“Quite a good mimetic projection, isn’t it?” the Baron said. “The best work our people have done.” He reached forward with a ring-studded hand, and the image of the wall blurred, became indistinct.
Rabban located a slight protrusion of rock and pushed; the entire rear wall rumbled back and fell away to reveal an access tube.
“A very special hiding place,” the Baron said.
Lights flared on, illuminating a passage that led into the heart of the bluff. After they stepped inside and sealed the false-wall projection behind them, de Vries looked around in amazement. “You kept this a secret even from me, my Baron?”
“Rabban found this cave on one of his hunts. We’ve . . . made some modifications using a new technology, an exciting technique. I think you’ll see the possibilities, once I explain it all to you.”
“Quite an elaborate hiding place,” the Mentat agreed. “One can’t be too careful about spies.”
The Baron raised his hands toward the ceiling and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Damn Crown Prince Shaddam to the cesspits! No— make that to the lowest depths of a filth-encrusted, lava-blasted hell-grotto!”
The treasonous outburst shocked even de Vries, and the Baron chuckled. “Here, Piter— and nowhere else on Giedi Prime— I’m not in the least worried about eavesdroppers.”
He led them into a main chamber. “We three could hide here and resist an attack even from contraband atomics. No one would find us. Nullentropy bins hold supplies and weapons to last forever. I have placed everything vital to House Harkonnen in here, from genealogical records to financial documents, to our blackmail material— all the nasty, fascinating details we have on the other Houses.”
Rabban took a seat at a highly polished table and punched a button on a panel. Suddenly the walls became transparent, glowing yellow to spotlight distorted corpses, twenty-one in all, hanging suspended in the gaps between plaz sheets, on display.
“Here’s the construction team,” Rabban said. “It’s our special . . . memorial to them.”
“Rather pharaonic,” the Baron said, in a lighthearted tone.
The flesh of the corpses was discolored and bloated, the faces contorted in macabre death grimaces. The victims’ expressions contained a larger measure of sad resignation than terror of impending death. Anyone building such a secret chamber for the Harkonnens must have realized they’d be doomed from the start.
“They’ll be unpleasant enough to look at while they rot,” the Baron said, “but we’ll eventually have nice clean skeletons to admire.”
The remaining walls were layered with intricate scrollwork showing blue Harkonnen griffins as well as gross and pornographic images of human and human-animal copulation, suggestive designs, and a mechanical clock that would have offended most observers. Rabban looked at it and chuckled as the male and female parts interacted in a steady, eternal rhythm.
De Vries turned around, analyzing the details and applying them to his own Mentat projection.
The Baron smiled. “The room is surrounded by a shielding projection that renders an object invisible in all wavelengths. No scanner can detect this enclosure by sight, sound, heat, or even touch. We call it a no-field. Think of it. We’re standing in a place that doesn’t exist as far as the rest of the universe is concerned. It’s the perfect spot for us to discuss our . . . delicious plans.”
“I’ve never heard of such a field— not from the Guild, not from Ix,” de Vries said. “Who invented it?”
“You may remember our . . . visiting researcher from Richese.”
“Chobyn?” the Mentat asked, then answered his own question. “Yes, that was his name.”
“He came to us in secret with a cutting-edge technique the Richesians had developed. It’s a new and risky technology, but our friend Chobyn saw its possibilities. He wisely brought it to House Harkonnen for our private exploitation, provided we give him sufficient remuneration.”
“And we’ve certainly paid him enough,” Rabban added.
“Worth every solari,” the Baron continued. He drummed his fingers in a habitual rhythm on the tabletop. “Inside this no-globe, not a soul can overhear us, not even a Guild Navigator and his damnable prescience. We’ve now got Chobyn working on . . . something even better for us.”
Rabban impatiently slumped back in one of the seats. “Let’s get on with what we need to talk about.”
De Vries sat down at the self-scrubbing table, eyes bright, Mentat capabilities already whirling and grasping the implications of an invisibility technology. How it could be used . . .
