Dune - House Atreides

by Brian Herbert

  "I'm young and strong. I can make it."

  The farmer nodded and led his visitor back to the rice paddies.

  Duncan stayed four days with the man's family, working up to his waist in flooded fields. He waded through the water, clearing channels, inserting small but hardy seedlings into the loose mud. He learned the songs and chants of the pundi rice planters.

  One afternoon spotters in the low-hanging trees banged on pans, sounding an alarm. Moments later, ripples in the peaty water signaled the approach of a school of panther-fish, bog dwellers that swam in packs searching for prey. They could strip the flesh off a farmer's bones in moments.

  Duncan scrambled up one of the tangled tree trunks to join the other panicked rice farmers. He hung in the low branches, pushing Spanish moss aside as he looked down and watched the ripples approach. Beneath the water he could see large, many-fanged creatures armored with broad scales. Several of the panther-fish circled around the trunk of the swamp tree in which Duncan had taken refuge.

  Some of the creatures rose up on scaled elbows, rudimentary arms with front fins that had developed into clumsy claws. With most of their bodies out of the water, the carnivorous fish stretched upward, large and deadly. They blinked wet, slitted eyes at the young man who hung just out of reach in the branches above. After a long moment of staring them down, Duncan climbed one branch higher. The panther-fish submerged again, swirling away out of sight in the sprawling rice paddies.

  The following day Duncan took a spare meal the farmer's family had packed for him and trudged off toward the coast, where he eventually found work as a net-rigger on a fishing boat that plied the waters of the warm southern seas. At least the boat would take him to port on the continent where Castle Caladan lay.

  For weeks he worked the nets, gutted the fish, and ate his fill in the galley. The cook used a lot of spices that were unfamiliar to Duncan -- hot Caladanian peppers and mustards that made his eyes water and his nose run. The men laughed at his discomfiture, and told him he would never be a man until he could eat food like that. To their surprise young Duncan took this as a challenge, and soon he began asking for extra seasoning. Before long he could endure meals hotter than any other crew member. The fishermen stopped teasing him and began to praise him instead.

  Before the end of the voyage, a cabin boy in the next bunk did a calculation for Duncan that showed him that he was nine now, by almost six weeks. "I feel a lot older than that," Duncan responded.

  He hadn't expected to take so long to reach his destination, but his life was better now, despite the incredibly hard work he'd taken on. He felt safe, freer in a way than he had ever felt before. The men on the crew were his new family.

  Under cloudy skies the fishing boat finally reached port, and Duncan left the sea behind. He didn't ask for pay, didn't take his leave of the captain -- he simply departed. The oceangoing sojourn was just a step along the way. Never once during his long journey did he ever deviate from his main goal of reaching the Old Duke. He took advantage of no one and worked hard for the hospitality he received.

  In a dockside alley a sailor from another ship once tried to molest him, but Duncan fought back with iron-hard muscles and whip-fast reflexes. The bruised and battered predator retreated, finding this wild boy too much for him.

  Duncan began hitching rides on groundtrucks and cars, and sneaked aboard tube trains and short-haul cargo 'thopters. Inexorably, he moved north on the continent, toward Castle Caladan, getting closer and closer as the months passed.

  During the frequent rains, he found trees under which he could huddle. But even wet and hungry, he didn't feel so bad, for he recalled the terrible night at Forest Guard Station, how cold he had been, how he had used a knife to cut open his own shoulder. After that, he could certainly handle these brief discomforts.

  Sometimes he struck up conversations with other travelers and heard stories of their popular Duke, bits of Atreides history. Back on Giedi Prime, no one had spoken of such matters. People held their opinions to themselves and gave up no information except under duress. Here, however, the locals were happy to talk about their situation. Duncan realized with a shock one afternoon as he traveled with three entertainers that the people on Caladan actually loved their leader.

  In sharp contrast, Duncan had heard only terrible stories of the Harkonnens. He knew the fear of the populace and the brutal consequences of any real or imagined defiance. On this planet, though, the people respected rather than feared their ruler. The Old Duke, Duncan was told, walked with only a small honor guard through villages and markets, visiting the people without wearing any armor, without shields or fear of attack.

  Baron Harkonnen or Glossu Rabban would never dare such a thing.

  I may like this Duke, Duncan thought one night, curled up under a blanket one of the entertainers had loaned him . . . .

