Road to Dune

by Herbert, Brian; Anderson, Kevin J. ; Herbert, Frank

  Now she stiffened and drew away. “Not the first time you go out there, Jesse! He’s only eight.”

  “One day he’ll rule House Linkam. I’m not going to pamper him. You do that too much already.”

  “Most noble sons his age aren’t half as advanced as Barri is.”

  “You know how I feel about most of those noble sons.” He snorted. “Because of the position we’re in, Barri has to be ready at all times, for any situation. My father was poisoned, my brother died in a foolish bullfight, and I’ve roused the ire of the Hoskanners. What are the odds I’ll make it to my next birthday?”

  “All the more reason you shouldn’t risk Barri! I’ve seen the mortality statistics of the workers. Those men would be safer in a penal colony. How can you take our boy into the middle of that?”

  Jesse took a deep breath. When Dorothy set her mind on something, it was like trying to pry open the jaws of a gazehound from its quarry. “I do it because I am the head of House Linkam, and he is my son. He goes where I say he goes.” The iron tone of his voice cut off further protests, though he could tell she still had a lot more to say.

  “As you command, My Lord.” She would stew about it, running the discussion over and over in her head. Unwilling to accept his decision, and refusing to concede, she would be like ice to him—probably for days. “Stay here in the tower as long as you like. I will not wait up for you.”

  After Dorothy left, Jesse felt the great loneliness again. He feared that the next few days before the expedition departed would be even less pleasant than the storms of the deepest desert.

  COOLLY BUT DUTIFULLY supportive, Dorothy went to the secondary spaceport to bid her son farewell. Though she did her best to conceal her feelings, she could tell that the other members in the party sensed the wall between herself and Jesse.

  While the men boarded the transport ship for the forward research base, Jesse stood on the ramp with a hand on Barri’s shoulder. The grinning boy was clearly excited to be going on a grand desert adventure with his father. His blue-green eyes were alight above the face mask, and a tight hood held down his unruly brown hair.

  Dorothy gave Jesse a chaste kiss, then embraced their son, holding him a moment too long. “Be safe,” she said. Stepping back from the ramp, she lowered the gaze of her myrtle-brown eyes. Though General Tuek had already completed his inspection, she had quietly double-checked their preparations and provisions, satisfying herself that the team had reduced risks to the extent possible.

  “We’ll be as safe as Duneworld allows us to be,” Jesse said with a faint conciliatory note in his voice. Then he and Barri entered the craft and sealed the hatch.

  Dorothy did not stay to watch the vessel lift off and disappear toward the sand-smeared desert horizon.

  8

  The spice is a lens through which one can see the entire universe.

  —A SAYING OF THE FREEDMEN

  Followed by two water-supply ships, Jesse’s transport approached the forward research base near Duneworld’s equator.

  “Is that it?” Barri asked for the fourth time, as he looked past the pilot, through a front window. He’d mistaken practically every outcropping of rock for their destination, but when the base finally came into view, its appearance was unmistakable.

  “That’s it,” Jesse said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  The cheddar-colored wedge structure thrust up from the sand, surrounded by a low fortress wall of natural rock. Mottled tan domes circled the main building, everything aerodynamically curved so that storms could skim over the tops without causing damage. V-shaped rows of plantings fronted the settlement area like the ripples from a ship’s prow forging through a sandy ocean.

  Because the research outpost pursued Imperial-sponsored projects, most of the water burden was covered by a stipend from the Grand Emperor’s private budget; even so, Jesse knew what an exorbitant cost this oasis drained from the planetary treasury.

  William English worked his way back along the line of seats to sit beside Jesse. Outside, the bronze-orange sun settled toward the horizon. “We’re lucky we weren’t an hour later, or we’d have a bumpy ride. The rapid temperature change at sunset plays havoc with the weather.”

  “Will we see a storm?” Barri asked.

  “Not tonight, boy,” English said with a smile, tapping his scarred cheek. “I’d be able to feel one coming. I learned my lesson the hard way—so I can teach you not to take foolish chances.”

