Dune: The Duke of Caladan

by Brian Herbert

  With another small whump, flames engulfed a second box of records, and then a third, as a protective self-destruct sequence obliterated the information.

  “By the seven hells!” He shoved his hands into the container and yanked out a jumble of papers and two shigawire spools, whatever he could grab before the fire shot too high. He stumbled back, and within moments, the entire records cabinet went up in flames. More fires sparked from adjacent containers, and the blaze spread, hot and white.

  Cursing, Gurney saw he would be trapped as the inferno rushed higher. He threw himself out the door as the flames rose and the smoke thickened inside the shielded hut.

  Clutching the few scraps he had rescued, he blinked his burning eyes and hurried away from the fire. He stashed the spools and papers where he could retrieve them later, then flexed his reddened fingers. He took up his weapons again and strode toward the melee.

  Hand-to-hand combat … he decided to stick to what he was best qualified to do.

  The most successful empires grow out of the seeds of concisely targeted destruction. From the Imperial throne, I nurture this garden.

  —EMPEROR ELROOD CORRINO IX

  The transport hold of the Spacing Guild ship, which had been commandeered by the Imperial military for this mission, was filled with hundreds of Sardaukar warships, battle equipment, and soldiers. This was the biggest attack force Colonel Bashar Jopati Kolona had ever supervised.

  After years of ruthless Sardaukar training on Salusa Secundus, he had led smaller attacks on his own and had served as second in command of large battle groups. In each instance, Kolona had excelled, just as he would today.

  Emperor Shaddam IV meant to send an unmistakable message to any secret traitors in the Landsraad and the Noble Commonwealth movement at large. The Verdun holdings on Dross would be left in cinders.

  Wearing full combat uniform, Kolona stood in the forward command module of his flagship. Issuing orders to the pilot, he led the vanguard that poured out of the Heighliner’s belly and sped toward the planet below. They approached on the night side of Dross. Duke Fausto Verdun and his family would be asleep at this hour, but they would soon awaken.

  On a tactical screen, the colonel bashar watched his ships flaring pale blue sparks with intermittent orange bursts as they cut through the thickening atmosphere. The punitive operation looked smooth, even beautiful to the eye.

  Kolona was not the sort of commander who would send his troops into harm’s way and remain in the background, observing and receiving reports. If his soldiers were in danger, he would put himself in danger. If they died, he would die with them. The Sardaukar were his family, and he loved them all. He had no other family anymore, and he felt a strong sense of camaraderie with his fellow soldiers. He could think of no greater honor than to perish among his military brothers and sisters.

  Now as Kolona looked down at the darkened skies of the Verdun homeworld, he spoke into a comm, transmitting to the entire fleet. “We have caught them sleeping, but activate battle shields and remain on full alert.” As planned.

  The warships shimmered with blurred fields protecting them. This first major command was a great opportunity for Kolona. Emperor Shaddam considered him worthy of the role, and Kolona would not let him down. He would carry out the orders.

  Even so, he could not entirely dispel his uneasiness. With mixed feelings, Kolona considered the sparkling jewels of the planet’s major cities and the Verdun central holding. People down there were going to die, and most of them were innocent, even if Shaddam’s suspicions were correct about Fausto Verdun’s complicity with the Noble Commonwealth.

  It reminded him of the similar assault on his own planet of Borhees, the unexpected nighttime raid led by Paulus Atreides—coerced into it by Elrood, Kolona now knew. Duke Paulus had succeeded with the help of Sardaukar soldiers wearing Atreides uniforms. After hunting down the last survivors of the ousted noble family, a Sardaukar commander had captured young Jopati in the hills. Instead of killing him, the Sardaukar had committed him into rigorous training on the prison planet of Salusa Secundus. He had been fourteen at the time.

  Jopati had lived through it, had even excelled.

  Yet as he led this assault, it felt that history was repeating itself, and he was causing it. With this sneak attack on House Verdun, would he be creating a new set of aggrieved survivors from a disgraced noble family? Was someone down there just like he had been, a teenage boy watching his whole world uprooted? What if this ruthless action effectively inspired more people to sympathize with the Noble Commonwealth movement?

