And he still had another year left.
Dr. Haynes scratched his beard. “The scavenged live-rubber shielding has helped.”
Jesse agreed. “Almost a year ago, we applied it to our harvesters—and that alone kept our machinery working much longer than expected. Thus, we were able to put more crews out in the desert, and bring back more melange. A step in the right direction, but not enough. Not nearly enough. We’ll lose, unless something changes. For a year we’ve been following the techniques the Hoskanners used, but it’s getting us nowhere. We need to think bigger.”
Dorothy rested her chin in her hands, her brow furrowed in concentration. “We’ve already tried so many things, Jesse.”
“But we haven’t tried the right thing. There’s got to be something else, an unexpected approach.”
Over the months, following advice by the planetary ecologist or the suggestions of Gurney Halleck and Esmar Tuek, the Linkam operations had tried everything from explosives and energy bursts to poisons in the sands. Nothing worked. They had grounded static-shield generators to protect a boundary, but the fields drove the worms into a frenzy. They used pheromones, chemical signatures, various potent scents to deter the worms from the work perimeter, but the creatures did not respond; as near as Dr. Haynes could tell, the monsters were asexual.
Jesse steepled his fingertips. “The Hoskanner method of spice harvesting is not necessarily the most efficient technique. At a spice field, at least seventy percent of the time is involved in deploying harvesters and in evacuating the site. With blitzkrieg mining, we strike and then flee at the first sign of a worm. If we could only extend our time on the ground before a worm comes, every moment we keep digging would greatly increase our haul.”
“Aye, we’re like inept thieves robbing a treasure vault,” Gurney said. “Give me five hours on a rich vein, and I’ll provide a month’s worth of melange! My sandminers would work themselves to death if they had an opportunity like that.”
“We have found no way to kill the worms,” Jesse said. “We’ve tried everything.”
Tuek stared straight at the nobleman. “Not quite. We didn’t try our atomics.”
Dorothy bridled. “There could be serious political repercussions. Some of the powerful Houses are pushing for prohibitions against atomics.”
Tuek contradicted her, “But there are no prohibitions yet—and we do have our own arsenal. As a worm approaches, we could launch a small-yield atomic warhead.”
“I’d like to try that out,” Gurney said. “Get revenge for some of the miners we’ve lost.”
Dr. Haynes lurched to his feet and turned to Jesse, who had never seen such vehemence from the planetary ecologist. “Nobleman Linkam, you must not consider such a thing! Even if you killed the worm, you would contaminate the spice fields and gain nothing. Melange is extremely susceptible to radiation. Coriolis storms would disperse the fallout all over the planet.”
“But there must be a way, Dr. Haynes,” Jesse said, wrestling with his frustration. “If we can’t kill the worms, and we can’t drive them away with shields or deterrent chemicals, what can we do?” He stared at the planetary ecologist. “Would it be possible to … stun them? At least long enough for our crews to make a big haul?”
Haynes caught his breath, and his lips formed a thin smile. “We need to use a different paradigm. And that certainly opens up new avenues of thought.” The ruddy-faced man composed himself, as if preparing for a lecture. “With their obvious size and power, the worms are very territorial. We think magnetite grains react with an electrostatic field generated by the worm’s body as it moves through the sands, either through friction or from some organ deep inside the creature’s body. The larger the worm, the stronger the repelling field it generates—and the greater the territory it claims.”
“We have generators of our own,” Jesse said. “Could we tune them to a similar frequency? Stake out our own territory and broadcast a boundary so the worm thinks we’re a greater rival, making it afraid to approach?”
“We’d have to cover a huge area,” Gurney said immediately. “Even with live-rubber shielding, ground-based fields and storm static still short out our equipment. We could never hold a large enough perimeter.”
Haynes continued his preoccupied, mysterious smile. “If the environment precludes us from countering those fields externally, perhaps we could attack from inside the worm and short out its internal dynamo.” Feverishly, the planetary ecologist began sketching on his portable datascreen. “Imagine a shielded drum-sized generator with insulated antennae sticking out, and discharge tips to deliver a short, intense shock.”
