Road to Dune

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

  When the desserts were finished, more wine was poured. Then the Emperor nodded toward the captain of his guard. Four uniformed men took positions behind Ulla Bauers and Valdemar Hoskanner.

  The soldiers brought out glittering wire garrotes from their uniforms.

  Bauers looked over his shoulder, suddenly alarmed. “Hmm, ahhh, Sire—what is this?”

  “So they’ve found you out, after all.” Valdemar’s voice was brittle and resigned, as if he had been squeezed of all emotion during his confinement.

  Jesse stared in surprise and shock at the Imperial theatrics.

  Casually, the Grand Emperor’s forefinger pointed from Hoskanner to Bauers like a metronome, back and forth, as if playing a childish game of chance, trying to decide which man to choose. The finger came to rest, pointing directly at Valdemar Hoskanner.

  “So,” Valdemar said to the plump Emperor. “This is our final exchange?”

  “Regrettably so,” Wuda said. “You have engaged in behavior unbecoming of a nobleman, and in the process you almost destroyed the spice, Duneworld, and House Linkam. For your unpardonable acts, your Noble House shall forever live in infamy. We are adding your family name to the Imperial Dictionary as an interesting new noun. ‘Hoskanner: A disgraced nobleman.’”

  Already defeated, Valdemar did not respond.

  “Thus I grant you an odd sort of immortality,” Wuda said. “At least you have left your indelible mark on history, unlike so many people who are soon forgotten, as if they never lived at all.”

  With a feral smile, Valdemar tilted his head so that one of the soldiers could more easily slip the sharp wire around his neck. It took only seconds. He slumped, then fell onto the floor, taking the chair over with him.

  Across the table, Bauers had turned gray, fidgeting more than ever. The Emperor said in a strangely reassuring voice, “The same fate is not in store for you, Counselor.”

  Bauers looked relieved until the second guard reached down and yanked back his voluminous black collar to reveal a tiny gray tattoo in the shape of a horned cobra, the symbol of House Hoskanner.

  Jesse shouted, rising to his feet. From behind him, he heard Tuek and his men engage their weapons.

  Dorothy looked at the Counselor’s neck. “I saw part of that mark earlier, but I didn’t know what it was!”

  The Emperor gestured casually, and the guard whipped the garrote around Bauers’s throat. The ferretlike man gasped and thrashed. “You said … you said I wouldn’t …”

  “I said the same fate is not in store for you. Oh, you’ll still be executed, but we won’t bother to reserve a place in history for you, Ulla. You’ll simply be forgotten.” Bauers gurgled and clawed so much that he probably heard little of what the Emperor continued to say.

  Looking down the table, Jesse saw that Dorothy did not squirm in her chair as she watched, though her face bore a squeamish expression. She met his gaze, and he saw no pleasure in it, only sadness.

  “The whole affair was a debacle from the start,” Wuda said to the struggling man, “and you nearly caused my Empire to fall. Your idea of the spice challenge, the threats you advised me to make, your participation in the kidnapping plan.”

  Bauers kicked and squirmed, tugging on the sharp cord until his fingers were as bloody as his neck.

  “I am very sorry, Ulla, but how can I ever accept your counsel again?”

  Though Bauers took longer to die, soon the guards dumped his body beside Valdemar’s on the floor.

  “Well, that was the special dessert I planned,” the Grand Emperor said. “Anyone for aperitifs?”

  Showing no emotion, though his insides roiled, Jesse summoned a server to bring the after-dinner drinks, while the Emperor’s guards dragged the two bodies away.

  “Such a shame,” the fleshy leader mused. “All this time, I thought he was working for me. I only learned about the tattoo yesterday, and immediately placed him under surveillance. You see, I am as much of a victim in this conspiracy as you are.”

  “Faulty advice is always dangerous,” Jesse said.

  “You and I will have to work more closely together in the future, Nobleman,” Wuda said. “I assure you, there will be no more problems between us.”

  “That is my sincere wish.” Jesse wanted to say a great deal more, but his prudent side made him keep his silence. He and Dorothy had decided to spend the greater part of the year at his Catalan holdings, leaving Gurney Halleck on Duneworld as spice foreman. They had already begun to make quiet plans to build up the riches and power of House Linkam, and form solid alliances with a few members of the Nobles’ Council, to assemble defenses against the scheming Grand Emperor.

  In a way, Jesse found it ironic that he was using techniques he had learned from observing Wuda himself. The pasty man had an innocuous appearance but was in reality extremely sharp, observant, and manipulative, with a seemingly inexhaustible repertoire of schemes. His treacheries had folded and tangled together, leaving a difficult trail to follow—one that Jesse would take some time to unravel, if he ever could. This much seemed clear: The way Wuda worked it, he always placed himself in position to rake in the spoils.

  If Jesse had lost the challenge, Valdemar would have paid the Emperor huge bribes, and everything would have gone back to the way it had been. When Jesse won instead, the Emperor successfully destroyed the powerful House Hoskanner, which might have posed a threat to his throne. In addition, the challenge forced House Linkam to develop an innovation in spice-harvesting methods that the Hoskanners would never have bothered to attempt. Now melange exports from Duneworld would dramatically increase.

