“Old Valdemar won’t like that at all if he comes back here,” Gurney said, grinning more than scowling.
Jesse paused for a long time before he said, “If Valdemar comes back in two years, I will be beyond caring.”
DOROTHY WOKE EARLY the next morning after a night of fitful sleep in a flinty-smelling bedchamber. Sitting up in bed to look at the harsh yellow sunlight bleeding through the shielded window, she noticed that Jesse was no longer beside her, though the sheets on his side of the bed were rumpled.
Detecting that she was awake, a tiny device like a fat bee buzzed in front of her face, and she blew a breath to activate the messager. Jesse’s compressed voice said, “I’m on an inspection tour with Esmar and Gurney. You took so long to get to sleep, Dor, I didn’t want to wake you.”
She smiled at his consideration, but could not allow herself to rest, not on their first full day on Duneworld. Thousands of details demanded her attention for the household to run smoothly.
Barri was already up and bursting with energy. He had dark brown hair that remained unruly despite Dorothy’s efforts to tame it. His nose was round and covered with a thin scatter of freckles easily disguised by the ever-present dust on Duneworld. His bright laughter came easily, especially when he amused himself by discovering interesting facets to even ordinary things.
The smart eight-year-old followed her throughout the morning, asking constant questions, poking into unlabeled boxes, exploring hallways and closed rooms. Dorothy issued instructions to the domestic staff she had brought from Catalan, as well as a handful of Hoskanner holdovers that General Tuek had screened with his usual care. Jesse might trust the old veteran’s precautions, but Dorothy had quietly decided to make her own judgments about the staff. The consequences of an error in this regard were too high, the stakes too enormous.
She took a stone stairway down to the main kitchen. When she entered, the chef was discussing that evening’s meal with two staff members. Piero Zonn had operated a gourmet restaurant on Catalan prior to joining the Linkam entourage; Jesse had brought him along to serve meals in the headquarters mansion, but the small, energetic man seemed at a loss as to how he would do his job properly. Dorothy wanted to reassure him, but she didn’t know herself how many things they would have to sacrifice here.
The chef and his assistants fell silent when they saw her; she was a commoner like them, but they lived in different circles. Nearby, a Carthage-native maid paused while wiping dust from a decorative stone alcove, then resumed her work with renewed vigor. Dorothy felt very much out of place.
Later, as the two of them walked alone through a hall to the upper levels, Barri tugged at his mother’s cool blouse. “What does Odokis mean?”
“Odokis?”
“The star we saw when we came into the system.”
“That’s Arrakis, dear. In ancient astronomy it meant ‘the dancer’ or ‘the trotting camel.’ It’s the sun up in our sky now, on this planet.”
“I’d rather be back on Catalan. I miss my friends.”
“You’ll make new friends here.” In truth, though, Dorothy had noticed few children in Carthage, and the ones she had seen appeared to be street urchins. With a population of convict laborers and freedmen who could not afford passage home, Duneworld was not much of a place to raise a family.
With Jesse already throwing himself into the spice business, Dorothy spent the morning unpacking while Barri continued to explore. An exceedingly curious young man, he invariably pestered his mother when she was busiest or most agitated. But she found reservoirs of patience within herself, knowing that his curiosity was a sign of intelligence.
In the large master suite, she organized a few Linkam mementos, the bare minimum Jesse had permitted her to bring along, due to the weight restrictions on space cargo. The rest of their possessions had been left behind on Catalan. So much of her life remained back there, and not just things. Barri looked forlorn each time he realized that some toy or keepsake was far away, and possibly lost forever.
“It’s good to start anew,” she said aloud with a brave smile. While she studied inventory lists, the boy occupied himself by playing with something he had found on the floor in a corner of the large suite.
One of the articles she unpacked was a holophoto of Jesse’s father. Placing it on the mantle of the bedroom fireplace, she activated it to show the heavyset Jabo Linkam in his gaudy faux-military uniform, the attire he had preferred to wear, though he had never served in any army. A sycophant at the Imperial court, the old fool had loved to dress in fancy costumes and throw extravagant balls that he could not afford. In the process, he’d nearly bankrupted House Linkam.