  Finally, after months of travel, he stood in the village at the foot of the promontory that held Castle Caladan. The magnificent structure stood like a sentinel gazing out across the calm seas. Somewhere inside it lived Duke Paulus Atreides, by now a legendary figure to the boy.

  Duncan shivered from the chill of morning and took a deep breath. The fog lifted above the seacoast, turning the rising sun into a deep orange ball. He marched away from the village and started up the long, steep road to the Castle. This was where he must go.

  As he walked, he did what he could to make himself presentable, brushing the dust from his clothes and tucking his wrinkled pullover shirt into his trousers. But he felt confident about himself, regardless of his appearance, and this Duke would accept him or throw him out. Either way, Duncan Idaho would survive.

  When he reached the gates that led into the great courtyard, the Atreides guards tried to bar his way, thinking him a panhandler.

  "I'm not a beggar," Duncan announced with his head held high. "I have come across the galaxy to see the Duke, and I must tell him my story."

  The guards just laughed. "We can find you some scraps from the kitchen, but no more."

  "That would be very kind of you, sirs," Duncan agreed, his stomach grumbling with hunger, "but that isn't why I'm here. Please send a message into the Castle that" -- he tried to remember the phrasing one of the traveling singers had taught him -- "that Master Duncan Idaho requests an audience with Duke Paulus Atreides."

  The guards laughed again, but the boy saw grudging respect seep into their expressions. One went away and came back with some breakfast, tiny roasted eggs for Duncan. After thanking the guard, he wolfed down the eggs, licked his fingers, and sat on the ground to wait. Hours passed.

  The guards kept looking at him and shaking their heads. One asked him if he carried any weapons, or any money, both of which Duncan denied. As a steady stream of petitioners came and went, the guards chatted with each other. Duncan heard talk about a revolt that had occurred on Ix, and the Duke's concerns over House Vernius, especially because of the Emperor's acceptance of a bounty on Dominic and Shando Vernius. Apparently, the Duke's son Leto had just returned from war-torn Ix to Caladan with two royal refugees. Everything in the Castle was in quite a turmoil.

  Nevertheless, Duncan waited.

  The sun passed overhead and slipped below the horizon of the great sea. The young man spent the night curled up in a corner of the courtyard, and with the next morning and a change of guards, he repeated his story and his request for an audience. This time, he mentioned that he had escaped from a Harkonnen world and wished to offer his services to House Atreides. The Harkonnen name seemed to catch their attention. Once again the guards checked him for weapons, but more thoroughly.

  By early afternoon, after being frisked and probed -- first by an electronic scanner to root out hidden lethal devices, then by a poisonsnooper -- Duncan was finally ushered inside the Castle. An ancient stone structure whose interior corridors and rooms were draped with rich tapestries, the place bore a patina of history and worn elegance. Wooden floors creaked underfoot.

  At a wide stone arc
hway, two Atreides guards passed him through even more elaborate scanning devices, which again found nothing suspicious. He was just a boy, with nothing to hide, but they wore their paranoia as if it were a strange and uncomfortable garment, as if new procedures had just been instituted. Satisfied, they waved Duncan into a large room with vaulted ceilings supported by heavy, dark beams.

  At the center of the room the Old Duke sat back and surveyed his visitor. A strong, bearlike man with a full beard and bright green eyes, Paulus relaxed in a comfortable wooden chair, not an ostentatious throne. It was a place where he could be at ease for hours as he conducted the business of state. Atop the chairback, just above the old patriarch's head, a hawk crest had been carved into the dark Elaccan wood.

  Beside him sat his olive-skinned son Leto, thin and tired-looking, as if he hadn't fully recovered from his ordeal. Duncan met Leto's gray eyes, and sensed that both of them had much to tell, much to share.

  "We have here a very persistent boy, Leto," the Old Duke said, glancing at his son.

  "From the looks of him, he wants something different from all the other petitioners we've heard today." Leto raised his eyebrows. He was only five or six years older than Duncan -- a large gulf at their ages -- but it seemed they had both been thrust headlong into adulthood. "He doesn't look greedy."

  Paulus's expression softened as he leaned forward in his great chair. "How long have you been waiting out there, boy?"

  "Oh, that doesn't matter, m 'Lord Duke," Duncan answered, hoping he used the right words. "I'm here now." Nervously, he scratched a mole on his chin.

