Dune: House Atreides

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Rhombur trotted in to sit at the small table while Leto served up two bowls of steaming Caladanian oyster chowder, seasoned with nouveau wine from House Atreides vineyards. “My grandmother came up with this recipe. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Well, not bad. Even if you made it.” Rhombur slurped from his bowl and licked his lips. “It’s a, um, good thing my sister didn’t come along,” he said, trying to hide the joking tone in his voice. “She probably would have tried to wear fancy clothes, and you know she’d never have gone swimming with us.”

  “Sure,” Leto said, unconvinced. “You’re right.” It was obvious to anyone how he and Kailea flirted with each other, though Rhombur understood— politically speaking— that a romance between them would be unwise at best, and dangerous at worst.

  Out on the midship deck just aft of them, the sun beat down, warming the wooden floorboards, drying the splashed water— and exposing the fragile coral gems to the open, oxidizing air. Simultaneously, the three largest gems burst into incandescent flares, merging into a miniature nova of intense heat, hot enough to burn through a metal star-ship hull.

  Leto leaped to his feet, knocking aside his bowl of chowder. Through the broad plaz windowports he could see blue-orange flames shooting up, setting the deck on fire, including the lifeboat. One of the coral gems shattered, spraying hot fragments in all directions, each of which started secondary fires.

  Within seconds, two more gems burned completely through the coracle deck and dropped into the cargo hold below, where they ate through crates. One burned open a spare fuel container, igniting it with an explosive burst, while the second gem seared all the way through the bottom hull until it extinguished itself in the refreshing water again. The wickerwood hull, though treated with a fire-retardant chemical, would not hold up against such heat.

  Leto and Rhombur rushed out of the galley, shouting at each other but not knowing what to do. “The fire! We’ve got to get the fire out!”

  “They’re coral gems!” Leto looked for something with which to extinguish the blaze. “They burn hot, can’t be put out easily.” Swelling flames licked the deck, and the coracle rocked with an explosion belowdecks. On its davits the lifeboat was a lost cause, completely enveloped in flames.

  “We could sink,” Leto said, “and we’re too far from land.” He grabbed a chemical extinguisher, which he sprayed on the flames.

  He and his companion took out the hoses and pumps from a front compartment and doused the boat with seawater, but the cargo hold was already engulfed. Greasy black smoke drifted through cracks in the top deck. A warning beep signified that they were taking on large amounts of water.

  “We’re going to sink!” Rhombur shouted, reading the instrumentation. He coughed from the acrid smoke.

  Leto tossed a flotation vest to his friend as he buckled another one around his waist. “Get on the shore-com. Announce our position and send a distress. You know how to operate it?”

  Rhombur yelped an affirmative, while Leto used another chemical extinguisher, but soon exhausted its charge without effect. He and Rhombur would be trapped out here, floating with only the debris of the boat around them. He had to reach land and settle where they could wait.

  He remembered his father lecturing him: “When you find yourself in the midst of a seemingly impossible crisis, take care of the solvable parts first. Then, after you’ve narrowed the possibilities, work on the most difficult aspects.”

  He heard Rhombur shouting into the shore-com, repeating the distress call. Leto now ignored the fire. The coracle was sinking, and would soon be underwater, leaving them stranded. He looked toward the port side and saw frothing water around the tangle of the reef. He dashed for the cabin.

  Before the fire could reach the aft engines, he started the boat, used the emergency cutoff to sever the anchor, and raced toward the reef. The flaming coracle was like a comet on the water.

  “What are you doing?” Rhombur cried. “Where are we going?”

  “The reef!” he shouted. “I’ll try to run aground there so we don’t sink. Then you and I can work to put out the fire.”

  “You’re going to crash us into a reef? That’s crazy!”

  “You’d rather sink out here? This boat is going down, one way or another.” As if to emphasize his point another small container of fuel exploded belowdecks, sending a shudder through the floor.

  Rhombur grasped the secured galley table to keep his balance. “Whatever you say.”

  “Did you get an acknowledgment on the shore-com?”

  “No. I, uh, hope they heard us.” Leto told him to keep trying, which he did, still without receiving a response.

