After losing his Wayku allies, Bronso would no longer have an effective method of distributing his material, but his ideas would not be silenced. Over the years, his constant questions and challenges to Muad’Dib’s mythology had gained their own momentum. Other critics had taken up the effort as well, raising further questions and collecting additional data on the numerous atrocities. Many people were cautious, but others less timid; they had begun to write their own analyses, targeting the errors and the lack of objectivity in Irulan’s reports, especially those that had been published since Paul’s death. The die had been cast. . . .
At the appointed time in late afternoon, wearing nondescript clothes, Jessica rode a small, rickety taxi through one of the city’s slums. With its narrow, cluttered streets and dilapidated buildings, Carthag had grown even more tarnished and tattered since the defeat of the Harkonnens.
Her hood pulled forward to hide her face, she had removed her noseplugs to keep her senses alert. With her sense of smell, she searched the odors of the old city, absorbing her surroundings.
Many of the stained, blocky buildings—architecturally simple prefab structures erected for Harkonnen spice workers and the support industry—had grown like diseased organisms, patched and expanded with random and irregular sheets of metal and plaz. Dirty children played amidst junk and vermin.
Making a snort of either disbelief or disapproval, the escort driver stopped the small taxi. “Your destination, ma’am.” While driving her along, the man had studied her on the rearview screen, trying to see through the façade of her worn clothing and her serviceable but faded stillsuit, as if he sensed Jessica might be someone more important than she was letting on. “Watch out for yourself around here. Would you like me to stay with you? I could walk you wherever you need to go—no extra charge.”
“That’s very generous of you, and gallant, but I can take care of myself.” Her tone left no doubt that she could. She paid him a generous gratuity.
Looking up, Jessica saw a six-story building that might have toppled over from the weight of its decay, if not for adjacent structures propping it up. She stepped out onto broken pavement and walked along, seeming to ignore—yet intently aware of—shadowy figures lurking in doorways, watching her.
Bronso’s instructions had told her to go through a metalloy gate on a side street. She pushed it open with a creak that sounded like a small, panicked scream, then climbed a plazcrete stairway to an upper level and turned right into a dark hallway. The odors of a poorly sealed body-reclamation still oozed into the confined space. The Fremen believed that evil smells were bad omens; at the very least, this one showed sloppy water discipline.
Before she could rap on a scarred door, it opened, and Bronso rushed her inside, out of sight. He closed the door quickly.
Just before sunset, Duncan Idaho stepped out of a groundcar down the street from the target building in Carthag; Gurney followed close behind him. Uniformed men and women closed around the two men from their stakeout positions, moving from street to street. Gurney had insisted on participating in this operation, and the ghola did not seem to suspect that the two of them had entirely different agendas.
Though he knew the truth, Gurney felt trapped in a great Coriolis storm of events, and he didn’t know how he could salvage the situation. Duncan and his troops were closing in.
The tracer on Bronso’s ’thopter had pinpointed his location. For three days now, a ten-block radius around his dwelling had been kept under close military scrutiny. Only moments before, the hidden watchers had seen a disguised fellow conspirator hurry inside to see him, and Duncan was about to spring the trap.
Though the visitor’s features had been largely concealed, Gurney felt sick, sure he knew who the woman was, though Duncan did not seem to suspect. Alia’s soldiers, intent on capturing Bronso, would swarm inside, and the trap would close around Lady Jessica as well as the Ixian. Gurney worked his jaw, clenched his fists, struggled to find any possible solution, but he could think of no way to save her. If Jessica’s collusion with Bronso were exposed, not only would it defeat everything she—and Paul—had hoped to accomplish, but she would undoubtedly face death. Without question, Alia would order the execution of her own mother.
Gurney’s greatest fear was for Jessica’s safety. If faced with the choice between saving her or the Ixian . . . she was more important than anything to him. How can I protect you from this, my Lady?
Duncan had all of his troops in place and ready.