  “I won’t,” Barri said, his eyes wide.

  In the lead, the water-supply ships landed at two of the outlying tan domes. Moisture silos? Kicking up blown sand, the transport shuttle came down on a hardened landing area. Barri bounded up from his seat, anxious to see the research base, but a stern General Tuek told his passengers to wait. He and his men emerged, staying alert for traps. Jesse and his son did not come out until the security chief had given his okay.

  A brown-haired man with a sunburned face stepped up to greet them. He extended a dry, rough hand. “You must be Nobleman Linkam? I am Dr. Haynes, the planetary ecologist.” His curtained blue eyes twinkled, as if he was amused to meet the new master of Duneworld. Did he expect the Linkams to be any different from the Hoskanners?

  Though technically this man was an Imperial employee and not required to follow the instructions of any nobleman, Jesse hoped to secure him as a willing ally. “I understand that you’re an expert on this planet, Dr. Haynes—more than any other person alive. We are eager to learn what you know.”

  “If I understand more than any man about Duneworld, then it is a poorly known planet indeed.” He turned to Barri. “Is this your son?”

  “He is the next Linkam nobleman in waiting.”

  “Some would say this world is not a fit place for children.” The planetary ecologist frowned. “But those same people would claim that grown men don’t belong here, either.” He stepped aside to let the rest of the men exit the transport shuttle, and offered a familiar greeting to William English. The two men had obviously dealt with each other before.

  Haynes led the visitors toward the main base building. “We will go out again after dark,” he suggested. “On this planet, night is the most instructive time.” The doors sealed behind them to keep precious wisps of humidity from leaking into the arid air … .

  Hours later, guided by a small handlight, Jesse and Barri followed Dr. Haynes out into the rows of plantings. The softly cutting soprano smell of sage climbed a desert night lush with stars, and there came a stillness so unaltered that the moonlight itself could almost be heard flowing across sentinel saguaro and spiked paintbrush. Though Jesse still felt overwhelmed by his impossible task, he felt a special peace here, a barely defined reason why one might want to come to this world.

  “All these plants have been imported, genetically modified to survive. As near as we can tell, no chlorophyll-based vegetation is native to the planet.” Haynes walked among the rabbitbrush, trailing his fingers. A few night moths flitted in search of flowers. “With so little native moisture, even our most droughtresistant flora perishes without help.”

  “But why do this, then?” Jesse asked. “The only reason anyone would come here is for spice. Duneworld will never be a colony for anything else.”

  “I prefer to paint on a large canvas.” Haynes stared wistfully into the night. “I believe it’s possible to establish a permanent ecological cycle with humans in it as well as these hardy plants.”

  “No chlorophyll plants means nothing green,” Barri said, proving he’d been paying attention. Jesse was proud of his son, impressed with the education Dorothy had provided him. He was even correctly pronouncing difficult words.

  “Very perceptive, young Master,” the planetary ecologist said.

  “Is there other native vegetation then?” Jesse furrowed his brow. “Ah, there must be—otherwise there wouldn’t be any air.”

  “Duneworld might look barren, but there’s a rudimentary ecosystem within the sand itself: a form of
plankton—we believe that’s what the sandworms feed on—along with fleshy organisms we call sandtrout, which are like fish that burrow through the sands. Surveys have found native lichens surviving near the poles, as well as a type of moss and some wiry scrub. An additional source of atmospheric oxygen could be outgassing from volcanic vents. I believe there may be a large subterranean network beneath the sand.”

  “Underground? Can you use probes to map it out?”

  Haynes shook his head. “Whenever we try to make a map, all we get is a jumble. The sand itself has magnetic ferrous granules, and the constant storms generate too much static electricity. Even the worms produce their own fields.”

  “Is it possible to mine under the dunes? How about drilling or using blowers?”