  The waves curled around them, low to the deck rail. Black smoke poured into the sky. Fire licked at the engine compartment. The coracle dipped lower, dragging, taking on water rapidly. Leto pushed the engines, still charging toward the rocks. He didn’t know if he would win this race. If he could just run them up on the reef, he and Rhombur could stay safely beside the wreckage. He didn’t know how long it would take for rescuers to arrive.

  As if driven by a demon, whitecaps rose in front of them, threatening to form a barrier. But Leto held course and did not slacken the acceleration. “Hang on!”

  At the last moment, the engines died as fire engulfed them. The coracle cruised forward on sheer momentum and crashed into the jagged reef. The grinding halt threw both Leto and Rhombur to the deck. Rhombur struck his head and stood up, blinking, dazed. Blood trickled down his forehead, very close to the old injury he had received during the orship escape from Ix.

  “Let’s go! Overboard!” Leto yelled. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pushed him out of the cabin. From the forward compartment, Leto tossed hoses and portable pumps into the frothing water. “Dip this end of the hose into the deepest water you can reach! And try not to cut yourself on the reef.”

  Rhombur scrambled over the rail, while Leto followed, trying to maintain his balance in the churning tide pools and rough surf. The boat was snagged, so for the moment they needn’t worry about drowning— just discomfort.

  The pumps started, and seawater sprayed out of two hoses, one held by each boy. The water fell in a thick curtain onto the flames. Rhombur swiped blood out of his eyes and kept directing his hose. They doused the coracle with endless torrents until finally, slowly, the flames began to die back.

  Rhombur looked bedraggled and miserable, but Leto felt oddly exhilarated. “Perk up, Rhombur. Think about it. On Ix we had to escape from a revolution that nearly destroyed the whole planet. Makes this little mishap seem like child’s play, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Uh, right,” the other said, glumly. “Most fun I’ve had in ages.”

  The two of them sat waist deep in the surging water, playing their hoses over the fire. Smoke continued to rise into the clear Caladan sky like a distress beacon.

  Soon they heard the distant but increasing roar of powerful engines, and moments later a high-speed wingboat came into view, a double-hulled craft capable of reaching tremendous speeds over the water. It drew near and swung clear of the rocks. On the foredeck stood Thufir Hawat, shaking his head at Leto in disapproval.

  Among the responsibilities of command is the necessity to punish . . . but only when the victim demands it.

  —PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO, Discourses on

  Leadership in a Galactic Imperium, 12th Edition

  Her chocolate hair in disarray, her clothes torn and inappropriate for the desert, the woman ran across the sands, seeking escape.

  Janess Milam looked up over her shoulder, blinking sun-scalded tears from her eyes. Seeing the shadow of the suspensor platform that held Baron Harkonnen and his nephew Rabban, she put on a burst of speed. Her feet dug into the powder-sand, making her lose her balance. She staggered toward the open wasteland, where it was hotter, drier, deadlier.

  Buried in the lee of a nearby dune, the thumper throbbed, pulsing . . . calling.

  She tried to find a refuge of rocks, cool
caves, even the shadow of a boulder. At the very least, she wanted to die out of sight so they wouldn’t be able to laugh at her. But the Harkonnens had dropped her into a sea of open dunes. Janess slipped and tasted dust.

  From their safe vantage on the suspensor platform, the Baron and his nephew watched her struggles, the pitiful flight of a tiny human figure on the sand. The observers wore stillsuits like costumes; their masks hung loose.

  They had returned to Arrakis from Giedi Prime only a few weeks before, and Janess had arrived on the previous day’s prison ship. At first, the Baron had thought to execute the treacherous woman back at Barony, but Rabban had wanted her to suffer in front of his eyes out on the scorching sands, in punishment for helping Duncan Idaho escape.

  “She seems so insignificant down there, doesn’t she?” the Baron commented, without interest. Sometimes, his nephew did have unique ideas, though he lacked the focus to carry them through. “This is much more satisfying than a simple beheading, and beneficial to the worms. Food for them.”

  Rabban made a low sound in his thick throat, remarkably like an animal’s growl. “It shouldn’t be long now. Those thumpers always call a worm. Always.”

