Dune - House Atreides

by Brian Herbert

  "Yes, Sire, uh, Your Majesty. My parents were bureaucratic functionaries, sent to work in your Imperial prison there. I was just a child and went along with them."

  In truth, Kynes had heard rumors that his mother or father had displeased Elrood somehow, and that they had been transferred in disgrace to the punishment planet. But young Pardot Kynes had found the wastelands fascinating. After the tutors were finished with him, he'd spent his days exploring the blasted wilderness -- taking notes, studying the insects and weeds and hardy animals that had managed to survive the ancient atomic holocaust.

  "Yes, yes, I understand that," Elrood said. "After a while your parents were transferred to another world."

  Kynes nodded. "Yes, Sire. They went to Harmonthep."

  The Emperor waved a hand to dismiss the reference. "But later you returned to Salusa, of your own free will?"

  "Well, uh, there was still much more for me to learn on Salusa," he answered, stifling an embarrassed shrug.

  Kynes had spent years by himself in the outback, piecing together the mysteries of the climate and ecosystems. He had suffered many hardships, endured much discomfort. He had even been pursued once by Laza tigers and survived. Afterward, Kynes had published an extensive treatise about his years there, opening remarkable windows of understanding to the once-lovely, now-abandoned Imperial capital planet.

  "The wild desolation of the place whetted my interest in ecology. It's so much more interesting to study a . . . damaged world. I find it difficult to learn anything in a place that's too civilized."

  Elrood laughed at the visitor's comment and looked around so that all the other members of the Court chuckled as well. "Like Kaitain, you mean?"

  "Well, I'm sure there must be interesting places here, too, Sire," Kynes said, hoping he hadn't made an inexcusable faux pas.

  "Well spoken!" Elrood boomed. "My advisors have chosen you wisely, Pardot Kynes."

  Not knowing what else to do or say, the Planetologist bowed awkwardly.

  After his years on Salusa Secundus, he had gone on to the swampy tangles of dimly lit Bela Tegeuse, and then to other places that interested him. He could live off the land just about anywhere; his needs were few. To him, most important of all was the harvesting of scientific knowledge, looking under rocks and seeing what secrets the natural processes had left for him to find.

  But his curiosity was piqued now. What had brought him to such impressive attention? "If I may ask again, Your Majesty . . . what exactly do you have in mind for me?" Then he added quickly, "Of course, I am happy to serve in whatever capacity my Emperor wishes."

  "You, Kynes, have been recognized as a true world-reader, a man capable of analyzing complex ecosystems in order to harness them to the needs of the Imperium. We have chosen you to go to the desert planet of Arrakis and work your magic there."

  "Arrakis!" Kynes could not restrain his astonishment -- and yes, pleasure-at the prospect. "I believe the nomadic Fremen inhabitants call it Dune."

  "Whatever its name," Elrood said a little sharply, "it is one of the most unpleasant yet important worlds in the Imperium. You know, of course, Arrakis is the sole source of the spice melange."

  Kynes nodded. "I've always wondered why no searchers have ever found spice on any other world. And why doesn't anyone understand how the spice is created or deposited?"

  "You are going to understand it for us," the Emperor said. "And it's about time, too."

  Kynes suddenly realized he might have overstepped his bounds, and he balked a little. Here he was in the grandest throne room on a million worlds, having an actual conversation with Emperor Elrood IX. The other members of the Court stared at him, some with displeasure, some with horror, some with wicked glee as if they anticipated a severe punishment momentarily.

  But soon Kynes found himself thinking of the sweeping landscape of scoured sands, majestic dunes, and monstrous sandworms -- visions he'd only seen in filmbooks. Forgetting his minor lapse in tact, he caught his breath and waited for the details of his assignment.

  "It is vitally important to the future of the Imperium that we understand the secret of melange. To date, no one has spent the time or effort to unravel its mysteries. People think of Arrakis as an unending source of riches, and they don't care about the mechanics or the details. Shallow thinking." He paused. "This is the challenge you will face, Pardot Kynes. We install you as our official Imperial Planetologist to Arrakis."

  As Elrood made this pronouncement, he looked down at the weathered, middle-aged man and assessed him privately. He saw immediately that Kynes was not a complex man: His emotions and alliances lay wide-open on his face. Court advisors had indicated that Pardot Kynes was a man utterly without political ambitions or obligations. His only true interest lay in his work and in understanding the natural order of the universe. He had a childlike fascination for alien places and harsh environments. He would do the job with boundless enthusiasm, and would provide honest answers.

  Elrood had spent too much of his political life surrounded by simpering sycophants, brainless yes-men who said what they thought he wanted to hear. But this rugged man filled with social awkwardness was not like that.

  Now it was even more important that they understand the facts behind the spice, in order to improve the efficiency of operations, vital operations. After seven years of inept governorship by Abulurd Harkonnen, and the recent accidents and mistakes made by the overambitious Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, the Emperor was concerned about a bottleneck in spice production and distribution. The spice must flow.

