Road to Dune

by Herbert, Brian; Anderson, Kevin J. ; Herbert, Frank

  When thirty-four penal laborers refused to work on their assigned harvester teams, Jesse angrily voided their contracts and sent them back to Eridanus V. Meanwhile, the Imperial inspection ship continued to loom over Carthage. He knew Ulla Bauers was watching everything … .

  UNDER A HOT and hazy noon sky, Jesse strode through an open marketplace in the center of town. In an effort to disguise himself, he wore the dirty desert cloak of a sandminer, and few people gave him a second glance. As the nobleman of Duneworld, he had been wanting to get out and see some of the common people in their day-to-day activities, instead of viewing them from groundvans or low-flying aircraft. Two plain-clothed guards accompanied him in similar attire, though he knew Tuek was behind them somewhere with a larger force, ever conscious of security.

  In the crowded bazaar, shopkeepers and vendors shouted for customers to notice their wares. Incense sellers and purveyors of exotic scents wafted small samples of sweet or pungent smoke, which caught the attention of passersby with the enticingly different smells, unlike the more common odor of melange throughout the rest of Carthage.

  Behind a thin wire barrier, two old women sat next to dozens of small gray rock pheasants, which they had raised in pens. The women had the birds’ heads tucked under their wings and tied in place, forcing them to sleep. The desert birds, native to other arid planets, had originally been brought here by the Hoskanners, one of their better decisions. The pheasants drank very little precious water, and their tender flesh was highly prized (and expensive) on Duneworld. Few spiceminers could afford the delicacy, though they much preferred the fare to bland company rations. When a customer agreed on the price, one of the old women would snap the necks of the chosen birds and hand over the fresh meat in spice-fiber sacks.

  As Jesse was about to leave, he saw one of his guards talking into a lapel microphone. The man, who had a sharp chin and small, dark eyes, took Jesse aside, and said to him, “My Lord, a spontaneous rally is taking place on the other side of town, led by a freedman. He is calling for House Linkam to leave the planet.”

  Outside the market, Jesse met with General Tuek. “I’m going over there,” the nobleman announced. “I’ve been frustrated with the need to speak on my own behalf, and this is my chance.”

  “I advise against it, My Lord.”

  “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Jesse’s eyes twinkled. In a firm voice, he said he wanted to face the demonstrators, talk with them, and let them know that he heard their grievances and would do whatever he could.

  “The crowd is in an ugly mood,” Tuek said.

  “Then it’s even more important for me to speak with them.” Jesse lifted his chin stubbornly.

  “I expected as much,” the old security chief said. “I’ve already sent for forty of our best guards to go with you.”

  ACCOMPANIED BY THE guards, Jesse headed for a fleet of groundvans parked in full view of the towering Imperial inspection ship. The unwelcome vessel remained where it had landed a week before, dominating the main spaceport, so that many smaller vessels had to use secondary fields. He wondered if secret Hoskanner agents had somehow incited the minor uprising from behind their barricades. Were they waiting to enjoy his reaction?

  From behind the cordon, Ulla Bauers and the other men noticed Jesse, but he ignored them. He took the van’s controls himself, letting Tuek’s guards find seats or scramble aboard a second vehicle. He roared off in a cloud of Duneworld’s ever-present dust and steered along the steep roads to where milling, angry people had gathered. When he disembarked and strode forward, his phalanx of security men formed a protective wedge to clear a way through the throng. Men in desert bodysuits and women in long robes moved aside, whispering in surprise when they recognized the noble visitor, who now wore the formal cloak of his rank.

  With his mind spinning and questing for alternatives, trying to determine what he might say to them, Jesse approached the steps of a large prefab meeting house. A weathered old man stood there shouting, “—better under the Hoskanners!” Jesse recognized him immediately: Pari Hoyuq, the competent captain of a spice harvester that had recently been damaged and remained out of service. Too much time on his hands, Jesse thought. Gurney could have handled this in private, if he’d had a chance.