  The Baron stood tall on the platform, feeling the hot sun, the glistening sweat on his skin. His body ached, a condition he’d been experiencing for several months now. He nudged the suspensor platform forward so they could get a better view of their victim. He mused, “That boy is an Atreides now, from what I hear. Working with the Duke’s Salusan bulls.”

  “He’s dead, if I ever see him again.” Rabban wiped salty sweat from his sunburned forehead. “Him, and any other Atreides I catch alone.”

  “You’re like an ox, Rabban.” The Baron gripped his nephew’s strong shoulder. “But don’t waste energy on insignificant things. House Atreides is our real enemy— not some insignificant stableboy. Stableboy . . . hmmm . . .”

  Below, Janess skidded on her face down the slope of a dune and scrambled to her feet again. With a basso laugh the Baron said, “She’ll never get far enough away from the thumper in time.” The resonant vibrations continued to throb into the ground, like the distant drumbeat of a death song.

  “It’s too hot out here,” Rabban grumbled. “Couldn’t you have brought a canopy?” Pulling his stillsuit’s water tube to his mouth, he drew in an unsatisfying sip of warm water.

  “I like to sweat. It’s good for the health, purges poisons from the system.”

  Rabban fidgeted. When he tired of watching the woman’s clumsy run, he looked across the seared landscape, searching for the tracks of an oncoming behemoth. “By the way, whatever happened to that Planetologist the Emperor foisted on us? I took him worm hunting once.”

  “Kynes? Who knows?” The Baron snorted. “He’s always out in the desert, comes in to Carthag to deliver reports whenever he feels like it, then disappears again. Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

  “What happens if he gets hurt? Could we get in trouble for not keeping a better eye on him?”

  “I doubt it. Elrood’s mind isn’t what it used to be.” The Baron laughed, a thin, nasal tone of derision. “Not that the Emperor’s mind was much even in its prime.”

  The dark-haired woman, coated now with clinging dust, fought her way across the dunes. She kicked up sand, falling and struggling back onto her feet, refusing to give up.

  “This bores me,” Rabban said. “No challenge just to stand here and watch.”

  “Some punishments are easy,” the Baron observed, “but easy isn’t always sufficient. Erasing this woman does nothing to erase the black mark she made on the honor of House Harkonnen . . . with the help of House Atreides.”

  “Then let’s do more,” Rabban said with a thick-lipped grin, “to the Atreides.”

  The Baron felt the heat shimmering on his exposed face, absorbed the thrumming silence of the baked desert. When he smiled, the skin on his cheeks threatened to crack. “Maybe we will.”

  “What, Uncle?”

  “Perhaps it’s time to get rid of the Old Duke. No more thorns in our side.”

  Rabban bubbled with anticipation.

  With a calmness designed to agitate his nephew, the Baron focused the oil lenses of his binoculars and scanned the distance at varying magnifications. He hoped to spot the wormsign himself rather than relying on the security ornithopters. Finally he sensed the tremors approaching. He felt his pulse synchronize with the thumper: Lump . . . lump . . . lump . . .

  Crescent dune tracks spread shadow ripples toward the horizon, an elongated mound-in-motion, a cresting of sand like a big fish swimming just under the surface. In the still, hot air, the Baron heard the rasping, abrasive sound of the slithering beast. Excitedly, he grabbed Rabban’s elbow and pointed.

  The com-unit at Rabban’s ear chirped, and a filtered voice spoke so loudly that the Baron could hear the muffled words. Rabban swatted at the device. “We know! We see it.”

  The Baron continued his musings as the buried worm approached like a locomotive. “I’ve kept up my contacts with . . . individuals on Caladan, you know. The Old Duke is a creature of habit. And habits can be dangerous.” He smiled, his lips hard, his eyes squinting against the glare. “We’ve already put operatives in place, and I have a plan.”

  Far out in the dunes ahead of them, Janess spun around and ran in blind panic. She had seen the oncoming worm.

  The rippling upheaval of sand reached the thumper in the lee of a whaleback dune. In an explosion like a tidal wave engulfing a dock, the thumper vanished into an immense mouth lined with crystal teeth.