  The Spacing Guild needed vast amounts of melange to fill the enclosed chambers of their mutated Navigators. He himself, and all the upper classes in the Empire, needed daily (and increasing) doses of melange to maintain their vitality and to extend their lives. The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood needed it in their training to create more Reverend Mothers. Mentats needed it for mental focus.

  But though he disagreed with many of Baron Harkonnen's recent harsh management activities, Elrood could not simply take Arrakis for himself. After decades of political manipulations, House Harkonnen had been placed in charge after the ouster of House Richese.

  For a thousand years now, the governorship of Arrakis had been an Imperial boon, granted to a chosen family that would wring the riches out of the sands for a term not to exceed a century. Each time the fief changed hands, a firestorm of pleas and requests for favors bombarded the Palace. Landsraad support came with many strings attached, and some of those strings felt like nooses to Elrood.

  Though he was Emperor, his position of power rested in a careful and uneasy balance of alliances with numerous forces, including the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad, the Spacing Guild, and the all-encompassing commercial combines such as CHOAM. Other forces were even more difficult to deal with, forces that preferred to remain behind the scenes.

  I need to disrupt the balance, Elrood thought. This business of Arrakis has gone on too long.

  The Emperor leaned forward, seeing that Kynes was fairly bursting with joy and enthusiasm. He actually wanted to go to the desert world -- all the better! "Find out everything you can about Arrakis and send me regular reports, Planetologist. House Harkonnen will be instructed to give you all the support and cooperation you need." Though they certainly won't like an Imperial Observer snooping around.

  Newly installed in the planetary governorship, Baron Harkonnen was wrapped around the Emperor's fingertip, for now. "We will provide the items necessary for your journey. Compile your lists and give them to my Chamberlain. Once you reach Arrakis, the Harkonnens will be instructed to give you whatever else you require."

  "My needs are few," Kynes said. "All I require are my eyes and my mind."

  "Yes, but see if you can make the Baron offer a few more amenities than that." Elrood smiled again, then dismissed the Planetologist. The Emperor noticed a pronounced spring in Kynes's step as he was led out of the Imperial audience chamber.

  Thou shalt not make a machine in the likene
ss of a human mind.

  -Chief commandment resulting from the Butlerian Jihad, found in the Orange Catholic Bible

  Suffering is the great teacher of men," the chorus of old actors said as they stood on the stage, their voices in perfect unison. Though the performers were simple villagers from the town below Castle Caladan, they had rehearsed well for the annual performance of the official House Play. Their costumes were colorful, if not entirely authentic. The props -- the facade of Agamemnon's palace, the flagstoned courtyard -- showed a realism based only on enthusiasm and a few filmbook snapshots of ancient Greece.

  The long play by Aeschylus had already gone on for some time, and the gathered audience in the theatre was warm and the air was close. Glowglobes lit the stage and rows of seating, but the torches and braziers around the performers added aromatic smoke to the building.

  Though the background noises were loud enough, the Old Duke's snores threatened to carry all the way forward to the performers.

  "Father, wake up!" Leto Atreides whispered, nudging Duke Paulus in the ribs. "The play isn't even half-over."

  In the chair of his private box, Paulus stirred and straightened, brushing imaginary crumbs from his broad chest. Shadows played across the creased, narrow face and the voluminous salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a black Atreides uniform with a red hawk crest on the left breast. "It's all just talking and standing anyway, lad." He blinked toward the stage, where the old men still hadn't moved much. "And we've seen it every year."

  "That is not the point, Paulus, dear. People are watching." It was Leto's mother, sitting on the other side of the Duke. The dark-skinned Lady Helena, dressed in her fine gown, took seriously the ponderous words of the Greek chorus. "Pay attention to the context. It's your family history, after all. Not mine." Leto looked from one parent to the other, knowing that the family history of his mother's House Richese carried just as much grandeur and loss as that of Atreides. Richese had sunk from a highly profitable "golden age" to its current economic weakness.

  House Atreides claimed to trace its roots more than twelve thousand years, back to the ancient sons of Atreus on Old Terra. Now the family embraced its long history, despite the numerous tragic and dishonorable incidents it contained. The Dukes had made an annual tradition of performing the classic tragedy of Agamemnon, the most famous son of Atreus and one of the generals who had conquered Troy.

  With black-black hair and a narrow face, Leto Atreides strongly resembled his mother, though he had his father's aquiline nose and hawkish profile. The young man watched, dressed in uncomfortable finery, vaguely aware of the off-world background of the story. The author of the ancient play had counted on his audience understanding the esoteric references. General Agamemnon had been a great military commander in one of human history's legendary wars, long before the creation of thinking machines that had enslaved mankind, long before the Butlerian Jihad had freed humanity.

  For the first time in his fourteen years, Leto felt the weight of legends on his shoulders; he sensed a connection with the faces and personalities of his star-crossed family's past. One day he would succeed his father, and would become a part of Atreides history as well. Events were chipping away at his childhood, transforming him into a man. He saw it clearly.

  "The unenvied fortune is best," the old men chimed together to say their lines. "Preferable to sacking cities, better than following the commands of others."

