The Winds of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  “I would have preferred this information the moment it arrived,” Rhombur snapped, grabbing the message. “Vermillion Hells! This could be vital—”

  Avati demurred with no sincerity whatsoever. “Apologies. We had other pressing business.” He left without further ado.

  Rhombur unsealed the cylinder so quickly with his cyborg hand that he broke the cap. As he scanned the lines of the instroy document, his prosthetic shoulders sagged. “Your men arrived on Chusuk too late. The Jongleur troupe gave a performance and then departed immediately on another Guildship. No information on where they went afterward.”

  “We can ask the Guild,” Leto said. “An inspector is due this afternoon.”

  “We can ask,” Jessica agreed, “but they weren’t very cooperative the last time.”

  Before he could proceed to the Heighliner construction site, the Guild inspector was intercepted by Rhombur’s household guard and escorted to the Vernius administrative office. He was annoyed by the disruption in his plans. “My schedule does not allow for interruptions.”

  “We request information,” said Rhombur and explained what they needed to know.

  The inspector was unimpressed. “Information is not gratis, nor is it readily available. The only reason we spoke with you earlier about your sons is because of the fees they owed for passage. Such discussions are over, because confidentiality is a hallmark of the Spacing Guild.”

  Rhombur’s scarred face darkened. “Then let me pose the question in a way you can better understand. Effective immediately, I shall order that all construction work cease on your Heighliner. My crews will not lift a hull plate or install a single rivet until you give us answers.”

  Jessica felt a warm satisfaction in her chest. Leto’s hard grin showed he was proud of the position Rhombur was taking.

  The Guild inspector was startled. “That makes no commercial sense. I shall protest.”

  “Protest all you like. I am House Vernius, and my commands rule here.”

  Jessica stepped closer to the Guildsman. “You don’t have any children, do you, sir?”

  He seemed to see her for the first time. “Why is that relevant?”

  “It explains your complete ignorance and lack of humanity.”

  With heavy footfalls, Rhombur crossed to a wall-comm and contacted the construction crew chief on the grotto floor. “Stop all operations immediately. Perform no further work on the Heighliner until I give the word. Tell your crews to take a break—it might be a long one.” He switched off the speaker and turned to the inspector. “You may as well go back to your Heighliner and discuss the matter with your superiors. I’ll be here when you return.”

  Thrown off balance, the Guildsman hurried out of the administrative office. Jessica looked through the transparent windows to the construction floor, where tiny figures rode suspensor platforms down from the superstructure as they exited the Heighliner framework. Workers milled about like busy insects on the wide cavern floor, not knowing what else to do.

  Instead of departing for his Heighliner, the inspector demanded a special meeting with the technocrats. The Council members reacted with astonishment to hear what Rhombur had done, then showered the Guildsman with apologies.

  Avati’s voice was soothing. “This is just a misunderstanding. Earl Rhombur is preoccupied with personal concerns and isn’t thinking lucidly. Obviously, his decision is not in the best interests of the Ixian economy.”

  In an emergency session, the Council members unanimously invoked an obscure clause of the Ixian Charter: Because Rhombur’s brash decision could cause irreparable harm to Ix’s reputation, they voted to countermand his order and called for work to recommence at once. As a show of good faith, they reaffirmed the delivery date, promising to release the Heighliner as planned.

  Rhombur could protest, but with his power base diminishing day by day, he could do nothing about it.

  There are countless definitions and interpretations of a life well spent, and of the opposite. There are often widely divergent biographies of a particular person. The same individual can be either demon or saint, and even shades of both.

  —from The Wisdom of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  Aboard the Heighliner, Rheinvar gathered his troupe in a large, echoing compartment that the Wayku had provided for them to relax in together. Their belongings had been containerized and placed in a cargo hold of the great ship. The Jongleur leader strutted back and forth, smiling. “Balut is our next venue. For the first time ever, we play the famed Theater of Shards!”

