Inside the room under bright artificial lights, test beds of hardy plants grew, each of them given carefully monitored rations of water. Some of the species looked weak and withering, while others thrived. Jesse inspected some of the strange adaptations to an arid environment.
“And what is your theory?” Jesse asked.
Haynes shook his head, as if suddenly intimidated. “I can’t be sure of all the details yet. There are many small threads I still wish to tie together.”
“I’m not asking you for a rigorous scientific explanation, Dr. Haynes. At the moment, I’d just like a layman’s understanding of this planet that’s absorbed so much of my sweat and blood for the past two years.”
Haynes surrendered. “I have long suspected a network of tunnels and vents beneath the sand. Until now, I never imagined that they might be part of an elaborate ecosystem, a labyrinth filled with fungusoid ‘spice plants,’ as you call them. It adds a new foundation to the ecology of Duneworld, which has always seemed sparse and mysterious, with too few components to support a biological web.”
“Like only seeing the tip of an iceberg. There is much more to it beneath the surface.”
“Exactly.”
“But what’s the connection between these spice plants, the sandworms, and everything else?” On a flat specimen shelf, small trays contained samples of melange of varying colors and densities; Jesse knew that spice was graded according to quality, though even the lowest form still provided a heady rush. Right now, the smell of the open samples made his nostrils tingle. He leaned closer to sniff.
Haynes looked down at the notes on his datapad. “My theory—and mind you, it is only a theory—is that the spice, the fungusoid plants, the sandtrout, and even the worms are all connected.”
Jesse touched a fingertip to the darkest spice sample, tasted it on the tip of his tongue. “You mean mutually dependent on one another? Parasites? Symbiotes?”
Haynes shook his head. “This may be difficult to accept, Nobleman, but I am beginning to conclude they are all aspects of the same life-form—phases in a complex growth and development cycle.”
“How can that be? Sandtrout, worms, and plants are nothing alike.”
“Is a caterpillar like a butterfly? Is a larva like a beetle? A nymph like a dragonfly? The sandworms and spice plants could be—for lack of a more accurate comparison—male and female forms of a bipartite organism. Fungusoid organisms grow, and at a certain climactic point they reach to the surface, where they spew billions of microspores. In the atmosphere, the plants immediately die, as you witnessed. The spice we consume is composed of these microspores mixed with powdery plant residues, distributed by the winds. In turn, the spores germinate and grow, forming tiny creatures that devour the sand plankton and then grow into what we see as sandtrout.”
Haynes held up a finger, as if making a place mark in his flow of thoughts. “It’s fascinating, if my conjecture is correct. The sandtrout themselves may be the larval forms of the monstrous worms, while some of the little creatures may burrow deep and take root as spice plants. Perhaps each ‘male’ sandtrout grows into a giant creature, or somehow links together with others of its kind to form a colony organism, since each sandworm ring appears to be autonomous.”
“This is all difficult to grasp,” Jesse said. “A life cycle so alien, so incomprehensible.”
“We are on an alien, baffling planet, Nobleman.”
Jesse stopped in front of a row of cages holding kangaroo rats, tiny rodents that went busily about their lives even in confinement. He wondered if they would rather be free out in the desert, like the ones he and Barri had encountered, or if they even had such an awareness.
“Worms seem to guard the spice sands,” Jesse said. “Are they preventing other worms from attacking their young? Or preventing our sandminers from stealing the spores?”
Haynes shrugged. “As good an explanation as any. I never suspected that sand whirlpools and fumaroles might be crucial links in the chain of spice distribution. After reaching some catalyst point, a perfect balance of temperature and chemicals, the fungal organisms reproduce in explosive proportions. They draw large amounts of sand—silica—as nourishment or structural material. This, combined with minerals and chemicals in the volcanic gases, triggers even more growth and reproduction. They find an outlet to the air, where they dump their spores and then die.”
With a wan smile, the planetary ecologist rested his elbows on the table. “Or the real explanation could be something entirely different, almost beyond human comprehension. I just don’t know.”
