Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Jessica’s voice was small. “I understand, Reverend Mother.” She didn’t dare admit her transgression now, could think of no one in whom she could confide her terrible secret, especially not her stern teacher. Why didn’t they tell me before?

  Steeling herself, Jessica thought of Leto, and of his anguish following the death of Victor, caused by the treachery of his concubine Kailea. I did it for him!

  Despite the Bene Gesserit strictures against being swayed by emotions, Jessica had come to believe that her superiors had no right to interfere with the love between a man and a woman. Why were they so afraid of it? Nothing in her training answered this question.

  Had Jessica single-handedly destroyed the Kwisatz Haderach program, ruining millennia of work? Confusion, anger, and fear mixed within her. I can always have other daughters. If it was so important, why hadn’t she been told earlier? Damn them and their schemes!

  She sensed her teacher behind her and recalled a day on Wallach IX when she had been forced to undergo a test of her own humanity. Reverend Mother Mohiam had held a poisonous gom jabbar at her creamy neck. One slip, and the deadly needle would have penetrated her skin, killing her instantly.

  When they discover I am not carrying a daughter…

  The intensely black room spun slowly, as if connected to the carousel in the Imperial garden. She lost her sense of direction and place, until she realized she was following Mohiam through shadows into a tunnel of light. The two women emerged into a large, bright room. The floor beneath them was a projection screen filled with a dizzying forest of words.

  Mohiam said, “These are names and numbers depicting the genetic programs of the Sisterhood. See how they all branch from a core bloodline? This is the line that culminates, inexorably, in the Kwisatz Haderach, at its pinnacle.”

  The floor glowed. The Reverend Mother gestured, demonstrating where Jessica fit in. The young woman saw her own name, and above that a name designating her birth-mother, Tanidia Nerus. Possibly real, or more likely a code designation. The Sisterhood held so many secrets. The bonds between birth-parents and children did not exist among the Bene Gesserit.

  One name, among others, surprised Jessica… Hasimir Fenring. She had seen him in the Imperial Court, a strange man always whispering in the Emperor’s ear. On the chart, his bloodline approached the desired pinnacle, but tapered off to a genetic dead end.

  Noting her scrutiny, Mohiam said, “Yes, Count Fenring was very nearly our success. His mother was one of us, carefully chosen. But his breeding ultimately failed. He became a talented but useless experiment. To this day, he does not know his place among us.”

  Jessica sighed, wishing her own life could be less complicated, with straightforward answers instead of deceits and mysteries. She wanted to give birth to Leto’s son— but now she knew an ancient house of cards had been built upon this one birth. It was not fair.

  She could not endure this sensory projection for much longer. Her burdens were already immense and so very private that she could discuss them with no one. She needed time to think, a desperate feeling. She wanted to be away from the scrutiny of Mohiam.

  Finally, the memory crystal stopped glowing, and Jessica found herself once more on the slowly spinning carousel bench in the Imperial garden. High over their heads, stars encrusted the roof of the night sky. She and Reverend Mother Mohiam sat in a pool of glowglobe illumination.

  Inside her belly, Jessica felt the baby kick, harder than ever before.

  Mohiam extended her hand, palm open, over the concubine’s protruding stomach and smiled as she, too, felt the unborn baby kick. Her normally flat eyes twinkled. “Yes, it is a strong child… one with a great destiny.”

  We are trained to believe and not to know.

  — Zensunni Aphorism

  Dressed in a wide-sleeved ambassadorial daycoat in order to fit in with the Imperial Court, Piter de Vries stood furtively at the back of the crowd, scrutinizing dignitaries as they watched the proceedings in the Imperial Audience Chamber. A Mentat could learn a great deal in the thick of activity.

  He had crept close, unobtrusively, until Duke Leto’s pregnant concubine stood in front of him in the company of Margot Fenring, young Princess Irulan, and two other Bene Gesserit Sisters. He could smell the Atreides whore, saw the golden light playing off her bronze hair. Beautiful. Even pregnant with Leto’s whelp, she remained desirable. Using his diplomatic credentials, de Vries had positioned himself so that he could observe Jessica and pick up any bits of conversation that might prove useful in planning the bold act he had in mind.

