The Winds of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Mayor Horvu and all these people were mere cannon fodder in this new political battle, and Reverend Mother Mohiam felt no guilt about it. The entire Imperium was a large game of chess, and she was privileged to move some of the key pieces, never forgetting the line between the player and her pawns.

  With a brisk step she walked into the drizzle, no longer showing signs of extreme age. Sometimes it is so challenging to be human, she thought.

  Certain actions are taken out of mercy, necessity, or guilt. The logic may be impeccable and irrefutable . . . but the heart knows nothing of logic.

  —GURNEY HALLECK, Unfinished Songs

  When the gaze hounds were on the scent, Gurney loved the flood of adrenaline. As he ran with the animals, he became so engrossed in the chase that he could almost forget the painful memories he had accumulated over a lifetime. With Jessica away on Salusa Secundus and the front lines of Muad’Dib’s Jihad far from here, he considered it an excellent time for a hunt.

  Until recently, his life had been so turbulent that he’d never considered owning pets, but he was an Earl of Caladan now, a nobleman. He was expected to have a private estate, a manor house, a retinue of servants—and of course, hunting dogs.

  Gurney had never meant to become so attached to the creatures, nor even to give them individual names, but he needed to call them something other than “Blackie” or “White Spot.” For no better reason than that he had no other ideas, he named the six dogs after planets on which he had fought during the Jihad—Galacia, Giedi, Jakar, Anbus, Haviri, and Ceel. Each dog had its own personality, and they all reveled in the attention he gave them by patting their heads and rubbing their chests, brushing their fur, feeding them treats.

  The gaze hounds could run for hours across the moors until they scared up a marsh hare, which they chased with a wild baying chorus. Today, though, the prey had gotten away despite a long and exhausting chase. But at least the dogs got their exercise, and so did he. His clothes were damp with sweat, and his lungs burned.

  When he took the dogs back to their kennel and fed them an extra bowl of food, the hound he’d named Giedi growled and sulked as he ate. Uncharacteristically, the dog had lagged behind in the chase today. Concerned, Gurney stepped into the kennel and saw that the animal’s eyes were watery and red. Giedi let out a small defensive growl when his master touched him.

  “You look sick, boy. I’d better isolate you from the others.” Tugging on Giedi’s collar, he hauled the reluctant black-and-tan hound to a separate run. If the dog didn’t improve by tomorrow, Gurney would have to go into Cala City and find a skilled veterinarian.

  The following morning, the gaze hound looked decidedly worse, eyes scarlet from scleral hemorrhaging. Giedi barked and howled, then whined as if in deep pain. When Gurney approached the kennel, the unfortunate animal threw himself against the barrier, growling and snapping.

  Three of the other hounds—Jakar, Anbus, and cream-colored Haviri—had red-rimmed eyes as well and sulked in the backs of their kennels. Gurney felt a heavy fear in his gut, and immediately summoned a veterinarian to his estate.

  The man took one look at the animals and shook his head. “Bloodfire virus. The symptoms are unmistakable, and you know it’s incurable, my Lord. Much as you love your dogs, they will only grow worse. They’ll suffer, and will begin to attack one another, even you. You’ve got to put all four of the sick ones down before the last two get infected. I can do it, if you like.”

  “No! There must be something you can do.”

  The veterinarian looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Blood-fire is a rare disease among animals on Caladan, but once contracted it is always fatal. Separate out the two healthy dogs immediately, or you’ll lose them too. But the others—” The doctor shook his head. “End their suffering now. A mad dog must be put down. Everyone knows that.”

  Gurney practically shoved the man back to his groundcar, then returned to the kennels. From their individual cages, the two healthy dogs, Galacia and Ceel, looked at their sick companions, whining mournfully.

  Gurney asked one of his men-at-arms to help him separate the other three moody and lethargic dogs into empty cages. Haviri lashed out and tried to bite him, but with his fighting reflexes Gurney twisted away just in time. Feeling a chill, he realized that if he were to contract the disease, his own fate would be a long and painful series of treatments—with no guarantee of success.