During one such banquet, a crazed chef had attempted to assassinate the father of Valdemar Hoskanner by slipping a powerful toxin into his dessert, a famous Catalanian layer cake. But the delicacy had been one of Jabo’s favorite treats, and he had devoured the dish, not knowing it was poisoned, and it quickly killed him. Only a year later, emboldened by the death of his enemy, sure that House Linkam had been behind the poisoning attempt, young Valdemar had publicly challenged Jesse’s brother, Hugo, to fight in a Hoskanner-sponsored bullfight. Hugo let himself be shamed into participating … and the bull killed him. Sheer stupidity. Thus the youngest Linkam had been left in charge of the Noble House.
As Dorothy studied Jabo’s holophoto, she hoped her beloved Jesse never fell victim to the prideful ways of his star-crossed family.
Dr. Yueh stepped through the open doorway. “Oh, I’m feeling much better today, now that I’ve done some unpacking and started to get organized.” He held up a long, wickedly sharp ceremonial knife in the form of a gilded and gem-encrusted scalpel. “I even found this old thing, from when I received my first medical credentials.” He flashed a self-deprecating smile. “It probably wasn’t worth the cost of shipping, even to this vain old man.”
“I think we can indulge you in this instance, Cullington.”
The old doctor rubbed his hands together briskly. “I’m about to have a late lunch. Care to join me? The nobleman hasn’t returned yet, but I thought you might enjoy a break.”
“Yes, of course. Barri, come with us to the dining hall.” She was surprised at how quiet he had become while sitting crosslegged by a sealed window with his back to her. “What are you doing there?”
Still playing, he looked over his shoulder with a cherubic grin. His blue-green eyes sparkled with fascination. “I have a new friend after all, Mother. Look; it’s like one of the tide pool crabs at home.” He held up his hand to show a jagged-legged creature on his palm. The jet-black arachnid crawled up his bare arm, prowling. He giggled. “That tickles!”
Dr. Yueh’s jaw dropped. “Oh, don’t make any sudden moves!” The old doctor pushed Dorothy back and moved toward the boy. “It’s an indigenous sand scorpion. The sting is deadly!”
With every muscle in her body, Dorothy wanted to leap to her son’s aid, but didn’t dare startle the creature.
Making a sudden move, Yueh slapped the scorpion from Barri’s arm. The creature struck a settee near Dorothy, fell to the floor, and rolled into a black, defensive ball. She stepped on it hard, grinding with her heel. Though it was smashed and dead, she stomped on the sand scorpion again and again.
“That’s all right,” Yueh said soothingly as he pulled the boy away, but Barri struggled to get free, his eyes full of tears.
Drawing her son to her bosom, Dorothy said, “This is a dangerous place. You must not play with the creatures you find here. Even Dr. Yueh could not have saved you from a scorpion sting.”
Barri glared at her for killing his new pet. “Cullington could have figured out an ant’dote.”
The old doctor patted the boy on the head. “Let’s not test my abilities, all right?”
5
The living always stand on the shoulders of the dead. It is the nature of human advancement.
—A SAYING OF OLD EARTH
Jesse called a staff meeting on the top floor of
the headquarters mansion. The plaz-windowed conference chamber was insulated against Duneworld’s unrelenting sun. Through the plaz, he had a view in all directions: the desert, the crags, the spaceport landing zones, and the scattered buildings of Carthage.
Although the alloy-paneled room had been swept clean and scrubbed that day by household staff, a layer of gritty dust already covered the furniture and floor. Jesse smeared a finger across the table surface, looked at the mark. Such conditions would be his constant companion for some time.
Esmar Tuek and Gurney Halleck entered the room with the new spice foreman, William English. A houseman in a short brown cloak brought a steaming pot of spice coffee with four cups and then departed, closing the door behind him.
