Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  But the ink plume was a primitive method of writing and would not serve for this sensory-conceptual journal. In its place Anirul summoned a sensory-pen and raised it in front of the ethereal pages.

  In the night stillness, in this place where Lobia had spent so much of her life, Anirul wanted to describe her friendship with the remarkable Truthsayer, documenting the wisdom she had learned from her. With brisk strokes she entered a coded date on the paperless page.

  Then her hand hesitated. Her turbulent thoughts became murky, blocking the flow of words she wanted to write. She felt like a child in the Mother School, given a difficult assignment but unable to marshal her thoughts because the Proctor Superior was staring at her, scrutinizing her every move.

  The glowglobes dimmed again, as if shadows were passing in front of them. Turning abruptly, Anirul saw no one at all.

  Refocusing her tired mind, she turned back to her journal and set about completing what she’d come here to do. She managed only two sentences before her thoughts drifted away like chime kites caught on the wind.

  The apartment was filled with the faintest of ghostly whispers.

  She could imagine Lobia sitting beside her, imparting wisdom, counseling her. In one of their many conversations, the old woman had explained how she had come to be selected as a Truthsayer, how she had shown more ability than hundreds of other Sisters. In her heart, however, Lobia would have preferred to remain at the Mother School, tending the orchards, a duty now ably performed by Reverend Mother Thora. Regardless of her personal wishes, a Bene Gesserit performed the duties assigned to her. Such as marrying the Emperor.

  Lobia had found time in her assignment to give scolding lectures to Sisters stationed in the Palace, even to Anirul herself. While doing so, the cantankerous woman would wag her withered-stick forefinger to emphasize each point. With Anirul’s eyes closed, the memory of Lobia’s laugh drifted back— a cross between a cackle and a snort that came at odd moments.

  The two women had not been close in the beginning of their relationship, and had in fact experienced some friction over access to the Emperor. Anirul found it disquieting and frustrating whenever she saw her husband and Lobia engaged in extensive private conversation. Sensing this, Lobia had told her with a wrinkled smile, “Shaddam loves his reins of power far more than he could ever love any woman, my Lady. It is not me he is interested in; it is what I have to tell him. The Emperor worries about enemies at every turn and wants to know if they are lying to him, scheming to take his power, his wealth, even his life.”

  As the years went by and Anirul gave him no male heir, Shaddam had grown even more distant toward her. Before long, he would probably dispose of her and secure another wife who would dutifully bear him a son. His father Elrood had done that enough times.

  But, unknown to Shaddam, Anirul had already introduced an undetectable agent into her husband during their infrequent sexual sessions. After five daughters, he would never conceive another child. The Emperor was sterile— now that he and Anirul had served the Sisterhood’s purposes. Shaddam IV had been with enough other women that he should have been able to guess his condition, but the man would never consider that something might be wrong with him, not when he could blame someone else….

  As all of this came back to her, Anirul opened her eyes and scribbled furiously with the virtual pen. But again she paused, thinking she heard something. Someone talking in the corridor outside? Stealthy footsteps? She listened carefully, but heard nothing more.

  She rolled the virtual writing implement in her hand… and heard the noises again— louder this time— as if people were inside the room with her. Whispers rose to incomprehensible sentence fragments and then drifted off. Nervously, Anirul left the desk and searched the empty closets, the largest trunks, anyplace where someone might be hiding.

  Again, nothing.

  The voices grew louder, and with a start Anirul finally recognized a new clamor from Other Memory, an increasingly unruly surge. She had never experienced such an outpouring before, and wondered what had triggered it. Her own search? The turmoil of her troubled thoughts? This time the voices seemed to be around her, as well as inside.

  The echoes rose in volume, as if she were in a chamber filled with argumentative Sisters, but she could see none of them and could not understand their garbled, overlapping conversation. Each one had something to say, but the words were confusing, contradictory.

  Anirul considered fleeing Lobia’s empty apartment, but thought better of it. If the multitude-within was trying to contact her, attempting to say something important, she needed to learn what it was. “Lobia? Are you there?”