The Baron shifted his gaze from his blunt-featured nephew to his twisted Mentat. What an utter contrast these two are, representing the extremes of the intellectual spectrum. Rabban and de Vries both needed constant supervision, the former because of his thick skull and short fuse, and the latter because his brilliance could be equally dangerous.
Despite his obvious deficiencies, Rabban was the only Harkonnen who could possibly succeed the Baron. Certainly Abulurd wasn’t qualified. Other than those two bastard daughters the Bene Gesserit had forced from him, the Baron had no children of his own. He therefore had to train his nephew in the proper uses and abuses of power, so he could eventually die content with the knowledge that House Harkonnen would continue as it always had.
It would be even better, though, if the Atreides were destroyed. . . .
Perhaps Rabban should have two Mentats to guide him, instead of the customary one. Because of his bullish nature, Rabban’s rule would be especially brutal, perhaps on a scale never before seen on Giedi Prime, despite the Harkonnens’ long history of torture and harsh treatment of slaves.
The Baron’s expression became grim. “Down to business. Now listen, both of you. Piter, I want you to use your full Mentat abilities.”
De Vries removed his small bottle of sapho juice from a pocket inside his robe. He gulped, and smacked his lips in a manner that the Baron found repulsive.
“My spies have reported very distressing information,” the Baron said. “It involves Ix and some plans that the Emperor seems to have made before he died.” He drummed his fingers in time to the little ditty that always ran through his head. “This plot has serious implications for our family’s fortunes. CHOAM and the Guild don’t even know about it.”
Rabban grunted. De Vries sat up straight, awaiting more data.
“It seems that the Emperor and the Tleilaxu have made some kind of an alliance to do unorthodox and highly illegal work.”
“Sligs and shit go together,” Rabban said.
The Baron chuckled at the analogy. “I’ve learned that our dearly departed Emperor was personally behind the takeover on Ix. He forced House Vernius to go renegade and set the Tleilaxu up so they could begin research, adapting their methods to sophisticated Ixian facilities.”
“And what research is that, my Baron?” de Vries asked.
The Baron dropped his bomb. “They seek a biological method to synthesize melange. They think they can produce their own spice artificially and cheaply, thereby cutting Arrakis—us— out of the distribution channels.”
Rabban snorted. “Impossible. Nobody can do that.”
But de Vries’s mind spun as related information clicked into place. “I would not underestimate the Tleilaxu— especially when combined with the facilities and technology on Ix. They’ll have everything they need.”
Rabban drew himself up. “But if the Emperor can make synthetic spice, what happens to our holdings? What happens to all the spice stockpiles we’ve spent years building up?”
“Provided the new synthetic is cheap and effective, Harkonnen spice-based fortunes would evaporate,” de Vries said stonily. “Practically overnight.”
“That’s right, Piter!” The Baron slammed a ringed fist on the table. “Harvesting spice from Arrakis is incredibly expensive. If the Emperor has his own source of cheap melange, the market will collapse and House Corrino will control the rest— a new monopoly held entirely in the
hands of the Emperor.”
“CHOAM won’t like that,” Rabban said with surprising insight.
De Vries suggested, “Then we will have to get this information to the Spacing Guild. We must reveal to them what the Emperor was doing, and see to it that Shaddam ceases all such investigations. CHOAM and the Guild won’t want to lose their investment in spice production either.”
“But what if the new Emperor makes a treaty with them first, Piter?” the Baron asked. “CHOAM is partially owned by House Corrino. Shaddam will be out to make his mark as he begins his reign. What if CHOAM presses him into giving them access to the synthetic spice at an extraordinary discount, as the price of their cooperation? The Guild would love to have a cheaper, reliable supply. They might abandon Arrakis altogether if it’s too difficult.”
“Then we’ll be the only ones left out in the cold,” Rabban growled. “House Harkonnen gets stepped on by everybody.”