  Seeing him, Hoyuq’s face lit up with intense indignation. “You, Nobleman! Are you going to send more of us back to prison planets?”

  Jesse kept walking, forcing himself to remain calm and reasonable. “Are you intending to break your contract, Pari? Like those other men who refused to work in the spice fields?” He climbed the steps to be at the same level as the old sandminer. Alert to danger, Tuek’s Catalan security men hurried to protect him, using the vantage to scan the crowd for threats.

  Hoyuq said, “I would never refuse work—if work were available ! Too many of us have no chance to earn any bonuses. No chance at all. I am a freedman. I served my sentence, got my release.” He tapped the chevron tattoo on his forehead. “We all want to leave this place, but you Linkams have made that impossible!”

  Jesse kept his eyes on the old sandminer, as if this were a private conversation between the two of them. “I already promised you, and all freedmen, that I would pay your passage home—if we win the contest.”

  Instead of cheers, the reminder evoked only groans and grumbles. The man scowled and leaned closer with his leathery face. “Ha! Nobleman, there’s a greater chance of rain falling from the sky! You gave us hope with your empty promise, and we worked hard. We believed you, and for what? You cannot win the challenge, so your promise is empty.”

  Jesse felt as if a hot knife had plunged into his chest, and he knew how hopeless the situation must seem to these people. In the headquarters mansion, even he and Dorothy could see the numbers and know that it would require a miracle for them to surge ahead of their rivals. Still, he squared his shoulders. “I have not given up, Pari. And neither should you.” He turned to face the crowd at last. “Not any of you.”

  From below, several people shouted. “Life was better under the Hoskanners!”

  “No spice, no work, no bonuses—no reason to be here!”

  “These days, even Eridanus V isn’t as bad as the mess you’ve turned Duneworld into.”

  “We want the Hoskanners back.”

  Stiffening, Jesse took a breath to quell his outburst. Then he said, “Ah yes, the Hoskanners. Perhaps you should look more closely at your troubles and turn your anger toward the proper target.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who ruined our weather satellites, putting sandminers in danger? Wasn’t it Hoskanner spies who sabotaged equipment so that you can’t go out to work the spice veins? Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who bribed offplanet manufacturers to prevent or delay the delivery of vital machinery? Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who diverted water shipments so that prices climbed higher and higher?” He jabbed a finger at them. “Their only goal is to make House Linkam look weak. I’m asking you for fairness, for common decency. Give me a chance to make your lives better.”

  Old Hoyuq clung stubbornly to his anger. “Then make our lives better, Nobleman. You cast blame easily, but if you want us to believe in a conspiracy against you, prove that you are better than the Hoskanners. Show us with your actions.”

  Jesse’s mind raced, searching for something immediate. He and Dorothy had discussed many possibilities, all of which they had deemed too extravagant or too risky. Right now, though, he did not have the luxury of studying House Linkam’s resources, its ledgers. He had to do something before a riot broke out.

  Jesse folded his arms across his chest. “Very well. In difficult times, we all ration, we all pull together, and we all share discomfort. Beginning tomorrow morning, I will distribute the water reserves from my own family holdings. Anyone who comes to my home will receive an extra share, until our supplies run out. Henceforth, my daily ration will be the same as yours.” At the murmurs of disbelief, his gray-eyed gaze darted from face to face. “I know your money is tight. There
fore, I am also fixing water prices at the level they were when House Linkam came to Duneworld. I will issue a decree to the water merchants.”

  As he heard the amazed cheers, he knew he had temporarily dodged the worst unrest. The solution could not last, and it might damage the economy of Carthage, but he could not afford to worry about such matters. He had to keep his operations going, one day at a time.

  THE WATER SELLERS and importers expressed their outrage at Jesse’s price controls by declaring a strike. Shipments had been delayed, their own supplies limited, and they had felt perfectly justified in raising prices as high as the city could bear. The greedy businessmen shut down all operations, locked their doors, and refused to sell water at the low prices House Linkam had set. Several plump and disgruntled water sellers demanded justice outside the mansion, but they got little sympathy from the populace, who knew the merchants had been gouging them.