  In response, the storm of words shifted like a ghostly cloud. Voices faded and grew louder, like poorly tuned comsignals struggling through a raging static discharge. Some of the long-dead women screamed to be heard over the others, but still Anirul could not comprehend. They seemed to be calling out the various names of the Kwisatz Haderach in many languages.

  Suddenly all sound diminished inside her head. Anirul’s head rang with a disquieting silence, and she felt a sick cramping in her stomach.

  She stared at the sensory-conceptual journal still hovering above the desk. The previous time that she had detected agitation in Other Memory, she had also been writing in her journal. At that time, she had probed deeply into that realm, only to find herself blocked by a swirling mist.

  The two experiences were different, but she received the same message from each. Something was wrong in the clamorous throng of her female ancestors. This time the incomprehensible voices were even more disturbed, coming unbidden.

  If she did not discover why, her life— or, worse, the Kwisatz Haderach program, which was her entire reason for existence— might be in grave danger.

  Once you have explored a fear, it becomes less terrifying. Part of courage comes from extending our knowledge.

  — DUKE LETO ATREIDES

  As an afternoon wind picked up over the sea of Caladan, Leto leaned his elbows on a balcony table. He liked to sit out in the salty air, watching lines of thunderclouds roll across the choppy waves. The great storms at sea were at once terrifying and glorious, bringing to mind the turmoils in the Imperium, and in his heart. Reminding him of how insignificant a mere Duke was against forces greater than himself.

  On the other side of the table, facing the stone wall instead of the sea, Prince Rhombur did not feel the cold with his cyborg body. Rather, he studied an ornate board of cheops, a strategy game of pyramid chess that Leto had often played with his father. “It is your move, Leto.”

  The Duke’s mug of strong tea had grown cold, but he took a drink anyway. He moved his vanguard piece, a cymek warrior set up to ward off the approach of his opponent’s black priest.

  “I mean it’s your move in another sense, too.” Rhombur stared past him at lines in the ancient stone-block walls. “The Bene Gesserit have turned down your request for the invisible ship, but we cannot stop there. Now that Thufir and Gurney have returned with their report, we have all the information we need. The time has come for genuine action to recapture my place on Ix.” He gave a boyish grin on his scarred face. “And with Jessica gone, you need something useful to occupy yourself.”

  “You may be right.” Leto stared off to sea, not smiling at the joke. Ever since the skyclipper explosion, he had looked for a dramatic goal to keep himself steady. The punitive strike on Beakkal had been a good first step, but not enough. He still felt only a fraction of a man… like Rhombur.

  “Still, I must consider the welfare of my own people first,” Leto said, thoughtfully. “Many of my soldiers would die in an attack on Ix, and we need to bear in mind the security of Caladan as well. If the attack were to fail, the Sardaukar would be down our throats here. I want to save your world, not lose my own.”

  “I know it’ll be dangerous. Great men take great risks, Leto.” Rhombur hit his fist on the table with more force than he’d intended. The pieces on the cheops board jumped as if an ear
thquake had rocked their tiny world. Then, looking down at his prosthetic hand, he raised it carefully from the table. “Sorry.” His expressions were more dramatic than before, more emotionally charged. “My father, mother, and sister are dead. I am more machine than flesh, can never have children. What in the hells do I have to lose?”

  Leto waited for him to finish. The Prince was building up a head of steam, as he often did when the subject of Ix came up. The only good result of the terrible tragedy of the skyclipper explosion was that it seemed to have galvanized his mind and made it more clear. He was much more forceful now, with clear-cut goals and timetables he wanted to meet. He was a man— a new man— on a mission.

  “Emperor Shaddam’s conditional amnesty was an empty gesture, and I was lulled into complacency by accepting it. For years! I kept convincing myself that things would get better if I just waited. Well, my people can wait no longer!” He made as if to slam his fist on the tabletop again, but when Leto flinched, Rhombur stopped himself. His face softened, taking on a pleading expression. “It’s been too damned long, Leto, and I just want to go. Even if all I do is slip inside and find C’tair. Together, we could foster an uprising from the downtrodden populace.”

