With Jehanne gone, the Jihad had no higher objective than the destruction of the computers. It was successful beyond expectation in that aim, and the movement dwindled as it found fewer and fewer targets for its wrath. In its wake, or, to continue Sheivvun's metaphor, as it ebbed, it left both poverty and opportunity: it burned a hatred and fear of thinking machines so deeply into the human psyche that one wonders if that wound has yet completely healed. Yet at the same time there is no denying that all the expansions of individuals and society that followed — the Mentat training, the Spacing Guild, the Empire itself — was made not just possible but necessary by the Jihad. To weigh the gains against the losses, the newfound talents and resources against the suffering that preceded them, demands a scale that has not yet been invented.
F.M.
C
CALADAN, Education on.
Muad'Dib once said of his birth planet, Caladan, "We had no need to build a paradise of the mind on Caladan — we could see it physically all around us." And in paradise what need is there of education?
FORMAL EDUCATION. One can readily grasp the frustration experienced by many who attempted to bring serious education to the quiet villages and towns of Caladan. They all failed except Doctor Louis Katsher IV, artist, musician, dancer and director.
Dr. Katsher (6844-6951), recognized the lack of motivation among the people of Caladan for any form of education that was not in itself intellectually or artistically interesting. The need for vocational training simply did not exist on the water-rich tropical planet. Food was readily available from the fertile seas and from the lush plants full of fruit, berries and wholesome legumes. Shelter was not a serious concern because the temperature was mild and the weather was seldom severe. Nor were military arts a necessity given the peace imposed on Caladan by its planetary governors, who had put a virtual end to tribal battles. Village rivalries were settled by sporting contests.
The economic base of Caladan was not extensive, limited mostly to tourism and the export of whale fur. The tourist trade used some skilled persons, but the majority of jobs it supported were either in ancillary, family-owned small businesses or in minimally trained staff personnel. Often the great inter-planetary hotel chains handled all necessary job-training programs. The small businesses that catered to the needs of the tourists were little more than cottage industries.
The whale fur industry was also a series of family-operated small-scale efforts, with the essential training taking place on the job and not in schools. The population felt no need for formal training in business methods or marketing. Most people of Caladan felt little need to work at all.
Into this paradise came Dr. Katsher, champion of arts and letters. He gave the people of Caladan a great gift by starting the first Caladan Artists Conservatory. His art colony grew in numbers, respect and quality. After a few years it was evident that the people of Caladan not only could appreciate fine music, poetry, theater, and the arts, but that they were ready to participate. Under Katsher's leadership the arts flourished. The planetary governors supported his work eagerly because it helped the local population aspire to excellence and attracted tourists from many other planets.
The first colony was located at Epidaurus in the province of Orange and was soon followed by others. Within 250 years the entire planetary population had relatively easy access to some form of reading room, studio, theater, or auditorium. A prodigious number of productions in dance, music and theater were presented. The people particularly preferred what Dr. Katsher called the "ephemeral" arts such as music, oral readings of poetry, short stories, theater, water colors, and paper folding (known as "oreegahamee"). However, there was some interest also in sculpture, composing, oil painting, film and philosophy. Nevertheless, the people had a saying, "Art is a flower; enjoy it now, for tomorrow another comes."
In her Conversations, Princess Irulan quotes Muad'Dib as saying that the people of Caladan paid the price one always pays for paradise in this life: "We went soft, we lost our edge." With no viable military force the planet was extremely vulnerable to invasion. For protection, the ruling House often relied on mercenaries and outside "military advisors" to support the ill-prepared and disinterested local groups.
The aristocracy, chiefly the six minor families who ruled on each of Caladan's three continents, and the four hundred provincial regents under these minor families, were given some specialized education. Their children were sent to the Governance School in the capital city for a four-year program in statecraft, tactics, leadership, management, and civilian control. But even this program was hardly as rigorous or demanding as it might have been, for after all, the problems the students would face would not be great and there was time to learn in the way that Caladan had always learned, from "watching and doing."