  Nevertheless, Colonel Bashar Jopati Kolona would do his duty, and do it well.

  The battle group soared in over the darkened skies, weapons hot. Per Imperial order, Kolona issued no warning, no statement, no explanation; he gave no opportunity for anyone to evacuate.

  The Sardaukar simply attacked.

  His gunships unleashed explosives, destroyed buildings, drew down a curtain of fire. Troop carriers landed armed, merciless soldiers—not worried about wearing Imperial Sardaukar uniforms now—and suicide drones filled with explosives that flew into targets.

  Streaking gunfire filled the sky of Dross, and the Verdun palais was in flames. Kolona directed the pilot of his flagship to swoop over the engulfed mansion, and he scanned downward, absorbing detailed images.

  As walls collapsed and roaring fires swooped up the towers, he saw a beautiful teenage girl on a high rampart, dressed in a filmy nightgown. From his mission briefing on the Verdun family, Kolona identified her as Junu Verdun, daughter of the ambitious Duke. Palais guards ran toward her, but they were too slow, and she fell to her death as the floor and walls collapsed in flames.

  Murdering the girl and her family like this did not give Kolona pleasure. It was another black mark on history.

  Despite his inner reluctance, Colonel Bashar Kolona led a flawless mission. The Sardaukar attack was quick, efficient, and overwhelming. Verdun military aircraft scrambled to take off and flew in disorganized patterns before being shot down, one ball of flame after another. Soon enough, it was completely over.

  If Duke Verdun was truly involved in the sedition to break apart the Imperium, then Noble Commonwealth spies and messengers would spread the word swiftly. Shaddam himself would not wait long to make his announcement either, proclaiming that Duke Fausto Verdun had deserved his fate. The Emperor’s word was not to be disputed.

  This was a brutal message, and Jopati Kolona doubted it would be the last.

  In the equation of survival, one must calculate what there is to gain, and what is left to lose.

  —The Mentat Handbook

  Leading his group of well-trained fighters, Duncan Idaho pushed past the line of outbuildings and shielded huts. Behind them in the tall fern forest, he spotted a low structure that was clearly different from the other industrial, flimsy prefab units. This one looked sturdier, more lived in—a dwelling? And it was surrounded by at least fifty mercenary guards.

  A group of bodyguards whisked a lone man out the back of the structure and headed into the dense foliage, away from the fighting.

  Duncan yelled to his fighters, “Follow me!”

  The front line of mercenaries formed a cordon to block Atreides pursuit while the man escaped. Duncan and his companions crashed into them in a flurry of swords. The fighting deflected the Atreides momentum, but Duncan killed the first man he encountered, then engaged a second. Around him, his companions were making short work of the cordon, breaking through. But the real target was fleeing into the thick stands of fern trees.

  He guessed who the heavily guarded person must be. Chaen Marek.

  Duncan collided with an opponent, but his blade was deflected by the enemy’s body shield. He paused, redirected, and thrust through the shimmering field into the man’s heart. “They are stalling us. That man is our target!” He pointed his sword and ran even as the body fell to the ground.

  Atreides fighters fought the fanatical guards, killed several
more, and broke through their line. Rather than finishing off the opponents behind them, Duncan led the pursuit of the man being rushed away. “He’s escaping!”

  Duncan still had fifteen soldiers with him. That should be enough.

  They tore through the underbrush, knocking weeds and branches out of the way. Duncan felt a stinging twig snap against his left cheek, knocked it away, and continued running. His comrades kept up.

  Five more bodyguards turned, prepared to sacrifice their own lives in order to grant their master just a few more minutes. Duncan and his companions struck them in a flurry of long blades. Though the Atreides wore no shields of their own, they fought with surety, penetrating the enemy body shields. Duncan already knew that the mercenaries were competent fighters, but the Atreides had more finesse. These men beside him were the best in House Atreides.

  Even so, three of his companions fell in the fighting, but they made the enemy pay dearly. Now only a handful of bodyguards surrounded the fleeing drug lord as they bolted with him into the tall barra trees, ducking through the maze of fronds and making a beeline into the wilderness. Duncan put on more speed. Perhaps Marek had a hidden escape ’thopter?