“Like a depth charge?” Tuek said. “Get the worm to swallow it, then trigger the field?”
“Precisely! Each worm segment has an independent neurological system chained into the overall whole. Thus, we would have to short out each segment. As the worm swallows the charge, the antennae would deliver repeated bursts all the way down.”
“Aye, that would kill the leviathan!” Gurney said.
Grinning, Jesse said, “Even if it only puts the worm out of commission for a while, instead of killing it, our harvester crews would have a much longer period to excavate spice.”
He looked at Dorothy, seeing the excitement in her eyes, but also a reluctance. She cautioned, “Dr. Haynes, we know you technically work for the Grand Emperor. House Linkam has few funds to divert to your project.”
Jesse leaned closer to the scientist. “How much will it cost, Dr. Haynes?”
The planetary ecologist chuckled. “Don’t worry, Nobleman. I will have all the equipment and technical assistance I require. Developing a potential new tool for spice harvesting clearly falls within the purview of my assignment, even though the Grand Emperor has no real interest in my experiments. However, even if I give this concept priority, remember that it is a long march from an idea to a functional prototype.”
“Then we’d best get started.” Jesse looked from his advisors to the sealed door of the conference room, and stood up.
Tuek continued to frown. “I would suggest that we keep this line of investigation confidential. We have enough trouble with Hoskanner spies and saboteurs, and if they learn of a new concept, they will be sure to cause trouble.”
“Even to the Imperial planetary ecologist?” Gurney sounded surprised.
Haynes nodded. “The Emperor and the Hoskanners will do whatever they want. I am not so bold to think that my supposed importance will give them a moment’s pause. I hate to say this, but I do not always trust the Emperor’s motivations.”
Dorothy said, “I’m inclined to agree with General Tuek. We don’t dare let the Hoskanners discover what we’re doing. We’ve got to let them believe we’re hopeless and continuing to flounder.” She gave a sly smile. “If they’re convinced they’ve already won, they won’t try so hard to defeat us.”
17
Time may wear a benign mask, but it is always the faceless enemy, the destroyer of hopes and dreams.
—THE PROPHET OF CARTHAGE
After more than a year, Jesse had finally begun to develop a “typical day” on hostile Duneworld. Early in the morning, he donned his sealed bodysuit and desert cloak, and went down to the main dining hall where Dorothy and Barri were already waiting for him.
Servants scurried into action, bringing breakfasts covered with clearplaz to prevent the escape not only of heat, but of precious moisture. Developed and marketed by a local entrepreneur, the sophisticated plazware was designed to minimize even the faintest wisps of water loss. When the diner moved his eating utensil toward the plate, the cover slid back just long enough for a bite, then snapped shut. Dorothy had adopted these devices to show that the Linkams understood the value of moisture, that they were not a profligate noble family like the Hoskanners.
Through the plaz lid over the plate, Jesse saw a steaming blue omelet of imported Catalanian eggs prepared with desert peppers, boar bacon, and llantro roots. It was one of his favorite meals. Jess
e took a sip of spice coffee, hardly noticing the cinnamon taste of melange. Now that they consumed spice daily, he paid scant attention to it. Strange. On Catalan he had rarely indulged in the substance, and now he couldn’t imagine a meal without it. Melange had become as much a part of life on Duneworld as the air and sand.
Outside, he heard a large engine. Ornijets and transports were always coming and going at Carthage’s separate landing zones, but this engine sounded much louder. A massive roar filled the skies of the mountain city.
Barri ran to one of the windows. “That’s the Emperor’s symbol!”
With an uneasy groan, Jesse went to see a hulking and intimidating interstellar craft descending over the company town, one of the largest vessels capable of landing on a planetary surface. An Imperial inspection ship, fully armed and threatening.
No, he realized—this would not be a typical day after all.
WITH LINKAM FINANCES excruciatingly tight, Dorothy authorized no lavish decorations and shut down portions of the mansion. If the Grand Emperor’s man had expected to be received in a sumptuous hall, he was sorely disappointed.