  The dog named Giedi, sick but not lethargic, threw himself against the kennel barrier, barking and scratching until his muzzle was bloody and his claws shattered. Mucus streamed from the dog’s eyes, and Gurney wept. The animal didn’t know him now, didn’t know anything except its pain and virus-driven fury.

  Gurney had faced horrific tragedies in his life: from his youth when he was tormented and forced to work in the Harkonnen slave pits, and they had raped and murdered his sister, to his days in the service of House Atreides, when he tried to stop the horrific massacre at Duke Leto’s wedding, and later when he served on the battlefields of Grumman, Dune, and countless places in Paul’s Jihad. Gurney had been forged and tempered in a crucible of extreme pain.

  And this was just a dog . . . just a dog.

  Gurney quivered as he stood there, unable to see through the veil of tears in his eyes. His knees were weak; his heart pounded as if it would explode. He felt like a coward, unable to do what was necessary. He had killed a great many men with his own hand. But this, what he had to do to a loyal animal.. . .

  Moving like an ancient automaton, he went to the hunting locker and returned with a flechette pistol. Time and again he had shot cornered prey and put them out of their misery, making it quick. But now the nerves in his fingers had gone dead. He aimed the pistol, but it wavered even as the dog snarled at him.

  Somehow, he managed to fire a needle into Giedi’s chest. The dog let out a final yelp and collapsed into merciful silence.

  Gurney staggered to the other kennels, where the remaining sick dogs huddled uncertainly. But he could not bring himself to put them down. They hadn’t reached that point yet. Letting the needle pistol drop to the ground, he staggered away.

  Only two of his gaze hounds remained uninfected. He ordered them quarantined.

  The next day, Ceel also showed reddened eyes, and Gurney dragged him out of the kennel with Galacia. Five of the six! He had been too afraid, had avoided the hard truth too long, and he steeled himself now.

  He was forced to use the needle pistol four more times. It didn’t get any easier. He stood there trembling, stunned, torn.

  Afterward, only Galacia remained, the gentlest of the hounds, the one who most adored attention, the female who wanted to be treated like a princess.

  When he was all alone in the silence of the kennels, smelling the blood, Gurney slipped into the cage with her and collapsed beside her. Galacia lay down, resting her head in his lap, her ears drooping. He stroked her tawny fur and felt sadness rage through his body. At least he had saved her. Only one . . .

  If he had acted more swiftly, if he had taken the first dog into quarantine as soon as he’d suspected the illness, if he had gone to the veterinarian earlier, if . . . if . . . if he’d been brave enough to face the pain of losing a few dogs, he might have saved the others. He had hesitated, denied his duty, and the other gaze hounds had paid for it.

  No matter how much he loved them, killing the dogs had been the only way to cut losses, to stop them from doing further damage, to minimize the inevitable greater pain. As soon as the virus began to spread, the rest of his options had disappeared.

  Gurney heaved a great breath. He felt so weak, so devastated. Galacia whimpered, and he patted her head. She looked up at him, helplessly.

  Her eyes had begun to turn red.

  Why is it that harm can be done in an instant, while healing requires days, years, even centuries? We exhaust ourselves trying to repair damage faster than the next wound can occur.

  —DR. WELLINGTON YUEH, Suk medical records

  S
ince the former Emperor decided to accompany the inspection group out to the terraforming sites, a simple trip out to the barren lands became a matter of such complexity that it rivaled the preparations for a major battle. The Imperial aerial transport was stocked with food and refreshments and staffed with at least one servant for every high-ranking passenger.

  The Qizaras accompanying Irulan and Chani saw no benefit in the former Emperor’s presence; many of them could not understand why he remained alive, since any fallen Fremen leader would have long since been killed—but Irulan told them to keep their objections to themselves. “It is the way things are done.”