  Though the Face Dancers showed neither enthusiasm nor disappointment, the other troupe members murmured with excitement. Bronso perked up and whispered to Paul. “My grandmother was from Balut. Lady Shando—”

  Paul nudged him. Though they had provided their first names, neither boy had revealed much about their identities. Bronso fell silent, but one of the Face Dancers—Sielto?—leaned closer. “Your family comes from there, young man?”

  Paul said in a hard voice, “Do Face Dancers have unusually acute hearing? And no respect for personal privacy?”

  The shape-shifter smiled. “Old Emperor Elrood had a concubine named Shando, and she was from Balut.”

  “Shando is a common name there, especially after the Emperor’s concubine,” Bronso said. “Many families fantasized that their own daughters might go off to join the Imperial court.”

  “I see.” The Face Dancer was maddeningly unreadable. “That certainly explains the coincidence.”

  Before they reached Balut, Rheinvar held several private sessions with Paul and Bronso. “If you two are going to be part of this troupe, I should teach you simple techniques that Jongleurs use to generate enthusiasm in the audience, to enhance emotions and make the people love you, cheer for you, follow your lead. Won’t there be times in your lives that you need to convince others? Maybe even large crowds?”

  “But we’re not Master Jongleurs,” Paul said.

  “No mass hypnosis, no telepathic techniques, or complex tricks—those things are not necessary for you to know. But at the very least, you both need to be competent orators in order to spread the word on various planets about our upcoming shows. Let me show you how to mesmerize the listeners!”

  Rheinvar leaned closer, striking a pose with an utterly sincere and captivating smile. “You see, much of the technique of convincing people, of selling them, involves the careful use of voice and facial expressions. Once you master the subtle art of manipulating people—either one at a time, or in great numbers—you will always be able to achieve your goals.”

  As the two boys sat down to listen and Rheinvar began his instruction, Paul was reminded of some of the lessons his mother had taught him about Bene Gesserit techniques and manipulations.

  He frowned, having second thoughts. “If you have to trick people into cooperating with you, then you are not an honorable person.” It went against everything Duke Leto had taught him, but he recalled seeing a harder side of his father when it came to political realities.

  “Honor or dishonor depends on how you employ your talents, not the nature of the talents themselves. Surely there’s nothing wrong with encouraging people to attend an entertaining show?”

  As the passengers filed off into the Balut terminal building, Paul was surprised to see so much security. Hypervigilant red-uniformed soldiers monitored all exits, all lines of people.

  “More internal troubles?” he said to Bronso.

  “Every Great and Minor House feuds with other noble families, I suppose.”

  Joining them on the deck, Sielto grinned at Paul. “The more arguments, the more customers for us. Balut is a cesspool of saboteurs and agents for each side.” Now that the boys knew their secret, the Face Dancers were oddly casual about their secondary profession.

  “You’ve wasted no time doing your research on local tensions, I see,” Bronso said.

  Sielto acted nonthreatening, even trustworthy. “It is an important part of my job. The ruling Kio
family has entered into an alliance with House Heiron, a wealthy but minor offworld family. House Heiron has only been on Balut for a couple of decades, and already they control the most exquisitely talented crystal carvers, glassmakers, and etchers. Now the Heirons have worked their way into Governor Kio’s inner power circle.”

  “And some of the old-guard families don’t like it,” Paul said with a sigh. “Naturally.” He scanned the crowd as people milled around. The arriving passengers lined up to pass through a series of checkpoints.

  “They don’t want Balut tainted by outsiders.” The Face Dancer smiled.

  At the security checkpoints, all of the troupe’s cargo cases, prop wardrobes, and animal cages received an intense examination. Neither Paul nor Bronso carried identity documents, nor did many of the troupe members, so they passed through secondary screening, where they were thoroughly catalogued.

  Ahead of Paul in line, Bronso pressed his hand against an identity plate, and a silvery scanner light bathed him. Unlike the previous passengers, Bronso remained under the glow for a long moment. Paul held his breath, sure that they had been caught.

