The lighter was an old-model ship with few amenities. Gurney gripped the armrests of his worn seat, holding himself against violent tremors as the craft heaved itself out of the planet’s gravity well, like an old man rising roughly to his feet. Through thick plaz portholes he could see the cracked scab of the desert dwindling below, smeared and softened by a haze of high, orangish dust. He turned his gaze upward to where the sky darkened and the atmosphere thinned toward space, and the huge Guild Heighliner waited for them.
His pulse raced. Plans and memories collided in his mind, and his fingers twitched involuntarily, as if playing the strings of an imaginary baliset.
His men muttered to one another, pretending to make idle conversation but listening to few of the words. An island in their midst, Gurney focused his thoughts forward, reviewing each step they would take once they reached the huge ship.
The Heighliner’s enormous hold carried countless separated vessels on docking cradles. A Guild navigator would fold space and transport the immense spacefolder from star system to star system, stopping along the way so that smaller ships could disembark and fly to their destinations. But first, he had something to do…
The lighter rising from Arrakeen reached orbit less than an hour after the huge Heighliner arrived. Gurney had complete confidence in Fenring’s information, but he also had every reason not to trust the man. Visionaries and fools feed themselves on optimism, not bread. Even so, Gurney thought he could rely on Fenring to get them inside the big vessel. After that, he would count on nothing but the skill, dedication, and courage of his best men.
The lighter came aboard the huge ship, maneuvered into the central hold as the great bay doors opened and the administration work took place, with Guild officials accounting for all arriving craft, assigning docking cradles, finishing documentation so that the outbound vessels could depart for Arrakis.
According to Fenring, the bribe to the Guild was enough for them to bureaucratically stall the release of Rabban’s water tanker.
“We won’t have much time,” Gurney said to his men, repeating what he’d told them earlier.
Orbo held his hands out in front of himself, palms facing and fingers curled, as if he were thinking of strangling a succession of enemies. He had been murderously gloomy ever since seeing the massacre of his village by Rabban’s troops.
The lighter docked, its slender form clicking into the clamp, and the egress tube deployed from the Heighliner wall, connecting to the main hatch of the lighter. Gurney motioned to his men that it was time. When the hatch opened he led his team through the connecting tube, shucking their dusty and tattered desert cloaks along the way because they would not need them again. Beneath their traditional clothes, they wore the Guild uniforms Fenring had obtained. Gurney had used makeup over the inkvine scar on his face, but his lumpy features and characteristic rolling gait could never be concealed from anyone familiar with him.
Gurney intended to kill any Harkonnen who showed the slightest inkling of recognizing him. And if they didn’t show any such sign, he would still kill them, though perhaps not so quickly. Fortunately for him, many Guildsmen also had imperfect features. He felt comfortable on their ship; he was fitting in well.
Once away from the lighter, Gurney consulted the detailed schematic of the vessel that Fenring and the Guild had provided. His men had to work their way through the inner hull decks of the Heighliner to find the Harkonnen water tanker, a trivial ship among the thousands of vessels carried by this enormous transport.
Inside the sandwiched hull decks they rode tube transports, sitting alongside silent Guildsmen who showed no interest in their presence. Gurney’s squad traveled along the hull, rising up the curve, counting decks until they reached the appropriate sector that contained the docking clamp holding the water tanker.
Gurney and the uniformed men carried packs, tool kits, diagnostics, and false documents showing that they had been sent to inspect the manifest of the Harkonnen transport. All perfectly routine. Gurney knew none of the Harkonnen crew would be suspicious because they were arrogant. His men also carried packs with hidden weapons, knives, and maula pistols as well as personal shields—which were never used down in the desert, but Gurney insisted on them here. This would be his kind of fight, and on his terms, his own retaliatory sneak attack.
Gurney also had a special surprise inside his pack, something required by the Kanly he intended to administer.
