Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  “Not from Caladan,” Rabban interjected, and the Baron agreed.

  Cru pressed his lips together for just a moment. “The second-best wines, then. We will commission the finest music and the most exquisite dining these lords have ever experienced. And entertainment, we must decide upon the most personally beneficial form of amusement.”

  “We already have a gladiatorial event scheduled,” the Baron said. “It is our tradition here on Giedi Prime.”

  The advisor’s expression melted into a look of horror. “Absolutely not, my Baron. I must insist. No gladiatorial contests. Bloodshed will foster entirely the wrong impression. We want the Landsraad to like you.”

  Rabban already looked as if he wanted to break Cru over his knee like kindling. De Vries reminded them quietly, “An experiment, my Baron.”

  For several uncomfortable hours, the etiquette advisor strutted around the room, rejoicing in the numerous details he had to resolve. He instructed the Baron on how to eat. He demonstrated the proper method for grasping silverware, holding it at the proper level with the elbows off the table. Cru used his measuring stick to rap the Baron’s knuckles whenever he made a mistake.

  Later that afternoon in the exercise room, de Vries brought in Feyd-Rautha, who squirmed and fussed. At first, Cru was delighted to see the child. “We must work hard to bring the boy up properly, as befits his station. Refined manners will reflect his noble breeding.”

  The Baron scowled, remembering his weakling half brother Abulurd, the child’s father. “We are attempting to overcome the deficiency of Feyd’s breeding.”

  Next, Cru insisted on watching the Baron walk. He made the big man go from one end of the solarium to the other, back and forth, studying every dainty suspensor-assisted step, making suggestions. Finally, he tapped a long finger against his lips, pondering. “Not bad. We can work with that.”

  Cru turned to Rabban, his face hard like a stern schoolmaster’s. “But you need to learn the basics. We must teach you to walk with grace.” His voice lilted as he spoke. “Glide through life, with each step but a gentle intrusion through the air around you. You must stop lumbering. It is essential not to project the appearance of an oaf.”

  Rabban looked ready to explode. The etiquette advisor walked over to a small case he had brought with him. Withdrawing two gelatinous balls, he held them gently in his palms, like soap bubbles. One sphere was red, the other a deep green.

  “Stand still, my Lord.” He balanced one ball on each of Rabban’s broad shoulders, where they hovered in precarious equilibrium. “Simple stinkball toys from Chusuk. Children use them for pranks, but they are also highly effective teaching tools. They break very easily— and believe me, you don’t want them to do that.”

  With an arrogant sniff, filling his lungs with the perfumes that floated around his clothes, Cru said, “Allow me to demonstrate. Simply walk across the room. Use whatever grace you can manage, but take gentle steps so as not to dislodge the stinkballs.”

  The Baron said, “Do what the man suggests, Rabban. It’s an experiment.”

  The Beast strode across the floor with his usual plodding gait. He had not crossed half the distance before he dislodged the red sphere, which rolled off and burst on his leather vest. Startled by the movement, he jerked backward and lost the green stinkball, which splattered at his feet. Both spheres exuded brownish-yellow vapors that surrounded him with their foul stench.

  The etiquette advisor began to chuckle. “So… my point is well taken?”

  Cru didn’t have time to take another breath before Rabban was upon him, locking his viselike grip around the man’s white-skinned throat. He squeezed the windpipe with uncontrolled fury, much as he had strangled his own father.

  The foppish man squawked and struggled, but he was no match for the Beast. The Baron allowed the scuffle to go on for a few seconds, but he did not intend to grant the etiquette advisor such a quick and simple death. Finally, de Vries delivered two precise, numbing chops with the side of his hand, stunning Rabban enough that he could pull the choking, rangy man away.

  Rabban’s face was purple with anger, and the stink around him made the Baron cough. “Out of here, Nephew!” Feyd-Rautha had begun to cry. “And take your little brother with you.” The Baron shook his head, making his jowls jiggle. “This man is right about you. You are an oaf. I’ll thank you not to appear at the banquet.”

  His fists clenching and unclenching, Rabban was clearly incensed, until the Baron added, “I want you to use listening devices to spy on our guests’ conversations. You’ll probably have a more entertaining time than I will.”