  A suspicious, red-uniformed officer told Bronso to stand still as he checked the readings. Paul swallowed hard as the line backed up behind them, and a guard diverted him to a second scanner, where he was sure he’d trigger a security alert as well. He swallowed hard as he went through the identification process—but he passed without anyone giving him a second glance.

  Paul glanced over to where the uniformed officer looked Bronso up and down, scowling. “Scanner says you’re a member of the former Balut noble family.” The redheaded boy was disheveled, his clothes stained and threadbare, a roustabout scamp traveling with a Jongleur troupe.

  “Yeah, I get confused with royalty all the time,” Bronso said with bold sarcasm. The guard glanced at his companion, and both let out loud guffaws. They pushed him through and called the next person forward. Bronso joined Paul, wiping perspiration from his forehead. Sielto followed close behind.

  Sometimes the best way to search is to be found.

  —Zensunni postulate

  Aweek later, in their small stateroom aboard another Heighliner, Gurney strummed his new baliset, experimenting with melodies and humming tunes in his head.

  Now that they had left Chusuk with no particular destination in mind, Duncan pored over the charts of star routes, trying to imagine where the Jongleur troupe might have gone. So far, they had spent many fruitless days. “I’d have to be a Mentat to figure this out. We should have brought Hawat along, after all. Paul and Bronso could have gotten off almost anywhere. There are too many possible locations for us to search them all.”

  Gurney plucked a wrong note. “Neither of us is going to give up. We promised the Duke.”

  Duncan pushed the papers aside. “Yes, and we owe it to the young Master as well. Paul has gotten in over his head, but he’s never seemed like the type who needs rescuing.”

  “We all need to be rescued at one time or another.” It wasn’t a familiar quote, but a nugget of his own wisdom. Gurney toyed with a new tune.

  A Wayku steward appeared at the stateroom door, bearing a tray of food. Duncan looked up at him suspiciously. “We didn’t order meals in our quarters.”

  “You are correct, but I needed some reason to come here.” The Wayku man had a black goatee and impenetrable glasses over his eyes. “We’ve all heard about the search for the missing sons of Duke Atreides and Earl Vernius. Paul and Bronso are their names, correct?”

  Gurney rose to his feet, setting the baliset aside. “Do you have any leads on the boys?”

  “I have facts. My name is Ennzyn. I did know two boys that matched the descriptions I’ve read, and their names were Paul and Bronso.”

  “Where?” Duncan asked. “And when did you last see them?”

  “They worked with me for a time on a Heighliner, but when the Guild discovered that they were stowaways, they were put off at Chusuk. They joined a Jongleur troupe.”

  Gurney’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “We’ve already tracked them that far. We lost their trail after that.”

  “There is more. A certain member of that same Jongleur troupe dispatched a message to us, from Balut. It seems that when Rheinvar’s group arrived there, a security scan identified the genetic markers of the former noble family, House Balut, in one of the young roustabouts.”

  Duncan put the pieces together. “Bronso’s grandmother was Lady Shando of Balut.”

  “Did they detain the boys?” Gurney pressed.

  “No. Security had no record of—nor any particular interest in—a missing member of the Balut family. Fortunately, my source takes interest in a great many matters.” The Wayku steward stepped inside and rested the food tray on a small table, then removed the coverings to reveal an unappetizing-looking meal. “The dinner comes free with the information.”

  “And what do we owe you for the information itself?” Duncan said.

  Ennzyn gave a faint smile. “I developed a fondness for the boys. After I researched your situation in greater detail, I became concerned about them. Though Bronso and Paul both struck me as flexible, intelligent, and resourceful young men, they don’t belong on their own, traveling as they do. It would be sufficient reward for me to help you bring them home.”

  “And why would a member of the Jongleur troupe have sent you this news?” Gurney was suspicious at the Wayku’s lack of any demands.

