Dune: House Corrino

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Based on the Legate’s accusation, Shaddam could turn his Imperial sword of justice against Arrakis, with full Guild cooperation. Before anyone knew what was happening, the Sardaukar would wipe out all spice production in the desert, leaving House Corrino with absolute and total control of the only remaining source of spice: amal. This economic revolution would occur faster than he had ever dreamed.

  The mutated dwarfs moved around, watching their superior, awaiting his commands.

  Shaddam turned to the Guild Legate. “We shall confiscate all spice from House Harkonnen, starting with Arrakis, and then search every other world the Baron holds.” He smiled paternally. “As before, I am primarily concerned with enforcing Imperial law. And, as before, the Guild and CHOAM shall share the spoils of every illegal stockpile we uncover. I will keep none for myself.”

  The Guild Legate bowed his head into the curling melange mist. “That is most satisfactory, Emperor Corrino.”

  More for me than for you, Shaddam thought. He had been waiting for this all along— how could he ignore such an opportunity? Once he obliterated the only known source of natural melange and began widespread distribution of amal, the few crumbs of recovered spice would become irrelevant.

  “While maintaining my blockade around Beakkal, I shall send a large Sardaukar force to Arrakis.” He arched his eyebrows. If he could avoid the mandated costs of transport for such a huge military operation, he could reap even greater benefits. “Naturally, I expect the Guild to provide Heighliners for this operation?”

  “Of course,” the Legate promised, playing right into Shaddam’s hands. “As many as you require.”

  Life improves the capacity of the environment to sustain life. Life makes needed nutrients more readily available. It binds more energy into the system through the tremendous chemical interplay from organism to organism.

  — IMPERIAL PLANETOLOGIST PARDOT KYNES

  Under the command of Thufir Hawat, the Atreides relief ships approached the blockade around the quarantined planet of Beakkal. The Mentat commander issued no threats, but did not waver in his course. The flotilla carried only minor defenses, weapons that could not have driven off even a ragtag band of pirates.

  Facing them, the immense Sardaukar warships bristled with weaponry in a titanic show of Imperial power.

  As Hawat’s supply carriers proceeded toward the cordon, two Corrino corvettes streaked across open space toward them. Even before the Sardaukar captains could issue blustery threats, Hawat opened a comlink. “Our ships fly under the colors of Duke Leto Atreides, on a humanitarian mission. We bear food supplies and medical aid for plague-ravaged Beakkal.”

  “Turn back,” a gruff officer responded.

  Either of the corvettes could have decimated the Atreides flotilla, but the Mentat did not flinch. “I see that your rank is Levenbrech. Tell me your name so that I may commit it to permanent memory.” His stare at the comscreen was unflinching. Such a minor officer would never make any significant decisions.

  “Torynn, sir,” the Levenbrech said in a sharp, formal voice. “Your House has no business here. Turn your fleet around and return to Caladan.”

  “Levenbrech Torynn, we can help the people below survive while they replant their crops with resistant strains. Would you deny food and medicines to a starving populace? That is not the stated purpose of this blockade.”

  “No ships may get through,” Torynn insisted. “A quarantine is in place.”

  “I see, but I do not understand. Neither, apparently, do you. I will speak with your commanding officer.”

  “The Supreme Bashar is otherwise occupied,” the Levenbrech said, trying to sound implacable.

  “Then we shall occupy him further.” Hawat ended the transmission and signaled for his ships to continue forward, not hurrying, not deviating.

  The two corvettes tried to head off the procession, but the Mentat sent quick orders in Atreides battle language, and the entire flotilla spread out and flowed around the warships, as if they were rocks in a stream. The Levenbrech continued to signal, growing more frustrated when Hawat simply ignored his commands.

  Finally, Torynn called for reinforcements. Thufir knew the Sardaukar would never forgive the minor officer for failing to stop a group of unarmed, sluggish cargo ships.

  Seven larger vessels broke away from the orbital net at Beakkal and approached the Atreides ships. The Mentat knew this was a dangerous moment, because Supreme Bashar Zum Garon, an old veteran like Hawat himself, would be on edge, certain that this was a trap or a feint designed to leave the planet undefended. Hawat’s weathered face showed no emotion. This was a feint indeed, but not one the Sardaukar would expect.