As he poured himself another cup of the strong spice coffee, Jesse thought of all the giant worms they had incapacitated with shock canisters, all the melange they had excavated from rich veins. He took a long drink. “Harvesting so much spice, is there a chance we’re destroying a fragile life cycle that has existed here on Duneworld for millennia? Humans have only been on this planet for a few years.”
“There’s always that chance. I simply don’t have enough information yet.”
With the vivid images of the amazing underground catacombs before his mind’s eye, Jesse set his jaw. “If I’m awarded permanent control of this planet, it may be necessary to curtail our production. We’ll have to be good stewards of the land and allow some of the melange fields to lie fallow so that the populations of worms and spice plants can replenish themselves.”
The scientist’s face became sad. “That will never happen, Nobleman Linkam—not as long as the Grand Emperors and noble families remain in power. Nobles, starship crews, and wealthy merchants have become increasingly dependent upon the spice, and will demand more and more production. It will only get worse, not better.”
“Spice may be popular, but I think you’re exaggerating its importance.”
Haynes shook his head. “Why do you think the Imperial inspection ship came here to intimidate you after only a year? You may have heard rumors of spice riots on Renaissance and other wealthy planets—they are all true.”
“I thought that was just Hoskanner propaganda, to stir up resentment against House Linkam.” Restless, Jesse found screens that displayed real-time images from the weather satellites. The surface of Duneworld was bland and unremarkable, with few features to help him find the location of the forward research base. Most of the large storms were centered high in the northern hemisphere.
“If anything, Nobleman, those reports minimized the uproar. With Duneworld’s exports drastically reduced, the entire Empire is craving this substance. They desire spice more than anything else.”
Jesse scowled. “Come now, Dr. Haynes—as valuable as it may be, melange is just a luxury commodity. It would be good for some of the pampered nobles to forget their hedonistic pleasures for a while. Once spice becomes too scarce or too expensive, the people will turn to other vices. The Empire offers plenty of them.”
Haynes’s voice had a grim edge. “Most noble families are addicted to melange—fatally addicted, I fear—and they are just now beginning to realize the fact. That is the dark side of the spice.”
“Then they’ll have to endure. It’ll toughen them up.” Jesse’s voice grew iron-hard. “Someone will develop treatment plans. Esmar Tuek endured his cure from the sapho drug, which is said to be the worst addiction ever known.”
The planetary ecologist shook his head. “Believe me, Nobleman, sapho is child’s play compared to melange withdrawal. You do not consume spice extravagantly yourself, but after your recent exposure underground, I fear you may be inextricably bound to it as well. The Emperor is desperately dependent on melange, as are many high-ranking families, and the pilots and crews of starships. If the spice flow stops, the whole Empire will fall into a dark age such as the human race has never known. An entire generation will die from the drastic effects of withdrawal.”
Jesse absorbed the startling comments. He tasted the pleasant burning of spice in his mouth and lungs from the saturation underground, from the cups of spice coffee he’d just
finished, from the pure sample he’d tasted. Deep inside himself, he already felt an undeniable twinge of longing, not yet a craving but an insistent whisper that suggested how sweet melange would taste right now. Yes, he could envision it becoming an all-consuming personal need.
He thought of the noble families and the Emperor himself panicking because their supplies were cut off. When Jesse had heard his name being reviled due to his apparent failure, such vitriol had not made sense to him, even allowing for Hoskanner rabble-rousing. He had thought that powerful forces were arrayed against him, influential people and alliances working to ensure his failure. Now his fingers tightened into a fist at his side. The Duneworld challenge had been more than a trap. It had widespread consequences that were more severe than he’d ever imagined.
A commotion arose outside the laboratory, and someone pounded on the door. “My Lord,” Gurney said, “the messenger’s ornijet has just returned! He has news from General Tuek. You’d better hear it.”
Sensing something terribly wrong, Jesse hurried to face the man who bore a communiqué from the old security chief. When the messenger handed over the cylinder, Jesse grasped both ends and pulled it apart to display the screen and holographic recording.