  Rabban permitted himself a smug smile when he realized he would endure no further miserable etiquette training. He grabbed the child, who was wailing loudly because of the stench around his burly older brother.

  The Mentat assisted Mephistis Cru as he picked himself up from the floor, his face mottled, red marks already showing on his slender throat. “I’ll… I’ll see to the menu now, my Lord Baron.” With uncertain steps, in a dazed shock, the half-strangled advisor stumbled out of the solarium through a side door.

  The Baron glared at Piter de Vries, causing the Mentat to shrink back. “Patience, my Baron. It’s clear we still have a long way to go.”

  Power is the most unstable of all human achievements. Faith and power are mutually exclusive.

  — Bene Gesserit Axiom

  Carrying a large black bag, Hidar Fen Ajidica walked briskly past two Sardaukar guards in the underground city. The Imperial soldiers stood at attention and hardly blinked when the Master Researcher went by, as if he was beneath their notice.

  Now that he had learned how to dramatically increase ajidamal production, Ajidica regularly consumed large doses of the synthetic spice; he existed in a pleasurable sense of hyperconsciousness. His intuition was sharper than ever before. The drug exceeded all expectations. Ajidamal was not only a substitute for melange; it was better than melange.

  With his increased awareness, Ajidica noticed a tiny reptile crawling on the rough rock wall. Draco volans, one of the “flying dragon” lizards that had moved down from the rugged surface after the Tleilaxu takeover. With a flicker of dull, scaly skin it skittered out of sight.

  Ants, beetles, and cockroaches had also found their way into the subterranean realm. He had instituted a number of eradication procedures to keep the vermin out of his antiseptic laboratories, but to no avail.

  Filled with enthusiasm, Ajidica passed through the pale orange light of a bioscanner and continued into the Sardaukar Officers’ core of the military base. Without knocking, he strutted into the innermost office and dropped onto a small chairdog, holding the bag on his lap. After an uncharacteristic whine of protest, the sedentary animal conformed to the Master Researcher’s body. Ajidica’s eyelids slitted half-closed as a fresh burst of drug pleasure infused his brain.

  A large man in a gray-and-black uniform looked up from the midday meal he’d been eating at his desk. Commander Cando Garon— son of the Emperor’s Supreme Bashar Zum Garon— frequently dined alone. Though not yet forty years of age, Cando looked older than that, his brown hair frosted gray at the temples. His skin had a pale cast from spending so many years down in the caverns after being assigned here by the Emperor. The younger Garon’s prominent but secret role guarding the experiments made his esteemed father proud.

  The commander gave Ajidica an appraising look, spooned a gooey forkful of pundi rice and meat from packaged Sardaukar rations into his mouth. “You asked to see me, Master Researcher? Is there a problem my men must address?”

  “No problems, Commander. Actually, I come to offer a reward.” The little man squirmed out of the reluctant chairdog and set his satchel on the desk. “Your men have done an exemplary job here, and our long labors have finally come to fruition.” The compliments tasted strange in Ajidica’s mouth. “I will send a commendation directly to your father, the Supreme Bashar. In the meantime, however, the Emperor has allowed me to offer you a small
reward.”

  Removing a sealed packet from the bag, Garon looked at it as if it might explode in his face. He sniffed, detected an unmistakable cinnamon scent. “Melange?” Garon removed several packets from the satchel. “This is far too much for my personal use.”

  “Enough to share among your men, perhaps? If you wish, I will see that you and your Sardaukar have as much as you need.”

  He met the steady gaze of Ajidica. “Are you bribing me, sir?”

  “I ask nothing in return, Commander. You know our mission here, to serve the Emperor’s plans.” Ajidica smiled. “This substance comes from our laboratories, not Arrakis. We manufactured it, converted the liquid essence into solid form. Our axlotl tanks are currently operating at peak production. Soon, spice will flow freely… for anyone who deserves it. Not just for the Guild, or CHOAM, or the fabulously wealthy.”

  Ajidica snatched one of the packets himself, tore it open, and gobbled the sample. “There, to prove the substance is pure.”