  “Trust me, Nobleman, we have tried all these ideas. Subsurface shiftings always break the drills and pipes, and the shafts collapse. A standard stasis generator won’t work, since static from the blowing sand burns out the equipment. And whenever we ground the generators, the pulse attracts and infuriates the worms. In twenty years, we’ve lost more than a hundred people in efforts to develop spice-harvesting technology. Grabbing and running is the only technique that has worked at all, and that’s not terribly efficient.”

  Jesse gave him a confident smile. “Then perhaps, Dr. Haynes, I’ll count on you to find something different that we can do.”

  The planetary ecologist led them along the rows of plantings. From the side of a dune, a vent gurgled and hissed, painted with a splash of yellow and orange.

  “It stinks,” Barri said.

  “You know what that smell is,” Jesse prodded the boy.

  “Sulfur.”

  Haynes put his hand into the wisps of gas whistling from the fumarole. When he withdrew, his fingers were covered with yellowish powder. “Completely dry. No water content.” He looked over at Jesse. “Out in the open, you’ll see occasional eruptions, huge pillars of dust blasted into the sky like geysers. That strongly suggests an active world underneath the shifting dunes, trapped bubbles of superheated gas percolating explosively to the surface.”

  “Is that where spice comes from? Deep underground?” Barri asked.

  Haynes shrugged. “Maybe. The melange from a fresh blow is particularly potent and easy to harvest. Unfortunately, the worms are also attracted by these eruptions, so our crews don’t have much time.”

  “Infuriating guard dogs,” Jesse said. “I wish we could get rid of them.”

  “None of our attempts have been successful. I wouldn’t be surprised if it required an atomic blast to kill a great sandworm.”

  “We have atomics!” Barri piped up. “And all our ships run on reactor piles. General Tuek told me they can be converted if we get into a military engagement.”

  “We are not in a military engagement, Barri,” Jesse pointed out.

  “That is closer to the truth than you might think,” Haynes said. “We make hit-and-run spice raids on a worm’s territory, lightning attacks and rapid retreats.”

  He led his visitors past a stand of saguaros that stood in the shadows like the silhouettes of ghoulish men. When they reached the edge of the oasis, Haynes stopped them. “Stand there and face the desert. Open your mind and your senses—and just listen.”

  As the three stood in silence, Jesse heard a long, slow exhalation, as from a living creature.

  “Sandtides,” Haynes said, “the dunes wafting slowly in one direction and another, tugged by the two moons. This peristaltic action makes the free-rolling sand move a thousand to fifteen hundred feet a year.” Kneeling, he dug his fingers into the grains and closed his eyes. “The desert moves and breathes beneath you.”

  Barri hunkered down on the still-warm sand. “I miss the rain.”

  “Rain …” the planetary ecologist mused.

  Jesse gave his son’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He could not promise that either of them would ever see rain again.

  9

  No other planet in the Empire warrants closer examination than this supposedly barren world. When peeled back, each layer reveals another just beneath it, teeming with energy.

  —DR. BRYCE HAYNES,

  planetary ecologist assigned to study Duneworld

  After the morning thermals had stabilized enough for ornijets to fly over the desert, Jesse, Barri, and Dr. Haynes went out to observe spice operations. Foreman English was already out on the sands, deploying a huge harvester in a new vein of melange that had been uncovered by shifting dunes during the night.

  Dr. Haynes flew the small ornijet with ease. When another pilot transmitted a warning about a thermal sink, a patch of cold sand that created a pillar of dangerous turbulence, the ecologist adjusted course to avoid the anomaly. “Cold sands indicate ice caves deep beneath the surface,” he said to Jesse. “The temperature gradient creates a hazard.”

  “Underground ice caves? How many more surprises does Duneworld hold?”

  “More than anyone could tally, I’m afraid.”

  A plume of smoke and dust marked the ground operations. Jesse and Barri watched the giant mobile harvester lumber onto the dunes, gouging up great quantities of sand mixed with rust-colored spice. Scouts soared in widespread patrols to watch for any encroaching worms.

