Paul of Dune hod-1

by Brian Herbert

  “Who says I let myself be controlled?” Marie’s voice was cold and calculating. “Don’t you see? I manipulated them.”

  He didn’t want to hear any more. He sounded far away. “The nerve agent is filling the sealed pipes throughout Thalidei.”

  Marie heard men pounding on the doors and shouting in strained voices over the intercom system. She also heard whirring, screeching sounds outside — drilling and cutting tools.

  “They won’t get to us in time.” Thallo’s face became beatific. “Finally I’ve found my inner peace, and my closest, dearest friend is with me.”

  10

  Trust is a luxury I no longer have. I have experienced too much betrayal.

  —from Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  In the immediate aftermath of the attack in the Celestial Audience Hall, Irulan longed for silence, but she heard only terrible screams and moans. Irulan realized she was turning slowly around, barely able to absorb everything with her eyes. It looked as if a Coriolis storm had passed through the enormous vaulted chamber.

  From a very young age, as an Imperial Princess, she had been prepared for sudden attacks; her father had thwarted frequent assassination attempts, and Count Hasimir Fenring had probably foiled many more that she had never learned about. With his Jihad, Paul-Muad’Dib attracted more violence than Shaddam IV ever had.

  She watched Paul pick himself and Chani up after the explosion of the new throne. Bludd had saved them. His ceremonial uniform and his grayish skin were flecked with red spots and tiny slashes. Facing Chani, Paul held her shoulders and gave her a quick but thorough inspection. “Are you hurt? Are you poisoned?”

  Chani hardened her gaze. “Only bruises and scratches, Usul.” He touched her skin, as if by simply looking at the fresh wounds he could tell whether or not they were contaminated. She brushed him aside. “Not now. We have much to attend to here.” “Alia!” Paul shouted, looking around. “Are you safe?”

  The girl appeared, looking unruffled. “I got out of the way, but the Fedaykin protecting me didn’t fare so well.”

  Bludd also got to his feet, brushing himself off and looking drained. The wiry Swordmaster’s fine clothes had been shredded by flying debris, and his left arm showed a deep gash. He swayed on his feet, glanced over at Irulan. “At least… I saved the princess this time.” He touched the bleeding cut, then dropped to his knees again. “But I’m afraid one of the hunter-seekers must have scratched me. I feel very… strange.”

  Paul shouted for a medic, and the nearest doctor hurried to him, climbing over bodies in order to do so. “This man’s been poisoned — save him!”

  “But, Sire, without knowing the poison, I cannot possibly derive an antidote!”

  In a brisk voice, Paul listed the eleven poisons he had identified in the hunter-seekers, so the doctors knew where to begin in treating Bludd. His team hurried the limp Swordmaster to a triage area outside the chamber.

  Once the cavernous hall had been evacuated, it became clear that more of the victims scattered on the floor had been trampled than killed by the hunter-seekers. With a glance, Irulan counted dozens of bodies, mainly concentrated near the stage.

  Paul stood with narrowed eyes and a countenance that was terrible to behold. She had never seen him so murderously furious. He came to her. “Irulan, are you injured?”

  She had already assessed herself with Bene Gesserit intensity, finding only small scratches and tiny cuts. “I was not the target. Your Swordmaster protected me.”

  Irulan’s mind was already racing through the consequences. At this Great Surrender ceremony, all the powerful families had been gathered. How many heads of noble Houses had been killed here, merely as collateral damage? The shock waves this would send through the Landsraad! Even though Muad’Dib had not been killed, the assassin had struck a severe blow by proving that the Emperor’s much vaunted security was inadequate. Had that been the real message here? So much for Muad’Dib’s vow to impose peace and calm upon the galaxy. He couldn’t even protect his immediate surroundings.

  As she scanned the bodies strewn in front of the stage, Irulan saw bent arms and legs, gruesome, twisted forms, a flash of fine blue fabric. Rugi! Her heart froze. She scrambled down from the dais, picked her way through the dead, and rushed to where her little sister had been seated. The young woman had been so proud of her prominent position close to the Emperor’s throne, formally representing Salusa Secundus.

