Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Cristane felt herself merging into the diabolocal Tleilaxu mechanism, learning secrets she had never wanted to discover….

  On Old Earth, kingship died out as the speed of transport increased and the timespace of the globe grew smaller. Space exploration accelerated the process. For a lonely people, an Emperor is a guiding beacon and a unifying symbol. They turn toward him and say: “See— He makes us one. He belongs to all of us— and all of us belong to Him.”

  — The Tleilaxu Commentary, Author Unknown

  Hasimir Fenring’s fingers curled into claws when he thought of the treacherous Ajidica and his Face Dancer assassin— but before he could return to Ix, he had to deal with other disasters here on Kaitain.

  Such as cleaning up Shaddam’s messes.

  The Emperor’s private law library contained no filmbooks, texts, scrolls, or written opinions. However, with seven Court Mentats and five lawtechs, Fenring and Shaddam had instant access to more information than could be found within a building ten times its size. They had only to sort through all that data to glean the relevant items.

  Looking arrogant and Imperial, Shaddam IV had posed his question, and now the Mentats stood eerily silent in front of him, sifting through the volumes of knowledge in their minds. Their lips shone from fresh doses of sapho juice; their eyes gazed into the distance. Lawtechs stood ready to record any clause or precedent they might cite.

  In one corner of the room, a giant alabaster statue of a twisted sea horse spewed a wide flow of water from its stone mouth. The fountain provided the only noise in the chamber.

  Fenring began to pace impatiently in front of the sea horse. “Normally, it is accepted procedure to obtain a legal opinion before one does something that might cause an open revolt in the Imperium, hmmm? This time you don’t have a reward of melange to give to the Guild and CHOAM.”

  “We found a loophole for my use of atomics, Hasimir. We’ll find a way out of the Beakkal matter as well.”

  “Oh, so you are not bound by the Great Convention because your plague attacks plants instead of people, hmmm? Absurd!”

  Shaddam looked quickly at his seven Mentats, as if the suggestion might be a genuine possibility. Unanimously, the men shook their heads and continued to ponder in deep Mentat mode.

  “Many Houses agree with my position,” the Emperor said, pursing his lips. “Beakkal brought this upon themselves, through no direct action of House Corrino. How can you speak of revolt?”

  “Are you deaf and blind, Shaddam? There is talk of direct warfare against you, of overthrowing your regime.”

  “On the floor of the Landsraad Hall?”

  “Whispers in the corridors.”

  “Get me names and I will deal with them.” The Emperor drew a deep breath and exhaled it in a long sigh. “If only I had great heroes, loyal men like the ones who helped my father years ago.”

  Fenring’s eyes shone with wicked irony. “Hmmm, as in the Ecazi Revolt? It seems to me that Dominic Vernius and Paulus Atreides were involved in that.”

  Shaddam scowled. “And better men, like Zum Garon.”

  Muttering, the legal Mentats shared information with one another, since each of them had reservoirs of data that the others did not possess. Still, no answers surfaced.

  Shaddam lowered his voice and fixed his eyes on the water rushing from the sea horse statue. “Once we have amal, these petty squabbles will be irrelevant. I want you to return to Ix and personally supervise full-scale production. It is time to proceed, so that we can wrap up this matter.”

  Fenring paled. “Sire, I would rather wait for the final analysis from the Guild about the tainted spice in the Heighliners. I am still not convinced—”

  Shaddam’s face reddened. “Enough delays! By the hells, I don’t believe you’ll ever be convinced, Hasimir. I have heard from the Master Researcher, who would not dare to lie to me, and from my Sardaukar commander there. Your Emperor is satisfied with the results— that is all you need to know.” He became slightly more conciliatory and gave Fenring a paternal smile. “We will have plenty of time to tweak the formula afterward, so stop your worrying. Everything will turn out well for us.” He clapped his childhood friend on the back. “Now, get this issue settled.”

  “Yes… Sire. I will depart for Ix immediately.” Despite his uneasiness, he was eager to get back to confront the Master Researcher about Zoal. “I have, hmmm-ah, business of my own with Ajidica.”

