Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  Duncan coughed as if he were about to be sick. “By the gods, pseudo-atomic explosions!”

  The Mentat ran an analysis before Leto could form words to express what he had just seen. “They knew they would all die,” Hawat announced. “They violated every standard of the Great Convention, sacrificed themselves in order to hurt us.”

  “Not only that,” Duncan said. “They meant to send us a message as well. They are fanatics.”

  Thoughts spun in Leto’s mind as he thought of the suicidal caretaker in the first barra field, and he remembered the fear expressed by the ailar sellers and users at the moonfish operations. What could drive such fanatical, inflamed devotion to a cause? To mere drug operations?

  Then a second thought sent a wave of ice down his spine. He had almost—almost!—agreed to let Paul and Duncan fly along with the attack wing. No matter their piloting skills, they would both have been vaporized in the blast. Paul …

  Leto said in a choked voice, “Chaen Marek thinks he can scare us. But he cannot.” He clenched his fist, looked down at the ducal signet ring. “I want full ground operations ready to launch as soon as possible. We are now at war.”

  Expect to hear this from me again: Observe the plans within plans within plans.

  —BARON VLADIMIR HARKONNEN to his nephew Feyd-Rautha

  As her husband pored over filmbooks, production manifests, and shipping records, Margot Fenring entered his study in the Arrakeen Residency. Silently, she watched him for a long moment, heard him humming to himself. He remained unaware of her presence, although he was a man of keen observation, but she knew how to move without a sound. It could have made her an assassin as skilled as he was, if she had chosen a different profession.

  When she made an intentional rustling noise, he spun like a viper, ready to strike. As he recognized her, though, no smile crossed his face. His steel-gray eyes looked tired. Without preamble, he asked, “Do you think Shaddam’s Mentats are right? That we have an unseen hemorrhage somewhere, that melange is being whisked away from Arrakis without anyone knowing? Not Baron Harkonnen, not the smugglers … not me? The Emperor blames the smugglers, but he merely wants an easy answer.” He looked down at the records again. “And if it is not Esmar Tuek’s doing, then how is the melange being smuggled off-planet? And who is the purchaser?”

  Margot stepped up behind him, began kneading his tense shoulders; it required some of her best skills to make him relax. “Your failed Mentat seems to agree with the Emperor’s Mentat accountants, but has Dardik ever been wrong? Have the other Mentats been wrong? Or is something genuinely amiss?”

  “Hmmm-ah, with Grix it is difficult to tell given such eccentric behavior.” He hummed again. “But the Emperor’s Mentat accountants noticed a subtle discrepancy. Melange is very carefully inventoried, all sales accounted for down to the gram.” He shook his head. “Whoever is doing this is, hmmmm, masterful.”

  She kissed the top of his head. Count Hasimir Fenring was not a handsome man, far from it, with close-set eyes and pointed features, but he was the most intelligent, dashing man she’d ever met. He was involved in the Emperor’s darkest schemes, but he cared deeply for her, and Margot felt the same about him.

  “Perhaps you need to look more carefully at the smugglers, my husband,” she said. “If nothing else, a visible crackdown from you would reassure Shaddam, who sees traitors everywhere. Even if Tuek is not guilty, he and his people have much at stake here. Could they be selling spice to—I don’t know—the Spacing Guild, because of the quantities needed for their Navigators? With so much usage, an external source of melange could save money and offer additional stability. Of course, the quality of any such illicit spice would be critical.”

  He stroked his chin and finally smiled at her. “Ahhhhh, we think alike, my dear. The Guild seems like a possible culprit. And you have made a projection without being a Mentat.” She continued to work his shoulders, and his sigh was genuine, not the vocal mannerism he so often adopted to make others think him a dithering fool.

  She heard a rapping on the half-open study door, saw the strange half Mentat lurking outside in the corridor. Dardik shuffled his feet. “You sent for me, Count Fenring?”

  Fenring’s shoulders slumped, and he turned away from his reports, looking up at the most-peculiar Mentat. “So? Have you found anything more? What is the source of this additional spice infiltrating the black market? How are they getting it off-planet, and who is selling it? Where is our leak?”