  “Rugi!” In the background noise, Irulan strained to hear a response, even a moan of pain. The silence now was more horrific than the screams had been.

  Determined, unwilling to admit to herself what she knew she would find, Irulan began searching for the young girl, the smallest of her four sisters. She had never really been close to Rugi — the thirteen-year disparity in their ages had been too great. By the time Rugi was born, Irulan had already finished much of her basic instruction and managed to embroil herself in court politics on Kaitain. She had watched her father’s manipulations, his games of alliances, the assassination attempts, and his palpable scorn for his “useless” daughters. And since Rugi was the youngest, Shaddam had made no secret that he considered her to be the most useless of all.

  Irulan called her name again. Continuing her search, she stumbled on a slack-jawed, glassy-eyed man — a dead nobleman with bright handkerchiefs stuffed into his pockets like some kind of rank insignia. She rolled him away, angry at the corpse, as if it had intentionally tried to hinder her.

  Beneath him lay Rugi’s thin-limbed and childlike body. Irulan grabbed her sister by the shoulders, pulled her up, and touched her neck, desperately feeling for a pulse. “Oh, Rugi! Dear Rugi!”

  She shook the girl. A dribble of blood trailed from Rugi’s lifeless mouth, and her heart did not beat. Her eyes were half open but did not blink. Moaning, Irulan cradled her sister’s body, letting the girl’s head roll limply against her. Rugi had never understood what a pawn she’d been.

  Paul walked to the main aisle, flanked by a dozen surviving Fedaykin, including Korba. The investigation had already begun, and Korba’s men were combing through the bodies, searching for survivors and a perpetrator. Inspectors used tweezers to pick up evidence from the shattered remains of the elaccawood throne and from the smashed hunter-seekers.

  “Find out who did this!” Paul’s voice cut the air like an arctic wind.

  “I don’t care how long it takes or how many people you must interrogate, but bring me answers. Learn who was responsible… and I will deal with them.”

  “Muad’Dib, we can be sure it has something to do with Memnon Thorvald.” suggested Korba.

  But Paul was not convinced. “We can be sure of nothing.”

  Filled with grief, Irulan looked up at him, feeling her own accusation rippling from her in waves. “You gave my sister a promise of safety! You swore to protect her, granted her Imperial security.” She cradled the young woman’s body, as if to prove his lies. She had blocked away any expression of feelings toward Paul for the past several years, but she did not want to control the flood of emotions she felt now.

  Paul had no answer for her. So many people hated the Emperor Muad’Dib.

  11

  Each morning when I open my eyes, my first thoughts are of violence.

  —Tleilaxu lab recording of the Kwisatz Haderach candidate

  Count Fenring had never seen the Tleilaxu men so frantic in all the years he had lived among them. Eerie alarm horns hooted through the city and echoed across the turgid lake water. Lady Margot looked at him, and he mirrored her sudden concern. “Marie — we must find Marie!”

  Moments later, a uniformed security officer pounded on the sealed door of their quarters and demanded that they go with him to Ereboam’s main laboratory complex. Without explanation, he rushed them into the backseat of a groundcar. Fenring could detect the man’s urgency, but knew this mid-caste underling would have no answers for him.

  The vehicle raced through the narrow streets o
f the city, and Fenring feared the emergency had something to do with their little daughter. From all directions, alarms sounded, and multicolored emergency lights flashed on buildings. He suspected that either Marie had caused the crisis, or Thallo had.

  A harried Ereboam met them at the entrance to the central lab. “Your child and Thallo have barricaded themselves inside one of the chambers!” With his snow-white hair in disarray, the albino researcher looked even paler than ever. His spoiled-milk skin showed splotches of angry pink, and he shouted to be heard over the alarms and clamor. “They disabled the security systems, and have accessed and completely drained our stockpile of a new nerve poison, enough to kill every living creature in Thalidei. They will wipe out our programs, our research — our very lives! Why would your daughter do this? What plot have you Fenrings hatched?”

