Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Yet he lived in abject terror, doubting he would ever feel safe again, no matter where he fled.

  Tuek holed up inside his mansion in Carthag, an elegant home filled with beautiful objets d’art he had collected. He had spent a great deal of money to install a state-of-the-art security system, and to acquire a wide range of personal defensive weapons. For guards, he had hired off-world mercenaries with no family ties to any of the victims of his treachery.

  He should have felt safe.

  After he had revealed the location of the long-hidden smuggler base, Tuek’s life had taken a sharp downturn. For many years he had kept the presence of Dominic Vernius secret, accepting bribes from him and helping his smugglers acquire items they needed. He had felt no guilt about playing both sides, so long as his profits kept coming in. Later, seeing an opportunity to make a purseful of solaris, Tuek had fingered the fugitive to Count Hasimir Fenring. Well-armed Sardaukar troops had descended upon the smuggler base.

  He’d never suspected that the renegades had hoarded atomic weapons. Cornered, Dominic Vernius had triggered a stone-burner, vaporizing his base, his men, and an entire regiment of the Emperor’s soldiers….

  Considering the possibility of a beautiful female assassin, Tuek had dismissed his concubines and slept alone. Ever alert to the possibility of poisons, he prepared his food himself and tested every morsel with the finest Kronin poison snoopers. He no longer walked unprotected into the city, fearing a sniper attack.

  Now the unpredictable Fremen, without explanation, had tersely ended their business relationship with him, and would no longer use him as an intermediary with the Spacing Guild. For years, he had worked as a go-between, delivering spice bribes from the Fremen to the Guild.

  Did the Fremen suspect what he had done? On the other hand, why should they care about a band of smugglers? Still, if they insisted on eliminating his participation, Tuek could have no compunction against reporting their illegal activities to Kaitain. Perhaps Shaddam IV would reward him handsomely, just as Count Fenring had done.

  But deep-seated fear kept the water merchant trapped within his heavily guarded house. I have made too many enemies.

  He tried to find comfort in the soft cushions and silks that surrounded him. The hypnotic hum of outrageously expensive fountains should have lulled him to sleep, but it did not. He told himself for the thousandth time that he was being unduly concerned.

  * * *

  Liet-Kynes and Stilgar, along with three other Fremen commandos, easily bypassed the security systems. They could cross open expanses of sand and leave no recognizable tracks. This was no challenge to them.

  After cutting the throats of two mercenary guards, the Fremen slipped into the water merchant’s mansion and glided down the well-lit corridors. “Tuek should have hired better men,” Stilgar whispered.

  Liet had drawn his crysknife, but the milky dagger remained unblooded this night. He intended to save his violence for the man who most deserved it.

  Years ago, young Liet had joined Dominic Vernius and his smugglers down at the south pole. Dominic had been a great friend and teacher, well liked by his men. But after Liet had left them and returned to the sietch, Rondo Tuek had betrayed the renegades. The water merchant was without honor.

  Tonight, Tuek would receive a different kind of payment: the Fremen gift of justice….

  They hurried silently down stone corridors, melting into shadows, approaching the merchant’s sleeping quarters. It had been a simple matter to obtain detailed plans of the mansion from former servants, town-Fremen whose loyalty remained with their sietches.

  Even though he had never met Dominic Vernius, Stilgar followed Liet, who was now the Abu Naib of all Fremen. Any razzia commando would have been happy to join this mission. Fremen understood the concept of vendetta.

  In deep darkness, they broke into Tuek’s bedchamber and sealed the door behind them. Their blades were drawn, their footsteps as quiet as oil trickling across rock. Liet could have brought out his maula pistol and shot the traitor in his bed, but it was not his intention to murder the man. Not at all.

  Tuek awoke with a start, and sucked in a loud breath to scream, but Stilgar leaped upon him like a wolf. The two thrashed on the slick sheets; Stilgar clamped down on the man’s throat and lips to prevent him from calling out.

  The water merchant’s wide-set eyes rolled from side to side, filled with terror. He squirmed, but the commandos held his short legs, pinned his hands to the bed to prevent him from triggering alarms or reaching for hidden weapons.

