Road to Dune

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

  He gestured, and Esmar Tuek brusquely escorted the man away.

  THOUGH HE HAD many concerned advisors to assist him, Jesse knew that the terrible decision was his alone to make.

  He summoned his security chief to the office chamber, along with the men in charge of monitoring spaceport operations and spice distribution. “The only response to such a terrible ultimatum,” Jesse began, “is to find an even greater threat to hold over our enemy. That is what I intend to do.”

  Tuek’s brow furrowed. “That could escalate the situation out of control.”

  Jesse slammed his fist on the table and rose to his feet. “They threatened to kill my son!” He swept his gaze around the group of uneasy men. When he saw that he had them cowed, he sat down again and repeated in a quieter but more menacing voice, “They threatened to kill my son.”

  “So what will you do, My Lord?” Tuek said. “We are prepared to follow your commands.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jesse looked toward a window that overlooked the city. Emperor Wuda’s yacht, visible on the other side of dwelling complexes and habitation domes, was well guarded. Tuek had proposed a commando operation to swarm the craft with the best Catalan soldiers and snatch the hostage boy. But Jesse could only foresee disaster in such an attempt. So he played another card instead, the ultimate gambit.

  “Send a message to Gurney Halleck. Tell him to rig explosives laced with toxic contaminants to all of our spice stockpiles. Be prepared to destroy all one hundred thousand Imperial tons of concentrated melange.”

  There were gasps and murmurs around the table. Each man knew that such an amount of spice would not only buy offworld passage for the entire population of Duneworld, but would allow them to live like nobles for the rest of their lives.

  Tuek nodded slowly. “That will definitely get the Grand Emperor’s attention, My Lord. Which security code should I use for the message?”

  “No code, Esmar I want the Emperor to hear it. Tell Gurney to rig the spice harvesters and carryalls, too. Let’s make it as hard on the Emperor as possible. If people are already rioting for spice, the nobles could overthrow Wuda for this.”

  “You’re pushing back awfully hard,” Tuek said quietly.

  “It doesn’t match the executioner’s axe they hold over my head.” Jesse narrowed his eyes. He had done what no other person had ever accomplished: He had gone beneath the surface of Duneworld, seen the interconnected spice plants and the network of struggling life in the desert, and returned alive after three days. Now Jesse would deliver an ultimatum to trump all ultimatums. “Next, Esmar, remove all the reactor drives from our fleet of ships. Build as many crude nuclear warheads as you can, and disperse them to the richest spice veins in the desert. How many drives do you think we can scavenge in the next few hours?”

  The general withheld his questions and calculated. “More than a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty.”

  Jesse’s face was a grim mask of determination. “Good. We need our family atomics.”

  “KEEP THE CONCUBINE, Emperor,” he said in a voice colder than the icecaps on Catalan. As he recorded his message, Jesse spoke with a righteous anger and a raw power that made his threat utterly convincing. “But know this—if you do not release my son unharmed, if you force my hand, I will destroy every speck of melange on this planet, now and forever.”

  He slapped the messagestat cylinder into the hand of an alarmed and chastened-looking Ulla Bauers. “Make no mistake, without my son, without my title, and with the overwhelming debt I have incurred, I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

  Jesse sent the Counselor scurrying to the Imperial yacht, then sat in the headquarters mansion and waited for the Emperor’s response.

  33

  Duneworld is not a dead planet after all, but full of hidden and marvelous life. Humans, however, can change that in short order.

  —DR. BRYCE HAYNES,

  Ecological Notebooks

  From the sun-filtered window in a high tower of the mansion, Jesse looked across the rooftops and crags of Carthage toward the secondary spaceport. His message had been delivered to the Grand Emperor six hours ago, but so far the Imperial yacht remained silent and ominous.

  Gurney Halleck had sent confirmation that all stockpile silos, hidden cave caches, spice harvesters, and carryalls had been rigged with conventional explosives and toxic contaminants. Jesse did not doubt the spice foreman would destroy it all if given the command. In a maddeningly cheery voice, Gurney added over the open channel that his inventory calculations had actually underestimated the stores of melange—when fully compiled, all the hidden storehouses actually held an extra four thousand Imperial tons. It was an added twist of the dagger into the Emperor’s side.