At the forefront of the operation, the two men entered a dilapidated building across the street from the target structure. A lean military officer in a sandy camouflage uniform met them, identifying himself as Levenbrech Orik. With gestures made jerky by his excitement over the culmination of the long hunt, Orik led Gurney and Duncan past anxious soldiers to the crumbling stairwell. On the sixth floor, they crossed a littered hallway out to a wide-open room with a small balcony. Black scanlight bathed the area to prevent anyone outside from seeing them.
From there, the levenbrech pointed out the veiled window to a building across the narrow alley. “Bronso Vernius’s hideout is two floors below the roof of that building. The ’thopter we’ve traced is on the roof, hidden by some sort of Ixian camouflage.” Orik’s voice held an angry sneer. “Our engineers have already dropped a riley-ramp into place, so we can cross as soon as we’re ready for the assault.”
Gurney peered into the deepening shadows of dusk, but saw only clutter on the flat rooftop. “Won’t they see us coming?”
“We’re protected by scanlight all the way, and there are noise-suppression systems in place, though sounds are harder to veil. Ixian technology against Ixian technology. He’s only one man, and he can’t match our resources.”
Gurney was aware that to help capture the fugitive, the Ixian Confederacy had provided Alia with many new devices that used innovative technologies. Apparently, the Ixians wanted Bronso stopped as much as Alia did.
“Before we move, we should search every room over there,” Gurney said. “Remove the innocents, in case there’s violence.” Give Bronso more time.
“We move now.” Duncan looked at his wristchron, all business. “Let’s close the net. Bronso has already eluded us too many times.”
Bronso brought spice coffee for himself and Jessica on a silver tray, handed her a steaming cup. He had been waiting a long time for this meeting. “Now that my mother is away from Wallach IX, I have begun to rethink my role, Lady Jessica. For the past seven years, I have done exactly what Paul asked. I did it because he convinced me of the necessity—attacking the reputation of a great man, my friend. I have planted my seeds, and we will see if Time’s fertile ground allows them to grow.”
He looked down at his hands, then up at Jessica. “But now the Spacing Guild has cracked down on my distribution network. Thanks to Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck, my Wayku friends have been arrested and my documents destroyed.” His voice hitched, and he shook his head. “Oh, I shudder to think of the danger to which I’ve exposed my allies. My friends.”
Jessica saw his pain and felt a similar sadness in her own heart. “When Paul charged you with this task, he didn’t foresee that your work would still be necessary, all these years later. He’s gone, Bronso.”
“Then my job is finished?” The Ixian’s voice took on a pleading tone. “Do I maintain my criticisms, or can I stop now? How much is enough? Paul said he didn’t want to be a god, or a messiah . . . but how can I take everything from him? Vermillion Hells, there should be something left of his noble legacy! He was still a great man, despite what has happened.”
Jessica felt torn between wanting her son to be revered and beloved and preventing the damage his memory and martyrdom could cause if left untarnished. “You think I can answer those questions? Oh, Bronso. Try to imagine how it must hurt me, as his mother.” She suddenly realized what he was asking. “You want my blessing for you to stop, don’t you?”
“It’s exhausted my heart, my mind, an
d my soul. I have already said what I needed to say. I think I have accomplished the task that Paul gave me. The more Regent Alia tries to suppress my writings, the more credence she gives to my statements. Do I keep saying the same things, over and over? The doubts I have raised will thrive—with or without me.” He stared down at his cup of spice coffee; he had not taken a sip. “Please tell me it’s enough, my Lady. Tell me I can rest at last and make a new life with my mother. Have I accomplished what Paul wanted?”
“Of course.” Her voice cracked. “You have already done all that Paul asked—and more. You built a levee against the flood of the Jihad, directing the channel of history in a different direction. Only time will tell how successful you have been.” She felt a great relief growing within her. Yes, she could release him. “You eluded us for a long time when you and Paul were just boys. I suggest you vanish now, create a new future for yourself. Slip away, leave Dune, and find a place of safety on one of the outer worlds, where I can send your mother to join you one day.”