  Lady Margot shouted back as they followed him into the building at a run. “Marie knows nothing of your security systems or machinery. Your Thallo is the mastermind here.” Ereboam did not seem to want to believe it.

  They reached the chamber door, where sluggish lower-caste Tleilaxu workers operated drilling equipment. Nearby, another group unleashed controlled, silent explosives in an attempt to knock down the wall itself, but their own security systems thwarted them. So far, Fenring saw only a small dent in the outer hatch. More equipment was on the way, but he doubted there would be enough time.

  “Talk to your daughter through the intercom. Tell her to stop this!” Ereboam activated the communication system. “Find out what she has done to corrupt our Kwisatz Haderach candidate.”

  “Ahh, I believe your Thallo was thoroughly unstable without any help from Marie.”

  “Impossible. He is faultless!”

  “So perfect that he is about to kill us all with poison gas — including our daughter.” Lady Margot hurried to the intercom. “But I’ll try.”

  Frantic Tleilaxu men scuttled out of her way, some of them glaring at her, apparently for no other reason than that she was a female. When his wife spoke into the intercom, Count Fenring recognized the command inflection of Bene Gesserit Voice. She knew precisely how to manipulate her daughter. “Marie! If you are in there, open this door at once.”

  The girl did not — or could not — respond.

  Fenring had deep concerns for Marie’s safety. Even though she was not his biological daughter, he had been her father from the moment of her birth. And he had pinned so many hopes and plans on her special abilities. We need her!

  ***

  ON THE OTHER side of the sealed blast doors, Marie heard the call on the intercom and noted the compelling intonation, but her mother had taught her how to identify and resist Voice. Not even her nanny Tonia could command the little girl, and now Marie resisted Lady Margot’s orders. She had to. By remaining here close to Thallo, at least she had a chance of averting the disaster.

  But defeating a highly advanced Kwisatz Haderach candidate would require her utmost skills. This, she knew, would be more difficult than all of her previous vigorous exercises. This was what she had been born and trained for.

  Obviously, Thallo was convinced she could do nothing to stop him. His classically handsome face appeared on the verge of rapture, hypnotized by the colored patterns in the control panel. His fingers danced efficiently over the pressure pads, making adjustments, shutting down safety systems and interlocks, ensuring that the pressurized nerve gas built up continuously and spread to all simultaneous release points around the entire city.

  Over the intercom, both her mother and Fenring continued to shout and plead, desperate for some response.

  Slowly and silently, Marie melted out of the aberration’s peripheral vision, so that she could get a good running start against him. She considered removing her shoes, since her bare feet were hard and deadly, easier to inflict a precise killing blow. Bene Gesserit training. But with the bioreactors reaching overload, every second mattered. The gush of nerve toxin would kill everyone. She did not dare risk Thallo noticing her.

  He doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head, and his prescience — if he has it — doesn’t seem to see me, either. Nevertheless, Thallo’s hearing was acute, his reactions amazingly swift… and he was determined to die in a huge incident.

  Marie, however, was just as determined to live.

  She had become his friend, showed this awkwardly “perfect” Kwisatz Haderach that he was not alone in his alienation. Marie had also trained with Thallo, fought against him in mock battles, and she was proficient in the best Bene Gesserit killing techniques along with Count Fenring’s assassination skills. She was not a child; she was a weapon. Killing even a Kwisatz Haderach was not beyond her abilities.

  Coiling all of her energy, summoning every skill she had been taught, Marie launched herself toward Thallo, a guided human projectile. She saw a muscle flicker on the back of his neck. He began to turn, blindingly fast. She had anticipated his reaction, though — had planned for it, in fact. His hand blurred up, but he hesitated for the merest fraction of a second, either reluctant to release the controls… or afraid to hurt her.

  With the rigid tips of both feet, Marie slammed into his neck. She heard the cracking sound of breaking bone.