  Duncan vowed the drug lord would not get away.

  The spiky mature ferns towered around them with fronds splayed out like sharp fans. Duncan slashed through a wide frond, burst into a small clearing, and could see his target at last. He paused in surprise.

  Chaen Marek was a small man in gray robes, and he scuttled along, dodging the fern-tree trunks. In a flash of panic, the drug lord glanced over his shoulder, and Duncan saw pointed features and a clear grayish cast to the skin. His heart lurched.

  A Tleilaxu!

  Chaen Marek was a member of the Bene Tleilax, reviled experimenters, genetic manipulators, torturers. Duncan had seen them before, fought them, and reviled them. What were the Tleilaxu doing on Caladan?

  “I know who you are, Chaen Marek!”

  Duncan sprang forward, and swiftly killed one more of the bodyguards who turned to stall the pursuit. The rest of the Atreides fighters were right behind him, more than evenly matched with the few remaining mercenaries. The drug lord could not get away.

  While two of Duncan’s companions engaged Marek’s man, the Tleilaxu halted for a last stand. Only three of his protectors remained. They stood in a tight circle, weapons raised, shields shimmering, ready to sacrifice their lives.

  If necessary, Duncan would take them all. Chaen Marek had no place to go.

  Cornered, the Tleilaxu man glowered at him. “Are you the Duke’s man?” Surrender was not even a flicker in his hard eyes.

  “I am Swordmaster Duncan Idaho. The last time I fought Tleilaxu was in the caverns of Ix. We restored House Vernius after your takeover.” He grinned. “I killed many of you then, and now I plan to add one more to the tally.”

  Anger darkened Marek’s pinched, gray face as he looked out between his clustered bodyguards. “You do not know the enemy you are fighting, Duncan Idaho. You cannot imagine the repercussions of your actions.”

  “I know we are eradicating your ailar operations here. Is Caladan a Tleilaxu test operation? We will stop the drug shipments, and that will prevent more deaths.” Duncan strode closer. “Duke Leto has decreed it.”

  Marek’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Duke Leto is not a man who sees opportunities.” The drug lord seemed to believe he had all the power in this situation, though he had clearly lost this battle.

  The Tleilaxu reached into his gray robes and removed a small handheld lasgun. His expression became wily. “Consider my situation, Duncan Idaho. If I let you capture me, your Duke will execute me anyway. You know it. Even more so, I know the Atreides Mentat will interrogate me. I cannot allow that. There is too much at stake.” His thin lips formed a smile. “Instead, I think you will let me go.”

  Holding his sword, Duncan tensed like a laza tiger ready to pounce. “We can kill your bodyguards and bring you to justice.” His own soldiers had their weapons out; some even carried projectile weapons, which would not work against the shielded bodyguards.

  “No, I think you will let me go,” Marek repeated. “You should have learned your lesson when we vaporized your four attack craft. I had to show you how serious we are, how devoted our followers are. We have a cause you cannot understand. I was stung by the loss of one of my fields, but House Atreides was stung worse. You know what I am willing to do.” He raised the lasgun. “Now you will let me go. Back away.”

  Duncan scoffed. “I am a Swordmaster of Ginaz, and I intend to take you prisoner.” Even against the lasgun, he and his fighters could press forward and take the drug lord before they all fell.

  “I see your men do not wear personal shields even in this battle. A wise precaution.” Marek activated the power button of the pistol. “But my men do have shields.” He swung the weapon toward one of his own bodyguards. “Lasguns and shields. You know exactly what will happen—and it does not have to be an enemy shield. These men will do. They are willing to die anyway.”

  The fierce-looking bodyguards did not flinch.

  Duncan froze. He knew this man could do exactly as he threatened.

  Marek mused, “We live with the rules of kanly, the binding laws of the Great Convention, rigid strictures for a War of Assassins.” He laughed. “Who could even conceive that a person would fire a lasgun into a shield on purpose, knowing the pseudo-atomic explosion that would result? What act of desperation would provoke such forbidden behavior?”

  “No one would…,” Duncan said, but he felt a rush of cold. These people, bound by some kind of fanaticism, had already proved what they were willing to do.