  Before sailing to Troy, Agamemnon had sacrificed his own daughter to guarantee favorable winds from the gods. His distraught wife, Clytemnestra, had spent the ten years of her husband's absence plotting revenge. Now, after the final battle of the Trojan War, a chain of signal fires had been lit along the coast, sending back home word of the victory.

  "All of the action occurs offstage," Paulus muttered, though he had never been much of a reader or literary critic. He lived life for the moment, squeezing every drop of experience and accomplishment. He preferred spending time with his son, or his soldiers. "Everybody just stands in front of the sets, waiting for Agamemnon to arrive."

  Paulus abhorred inaction, always telling his son that even the wrong decision was better than no decision at all. In the play, Leto thought the Old Duke sympathized most with the great general, a man after his own heart.

  The chorus of old men droned on, Clytemnestra stepped out of the palace to deliver a speech, and the chorus continued again. A herald, pretending to have disembarked from a ship, came onto the stage, kissed the ground, and recited a long soliloquy.

  "Agamemnon, glorious king! How you deserve our joyous welcome, for annihilating Troy and the Trojan homeland. Our enemy's shrines lie in ruins, nevermore comforting their gods, and their soils are barren."

  Warfare and mayhem -- it made Leto think of his father's younger days, when he had charged out to fight battles for the Emperor, crushing a bloody rebellion on Ecaz, adventuring with his friend Dominic, who was now the Earl of House Vernius on Ix. In private times with Leto, the Old Duke often talked about those days with great fondness.

  In the shadows of their box, Paulus heaved a too-loud sigh, not concealing his boredom. Lady Helena shot him a daggered glare, then returned her attention to the play, reconstructing her face to form a more placid smile in case anyone should look at her. Leto gave his father a crooked and sympathetic grin, and Paulus winked back at him. The Duke and his wife played their parts and fit their own comfortable roles.

  Finally, on the stage below, the victorious Agamemnon arrived in a chariot, accompanied by his spoils-of-war mistress, the half-insane prophetess Cassandra. Meanwhile, Clytemnestra made preparations for her hated husband's appearance, feigning devotion and love.

  Old Paulus started to loosen the collar of his uniform, but Helena reached over quickly to pull his hand away. Her smile didn't waver.

  Seeing this ritual his parents often went through, Leto smiled to himself. His mother constantly struggled to maintain what she called "a sense of decorum," while the old man behaved with far less formality. Though his father had taught him much about statecraft and leadership, Lady Helena had taught her son protocol and religious studies.

  A daughter of Richese, Lady Helena Atreides had been born into a House Major that had lost most of its power and prestige through failed economic competitions and political intrigues. After being ousted from the planetary governorship of Arrakis, Helena's family had salvaged some of its respectability through an arranged marital alliance with the Atreides; several of her sisters had been married off to other Houses.

  Despite their obvious differences, the Old Duke had once told Leto he had truly loved Helena in the first years of their union. Over time, that had eroded, and he'd dabbled with many mistresses, possibly producing illegitimate children, though Leto was his sole official heir. As decades passed, an enmity built up between husband and wife, causing a deep rift. Now their marriage was strictly political.

  "I married for politics in the first place, lad," he had said. "Never should have tried to make it otherwise. At our station, marriage is a tool. Don't muck everything up by trying to throw love into the mix."

  Leto sometimes wondered if Helena herself had ever loved his father, or if it had only been his title and station that she loved. Of late, she seemed to have assumed the role of Paulus's royal caretaker; she constantly strove to keep him groomed and presentable. It bore as much on her own reputation as on his.

  On the stage, Clytemnestra greeted her husband, strewing purple tapestries on the ground so he could walk on them rather than on the dirt. Amidst great pomp and fanfare, Agamemnon marched into his palace, while the oracle Cassandra, speechless in terror, refused to enter. She foretold her own death and the murder of the general; of course, no one listened to her.

  Through carefully cultivated political channels, Leto's mother maintained contacts with other powerful Houses, while Duke Paulus developed strong bonds with the common people of Caladan. The Atreides Dukes led their subjects by serving them and by paying themselves only what was fai
r from family business enterprises. This was a family of wealth, but not to excess -- not at the expense of its citizens.

  In the play, when the returning general went to his bath, his treacherous wife tangled him in purple robes and stabbed both him and his oracular mistress to death. "My gods! A deadly blow has befallen me!" Agamemnon wailed from offstage, out of sight.

  Old Paulus smirked and bent over to his son. "I've killed many a man on the battlefield, and I have yet to hear one say that as he died!"

  Helena hushed him.

  "Gods protect me, another blow! I shall die!" cried the voice of Agamemnon.

  While the audience was engrossed in the tragedy, Leto tried to sort through his thoughts of the situation, how it related to his own life. This was supposedly his family's heritage, after all.

  Clytemnestra admitted the murder, claiming vengeance against her husband for his bloody sacrifice of their daughter, for his whoring in Troy, and for blatantly bringing his mistress Cassandra into her own home.