  Stilgar said in a sharp whisper, “We don’t have much time, Liet.”

  Liet-Kynes glared at the captive. Years ago, as a young Fremen emissary, Liet had journeyed to the ice-mining facilities to deliver the monthly spice bribe, but it was clear that Tuek did not recognize him now.

  As a practical matter, Stilgar symbolically cut out Tuek’s tongue so his screams were reduced to gurgling sounds because of the blood pooling in his mouth.

  As the man retched and spat gouts of scarlet, Liet pronounced the Fremen sentence upon him. “Rondo Tuek, we take your tongue for the treachery you have spoken.”

  With the tip of his crysknife, Liet gouged out the man’s eyes, one at a time, and placed the staring white orbs on a bedstand. “We take your eyes for witnessing things you should not have seen.”

  Tuek writhed and struggled in horror and agony, trying to scream, but he only succeeded in spitting more blood. Two of the Fremen commandos frowned at the wasted moisture.

  With the edge of the blade, Liet first carved off the treacherous man’s left ear, then his right, placing the flaps of skin beside the tongue and eyeballs on the bedside table. “We take your ears for listening to secrets not meant for you.”

  All the commandos participated in the final step: chopping off Tuek’s hands with a hollow sound of cracking bones. “We take your hands, with which you collected bribes, selling out a man who trusted you.”

  At last they released the merchant to flop and bleed on his bed— alive, but perhaps better off dead….

  Before the Fremen left, they drank deeply of the trickling water in the ornamental fountain in Tuek’s bedchamber. Then they slipped silently back into the dark streets of Carthag.

  From this point on, Liet-Kynes would deal with the Spacing Guild directly and establish his own terms.

  A thought derived from intensity of feeling is localized in the heart. Abstract thought must be localized in the brain.

  — Bene Gesserit Dictum, The Principles of Control

  Rhombur wore a well-tailored uniform and dramatic purple cape lined with copper merh-silk. His movements were smooth enough now, and the garments so well made that he could disguise his cyborg body from anyone not looking too closely. Proud to be at his side, Tessia took his arm and accompanied him through the military hangars at the fringe of the Cala Municipal Spaceport.

  Inside the largest aircraft bay, they met Leto and Thufir. The battering and clanging of maintenance crews filled the building with a tumult that made Rhombur cringe.

  “The first step is nearly ready, Prince Rhombur,” Hawat announced. “We have purchased passage on a Heighliner for you and Gurney, but you will follow such a convoluted and time-consuming route that when you arrive at Ix, no one will be able to trace your origin.”

  Wiping grease from his hands and shoving a crystal databoard into his pocket, Duncan Idaho hurried over to greet them. “Leto, our fleet is almost ready for inspection. We have completed full checkouts on twenty-six war frigates, nineteen troop dropships, one hundred combat ‘thopters, and fifty-eight single-man fighters.”

  Thufir Hawat mentally recorded the numbers, calculated the number of solaris the Spacing Guild would charge to transport the entire force, and compared it to the available finances of House Atreides. “For such an extensive operation, we will need to secure a loan from the Guild Bank, my Duke.”

  Leto dismissed the concern. “My credit is solid, Thufir. This is an investment we sh
ould have made long ago.”

  “And I will pay back every solari, Leto… unless I fail to recapture Ix for House Vernius— in which case, I’ll be bankrupt, or dead.” Noticing the flash of Tessia’s sepia eyes, Rhombur added quickly, “It’s difficult to overcome my old ways of thinking, I fear. But I’ve waited long enough. I wish Gurney and I could leave tomorrow. We’ll have a lot of work to do underground.”

  Leto had eyes for the sleek forms of his military aircraft. They walked past crews that were testing engines, refueling, checking control panels. The men of the Atreides House Guard snapped to attention and saluted their Duke.

  “Why so many ‘thopters and single-man fighters, Duncan? This isn’t an air or ground battle. We will have to fight our way through tunnels into the underground city.”