His eyes were bright with a sparkle of tears. “I always make sure I have a way to escape in a matter of seconds. My ’thopter is camouflaged on the roof, and if that route is blocked, I’ve installed an Ixian high-speed lift tube that leads below street level and into a whole network of underground passageways the Harkonnens built. I have learned how to stay safe.”
“Always having an escape is not the same thing as being safe.” Jessica was unable to shake the uneasy feeling. “I don’t feel safe here.”
Bronso gave her a wan smile. “That is quite understandable. After all, you are an Atreides, and there are Harkonnen ghosts in this city.”
With a feeling of trepidation, Gurney heard chatter over a com-line as the command was relayed. He touched his earpiece. “They’re reporting it’s only Bronso and one other potential conspirator. Maybe it should just be the two of us, Duncan. Go in ourselves.”
At the very least, if just he and Duncan went in, maybe the ghola’s loyalty would let them save Jessica.
The other man shook his head firmly. “We will not underestimate him. Levenbrech, block off the closest streets, surround the building, guard every possible exit. Watch the ’thopter on the roof so he can’t use it to escape.”
Orik was eager to make his report. “Our engineers have cut the fuel lines and disabled the jet pods. He cannot fly away from us.” With a hand signal, the grinning levenbrech led the way out onto the balcony and across the riley-ramp, which remained rigid and steady even as the men trooped across it quick-time.
Gurney said, growing more desperate, “Maybe I should go in first, try to convince him to surrender. Bronso will remember me. I don’t like the potential for casualties—”
Duncan scowled. “A foolish risk to take. No, we will go in, full force. The time for half measures is past.”
The assault team signaled their readiness, and Gurney felt a lump in his throat. He touched the long knife in its sheath at his waist. With their body shields activated, Duncan motioned them forward, and the net closed.
With his senses heightened and paranoia sharpened by living so many years on the run, Bronso detected the assault first. A change in the air, a series of faint, out-of-place sounds. He cursed and looked out a window, but saw nothing. Still, something was not right. “To the ’thopter on the rooftop—we’ve been tracked!”
Jessica balked. “They’ll have pursuit ’thopters.”
Bronso gave her a quick, sly grin. “Mine has Ixian modifications.”
The sound of booted feet running in the corridor grew louder, and Jessica knew there was no time for further discussion.
As the troops crashed through the door of Bronso’s bolt-hole apartment, Gurney remained right behind Duncan. Both men had their long knives drawn and ready, but Gurney was ready to throw himself upon Jessica, to prevent her from being harmed by overzealous soldiers. He had to whisk her out by any means possible . . . if he could only find a way.
Reacting to a flicker of movement, he spotted a concealed door at the back of the room just as it closed. Before Gurney could hope that no one else would notice, before he could exclaim that Bronso wasn’t there, Levenbrech Orik yelled, “They’re getting away!”
Duncan smashed open the door at the back of the room. Footsteps could be heard rushing up the stairs. “To the roof!” he shouted. “Send more men to the roof!”
Gurney shouldered him aside and took the lead. Bolting up through the passage, he hoped to gain an extra second or two. He tripped intentionally on piled debris in the stairwell, stalled the men behind him, then proceeded upward with exaggerated caution.
Emerging onto the rooftop in the uncertain light of deepening dusk, Gurney spotted two shadowy figures dashing toward the faintly shimmering camo-shield that covered an ornithopter. Knowing what he knew now, one of them had to be Jessica. After a brief, heated discussion, the two figures split up, the woman running toward a different access door on the far side of the roof. Good . . . they’re apart. If Jessica could get far enough away, perhaps she would have deniability.
Gurney knew what he had to do. Cut losses. Focus on the objective. Give Jessica just a little more time. “Bronso is our main target! After him!” This was a battle like so many others, and Jessica was more important to him, even given the sacrifice of the Ixian. “Duncan, I’ll take the other one. Go!”
Moving like a shadow, Bronso dove under the camo-shield and vanished in a ripple of color and darkness. Gurney heard a metal ’thopter hatch being yanked open, a seat creaking, controls being activated.
