Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  The remodeling work seemed like child’s play compared to what Shaddam had to do from the Imperial throne. The Empress led the supervisor to an area where three workers were laying tile, and she seemed dissatisfied with something. Moments later, the men began tearing out the tiles to redo them. Aricatha had a good eye.

  Leaving Nibs to supervise the work, the Empress departed with Ridondo. As if to impress her, the little man shouted at the construction supervisor and waved his truncheon. The supervisor backed up, and the fearful tile workers bolted, but Nibs whacked two of them on the backs of their legs as they ran. A man stumbled, and Nibs landed one more blow on his back before he managed to get away. The workers hovered in the shadows, waiting for Nibs to calm down.

  Before long, Aricatha returned from the construction site to join Shaddam in his Imperial suite. She smiled at him, but he was troubled with what he had just seen. “You say you would like more responsibility and diplomatic duties. Was that little episode diplomatic? Sending Nibs after those men with a truncheon? A bit barbaric.” He made it clear that he did not necessarily disapprove.

  Frown lines formed on her forehead. “I believe it was effective. They know I am a stern taskmaster, and you will see the results soon.”

  “My dear, are you certain you have the patience or finesse to be a diplomat?”

  Her expression hardened. “Give me the chance, and I will prove it.”

  He admired her toughness. “Then … we will have to find something for you.”

  * * *

  THAT EVENING IN his private study, the Emperor decided to take bold action. He issued a proclamation that declared Jaxson Aru an outlaw and placed a huge price on his head, the largest Imperial bounty in the historical record.

  As he sat in his office signing the pronouncement, Shaddam studied preliminary reports from his investigative commissions, disturbed that they had found evidence of the Noble Commonwealth movement dating back at least two centuries. It now appeared the sedition was spreading, albeit quietly.

  There was nothing quiet about Jaxson Aru’s attack on Otorio, though. He wondered why the rebels had made such a drastic change in their tactics. They had not previously resorted to violence.

  Angry, the Emperor looked for some way to respond to the Otorio attack, to make everyone understand how serious he was. The sheer cost of the Otorio debacle enraged him! How would he pay for all that destruction?

  Obviously, he needed to implement some kind of surtax to pay for his expensive museum, as well as the cost of increasing security and swelling the ranks of his Sardaukar. He would have to dredge up the money from somewhere.

  The solution came to him as he realized who could, and would, bear the burden of such a substantial tax. Since everyone in the upper classes used the spice melange, and would never give it up, he would immediately impose a spice surtax, with the funds to be devoted to increasing Imperial security.

  It had not escaped his notice that Baron Harkonnen—his siridar-governor on Arrakis—had conveniently found a way to avoid the gala on Otorio. Was the Baron part of the Noble Commonwealth movement, too? How insidious was this unrest?

  He summoned Count Fenring again, but his mind was already made up. As the Imperial Spice Observer, Fenring would go back to Arrakis to impose the new surtax. What better way to affect everyone in the Imperium, generate enormous revenue, and make them pay attention?

  The proper selection of a marital partner is critical for the people involved, individually and collectively. It affects more than just the future of the couple, and can have a bearing on galactic politics.

  —DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES

  The message cylinder from the Bene Gesserit Mother School—an innocuous-seeming note, but marked with a special sign—was delivered directly to Jessica. The words came from Mother Superior Harishka herself, wishing her well and offering bland news about the Sisterhood.

  Jessica felt a chill, knowing the message was far more important than it appeared.

  The raised dots on the paper, that would look like imperfections or flyspecks to most, formed a complex code that her special proctor, Reverend Mother Mohiam, had taught her. Jessica went to her private withdrawing room, sat, and ran her fingers over the paper, carefully reading the Mother Superior’s coded words again and again.

  The hidden message was disturbing. “It has come to our attention that Leto Atreides is considering marital matches for his son, Paul. Upon thorough assessment of our breeding program, we must cut off specific undesirable bloodlines now. Certain names are likely to come up as candidates.