  * * *

  Two fresh regiments of Sardaukar recruits from Salusa Secundus marched in thunderous lockstep down the broad boulevard in front of the Palace. The Emperor found them impressive and comforting. These soldiers, led by battle-hardened veterans, would shore up his home defenses, enough to make the Landsraad squirm.

  Within view of the troops, Shaddam made yet another formal procession to the Hall of Oratory wearing full Imperial regalia. He had invoked his sovereign privilege to summon an unscheduled emergency session of the Landsraad; his advisors would document which of the noble Houses did not bother to send representatives.

  He sat inside his velva-padded coach, pulled by Harmonthep lions. Ahead, the Great Hall towered like a mountain, surpassed in size only by the Palace behind him. Under Kaitain’s always-perfect skies, he rehearsed his words. Like sharks tasting a diluted droplet of blood, the Landsraad Council would sniff out the smallest trace of weakness.

  I am Emperor of a Million Worlds. I have nothing to fear!

  When the procession arrived at the rainbow of flags above the Landsraad Hall, the trained lions knelt, folding their paws beneath them. Sardaukar guards formed a gauntlet of uniforms so the Emperor could pass unhindered through the towering doors. He had not brought his ailing wife with him this time, nor did he feel the need for the moral support of his advisors, the Guild, or CHOAM. I am the leader. I can do this myself.

  With appropriate fanfare, criers announced his arrival. The cavernous chamber was filled with private boxes, raised chairs, and long benches, some gaudily decorated, others austere and rarely used. Duke Leto’s concubine Jessica sat next to the official ambassador from Caladan, as if to reinforce the presence of House Atreides. Shaddam tried to spot empty seats that might indicate absent Houses.

  Applause rippled through the hall, but the reception sounded a bit strained. As “Protector of the Imperium” and his numerous other titles were called out, Shaddam took time to rehearse again. Finally, he stepped up to the podium.

  “I am here to inform my subjects of a grave matter.” Discreetly, he had ordered that the speaker system be specially amplified only during his speech, so now his words boomed out. “As your Emperor, it is my duty and responsibility to enforce the laws of the Imperium with impartiality and firmness.”

  “But without due process of law!” shouted one dissenter, a tiny voice in the immensity of the Landsraad Hall. Sardaukar guards, especially the enthusiastic new recruits, were already pushing through the aisles to identify the speaker, who was trying, ineffectually, to melt into the sea of faces.

  Shaddam frowned, pausing just long enough that the audience noticed him falter. Not good. “As my esteemed ancestor, Crown Prince Raphael Corrino, once said, ‘Law is the ultimate science.’ Know this, all of you—” He clenched his fist, but pursuant to Fenring’s advice tried not to look too aggressive, hoping to maintain a fatherly appearance. “I am the law in the Imperium. I approve the codes. I have the right and the responsibility.”

  In the audience, other representatives drew away from the heckler, and the Sardaukar descended on him. Shaddam had given the troops explicit instructions to avoid shedding blood, however— at least during his speech.

  “Some noble families have been punished because they chose to ignore Imperial law. No one here can claim that the guilty parties on Zanovar or Richese were unaware of their illegal actions.” He pounded his fist on the lectern. The microphone carried the vibrations like thunder around the hall. Mutters rippled through the audience, but no one dared to speak out.

  “I
f laws are not upheld, if perpetrators suffer no consequences for their crimes, the Imperium will degenerate into anarchy.” Self-justification burned in him. Before he could grow angrier, he commanded the holoprojections to begin. “Observe Beakkal. All of you.”

  Three-dimensional images filled the governmental chamber, an ominous montage of withering jungles and blighted forests. Unmanned surveillance pods, dropped by the Sardaukar fleet in orbit, had sent imager-drones flying over the thick jungles to capture the spread of the biological scourge.

  “As you can see, this scofflaw world is suffering the ravages of a terrible botanical plague. As your Emperor— for the protection of all— I dare not allow them to break the quarantine I have imposed.”

  Beautiful green leaves changed to brown and then purplish-black. Animals starved; tree trunks turned gelatinous and toppled.