  Rhombur stared at the cheops board, with its multiple levels and complexities that mirrored life in so many ways. He reached out with his prosthetic hand, pressed his fingers together, and picked up a delicately carved Sorceress game piece, which he moved across the board.

  “Ix will repay you every solari for the military campaign, plus a generous interest rate. In addition, I could have Ixian technicians come to Caladan and go over all your systems— industry, government, transportation, fishing, farming— and provide your people with advice on how to improve them. Systems are the key, my friend, along with the latest technology, of course. We would provide the necessary Ixian machines, too— at no charge for an agreed-upon period of time. Say ten years, or even twenty. We could work it out.”

  Knitting his eyebrows, Leto studied the board and made his move, sliding a Heighliner piece up a level to capture his opponent’s Navigator.

  With only a casual glance at the board, Rhombur said, “Every House in the Landsraad— including House Atreides— will benefit from the overthrow of the Tleilaxu. Ixian products, once considered the most reliable and ingenious in the universe, now break down, since quality control is laughable in the Tleilaxu-run manufactories. And who can trust Tleilaxu products, even when they do work?”

  Since the return of the spy team, Leto had continued to ponder the many questions the information had raised. If the Tleilaxu were not driven back, they would undoubtedly use their foothold to create mischief throughout the Imperium. What were they doing with the Ixian armament factories? The Tleilaxu could form new armies and equip them with the latest military technology.

  And why were the Sardaukar there? A terrible thought occurred to Leto. Under the traditional balance of power in the Imperium, House Corrino and its Sardaukar were the approximate equal, militarily, of the combined Great Houses of the Landsraad. What if Shaddam intended to tip that balance in his favor by allying himself with the Tleilaxu? Is that what they were doing on Ix?

  Leto turned away from the board. “You are right, Rhombur. No more games.” His face became serious. “I no longer care about court politics or appearances, or how history might judge me. Justice is my main concern, and the future of the Landsraad, including House Atreides.”

  He captured another of Rhombur’s cheops pieces, but the cyborg Prince didn’t seem to notice. Leto continued, “However, I want to be sure you are not intending to make an extravagant but empty gesture, as your father wanted to do. His ill-fated atomic attack on Kaitain would have sent traumatic ripples through the Imperium, and it would have gained House Vernius nothing.”

  Using neck servos, Rhombur nodded his heavy head. “It would have brought howling avengers down on me— and on you as well, Leto, by association.” Then he made a quick move in the game, a strategic blunder, enabling Leto to move another level up the cheops pyramid.

  “A good leader must pay attention to details, Rhombur.” The Duke tapped the pyramid chessboard, chiding him. “Great plans count for nothing if all the threads don’t hold together.”

  Rhombur flushed. “My skills at the baliset are better than at games.”

  Leto took another sip of his cold tea, then sloshed the liquid over the balcony edge. “This will not be simple, or straightforward. Yes, I think the rebellion must begin from within, but there will also be an overt attack from the outside. Everything must be coordinated precisely.”

  The wind picked up as the squall approached. Out on the water, coracles and fishing boats puttered back to the dock, trying to beat the oncoming rain. In the village below, men worked to stow loose components, tie down sails, and anchor their craft against the storm.

  A servant hurried out to take the empty teacup and the tray of sandwiches she had brought an hour before. A matronly woman with frizzy, straw-colored hair, she frowned at the ominous storm clouds. “You must come in now, my Duke.”

  “Today I feel like staying out until the last possible moment.”

  “Besides,” Rhombur piped up, “I haven’t beaten him yet.”

  Leto gave an exaggerated moan. “Then we’ll be out here all night.”

  After the servant retreated, throwing a disapproving frown over her shoulder, Leto fixed Rhombur with a determined gaze. “While you work with the Ixian underground, I will mobilize military forces and prepare for a full-scale assault. I won’t let you go alone, my good friend. Gurney Halleck will accompany you. He’s a great fighter and smuggler… and he’s already been inside Ix.”