  “Wayku and Jongleurs have much in common, traveling as we do through the various regions of space. Our peoples yearn to see new places, have new experiences, and so we’ve developed a natural affinity for one another. Shared information is sometimes mutually beneficial.”

  “And are the boys still on Balut?”

  “As far as I know. But who can know all the movements of a Jongleur troupe?”

  Duncan hauled out the star charts again. “We’ve got to get to Balut as soon as possible, Gurney.”

  “Unfortunately, this vessel does not go there,” Ennzyn said. “You’ll have to take an alternate route from the next hub. I would be happy to help you plot the best course.”

  “Where’s the next hub stop?” Gurney wished his sense of urgency could make the Heighliner arrive faster.

  “Ix,” Ennzyn replied.

  Gurney glanced sharply at Duncan. “That’ll do just fine.”

  The two men burst into the Grand Palais, surprising Jessica and Leto. Gurney got the words out first, “We have a new lead on the boys, my Lords! ‘Those who search long enough, and with great faith, shall be rewarded.’ ”

  Duncan added, “But we need to leave immediately, before they move on again. I’ve checked the Spacing Guild schedules—we can get to Balut within three or four days. I wish it could be sooner, but we can’t change Heighliner schedules.”

  Rhombur summoned his Suk doctor. “Yueh, you’re coming with us. If anything’s happened to either of the boys, I need you there to help them.”

  After calling on Ixian officials to arrange for immediate transport on the next Guildship bound for Balut, the cyborg Earl grudgingly sent a message to Bolig Avati. “I have to let him know that I’ll be away from Ix.”

  Leto did not try to hide his concern or skepticism. “I don’t trust that man, Rhombur.”

  “Vermillion Hells, I don’t trust the whole damned Technocrat Council! But when I’m away from Ix, Avati’s the de facto administrator here.”

  “If they hadn’t ruined your bargaining position with the Guild inspector,” Jessica pointed out, “we could have had a clear answer days ago.”

  “Uh, I’m more worried about what they might do while I’m gone. The technocrats could take over Ix with a few pen strokes, and a lot less bloodshed than the Tleilaxu did.”

  “Then maybe we should take some preemptive action,” Leto said.

  When he arrived, the Council leader sketched a sloppy bow. “Preparing to leave again, my Lord Vernius? I understand completely! Family matters must take pri
ority over running a planet. Ix will be in good hands in your absence.”

  Leto spoke up in a crisp tone, as if Avati were not there. “Rhombur, I can offer to station House Atreides troops here during your absence, to help maintain stability. With your blessing, we’ll leave Duncan and Gurney here to arrange it. That way, Vernii will remain in good shape while we’re gone—and your enemies will not perceive any weakness.”

  Avati showed clear alarm. “There is no need for an offworlder army. Ix has no instabilities! And no enemies.”

  “It’s better to be sure,” Rhombur said with a smile. “The Duke is correct—without me here, there’s only a proxy Council to monitor administrative details. Other Houses may see Ix as an undefended prize. Certainly you remember how easily the Tleilaxu took over when we weren’t prepared? Who knows what might happen in my absence?” He was pleased to twist the knife. “Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho are renowned throughout the Landsraad for their bravery and strength. Yes, Leto, have your men send word to Caladan. A battalion or two should suffice.”

  “A battalion?” Avati cried.

  Gurney did not look keen to be left behind. “But, my Lord, shouldn’t we accompany you to see that the boys are safe?”

  “If my son and Bronso are indeed on Balut, we’ll retrieve them without any trouble. You and Duncan can do more here . . . for my friend Rhombur.”

  The Earl could not hide his obvious relief. “Thank you, Leto! And Counselor Avati, you are to give your full cooperation to the Duke’s representatives and welcome his troops when they arrive.”

  The technocrat squirmed, but nodded.

  Leto issued crisp orders. “Duncan and Gurney, send a high-priority courier to Caladan and have Thufir Hawat dispatch a security force as soon as he receives the message. Ix will be safe, if I have anything to do with it. That’s what friends are for.”