Before beginning, Jesse moved around the table and poured the rich, aromatic coffee for his companions, demonstrating that he was different from other noblemen. “I was greatly disturbed by what I saw during yesterday’s inspection tour. The Hoskanners have prepared a nasty trap for us here.”
“You’ve got that right, laddie,” Gurney grumbled. “This might as well be a prison planet for House Linkam: We can’t leave until we complete our sentence.”
“Even then, going home doesn’t seem to be an option,” English said, his tone as bitter as spice-coffee dregs. “Not for most of us.”
Jesse studied the scarred crew manager, whom Tuek had approved. In the days when House Linkam had fared better, English’s grandfather had been on close terms with Jesse’s. English seemed competent and dependable enough, but Jesse knew there were no certainties in life. Risks had to be taken. He had to rely on people.
But people are prone to fallibility, he thought, and betrayal. They change with every breath they take.
Nevertheless, he made up his mind. He looked around the table. “Even though most of the sandminers here are—or were—convict laborers, I do not consider them slaves. I’ve worked with the people on Catalan, watched them take pride in the most menial tasks if they had some reason to do so. I intend to give the people on Duneworld a reason to work hard. Our only chance of winning this challenge is if the populace is on our side. We can’t do it without them.”
“Very few workers are on Duneworld by choice, My Lord,” English said. “The Hoskanners ground them under their heel, worked them to death, stole their hope as soon as they transferred here from prison planets.”
“Then I will give them hope. For their benefit and for ours, I will show them that I am different from Valdemar Hoskanner.” Jesse flashed a hard smile. “General Tuek, Mr. English, I want you to put out the word. Inform the sandminer crews that if House Linkam wins this challenge, I give my oath as a nobleman that every freedman shall have his passage offplanet. I’ll pay for it myself if I have to.”
“My Lord!” Tuek said. “House Linkam doesn’t have the finances for that, nor can we afford to lose all of our most experienced crewmen!”
“Esmar, if we win the challenge, then we will have sufficient spice income to pay for it. We can begin training the senior convict laborers to take over for the freedmen, and perhaps we can entice some of the freedmen to stay.”
English’s eyes sparkled. “My comrades will be extremely glad to hear this news, My Lord.”
Jesse drew a deep breath, knowing he had stepped off a precipice, and he only hoped he could survive the landing. Though Linkam family finances had improved under his stewardship, his family’s credit standing remained low, thanks to the damages his father and brother had done. To fund this bold and risky venture, he had borrowed large sums from the Imperial bank and reluctantly accepted aid from a few politically allied Houses.
In scrambling for money, Jesse had been chagrined to discover that many of the noble families who had prodded him into contesting the Hoskanner monopoly now refused to support him when it counted most. He’d felt like an unprepared victim thrown into an arena while others cheered or jeered from the safety of their seats, casting wagers as to his fate. Jesse should have expected little else from most of them.
Despite all obstacles, though, he was determined to win the spice challenge. He had to get the workers on his side. Once he broke the Hoskanner monopoly, he would share the profits as he saw fit, rewarding his few supporters lavishly and leaving others in the financial deep freeze.
This planet is a treasure chest, he thought, and I must find the key to open it.
“I chose the course of dignity and honor, though it may have been a foolish one.” Jesse slumped into his high-backed chair. “If only I knew more about how much the Hoskanners were producing here.”
Tuek brought out a document, slapped it on the table, and slid it over to Jesse. “I do have a little something for you, My Lord.”
Jesse recognized columns of spice-production figures. “Hoskanner numbers for the past two years? Where did you get this?”
“From an impeccable source.” The old veteran looked at English.
The new spice foreman said, “I wasn’t that significant when the Hoskanners were here, but documents did get passed around, to compare month-by-month results and motivate the spice foremen into competing with one another. They made copies for internal purposes and … lost track of some of them.”
Tuek added, “William had to call in a lot of favors for this information, but it makes for interesting reading.”
“Excellent,” Jesse said. “Now we’ll know where we stand.”