  High on his Golden Lion Throne sat Shaddam IV, listening to the Lord of House Novebruns, who had formally requested that the fief of Zanovar be transferred away from House Taligari to his own holdings. Though the Emperor’s Sardaukar had turned the main cities on Zanovar into blackened scars, Lord Novebruns believed he could still mine the area for valuable raw materials. To strengthen his case, the enterprising nobleman greatly overestimated the resulting tax revenues his new income would generate for House Corrino. Noticeable in their absence, the disgraced House Taligari had not even been permitted to send an emissary to the discussion.

  De Vries found it all very amusing.

  On Shaddam’s left, Lady Anirul’s matching, though smaller, throne remained empty; Chamberlain Ridondo had made the usual excuses that the Emperor’s wife was not feeling well. A gross understatement, and everyone at court knew it. According to rumor, she had gone quite mad.

  Piter de Vries found that even more amusing.

  If the Lady Anirul had suffered some sort of mental breakdown, if she was in fact violent, it would be particularly effective (and virtually untraceable to House Harkonnen) if the twisted Mentat could somehow convince her to strike out against the Atreides whore….

  For months now, following the unfortunate demise of his predecessor Kalo Whylls, de Vries had served as the interim Harkonnen Ambassador. During that time, he had lurked in the Palace shadows, rarely speaking to anyone, maintaining a low profile. Day after day he observed the activities of the Court and analyzed the interactions of various personalities.

  Oddly, the pregnant Jessica was constantly surrounded by other Sisters like clucking hens, which made no sense at all. What were they up to? Why should they be so overprotective?

  It would not be easy to get to her, or to the Duke’s baby. He preferred to kill Jessica while she was still pregnant, thereby accomplishing both murders in a single stroke. But so far he had seen no opportunity. And the Mentat had no intention of sacrificing his own life for the Baron’s benefit. He wasn’t that loyal to House Harkonnen.

  Peering over the shoulder of a man in front of him, de Vries spotted Gaius Helen Mohiam standing in her usual position off to one side of the Emperor, where she could be called upon to perform her Truthsayer duties.

  Even at this distance, with the intervening people and activities, Mohiam locked gazes with him, a dark-eyed venomous stare. Many years before, de Vries had used a stunner on her so that the Baron could impregnate her with the daughter the Bene Gesserit had demanded of him. The Mentat had gloated then, and ever since had harbored no doubt Mohiam would kill him if ever given the chance.

  Suddenly, he felt other eyes on him and saw more of the robed women lurking in the crowd, pressing closer. Uneasy, he backed into the swirl of the crowd, away from Jessica.

  * * *

  Like all truthsayers, Gaius Helen Mohiam considered the interests of the Bene Gesserit to be paramount, above even those of the Emperor. Now the Sisterhood’s highest priority was to protect Jessica and her child.

  The furtive presence of the Harkonnen Mentat caused Mohiam great concern. Why did Piter de Vries take such an interest in Jessica? He skulked around the perimeters, obviously spying on her. This was an especially sensitive time, with the day of her delivery fast approaching….

  Mohiam decided to take another step to keep the Mentat off-balance. Suppressing a smile, she flashed a hand signal to a Sister at the rear of t
he audience chamber, who in turn whispered in the ear of a Sardaukar guard. Mohiam could use an obscure legal precedent still on the books. A true Mentat probably had them memorized already, but de Vries was no true Mentat. This one had been created— and twisted— in Tleilaxu tanks.

  The uniformed soldier marched into the crowd while Lord Novebruns continued his audience with the Emperor, explaining mineral resources and excavation techniques. The guard grabbed de Vries’s collar as he tried to slither toward the back of the Audience Chamber. Three guards came to assist, stifling the Mentat’s struggles and objections as they hauled him toward a side entrance. The scuffle was over in moments, causing only minimal disturbance during the Lord’s impassioned speech. The court proceedings continued. On his throne, the Emperor looked bored.

