Dune: House Atreides

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Elrood glared at him, stabbed by the pet name Dominic had used. Roody. Both men knew that particular personal nickname had been used only by a former concubine of Elrood’s, the beautiful Shando . . . who was now Lady Vernius.

  After the Ecazi Rebellion, Emperor Elrood had decorated brave young Dominic and granted him an expansion of his fief to include other worlds in the Alkaurops system. At Elrood’s invitation, the young Earl Vernius had spent much time at court, a war hero to be seen as a decoration at Imperial banquets and state functions. Hearty Dominic had been very popular, a welcome guest, a proud and humorous companion in the dining hall.

  But it was there that Dominic had met Shando, one of the Emperor’s many concubines. At the time, Elrood had been married to no one; his fourth and last wife Habla had died five years earlier, and he already had two male heirs (though his eldest, Fafnir, would be poisoned later that year). The Emperor continued to keep a retinue of beautiful women, though primarily to maintain appearances, since he rarely took Shando or any of his other concubines to bed.

  Dangerously, Dominic and Shando had fallen in love, but had kept their relationship secret for many months. It was clear that Elrood had lost interest in her after five years, and when she asked to be freed from service and to leave the Imperial Court, Elrood— though perplexed— had complied. He thought fondly of her, and saw no reason to deny her a simple request.

  The other concubines had thought Shando foolish to give up such riches and pampering, but she’d had enough of the lavish life and instead wanted a real marriage and children. Elrood, of course, would never take her as his wife.

  As soon as she was freed from Imperial service, Dominic Vernius married her, and they had completed their vows with minimal pomp and ceremony, but airtight legality.

  Upon hearing that someone else wanted her, Elrood’s male pride suddenly made him change his mind— but it was too late. He had resented Dominic ever since, feeling like a cuckold, paranoid about what bedroom secrets Shando might be sharing with her husband.

  Roody.

  The Bene Gesserit witch who hovered near the throne faded deeper into the shadows behind a speckled column of Canidar granite. Dominic couldn’t tell if the cowled woman was pleased or annoyed with the events.

  Forcing himself not to waver, not to hurry, Dominic strode confidently past a pair of Sardaukar guards and entered the outer hallway. At a signal from Elrood, they could execute him instantly.

  Dominic increased his pace.

  The Corrinos were known for rash behavior. On more than one occasion they’d had to make up for their hasty and ill-advised reactions, using their vast family wealth for payoffs. Killing the head of House Vernius during an Imperial audience might just be one of those rash acts— if it weren’t for the involvement of the Spacing Guild. The Guild had favored Ix with increased attention and benefits— and had adopted the new Heighliner design— and not even the Emperor and his brutal Sardaukar could oppose the Guild.

  This was an ironic circumstance, considering the military might of House Corrino, for the Guild had no fighting forces, no armaments of its own. But without the Guild and their Navigators to see a safe path across folded space, there would be no space travel, no interplanetary banking— and no empire for Elrood to rule. On a moment’s notice, the Guild could withhold its favors, stranding armies and putting an end to military campaigns. Of what use would the Sardaukar be if they were planet-bound on Kaitain?

  Finally reaching the main exit gate of the Imperial Palace, passing under the Salusan lava arch, Dominic waited while three guards ran him through a security scan.

  Unfortunately, Guild protection only went so far.

  Dominic had very little respect for the old Emperor. He had tried to hide his contempt for the pathetic ruler of a million worlds, but he’d made a dire mistake by allowing himself to think of him as a mere man, a former lover of his wife’s. Elrood, snubbed, could annihilate an entire planet in a fit of pique. The Emperor was the vindictive sort. All Corrinos were.

  • • •

  I have my contacts, Elrood thought as he watched his adversary depart. I can bribe some of the workers who are building components for those improved Heighliners— though that may be difficult, since suboids are said to be mindless. Failing that, Dominic, I can find other people you’ve pushed aside and taken for granted. Your mistake will be in overlooking them.