  Finally, the grim Bashar spoke directly to him. “You have been ordered to turn back. Comply immediately, or you will be destroyed.”

  Thufir could feel the members of his crew growing uneasy, but he held firm. “Then you will no doubt be relieved of your command, sir, and the Emperor will spend a long time dealing with the political repercussions of firing upon peaceful, unarmed vessels bearing humanitarian supplies to a suffering population. Shaddam Corrino has made thin excuses to cover your blatant aggressions. What will his justification be this time?”

  The heavy brows furrowed on the craggy face of the old military man. “What is your game, Mentat?”

  “I do not play games, Supreme Bashar Garon. Few people bother to challenge me, because a Mentat always wins.”

  The elder Garon snorted. “You would have me believe that House Atreides sends assistance to Beakkal? Not eight months ago, your Duke bombed this place. Has Leto grown soft?”

  “You do not understand Atreides honor, any more than your Levenbrech understands the principles of quarantine,” Thufir said in a chiding tone. “Leto the Just metes out punishment when warranted, and gives aid where needed. Are these not the principles by which House Corrino established its rule after the Battle of Corrin?”

  The stern Bashar did not respond. Instead, speaking in a clipped code, he issued an order. Five more ships broke away from orbit and surrounded the Atreides flotilla. “We deny you passage. The Emperor’s orders are clear.”

  Thufir tried another tactic. “I am certain His Imperial Majesty Shaddam IV would not prevent his cousin from making amends to the people of Beakkal. Shall we ask him directly? I can wait, while you delay… and while people die on the world below.”

  No other Landsraad family would dare challenge the Emperor’s blockade, especially in Shaddam’s obviously volatile state of mind. But if Thufir Hawat succeeded here in Leto’s name, other Houses might well be shamed into providing aid, feeding the people of Beakkal, giving them strength to fight against the botanical plague. Perhaps they would view it as a passive act of censure for the Emperor’s recent actions.

  The Atreides Mentat continued, “Send a message to Kaitain. Tell the Emperor what we intend to do here. There is no chance for us to be personally contaminated if we use orbital dump boxes to deliver our cargo. Give Emperor Shaddam the opportunity to demonstrate the benevolence and generosity of House Corrino.”

  As Sardaukar warships tightened around the Atreides flotilla, Supreme Bashar Garon said, “You will divert to Sansin, Thufir Hawat. Keep your cargo ships there and await further instructions. Even now, a Heighliner is preparing to depart from the transfer station. I will go myself to the Imperial Palace and present your request to the Emperor.”

  The warships herded Hawat’s cargo vessels toward the asteroid supply station. Grudgingly, the Atreides flotilla followed.

  The warrior Mentat shot a last comment at the recalcitrant Bashar. “Waste no time, sir. People are rioting on Beakkal, and we have food right here. Do not deny it to them for long.”

  In truth, though, Thufir was content enough that his diversion would occupy these Imperial forces.

  * * *

  The Atreides flotilla waited at Sansin for a full day after Supreme Bashar Garon departed. Then, choosing an appropriate moment, Hawat sent another coded communi
cation to his supply vessels, and they withdrew from the transfer station and headed confidently back toward Beakkal, ignoring the renewed protests of the Sardaukar fleet.

  Another officer demanded that he stop. “Cease your advance or we will consider you a threat. We will destroy you.” Apparently the disgraced Levenbrech Torynn had been relieved of command.

  The military blockade responded with a flurry of activity, but Hawat knew that if the Supreme Bashar himself was not willing to fire upon them, none of the lower-ranking officers would take the risk.

  “You have no such orders. Our supplies are perishable, and the people of Beakkal are starving. Your unconscionable delay has already cost thousands— perhaps millions— of lives. Do not compound your crime, sir.”

  The panicked officer sent other messages and powered up his weapons, but Hawat drove his ships right through their net. Even with the fastest Courier, it would be days before they received a response from Kaitain.

