Now Hylie began to make excuses. “Why, yes, those ferns are known around here, especially in the deep forests. Some of our workers use them occasionally, to relax and find a bit of peace. It is harmless.”
“Harmless?” Leto growled.
“Looks like she found more peace than she was seeking,” Gurney said.
The Duke became a thundercloud of command. “I want each dwelling searched, every one of these workers questioned. We will lock down this fishery and keep everyone in place until I am satisfied we’ve found all of the ailar and uncovered any connection to the smuggling operations. Gurney, call in Hawat and all the security and investigative troops he needs.”
Hearing this, the fishery workers reacted with alarm. Some rushed back to their raised dwellings, and Gurney bounded after them, seizing one man and tossing him into the muddy canal. “You will do as your Duke commands.”
Leto and his companions spread out, now armed with weapons from the flyer while they waited for the larger crackdown team.
Paul could smell the fish and mud all around. On their automatic schedule, the underwater sonic membranes began to thrum, and countless moonfish rose to the surface, adding their pulsing music in response, filling the air with vibrations that both calmed and rattled the observers.
The fishery workers were agitated for their own reasons. Gurney’s adept search uncovered five more people who possessed dried ferns, a handful for personal use, but two with large sacks of the mottled potent strain—obviously to be delivered somehow to black-market dealers.
Leto spoke into the flyer’s comm as his Atreides troops arrived to lock down and occupy the fishery. They swiftly seized all of the ailar in their crackdown. The search and inspection continued long into the full dark, and glowglobes drifted around the fishery site, illuminating the place with an eerie glow.
The workers were terrified, and Paul detected a deep uneasiness among them. “Chaen Marek will not like this,” one muttered.
Paul heard the name repeated.
Duke Leto shouted to the gathered workers who had remained standing aimless and nervous outside. “These are my Atreides fisheries, and Caladan is my world.” When he looked at his son, his implacable expression was angry and terrible, then Paul watched it shift to become his father’s softer side. “I won’t let this spoil our time together, Paul. Tomorrow, we will go farther north and do what we intend to do. Thufir can handle the rest here.”
Politics and war make for strange bedfellows.
—Ancient Terran philosopher
Though his position as siridar-governor of Arrakis conveyed great political influence, not to mention wealth, Baron Harkonnen was pleased to be back in his comfortable, industrial, civilized home on Giedi Prime. Despite all the business he conducted for the strategic plots of House Harkonnen, he would not stay here long. Arrakis demanded his full attention, especially now.
First, he had an important meeting, one that might mitigate the Emperor’s infernal spice surtax, which had already begun to stifle melange use.
With his bulk supported by suspensors, the Baron met his visitor in front of a military manufacturing facility, his largest such complex on Giedi Prime. Black streaks caused by acid rain ran down the front of the factory building, like drying tears. Nearby, two workmen stood on a platform, scrubbing a stained statue of his father, Dmitri Harkonnen, which graced the factory entrance.
Ur-Director Malina Aru emerged from a groundcar, accompanied by her pet spinehounds. The predatory animals looked deadlier than any Harkonnen guards, but the Baron knew the Urdir was far more dangerous than her pets.
Malina was a slender woman who exuded unflappable professionalism, clearly not prone to excess. Her brown eyes had the intensity of a raptor. She wore a dark business jacket, trousers, and a white blouse. A small CHOAM guard force emerged from a separate vehicle that pulled up like an armored troop carrier.
The Baron wore his own version of business attire, a loose orange tunic and billowing trousers, with a gold Harkonnen medallion on a chain around his neck. He greeted her, and she granted him her attention, although without warmth. He had met the Ur-Director in passing at Imperial functions, and he understood what a shrewd businesswoman she was, how efficiently she ran the CHOAM Company. Now, thanks to Piter’s suggestion, House Harkonnen and CHOAM might do lucrative business together, secret and dangerous business. Such an arrangement required mutual trust and a recognition of each other’s power.