  Wheels within wheels, Jesse thought. I have much to learn, to protect my House.

  There were few people in this universe the nobleman could truly trust. He could count them on the fingers of both hands. Or one. Gurney, Esmar, Dorothy. Dorothy. A tremendous, undeniable impulse came over him.

  When the sweet wines were arrayed before them, the customary choice of three stemmed glasses for each of the diners, Jesse raised a glass and said, “I have an announcement of my own, Sire. A toast to my news!”

  “And what is that?” the Grand Emperor inquired in the most erudite of tones, as if he had just deigned to speak directly to an underling.

  Knowing that Dorothy had not betrayed him and had only been trying to save their son, Jesse decided to throw caution and time-honored traditions to the winds. He had made the Emperor wealthier than his wildest dreams, and that should put him in a sympathetic mood.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, Jesse looked down the table at her. “Dorothy Mapes, you are my concubine, the mother of my son, and my loyal companion, but I’m afraid that is no longer sufficient for me.” He spoke as if no one existed in the entire universe except the two of them.

  She stared at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and love, as if she knew what he was about to say. She had always said she expected him to choose a woman from a powerful family, joining their Houses in a noble marriage. Now that he had control of Duneworld and all of the melange operations, Jesse would receive many such offers.

  Then he stunned her. “Will you become my wife?”

  “But … that’s not possible, Jesse. You know it.”

  “House Linkam cannot exist without you, my love,” Jesse insisted, “and I cannot live without you. The nobles may be addicted to spice and power, but I am addicted to you.”

  Unexpected tears sparkled in Dorothy’s eyes, and Jesse hurried down the table to her. She looked up at him, then became harder and more sensible. “No, Jesse. I am a mere concubine, without any noble blood. You and I can never marry. I will not be the ruin of your great House!”

  He turned a sharp, implacable look toward the plump Wuda. “I’m certain our Grand Emperor will give us a special dispensation. As he’s told us before, he is the embodiment of Imperial law. The Emperor can change it whenever he sees fit to do so.”

  Inton Wuda gave a bored wave of assent as he sampled the second liqueur. Obvi
ously, he had expected news of more significance. “I think you’re a fool, Linkam, but it’s the least troublesome request you have made in some time.”

  Jesse sipped from a small glass of melange distillate, warming his mouth and throat. Setting the drink down, he held her and looked into her myrtle-brown eyes. “Marrying you may not be the best political path for House Linkam, but forget all that, Dor! After what we’ve just achieved, we can certainly overcome a few mutterings at court.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “If My Lord insists …”

  He kissed her, and her mouth tasted like spice.

  “From this day forward, you shall be known as Lady Dorothy Linkam,” he said. “True nobility is not a birthright—it must be earned.”

  THE ROAD TO DUNE

  “THEY STOPPED THE MOVING SANDS”

  In 1957, Frank Herbert chartered a small plane and flew to Florence, Oregon, to write a magazine article about a research project being conducted by the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The USDA had discovered a successful method of stabilizing sand dunes, planting poverty grasses on the crests of dunes to keep them from encroaching on roads and buildings. Experts were traveling to Florence from all over the world to see the project, since many areas were experiencing problems similar to those occurring in the Sahara Desert, where advancing sands were causing severe damage. Frank Herbert was very excited about the article, which he titled “They Stopped the Moving Sands.” He sent a detailed outline to his agent, Lurton Blassingame, along with photographs.

  The agent expressed only lukewarm interest and refused to send it out to publishers until it was reworked. Ultimately, Frank Herbert lost enthusiasm for the magazine article, and it was never published. It formed the beginning, however, of more than five years of intense research and writing that would culminate in Dune.

  Here, for the first time, we are pleased to publish Frank Herbert’s notes for the magazine article.

  from the desk of FRANK HERBERT

  July 11, 1957

  Dear Lurton,

  Enclosed are some pix to explain an article I’d like to have queried around. Briefly, it involves the control of sand dunes which have been known to swallow whole cities, lakes, rivers, highways. The dunes in these pix for a time threatened part of an Oregon coastal town. Several agencies attacked the problem some ten years ago in a combined operation there. They’ve come up with the first answer to shifting sands that’s known in all history. It’s so successful that Israel, Chile, the Philippines and several other nations have sent experts to Oregon to learn how it’s done.

  Sand dunes pushed by steady winds build up in waves analogous to ocean waves except that they may move twenty feet a year instead of twenty feet a second. These waves can be every bit as devastating as a tidal wave in property damage … and they’ve even caused deaths. They drown out forests, kill game cover, destroy lakes, fill harbors.

  Millions of acres of Chilean coast have been made unfit for humans by these shifting sands. Israel fights a constant battle with surrounding deserts. Several Oregon harbors have been plagued by this problem. And there are hundreds of other trouble spots all over the world.

  The scientists working on the Oregon coast found that the sand could be controlled completely only by the use of one type of grass that will grow in such places and tie down the sand with an intricate inter-lacing of roots. This grass is extremely difficult to grow in nurseries, and a whole system of handling it had to be worked out. They tried more than 11,000 different types of grass before hitting on this one … and they were working against time because of the sand invasion along this stretch of coast.