  Duncan pointed to the various craft. “Our assault relies heavily on the frigates and troop dropships to deploy nearly a full legion of men as rapidly as possible. However, the ‘thopters and the single-man fighters will hit first, and hard, to take out Sardaukar sensor towers and crack open the shielded hatches that lead through the cliff walls.” He scanned the cluster of dart-shaped, fast fighters. “If our troops can’t get past the surface defenses quickly, the underground takeover is doomed.”

  Leto nodded. Thufir Hawat kept a careful mental inventory of the shields, explosives, lasguns, hand weapons, rations, fuel, and uniforms. This kind of major, single-strike assault posed as many business problems as tactical ones. As it was, he would be taking away most of the forces he normally kept in place to defend Caladan. It was a balancing act.

  However if the Emperor decided to retaliate against the Atreides homeworld by sending Sardaukar, no amount of defensive strength would be adequate. Since the Emperor’s dire warning about illegal spice stockpiles, and his astonishingly vicious assault on Zanovar, many Houses were tightening their security. Some noble families had voluntarily surrendered long-held spice hoards, at great cost to themselves, while others vehemently denied any involvement in contraband melange.

  Leto had sent a message to Kaitain, volunteering to submit to a CHOAM audit— a message that had not been answered. Innocence was no assurance of safety, since records (and even stockpiles themselves) could always be falsified. Thufir cited the example of House Ecaz, whom he considered to be innocent of charges in a recent flare-up. After an infiltrator destroyed a hidden spice stockpile on Grumman, Viscount Hundro Moritani railed against Ecaz— his archenemy. Shortly afterward another spice hoard was exposed, this one on Ecaz. Indignant, Archduke Armand Ecaz claimed it had been planted there by House Moritani, simply to frame the Ecazi people. As proof, he offered several already-executed Grumman “saboteurs.” The Emperor was investigating while the two sides hurled charges and countercharges at each other.

  A liveried Courier poked her head into the daylit frame of the hangar. Breathless, she trotted inside and asked directions of one of the mechanics, who pointed toward the Duke and his companions. Leto stiffened, recalling all the times in the past when flushed Couriers had delivered urgent messages. Never once, as far as he could remember, had they brought good news.

  The woman approached Leto briskly, bowed, and asked to see his ducal ring to verify his identity. Satisfied, she handed him a message cylinder, after which he dismissed her with a minimum of courtesy. Rhombur and Tessia took a step back, giving Leto space in which to read and consider the communiqué. Duncan and Thufir both stared at him, steeling themselves.

  “It is an official notice from Kaitain. There has been an assassination attempt on the Emperor,” Leto said, his voice low, then he paled. “And Jessica was in the line of fire!” His knuckles whitened as he clenched the open cylinder; his gray eyes flicked from side to side as he absorbed the details. “According to this, a madman went berserk during a play.”

  Rhombur looked at Tessia in dismay. “Vermilion hells! Jessica was supposed to go to Kaitain for protection.”

  “Is she injured?” Duncan asked.

  “Jessica wrote this second note,” Leto said, clearly relieved, removing a new sheet of paper. He read it and passed it on to Thufir Hawat, not caring if his Mentat saw the private thoughts of his concubine.

  Leto stood in turmoil, feeling his stomach knot. Sweat broke out on his brow. Against his better judgment, he had come to love her and now placed so many of his hopes on her unborn child.

  “I am sure there is far more to the story than the official announcement reveals. But still, Jessica was clearly not the target, my Duke,” Hawat pointed out. “If any assassins had meant to kill her, they must have had ample earlier opportunities. Security was far greater with the Emperor present. No, your Lady was just… in the way.”

  “But she would have been no less dead if she had taken a lasgun blast.” Leto’s face was stormy; his heart wrenched. “Lady Anirul requested— no, demanded— that Jessica go to Kaitain for the remainder of her pregnancy. Would I have had to worry about her life if she’d remained here at Castle Caladan?”

  “I think not,” Duncan said, as if promising his own protection.

  Around them in the hangar bay, work resumed, its sounds drowning out their low conversation. Leto felt helpless and ready to lash out. Jessica could have been killed! He would fight ferociously to defend her. Losing her would devastate me.

  His first instinct was to go immediately to the Heighliner in orbit, and arrange for the first available transportation to Kaitain. Just to be by her side, he would abandon these military preparations— let the others here finish them— and stand ready to tear apart any would-be assassins who dared to cross his path.