The Mentat’s eyes fell half-closed as he droned on. “We can’t even file a formal complaint with the Houses of the Landsraad. Knowledge of a spice substitute would create a feeding frenzy among the Federated families. Political alliances have shifted recently, and a number of Houses wouldn’t mind if our monopoly were broken. They couldn’t care less if the price of melange plummets. The only ones to lose would be those who had invested heavily in secret and illegal spice stockpiles, or those who invested heavily in the expensive spice-harvesting operations on Arrakis.”
“In other words, us again— and a few of our closest allies,” the Baron said.
“The Bene Gesserit, and your little sweetheart among the witches, would probably like an inexpensive supply, too.”
The Baron glowered at his nephew. Rabban merely chuckled. “So what can we do about it?”
De Vries answered without consulting the Baron. “House Harkonnen will have to take care of this by itself. We can expect no outside assistance.”
“Remember that we’re only a quasi-fief on Arrakis,” the Baron said. “It was given to us on sufferance from CHOAM and the Emperor. And now it’s like a hook on which they’ve hung us out to dry. We must be extremely careful.”
“We don’t have enough military strength to fight all those enemies,” Rabban said.
“We’ll have to be subtle,” de Vries said.
“Subtlety?” The Baron raised his eyebrows. “All right, I’m willing to try new things.”
“We must disrupt this Tleilaxu research on Ix,” de Vries said, “preferably destroy it. I suggest that House Harkonnen also liquidate various assets, build up a reserve of cash, and milk our current spice production for as much hard profit as possible, because it may disappear at any moment.”
The Baron looked over at Rabban. “We need to squeeze. Oh, and I’ll have your idiot father step up whale-fur harvesting on Lankiveil. We need to stuff our coffers. The upcoming battles may be quite taxing to our resources.”
The Mentat wiped a red drop from his lips. “We must do this in utmost secrecy. CHOAM watches our financial activity carefully and would detect if we suddenly started doing something unusual. For now it’s best we don’t tip our hand about the Tleilaxu research. We don’t want CHOAM or the Guild joining forces with our new Emperor against House Harkonnen.”
“We’ve got to keep the Imperium properly dependent upon us,” the Baron said.
Rabban scowled, trying to wrestle his way through the implications by brute force. “But if the Tleilaxu are entrenched on Ix, how do we destroy this research without exposing it for what it is? Without giving away our own involvement and bringing all of our enemies against us?”
De Vries sat back to stare at the sexual designs on the walls. The rotting corpses hung in their display cases like hideous eavesdroppers. His mind churned through Mentat calculations until finally he said, “We must have someone else fight for us. Preferably without their knowledge.”
“Who?” Rabban asked.
“That’s why we brought Piter here,” the Baron said. “We need suggestions.”
“Prime projection,” de Vries said. “House Atreides.”
Rabban’s mouth dropped open. “The Atreides would never fight for us!”
De Vries shot back a response. “The Old Duke is dead, and House Atreides is currently unstable. Paulus’s successor Leto is an impetuous young pup. He has no friends in the Landsraad and recently gave a rather embarrassing speech at the Council. He went home humiliated.”
The Baron waited, trying to see where his Mentat was going with this.
“Second data point: House Vernius, staunch ally to Atreides, has been ousted from Ix by the Tleilaxu. Dominic Vernius remains at large with a price on his head, while Shando Vernius has just been killed, based on her renegade status. House Atreides has offered sanctuary to the two children of Vernius. They’re in thick with the victims of the Tleilaxu.”
De Vries raised a finger to assemble the points. “Now, brash young Leto is a close friend of the exiled Prince of Ix. Duke Leto blames the Tleilaxu for the takeover of Ix, for the bounty on the mother, and for the ruined situation of their family. ‘House Atreides values loyalty and honor far above politics,’ Leto said to the Landsraad. He may see it as his duty to help Rhombur Vernius regain his position on Ix. Who better to strike a blow for us?”
The Baron now smiled as he followed the implications. “So . . . start a war between House Atreides and the Tleilaxu! Let them tear each other apart. That way House Atreides and the synthetic-spice research will both be destroyed.”