  Then he realized an even greater consequence. A lasgun-shield detonation would not only kill Duncan and Marek but all the Atreides soldiers, vaporize the entire site. And Duke Leto.

  The Tleilaxu laughed at his expression. “You said that you consider my race dishonorable. I know that you despise us for our very existence. You honestly think I would not consider it a worthy end, a flash of glory? If I touch this firing button, the lasbeam strikes my guard’s shield. Then you, I, and everything for a kilometer around vanishes in a flash of white heat. Everything.”

  He paused, his eyebrows arched. “Ah! Is your Duke here with his army as well? Of course he is! Duke Leto Atreides would not sit at home while he sends others into battle. One touch of the firing button, and I will be forever known as the man who obliterated the Duke of Caladan and the House Atreides troops. A far better legacy than being interrogated and tortured to death, don’t you think?” Marek let out a louder chuckle. “As I said, you will let me go or you, your soldiers, and your Duke will all die.”

  Duncan strained against the manacles of fury, trying to find a way out. The Tleilaxu was right; Duke Leto was within blast range. Even with the speed of a Swordmaster, he could never move faster than a lasbeam could strike the nearby shield. It was a set of impossible choices.

  Two Atreides soldiers moved up on either side of Duncan Idaho. He growled in frustration.

  Marek didn’t wait for Duncan to answer. Knowing he had the upper hand, he bolted away, taking a pair of mercenary guards with him, while one remained to give his life and delay pursuit. Duncan hesitated at the prospect of the lasgun-shield explosion, but then he threw caution to the wind. He bounded after the Tleilaxu.

  Marek would not obliterate them all in a pseudo-atomic flash, so long as he felt he had a chance of escaping. Duncan killed the lone remaining bodyguard, then surged after the drug lord who was already dodging through the enormous full-grown ferns, weaving between slatted shadows and straight, spiny trunks.

  Then in a tangle of vines and thickening underbrush, he was gone. Duncan couldn’t find the grayish man. Both the drug lord and his bodyguards had disappeared.

  Duncan shouted out Marek’s name, but received no answer. The eerie fern forest thrummed around him, as if taunting. He could still hear the sounds of battle back at the main compound and see veils of smoke risin
g into the sky from the burning fields.

  “Marek!” he yelled again. The survivors of his squad came up, breathing hard, and spread out to find the Tleilaxu man. “It was a trick to buy time, but he had a plan all along.”

  After a thorough search, half an hour later, he and his companions finally found a hatch cleverly disguised on the trunk of one of the thickest barra fern trees. It opened to a narrow shaft hollowed from the bole of the trunk just wide enough for a person. It plunged down into a complex of tunnels, an interconnected maze.

  Chaen Marek could be anywhere by now.

  Duncan stood adjusting his eyes and knew that the Tleilaxu had escaped.

  On the grand scale of the Imperium and the future of humankind, nothing can match the danger of emotional attachment.

  —Bene Gesserit admonition

  It was early evening when Count Fenring, blindfolded again, was escorted off the ’thopter by a smuggler. He removed the eye covering as soon as they arrived at Tuek’s new base. Brushing himself off, Fenring stood on the rocky floor of the hidden grotto under the illumination of bobbing glowglobe lights.

  Today, for appearances’ sake, he would perform his duty as the Imperial Observer. Shaddam would watch the recordings later, and then he would be satisfied, at least for a while.

  In the sheltered grotto, Tuek’s smugglers used pumping mechanisms to load spice into shipping containers, then sealed and loaded them onto a waiting cargo ’thopter. Even with suspensor assists, each container required two workers to maneuver it on board.

  The air was redolent with cinnamon, strong enough to make his eyes burn. “Hmmmm, richer smell than I remember,” he said, taking a long sniff.

  “We found a pure unweathered patch this afternoon, right on top of a fresh spice blow,” his escort said. “We filled a harvester bay and escaped with the cargo. A Harkonnen patrol swept in and attacked us even before we spotted wormsign. Had to leave a lot of our equipment behind.” The smuggler was angry, keeping his voice low. “This harassment is causing a great deal of harm. Esmar says we’re supposed to have an understanding with the Emperor.”