  As promised, House Linkam began distributing water freely to the people of Carthage, all of whom were affected by the bad times. While some were too proud to accept the charity, old freedmen, out-of-business shopkeepers, and widows of sandminers began showing up for assistance; each person who asked received a small ration of water. Drop by drop, the Linkam reserves began to dwindle, but the mood in Carthage improved. Valdemar Hoskanner would never have done such a thing.

  Jesse worked inside the mansion’s banquet hall, showing his face and letting the people see that he was responsible for this easing of their misery. Esmar Tuek stood at his side, probing eyes alert, surreptitiously scanning every visitor.

  When one bearded man reached the head of the line, the veteran held up the scanner, retrieving images from security files and charts of identity points. At a signal from Tuek, two Catalan guards took the man into custody, despite his protestations. “What have I done? You can’t seize an innocent man!”

  General Tuek held up the scanner screen. “We have detailed files of all Hoskanner sympathizers and suspected saboteurs.” He smiled. “Now, the rest of you are welcome to step forward.”

  A handful of men and women drifted out of line and tried to slip away from the mansion. Tuek sent men after them to make more arrests.

  Jesse let his anger show, speaking loud enough for everyone in line to hear him. “Hoskanner agents have already done enough damage to my House, and to all of you. Now they dare to come take the water I intend to give to my loyal workers?”

  While the people grumbled, Tuek leaned closer to Jesse. Satisfied, he said with a grim smile, “You can expect to hear from Bauers about this, My Lord. Arresting Hoskanners? He will be incensed.”

  “No, Esmar. As much as he might want to free those agents, he can’t admit to any connection with anyone who may be working for the Hoskanners. However, it does give me a bit of leverage. I’m going to contact him first.” Jesse rose to leave. “Our Imperial friend is going to help us break the water sellers’ strike, though he doesn’t know it yet.”

  THE NEXT DAY, in a formal announcement from the steps, Jesse offered an ultimatum to the unruly merchants. “I have no patience for your price gouging when people are suffering. You can survive with decreased profits for a time—as the rest of us have had to. Either accept my terms or depart from Duneworld. If you leave, however, you forfeit all assets and go with nothing.”

  Predictably, the indignant water sellers stormed over to the huge inspection ship and pleaded with Counselor Bauers to intervene. Smiling with amused helplessness, the man declined. “Hmmm, Grand Emperor Wuda made it clear that Nobleman Linkam can do as he pleases, with no rules or restrictions, in order to produce the maximum amount of spice. Ahhh, my hands are tied because of the edict.” His nose twitched.

  Before Jesse had issued his hard-line statement, he’d reached a secret deal with Bauers. Though he despised the terms, he saw no alternative but to offer the exposed Hoskanner saboteurs as a bribe, delivering them to the Imperial ship in exchange for the inspector’s cooperation. Without admitting any connection to the Hoskanners, Bauers had agreed. Very quickly.

  Later, when the water sellers and producers called upon him and pleaded for leniency, Jesse magnanimously granted amnesty. “Now, let’s all work together.”

  It was another short-term victory, but he savored it nevertheless. Finally, he felt a little momentum on his side.

  19

  Everybody complains.

  —GURNEY HALLECK

  On a seemingly quiet evening, Gurney Halleck slipped into the old communal buildings that served as residences for the people Jesse had brought from Catalan. These were the best dwellings in Carthage.

  Though he was the spice foreman in charge of freedmen, convict laborers, and Catalan workers alike, Gurney had always liked to socialize with his crews. He came into the Catalan residences hoping to relax for a change. He wanted to listen to quiet talk of the sea and the rain among men he had considered friends back home—men who now served under him as sandminers.