  Aboard the large floating transport, Jessica remained alert for frictions among the Fedaykin, priests, and Corrino household guards. A few Sardaukar troops formed a personal bodyguard around the fallen Emperor to protect him in case any of Muad’Dib’s men secretly tried to assassinate him. Jessica knew, though, that if Paul ever decided to get rid of Shaddam IV, there would be nothing secret about it.

  When Chani directed the Fedaykin and the priests to their places, Shaddam made little effort to hide his scorn from her, remaining aloof in the forward observation area of the floating transport. “A mere concubine should not be ordering men about.” His voice was loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of settling people.

  Chani’s hand went to her crysknife, and the Fedaykin and the priests were perfectly ready to go to battle, then and there. The Sardaukar moved close to the former Emperor in a tight protective posture.

  But Jessica placed fingers on Chani’s forearm. She said, also loudly enough to be heard, “The former Emperor is merely incensed that his own role is even less than that of a concubine. I was once a concubine, and now I am a ruling Duchess.”

  Shaddam was startled by the insult, and when Count Fenring chuckled loudly, he turned red.

  “Enough of this posturing,” Irulan snapped. “Father, you would be well advised to remember that my husband could sterilize Salusa Secundus all over again. Everyone here would be most pleased to complete this inspection as soon as possible, so let us go about our work without delay.”

  As the aerial transport departed, Jessica selected her seat, placing herself between Chani and Irulan. Though they shared no affection, both lived in the Arrakeen citadel and had long ago learned to tolerate one another. Each wanted something from the other: Chani wanted to be called Paul’s wife, and Irulan wanted Paul’s love.

  Jessica showed no favoritism to either, lowering her voice to keep the conversation private. “I need your insights, both of you. I’ve been isolated from my son for so long I’m not sure I know him any longer. I see his decisions only through a filter of distance and biased reports, and frankly much of what he does disturbs me. Tell me about Paul’s daily life, his mood, his opinions. I want to understand him.”

  Most of all, she wanted to know why he so easily accepted slaughter in his name. Long ago, when Paul had slain Jamis in a knife duel, Jessica had squashed his feeling of triumph, forcing him to feel the consequences and obligations of that one action, that one death. “How does it feel to be a killer?” Her son had been stung, shamed.

  And now he blithely allowed the deaths of billions. . . .

  I am Paul’s mother, Jessica thought. Should I not love him and support him, anyway? And yet, if he continues on this course, the whole galaxy will see him as history’s greatest tyrant.

  Irulan’s words were stiff and formal, but she allowed a faint glimmer of pain to leak through. “Paul does not speak openly with me. Chani is his confidante.”

  Jessica didn’t think Chani ever criticized or questioned Paul’s actions. Chani shrugged. “Muad’Dib is guided by prescience and by God. He sees what we cannot. What is the purpose in asking for explanations to that which is inexplicable?”

  True to his promise, Paul had assigned his best planetology teams to Salusa, and they remained out in the field, combing the landscape, setting up testing stations. The men rarely had any need to come to Shaddam’s domed city.

  Jessica gazed out the leisurely vessel’s plaz observation window, seeing clumps of hardy shrubs, arroyos carved by abrupt flash floods, and bizarre twisted hoodoos of rock sculpted by the hammerwinds. Despite its unpleasant environment, the planet supported a reasonable population of hardy survivors and descendants of prisoners who had been deposited over the centuries. Here and there, sheltered domes and prefabricated structures were nestled in box canyons. Crops struggled to grow beneath retractable reflective tarps that provided shelter from the worst blasts of weather.

  “Salusa does not look so harsh in comparison with Dune,” Chani said, standing next to her. “It is obvious that people can survive here if they are careful and resourceful.”

  Irulan came up behind them. “But not comfortable by any means.”

  Chani shot back. “Is it Muad’Dib’s task to make them comfortable? That is something people must do for themselves.”

  “They are trying,” Jessica interjected. “Humans caused this damage long ago, and now humans are trying to fix it.”

  Shaddam announced from the viewing platform on the bridge, “Our destination is the northwest basin, the site of the most extensive restoration work.” He pointed to a prominent line in the terrain. “The ground team’s current camp is in the base of that dry gorge. You can see all you need to see from the air.”