  In orbit, the Atreides ships hovered over the most-afflicted population centers. Fuselage bays opened, and self-propelled dump boxes dropped into the atmosphere, giant unmanned cubes tumbling and braking. Simultaneously, Thufir transmitted a message to the citizens below, extolling the mercy of Duke Leto Atreides and telling them to accept these gifts in the name of humanity.

  He had expected an appalled Prime Magistrate to respond, but in a comlink response the Mentat learned that riots had already cost the politician his life. His frightened successor insisted that he bore no grudge against House Atreides, especially not now.

  The Sardaukar blockade ships would probably prevent the now-empty Atreides ships from departing the system, but Thufir would deal with that in due course. He hoped he had done what was necessary, causing the appropriate stir on Kaitain.

  Now he could afford to wait. According to Duke Leto’s timetable, the Atreides assault forces would even now be descending upon Ix.

  When a newly arrived Courier skimmer rushed from the Sansin complex and was intercepted by the Sardaukar flagship, Hawat assumed it was the return of Supreme Bashar Garon.

  An hour later, in his vanguard ship, the warrior Mentat was surprised to receive the news that the Emperor had not deigned to give a response about what he called the “minor Atreides matter” at Beakkal. Instead, he had recalled his Supreme Bashar. Intercepting a radio message between ships, Thufir learned that it was for a “major new strike.”

  Thufir Hawat’s mental projections had not foreseen this. His mind spun, without locking onto a solution. A major new strike? Was this a reference to Ix? Or an Imperial retaliation against Caladan? Had Duke Leto already lost?

  Every extrapolation suggested by his complex mind gave him cause for alarm. The timing was terrible.

  Perhaps Leto had been lured into disaster after all.

  It is not always the same thing to be a good man and a good citizen.

  — ARISTOTLE OF OLD EARTH

  Though Duke Leto Atreides rarely made formal trips to Kaitain, his arrival at the Imperial Palace aroused little interest. The magnificent structure was a flurry of high-level diplomatic and political activity. No one paid attention to yet another Duke.

  Accompanied by a small retinue of servants, Leto rode in a diplomatic transport toward the reception wing of the Palace. The air smelled of trumpet flowers and aromatic enhancers that concealed vehicle exhausts. Though burdened by concerns— for Duncan and the Atreides soldiers, for Thufir and his bluff against the Beakkal blockade, and for the frightening silence from Rhombur and Gurney— Leto maintained the calm demeanor of a professional diplomat and leader on an important mission.

  Despite the pressures, though, he eagerly looked forward to seeing Jessica. Their baby was due in mere days.

  Liveried guards ran alongside the elegant floater-car. The vehicle was at least three centuries old, with red-velva seats. The golden lion hood ornament swiveled to the left and right, opening its jaws, baring its teeth, and even roaring whenever the black-mustachioed driver touched the horn pad.

  The Duke was not particularly impressed by the gadgetry. With his speech to the Landsraad, he would soon be throwing fuel on the fire. Shaddam would be furious about the attack on Ix, and Leto feared the damage would be irreparable. But he was willing to sacrifice all that to do the right thing. He had ignored the injustice for too long. The Imperium must never think him soft and indecisive.

  Along the route of crystal-paved boulevards, Corrino banners fluttered in a gentle breeze. Immense buildings stretched to a cloudless blue sky, too perfect for Leto’s tastes. He preferred the changing weather of Caladan, even the beauty and unpredictability of storms. Kaitain was too tame, having been transformed into a caricature world taken from a fantasy filmbook.

  The floater-car slowed at the Palace reception gate, and Sardaukar guards waved them through. The mechanical lion roared again. Ominous weapons were plainly in view, but Leto had eyes only for the arrival platform. He caught his breath.

  Lady Jessica stood waiting for him in a golden parasilk dress that clung to her rounded body, emphasizing her abdomen— but even such elegance could not overshadow the radiance of her beauty as she smiled at him. Four Bene Gesserit Sisters hovered around her.

  As Leto stepped onto the oiltile pavement, Jessica hesitated and then hurried toward him, her walk still graceful, despite her ungainly size. Jessica paused, as if concerned that embracing him in public might not be proper. Confident in himself, though, Leto cared nothing for appearances. He closed the gap between them and gave her a long, passionate kiss.

