— Fremen Conundrum
True to his word, the water merchant obtained an unmarked hauler for Dominic Vernius. Absent-minded Lingar Bewt piloted it from Carthag to the antarctic ice-mining facility and, with a sheepish smile, handed over the control card for the ship. Dominic, accompanied by his lieutenant Johdam, flew the battered craft back toward the secret landing field in the crevasse. The former Earl of Ix remained silent for most of the journey.
The heavy hauler was old and made strange groaning sounds as it cruised low through the atmosphere. With a curse, Johdam slapped the control panels. “Damned slug. Probably won’t function for more than a year, Dom. It’s junk.”
Dominic gave him a distant look. “It’ll be good enough, Johdam.” Years ago, he’d been there when Johdam’s face was burned by a backlash flame. Then the veteran had saved Dominic’s life during the first abortive raid on Ix, hauling him from the line of Sardaukar fire. Johdam’s loyalty would never flag, but now it was time for Dominic to set him free, to give the man back his life.
When Johdam’s skin flushed with anger, the burn-scar tissue looked pale and waxy. “Have you heard how many solaris Tuek charged us for this wreckage? If we’d had equipment like this on Ecaz, the rebels could have beaten us by throwing rocks.”
They had broken Imperial law together for years— but Dominic had to do the rest alone. He felt oddly content with his decision and kept his voice even and calm. “Rondo Tuek knows we will no longer pay him our usual bribes. He wants to make as much profit as he can.”
“But he’s cheating you, Dom!”
“Listen to me.” He leaned close to his lieutenant in the adjacent seat. The heavy hauler vibrated as it came in for a landing. “It does not matter. Nothing matters. I just need enough . . . to do what I must do.”
Sweat glistened on Johdam’s scarred face as the craft came to a stop at the bottom of the crevasse. The lieutenant moved with tight, jerky gestures as he stomped down the landing ramp. Dominic could see the uncertainty and helplessness in the man’s face. He knew Johdam was not furious merely with what the water merchant had done, but also at what Dominic Vernius planned to do. . . .
Dominic longed to liberate Ix and his people, doing something positive to make up for all the wrongs that had been done by the Tleilaxu invaders and their Sardaukar allies. But he could not accomplish that. Not now.
In his power he had only the capability for destruction.
The former Ixian Ambassador, Cammar Pilru, had made repeated pleas to the Landsraad, but by now the man had merely become a tiresome joke. Even Rhombur’s efforts— probably made with secret Atreides support— had amounted to nothing. The problem had to be destroyed at its heart.
Dominic Vernius, former Earl of Ix, would send a message that the entire Imperium would never forget.
• • •
After making his decision, Dominic had taken his men deep into the fortress and opened the storage vault. Staring at the stored atomics, the smugglers froze; they had all dreaded this day. They’d served with the renegade Earl long enough that they needed no detailed explanations. The men stood inside the cold corridors, leaning against the polymer-lined walls.
“I will go to Caladan first, then alone to Kaitain,” Dominic had announced. “I have written a message for my children, and I mean to see them again. It has been far too long, and I must do this thing.” He looked at each one of the smugglers in turn. “You men are free to do as you wish. I suggest you liquidate our stockpiles and abandon this base. Go back to Gurney Halleck on Salusa, or just return to your families. Change your names, erase all records of what we did here. If I succeed, there will no longer be a reason for our band to exist.”
“And the whole Landsraad will be out for our blood,” Johdam growled.
Asuyo tried to talk Dominic out of it, using a military tone, an officer reasoning with his commander— but he would not listen. Earl Vernius had nothing to lose, and a great deal of vengeance to gain. Perhaps if he obliterated the last of the Corrinos, his own ghost and Shando’s could rest peacefully.
“Load these weapons on board the cargo hauler,” he said. “I will pilot it myself. A Guild Heighliner arrives in two days.” He gazed at them all, his expression flat and emotionless.
Some of the men wore stricken looks. Tears welled in their eyes, but they knew better than to argue with the man who had commanded them in countless battles, the man who had once run all the industries on Ix.