The education of Paul Atreides, like the many before him who were groomed for real authority, was naturally an exception. Paul underwent a constant and demanding program of training from his earliest childhood. He learned weaponry from the swordmasters Idaho and Halleck, he learned the Atreides battle language from his father, he learned the subtleties of Voice and observation from his Bene Gesserit mother. Paul was taught about poisons, transport, military tactics, and wilderness survival. He learned to appreciate Gurney Halleck's music, as his people did. Paul was trained as a mentat by Thufir Hawat and as a healer by Dr. Wellington Yueh. He learned to lead others and to follow orders, with the objective of preparing him to rule the planet. Ironically, it was not enough. It took the hard knowledge gained on harsh, dry Dune to prepare him to rule the Empire.
INFORMAL EDUCATION. Few histories are kept in paradise; time is of no concern and few worry long about the errors of the past. Without the aid of written records our ability to reconstruct the informal educational system is limited. But we do know that there was great reliance on "family teaching" and on "watching and doing." A child could learn how to live in paradise by simply participating in normal family life. A little time spent on the family vegetable plot, maybe a few hours spent fishing or swimming, or tending the family garden preceded an evening of quiet stories or campfire dances. One day was much like another.
Of primary concern in the informal training of the young was preparation for the dangers of their water-rich environment. Children were taught to swim before they learned to walk. They learned the dangers of mud slides, flash floods, and the various methods of water transport, the most popular of which was sail rafting. They learned to fish both for pleasure and for food. They also learned how to find their way through the dense, fast-growing vegetation that covered most of the land masses on the planet. Beyond the survival skills for children and basic economics of the family business for youngsters, there was little else to be concerned with in Caladan, "the paradise planet of the miracle seas."
P.F.
Further reference: FREMEN EDUCATION.
CALADAN WINES
The following entry is an excerpt from a dining guide composed probably at the court of the Padishahs in the century before Paul Muad'Dib ascended to the throne. It is presented here as an interesting sidelight on the gracious living of the Great House aristocracy, and their ventures into a variety of commercial activity. — Ed.
Although Caladan does produce some few fine wines, by far the bulk of the planet's small wine production is of no more than ordinary quality, locally made for local consumption. Viniculture simply has not been developed as an art form anywhere in the Delta Pavonis system, this condition owing as much to a yeast-inhibiting radiation spectrum thrown by the star itself as to the history and traditions of the system's native peoples. Average per capita annual wine consumption on Caladan is a meager 1.5 liters, and there is no commercial off-world export industry.
However, five hundred years of oenological experimentation patronized by the ruling Atreides family have not been without some positive results. Imported vines simply will not grow in Caladan soil under the Delta Pavonis rays. On the other hand, native rootstocks take grafting readily;
the traditional problem has been that these rootstocks introduce a strong mustiness into the flavor of the wines produced by whatever fruitstocks are grafted onto them. Between this difficulty and the absence of a natural fermentation yeast in the planet's atmosphere, the trials facing the vintner on Caladan are formidable indeed. Perhaps no commercially feasible solution to the problems will ever be found, but laboratory and hothouse work in the areas of plant hybridization, climate control, bacteriology, and nontraditional winemaking technique have at least made it possible for the Atreides nobles to grace their tables and to cement their ceremonies with wines of three varieties. These are:
CASYRACK. A dry, full-bodied, intensely flavorful and long-lived red wine, developing nuances and subtle complexities in the bottle for as long as fifty or seventy-five years after corking when it is produced in a favorable climate. However, Caladanian Casyrack is thin and harsh when young, though the harshness tends to mellow out before the thinness becomes downright anemia. The rule of thumb is that it should not be drunk before it is five years old, but must be consumed before its eighth birthday. Rarely, an exceptional bottling will last much longer. According to legend, the original fruitstock was brought by the Atreides family among its heirlooms when first it came to Caladan. Casyrack remains the favorite Atreides ceremonial wine, more perhaps because of tradition than because of continuing quality. The wine does not travel well, and the best Caladanian Casyrack does not leave the Atreides family compound.