Balanced, even graceful with his suspensors, the Baron loomed over the small woman. Malina Aru was not intimidated. Her spinehounds padded forward and regarded the Baron as if he might become a feast. The armed CHOAM entourage followed her, but he had snipers stationed in unseen places.
The Baron indicated the armed escort. “You can leave your guards out here, Urdir. You’re perfectly safe on Giedi Prime.”
“No one is perfectly safe.” She narrowed her eyes and looked to his arm, where the medcast was covered by the loose orange sleeve. “I hope you have recovered from your injuries on Arrakis? I was shocked to read the detailed report of that assassination attempt from desert brigands. And aboard your own shuttle! That must have been quite a lapse of security.” She clucked her tongue. “I assume you have reassessed all Harkonnen protective measures.”
Her comment astonished him, because he thought he had covered up the incident, except for what Count Fenring’s local spies had reported. A thrill of fear shot through him. Was Malina working with Fenring? And thus connected with the Emperor?
He recovered quickly, knowing it would do no good to dissemble in front of this woman. Instead, he said, “I am completely healed from my accident, and the perpetrators have been dealt with.” He still felt occasional throbs of pain, and the knitted bones of his left wrist were still weaker than he liked, but he would not show it. “Yes, I have enhanced security measures across all Harkonnen holdings. I assure you, our meeting is perfectly safe.” He again looked at her security escort, lowered his voice. “For such matters as we need to discuss, the fewer ears the better.”
The Urdir responded with a thin smile. “My associates can remain nearby on call, but Har and Kar go with me.” She gently patted the silver bristles of her spinehounds.
“Yes, you may bring your … interesting pets.” He turned toward the entrance of the munitions factory. “We will share a meal and talk in private inside the complex. I have a special room where we can be completely candid as to our needs and expectations.”
She gave orders for the escort to fall back, then strolled alongside the Baron’s light, bobbing steps into the burly factory. The spinehounds trotted behind her like well-trained soldiers, never taking their yellow eyes off the Baron.
As she accompanied him into the factory foyer, she said, “Your message described an interesting business proposal regarding CHOAM’s access to spice.” She seemed eager to start their discussions as soon as they entered the building. “I am interested, but skeptical—pending details.”
“First things first,” he said. “I’m hungry. We have plenty of time.”
The Ur-Director cut him off so efficiently that he didn’t at first react to the rudeness. “Time is valuable and should not be squandered.”
“I assure you, Urdir, that this will not be a waste of time.” They stepped onto a lift large enough to accommodate his size and rose to the second level, where windows and walkways looked down upon the immense factory floor below. The manufacturing bay hummed with activity.
With suspensor-enhanced steps, the Baron led her to a catwalk that extended out over the factory floor to an isolated annex chamber that hung like an island over the activity. His fat body barely squeezed between the metal handrails that bordered the walkway. Below, new Harkonnen military equipment was being assembled for shipment to Arrakis. Showing no anxiety, Malina followed him across the high catwalk.
They entered the annex chamber, which had no other access point, and when they were inside, a waiting servant sealed the door, enclosin
g them in a blanket of silence. The floor of the isolated room was made of thick, transparent plaz to show the manufacturing activity below. Malina and the Baron seemed to be standing on air as they approached a long table in the center of the room. “Our meal will be along presently,” he said.
The spinehounds glanced at their paws on the transparent floor. They looked up at the Ur-Director, drew reassurance, and took positions on either side of her chair. “I will sit with you for the meal, Baron, so long as we engage in concurrent discussions.”
“Efficiency saves money and time. We discuss my proposal while we eat.” He tried to sound casual, but noticed her calculating gaze as she took her seat. Har and Kar rested on the invisible floor.
A parade of servants marched across the catwalk, each bearing a tray of food. They entered and placed platters on the table, a selection of sliced meats, glistening sauces, roasted vegetables, large steamed crustaceans. One servant draped a bib across the Baron’s orange tunic, and he selected several of the largest crustaceans, cracking the shells with his fingers and stuffing seafood into his mouth.