The blurry simulacrum of Esmar Tuek looked distraught, his face pummeled with grief and uncertainty. “My Lord, we have been attacked! The headquarters mansion was betrayed from within. All of my men were gassed unconscious—including me. Dr. Yueh is missing, and we fear he has been killed. And … your son has been kidnapped.”
Jesse wanted to shout at the image, but he knew questions would have no effect upon the recorded hologram. His throat clenched. “There is more, My Lord. It appears that the traitor was none other than your concubine, Dorothy Mapes, who is also missing.”
Grabbing the messenger, Jesse said, “You’re flying me back to Carthage right now.” He looked back at Gurney and barked, “You stay here and defend our melange stockpiles. This sounds like a ploy to steal the treasure from us—and I swear, on the sacred honor of my family, that if the Emperor has harmed my son, he will not live long enough to feel his withdrawal from spice.”
32
In every relationship, one party holds leverage over the other. It is simply a matter of degree.
—GRAND EMPEROR INTON WUDA,
Proclamations and Ruminations
Flying erratically, the ornijet swept in over the mountains of Carthage, passing above the main spaceport where the huge Imperial inspection ship stood like a fortress. At the secondary spaceport across town, Jesse spotted the Emperor’s opulent private yacht waiting.
He directed the nervous pilot to go directly to a small landing zone on the roof of the headquarters mansion. When the ship’s wings and engines had settled, Jesse flipped open the angled door and found a solemn-looking Esmar Tuek standing there flanked by a small honor guard.
The old general appeared to have aged decades since Jesse had last seen him. The scab of an odd triangular cut marked one cheek. The reddish stains around his lips seemed different … more splotchy. Jesse feared that in his shame and despair Tuek had allowed temptation to overwhelm him. Had he resumed his addiction to the sapho drug?
Tuek bowed his head, his eyes watery and forlorn. He held a small flat case with scuffed corners, as if it had been carried from place to place for many decades. He extended the case, opened the lid. Inside, Jesse saw several medals, Catalan rank insignia, as well as ribbons of longtime service to House Linkam. “I have failed you, My Lord. I do not deserve these tokens of honor. I have shamed you and myself.”
“What is this nonsense, Esmar?”
“I hereby resign my post as your security chief. It is my sincerest hope that my successor will not let you down in this crisis, as I have.”
Bristling, Jesse made no move to accept the box of medals. His gray eyes flashed as he stepped closer, then shocked Tuek by delivering a quick, sharp slap across the older man’s face. “Don’t be a fool, Esmar—and don’t treat me like one! Do you think anyone could have done better than you? I cannot lose your skills and advice, especially now.”
“I have no honor, My Lord.”
“No one ever gained honor by running away. To regain it, you must help me rescue my son.” He glowered at the security chief until Tuek finally lifted his gaze. Looking at the nobleman, the old man flashed a look of anger mixed with hope.
Jesse lowered his voice. “I need you, Esmar. Don’t make me ask again. Now, tell me exactly what happened, show me your evidence against Dorothy, and I will judge her guilt for myself.”
Tuek’s cheek showed a scarlet mark from Jesse’s blow. He stood wavering, and finally took a step backward. “As you command, My Lord.”
AFTER READING TUEK’S report, Jesse sat alone in a small private office adjacent to his suite, his fingertips touching the papers as he brooded. He could neither believe nor deny the obvious conclusion: There had been a spy in his household. The Emperor and the Hoskanners knew too many secrets, even about the stockpiles of spice. Jesse had trouble believing that his concubine, his business manager, and the mother of his son could have betrayed him. His heart told him it wasn’t possible.
But the evidence seemed to offer no alternative.
Tuek suspected the kidnapping and betrayal was a Hoskanner plot at its root, because Valdemar feared the Linkam stockpile had grown so large he would lose the contest. It was an act of desperation. Could the Emperor be involved as well? It seemed unlikely … but then, a lot of things seemed unlikely.