Rabban was clearly having trouble envisioning this. From the intense look on his face, the Baron could see that his nephew was thinking as hard as he could, just trying to keep up.
The Mentat nodded. “If played properly, we could accomplish this in such a manner that House Harkonnen remains completely apart from the hostilities. We get what we want, and our hands stay entirely clean.”
“Brilliant, Piter! I’m glad I didn’t execute you all those times when you were so annoying.”
“So am I,” de Vries said.
The Baron opened one of the nullentropy chambers to remove a flagon of expensive kirana brandy. “We must have a toast.” Then he smiled slyly. “Because I’ve just realized when and how we can make all this happen.” His two listeners couldn’t have been more attentive.
“The new Duke is overwhelmed with the complexities of running his holdings. Naturally, he will attend the coronation of Shaddam IV. No Great House could risk offending the new Padishah Emperor by scorning him on his greatest day.”
De Vries caught on immediately. “When Duke Leto travels to the coronation . . . that will be our chance to strike.”
“On Kaitain?” Rabban said.
“Something more interesting than that, I suspect,” de Vries said.
The Baron sipped the warm sweetness of the aged brandy. “Ahhh, it will be delicious revenge. And Leto won’t even see it coming, won’t know which direction it came from.”
Rabban’s eyes lit up. “We’ll make him squirm, Uncle?”
The Baron handed crystal snifters to his nephew and his Mentat. Rabban drained his brandy in a single gulp, while de Vries simply stared at it as if performing a chemical analysis with his eyes.
“Yes, Rabban, he’ll squirm and squirm until a big Imperial boot steps on him.”
No one but a Tleilaxu may set foot in Bandalong, holiest city of the Bene Tleilax, for it is fanatically guarded hallowed ground, purified by their God.
—Diplomacy in the Imperium, a Landsraad publication
The burn-scarred building had once been an Ixian fighting-mek factory . . . one of the sacrilegious industries that defied the holy commandments of the Butlerian Jihad. But not anymore. Hidar Fen Ajidica gazed at the rows of tanks and attendants, satisfied now to see that the place had been fully cleansed and put to good use. God will approve.
Following the Tleilaxu victory, the facility had been emptied of its poisonous machinery and blessed by fully robed Masters, so that it could be used for
the exalted purposes of the Bene Tleilax. Despite the commandment and support from old Emperor Elrood, now dead, Ajidica had never considered this an Imperial project. The Tleilaxu did not act for the benefit of anyone but themselves and their God. They had their own purposes, which would never be understood by the unclean outsiders.
“Tleilaxu strategy is always woven within a web of strategies, any one of which may be the real strategy,” he intoned the axiom of his people. “The magic of our God is our salvation.”
Every axlotl tank contained the ingredients of a different experiment, each representing an alternate avenue for solving the artificial melange problem. No outsider had ever seen a Tleilaxu axlotl tank, and none understood their true function. To produce the precious spice, Ajidica knew he would have to use unsettling means. Others would be horrified, but God will approve, he repeated in his secret soul. Eventually, they would mass-produce the spice.
Realizing the complexity of his challenge, the Master Researcher had brought in technological adepts from Tleilax One— learned men who had widely divergent views on how that goal might be attained. At this early point in the process, all options must be considered, all evidence studied for clues to be inserted directly into the DNA code of organic molecules, which the Tleilaxu called the Language of God.
All of the technological adepts agreed that artificial spice must be grown as an organic substance in an axlotl tank, because the tanks were holy sources of life and energy. Master Researchers had nurtured countless previous programs with astonishing results, from sligs to clones and gholas . . . though there had been many unfortunate failures, as well.
These exotic vessels were the most sacred of Tleilaxu discoveries, with their workings shielded even from Crown Prince Shaddam, his aides, and his Sardaukar. Such secrecy and security here on Ix— now Xuttah— had been a requirement of the original bargain with Emperor Elrood. The old man had agreed with deprecating amusement, must have assumed he could take those secrets whenever he wished.
Dune: House Atreides Page 50