Malina politely tasted a small serving of food. The spinehounds pricked up their thorny ears, then relaxed again. “In CHOAM, I have enough wealth to do as I like, and I am not easily impressed,” she said. “Please provide more details about your proposal. How will you implement it, and what will you need from me? Have you brought me here to ask for a secret loan? Has the Guild Bank turned you down?”
The Baron roared with laughter, a deep belly laugh that shook his entire body. “With my income from spice operations on Arrakis, I assure you House Harkonnen has no need of a loan from CHOAM, or the Guild Bank, or even a generous benefactor such as yourself.” He nodded toward slices of meat in a brown glaze. “Try the rukka fillets. Highly intelligent creatures, and delicious.”
She did so, pronounced the taste satisfactory, and waited for him to continue.
The Baron tried to crack through her stony, professional demeanor. “I would like us to be friends, Urdir.”
“If I thought of us as enemies, I would not have come here with such a small personal guard.” She fed morsels of meat to her spinehounds.
Before they could begin their deep discussions, a handsome young man glided across the catwalk to the isolated meeting room. The Baron looked up with a flash of pride and delight. “Ah, my nephew Feyd-Rautha!”
Feyd sauntered in, looked at the feast, then at Malina. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, in a formal tone. She did not rise from her seat. “But this is a private meeting.” She repeated the Baron’s own words, “The fewer ears the better.”
The Baron covered his flicker of annoyance at the interruption. “Are you not needed for monitoring the floor operations, my dear nephew?”
Feyd did not seem concerned with his uncle’s displeasure, but focused his attention on the two spinehounds. “I saw the animals when I looked up from the factory floor.” He inched closer, extending a hand as if to pet one. Har and Kar growled, which seemed to delight the young man more than intimidate him. “How might I purchase some for combat in a gladiatorial arena?”
“They are my own special breed.” Malina frowned. “The Tleilaxu developed them to my exact specifications.”
“Tleilaxu?” Feyd seemed disappointed. “Please let me know if any more become available.”
“Perhaps something can be worked out, my dear nephew, pending the outcome of our negotiations,” the Baron said. “For now, the Ur-Director and I have significant matters to discuss. Please leave us to our meal.” Dismissing his nephew, he took a mouthful of rukka meat. Feyd continued to look at the silvery predators, then left with an insouciant glance at Malina.
She folded her hands in front of her, clearly finished with pleasantries and distractions. “You offered a way around the burden of the Emperor’s excessive surtax. CHOAM is suffering under the onerous requirement, as are many of our best customers. I am sure that House Harkonnen revenues have been hurt as people turn to less effective, but less expensive recreational drug alternatives. Let us begin negotiations and see if there is a deal to be made.” She looked through the transparent floor, saw how they were unsettlingly suspended high above the manufacturing bay. “And if we disagree, will you touch a button and drop me to the manufacturing lines below?”
“Preposterous. There is no such mechanism!” He chuckled. “I like you, Ur-Director.”
“I will hear what you propose, Baron, and then decide whether or not I like you.” The spinehounds continued to watch him disconcertingly.
“Very well, no more preamble.” He sealed the door so that the servants would no longer disturb them, then shifted his attention to another tray heaped with melange in various forms. “My Imperial-class chef has prepared various recipes with spice … pure and uncut, or mixed into beverages, biscuits, tarts, and other desserts.” He took a pinch of rust-colored powder from a bowl, inhaled it, and rocked back on his suspensors. “Nothing like pure, fresh melange.”
Malina took a small pinch of powder and sniffed it, then nibbled at a biscuit. “And your business proposition?”
“You are consuming it. Just a small gesture, a proof of concept.” She watched him with intense eyes, and the Baron explained. “The Emperor knows nothing about the shipment of spice from which these samples were taken. All melange operations on Arrakis are closely monitored, all exports taxed—now more heavily than ever. Some smugglers use a separate channel to move illicit melange and sell it on the black market, but their freedom is illusory. The Emperor monitors them and expects them to pay as well.”