  Thallo’s head bent forward at a sharp, unnatural angle. His face slammed into the panel, and he slumped to the floor. As his fingers slid away from the controls, she pushed aside the heavy body of the would-be Kwisatz Haderach. No longer concerned about him, Marie concentrated on the complex banks of controls. She would have only moments to throttle back the pressure release.

  ***

  OUT IN THE corridor, Count Fenring heard the explosions rippling beneath the city. A deep thump came, and then another, much closer. Ereboam wailed, “It is too late!”

  But the rumbling seemed distant, the angry thrumming of energy discharges fading away. Fenring looked at his wife, saw her eyes filled with love and fear. The Count cocked his eyebrow at the researcher, speaking harshly, “Perhaps you should find out exactly what is happening, hmmm?”

  Tleilaxu researchers scurried to their update panels and control systems, speaking on comlines and chattering as they received results. Dr. Ereboam glanced around in amazement, his shock of white hair mussed. Presently he said, “You heard the explosions, but the discharge was… focused. The nerve gas was released into the lake, and the water reaction will render it inert.” He spun to the Count and his Lady. “Thallo has averted the disaster!”

  “Even so, I wouldn’t suggest going outside without a mask for some time,” Fenring said, still struggling with his deep concern. “Are you certain the lake water can neutralize the chemical?”

  “Poisons, by their very nature, are quite reactive. Some are activated by water, others are made safe.”

  Before he could continue his lecture, the heavy vault door opened, and Marie emerged, looking small and strong. Behind her, in transparent containment cells, nine Thallo clones lay dead, and on the mezzanine control deck above, the failed Kwisatz Haderach lay sprawled with his head lolling on a limp stalk of broken neck. Oddly, he wore a serene smile on his face.

  Marie hugged her parents, then gave them the most innocent of expressions. “My friend was broken, and I couldn’t fix him. He wasn’t right.”

  12

  That one says he is my friend. The other one declares himself my enemy. With all my prescience, why is it so hard to tell the difference?

  —from Conversations with Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  Korba began the investigation of the assassination attempt with high fervor, exactly as Paul expected him to do. Swordmaster Bludd, clearly a hero for his bravery in shielding Princess Irulan and for knocking Paul and Chani clear of the bomb blast, had nearly died from his poisoned wound. Once he gathered sufficient strength, Bludd left the medics and retired to his quarters to recover.

  Meanwhile, Paul shut himself inside the enormous citadel, not out of fear or paranoia, but because he was so overwhelmed with fury that he did not trust himself to
be seen among the populace. Though he’d had murky dreams, his prescience had been unable to prevent this. Such a reckless, hateful attack against him, with no regard for all the innocents who had been slain in the attempt.

  Duke Leto must have felt like this after the wedding-day massacre sucked him into the bloody War of Assassins; it was why his father became such a hardened man, a protective psychological response that anchored him against the tragedies. At the time, Paul had not understood the depths of his father’s difficulties, but he did now.

  Investigators stripped the Celestial Audience Hall down to its structural components. Chemical signatures were analyzed. Work logs were inspected to discover who might have had an opportunity to set up such a plot. The conspiracy had to be large and widespread; too many pieces had fit together perfectly. Unfortunately, by ordering his soldiers to blast the panels from which the hunter-seekers had emerged, Korba had also destroyed some of the evidence.

  The modified assassination devices were traced to an exiled Ixian merchant who had provided many technological toys and amusements for Muad’Dib. But the man’s ship had recently — and conveniently — been destroyed in a small Jihad skirmish on Crell.

  Many of the new servants hired for the Great Surrender ceremony were interrogated, and an unfortunately high percentage of them died during the aggressive questioning. Korba was certain they must be hiding something from him, even though no one divulged any useful information.

  Despite the nagging objections of his conscience, Paul allowed the merciless inquisition to continue. Innocent deaths? There had already been plenty, and there would be more. He even considered recruiting Bene Gesserit Truthsayers, but decided against the idea, because he could not entirely convince himself that the Sisterhood was not involved.