  From the ground, English demanded a satellite weather report. “I don’t like the looks of that line of dust on the eastern horizon.”

  Though the sky looked perfectly blue to Jesse, with only a bit of haze, he did not question the man’s intuition. Maybe his scar was tingling.

  “Weather satellites are clear. Nothing brewing.”

  “Check again.”

  A pause, then: “Still nothing on the sats, Mr. English.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  When the diligent patrols did spot an approaching worm, the well-practiced workers rushed back to their vehicles and evacuated with an efficient system of managed chaos. The powerful carryall lifted the support equipment, spice harvester, and ground machinery just as the oncoming subterranean ripples reached the work site. Barri moved from window to window in the ornijet, hoping for a glimpse of the desert monster, but the worm never surfaced. Jesse saw it churn beneath the ground and then tunnel away.

  Safe for the moment, the breathless crews reported how much spice they had excavated. It was a good haul. Jesse processed the numbers in his head: If only the crews could keep up that rate every second of every day for the next two years—without any mishaps—House Linkam might have a chance of beating the Hoskanners.

  A moment later, William English’s voice broke across the comm system. “We have a severe problem with the weather satellites!”

  In the excitement of evacuating the harvester, Jesse had forgotten about the foreman’s concern. “Nobleman Linkam here. What is it, English?”

  “I just tapped our scout flyers, then took a run to the east myself. Twelve different sightings confirm it, sir—there’s a Coriolis storm brewing in the vicinity, an anvil-shaped cloud covering the whole sky. I can’t predict a detailed path by eyeballing it, but I’d say it’s coming straight toward the base.”

  Jesse looked to the planetary ecologist for an explanation. Haynes picked up the transmitter. “If it’s that big, William, how could the satellites not have seen it?”

  “That’s just it—they couldn’t have missed it. But there’s no mistake, and that storm is coming.” A dark undertone of anger like a bloodstain seeped into his voice. “If we’d relied entirely on those satellites for a warning, we would’ve continued our operations until it was too late.”

  The answer flashed into Jesse’s mind as clear as weapons fire on a silent night: Hoskanner sabotage. “Recall our crews and scouts to the forward base where we’ll ride out the storm. Then somebody is going to get me answers. We need those satellites.”

  INSIDE THE SHIELDED buildings, Jesse held a war council with Tuek, Haynes, and English. They sat at a long worktable, talking above the noise of furious winds outside.

  Barri p
eered through an armored windowslit, trying to see past the murk. Like the men, he wore a sealable bodysuit with his face mask flapping loose. “Are we safe? Can the winds cut their way in here?”

  “This shelter is protected enough, young Master,” Dr. Haynes said. “Outside, though, that storm-driven sand can flay a man to his bones, and then etch the bones.”

  Getting down to business, Tuek spread documents on the table. “As near as I can determine, all the weather satellites were programmed to replace any readings of major weather disturbances with deceptively clear reports. Another goodbye gift from the Hoskanners.”

  Dr. Haynes looked at English with respect. “If you hadn’t sensed the storm, William, we would’ve been wiped out.” The scarred spice foreman sat stiffly, as if trying to suppress his continuing uneasiness.

  “It’s still a disaster,” Tuek said. “When we tried to delete the corrupted programming, we activated another trap, which shorted out the satellites. We’re completely blind in the skies now.” The veteran looked gray with disappointment. “I was searching for an outright assassination attempt, but this is much more insidious. Sweet affection, if only I’d foreseen it!”

  Jesse simmered as he listened. “What’ll it take to repair the satellites?”

  English said, “The damage is too extensive. We need to replace them.”

  Jesse put his elbows on the table. “Options?”

  English groaned. “Stop spice mining until we get new satellites.”

  “Unacceptable. That might take months.”

  Tuek suggested, “We could triple our scout flights to monitor the weather, do our best to predict dangers. But increased flights mean increased hazards as well. We’d lose flyers and pilots for sure.”