  Mohiam slipped through an alcove and circled around to meet the struggling prisoner in the corridor. “I have requested a full review of your ambassadorial credentials, Piter de Vries. Until this security check is completed, you will not be allowed in the Audience Chamber while the Padishah Emperor is discussing matters of state.”

  De Vries froze as he pondered the assertion. His narrow face took on a look of disbelief. “Preposterous. I am the formally charged Ambassador of House Harkonnen. If I am not allowed in the Emperor’s presence, how can I possibly perform my services in the Baron’s name?”

  Mohiam leaned closer to him, her eyes narrowed to slits. “It is highly unusual for a Mentat to be placed in an ambassadorial position.”

  De Vries looked at her, assessing what he considered to be a petty power play. “Nevertheless, all the proper forms have been completed and approved. Kalo Whylls was recalled, and the Baron trusts me to take his place.” He attempted to straighten his clothing.

  “If your predecessor was ‘recalled,’ how is it that no travel documents were ever filed? How is it that Whylls himself never signed the order rescinding his appointment?”

  De Vries smiled with stained lips. “There, so you see evidence of his incompetence? Is it any wonder that the Baron wished to place a more reliable person in such an important position?”

  She gestured to the guards. “Until this matter can be thoroughly investigated, this man is not to appear inside the Audience Chamber, or anywhere within view of Emperor Shaddam.” She gave a condescending nod to the Mentat. “Unfortunately, such a process may take months.”

  The guards acknowledged the Emperor’s Truthsayer and glared at de Vries, as if he might be a threat. At her command, they left the two alone in the corridor.

  “I am tempted to kill you now,” Mohiam snapped. “Do a projection, Mentat. Without your concealed neural stunner, you have no chance against my fighting abilities.”

  De Vries rolled his eyes comically. “Am I supposed to be impressed by the bluster of a schoolyard bully?”

  Now she got down to business. “I want to know why you are on Kaitain— and why you have been hovering so close to Lady Jessica.”

  “She is a most attractive woman. I notice all the beauties of the court.”

  “Your interest in her is excessive.”

  “And your games are tiresome, witch. I am on Kaitain merely to handle important business for Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, acting as his legitimate emissary.”

  Mohiam did not believe him for a moment, but he had dodged her question and spoken no outright lie. “How is it that you have filed no motions, attended no committee meetings? I would say you are not much of an Ambassador.”

  “And I would say that an Emperor’s Truthsayer should have more important things to do than monitor the comings and goings of one minor representative of the Landsraad.” De Vries looked down at his fingernails. “But you are right— I do indeed have vital duties. Thank you for reminding me.”

  Mohiam detected subtleties in his body language that showed he was lying. She gave him a scornful smile as he walked off a bit too quickly. She was convinced of his intention to harm Jessica, and perhaps the child. Mohiam had put him on notice, though. She hoped de Vries would try nothing foolish.

  If, however, he failed to heed her warning, she would be happy for an excuse to eliminate him.

  * * *

  Out of the damnable witch’s sight, de Vries removed his torn coat and flung it at a passing servant in a white housecoat and trousers. When the man leaned down to retrieve the garment, the Mentat kicked him in the back of the head, just hard enough to render him unconscious without killing him. One had to keep in practice.

  He snatched his coat from the floor, leaving no evidence, and stalked toward his office. Why— why!— did the witches consider Jessica so special? Why had the Emperor’s wife summoned Leto’s concubine here to the Imperial Court, just to give birth to a brat?

  Facts slid around in his mind, clicked into place. Mohiam herself had been assigned as the breeder cow when, twenty years ago, the witches had blackmailed House Harkonnen into giving them a daughter. So the Baron had raped her, quite obligingly. Piter de Vries had been there himself.

  That daughter would be almost exactly Jessica’s age.

  In the hallway outside the office that he had commandeered from Kalo Whylls, de Vries stopped in his tracks. His mind locked into the intense focus of a first-approximation analysis. He leaned against a stone wall.

  He assessed Jessica’s facial features, looking for the faintest echoes of parentage. A great rush of information assailed him. The twisted Mentat slumped to the floor, with his back to the wall, and made an extraordinary connection in his mind:

  Lady Jessica is herself the Baron’s daughter! And Mohiam is the birth-mother!