  In his mind’s eye Elrood envisioned the lovely Shando, and recalled their most intimate moments together, decades ago. Purple merh-silk sheets, the sprawling bed, incense burners, and mirrored glowglobes. As Emperor, he could have any woman he wanted— and he had chosen Shando.

  For two years she had been his favorite concubine, even when his wife Habla had been alive. Small-boned and petite, she had a fragile porcelain-doll appearance, which she had cultivated during her years on Kaitain; but Elrood also knew she had a commonsense strength and resiliency deep inside her. They had enjoyed doing multilingual word puzzles together. Shando had whispered “Roody” in his ear when he had invited her to the Imperial bedchamber; and she had cried it loudly during climactic moments of passion.

  In memory he heard her voice. Roody . . . Roody . . . Roody . . .

  Being a commoner, however, Shando simply wasn’t suitable for him to marry. It had not even been an option. The heads of royal Houses rarely wed their concubines, and an Emperor never did. Dashing young Dominic, with his wiles and flattery, had gotten Shando to talk herself free, to trick Elrood, and then had spirited her away to Ix, where he had married her in secret. The astonishment in the Landsraad came later, and despite the scandal the two had remained married these many years.

  And the Landsraad, despite Elrood’s petition to them, had refused to do anything about it. After all, Dominic had married the girl and the Emperor never had any intention of doing so. Everything according to law. Despite his petty jealousies, Elrood couldn’t claim Shando had been adulterous, not by any legal standard.

  But Dominic Vernius knew her intimate nickname for him. What else had Shando told her husband? It ate at him like a Poritrin fester.

  On the screen of a wrist-strap security monitor, he watched Dominic at the main gate, as pale security beams washed over him— from a scanner that was another sophisticated Ixian machine.

  He could send a signal, and the probes would obliterate the other man’s mind, leave him a vegetable. An unexpected power surge . . . a most terrible accident . . . How ironic if Elrood were to use an Ixian scanner to kill the Earl of Ix.

  Oh, how he wanted to do it! But not now. The time wasn’t right, and there could be embarrassing questions, maybe even an investigation. Such vengeance required subtlety and planning. In that way, the surprise and ultimate victory would be so much more satisfying.

  Elrood switched off the monitor, and the screen darkened.

  Standing beside the blocky throne, Chamberlain Aken Hesban didn’t ask why his Emperor was smiling.

  The highest function of ecology is the understanding of consequences.

  —PARDOT KYNES, Ecology of Bela Tegeuse,

  Initial Report to the Imperium

  Over a razor-edged horizon the shimmering atmosphere was filled with pastel colors of sunrise. In a brief instant the clean stillness of Arrakis allowed warm light to flood over the wrinkled landscape . . . a sudden deluge of brightness and rising heat. The white sun lurched above the horizon, without much precursor glow in the arid air.

  Now that he had finally arrived on the desert world, Pardot Kynes drew a deep breath, then remembered to put the face mask over his nose and mouth to prevent extreme moisture loss. His sparse, sandy hair blew in a light breeze. He had only been on Arrakis four days, and already he sensed that this barren place held more mysteries than a lifetime could ever unravel.

  He would have preferred to have been left to his own devices. He wanted to wander alone across the Great Bled with his instruments and logbooks, studying the character of lava rock and the stratified layers of dunes.


  However, when Glossu Rabban, nephew of the Baron and heir apparent to House Harkonnen, announced his intention to go into the deep desert to hunt one of the legendary sandworms, such an opportunity was too great for Kynes to ignore.

  As a mere Planetologist in the entourage, a scientist instead of a warrior, he felt like the odd man out. Harkonnen desert troops brought along weaponry and explosives from the armored central keep. They took a troop transport led by a man named Thekar, who claimed to have once lived in a desert village, though he was now a water merchant in Carthag. He had more of a Fremen look to him than he admitted, though none of the Harkonnens seemed to notice.

  Rabban had no specific plan for tracking one of the huge sinuous beasts. He didn’t want to go to a spice-harvesting site, where his crew might disrupt the work. He wanted to hunt down and kill such a beast by himself. He just brought along all the weaponry he could imagine and relied upon his instinctive talent for destruction. . . .