Without friendly banter or conversation, the men took suspensor grapples and began to drag out the atomics, one load at a time. They did not move with haste, dreading the completion of their task.
Without eating or drinking, Dominic observed the progress all day long. Metal-encased warheads were carried out on pallets and then guided through tunnels to the crevasse landing field.
He daydreamed about seeing Rhombur and talking with him about leadership; he wanted to hear Kailea’s aspirations. It would be so good to see them both again. He tried to imagine what his children looked like now, their faces, how tall they were. Did they have families of their own, his grandchildren? Had it really been more than twenty years since he’d seen his son and daughter, since the fall of Ix?
There would be some risk, but Dominic had to take the chance. They would want him to do it. Every precaution would be taken. He knew how difficult this would be emotionally, and he promised himself he would be strong. If Rhombur found out what he was up to— should he tell his son?— the Prince would want to join the effort and fight in the name of Ix. What would Kailea’s reaction be? Would she try to talk her brother out of going? Probably.
Dominic decided it would be best not to reveal his plans to his children, for that could only cause problems. Best to see his son and daughter without telling them anything.
There might be one more child, too, whom Dominic wished he could locate. His beloved Shando had given birth to a son out of wedlock before marrying Dominic. The child, borne secretly when she was a concubine in the Imperial Palace, had been Elrood Corrino’s, but had been taken away from her shortly after its birth. In her position, Shando had not been able to keep her son and, despite her persistent requests for information, she never learned what had happened to him. He just disappeared.
• • •
Unable to bear watching the preparations, Asuyo and Johdam worked at transferring the treasury reserve and supplies into the hands of the men. Old Asuyo had made a point of removing his medals and rank insignia, throwing them on the ground. Everyone would have to depart from the base at once and scatter to the far corners of the Imperium.
Muttering to himself, Johdam inventoried the stockpile of spice they had collected, and with two other men, led an expedition back to the water merchant’s industrial facility. There, they intended to convert the remaining merchandise into liquid credit, which they would use to buy passage, identities, and homes for themselves.
In his final hours, Dominic removed possessions from his quarters, giving away meaningless treasures, keeping only a few things he wanted at his side. The holo-portraits of Shando and keepsakes of his children meant more to him than any wealth. He would give them back to Rhombur and Kailea, so they had some memento of their parents.
Smelling the cold brittleness inside what had been his home for so many years, Dominic noticed details he hadn’t seen since building the fortress. He studied cracks in the wall, uneven lumps on the floor and ceiling . . . but he felt only failure and emptiness inside. He knew of only one way to fill that void— with blood. He would make the Corrinos pay.
Then his children, and the people of Ix, would be proud of him.
When all but three hover-warheads and a pair of stone burners had been moved aboard the heavy hauler, Dominic walked out into the wan antarctic sunshine, a slice of light that carved into the deep fissure. He had planned every step of his attack on the Imperial capital. It would be a complete surprise— Shaddam wouldn’t even have time to hide under the Golden Lion Throne. Dominic wo
uld make no grandiose speeches, would not revel in his triumph. No one would know of his arrival. Until the end.
Elrood IX was already dead, and the new Padishah Emperor had only a Bene Gesserit wife and four young daughters. It would not be difficult to exterminate the Corrino bloodline. Dominic Vernius would sacrifice his life to destroy the Imperial House that had ruled for thousands of years, since the Battle of Corrin— and he would call it a bargain.
He drew a deep breath into his barrel chest. He turned his head, looking up the sheer canyon walls of the fissure, saw Johdam’s shuttle land, returning from his errand at Tuek’s water factory. He didn’t know how long he stood like a statue as his men moved around him, taking inventory of the atomic stockpile.
A voice startled him out of his concentration. Johdam rushed red-faced toward him, his parka hood tossed back. “We’ve been betrayed, Dom! I went to the water merchant’s facility— and it’s abandoned. All the off-worlders are gone. The factory is closed down. They packed up and left in a hurry.”