  It makes an exciting story with a very nice conservation twist and some excellent human angles. Let’s see if somebody wants it.

  I’m still plugging along on the new novel. You’ll see it soon.

  Best regards,

  Frank

  THE PROPOSAL:

  The small Oregon coastal town of Florence is the scene of an unsung victory in the fight that men have been waging since before the dawn of recorded history. The fight is with moving sand—with dunes.

  Sand dunes pushed by steady winds build up waves like ocean waves—except that they may move as little as twenty feet a year instead of twenty feet a second. But these slow motion waves can be every bit as devastating to property as a seismic wave—and the damage can be more lasting.

  Wind-driven dunes have swallowed whole cities and towns from ancient times down to modern times. Ask any archaeologist about sand covered Tel Amerna, the city of the Horizon of Aten built by Akhenaton and his wife, Nefertiti, on the Nile banks. Here are only a few of the communities that have fought a losing battle with sand: Murzuk in the Sahara, Washari and a string of other settlements of the Kum-tagh desert in Sinkiang, hundreds of towns along the Hadhramaut coast of Arabia, Inca settlements and more recent ones on the Peruvian and Chilean coast from Trujillo south past Callao and Caldera.

  Dunes have swallowed rivers—on the Guinea coast of Africa and in French West Africa near Njeil—and there are other recorded instances.

  Dunes have threatened harbors—on Samar in the Philippines, along Africa’s Guinea Gulf, along the Inca coast of Peru and Chile—and the port of Siuslaw, Oregon, where the solution was found.

  Millions of acres of Chilean and Peruvian coast have been made unfit for humans by shifting sands. Israel fights a constant battle with surrounding deserts. Harbors all over the world are plagued by this problem.

  In 1948, several federal and state agencies centered a study of dunes at Florence, Oregon, a town threatened by moving sand. Efforts were focused on the Port of Siuslaw and the Siuslaw River, both in the path of advancing dunes.

  It took ten years, but this group, under the direction of Thomas Flippin (work unit conservationist for the Siuslaw Soil Conservation District), has come up with the first enduring answer to shifting sands in all history. It’s so successful that Israel, Chile, Egypt, the Philippines and other nations have sent experts to Oregon to learn how to fight their sands.

  Briefly, the scientists working the Oregon coast found that sand could be controlled only by use of one type of grass (European beach grass) and a system of follow-up plantings with other growth. The grass sets up a beachhead by holding down the sand in an intricate lacing of roots. This permits certain other plants to gain a foothold. The beach grass is extremely difficult to grow in nurseries, and part of the solution to the dune problem involved working out a system for propagating and handling the grass.

  More than 11,000 different types of grass were tried by this group in Oregon before they hit on a way of handling beach grass—and they were working against time because the sand invasion along this stretch was swallowing houses, railroad tracks, Highway 101, the port of Siuslaw and a nearby lake … and it was drowning out game cover along forty miles of coast.

  How the group in Oregon solved the many problems that go into taming the sands and how their solution works make an exciting story with an excellent conservation twist and human interest through the people who won the battle.

  July 29, 1957

  Dear Frank,

  Control of sand dunes may be a story; it is fairly limited in appeal but certainly worth trying if you’ll make your outline a little more detailed. You should put it on a page without any date, just an outline, and give the answers to the questions I’ve written along the margins. We should also know how widespread the use of this grass is now and how rapidly it is being multiplied.

  Cordially,

  Lurton

  (Note: Lurton Blassingame sent two letters with the same date on them.)

  July 29, 1957

  Dear Frank,

  There may be a piece in your battle of the sand dunes but your outline still doesn’t indicate it. You give much more space here to telling about the cities the sand has destroyed than you do in telling us how the battle has been won. There’s no statement about the size or the number of dunes moving on Florence and Port Siuslaw. We do
n’t know the size of either of these towns. You don’t tell us how many miles of road and railroad were destroyed. I presume that the victory has been won and, if so, how far apart are Florence and Siuslaw? This outline is so vague. What has happened to the railroad? If the battle has been won, has the crew gone back to some other kind of work or are they rushing on to fight the moving sand dunes somewhere else in the country?

  The outline and the story should deal with the battle to save these towns. If you put in any history, it will be just to let us see how hopeless the battle seemed, since it had never been won before. And the story probably should be tied around the man in charge so that there can be human interest in it. American editors don’t give a damn about Murzuk and Kum-tagh; they don’t even know what these names mean. If you’re going to get an okay for a piece, you’re going to have to devote the major space in your outline to interesting a U.S. editor NOW.

  Cordially,

  Lurton

  THE LETTERS OF DUNE

  On an odyssey to understand his enigmatic father, Brian researched the biography Dreamer of Dune and then wrote new Dune novels with Kevin. During this process, we pored over Frank Herbert’s notes, correspondence, and drafts. The files were in several locations, spread across more than a thousand miles. Unraveling the mysteries of this legendary author, and of his masterpiece, Dune, was formidable and fascinating.