  Days earlier, Kynes had arrived on Arrakis by diplomatic shuttle, landing in the dirty though relatively new city. Eager to get started, he had presented his Imperial assignment papers to the Baron himself. The lean, red-haired man had scrutinized Kynes’s orders carefully, then verified the Imperial seal. He pursed his thick lips before he grudgingly promised his cooperation. “So long as you know enough to stay out of the way of real work.”

  Kynes had bowed. “I like nothing better than to be alone and out of the way, m’Lord Baron.”

  He’d spent his first two days in the city purchasing desert gear, talking to people from the outlying villages, learning what he could about the legends of the desert, the warnings, the customs, the mysteries to explore. Understanding the importance of such things, Kynes spent a substantial sum to obtain the best stillsuit he could find for desert survival, as well as a paracompass, water distilleries, and reliable note-keeping devices.

  It was said that many tribes of the enigmatic Fremen lived in the trackless wastes. Kynes wanted to talk with them, to understand how they squeezed survival from such a harsh environment. But the out-of-place Fremen seemed reticent within the boundaries of Carthag, and they hurried away whenever he tried to talk with them. . . .

  Kynes didn’t much care for the city himself. House Harkonnen had erected the new headquarters en masse when, four decades earlier, Guild manipulations had given them Arrakis as a quasi-fief to govern. Carthag had been built with the rapidity of inexhaustible human labor, without finesse or attention to detail: blocky buildings constructed of substandard materials for ostentatious purposes or functionality. No elegance whatsoever.

  Carthag did not appear to belong here; its architecture and placement were offensive to his sensibilities. Kynes had an innate ability to see how the fabric of an ecosystem meshed, how the pieces fit together in a natural world. But this population center was wrong, like a pustule on the skin of the planet.

  Another outpost to the southwest, Arrakeen, was a more primitive city that had grown slowly, naturally, nestled against a mountainous barrier called the Shield Wall. Perhaps Kynes should have gone there first. But political requirements had forced him to establish his base with the rulers of the planet.

  At least that had given him the opportunity to search for one of the giant sandworms.

  The large ’thopter transport carrying Rabban’s hunting party lifted off, and soon Kynes received his initial glimpse of the true desert. Kynes peered out the windowplaz at the rippled wastelands below. From experiences in other desert regions, he was able to identify dune patterns . . . shapes and sinuous curves that revealed much about seasonal wind patterns, prevailing air currents, and the severity of storms. So much could be learned from studying these ripples and lines, the fingerprints of weather. He pressed his face to the plaz observation ports; none of the other passengers appeared to be interested at all.

  The Harkonnen troops fidgeted, hot in their heavy blue uniforms and armor. Their weapons clattered against each other and scraped the floor plates. The men seemed uneasy without their personal body-shields, but the presence of a shield and its Holtzman field would drive any nearby worms into a killing frenzy. Today, Rabban himself wanted to do the killing.

  Glossu Rabban, the twenty-one-year-old son of the planet’s former lackluster governor, sat up front near the pilot, looking for targets out on the sand. With severely cropped brown hair, he was broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, and short-tempered. Icy pale blue eyes looked out from a sunburned face. He seemed to do everything possible to be the opposite of his father.

  “Will we see worm tracks from the sky?” he asked.

  Behind him, Thekar the desert guide leaned very close, as if wishing to remain within Rabban’s personal space. “The sands shift and mask the passage of a worm. Often they travel deep. You will not see a worm moving until it approaches the surface and is ready to attack.”

  The tall, angular Kynes listened intently, taking mental notes. He wanted to record all of these details in his logbook, but that would have to wait until later.

  “Then how are we going to find one? I heard the open desert is crawling with worms.”

  “Not that simple, m’Lord Rabban,” Thekar responded. “The great worms have their own domains, some extending to hundreds of square kilometers. Within these boundaries they hunt and kill any intruders.”

  Growing impatient, Rabban turned around in his seat. His skin grew darker. “How do we know where to find a worm’s domain?”

  Thekar smiled, and his dark, close-set eyes took on a distant look. “All of the desert is owned by Shai-Hulud.”