Panting, Asuyo added, “They don’t want to be around, sir, because something is going to happen.” His entire demeanor had changed: even without his medals, Asuyo looked like a military officer again, ready for a bloody engagement.
Some of the smugglers cried out in rage. Dominic’s expression turned stony and grim. He should have expected this. After all the years of cooperation and assistance, Rondo Tuek could still not be trusted.
“Gather what you can. Go to Arsunt or Carthag or Arrakeen, but leave before the end of the day. Change your identities.” Dominic gestured toward the old heavy hauler. “I want to get the last warheads and take off. I still intend to go about my mission. My children are waiting for me.”
• • •
Less than an hour later, during the final preparations for evacuation and departure, the military ships arrived— an entire wing of Sardaukar in attack ’thopters, cruising low. They dropped concussion bombs that fractured the frozen walls. Wide lasgun beams flashed the cliffs into steam and dust, liberating the ice in the matrix and sending boulders tumbling down into melted craters.
The Sardaukar vessels tilted their wings to dive like predatory fish into the chasm. They dropped more explosives, destroying four transport ships parked on the loose gravel.
Determined, Asuyo rushed to their nearest ’thopter and leaped inside. He fired up the jet engines, as if already confident of receiving another medal for bravery. As he rocketed upward, the ’thopter’s weapon turrets brightened. Asuyo spared a few breaths over the comsystem to curse Tuek’s treachery and the Sardaukar, too. Before he could get off a shot, though, two Imperial ships blew him into a smudge of fire and greasy smoke in the sky.
Troop carriers landed on the flat ground, and armed fighting men surged out like maddened insects, carrying hand weapons and knives.
With precise accuracy, Sardaukar forces turned the engine pods of Dominic’s loaded heavy hauler to slag. The family atomics— suspected by the Sardaukar to be aboard— were now stranded. The banished Earl could never take off, never reach Kaitain. And seeing the swarm of Imperial troops, Dominic knew that he and his smuggler band would never get away.
Bellowing like a military commander again, Johdam led his final charge. The men ran recklessly, firing mismatched weapons into the oncoming Sardaukar troops. Using knives or bare hands, the Emperor’s fighters slew every smuggler they encountered. To them, this activity was little more than practice, and they seemed to be doing it for the sheer enjoyment.
Johdam retreated with his few surviving men back to the tunnels where they could barricade themselves and defend. In a frightening flash of déjà vu from the Ecazi rebellion, Dominic watched a Sardaukar las-blast take off Johdam’s head, just like his brother’s. . . .
Dominic had only one chance. It would not be the victory he had anticipated, and Rhombur and Kailea would never know about it . . . but given the alternative of total failure, he chose another desperate measure. He and his men were going to die anyway.
For honor, he wanted to stay beside his troops, to fight to the death with each one of them— in what would ultimately be a futile gesture. They knew it, and so did he. The Sardaukar were representatives of the Emperor— giving Dominic Vernius the opportunity to strike a deadly, symbolic blow. For Ix, for his children, for himself.
As concentrated fire began to bring down the walls of the chasm in mounds of slumping mud and stone, Dominic ducked inside the base. Some of his men followed, trusting him to lead them to shelter. Silent and grim, he offered no reassurances.
The Sardaukar penetrated the facility, advancing in attack formation through the passages, cutting down anyone they saw. They had no need to take captives for interrogation.
Dominic retreated into the inner passageways, down toward the vault. It was a dead-end corridor. The frightened men behind him now understood what he meant to do.
“We’ll hold them as long as we can, Dom,” one man promised. He and a partner took up positions on either side of the corridor, their meager weapons drawn and ready. “We’ll give you enough time.”
Dominic paused for just a moment. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“You never have, sir. We all knew the risks when we joined you.”
He reached the open door to the armored storage chamber just as a loud explosion rang out behind him. The walls collapsed, breaking through the polymer sheath and sealing him and his men down there. But he had never intended to leave anyway.
The Sardaukar would cut their way through the barrier within minutes. They had smelled the blood of Dominic Vernius and would not stop until they had him in their hands.