  “I never doubted you, sir.” Commander Garon opened one of the samples and sniffed cautiously at the cakey material processed from the original liquid distillate. He touched a bit of it to his tongue, then ate more. A tingle suffused his nerves, and his pale skin flushed. He clearly wanted more, but he restrained himself. “After it is tested thoroughly, I will see that this is equitably distributed among my men.”

  As Ajidica departed from the Officers’ complex, satisfied, he wondered if this young Sardaukar commander might be of some use to him in his new regime. It was radical to trust an infidel outsider, a powindah. Still, Ajidica rather liked the no-nonsense soldier— provided he could be controlled. Control. The artificial spice might allow him to accomplish exactly that.

  Content with his grand visions, Ajidica stepped into a capsule-car. Soon, he would escape to a promised world where he could grow strong, if only he could keep the Emperor and his dog Fenring at bay long enough.

  Inevitably, he would have to fight the deposed Shaddam, and the Tleilaxu corruptors who had distorted the Great Belief. For such vital challenges, Ajidica would need his own holy warriors, in addition to loyal Face Dancer servants and spies. Yes, these legions of Imperial Sardaukar could prove necessary… once he addicted them.

  Among sentient creatures, only humans continually strive for what they know is beyond reach. Despite repeated failures they continue to try. This trait results in high achievement for some members of the species, but for others, for those who do not attain what they want, it can lead to serious trouble.

  — FINDINGS OF BENE GESSERIT Commission,

  What Does It Mean to Be Human?

  Jessica had never seen a grander residence than the Imperial Palace, the city-sized home of the Emperor of a Million Worlds. She would remain here for months, at the side of the Lady Anirul Corrino, ostensibly as a new lady-in-waiting… though she suspected the Bene Gesserit had other plans in mind.

  Generations of the Imperial family had accumulated the material wonders of the universe and commissioned the intricate designs of the greatest craftsmen and builders. The result was a faery realm in physical form, a single sprawling building with gables, soaring rooflines, and jeweled spires that stretched toward the stars. Not even Balut’s fabulous Crystal Chateau could approach such a level of ostentation. A previous Emperor, arrogant in his agnosticism, claimed that God Himself could not have resided in a more pleasing abode.

  Standing here in awe, Jessica was inclined to agree. In the company of Reverend Mother Mohiam, she worked harder than usual to control her emotions.

  Dressed in conservative robes, she and Mohiam entered a sweeping parlor whose walls were sheets of priceless soostones; rainbow hues danced in their lustrous, milky surfaces. The brush of a fingertip caused the stones to change color temporarily.

  Accompanied by watchful Sardaukar guards, a tall woman glided in to meet them. She wore an elegant white gown with a black-pearl necklace, and moved with the fluid grace of a Bene Gesserit. When she smiled warmly at the young visitor, tiny lines formed around her large doe eyes.

  “Not quite like the Mother School, or cold and wet like Caladan, is it?” As she spoke, Lady Anirul looked around at the palatial extravagance, as if noticing it anew. “Another week or two, and you won’t want to leave.” She came forward, showing no hesitation about placing her palm on Jessica’s abdomen. “Your daughter couldn’t be born in a better place.” Anirul seemed to be trying to sense the baby’s disposition, or its gender, through her touch.

  Jessica flinched away from the Emperor’s wife. Mohiam looked at her oddly, and Jessica felt naked, as if her beloved yet hated teacher could see directly into her thoughts. Jessica covered her withdrawal with a hurried curtsy. “I’m sure I will enjoy my visit and your generosity, Lady Anirul. I am happy to serve you in whatever duties you think are fitting for me, but as soon as my child is born I must return to Caladan. My Duke awaits me there.” Inwardly, she chastised herself. I must not show that I care about him.

  “Of course,” Anirul said. “The Sisterhood may allow that, for a time.” As soon as the Bene Gesserit possessed the long-awaited Harkonnen-Atreides baby, they would have no further concern for the affairs or wishes of Duke Leto Atreides.

  With Mohiam at her side, Anirul led Jessica through a dizzying maze of cavernous rooms until they reached the second-floor apartment that had been assigned to her. Jessica held her chin high and maintained her dignity, though a wondering smile warmed her face. If I am just to be another lady-in-waiting, why am I receiving such royal treatment? She was given rooms near the chambers inhabited by the Emperor’s wife and the Imperial Truthsayer.