  “By what? Stop evading my questions.” Within another moment, Kynes was sure Rabban would cuff the desert man across the jaw.

  “You have been on Arrakis for so long, and you did not know this, m’Lord Rabban? The Fremen consider the great sandworms to be gods,” Thekar answered quietly. “They name him, collectively, Shai-Hulud.”

  “Then today we shall kill a god,” Rabban announced in a loud voice, causing the other hunters in the back of the compartment to cheer. He turned sharply toward the desert guide. “I depart for Giedi Prime in two days, and must have a trophy to take back with me. This hunt will be successful.”

  Giedi Prime, Kynes thought. Ancestral homeworld of House Harkonnen. At least I won’t have to worry about him once he’s gone.

  “You will have your trophy, m’Lord,” Thekar promised.

  “No doubt about that,” Rabban said, but in a more ominous tone.

  Seated alone in the rear of the troop transport, huddled in his desert gear, Kynes felt uncomfortable in such company. He had no interest in the glorious ambitions of the Baron’s nephew . . . but if this excursion gave him a good look at one of the monsters, it could be worth months of intensive effort on his own.

  Rabban stared out through the front of the transport; his hard, squinting eyes were surrounded by thick folds of skin. He scrutinized the desert as if it were a delicacy he intended to eat, seeing none of the beauty Kynes noted in the landscape.

  “I have a plan, and this is how we’ll follow it.” Rabban turned to the troops and opened the comsystem to the spotter ornithopters flying in formation around the transport. They cruised out over the expanse of open sand. The dune ripples below looked like wrinkles on an old man’s skin.

  “That outcropping of rock down there”— he gestured, and read off the coordinates—“will be our base. About three hundred meters from the rock we’ll touch down in the open sand, where we’ll drop Thekar with a gadget he calls a thumper. Then we’ll lift off to the safety of the rock outcroppings, where the worm can’t go.”

  The lean desert man looked up in alarm. “Leave me out there? But m’Lord, I’m not—”

  “You gave me the idea.” He turned back to address the uniformed troops. “Thekar here says that this Fremen device, a thumper, will bring a worm. We’ll plant one along with enough explosives to take care of the beast when it comes. Thekar, we will leave you behind to rig the explosives and trigger t
he thumper. You can run across the sands and make it to safety with us before a worm can come, right?” Rabban gave him a delicious little grin.

  “I— I . . .” Thekar stammered. “It appears I have no choice.”

  “Even if you can’t make it, the worm will probably go for the thumper first. The explosives will get the beast before you become its next target.”

  “I take comfort in that, m’Lord,” Thekar said.

  Intrigued by the Fremen device, Kynes considered obtaining one for himself. He wished he could watch this desert native up close to witness how he ran across the sands, how he eluded pursuit from the vibration-sensitive “Old Man of the Desert.” But the Planetologist knew enough to remain quiet and avoid Rabban’s notice, hoping that the hot-blooded young Harkonnen wouldn’t volunteer him to assist Thekar.

  Inside the personnel compartment at the back of the craft, the Bator— a commander of a small troop— and his underlings looked through the weapons stockpile, removing lasguns for themselves. They rigged explosives to the stakelike mechanism that Thekar had brought along. A thumper.

  With curious eyes, Kynes could see that it was just a spring-wound clockwork device that would thunk out a loud, rhythmic vibration. When plunged into the sand, the thumper would send reverberations deep below the desert to where “Shai-Hulud” could hear them.

  “As soon as we land, you’d better rig up these explosives fast,” Rabban said to Thekar. “The engines of these ornithopters will do a good job of attracting the worm, even without the help of your Fremen toy.”

  “I know that all too well, m’Lord,” Thekar said. His olive skin now had a grayish, oily tinge of terror.

  The ornithopter struts kissed the sands, throwing up loose dust. The hatch opened, and Thekar— determined, now— grabbed his thumper and sprang out, landing with spread feet on the soft desert. He flashed a longing glance back up at the flying craft, then turned toward the dubious safety of the line of solid rock some three hundred meters away.