  Esmar Tuek had used their nuclear engines to create seventeen dirty atomic warheads, which had been dispersed to the richest spice sands, where they could be remotely detonated on a moment’s notice.

  Emperor Wuda and his advisors knew that Jesse was not bluffing … .

  Dr. Haynes became frantic when he learned about the desperate tactics. The planetary ecologist sent an urgent message from the forward base. “This is not a game, Nobleman Linkam! The Grand Emperor is deadly serious, and I don’t think he’ll back down.”

  “Neither will I.”

  “Nuclear fallout will destroy the spice cycle, break the biological chain, and make the sandworms and spice plants extinct. You could wipe it all out forever!”

  “I hold my son in the highest possible regard,” Jesse said icily, forcing the scientist to believe his intent. “If the Emperor harms him, he will pay the price, even if it costs the ecosystem of this planet and the industry on which the Empire is addicted.” Abruptly, he terminated the communication and went back to waiting.

  With a heavy heart, Jesse understood that if Haynes was correct, if most of the nobility really were fatally addicted to melange—including Jesse himself—then his action would be a death sentence upon most of the leaders in the Empire. The subsequent political turmoil would be unimaginable.

  No, Jesse was not bluffing.

  He thought of his compliant father and his ridiculous brother. Maybe it was for the best, Jesse thought, if the Known Universe was finally cleansed of the decadent and parasitic noble families. Recent events had proved beyond any possible doubt that “nobles” and “honor” were not necessarily related.

  He had meant to win the challenge fairly. He had intended to divulge the shock-canister technique for harvesting larger amounts of spice, present the Emperor with his share of the huge stockpiles, and claim his victory. But House Linkam had never been meant to win. From the very beginning, the Grand Emperor, House Hoskanner, even much of the Nobles’ Council had set him up to fail.

  My enemies underestimated me.

  Looking out on the dusty city and the desert beyond, Jesse longed for greenery as wide as the rice-paddy region of his beloved Catalan. He wanted to hear the trickle of rain and smell the iodine sea, hear the waves crash against jagged rocks, the laughter and songs of fishermen coming in with nets swollen from their catch. He had grown tired of the rattlesnake whisperings of blowing sand on barren Duneworld, and the odors of dust, sweat, and melange.

  He ached with grief. Still clinging to an irrational hope that it might have been a trick, that someone had framed Dorothy, he wished she could be at his side. Despite all he had heard, he didn’t know if he could live without her.

  As the sky shifted into a pastel sunset, soft orange colors glinted off the Emperor’s yacht. The first shadows of dusk began to creep outward from the tall mountains. Still nothing but silence.

  His heart heavy, Jesse imagined Barri held in a prison cell. And Dorothy, too? Or had she sold her allegiance to the Emperor, to the Hoskanners, or to both? Desperately, Jesse wanted everything back the way it had been a scant two years ago: he, his son, and Dorothy, running the family operations on Catalan, content with realistic ambitions instead of the folly of Duneworld. He had never wanted to come here in the
first place … .

  Without warning, the Emperor’s yacht exploded.

  The sky lit up in a massive fireball, and Jesse jumped back from the window. A moment after the flash, a resounding boom slammed the thick windows of the observation tower. The shockwave vibrated the plaz as if someone had struck a dulcimer with a heavy mallet. Objects rattled in the room and fell off tables and shelves, crashing to the floor.

  At the landing field, a powerful detonation had blasted out the sides of the gaudily armored hull. The white-hot flames of ignited fuel burned like cutting torches, tearing through walls and bulkheads, shattering windowports, spraying debris high into the air. A secondary eruption drove blue-and-orange flames into the inferno, blasting a pillar of fire skyward.

  Moments later, Tuek ran into the room, his face florid, his eyes wide. “My Lord, did you see—”

  Jesse reeled, breathing hard, unable to find words. He gestured listlessly toward the window. Outside, debris rained from the sky.