  “We decide what we will need to see,” Chani said. “Take us down there. I would speak with the planetologists face to face. They are doing work in the name of Liet, my father.”

  “No, we can see quite enough from up here,” Shaddam replied, as if he had the final word.

  But Chani would have none of it. “Irulan and I have instructions to observe.” She glanced sidelong at the Princess. “Unless you are afraid to get your hands dirty?”

  Incensed, Irulan turned to her father. “Take us down, now.”

  With a beleaguered sigh, the deposed Emperor passed instructions to the pilot. The aerial transport and its accompanying ships landed like an invasion, startling the planetology team at their labors. Wearing dusty, stained jumpsuits, the terraformers left their machinery and hurried forward to greet the visitors.

  The two men in charge of the dry canyon worksite were Lars Siewesca from the stark planet of Culat, and a stocky man who introduced himself as Qhomba from Grand Hain. Neither of those worlds was a pleasant place, Jessica knew.

  Siewesca’s appearance unsettled Jessica, for the man was tall and lean, with sandy blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Was he intentionally mimicking the late, murdered Dr. Liet-Kynes? Though the visitors included Shaddam IV, his daughter Princess Irulan, and Lady Jessica, the two planetologists were most impressed to meet Chani.

  “Daughter of Liet! We are honored that you have come,” Siewesca said, bobbing his head. “My companions and I all completed our training at the School of Planetology in Arrakeen. Please, let us show you our work! It is our heartfelt goal to honor your father’s teachings and his dreams.” They bustled around her, ignoring Shaddam, much to his annoyance, even though he had no particular interest in the operations.

  Chattering to Chani, the two team leaders expressed unbridled enthusiasm, rattling off the hectares reclaimed, temperature gradients, and relative humidity traces. While they droned on with obscure numbers, percentages, and technical details, Chani dropped to her knees in the loose sandy ground of the canyon floor. She dug her fingers into the soil, working them deep, pulling up pebbles, sand, and dust. “This world is more dead than Dune.”

  Irulan remained standing, pristine and beautiful, profiled against the wasteland. “But Salusa is more hospitable and getting better. According to the reports, new ecosystems are catching hold, and the worst storms have abated in only a year.”

  Chani stood and brushed her hands on her thighs. “I did not mean dead in that way. Salusa was ruined by atomics and used for centuries as a prison planet—this place is dead in its soul.”

  The planetology team hurried to finish t
heir preparations for a large test. “Deep scanning shows a substantial aquifer sealed beneath caprock,” said Siewesca. “We were about to break open the barrier and create a channel so the underground river can flow again. It’ll change the face of the continent.”

  “Very well, get on with it,” Shaddam said, as if they had been waiting for him to issue orders.

  Over the next hour, the crew packed their equipment and machinery, withdrawing their transports to the rim of the canyon above. Qhomba and Siewesca asked to be invited aboard the observers’ ship in order to provide commentary. With the canyon work site abandoned and explosives planted in deep shafts, the rest of Shaddam’s ships withdrew to a safe distance.

  Qhomba and Siewesca pressed up against the observation windows, and Jessica sensed the genuine dedication of these men. The wait seemed interminable. Shaddam uttered a complaint about the delay, only to be interrupted by explosions that rumbled deep beneath the ground, hurling debris and dust in a feathery pattern against the wide canyon walls.

  From behind the plume of smoke and debris, a roiling, stampeding wall of water spurted like pumping blood into the confines of the canyon, dragging layers of sediment with it. The surge swirled centuries-old dirt into a brown torrent that churned along.

  Qhomba let out a high-pitched cheer. Siewesca grinned, scratching his sandy beard. “Salusa will become a garden in half the time it’ll take us to reclaim Dune! In only a few centuries, this place will be a fertile world again, capable of supporting many kinds of life.” He looked as if he expected them all to applaud.

  Shaddam merely made a sour comment. “A few centuries? That does me no good.” He did not behave as if he planned to stay here that long.