  Immediately upon entering the main hall, however, the jongleur sensed a mood more sour than the odor of crowded, unwashed bodies. As the Catalan men organized their gear and supplies for the following day’s harsh work out on the sands, they complained of thirst, isolation, grit in everything, sand-burn, sunburn, windburn. Gurney had come to expect such grumbling from the convicts or disenchanted freedmen, but not Jesse’s loyal men.

  “Now, now, what’s set you all off tonight?”

  Unhappy-looking women in drab desert garb distributed packaged food and drinks. Some of the packs were open, revealing chunks of gray meat with sticks of too-bright vegetables. The men ate with grimy hands, inadvertently adding a seasoning of raw melange to the bland food.

  “There’s nowhere to live on this hellhole, Gurney!” one of the men said. “Not under or above ground, not in rock caves. And look at this stuff!” He prodded the unappetizing preserved food. “What I wouldn’t give for some hot fish and lemon stew!”

  The workers turned to Gurney, using him as a target for their complaints. “We’re so overworked we don’t get time to eat in peace, and even on long and dangerous shifts, we still don’t harvest enough melange.”

  Another man hurled a spice shaker against the wall. “Even if we win the accursed challenge, what will our prize be? Will we ever see our homes again?”

  “When will Nobleman Linkam reinstitute our wages? It’s bad enough being miserable, but to do it for no pay?”

  Gurney chuckled. “You know the nobleman’s good for it! You have food, water, and a bunk to sleep in. Would you rather I had General Tuek come and tell you stories about how he had to survive during the Lucinan campaign?”

  With forced good cheer, like a man hoping to calm a storm by waving his hands against the wind, Gurney sat on top of a metal crate and played his baliset, picking out familiar tunes without singing the words. “Come now, listen.” He might have been their spice foreman, but he was also still a jongleur. He began to sing in his most soothing voice.

  “In swirling sand,

  With men on the ground,

  Cinnamon filled the air,

  As the worm drew near.

  “‘Damn the spice!’ he shouted,

  And plunged into danger,

  The bravest of nobles,

  The bravest of men.”

  But the sandminers didn’t want to listen. Instead, they began to throw food and insults at Gurney, forcing him to back toward the door. Even so, it seemed to him like a good-natured release of steam; he had made himself the butt of their dissatisfaction, allowing them to take out their ire on him. He held up his hands. “All right, lads! I’ll talk to the nobleman! I’ll see what I can—”

  Just then, the freedman captain of a spice harvester rushed into the main hall, slamming the heavy moisture-seal door behind him. “Where is the spice foreman? It’s happened again!” He unsealed his face mask and knocked dust off his cloak.

  The mood shattered. Gurney set his baliset aside and strode forward. “I’m here—what is it?”

&nbs
p; “Two more spice harvesters gone, Gurney! Along with half of my mates and the entire crew of the other harvester!” Dirt and dust seemed to ooze from every pore of the man’s body, with every agitated exhalation. “I barely made it off that rattletrap carryall alive. The other survivors are in the Carthage infirmary right now. General Tuek told me to find you!” The rest of his words came out in disarray as he described the disaster.

  “That leaves us with only seven harvesters!” a man groaned.

  Gurney listened, feeling as if he’d been shot in the stomach. He tried to calculate how many men had just been sucked down a worm’s gullet. Freedmen, convicts, Catalan refugees. So much loss. He didn’t see how House Linkam could survive any more.

  He muttered, “Even the sandworms are in league with our enemies.”

  KNOWN SPIES AND saboteurs should be used as harsh examples, not bargaining chips. Esmar Tuek was not happy with the arrangement his nobleman had made. By releasing the captives to Bauers, Tuek and his interrogators lost the opportunity to obtain important information.

  Since their arrival on Duneworld, he’d suspected that someone was feeding the Hoskanners details about what went on inside the Linkam household. His careful questioning of the newly arrested Hoskanner sympathizers and saboteurs had uncovered disturbingly accurate information about finances, habits, and new security measures. He was fully aware of one person who had access to all that information inside the headquarters mansion.