BORNOLLA. The most promising wine produced on Caladan. A light red wine, always a trifle rough and highly alcoholic (usually around 16%), its origins are unclear. It seems to be the result of uncontrolled hybridization over a period of some centuries among hothouse and native grape varieties. Well-made Bornolla is fresh-tasting and slightly yeasty, a remarkably fruity wine. The Caladanian mustiness which is the bane of vintners the planet over is almost totally absent from Bornolla until the wine enters into its third year; hence it should be drunk while it is still quite young. Oenologists continue to experiment with nontraditional vinifying techniques in the attempt to eliminate that characteristic mustiness altogether. If ever they are successful, and if the wine then proves capable of travel and long-term aging, Caladan may finally join the ranks of first-class wine-producing worlds. The Atreides family clearly would like to see this happen.
DELKAI. Never much better than ordinary, Delkai can be a pleasant and fruity-enough sweet white wine. It is the only commercially available wine on Caladan which is produced entirely from native grapes, remarkable enough for that reason alone. There are a dozen or more different methods of producing the wine, each one a chemical process that is the jealously guarded secret of a single family. Depending on the producer, the wine may vary from emerald green to straw-colored, and from syrupy-sweet to medium dry (the greener, the sweeter). The Atreides oenologists have developed a sparkling Delkai from the dry end of the range that, if disgorged annually after the third year in the bottle, ages well and seems to improve with travel. This sparkling Delkai is, not surprisingly, the wine which the Atreides family most frequently serves when ritual or propriety indicates that a Caladanian flavor is desired.
D.M.
SUUGEE. [A word must be added for Suugee, the highly alcoholic beverage distilled from Pundi Rice. Although mainly a cheap and effective drink reserved to the peasantry, it enjoyed a brief vogue among the most discriminating classes during the Pauline Imperium. — Ed.]
Further reference: Biizal ven Tinuum, A Gastronome's Guide to the Great Houses, tr. Suun Sen Yao (Caladan: INS).
CALENDAR, STANDARD IMPERIAL
The system of chronology used for official purposes throughout the Imperium since 5000. Its basis is the time in which Kaitain completes one revolution around its primary: 360 days, 3.56 seconds. The units of measurement are:
60 standard seconds to a standard minute;
60 standard minutes to a standard hour;
24 standard hours to a standard day;
6 standard days to a standard week;
5 standard weeks to a standard month;
12 standard months to a standard year.
ORIGIN. When House Corrino shifted its capital from Salusa Secundus to Kaitain in 1487, the emperors already knew that they were not only moving to a much more pleasant world but to a stable and regular planet as well. The saying "You don't need a watch on Kaitain" was doubly significant: it referred not only to the more leisurely pace of the planet but to the ease of keeping time by natural means.
The Alman Corrino emperors followed the immemorial custom, when arriving on Kaitain, of dividing the natural day into twenty-four parts, those parts into sixty, and those again into sixty. They retained the terms hour, minute, and second for these divisions even though the Kaitainian hour, for example, differed from the Salusan hour (as it did by lesser or greater amounts from the "hours" of the great majority of inhabited worlds).
Proclamations, edicts, bulletins, and the like — anything warranting both dating and preservation — were promulgated throughout the Imperium bearing the Kaitainian date followed by, e.g., "given in the seventeenth day, fourth month, tenth year of Saluso VII." Only the Spacing Guild had a continuing need to reference the local dates of one planet to those of another, and they employed their own method — pulsed, regular tones on the Holtzman Waves aimed at the mail drops — as the standard to which local times were compared. Those outside the Guild who had the occasional desire or need to relate the day, month, and year of one planet to those of another — factors, merchants, travelers — had to depend on Chronology Tables, or, where the need was recurrent (as in CHOAM), relegated the duty to mentats. For thousands of years, local chronologies served local needs, and the Kaitainian calendar served bureaucratic needs.