“Or how far behind we are,” Gurney suggested, with a smirk. “Look at the numbers, laddie.”
Jesse whistled. “If these figures are right, the Hoskanners produced an incredible amount of melange! Has this much spice been distributed throughout the Empire? I had no idea its use was so widespread.”
Tuek cautioned, “Could be a trick. Inflated amounts.”
But Jesse shook his head. “If this was a trick, Valdemar would have under-reported to escape Imperial tariffs and lull us into a false sense of security.”
Studying the document, Gurney said, “Sorry to state the obvious, laddie, but the Hoskanners had a whole fleet of spiceprocessing machinery. The twelve decrepit spice harvesters and three old carryalls they left us are not nearly adequate.”
“The equipment spends more time in repair shops than in service,” English said. “The Hoskanner scum took the most qualified crews with them, too, paid them a bonus for not helping us, including passage offworld.” Though the scarred spice foreman glowered at the injustice, Jesse suspected that English himself would have taken the offer, had the Hoskanners made it to him.
“Only eighty-one experienced freedmen stayed behind,” Tuek said. “And our workers from Catalan need a lot of training. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Jesse stood and began pacing. “I expected some of this. Immediately after accepting the challenge, I had Dorothy order six new spice harvesters and two more carryalls from the Ixian machine works, even paid for rush delivery.” Jesse grimaced. “Last night, after the inspection tour, I sent for six more spice harvesters and another carryall.”
“Can you afford it, My Lord?” Tuek asked.
“More than I can afford not to.”
“That’s twelve new harvesters and twelve old ones,” Gurney said. “Still less equipment than the Hoskanners had.”
“Then we’ll just have to work harder and smarter than they did,” Jesse said. “According to Dorothy, we’ve sold most of our valuable family heirlooms and mortgaged everything else. She says we’re not stretching the budget—we’re breaking it.” He sighed. “But what choice do we have if we want to win? For the survival of House Linkam, we must win!”
English self-consciously rubbed the waxy scar tissue on his cheek. “The Hoskanners had a lot of trouble with the weather. Sand ate into the biggest spice harvesters and damaged the factory modules. The dust here is more corrosive and statically charged than anyone expected. Even with thirty harvesters, at least a quarter of them were down for repairs at any one time.” He paused. “But there is a way to improve on that. I think.” The
room fell silent. Looking at Jesse, the spice foreman cleared his throat. “The Grand Emperor said this game has no rules, right?”
Jesse nodded. “It’d be nice to have that work to our advantage for a change.”
“The Emperor’s first inspection crews set up advance bases out in the desert, sealed structures that have been sitting there for years, filled with machinery and supplies. Some of my freedmen know where they are. Everything’s in perfect working order, because they used live-rubber shielding over the structures.”
“Never heard of it,” Tuek said.
“A very expensive material. It’s incredibly malleable, and could be fitted over the engine housings and other sensitive areas to keep sand out of the harvesters. There might not be enough live-rubber shielding for all the machines, but it’ll definitely help. I’ve thought about it for years, but never got around to suggesting it to the Hoskanners. I was nobody to them, and they probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.” He smiled. “Besides, I rather enjoyed watching them struggle.”
“Doesn’t that property belong to the Emperor?” Tuek pointed out. “Technically?”
“No rules—the Emperor said it himself.” Gurney was grinning.
“Duneworld has a way of making its own rules,” English said.
Jesse made up his mind. “We raid the advance bases.”
Deep in thought, he took a sip of spice coffee. As he gazed through the plaz toward the sands, he could feel the soothing effects of melange. “Collect all the data compiled by advance survey teams and as much intelligence as you can find about the spice operations of the Hoskanners. We’ll need access to that information before we can rise above their mistakes and reach another level. Otherwise we won’t know what we’re doing.”
Dorothy burst into the conference room, her face flushed. “We’ve just received an emergency transmission, My Lord! A carryall broke down and stranded one of the spice harvesters. They’re calling for an emergency rescue before a worm comes.”
Road to Dune Page 5