  “You must rest, Jessica,” Anirul said, looking again at her belly. “Take care of your daughter. She is very important to the Sisterhood.” Shaddam’s consort smiled. “Daughters are such treasures.”

  Jessica felt uncomfortable with the subject. “That must be why you have five of them.”

  Mohiam looked quickly at Jessica. All of them knew that Anirul had given birth only to daughters because those had been her instructions from the Sisterhood. Jessica feigned weariness from her long trip, the overwhelming sights, and the amazing experiences. Anirul and Mohiam left, deep in conversation with each other.

  Instead of resting, though, Jessica sealed herself in her chambers and composed a long letter to Leto.

  * * *

  That evening she attended a sumptuous dinner inside the Contemplation Tea House. A separate building in the ornamental gardens, the facility was large, with colorful woodcuts of flowers, plum trees, and mythical animals on the walls. The waiters wore distinctive uniforms, cut long and angular, with cuffs large enough to serve as pockets, and polished bells hanging from every button. Birds flew freely inside the structure, and fat Imperial peacocks strutted beneath the windows, weighed down by their long, bright feathers.

  Like peacocks themselves, the Emperor and his Bene Gesserit wife displayed their own plumage. Shaddam wore a scarlet-and-gold jacket with a diagonal red sash across the front, adorned with gold piping and the Corrino golden lion. Anirul had a matching, though narrower, sash, over a shimmering platinum-fiber gown.

  Jessica sat in a yellow chiffeau evening gown given to her by Anirul as part of an entire new Palace wardrobe, along with a priceless blue-sapphire necklace and matching earrings. Three of Shaddam’s daughters— Chalice, Wensicia, and Josifa— took their seats primly beside Anirul, while baby Rugi remained with her wet nurse. The eldest daughter, Irulan, was not there to join them.

  “Lady Anirul, I feel more like an honored guest than a simple lady-in-waiting,” Jessica said, touching her jewelry.

  “Nonsense, you are indeed our guest for now. There will be plenty of time for tedious duties later.” Anirul smiled. The Emperor ignored them both.

  All through the dinner, Shaddam was silent and drank a goodly quantity of unimaginably expensive red wine. As a result, the other diners spoke little, and the meal finished quickly. Anirul made small talk with her daughte
rs, discussing interesting subjects their tutors had taught them, or games they had played with their nannies in various park enclosures.

  Anirul leaned closer to young Josifa, her large eyes wide and earnest, though her lips retained the tiny curve of a smile to show she was teasing. “Be careful with your games, Josifa. I learned there was once a child— a girl about your age, I believe— who wanted to play hide-and-seek in the Palace. The nanny said the Palace was too large for such a contest, but the little girl insisted. She ran off down the corridors, looking for a place to hide.” Anirul dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “And she was never heard from again. I expect one day our custodians will come upon a small skeleton.”

  Josifa looked amazed, but Chalice scoffed. “It’s not true! We can tell it’s not true.”

  Wensicia, the second-oldest daughter, asked Jessica questions about Caladan, about the ducal castle, about how much wealth the watery planet could generate. The girl’s probing voice seemed businesslike and incisive, almost challenging.

  “Duke Leto has all the amenities he needs, and he has the love of his people.” Jessica searched Wensicia’s face, saw much ambition there. “Thus, House Atreides is very wealthy indeed.”

  The Emperor paid no attention to his daughters at the table, nor to his wife. He didn’t deign to notice Jessica much at all, either, except when she mentioned Leto— and then he seemed not to care for her opinion.

  Afterward, Anirul ushered everyone toward a small auditorium in another wing of the Palace. “Come, come, all of you. Irulan has been practicing for weeks. We must be an attentive audience for her.” Shaddam followed, as if begrudging another obligation of his office.

  The auditorium featured hand-carved Taniran columns and artful scroll designs, as well as a high, gold-filigree ceiling, and walls covered with lush shimmer paintings of cloudy skies. On the stage stood an immense ruby quartz piano from Hagal, strung with newly tuned monofilament crystal wires.