With a burst of speed, Duncan bolted to the hidden aircraft as engine sounds coughed and ground together. With a disorienting flick, the ghola tore away the chameleon cloth and reached inside the cockpit to grab the figure behind the controls, hauling him out onto the hard, dusty surface of the roof. Bronso was no fighter, and the Swordmaster easily subdued him.
When she saw Bronso fall, the disguised woman eluded Gurney and ran recklessly back toward the ’thopter. She leaped into the fight, kicking and whirling with her own combat skills, hitting Duncan with repeated blows, forcing him to release his captive.
The ghola spun to face the unexpected opponent, raising his short sword. Even with her Bene Gesserit fighting methods, Gurney did not know how long Jessica could last against a seasoned Swordmaster of Ginaz. She eluded Duncan’s thrusts, and kicked his weapon arm so hard that he had to shift the sword to his other hand. Her abrupt movements caused the hood to blow back and reveal her face, just a flash of skin and her eyes.
At that instant, Bronso threw himself at Duncan’s legs, knocking him off balance. Gurney lunged to put himself between the ghola and Jessica, then hissed sharply, close to her ear. “My Lady! Strike me now—hit me! Then escape.”
With a flash of understanding, Jessica drove a hard kick into the center of Gurney’s chest, knocking him backward. He reeled off balance, retching, physically stunned. As he coughed and made a show of chasing her, she ducked into the roof access and plunged into another stairwell.
Levenbrech Orik and his men yelled to each other and spread out across the roof. Duncan seized Bronso and held him immobile. Strangely, the Ixian was laughing with a sound that seemed to carry a hint of relief. Duncan pushed the man roughly into the arms of two waiting soldiers. “Take him. Full shigawire bindings and restraint cuffs. If he escapes, you will explain your failure to Alia herself.”
Hearing the threat, the men added enough bindings to hold a dozen Sardaukar fighters. After they had ushered the bruised Bronso away, Duncan turned his back to Gurney and shouted to the officer. “Levenbrech, take your men down the other stairway—catch the second conspirator! Gurney Halleck and I will secure the rooftop. We have it under control.” The ghola’s metal eyes were unreadable, but his face showed unmistakable fury.
As the soldiers rushed into the second escape stairwell, racing off to follow orders, Gurney found himself alone on the rooftop with Duncan. The ghola glowered at him, keeping his voice low. “You le
t her escape.”
Gurney heaved exaggerated breaths, shook his head. “Gods below, Duncan, she caught me by surprise.”
The ghola regarded him coldly, activated his body shield and stood in a combat-ready posture. “I have always trusted you, Gurney Halleck, but perhaps not any more. That was Lady Jessica. You let her escape, and I will know why.” The flat face of Duncan Idaho was drawn with strain. He lifted his short sword. “You have a great deal of explaining to do.”
Gurney could not deny it, didn’t even try to. He activated his own shield, took a half step backward, and prepared to fight.
Each death is different, in myriad ways.
—Zensunni axiom
On the darkened rooftop, Gurney refused to volunteer any information, even to Duncan. “I serve the Lady Jessica and House Atreides—as do you, Duncan Idaho. Or have you forgotten your loyalties?” He stared hard at his shadowy companion, trying to detect any shards of humanity there, any remnants of his old friend and comrade in arms.
The ghola did not flinch. “I’ve forgotten nothing.” Both men stood, their short swords drawn, body shields flickering.
“Damn it, Duncan, we’ve both distrusted Lady Jessica in the past. You were convinced that Jessica was the traitor to House Atreides, sure that Duke Leto himself had stopped trusting her. And you were wrong then—remember that. Just as I was wrong when I suspected her of treachery. Gods below!”
Gurney would never forget the feel of Jessica as he had grabbed her unawares in the Fremen sietch, his arm around her neck, the point of his knife at her back. His hatred for her had burned for years while he hid among the smugglers, utterly convinced that she was the one who had betrayed the Duke, when it had been Yueh all along. Back then, Gurney’s own shame was so great that he had offered his life to Paul and to Jessica, but they had let him live. He would not fail her now.
The Winds of Dune Page 40