THE IMPERIAL UNION STANDARD CALENDAR. In 4996, Mgonpo Shesrab, Chamberlain of Corria XIII, conceived the idea of standardizing the calendar throughout the Imperium, in honor both of the emperor, who by chance bore the name of the House, and of the approaching fifth millennial celebration of the foundation of the Imperium.
For the weekdays, Shesrab selected Sadai, Madai, Gwenzai, Zhanzai, Friizai, and Siidarazai (the names already in use on hundreds of worlds); the etymologies of all these are lost in antiquity except for "Sun's day," "Moon's day," and of course "Jehanne's day."
For the names of the months of the year, Shesrab took those already established by centuries of tradition, with one exception. All derived originally from Galach phrases meaning "in Sheuset's" month, "in Saudir's" month, and so on. The only one not named for a great former emperor (at that time) was neFrekim, from Fredhrik Corrino, the father of Corrin XIII. Beginning the year with the Spring equinox, Shesrab made official these names:
neSheustim nElroodim
naSaudrim niMikiim
neFrekim nEzhrim
nAvlardim nIstaivim
naShadmim nAlmanim
noCornim nAudrim
The division of months into five weeks of six days each had already been used for thousands of years, but was made a part of the "Imperial Calendar" presented to Corrin XIII. Corrin was known to prefer more concrete gifts, but he did authorize the calendar for Kaitain and such other planets as wished to adopt it.
Many planets did. When the lengths of the sidereal years of planets inhabitable by humans are graphed, their distribution forms the normal probability curve. Adding local leap days at periods determined by the amount of variation from Kaitain's sidereal year kept the years in step for those who adopted the calendar. But few felt the desire and fewer still the need to sacrifice the local names of months for those of Kaitain.
Shesrab (supported by his master's indifference to the subject) indulged his passion for order and regularity. He devised a way to have days of the week and months of the year instantly related throughout the Imperium, no matter what the length of the planet's sidereal year: this scheme was the "Imperial Union Standard Calendar."
To understand how the IUSC was intended to work, consider a hyp
othetical case of four planets, A, B, C, and D, with years (in Kaitainian measure) of 6 months, 9 months, 14 months, and 18 months. For simplicity of illustration, we assume that the days of these four are exactly equal to Kaitain's day.
By referring to the table, we see that on Kaitain, the first month of the year is of course neSheustim; on the other four, the first month is named GwaneSheustim (or "one of Sheuset's"), Then follow "two of Saudir's," "three of Fredhrik's," "four of Avelard's," "five of Shaddam's," and "six of Corrin's." The next month on Kaitain is nElroodim, but planet A's year has ended; on planet A. therefore, the next month is GwanEIroodim, or "one of Elrood's," while on B, C, and D, it is SeunfilroGdim: "seven of Elrood's." Thus, a number prefix was added to the name of the month; throughout the worlds the name was constant, but the farmer on planet A, who sowed his seeds every spring, planted in the "Gwan" months, whatever the last part of the name may have been.
The names of the months were the same on B, C, and D until nIstaivim, which marked the beginning of the new year for B; hence, when it was GwanIstaivim on B, it was TenIstaivim ("ten of Istaivan's") on C and D. The last two planets parted company at the end of the fourteenth month; the next following was "one of Fredhrik's" on C, but "fifteen of Fredhrik's" on D.
Parts of the IUSC were adopted on those planets with sidereal years varying from that of Kaitain by less than a few standard days. Leap days of local placement brought the calendars into step as needed. But even a planet off by as little as ten standard days, say one with 370 in a sidereal year, found itself at variance of a whole month in only three years. "Leap months" were a nuisance to implement to save a system that offered little more benefit to the average citizen than the knowledge of what month it was on Kaitain. Theoretically, the concept of combining the local and Imperial systems by number prefixing could have been extended to the week, the day, the hour, even to the second. No effort was made to promote these refinements, and little was made to bring monthly names into uniformity.
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