Counselor Ulla Bauers twitched his rabbitlike nose and looked around the headquarters building with an irritated expression, thus implying that he had more important things to do and wanted to be on his way. A precise man with front-parlor habits from another age, he wore a carmine-and-gold high-collared robe that would have been the envy of any nobleman. On Duneworld, he looked entirely out of place.
“Hmmm. By Imperial permission, House Linkam has presided over spice operations for a year now,” Bauers said in an erudite tone, “but your melange exports have been, ahh, seriously below expectations.” He narrowed his eyes dangerously. “I am afraid, Nobleman Linkam, that you are an embarrassment to the Emperor.”
Suppressing his anger, Jesse explained, “The Hoskanners left us with inferior equipment. Much of the new machinery I ordered—and paid for—was either defective upon delivery, or delayed by bureaucratic schemes. We have filed a dispute against the Ixian suppliers in Imperial commercial court, but a decision will not be reached until after the challenge is ended.” He forced a thin smile, trying not to glare at the overdressed man. “Still, I do have another year to go and no time to lose. I appreciate the Grand Emperor’s interest, but we have work to do.”
“Hmm-ahh, perhaps you missed certain nuances in the original challenge agreement, Nobleman? Such details are among my specialties.” Bauers cleared his throat—not a cough, but a confined disturbance of the larynx. “If the Grand Emperor so directs, he can rescind the challenge at any moment and give Duneworld back to House Hoskanner.”
Jesse stiffened. “The Grand Emperor explicitly said there would be no rules.”
“Ahh, but the agreement also stated, and I quote, ‘This contract shall be subject to Imperial law.’” He offered Jesse a disdainful smirk. “That can mean anything the Emperor decides.”
Simmering, Jesse said, “Why would he toy with us in such a way? The Nobles’ Council will be outraged if you strip away the challenge without giving me a fair chance.”
“It is simple, Nobleman Linkam. The people demand melange, and you haven’t shipped enough. We never anticipated that you would fail so miserably. It is inconceivable!” He frowned. “Hmmm, or are you hiding portions of your output? Hoarding melange for black-market suppliers? Your trickle of exports to Renaissance cannot possibly be your entire production. Where are your secret spice warehouses?”
Jesse chuckled. “We keep barely enough for household use.”
The ferretlike man arched his eyebrows. “Word has reached me that your freedmen and convict workers are extremely unhappy. Low production and exports mean paltry bonuses for them. Under Hoskanner administration, many of them would have saved enough to go home already. I am informed that Carthage is a tinderbox, and a riot could flare up at any moment. Is this true?”
“Exaggerations spread by a few remaining Hoskanner loyalists,” Jesse said dismissively. “A handful of loudmouths have been arrested, most of them convicts with years left on their work sentences. We have the situation completely under control.”
“Umm-ahh, when the Hoskanners were here, they faced difficulties, too, but spice flowed like a river. They developed a market all across the Empire, and now the shortage is being felt, as offworld spice stockpiles are depleted. Prices are at record levels.”
“Then the nobles will have to tighten their belts and do without the luxury, or pay more for it. The Emperor gets his cut, so he should be happy.” Jesse’s gray eyes looked like sharp ice chips. “Counselor Bauers, I was never asked to provide any sort of progress reports. In the meantime, my rate of production is my own concern. The only number that matters is the total I deliver at the end of the challenge. If I am to fail, then you can declare my defeat at the end of two years—not a moment before.”
“Hmm-ahh. Remember the fine print, Linkam.”
“There is more to an agreement than fine print, sir, and more to justice than words. We have clear evidence of Hoskanner meddling throughout the past year. If the Emperor is so anxious for his spice, then he should not have allowed my enemies to hamstring me.”
Hearing the approach of boots, Jesse saw Esmar Tuek appear in the doorway. “Excuse me, My Lord. May I speak with you privately?”