  “By order of the Sisterhood, you are to remove the following names from consideration, by any means necessary. The Bene Gesserit cannot allow the bloodline of Paul Atreides to mix with these Houses. We have other plans. Do as you are commanded.”

  The names followed, also in dotted code, and Jessica committed them to memory. Some of the family names were familiar, and others were completely unknown to her. Nir Piriya, Selenity dar Okun, Maria Sydow, Noria Bonner, Maya Ginia, Tarisse Cambour, Sun-Mae Brandenberg, Hecate Dinovo.

  Jessica was troubled. How could they have known so quickly? Then she remembered that Leto had mentioned the idea among the Landsraad nobles, and he had seen Mohiam there. After surviving Otorio, he had been waylaid on Kaitain for a few days until he found passage back to Caladan. He might have floated the possibility, beginning to build the framework for Paul, and if her old teacher had heard even a whispered hint …

  At first, she was angry to receive such a brusque command from the Bene Gesserit. Not only were they meddling in Landsraad alliances and House Atreides matters but interfering in the choice of a future mate for her son.

  Yet why would she be surprised? She had been raised and trained by the Sisterhood, and still had a strong loyalty to them. Though those bonds and obligations did not often come up in daily life here on Caladan, they were always present and in her awareness. Jessica could not forget. While she knew of the existence of the extensive breeding program, and she herself hoped for great things from Paul, she did not know the details of the Sisterhood’s vast plans.

  Completely oblivious to such machinations, Thufir Hawat was presently studying the family trees of Landsraad members and developing a list of suggestions for Paul. Jessica had no personal stake in any of these names, and if she defied the Mother Superior’s wishes, the Bene Gesserit had invisible strings they could pull and subtle ways to punish her if she refused. How could she possibly eliminate all of these names from consideration? Would she have to lie? Leto was a proud man, and if he ever learned of the Sisterhood’s interference, he would probably choose one of the excluded women on purpose, just to spite them.

  No, Leto could never know the instructions had come from the Mother School. He already harbored a deep resentment toward the Bene Gesserit, even though she was training Paul in important Sisterhood techniques.

  Jessica considered resisting, but the Bene Gesserit had a hold on her. Technically, they could still command her and she had to obey, although they had been wise enough to use a soft touch in the years since she had been contracted as concubine to Leto Atreides. This was one of the first blatant requests they had ever made.

  She drew a deep breath, remembering all she had learned on Wallach IX. Her first inclination was to resist their message of command just because she resented it—and secretly her love for Duke Leto overrode any obligations she held to the Sisterhood—but if culling out some candidates was so vital to the Bene Gesserit, she was obligated to at least research the names.

  She had to find a way to serve both loyalties.

  * * *

  WHEN THUFIR HAWAT finished his list of suggested candidates for Paul, Duke Leto met with him as well as Jessica to discuss his son’s future wife. There were many political, financial, and personal considerations. As head of House Atreides, Leto had to make the best choice balanced among many alternatives, while also doing right by Paul.

  He remembered his father’s strained, decaying
relationship with Lady Helena from House Richese. Certainly, on paper, that match of two noble houses must have seemed ideal. It was not, and Leto wouldn’t fall into that trap. Hawat was analytical, but Jessica would help him make the right decision using her heart.

  He decided to hold the discussion down in his fishing shack, a place he usually preferred to go by himself. Old Duke Paulus had built it as an isolated, rustic sanctuary where he could get away from his sharp-edged wife, and Leto also found the place relaxing, much less formal than his private study or the war room in the castle. He felt it was a better place to talk openly about such matters.

  A mechanical lift connected the shack to the cliff above, but Leto preferred to use the steep stairs. He found the open air invigorating, and the view inspired him, looking out to sea and back up at the high towers of Castle Caladan. Leading the way, Leto descended a wooden staircase made slick by the moist air, and Jessica followed with graceful steps. Reaching the private structure in a sheltered cove at the base of the cliffs, Leto opened the door with a disconcerting creak and gestured gallantly inside. “After you, my Lady.”