  “We must not risk the spread of this blight to other worlds. Loyal worlds. Therefore, thinking only of the safety of my subjects, I have placed a cordon around this defiant planet. Even after the plague dies out, the ecosystem of Beakkal will take centuries to recover.” He made no attempt to sound distraught at the prospect.

  Since the siege, the Beakkali people had instituted frantic measures, burning jungles or spraying corrosive acids in an attempt to isolate the defoliating plague. But nothing worked. It continued to spread, to metastasize across the planet. Smoke curled into the sky. Wildfires raged.

  Next he played holorecordings of the Prime Magistrate pleading for help, delivering speech after speech to the Sardaukar, all falling upon deaf ears. Supreme Bashar Garon allowed no one to escape.

  After Shaddam completed the sickening display, leaving the assemblage in stunned silence, Archduke Armand Ecaz requested permission to speak in opposition. Considering the rough treatment the heckler had received, Shaddam was surprised to see that the well-liked Archduke had the courage to stand forth.

  Then the Emperor remembered a recent report, that House Ecaz had captured and publicly executed twenty Grumman “saboteurs,” members of guerrilla teams purportedly sent in to plant fake spice stockpiles to implicate their rivals. Perhaps the loose-cannon Viscount Moritani saw Shaddam’s preoccupation as an opportunity for him to strike again with impunity. He decided he wanted to hear what the Archduke had to say.

  “With all due respect, Your Most Imperial Majesty,” the tall silver-haired nobleman said in a strong voice from the floor, “I accept your enforcement of Imperial laws, and the quarantine of Beakkal. You are the greatest embodiment of justice in the Known Universe. You yourself did House Ecaz a great service, Sire, when you defended us against unwarranted Grumman aggression ten years ago.

  “But I pose this question so that you may have an opportunity to answer directly, so that my esteemed colleagues in this assembly will have no cause to speak in ignorance.” Shaddam stiffened as the Archduke gestured around the hall.

  “Because of the horrors inflicted upon us by thinking machines during the Butlerian Jihad, the Great Convention forbids all biological weaponry, just as it restricts the use of atomic weapons. Perhaps you might speak to this fact, Majesty, because some of those here do not understand how it is that you have unleashed such a pestilence upon Beakkal without breaking the strictures.”

  Shaddam could find no fault with the way the Archduke had phrased his question. In the Imperium there was a long tradition of polite dissent and discussion among the noble families, including even all-powerful House Corrino.

  “You misunderstand the facts regarding Beakkal, Archduke. I released no plague upon Beakkal at all. That was not my doing.”

  More muttering, but Shaddam pretended not to hear it.

  “But what is the explanation, Sire?” Armand Ecaz pressed. “I simply wish to increase my understanding of the law of the Imperium, so that I may better serve House Corrino.”

  “An admirable goal,” Shaddam said in a clipped voice, amused at the shrewd phrasing. “After I received disturbing evidence of an illegal spice hoard on Beakkal, my Sardaukar fleet approached with the intention of imposing a blockade, until such time as the Prime Magistrate answered the charges against him. However, the panicked Beakkali population engaged in an act of piracy, hijacking two supply ships that were loaded with contaminated cargo and being sent to a safely isolated biological research station. I had no hand in the theft of those ships. I did not disseminate this scourge. The Beakkalis themselves brought about the death of their world.”

  Louder muttering throughout the hall now, with an undertone of uncertainty.

  “Thank you, Sire,” Archduke Ecaz said, and returned to his seat.

  Later, as he exited the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, Shaddam felt exceedingly pleased with himself, and moved with a youthful spring in his step.

  The conquerors despise the conquered for allowing themselves to be beaten.

  — EMPEROR FONDIL III, “THE HUNTER”

  Ix, at last.

  Camouflaged from sensors, the Atreides combat pod looked like just another meteor in its red-hot descent. Piloting the stealth craft, hoping the unresponsive Guild would honor the previous agreement to keep their secret, Gurney Halleck set the controls for the polar regions of the machine world. Beside him, Prince Rhombur sat silently, remembering.