  “Let me have a look at you.” He pulled back to admire her. “Ah, you are as lovely as a sunset.” Her oval face had tanned from time spent in the Palace gardens and solarium. She wore no jewelry, and did not require it.

  He placed his callused palm against her stomach and held it there, as if trying to feel the baby’s heartbeat. “It appears I arrived with no time to spare. You were barely showing at all when you left me alone on Caladan.”

  “You are here to deliver a speech, not a baby, my Duke. Will we be able to spend time together?”

  “Of course.” His tone grew more distant as he noticed the scrutiny of the Bene Gesserit, as if they were taking notes on his performance. At least one of them showed signs of disapproval. “After my speech to the Landsraad, I may need to go into hiding.” He gave her a wry smile. “Therefore, your company would be most welcome, my Lady.”

  At that moment, Emperor Shaddam emerged from the Imperial residence, walking briskly in a straight line as guards, attendants, and advisors swarmed around him like gnats: Sardaukar officers, gentlemen in tailored suits, ladies with high-coiffed hairdos, servants guiding suspensor-borne suitcases and trunks. From the hangar wing of the reception gate, a spectacular processional barge drifted forward, piloted by a tall man who was almost completely hidden beneath loose, fluttering robes, as if he were a living banner.

  The Emperor looked ready for war. He had forsaken his whale-fur cape and chains of office for a crisp gray Sardaukar uniform outlined with silver braids, epaulets, and a Burseg’s black, gold-crested helmet. He was scrubbed and polished, from his skin to the medals on his chest to his shiny black boots.

  Spotting the Duke, Shaddam walked over to him, excessively pleased with himself. Jessica bowed formally, but the Emperor paid no attention to her. Like Leto, Shaddam IV had hawklike facial features and an aquiline nose. And like Leto, he harbored important secrets. “I apologize that pressing matters prevent me from receiving you more formally, Cousin. The Sardaukar forces require my presence for a major operation.”

  An immense war fleet awaited him on the staging grounds— so many ships laden with soldiers and matériel that three Guild Heighliners had been retained to transport them, along with two more escort Heighliners in a show of bravado and strength from the Guild itself.

  “Is it anything I need concern myself with, Sire?” Leto tried to keep the questions and anxiety from his face. Was Shaddam playing games with him?

 
; “I have it all under control.”

  Leto tried to cover his relief. “I had hoped you would be present for my speech in the Landsraad Hall tomorrow, Sire.” In fact, he had expected to face down the Emperor there, aided by a groundswell of popular support from the other nobles. A major Sardaukar operation? Where?

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure your announcement will be very important. The opening of a new fishery or some such thing on Caladan? Unfortunately, duty calls me away.” His baritone voice was pleasant, but his green eyes gleamed with cold cruelty.

  The Duke gave a formal bow and took a step backward to stand at Jessica’s side. “When I deliver my words to the Landsraad, Sire, I will be thinking about you. I wish you success on your mission. You can review my remarks at your leisure when you return.”

  “At my leisure? I have an Imperium to manage! I have no leisure, Duke Leto.” Before he could answer, Shaddam noticed the jewel-handled knife sheathed at Leto’s waist. “Ah, is that the blade I gave you, at the end of your Trial by Forfeiture?”

  “You told me to carry it with me as a reminder of my service to you, Sire. I have never forgotten.”

  “I remember.” Finished with the conversation, Shaddam turned back toward the processional barge that would take him to the waiting war fleet.

  Leto sighed. Since the Emperor’s attention was not on him, the new military operation must not involve Ix, Beakkal, or Caladan. Therefore, it was to the Duke’s advantage that Shaddam would not be present when he made his announcement and justification for the Atreides assault on Ix. Rhombur would be firmly seated in the Grand Palais before anyone in the Imperial government could mount a response.

  He smiled as Jessica escorted him into the Palace. Perhaps everything will work out, after all.

  Any training school for free citizens must begin by teaching distrust, not trust. It must teach questioning, not acceptance of stock answers.