His men were subdued and intense, their eyes shining and deep blue from frequent consumption of the spice melange. This distinctive tint might have been problematic, except Guildsmen also imbibed heavily in spice. In all likelihood no one would question the coloration… at least not before his team had their chance.
Gurney felt a rush of relief as they came upon the access ramp assigned to the Harkonnen water tanker. Gurney used his access cards, having no choice except to hope Fenring and his Guild allies had deflected the previously assigned Guild inspection teams, leaving the way open for him and his crew. As a matter of practice, the Spacing Guild did not involve themselves in petty family feuds, especially not something so small as a single water tanker… and certainly not an outburst from the last remnants of a fallen noble house of the Landsraad. House Atreides was irrelevant to them, but it was not irrelevant to Gurney or to any of his men.
Staban’s six smugglers were efficient enough, and businesslike, but the Atreides men were on a higher level, more intense. Orbo almost had that, impressing Gurney a bit, but not causing him to let down his guard. He recalled something the assassinated Duke Leto had said to him once, that “an enemy can be anywhere, declared or undeclared.”
At the end of the ramp, the hatch opened to the tanker, and they boarded through the lower deck. Inside, a surly-looking engineer stood with arms crossed over his wide chest, a frown on his face. The griffin symbol and the colors of House Harkonnen drove a knot into Gurney’s stomach, but he maintained a neutral expression.
“About damn time,” the engineer said. “We need to depart within the hour. Do your inspections and sign off on the paperwork.”
“We’ll be faster if you leave us to our own work,” Gurney said.
“All right, go about it, then,” said the Harkonnen engineer. “I have enough of my own damn work trying to take this load down to Carthag. The captain says there’s been a security alert on the Heighliner, and we’ve all had to do nonsense drills. I don’t have time to show you around anyway.”
Gurney felt a chill, and his men flicked glances at one another. One twitched toward his pack and the weapons hidden there, but Gurney made a subtle gesture to calm him.
“We’ll be efficient,” he said. “I just need to see your cargo hold, and these men will verify your atmospheric engines.”
Showing impatience, the engineer pointed them in various directions for the inspections.
“Security alert, Gurney?” muttered one of his men, as soon as the engineer was out of earshot. “Do you think we’ve been betrayed?”
“There’s always a chance of that, but I’ve heard that security alerts are commonplace on Heighliners. This is a fresh crew. Did you see the water fat on his face? He’s never been to Arrakis before.”
The other man grumbled, “No appreciation for water, that’s for sure.”
Gurney nodded. “All to our advantage. Now go.”
The men split up, going about their “Guild inspection” duties. Their uniforms made them invisible to the Harkonnen crew. Gurney hoped they didn’t have to begin killing before it was time, or that could alert others. Fenring had instructed Gurney not to make any move until the water tanker dropped out of the Heighliner’s hold and was free of Guild jurisdiction—he had made the importance of that eminently clear.
Acting his part as “Chief Cargo Inspector,” Gurney made his way to the lower bulkhead that sealed the bulbous compartment holding a large bubble of water—water from Giedi Prime, a place where such a substance was as unremarkable as air, a shipment that cost the Bar
on Harkonnen almost nothing, yet was worth an incredible treasure here on Arrakis. It was worth a great deal to the man.
Plaz observation ports providing them with views into the cargo hold showed only murky liquid, but Gurney knew its potential, its worth. This water represented revenge to him. Kanly. It represented hope, and death. A smile twitched across his face.
He found an access port for drawing samples and testing the water, but from the look of things Gurney doubted if the tanker captain had ever bothered to do this himself. These Harkonnens did not yet have an appreciation for the value of water on the driest, most desolate planet in the universe.
He unshouldered his pack and got to work, doing his secret thing, the thing that even his most trusted followers did not know about.
When it was done, Gurney stared at the precious cargo behind the plaz observation window, but he thirsted for something else.