  But when he saw Rhombur looking at him, Leto remembered the complex interworkings of their secret plans, as well as what Thufir and Gurney had reported about the horrors on Ix. Yes, Leto was a human being, a man, but first and foremost he was the Duke. Despite his anguish and his longing for Jessica, he could not ignore his duty and leave his best friend Rhombur, and millions of Ixian people, to suffer for it.

  “The Padishah Emperor has many enemies and is making new ones every day. He clamps down, seizes stockpiles, threatens to destroy other worlds just as he did Zanovar,” Rhombur said. “He continues to clench his fist.”

  Tessia’s expression became contemplative. “Shaddam’s power comes directly from his birthright. He has the Throne… but does he have the skill?”

  Leto shook his head, thinking of all the innocent victims that already littered the Emperor’s twisted, blundering path. “I believe his Great Spice War is going to backfire on him.”

  Laws are dangerous to everyone, innocent and guilty alike, because they have no human understanding in and of themselves. They must be interpreted.

  — States: The Bene Gesserit View

  Under the usual cloudless blue sky, yet another Imperial garden party took place on the patchwork quilt of lawns, greenhouses, and arboretums on the Palace grounds. The squeals of exuberant noble children and the pleasant chatter of courtiers drifted on gentle breezes.

  Jessica felt that these people had no reality in their existence. Ennui seemed to be their greatest risk. Even decadence must grow dull after a time. She wondered how the business of government ever got done. As a lady-in-waiting, she certainly had nothing to do, though the court Bene Gesserits seemed to be watching her all the time.

  Had she been on Caladan with Leto, Jessica could have been engaged in monitoring the House finances, checking the disposition of the fishing fleets, tracking weather patterns across the great oceans. She could have been helping Leto heal from his deep grief and channel his anger into productive action. But here, she was confronted with nothing more challenging than lawn games.

  As Jessica negotiated a crushed-stone path that meandered past crimson jewel bougainvillea and trumpet-shaped morning glory, the delicate scents reminded her of Caladan. On the Atreides world, dense meadows of starflowers north of the Castle thrived in the spring mists. On one warm day, far from the eyes of Thufir Hawat, Leto had taken her to an isolated clearin
g high above the rugged shoreline. There, on a cushion of thick starflowers, he had made love to her, and afterward they had spent half an hour looking up at the clouds. How she missed her Duke….

  But she must wait another four and a half months until her baby was born. Jessica was not allowed to question such things. But, silently, she could wonder.

  Mohiam, the teacher who knew her so well, would be gravely disappointed when she discovered the secret of the young woman’s rebellion. Jessica feared seeing the betrayal and disappointment on the Reverend Mother’s face when she held up a newborn baby boy. Could they kill the Duke’s son, out of spite?

  But she squared her shoulders as she walked on. I can always bear a daughter later, as many as the Sisterhood might want of me.

  Jessica spotted young Princess Irulan dressed in an elegant black playsuit that accented her long blonde hair. She sat on a polished stone bench, intent on a filmbook open on her lap. Looking up, Irulan noticed her. “Good afternoon, Lady Jessica. Have you been eliminated from the tournaments?”

  “I am not a game player, I’m afraid.”

  “Neither am I.” Irulan made a graceful gesture with her hand. “Will you sit?” Anirul, while remaining aloof in the Bene Gesserit way, still paid a great deal of attention to her eldest daughter. The Princess was serious and intelligent, even more so than her younger sisters.

  Irulan held up her filmbook. “Have you read Lives of the Heroes of the Jihad?” She acted much older than her years, seemed hungry to learn. It was said that the Princess harbored aspirations of being a writer one day.

  “Of course. Reverend Mother Mohiam was my teacher. She made me memorize the whole thing. There is a statue of Raquella Berto-Anirul on the grounds of the Mother School.”

  Irulan raised her eyebrows. “Serena Butler was always my favorite.”

  Jessica sat on the sun-warmed stone bench. They watched children run by, kicking a red ball in front of them. The Princess put away her filmbook and changed the subject. “You must find Kaitain quite different from Caladan.”