  Grix Dardik stood there rocking like a pendulum. “I know only that it is happening, but not how. The plot is very clever and devious.”

  “Hmmm-ah, could the Spacing Guild be involved? My wife points out that they need a lot of spice.”

  “I have run that possibility, with no suitable answer. The same for large mercantile Houses involved in the spice trade. The same for conglomerates. Even CHOAM could be involved. The Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles is complex, and their records are obtuse, secure from any prying eyes. The same can be said for the Spacing Guild. The Guild not only runs Heighliner ships; they are also bankers. If they could save many solaris in melange purchases, that would put more solaris in their coffers.”

  “As far as we know, both the Guild and CHOAM only work through primary channels,” Fenring said. “They pay the surtax.”

  Dardik nodded, as if his neck had become too loose. “Yes, yes, they do. Of course they do. But they are clever, and secretive.”

  Fenring pursed his lips, and deep furrows appeared on his brow. “But if the Spacing Guild or the CHOAM Company have found a way to circumvent Imperial channels and bypass standard fees and tariffs, including the surtax, that would be troubling.” He smiled. “And if such activities were discovered, and proved … the consequences would be, hmmm, catastrophic to them.”

  Margot added, “As for CHOAM, the Ur-Director has been closely watched ever since her terrorist son attacked Otorio. Malina Aru publicly renounced him. She is known to have a close relationship with Empress Aricatha. She would never take such a terrible risk.” She paused to reconsider. “Or is that part of the deception as well?”

  Fenring said, “Hmmmm, the plot would be too big, too intricate, and I would need much more time to investigate and unravel.” His eyes flashed at his wife. “I will investigate, but in the meantime, I need to convince the Emperor that I have the situation under control. He is outraged and volatile, and under such circumstances, he tends to overreact. I have seen it many times before. I have to distract him, perhaps find a scapegoat to buy myself some time.” He chewed at his lower lip.

  Dardik took a jittering step backward. “I am not a good candidate for that.” The failed Mentat scuttled out of the office.

  Fenring nodded, lost in thought. “I am the Imperial Observer here. We will find someone appropriate.”

  The worth of a person’s heart and soul is not determined by outside opinion but is measured from within.

  —Zensunni Wisdom

  When Leto returned to Castle Caladan from the military base, he was sickened, reeling. Four good pilots had been vaporized in the senseless pseudo-atomic explosion.

  He had underestimated the size and power of Chaen Marek’s ailar production and smuggling operations—twice now, in fact—but far worse, he had not conceived the fanatical recklessness Marek’s people would exhibit. To any civilized mindset, it was inconceivable that a person, no matter how desperate, would initiate an appalling lasgun-shield interaction on purpose. The rules of the Great Convention were so ingrained in every person in the Imperium.…

  Who was this drug lord, and how was he funded? Leto would not underestimate Chaen Marek again, and he vowed to strike back against the man’s illegal operations with the complete military of House Atreides. Swiftly, his forces would overwhelm any defenses the barra fern growers could mount.

  As soon as he was back in the castle, he summoned Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, Duncan Idaho, and several other advisers for an immediate war council. The Atrei
des troops would move out as soon as the fighters were armed, the equipment gathered, the ships fueled, the plans operational.

  Before the meeting, Leto stalked back to his private office and increased the glowglobe lights because the afternoon skies had become overcast and gray. The decorative fountain in the corner trickled a diamond-like stream of water with a pleasant soothing noise, but very little could soothe him now. Four men were dead! Now he took some time alone to think. His throat went dry. If he had allowed Paul to go along with the pilots.…

  Unexpectedly, he found a message cylinder resting in the center of his desk, delivered by a recent courier. Lady Jessica had placed it there for him to read. He saw that the seal had not been broken, knew Jessica would never breach his trust by reading a private message without his permission.

  He turned the cylinder in his hands, noted the leaping stag and recognized the symbol of House Verdun. He sat back, his interest piqued, realizing that this must finally be a response from Duke Fausto Verdun about his daughter’s betrothal to Paul.

