

  The three Reverend Mothers looked startled at Irulan’s detached behavior. But their priorities were no longer hers. In the process of compiling the story of Paul-Muad’Dib Atreides, she had begun to learn other threads of cause and effect — and serious missteps — that made her wonder about the Sisterhood’s wisdom. She discovered that the Bene Gesserit had shaped portions of the historical record as they saw fit, concealing their mistakes and embellishing their successes. Certain facts were like clay in their hands. So it was with Irulan as well, in the telling of her famous husband’s story.

  “We make no attempt to interfere, Sire,” Genino said. “We are merely here to offer —”

  Paul cut her off, his expression dangerous. “You would be wise to consider your words before you speak further. With my truthsense, I hear your lies as if they are shouts.”

  The robed trio departed hastily, with awkward motions. Irulan realized that she was surprisingly amused, though her heart pounded at the thought of what she had dared to do. The repercussions here, and on Wallach IX! She listened until they were well into the hedge maze, then said to Paul, “How they will talk when they return to the Mother School.”

  “I do not fear their talk.” Paul looked at her with unusual candor. “I was something of a disappointment to their breeding plans myself, like Count Fenring. Presumably, his daughter Marie is quite precious to them because of her genetics.”

  Irulan nodded. “With your permission, I would like to inform Lady Margot Fenring of this incident. Perhaps it will make her more of an ally. This was, after all, as much of an affront to Marie as it was to Alia.”

  He studied her momentatily. “You surprise me with your dimensions of complexity, Irulan.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “Yes, send your message to the Fenrings and tell them what the Bene Gesserit attempted to do here. I am curious to see how they will react.” Paul whirled and left.

  Alone at the center of the maze, Irulan performed a prana-bindu breathing exercise to calm herself.

  Even the best plans can come unraveled if a frayed end is left untended.

  —Bene Gesserit axiom

  In their many years of marriage, Margot Fenring had seen her husband in bad moods, but never quite like this. Learning from Irulan of the Reverend Mothers’ attempt to interfere with Marie’s training had set him off on a private tirade. “Bene Gesserit blundering could jeopardize our delicate plans. What could they have been thinking? Now that Paul Atreides is aware of the Sisterhood’s interest in Marie, he may start asking inconvenient questions. We must accelerate our timetable.”

  Margot bitterly resented the Sisterhood’s interference. Had she and her husband not been clear enough with Reverend Mother Mohiam when they went to Wallach IX? Now they would have to act even more blatantly to bypass the Sisterhood. “Our plan must adapt to circumstances, my love, and we have a sudden opportunity. This provides a convenient catalyst. Now that Irulan has informed us of this outrage, we simply must visit Arrakeen to assure ourselves that Marie is all right.”

  His overlarge eyes glittered. “Hmm-ahh. Yes, the Emperor would not deny us that privilege. Our poor, dear daughter, threatened by the meddling witches.” Fenring kissed her on the cheek. “We shall arrange for immediate passage to Arrakis.”

  THE COUNT NEEDED no reminders about their plan as he and Lady Margot disembarked at the spaceport outside Muad’Dib’s stupendous, sprawling capital. The journey had given them ample time to discuss nuances, contingencies, and shadings of behavior that they would follow. Their goal remained paramount, the key intersection point of all the lines of possibility.

  Even so, Fenring could not deny the fact that he was eager to see their daughter again. By now
she must be ready.

  He and his Lady looked up at the battlements and ramparts of the huge citadel complex that sprawled across the northern suburbs of Arrakeen, centered on the old Residency, and extended all the way to the Shield Wall cliffs — so different from when the Fenrings had lived here! Gigantic suspensor cranes loomed over portions of the vast compound as work continued.

  Margot must have noted a slight quivering in the muscles of his primary weapon hand — tension, preparation. When his wife touched that forearm and made eye contact with him, he felt his pulse slow, just a little. He said, “Mmm, I will let you do the talking for both of us.”

  Yes, they had woven a deadly tapestry of plans, but the Imperium was full of plans and unseen linkages. They had both been surprised to learn of the assassination attempt during the Great Surrender ceremony — not by any of Muad’Dib’s numerous sworn enemies, but by a purportedly faithful Swordmaster. The Count found it amusing. With many attempts brewing, sooner or later some plot was bound to succeed against Paul Atreides. He was like the pretentious, widely despised master of a carnival sideshow, but on a galactic scale.

  Apart from the inconvenience to himself and to his beloved wife, Fenring had not been sad to see Shaddam dislodged from power; by the same token, he would be glad to see an end to the brief, terrible reign of Muad’Dib. In its place, after the turmoil, he would make sure he was in a position to establish something far more efficient and… majestic. Ultimately, whoever sat on the throne would need popular support, as well as a network of fail-safes to maintain power.

  Paul Atreides should have come to him for advice in the first place.

  One of the Spaceport soldiers marched toward them, a statue in motion. Blocking their way, he raised one hand in a stiff, halting gesture, while keeping the other near a sheathed dagger. No emotion showed on his chiseled, weathered face, like something sculpted by sandstorm winds. “State your business in the city of Muad’Dib.”