  Leto activated the warm glowglobes inside the main room, while Jessica tended to the thermal heaters to dispel the damp chill. No one had been here for more than a month. She glanced around. “This place is even more … austere than the last time I saw it.”

  “It’s hardly a romantic hideaway, but I like the simplicity. When we get back, our castle suites will look much more comfortable by comparison.” He heated a pot of fresh water on the small stove. “I have tea, so we are not entirely without amenities.”

  Jessica set out mugs. “I understand why you like it, just as you and Paul enjoy your rugged camping expeditions each year.”

  They heard the mechanical noises of the lift as it descended the cliff tracks. Leto opened the door of the shack as Hawat arrived. Muttering, the grizzled old Mentat walked out onto the dock, favoring his left leg, which still bore scars from being gored during one of the Old Duke’s bullfights, years ago. He carried a leather valise, which he guarded as if it contained the codes for the family atomics. When he saw Leto, he tried to walk normally. Out of respect, the Duke pretended not to notice and gestured him inside.

  Nets, poles, and other angling gear hung on the shack’s wooden walls, along with mounted trophies. Hawat looked at the largest stuffed fish, which had iridescent scales, bulging eyes, and ferocious-looking spines. “Ah, I was with your father when he caught that. The battle exhausted him as much as any bullfight. He said it was the best fish he ever tasted, though. Lady Helena declared the meal … adequate.”

  Leto laughed. “I should invite you here more often, old friend.”

  Hawat set his valise on the table. “That will not be necessary, my Lord. I am perfectly content with a drafty castle.”

  Jessica handed mugs of steaming tea to both men and took one for herself.

  Leto motioned the Mentat toward a sturdy chair at the table, a chair he himself usually sat in. Hawat set the leather case in front of him. “As you requested, my Lord, I have compiled a report on your son’s prospective marriage alliances. These are the names I feel would be most beneficial for House Atreides.”

  “In a political sense,” Jessica said. “But there is more to picking a mate. We are curious to see which choices you think would make a good wife for our son.”

  The Mentat glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the Duke. “I analyzed many factors and organized them for your consideration. You can of course give additional weight to subjective personal matters.” He displayed a long list of names. “No ordinary match will do for the heir to House Atreides, the future Duke of Caladan.”

  Leto leaned forward to scan the list, with Jessica close beside him. He breathed in the faint honeysuckle scent of her hair.

  Hawat produced documents from the valise and removed a small holoprojector, but did not activate it. “Searching through the Landsraad houses, I identified families with viable daughters within a reasonable age range. I had to establish my own parameters, since you did not specify how soon you would wish Paul to marry.”

  Leto frowned. “We are merely exploring possibilities right now. He is still young.” He looked at Jessica, and she nodded in appreciation.

  Hawat opened the dossier. “Given the limitations, I found nearly thirty possibilities. It is only the first sifting, so as to provide as many viable options as possible.”

  There were so many Major and Minor Houses in the Landsraad, Leto was surprised even Hawat could remember all their names. Some were familiar to him, others completely new. Octavia Tootu, Danielle Kronin, Cae Norn, Rondi Constance Urda, Junu Verdun, Hecate Dinovo, Nir Piriya, Maya Ginia, Noria Bonner, Greta Naribo, and many more. After glancing over them a couple of times, they stopped having meaning. Jessica scrutinized the list, and Leto saw her briefly stiffen, then hide her reaction.

  He sighed, unsettled even to discuss the matter. “Paul still seems too young, but I know we must face political reality. I have borne this burden for too long, dangling the possibility of a marriage alliance to me. By letting the Landsraad know we are open to considerations for Paul, we divert the attention and pressure from me. I do not intend to marry.” He looked at Jessica. “I am content with my Lady.”