One of the household servants appeared at the open door of the office chamber, fidgeting and clearing his throat. Jesse looked up with heavy, weary eyes. “I asked not to be disturbed. I must think.”
“There is a messenger, My Lord. He is carrying a ransom demand.”
Jesse sat up. “Send him in—and call General Tuek immediately.”
Tuek arrived within moments, fully clad in his most impressive military uniform. Wearing ominous sidearms and all his badges and medals, he stood beside Jesse as the kidnapper’s representative was ushered in.
Jesse was surprised, and then sickened, to see that it was Ulla Bauers. So this was the Grand Emperor’s scheme after all! He could have fought the Hoskanners—House against House—but the Emperor had brought an impossible amount of power to bear against him.
Keeping his face hard and unreadable, with his jaw set, Jesse forced out the words. “Why does the Emperor’s man participate in this criminal, barbarous act?”
“Emperor Wuda sends his sincere apologies. His embarrassment is acute for being forced to resort to such, hmmm, medieval tactics. But you have left us no choice in the matter. Hmm-ahh, we thought concern for your son would bring you scurrying out of the desert where you had hidden.”
“To what purpose?” Jesse demanded. “I have done nothing wrong.”
Bauers sniffed. “Your own actions, Nobleman Linkam, are a disgrace. You brought galactic commerce to its knees, but not because of incompetence, as we thought. Instead, we know that you are hiding an illegal hoard of melange. As is clear in Imperial law, all stockpiles belong to the Emperor for distribution as he sees fit.”
“Is that the same Imperial law that prohibits taking noble hostages?” Tuek growled, but Jesse motioned for him to be quiet.
With an effort, Jesse composed himself. “My instructions in the challenge were clear and simple: that by the end of two years I was to surpass Hoskanner production amounts. Never was it said that I had to deliver the melange as soon as I harvested it. Though your inspection ship has harassed us for months, I am required only to show you my total at the end. We kept our production hidden for good reason. If the Hoskanners knew how close we were to achieving our goal, they would have increased their sabotage attempts. You pride yourself on being a legal expert, Counselor Bauers. What, exactly, have I done wrong?”
“You strangled the flow of spice. Our Empire depends on it. You are a loose cannon, creating turmoil for your own profit. You can no longer be tru
sted.”
“Neither can the Grand Emperor, it seems.” Tuek moved to Jesse’s side.
Bauers sniffed. “These are the terms: You will immediately deliver all of your spice stockpiles and surrender your operations on Duneworld to Valdemar Hoskanner, who served us efficiently for many years. We cannot risk further instability such as you have aroused.”
Jesse met the representative’s eyes. “And if I refuse?”
“Hmmm, one cannot say exactly how the Grand Emperor will express his displeasure. However, it seems only your son is readily available to endure his wrath.”
“And my concubine?”
“Hmmm, does she hold some value to you? Interesting. If you comply, the Grand Emperor may be, ahh, generous. We could consider her part of the bargain. They are both on his private yacht, and both are uninjured. At present.”
Jesse’s voice was frozen metal. “You will find, Counselor Bauers, that I do not respond well to coercion.”
“Hmmm, just as the Grand Emperor does not respond well to a loss of spice.”
Jesse turned to Tuek. “General, while I consider my response, please escort the Grand Emperor’s representative to our temporary guest quarters.”
With a faint smile, the old veteran nodded. “The small and uncomfortable ones, My Lord?”
“Those will do fine.” He looked at Bauers.
Pretending not to be alarmed, the gaudily dressed man said, “Hmm, perhaps I wasn’t clear enough, Nobleman. This is not a matter for negotiation. The Grand Emperor wants the spice. No other response will do. Holding me hostage will accomplish nothing.”
“Hostage? You are merely a guest … a guest who has just threatened to murder my son and—with no legal basis—ordered me to forfeit all of my family wealth. I need a little time to contemplate the treachery of Emperors.”
Road to Dune Page 19