  Sensing someone, he saw Jessica standing at the doorway in a blue gown, her long, bronze hair bound up in pins and carved seashell combs. He realized this was the same dress she had worn when recording the hologram image he’d taken with him to Otorio. That seemed so long ago, but it was only two months. Her green eyes were bright, her expression full of anticipation.

  Leto held up the message cylinder. “You know what this is, of course.”

  “I suspect it pertains to me, as well as you, and our son, but I didn’t open it.”

  Leto softened his tone. “I have often shared the Duke’s business with my Lady.” His thumbprint unlocked the seal, and he opened it to remove a single sheet of instroy paper marked with the leaping stag. Leto prepared to read aloud to Jessica, but halted as he skimmed the words. His fingers clenched the paper, which wrinkled and then instantly smoothed itself when he shifted his grip. “That … pompous … weasel!”

  Jessica was instantly at his shoulder. She read as he continued to absorb the words:

  “Duke Atreides, I received your message with surprise. So, my lovely daughter has caught the attention of your son as a possible marriage prospect. She has caught the eyes of many a desirable young man, all of whom are, unfortunately, beneath her station.

  “House Verdun is a prominent member of the Landsraad, a powerful House Major with an influential CHOAM Directorship. Since I am a Duke, like yourself, I must make my political decisions with great forethought. The Verdun name is clearly on the rise as our wealth expands. We anticipate that the Padishah Emperor will present us with expanded holdings, now that so many Landsraad seats are empty. I will meet personally with Shaddam IV in the very near future.”

  Leto frowned. The man did go on at great length.

  “House Atreides, however, oversees only one world, and while I am assured that Caladan is a pleasant place, it is no adequate home for my daughter. In recent memory, House Atreides had greater wealth and clout, but after you voluntarily surrendered the assets of House Kolona, you diminished the weight and worth of your name. To me, this does not demonstrate wise leadership, and I do not share such a vision for my own House.”

  The words took on a sickening weight as Verdun continued.

  “I applaud your ambition in trying to join our Houses, but I cannot accept the idea of my daughter’s betrothal to your bastard son, who is not even a true heir. We believe that dear Junu will find a more acceptable suitor in the near future. Your interest is noted and appreciated—Fausto Verdun, Duke of Dross.”

  He had appended one last barb beneath his signature. “Lord Atikk is my friend, and I know what your Caladan drug did to his son.”

  Leto let the instroy paper fall, feeling a different kind of rage and dismay from what he had just experienced after the loss of his four fighter craft. Duke Verdun’s message was another kind of sneak attack, one that insulted his honor and his son. Leto pounded a fist on the desk. “He says Paul isn’t worthy!”

  Jessica snatched up the sheet, also taking offense. “But in the Landsraad, you hold the very same rank as Duke Verdun.” She reread the note, then reassessed. “This is not a setback. We will make a different choice, one that is a far better match for Paul.”

  He said, “It is clear that Junu Verdun was by no means acceptable. Her family is not worthy of sharing the Atreides name.” He knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault. He had no idea of the young woman’s character, in fact, but Duke Verdun had responded in such an insulting way, it defied all expectations of honorable behavior. “He insults my son!” He took the instroy paper from her and crumpled it, but maddeningly it unfurled itself. Instead, he plunged it into the fountain basin. “And therefore he insults me as well, and all of House Atreides.” He lowered his voice. “He also clearly blames me for the ailar drug, but I am taking care of that.”

  Jessica kept her voice calm, and he briefly wondered if she was trying to manipulate him using Bene Gesserit techniques. Right now, he didn’t want to be calm, but he appreciated what she was doing. Just by being there, facing this insult together, he felt closer to her.

  She said, “His behavior should have been expected. Fausto Verdun has demonstrated his ambitions, striving to climb much higher than his current station. We knew this from the recent Landsraad reports and announcements from Kaitain. How did he get such an impressive CHOAM Directorship in the first place? Now he has leaped into the gap after Otorio, jockeying to be granted some of the leaderless holdings, the most valuable ones.”