He allowed himself a mirthless smile. Shaddam’s men were in for a surprise.
Dominic used the palm lock to seal the vault doors, even as he saw the collapsed barricade glowing with inner heat. Solid walls muffled the sounds behind him.
Shielded by the heavy vault door, Dominic turned to look at the remaining items in his atomic stockpile. He chose one of the stone burners, a smaller weapon whose yield could be calibrated to destroy an entire planet, or just wreak havoc in a specified area.
The Sardaukar began hammering on the thick door as he removed the stone burner from its case and studied the controls. He never thought he’d need to understand these weapons. They were meant as doomsday devices, never to be used— whose mere existence should have been a sufficient deterrent against overt aggression. Under the Great Convention, any use of atomics would bring down the combined military forces of the Landsraad to destroy the offending family.
The men out in the corridor were already dead. Dominic had nothing left to lose.
He tamped down the fuel consumption of the stone burner and set the activation mechanism to vaporize only the vicinity of the base. No need to wipe out all the innocents on Arrakis.
That was the sort of thing only a Corrino would do.
He felt like an ancient sea captain going down with his ship. Dominic harbored only one regret: that he hadn’t had a chance to say his farewells to Rhombur and Kailea after all, to tell them how much he loved them. They would have to carry on without him.
Through a blur of tears, he thought he saw a shimmering image of Shando again, her ghost . . . or just his wishful desires. She moved her mouth, but he couldn’t tell if she was scolding him for his recklessness— or welcoming him to join her.
The Sardaukar cut their way through the frozen wall itself, bypassing the thick door. As they entered the vault, smug and victorious, Dominic did not fire at them. He simply looked down at the scant remaining time on the stone burner.
The Sardaukar saw it, too.
Then everything turned white-hot.
If God wishes thee to perish, He causes thy steps to lead thee to the place of thy demise.
— Cant of the Shariat
Of all the covert attempts C’tair Pilru had made during twenty years as a guerrilla fighter on Ix, he had never dared to disguise himself as one of the Tleilaxu M
asters. Until now.
Desperate and alone, he could think of nothing else to do. Miral Alechem had vanished. The other rebels were dead, and he had lost all contact with his outside supporters, the smugglers, the transport officials willing to accept bribes. Young women continued to disappear, and the Tleilaxu operated with complete impunity.
He hated them all.
With cold calculation, C’tair waited in a deserted corridor up in the office levels and killed the tallest robed Master he could find. He preferred not to resort to murder to achieve his aims, but he did not shrink from it, either. Some actions were necessary.
Compared to the blood on the hands of the Tleilaxu, his heart and conscience remained clean.
He stole the gnomish man’s clothes and identity cards and prepared to discover the secret of the Bene Tleilax research pavilion. Why was Ix so important that the Emperor would send his Sardaukar here to support the invaders? Where had all the captive women been taken? It had to be more than simple politics, more than the petty revenge of Shaddam’s father against Earl Vernius.
The answer must lie within the high-security laboratory.
Miral had long suspected an illegal biological project, one that operated with covert Imperial support— perhaps even something that went against the strictures of the Butlerian Jihad. Why else would the Corrinos be willing to risk so much, for so long? Why else had they invested so heavily here, while overall Ixian profits diminished?
Determined to discover the answers, he donned the robes of the slain Tleilaxu Master, shifting the folds and cinching the maroon sash to hide the dark stain of drying blood. Then he disposed of the body, dumping it into the reopened field-lined shafts to the molten core of the planet. Where the garbage was supposed to go.
In a secret storeroom, he applied chemicals to his face and hands to leach the remaining color from his already-pale flesh, and smeared wrinkling substances on his face to give himself the gray-skinned, shriveled appearance of a Tleilaxu overlord. He wore thin-soled slippers to keep his height down, and hunched over a little. He wasn’t a large man, and he was aided by the fact that the Tleilaxu were not the most observant of people. C’tair needed to be most wary of the Sardaukar.
Dune: House Harkonnen Page 53