  She touched his hand. “I am also watching out for Paul. Even though we may evaluate these suggestions, we are not required to accept just any betrothal. For the present, this is a pro forma discussion. It will keep the gossips talking, however.” Her green eyes sparkled. “What do we know of these young women? And how can we be sure Paul would even find them attractive? If their personalities are compatible?”

  “Is that a primary factor?” the Mentat asked, as if the question itself intrigued him.

  “It is still my decision,” Leto said, “but I would prefer not to make Paul miserable.” He drove back a brief flash of memories of shouting behind his parents’ closed door, the friction that oozed through the castle halls, the separate bedchambers they had maintained for the last decade of their marriage. “But I think he will do his duty for House Atreides.”

  “That he will, my Lord,” Hawat said. He spread papers on the rough surface of the old table. Each sheet held a printed image of a different young woman, along with reports on their families, holdings, the parents, Landsraad rankings, and past voting patterns of the Houses. “Each candidate has advantages and disadvantages, which I attempted to quantify. You want to negotiate the best dowry alliance possible.”

  He showed names, turning the pages to reveal the candidates. Jessica said, “That one, Nir Piriya, I have heard she is a shrew and thoroughly unpleasant.”

  Leto was surprised. “And how have you heard that? Some Sisterhood whisperings and backstabbing?”

  She flinched, but chuckled quickly to cover it. “I am the Duke’s lady, and it is my business to monitor other noble families. You think it is a new idea to imagine who might eventually become a wife for Paul? I have even looked at Princess Irulan. Maybe only a daughter of the Emperor would be good enough for him.”

  Hawat grunted in surprise, and Leto smiled at her. “You like to dream!”

  “I have extraordinarily high hopes for our son.” She turned back to the list and offhandedly suggested Hecate Dinovo be put on the bottom of the names while Hawat paid particular attention to Maya Ginia, Octavia Tootu, Cae Norn, Greta Naribo, Junu Verdun, and Noria Bonner. Jessica found many of them acceptable, though she expressed reservations about Ginia and Bonner. Leto gave them due consideration.

  “I want my son to have more than I ever had,” he said. “I remember hearing my parents arguing about my own marriage prospects, but I never got to meet any of the young women they considered. I was only fifteen when my father was killed, and that process was disrupted.” His voice trailed off. “Can Paul not have a woman he likes and respects, who is also a solid political match?”

  “There is more involved in the decision than family statistics,” Jessica said. “A true
life partner cannot be based merely on numbers.”

  Hawat frowned, seeming to take her comment as criticism. “We are advisers, but this is ultimately the Duke’s decision.”

  She gathered her pride. “Who better than his concubine to help choose a wife?”

  He looked at Jessica, remembering his promise to her after the murder of Ilesa Ecaz. “I will set aside any possibility of a political marriage of my own. You are the only woman I love, the only woman I will ever love, but Paul has a duty to House Atreides. We will make the best choice for him.” Leto activated the holo projector to view more detailed profiles of the candidates.

  Hawat’s projector flashed images of a young brunette and her family estate. On the recording, she strolled along with grace, walking a large dog. The young woman read documents, she studied mathematics, she gave a well-received speech in a university setting. “This one is Greta Naribo, scholarly, somewhat serious, and from a wealthy, influential family.”

  Leto nodded. “I’ve met her father. He’s in the transport business, shipping specialized goods across the Imperium under an arrangement with the Guild and CHOAM. Lord Naribo is a little stuffy, but I’ve seen worse.” He paused, then added as an afterthought, “And the girl is quite pretty.”

  Jessica added, “She seems to be a pleasant young woman who does not put on airs.”

  Hawat moved on. “The next candidate is Junu Verdun, youngest daughter of Duke Fausto Verdun. I was quite interested in her and her family. House Verdun rules the planet Dross and has been working hard to expand its reach.”

  “‘Dross’?” Jessica asked. “Doesn’t that mean ‘something worthless’? Not an auspicious name for a holding.”