  The nobleman brought a mounted telescope around and with shaking hands trained it on the landing field. Heavy frameworks bent and tilted, then crashed over into the flames. Several dead Imperial guards lay strewn like broken toys across the armorpave field. Interminable minutes passed before Carthage emergency crews arrived and went to work with chemical extinguishers. The entire yacht was incinerated.

  Jesse’s knees turned to powder and could no longer support him. He slumped into a chair, almost missing the seat, but caught himself. He sat back, so numb he was unable to weep, and unable to absorb the immense scale of the tragedy.

  Dorothy and Barri, both aboard the yacht, had been annihilated in the horrendous conflagration—along with the Emperor.

  DURING THE SPICE challenge, Jesse Linkam had fought impossible odds and finally figured out a way to earn his victory. Now he wanted to squeeze until he crushed his enemies. His broken heart was held together only by stitches of revenge.

  Despite his grief and shock, Jesse was his own man, more wily than his father or brother had been, more able to survive in the face of adversity. He still had the leverage to escape the numerous traps arrayed against him, but he needed to remain rational and strong, not allowing his emotional side to take over.

  From Dr. Haynes, he now understood that control of Duneworld’s melange provided more leverage than any other House held. He who controls the spice controls the Known Universe, Jesse thought.

  With innocent Barri dead, he now stood as the only survivor of House Linkam. He despised the incomprehensible treachery that had rendered him as cold and calculating as any of his so-called “noble” enemies … .

  Less than half an hour after the explosion, a contrite and distraught Ulla Bauers rushed to the headquarters mansion, as if hoping to prevent Jesse from overreacting to the disaster.

  In the austere parlor on the main floor, Jesse regarded the ferretlike man with disdain, wishing Bauers had been killed in the explosion as well. His dark blue coat and billowing shirt had ashes on them, which he tried to brush off as he stood there.

  “What do you want?” Jesse’s words were like knives. He wanted to kill this wretched Imperial spokesman who had shoved all possible acceptable outcomes over a sheer cliff.

  Bauers started to smile, then seemed to think better of it and formed a thin, straight line with his mouth. “I come bearing good news, Nobleman Linkam! The Grand Emperor himself is safe after the horrific explosion of the Imperial yacht. At the last moment, he was informed of a deadly Hoskanner assassination plot upon his person and managed to shuttle over to the inspection ship, just in time. He escaped only moments before the bombs detonated.”

  “A Hoskanner assassination plot?” Jesse’s rough voice oozed skepticism.

  “Yes, Nobleman.”

  “And what about my son and my concubine?”

  “Ahh, I am very sorry. Despite rescue efforts, there were no survivors aboard the yacht. How could there have been?”

  “Yes,” Jesse said, his heart sinking once more. He clenched and unclenched his fists, wanting to strangle the man with his bare hands. “How could there have been? Very convenient, don’t you think?”

  “The Grand Emperor expresses his deep regret that these discussions got out of hand. It was Valdemar Hoskanner who suggested the idea of kidnapping your son. I assure you, the Emperor never intended to harm the boy in any way. You are, after all, his noble cousin.”

  “Noble? He is not noble! My son is dead because of him.”

  “Hmmm, a casualty of the foul Hoskanner plot, I’m afraid. Nothing to do with the Grand Emperor. It seems Valdemar planned to kill the Emperor, disgrace the Linkam family, and seize the Imperial throne for himself, along with all spice production. The Emperor was deceived. He is quite pained at the misery you must be going through.” Bauers bent in a formal bow. “With sincere apologies, he begs your forgiveness. He wants to make amends, somehow. Provided you release your hoard—after keeping an appropriate profit for House Linkam—you will be allowed to maintain control of spice operations here on Duneworld.”

  “My son is dead, and the Emperor wishes to bargain with me?” Jesse drew himself up, feeling the burn of anger.

  “Your son is dead because of Valdemar Hoskanner.”

  Jesse wanted to spit. “Really? And what is to become of Valdemar Hoskanner, if he is such a despicable criminal?”