  Home again, after twenty-one years. He wished Tessia could be there with him.

  Before leaving the Heighliner, when the two infiltrators had sealed themselves into the small combat pod, the Flight Auditor with wide-set eyes had bidden them farewell. “The Guild is watching you, Rhombur Vernius, but we can offer you no assistance, nnnn, no overt assistance.”

  Rhombur had smiled. “I understand. But you can wish us luck.”

  The Flight Auditor was taken aback. “If such things matter to you, nnnn, then I will do so.”

  Now, as the pod plunged through the choppy ocean of air, Gurney grumbled that too many Guild members knew their identity and suspected their covert mission. To his knowledge, a Guild pledge of secrecy had never been broken, but they did accept bribes.

  Prouder and stronger than ever before, Rhombur said to him, “Think of how interstellar commerce has suffered since House Vernius lost control of Ix. Do you think the Guild would rather keep the Tleilaxu in power here?”

  Gurney’s inkvine scar turned angry red. With the pod’s hull beginning to heat up, he continued the line of descent, gripping the control bar in both hands. “The Spacing Guild is no one’s ally.”

  Rhombur’s waxy face showed no flush of emotion. “If they started revealing their passengers’ secrets, their credibility would crumble.” He shook his head. “The Guild will know what we’re up to as soon as they start transporting Atreides forces to Ix anyway.”

  “I know all that, but I can’t help worrying. Too many things can go wrong. We’ve been cut off from Duke Leto, held incommunicado on Junction for a month. We don’t know if the plan is still on schedule. We are all running headlong into the dark. ‘The man without concerns is the man without aspirations.’ ”

  Rhombur held on as the spherical vessel bounced and careened. “Leto will do as he promised. And so will we.”

  They landed hard in an isolated wilderness in the northern latitudes of Ix. The pod came to a rest nestled in folds of snow, surrounded by ice and barren rock. Undetected. The secret tunnel there had been intended for Vernius family members trying to escape a subterranean disaster. Now, though, it was Rhombur’s best opportunity to break back into the world that had been taken from him.

  Working together in the cold night, the infiltrators broke down and rearranged the components of their combat pod. Detachable parts of the hull were designed to be reassembled into various forms. Numerous weapons could be removed and distributed to allies; plasteel honeycombs were filled with packaged foods.

  Under the starry blackness, the men waited inside a makeshift, thin-walled shelter while Gurney planned the long, steep trudge downward. He was eager for action. While he enjoyed discussing strategy and playing baliset back at Cas
tle Caladan, the former smuggler was a fighter at heart and not entirely happy unless he could be doing something in service to his liege— be it Dominic Vernius, Duke Leto, or Prince Rhombur….

  “I may be ugly, but at least I’ll pass inspection as a human. You”— Gurney shook his head, looking at the Prince’s cyborg parts— “will have to come up with a better story in case questions are asked.”

  “I look enough like a bi-Ixian.” Rhombur raised his artificial left arm and moved his mechanical fingers. “But I would rather be welcomed as the rightful Earl Vernius.”

  All the time Rhombur had spent as an exile, and the recent pain he had suffered, had made him a better leader. He empathized with his people rather than taking them for granted. Now he wanted to earn their respect and loyalty, as Duke Leto had done with the people of Caladan.

  During Rhombur’s upbringing in the Grand Palais, while innocently collecting rocks and tapping his fingers in boredom through class after class, he had blithely expected to be the next head of House Vernius— never dreaming that he would have to fight for the position. He, like his sister, had accepted the role into which he’d been born.

  But there was so much more to being a leader. And he had suffered much to learn this difficult lesson.

  First, the murder of his mother Shando— who he now knew had given birth to another child, Emperor Elrood’s bastard son. Then, after so many years of hiding, Dominic Vernius had committed atomic suicide, taking a number of Sardaukar with him. And Kailea… driven to madness and treachery, trying to grasp what she believed to be hers by right.

  Soon there would be more bloodshed, when he and Gurney triggered a subterranean revolution and Atreides forces came in to finish off the invaders. The Ixian people would have to fight again, and many would die.