  “Move the platform,” the Baron urged. “Follow her!” Rabban worked the suspensor controls, floating them up over the desert for a better view of the action.

  Following the vibrations of the woman’s footsteps, the worm changed course. The sand rippled again as the behemoth dived underground and prowled like a shark searching for new prey.

  Janess collapsed on the top of a dune, shuddering, holding her knees up against her chin as she tried not to make any sound that might attract the great worm. Sand skittered around her. She froze, held her breath.

  The monster paused. Janess huddled in terror, praying silently.

  Rabban brought the suspensor platform above the trapped woman. Janess glared up at the Harkonnens, her jaw clenched, her eyes like daggers, a cornered animal afraid to move.

  Baron Harkonnen reached down to grab an empty bottle of spice liquor, drained during their long hot wait for her execution. He raised the brown glass bottle as if in a toast, grinning.

  The sandworm waited underground, alert for even a fractional movement.

  The Baron tossed the bottle at the dusky-skinned woman. The glass tumbled in the air, reflecting glints of sunlight, end over end. It struck the sand within meters of Janess’s feet with a loud thunk.

  The worm lunged into motion, toward her.

  Screaming curses at the Harkonnens, Janess plunged down the hillside, followed by a small avalanche of sand. But the ground dropped out from underneath her, like a gaping trapdoor.

  The mouth of the worm rose up, a cavern of glittering teeth in the sunlight to swallow Janess and everything around her. A puff of dust drifted on the wavering air as the huge worm sank back under the sands, like a whale beneath the sea.

  Rabban touched his com-unit, demanding to know whether the spotting craft overhead had taken high-resolution holos. “I didn’t even see her blood, didn’t hear her scream.” He sounded disappointed.

  “You may strangle one of my servants,” the Baron offered, “if it will make you feel better. But only because I’m in such a good mood.”

  From the suspensor platform, he gazed down at the placid dunes, knowing the danger and death that lurked beneath them. He wished his old rival Duke Paulus Atreides had been down there instead of the woman. For that, he would have had every Harkonnen holorecorder in operation, so that he could enjoy it from every angle and savor the experience over and over, each time tasting the morsel of human fle
sh as the worm did.

  No matter, the Baron told himself. I have something just as interesting in mind for the old man.

  Speak the truth. That is always much easier, and is often the most powerful argument.

  —Bene Gesserit Axiom

  Duncan Idaho stared at the monstrous Salusan bull through the force-field bars of its cage, his child’s gaze meeting the multifaceted eyes of the ferocious creature. The bull had a scaly black hide, multiple horns, and two brains that were capable of only one thought: Destroy anything that moves.

  The boy had worked in the stables for weeks now, doing his best at even the most miserable of jobs, feeding and watering the combat bulls, tending them, cleaning their filthy cages while the beasts were pushed back behind force-barricades to keep them from attacking him.

  He enjoyed his job, despite what others considered the degrading meniality of the tasks to be performed. Duncan didn’t even think of it as low-level work, though he knew several other stableboys did. These were simply chores to him, and he considered his payment in freedom and happiness more than sufficient. Because of the gracious generosity of his benefactor, Duke Paulus Atreides, he loved the old man dearly.

  Duncan ate well now and had a warm place to live and fresh clothes whenever he needed them. Though no one asked him to, he worked hard anyway, driven and dedicated. There was even some time for relaxation, and he and the other workers had their own gymnasium and recreation hall. He could also go splashing in the sea whenever he wished, and a friendly man from the dockside occasionally took him along for a day’s fishing.

  At present the Old Duke kept five of the mutated bulls for his games. Duncan had sought to befriend the beasts, trying to tame them with bribes of sweet green grass or fresh fruits, but an exasperated Stablemaster Yresk had caught him at it.

  “The Old Duke uses them in his bullfights— do you think he prefers them tame?” His puffy eyes had widened with anger. The white-haired stablemaster had accepted him on the Duke’s orders, but grudgingly, and he gave Duncan no special treatment. “He wants them to attack. He doesn’t want the creatures to purr when he’s on display in the Plaza de Toros. What would the people think?”