  Gray daylight glinted off the metal cap on Rhombur’s skull as he nodded. “I would not turn down his assistance.” He and Gurney often played baliset together, and sang. The Ixian nobleman often practiced for hours at a time to help his coordination, using his cyborg fingers to strum the gentle strings adeptly, though his singing voice never improved. “Gurney was also a friend of my father’s. He’ll want revenge almost as much as I do.”

  Leto’s black hair whipped in the wind. “Duncan will provide you with covert equipment and weapons. A camouflaged combat pod hidden in the Ixian wilderness can cause a lot of damage, if used properly. Before you go, we’ll work out a precise date and time for our full military assault from the outside, to coordinate it with your uprising from within. You punch the enemy in the belly, and while he’s bent over, my troops will deliver the finishing blow.”

  Rhombur moved another game piece as they discussed troop movements and weaponry. After all this time, the Tleilaxu would not expect an outright frontal attack, but their Sardaukar allies would be another story.

  Leto reached forward to pick up a perfectly detailed Sardaukar captain and moved it from the base of the pyramid all the way to the top. “I love to see you enthralled with plans, Rhombur. It occupies your mind, focuses your thoughts.”

  He toppled Rhombur’s most important piece, the Corrino Emperor sitting on a tiny representation of the Golden Lion Throne. “And when you don’t pay attention to your game, it’s far easier for me to win.”

  The Prince smiled, rippling a scar on his cheek. “You’re a formidable foe, indeed. It is my great honor, and good fortune, that we’re allies on the field of battle.”

  Man participates in all cosmic events.

  — EMPEROR IDRISS I, LEGACIES OF KAITAIN

  For each day Jessica spent at the Imperial Court, Lady Anirul found something even more extravagant to show her. The young concubine was ostensibly a lady-in-waiting to serve the Emperor’s wife, but Anirul treated her more like a guest, rarely giving her anything important to do.

  In an evening’s entertainment at the Hassik III Center for the Performing Arts, Jessica rode with the Emperor and his lady in a private coach. The exquisite enameled vehicle was drawn by enormous Harmonthep lions, whose creamy fur and wide paws were more suited to traversing rugged mountains than th
e streets of the most glorious city in the Imperium. As crowds lined the boulevards, the trained animals padded along, their muscles rippling in the pastel light of sunset. For public events such as this, teams of manicurists maintained the saberlike claws, while groomers shampooed the lions’ fur and brushed their manes.

  Attired in a scarlet jacket and gold trousers, Shaddam sat stony-faced in the front of the shielded carriage. He did not strike Jessica as having a particular fondness for plays or operas, but his advisors must have pointed out the benefits of portraying himself as a cultured ruler. Anirul and Jessica, clearly subordinate, rode in the rear seat.

  During Jessica’s time on Kaitain, the Emperor had not spoken more than a few sentences to her; she doubted he even remembered her name. She was, after all, merely a lady-in-waiting, pregnant, and of little interest. The three eldest Imperial Princesses— Irulan, Chalice, and Wensicia— traveled in a less ornate and unshielded vehicle behind them. Josifa and Rugi remained with caretakers.

  The Imperial coaches pulled up in front of the column-studded edifice of the Hassik III Center, a cavernous building designed with acoustic enhancements and prismatic windows. Spectators could see and hear performances from the most creative talents in the Imperium, without missing a whisper or nuance, even sitting in the most distant seats.

  Veined-marble arches with flanking fire-fountains marked an entrance reserved for the Emperor and his retinue. The fountains spewed feathery arcs of perfumed oils; blue flames consumed much of the fuel before the droplets fell into the lozenge-shaped reflecting pools.

  Hassik III, one of the first rulers to settle on Kaitain after the destruction of Salusa Secundus, had taxed his subjects nearly into bankruptcy in order to rebuild a governmental infrastructure. Members of the Landsraad, vowing not to be outdone by House Corrino, had built their own monuments in the growing city. Within a generation, unremarkable Kaitain had become an awesome spectacle of Imperial architecture, museums, and bureaucratic self-indulgence. The Performing Arts Center was only one example.