  “Ahh, the Grand Emperor has already signed a decree that his House is to be stripped of all power and possessions.” The prissy man risked a broad smile. “So you see, Nobleman, justice will be done. From now on, you will have control of all the Duneworld spice operations. The Grand Emperor is willing to offer a great many other concessions, provided of course that you withdraw your threat of destroying the melange hoard and, hmmm, remove all atomics from the spice fields.”

  Jesse narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe a word of it, strongly suspecting that the Emperor and Bauers had concocted a scheme to frame the Hoskanners—thus they could claim complete innocence while still getting their spice. The Counselor waited in fidgety silence; once, he swallowed so hard it was audible.

  But House Linkam would not surrender. Aflame with hatred, Jesse meant to make them pay until it hurt all the way to their bones. The raw Imperial politics they had directed against him would not pass unnoticed, or unpunished. He would make his enemies suffer for their actions. “What will happen to the holdings of House Hoskanner?”

  Bauers looked uncomfortable, as if he had hoped Jesse would not think of that detail. “Hmmm, perhaps they should be divided equally between House Linkam and the Grand Emperor.”

  “Not acceptable,” Jesse snapped. “It seems that Valdemar Hoskanner killed my only son and heir. The Grand Emperor himself admits this. For my suffering, I claim the right of vengeance. If Valdemar is truly to blame, then all of his holdings are forfeit. To me.”

  Bauers fidgeted. “Hmm, ah. I shall discuss that with Emperor Wuda.”

  Jesse leaned forward. “It is not a matter for discussion, Counselor. That is my ultimatum. If you want me to remove the atomic threat from the spice fields and disengage the booby traps from our large stockpiles—” He glanced over at Tuek. “How much spice was it again?”

  “One hundred four thousand Imperial tons of melange, My Lord,” the old veteran responded. “Packaged, processed, and ready for delivery. Unless you decide to destroy it.”

  Unblinking, Jesse stared at the Imperial representative. He felt sick inside, knowing that the ache of his personal loss would never go away, regardless of any concessions he received now. He didn’t want the spice holdings, control of Duneworld, or the Hoskanner family fortunes. But he did want the Emperor to feel the sting and pay for his part in the tragedy, even if he claimed to have been duped himself. “Do we have a deal?”

  The representative bowed slightly. “Agreed, Nobleman Linkam. Accept our congratulations for winning the challenge. You have indeed surpassed the Hoskanner output, and made your place in history on this day.”

&nbs
p; Jesse bit back a retort. He would gladly give up his place in history if he could just have his son back.

  After Bauers departed, Jesse sat feeling stunned, wanting only to be alone. Old Tuek stood beside him, seemingly filled with words and wanting to comfort his lord. But he remained silent.

  Jesse did not feel at all victorious.

  34

  There is nothing more satisfying than a vanquished foe.

  —VALDEMAR HOSKANNER

  Shortly before the Emperor’s yacht exploded, Dr. Cullington Yueh had been on board in a “secured” cabin where no outsiders could see him. Certainly, the Linkams would want to kill him as a traitor.

  As a result of Yueh’s betrayals, Emperor Wuda and the Hoskanners had gotten what they wanted, but the old surgeon no longer believed his wife would be returned to him. Even if Wanna did miraculously survive, he could never admit to his wife what he had done to get her released. The shame of it would be too great.

  Responding to a summons from the Grand Emperor, the agitated doctor had been permitted to leave his cabin. Two guards had escorted him into the audience chamber, telling him to wait until Wuda chose to see him. Alone except for his conscience, Yueh fidgeted beside an elegantly adorned porthole, an oval set in a delicately worked gold frame.

  Gazing blankly out at the city, the old doctor thought about how the aggressive bastards had met their match in Nobleman Linkam. Instead of bowing to the Emperor’s ultimatum after the kidnapping, Jesse had countered with a devastating threat of his own.

  Stalemate. The Emperor seemed not to understand the harsh decisions a person might be driven to make when he had nothing left to lose. Yueh knew that all too well himself. He wished he could have been so strong. Now he worried about Barri and Dorothy, and hated himself for his role in what had happened to them. He was supposed to be a healer. How could he ever justify putting their lives at risk?