V
It was easy enough to fool the tanker’s systems. Playing their role as Guild functionaries, Gurney and his men verified the tanker’s engines, acknowledged the cargo of water, signed off on the tanker’s departure from the Heighliner. An hour later, after most of the other Arrakis-bound ships had already dropped from their docking cradles and descended to the desert planet, the water tanker was at last cleared. The Guild inspectors departed through the access tube into the main ship again—at least that was what the records showed—and the tanker captain received authorization to depart.
But after Gurney and his team supposedly left the access tube, two of his men remained behind, hidden on the engineering deck, where they could divert the sensors on the sealed door. When clear, they let the fighters back in, and they rushed to take hiding places among the engine blocks and cooling racks. Gurney knew it was an inelegant hiding place, but they needed only ten minutes before the tanker dropped out of the Heighliner and began its spiral toward the desert planet on course to Carthag.
Huddled in the dark and noisy lower decks, they heard the thump and felt the jarring vibration through the hull as the tanker drifted free. Slow suspensor engines guided it carefully among the other stowed vessels within the Guild ship’s hold, then the tanker dropped out into open space over the desert planet. The more powerful engines ignited, driving it down toward Arrakis.
Gurney’s heart raced as if he had taken a heavy dose of stimulants. Revenge was his stimulant. All of his men felt the same. Orbo’s hooded brow shaded his gleaming eyes, and he continued to strangle imaginary foes.
Concealing himself among the conduits and cooling tubes, Gurney held his breath, counting silently as the tanker dropped away from the Heighliner. When he knew it was safe, Gurney gestured silently to his team. They attached their shield belts, clipping them into place but not activating them yet. After he closed his eyes and breathed a prayer, he raised a hand, and his men surged out of their places of concealment.
They boiled out of the hidden compartments, knowing their one goal was to reach the piloting deck and seize control of the tanker. According to Fenring, only seven Harkonnen crew would be on the piloting deck, four more down in engineering, and two more in other duties around the tanker. Gurney had enough fighters to overrun them, and he had the element of surprise.
The impatient engineer was the first man they encountered. “You’re not supposed to be—”
One of the smugglers fired a maula pistol, and the projectile ripped through the engineer’s chest. The boom of the spring-wound weapon was loud, but mostly drowned out by engine noise. Another engineer shouted, calling for help. Gurney ran straight at him, holding his knife in one hand. He preferred to use the more personal touch of death, because this was a very personal matter. He bounded ahead as the astonished second Harkonnen engineer turned to flee, grabbed the man by the collar of his overalls, yanked him backward, and swiftly drew the blade across his throat, spilling blood across the deck.
Gurney realized he had lived on Arrakis for a long time, because his first thought was not to savor victory, but to frown at the waste of viable water gurgling out of the man’s severed arteries.
The attacking squad rolled forward, independent but efficient, focused on the same goal. They easily found two other workers on the engineering deck and slew them without fanfare. Gurney motioned for the team to follow him to the piloting deck.
They hammered up metal staircases, passed through bulkhead doors. One sleepy man emerged from cramped crew quarters, calling out a question more than an alarm. His mouth was still open when Orbo grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back hard enough to snap his neck, and threw him with disgust down onto the deck.
“One level up,” Orbo said. “That’s where we’ll find the controls.”
Gurney and his men ran and burst through the hatch, charging onto the piloting deck, with him and two Atreides fighters in the lead. The bulkhead door created a bottleneck, and only three could pass through at a time, but he saw instantly what he had feared.
Instead of the tiny crew Fenring had said there would be on the piloting deck, twenty armed Harkonnen soldiers faced them. Alarms had begun to ring throughout the tanker, despite their attempts at swiftness and caution.
As Orbo and two more fighters crowded through the bulkhead doorway one of the smugglers called out, “We’ve been betrayed! This is too many.”
“Not too many for us to fight.” Gurney activated his personal shield. The other men did the same.
With a roar, Orbo pushed past them, lumbering across the deck and throwing Harkonnen fighters from side to side.
“Use your shield, man!” Gurney said.