  “While I did not,” Leto said, feeling the bitterness rise. “Does that make me someone with low ambitions? Is that how I am perceived in the Landsraad? Because I won’t rummage in the pockets of a corpse? Because I wasn’t aggressive enough to grab the scraps after Otorio?”

  Her voice was soothing. “It makes you look devoted to Caladan, exactly as you have always been.”

  “But now that singular focus is apparently hurting Paul’s future! Have I damaged my birthright because I did not care about petty politics? Even my father knew how to play Imperial games.”

  “As do you, Leto,” Jessica said. “When you set your mind to it. That has never been your focus.”

  “The first duty of a noble is to the Landsraad and to the Imperium, that’s what the code says. Is Caladan enough for House Atreides? I thought it was. I thought Paul would be satisfied, but if his marriage prospects are now ruined—”

  Jessica laid a hand on his. “This is only one response, our first exploration, and this other noble family is clearly not a fit for House Atreides. It is a blessing in disguise. Do not dwell on it. Paul doesn’t even know the girl. He says he dreams about someone else.”

  Leto would not be so easily calmed. “The man called him a bastard.” Verdun’s malicious words struck deeply. The idea sent him reeling. Had he made a mistake by not pouncing on the opportunities left open after the Otorio disaster? Had he made many mistakes, by focusing on his people rather than wealth and power? Should he had been more focused on tallying up his influence and holdings? With more wealth and power, he could do more for the people of Caladan.

  Some things had to be done, regardless. Leto remembered going to the Imperial Court after discovering how Emperor Elrood had blackmailed Duke Paulus into the overthrow of House Kolona, so long ago. Leto had shored himself up with honor and rectified the situation. Now Verdun complained about that?

  But the Landsraad was different now. He had not wanted to take advantage of bloodshed and tragedy, but so many planets were indeed leaderless, their noble leaders wiped out. If not House Atreides, then some other family would rule those worlds. So why should it not be him? Why not build a larger foundation for Paul to inherit, and to rule with Atreides justice?

  But Caladan had problems of its own, including Chaen Marek and the illegal and deadly drug operations. Was that not his priority? The first duty of a Duke.…

  “There are many other choices, Leto. There is nothing remarkable about House Verdun. B
etter that we have nothing more to do with them. We will pick a better potential wife for Paul.”

  “I can erase her name from my list,” Leto agreed, “but this offense will remain.” He felt hot, and the blow stung twice as hard coming right on the heels of the tragedy of his obliterated flyers. “I will have Hawat submit a new summary to me. I want to see all the names and make my own choice.”

  Jessica’s eyes took on a sudden gleam, and she flashed a glance to one side. “I would be happy to assist, my Lord. In fact, while you are preparing your attack against the drug lord, perhaps you should use Thufir Hawat’s expertise in the military operation instead. Let me be the one to submit the list of candidates.”

  “Hawat already knows,” Leto said. “I want him to do it.” He softened his voice and his expression, realizing he had lashed out inappropriately at her. “In the meantime, I’ll need your help so we can decide how to tell Paul.”

  Jessica smiled at him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I always look for ways to ease your burdens, Leto. I will take care of it.” She went to the door. “You’ve already fought enough battles today, and you must prepare for a bigger one as soon as you can.”

  * * *

  FROM THE DOORWAY of his room, Jessica watched her son. He was fourteen, but small for his age, and Paul still looked like a boy in her eyes, though she knew better. In the Sisterhood school, she had been raised to assess details objectively, to detach personal feelings and find the best answer. Now, though, the answer was difficult.

  Bene Gesserit training cautioned against the weakness of love. Some Sisters took that to mean they should never open their hearts, should remain cold, aloof, and shallow. Other Sisters, though, argued that experiencing love was a critical part of human experience, so long as they did not succumb to it, did not let love become a weakness. It was a fine line.

  The Bene Gesserit had sent her a list of names, bloodlines they wished to cut off, and a command to eliminate those names from consideration, by any means necessary. Some of the blacklisted young women had indeed appeared in Thufir Hawat’s analysis and selection process. With so many possibilities on hand, she’d had little difficulty diverting the decision to someone else—Junu Verdun—and she had been glad to accomplish her mission so easily.