He took a thick honeyed wafer, consumed it in a single bite. “With my influence, however, I could procure a completely isolated supply of spice, a secret between me and you—it would be just a trickle, to start, but in these days of excessive costs and crippling taxes, it might be worthwhile to certain customers.”
The Baron saw he had her complete attention. “But I must have a discreet, completely confidential way of distributing it. Even though the Emperor’s surtax is ridiculously high, my head is worth more to me.”
“CHOAM has absolute discretion,” Malina Aru said, “and our distribution network is not entirely visible to Imperial spies.” She looked down at her spinehounds as if consulting them. “Your offer does have merit, Baron. Provided you can achieve what you promise.”
The Baron smiled. He inhaled a large pinch of spice, and then another, until he began to feel euphoric. “I am absolutely certain of it.”
Caladan, oh Caladan! I have tried to write songs, but thy beauty beggars all music. My memories are all the songs I need.
—GURNEY HALLECK, Collected Songs
Atreides crackdown troops swarmed over the fishery complex, uncovering more hoarded barra ferns hidden among moonfish shipments, ready to be sent off to the main city. Leto turned the investigation over to Thufir Hawat, knowing the Mentat would get to the bottom of the matter.
They spent the night in quarters provided by the crew chief, protected by Atreides soldiers, and flew out the next morning into the rising light, with Gurney Halleck at the aircraft controls. The flyer cruised over small fishing villages and docks, and then over more rugged terrain.
Higher up the uninhabited coast, they found an isolated inlet with a broad expanse of gravel, where Gurney landed the craft. “This should be safe, my Lord. Thufir has the tracker, so he will be able to locate us. We also have emergency communicators to call for help, if necessary. A response would be only an hour or two away.”
He glanced at Yueh, and the Suk doctor nodded. “I have a full medical kit.”
After disembarking, Duke Leto looked inland toward the rugged forests and rock outcroppings. The land looked tantalizing and mysterious. “We are prepared, Gurney, but we won’t need any rescue party. Paul and I want to get away from the comforts of noble life.”
Gurney scoffed. “You say that now, my Lord.”
“I will say that in a few days as well.”
After secur
ing the flyer and activating shields to keep wildlife away, they took their packs and headed out. Forging their own trail, they followed the streams up from the coast, heading into the tall conifers. Paul could sense his father’s stubborn determination.
Even here in the wilderness, Leto wore his ducal signet ring, and Paul wondered if he would ever wear it himself. He didn’t want the ring as a symbol of personal power or to increase his wealth or holdings, but he understood the games of the Landsraad, the positioning of Great and Minor Houses. Out here in wild and beautiful Caladan, political problems seemed so far away.
Objectively, he understood why his father had approached Duke Fausto Verdun about joining their Houses in marriage. It was a necessary move, an exploratory idea. Paul had seen images and read reports about Junu Verdun, who seemed intelligent and pleasant enough, certainly pretty, although she was not the girl he kept seeing in his dreams.…
Surrounded by the glorious northern forests, Paul marveled at the lush fir groves, the moist air laden with the spice of evergreens. The thriving foliage and buzzing insects gave him a sense of untapped bounty, an urgency of life that made him feel smaller, a mere part in an interconnected web of nature.
A biting fly landed on his cheek and tried to draw blood, but Paul swatted it instantly, a reaction of his training, and the squashed fly fell dead to the ground.
The drizzle had been intermittent as they trudged into thicker forests. They found a place to stop on a wide sandbar next to a twisting, sluggish stream, where the moss-draped conifers offered some shelter.
As Gurney went about the work of setting up the campsite, Paul surveyed their surroundings, never letting down his guard despite the tranquil isolation. This time, after what they had found at the fishery complex, he felt more alert than on previous wilderness retreats with his father.
“We have a polymer tarp for the rain,” Leto said, glancing at the sky. “We’ll be dry and comfortable enough.” The man’s dark hair glistened in the mist.
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 21
