Stilgar inserted the cylinder into a display mechanism. Images recorded by the Navigator in a distant Guild Heighliner began to unfold in the air before them. The viewfield showed the starry void of space, and the Guildship’s curved doors open to expose an immense hold. Then hundreds of warships were dropped pell-mell from docking cradles and ejected into the emptiness, as if the Heighliner had spewed them from its belly. Afterward, like a great metal whale, the craft moved on, leaving the smaller craft scattered and disoriented.
The audio was filled with comline chatter from the stranded crews and passengers: demands, curses, pleas. One of the embedded images showed Thorvald himself, with his pale skin and large silver-shot beard shaking with fury. “We paid you! We demand our passage.”
The Heighliner did not respond.
“Where are we?” Thorvald shouted. But the Heighliner merely drifted away until the cluster of rebel warships was merely a spray of sparkling lights in its wake, not unlike the stars from which the stranded people had emanated.
Left alone, in the absolute emptiness.
The projection faded, and the viewfield vanished.
In the chamber, Olar spoke. “They are in a great desert of space, and the nearest star system is eighteen parsecs distant. No one but the original Navigator can find them, Sire.”
“How long will their life-support systems last?” Irulan asked.
“A few days, at most. They were expecting only a brief passage.”
Paul’s brow furrowed as he completed his mental arithmetic. “Wait twelve days and have your Navigator retrieve the ships. When you return with the bodies — all of them — I will grant the Guild a generous reward of melange.”
Olar bowed, but not before a faint smile touched his lips.
Paul could see from the hard expression on Chani’s face that she would have inflicted a more heinous Fremen torture upon this man who had caused so much harm to the Jihad and to her beloved. But he had seen enough excesses and would not add to them unnecessarily.
Paul turned to his Minister of State. “Stilgar, see to it that this recording is widely distributed amongst my subjects. Many of them have had a taste for Thorvald’s blood for a long time.”
Next he regarded Irulan. “Prepare a message cylinder for Caladan as well. I fear I have trampled the feelings of those people. There are things I want them to know.”
***
WHEN THE COURIER arrived with the sealed message cylinder and its accompanying copy of the Heighliner holo recording, Jessica stood in a high tower of Castle Caladan. For a long moment, she avoided breaking the seal. It disturbed her to think that she did not really know her own son, that she could not guess what demands Paul — or perhaps it was safer to think of him as the Emperor Muad’Dib — would make of her. What Imperial plans did he have for Caladan? What if he summoned her back to Arrakis and insisted that she sit at his side? And what would happen if she refused?
Out of habit, she murmured the Litany Against Fear, then opened the cylinder. She ignored the brief formal message from Irulan and sank into a window seat to read the words Paul had written in Atreides battle language on a sheet of spice paper.
“Mother, I have not forgotten Caladan. Its people, its land and oceans are dear to me. I have done, and will continue to do, everything in my power to preserve them.”
She felt a knot form in her stomach as Paul described Thorvald’s plot to devastate Caladan. The knot tightened as she watched the recording of what he had done… and then read of his further intention.
Finally she pressed her lips together and nodded to herself. Yes, her son had asked without asking, wanting her to let the people know. She would show this message to Gurney first, and then they would do as her son wished.
***
AT STILGAR’S SUGGESTION, the punitive assault on Ipyr — the home planet of Memnon Thorvald — was conducted by House Atreides battleships. Thorvald’s intent to harm Caladan was a blow aimed toward Paul himself, and House Atreides would respond with indomitable force. The punishment inflicted upon Ipyr would resonate across the worlds of the Imperium.
A Heighliner carried one hundred of the largest and most powerful Atreides vessels, each loaded to capacity with weapons, explosives, highly toxic chemical bombs, defoliants, and wide-dispersal incendiaries.
Paul had never given such a frightening command before: Sterilize the world. Memnon Thorvald’s people had to be more than defeated, more than exterminated. They must be… gone.
The Atreides ships gave no warning, engaged in no negotiations, gave no quarter to the people of Ipyr. They switched off all but their battle communications systems, so no one would hear the wails of terror, the cries for mercy or, afterward, the resounding silence. The heavily armed vessels circled down, calling up charts of every single planetary settlement, and the annihilation began.
***
BY THE TONE of the cheering outside the Cala City stadium, Jessica knew that her announcement was exactly what the people needed to hear. In the now rarely used amphitheater that Old Duke Paulus had constructed for his gala bullfighting spectacles, Jessica spoke in a clear voice. Gurney Halleck stood beside her, wearing his best black Atreides uniform.
“Let no one believe that my son has forgotten his beloved Caladan,” Jessica said. “The galaxy knows him as its Emperor, while Fremen praise him as their Muad’Dib. He is the military leader of the most expansive Jihad the human race has experienced in more than ten thousand years… but he is also my son. And the son of your revered Duke Leto.”
Cheering, the people waved their green pennants.
Gurney gave a gruff rumble of agreement, then stepped forward to describe how Thorvald had intended to bring his rebel ships to Caladan, to burn the villages and slaughter the people, inflicting great harm on the homeworld of House Atreides.
“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.
9
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 bloodlines, 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?”
“H
ow 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.”
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