“Don’t need a shield,” Orbo replied and crashed into two armed Harkonnen guards, grabbing them and smashing their heads together. He turned to fight two more, but they opened fire, cutting him to pieces. Lurching forward, the big smuggler managed to collapse on top of them, knocking the Harkonnens down as more Atreides fighters rushed onto the piloting deck.
The Harkonnens had advanced weapons, but Gurney’s team fought like madmen. The pilot continued to work the controls, hunched over the console and glancing nervously from side to side as the battle continued around him.
“We’re outnumbered, Gurney!” one of his men shouted. “But we’ll fight to the death. For House Atreides!”
The others picked up the defiant cheer. “For House Atreides!”
Gurney slashed the throat of another man and glanced around the deck, looking for any additional threats. Fenring had provided a schematic of the tanker so he could see the water hold and the engineering deck. He had also noted a large escape pod on the starboard side of the piloting deck. He had his own plan, one his men didn’t know about.
The Atreides men fought furiously. They had already lost so much with the assassination of their Duke, and now they were willing to pay with their lives for Kanly, for Gurney’s revenge… but it belonged to them as well. They had no need for regrets. So far they had killed five of the Harkonnens, losing Orbo, one other original smuggler, and two of his Atreides men.
Then the secondary door to the piloting deck opened and ten more armed Harkonnen soldiers appeared. A cry of despair rippled through his team, particularly Staban’s smugglers. “This is not what we were promised!”
“We were not promised anything,” Gurney said, “just given information we hoped would be reliable. Will you whine and snivel, or will you fight?”
“For House Atreides!” his men shouted, and their fierce response drove the Harkonnen guards back, but at the loss of more of Gurney’s men. Shot in the chest, one of his men still managed to get to the pilot, shooting him through the head with a maula pistol. The pilot slumped and fell aside while the injured Atreides man shoved the bleeding body aside to work the controls. The tanker lurched as Gurney’s man changed course, heading down through the rough atmosphere. Thin winds and veils of dust screeched and buffeted against the hull.
Another Harkonnen guard killed the Atreides at the piloting controls, and the tanker careened out of control. The Harkonne
ns had managed to transmit a distress signal, calling for assistance, and Gurney had no doubt that Harkonnen fighters were already streaking upward from the military base in Carthag.
He didn’t have enough time, and was losing too many men. They had put up enough of a fight; no one would doubt their intent. Yet the full measure of his revenge required the next step, his secret plan. “We cannot win, and I will not let us all die. To the escape pod!”
Fighting furiously, the team reacted with dismay. “I die for House Atreides!” one of his men vowed.
“It is not necessary.” Gurney ran to the starboard side of the piloting deck. “Come all of you—to the escape pod. Join me!”
A Harkonnen guard lunged at him, and Gurney blocked him with his activated, shimmering body shield. His foe moved slowly, trying to penetrate the intangible barrier, but Gurney brought his knife into the man’s gut, driving it deep, twisting, finding the abdominal artery and severing it. The man bled out within seconds, but Gurney held onto the body like another shield, backing toward the pod’s hatch. He activated it with a backhanded swat of his hand. “With me! You’ll die if you stay here. Harkonnen ships are coming.”
“But we can’t just leave!” one of his men yelled.
“We will; I command it. We’ve shaken them, and we’ll fight elsewhere.” Gurney dragged the dead Harkonnen guard, who was limp in his arms. Letting go, he fell backward into the large escape pod, and his reluctant men tumbled in after him, crowding into the interior chamber. The last ones continued to fight, and three more of Gurney’s men fell… three more he would have to add to the verses of his sad victory song.
The water tanker roared and rattled through the atmosphere, dropping through the sky as Gurney took the controls, even from the pod, trying to stabilize the flight. Just before the escape pod disengaged, Gurney could feel the ship under control again. The tanker would indeed fly into Carthag as planned, its decimated, surviving crew shaken.
Infinite Stars Page 10