“Counselor Bauers was just about to go and order his inspection ship to withdraw to a convenient distance,” Jesse said. “He doesn’t want to block our spice export vessels.”
Bauers said with a sniff, “On the contrary, I, and my ship, will depart only at a time of my choosing. For now, the vessel remains precisely where it is.”
Coolly, Tuek nodded. “Very well then, Counselor, my information concerns you as well. My men have scanned the identities of your crewmen who are milling about at the main spaceport landing fields. Are you aware that your ship carries known Hoskanner agents who were evicted from Duneworld a year ago?”
Bauers seemed genuinely surprised. “What?”
“Your specialty may be fine print, but General Tuek’s is security,” Jesse said with a cautious smile. “He is never mistaken about such matters.”
“Ahh, I certainly had no idea any of my crew had ever been to this planet before.”
“The Hoskanners undoubtedly fooled you, too,” Jesse said, “though you do not look like a man who is easily hoodwinked.”
Standing stiffly in his dusty uniform, Tuek added, “Due to the obvious security threat, Counselor, we must insist that your crew remain within the confines of the landing zone for the duration of your stay here. I will assign a cordon of our security troops to assist you in this matter. No member of your crew is to set foot in Carthage or mingle with either the convict workers or freedmen.”
Jesse smiled thinly. “You, of course, are welcome to come and go as you please, Counselor Bauers.”
“I know nothing of Hoskanner agents.” The persnickety man sniffed. “The Grand Emperor has sent me here to inform you that the spice must flow. If you do not show dramatic progress soon … hmm, he is not a patient man.”
18
History has shown that if a noble goes soft, it will be his undoing. To avoid this calamity, he must always maintain an emotional distance from the people around him.
—GRAND EMPEROR CHAM EYVOK III (THE WARLORD EMPEROR)
With Linkam spice production drastically reduced, the hopes of the sandminers had plummeted along with their income. Despite harsh working conditions under the stern Hoskanners, at least back then some of the men had eventually earned enough credits to buy their way off of Duneworld. Now the freedmen were angry with the downturn in the economy, and the convicts saw no chance for going home when they finished their sentences, despite Jesse’s promises.
Having little discretionary income, the sandminers could not spend money in the shops and saloons of Carthage, and so the businessmen, water merchants, and wrung-out pleasure women fell on hard times. Even the Catalan staff missed their ocean world. They stared a
t the empty desert skies and longed for rainfall instead of dust.
House Linkam generated enough capital to keep operating, if just barely, from their meager spice exports, augmented by hard-fought contributions from a handful of noble families. In his precarious financial situation, Jesse had been forced to impose austerity measures in the mansion and in Carthage, thus making life even more difficult for the workers.
He lost much sleep, feeling their misery and discontent, and he wished he had the means to improve their lives. Back on Catalan he had been in touch with his people, and they had loved him. He’d been a good leader, caring for their needs, listening to their problems. But here …
Meeting with Dorothy, he discussed many alternatives to ease the burden on the people, but without any financial cushion whatsoever, he had his hands tied. Though it made administration more difficult, he instituted tax relief, forcing his own Catalan staff to work with their salaries postponed. On Dorothy’s suggestion, he distributed some of the old stored luxury clothes and trinkets the Hoskanners had left behind, but these superficial items helped little and only served to point out how drab and hard their lives were on Duneworld. The hard-bitten sandminers and townspeople whispered among themselves about Linkam management, asserting that the nobleman’s ineptitude was stealing their future.
Out in the desert, every piece of functional harvesting equipment was in use, protected by live-rubber shielding. Extra teams worked without rest in the repair bays to put the spice harvesters and carryalls back into service with all due speed.
Some sandminers had received unrequested furloughs, laid off because there simply wasn’t enough functional equipment to put them to work. Left to themselves, bored, restless, and angry, the men continued to grumble, blaming all their troubles on House Linkam. The convicts especially, espousing the increasingly radical teachings of the prison-offshoot Zensunni religion, demanded that Jesse return melange operations to the Hoskanners, “who knew what they were doing.”
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