  Snapping out of the trance, he noticed a concerned diplomatic aide approaching, but he struggled to his feet and waved her off. Stumbling into his office, he passed his secretaries without a word and disappeared into the main room. His brain continued to hum, whirling from one probability to another.

  Emperor Shaddam played his own political games, but didn’t see the intrigues right before his eyes. With a satisfied smile the Mentat realized what a wonderful weapon this new theory could be. But how best to use it?

  Before allowing yourself to celebrate, take the time to ascertain whether good tidings are actually the truth, or simply what you want to hear.

  — ADVISOR TO FONDIL III (NO NAME GIVEN)

  After a long and tedious session with Lord Novebruns and the other supplicants in his throne room, Shaddam was exhausted, anxious to get back to his offices to sip a quiet drink— perhaps even some of Duke Leto’s fine Caladan wine. Later, he might go down to the labyrinthine Imperial steam pools beneath the Palace, where he could play with his concubines… though he did not feel in a particularly amorous mood.

  He was astonished to find Hasimir Fenring waiting for him in the office.

  “Why aren’t you on Ix? Didn’t I send you there to supervise production?”

  Fenring hesitated just a moment, then smiled. “Hmmmm-ah, I had important matters to discuss with you. Personally.”

  Shaddam looked around furtively. “Is something wrong? I insist that you tell me the truth. My decisions depend on it.”

  “Hmmm.” Fenring paced the room. “I bring you good news. Once it is released, we won’t hold any more secrets. In fact, we will want the entire Imperium to know.” He smiled, his overlarge eyes gleaming. “My Emperor, it is perfect! I have no more doubts. Amal is all we could have hoped for.”

  Taken aback at Fenring’s enthusiasm, Shaddam sat down at his desk and grinned. “I see. Very well, then. All of your doubts were unwarranted, as I suspected.”

  Fenring bobbed his large head. “Indeed, I have looked closely at all of Master Researcher Ajidica’s facilities. I watched the production in the axlotl tanks. I have tasted the amal myself, and have performed a number of tests, all of which were successful.” He fumbled in the front pocket of his formal frock coat and withdrew a small packet. “See, I have brought back a sample for your own use, Sire.”

  Uneasy, Shaddam took the packet. He sniffed. “Smells like m
elange.”

  “Yes, hmmm. Taste it, Sire. You will see how excellent it is.” Fenring seemed just a bit too eager.

  “Are you trying to poison me, Hasimir?”

  The Spice Minister reeled backward in surprise. “Your Majesty! How can you think such a thing?” He narrowed his eyes. “Naturally, you must realize I have had ample opportunities to murder you over the years, hmmm?”

  “That’s true enough.” Shaddam held the sample up to the light.

  “I will taste it myself, if that will put you at ease.” Fenring reached forward, but Shaddam took the packet away.

  “Enough, Hasimir. That is all the reassurance I need.” The Emperor touched a bit of the powdery substance to his tongue, then some more, and finally upended the entire portion into his mouth. In supreme ecstasy, he let the amal dissolve on his tongue, feeling the familiar tingle of melange, the energy, the stimulus. He smiled broadly. “Very good. I can’t tell any difference. This is… incredibly good.”

  Fenring bowed, as if taking credit for the whole project.

  “Do you have any more? I would like to start using it myself, to replace my daily spice.” Shaddam looked in the packet as if searching for tiny crumbs in the corners.

  Fenring took a half step away. “Alas, Sire, I was in a great hurry and could bring only this tiny amount. However, with your blessing, I will tell Master Researcher Ajidica that he may continue full-fledged production without further doubts from the crown, hmmm? I think that will speed things up considerably.”

  “Yes, yes,” Shaddam said, waving his hands. “Go back to Ix and make sure there are no further delays. I’ve waited long enough for this.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Fenring seemed very anxious to get away, but the Emperor hardly noticed.

  “Now if only I can find a way to eliminate the spice from Arrakis,” Shaddam mused, “then the Imperium will have no choice but to come to me for amal.” He tapped his fingers on the desk, already deep in thought.

  Fenring bowed at the door to the Emperor’s private offices and departed.