  The Old Duke flashed a quick scowl at the guard who had escorted him in. "Have you fed this young man?"

  "They gave me plenty, sir. Thank you. And I also had a good night's sleep in your comfortable courtyard."

  "In the courtyard?" Another scowl at the guard. "So why are you here, young man? Did you come from one of the fishing villages?"

  "No, m'Lord -- I am from Giedi Prime."

  The guards tensed hands around their weapons. The Old Duke and his son flashed a glance at each other, disbelief at first. "Then you'd better tell us what's happened to you," Paulus said. Their expressions changed to grim disgust as Duncan told his story, omitting no detail.

  The Duke's eyes widened. He saw the guileless expression on this young man's face and looked at his son, thinking that this was no made-up tale. Leto nodded. No boy of nine years could have concocted such a story, however much he might have been coached.

  "And so I came here, sir," Duncan said, "to see you."

  "You landed in which city on Caladan?" the Duke asked again. "Describe it for us."

  Duncan couldn't remember its name but recounted what he had seen, and the Old Duke agreed that he must have indeed made his way from across the world.

  "I was told to come to you, m'Lord, and ask if you might have something for me to do. I hate the Harkonnens, sir, and I'd willingly pledge my loyalty forever to House Atreides if only I can stay here."

  "I think I believe him, Father," Leto said quietly, studying the boy's deep-set blue-green eyes. "Or is this a lesson you're trying to teach me?"

  Paulus sat back, hands folded on his lap, and his chest wrenched with spasms. After a moment Duncan realized that the big man was holding in great rumbles of laughter. When the Old Duke could no longer restrain himself, he burst out with a deep chuckle and slapped his knees. "Boy, I admire what you've done. Any young man with balls as big as yours is a man I must have as part of my household!"

  "Thank you, sir," Duncan said.

  "I'm sure we can find some urgent work for him to do, Father," Leto said with a tired smile. He found this brave and persistent boy to be a hopeful change from everything he had seen recently.

  The Old Duke rose from the comfort of his chair and bellowed for retainers, insisting that they supply the boy with clothes and a bath and more food. "On second thought" -- he held up a hand -- "bring an entire banquet table. My son and I wish to share lunch with young Master Idaho."

  They entered an adjacent dining room, where workers scurried and clattered about, setting up everything their Duke had commanded. One servant brushed flat the boy's dark and curly hair, and ran a static cleaner over his dusty clothes. At the head of the table, with Duncan seated on his right and gray-eyed Leto on the left, Paulus Atreides sank his chin into a large fist.

  "I've got an idea, boy. Since you proved you could handle those monstrous Harkonnens, do you think a mere Salusan bull is beyond your capabilities?"

  "No, sir," Duncan said. He had heard about the Duke's grand spectacles. "If you want me to fight them for you, I'll be happy to do it."

  "Fight them?" Paulus laughed. "That isn't exactly what I have in mind." The Duke sat back with a huge grin, looking over at Leto.

  Leto said, "I think we've discovered a position for you here at Castle Caladan, young man. You can work in the stables, under the guidance of Stablemaster Yresk. You'll help tend my father's bulls: feed them and, if you can get close enough, groom them, too. I've done it myself. I'll introduce you to the stablemaster." He looked over at his father. "Remember, Yresk used to let me pet the bulls when I was Duncan's age?"

  "Oh, this boy will do a lot more than pet the beasts," the Old Duke said. Paulus cocked a gray eyebrow as platters and platters of magnificent food were brought to the table. He noted the enchanted look on Duncan's face. "And if you do a good enough job in the stables," he added, "maybe we can find some more glamorous tasks for you."

  History has seldom been good to those who must be punished. Bene Gesserit punishments cannot be forgotten.

  -Bene Gesserit Dictum

  A new Bene Gesserit delegation bearing Gaius Helen Mohiam arrived on Giedi Prime. Freshly delivered of her sickly Harkonnen daughter, Mohiam found herself in the Baron's Keep for the second time in the space of a year.

  She arrived in daylight this time, though the greasy cloud cover and pillars of smoke from unfiltered factories gave the sky a bruised appearance that strangled any hint of sunshine.

  The Reverend Mother's shuttle touched down at the same spaceport as before, with the same demand for "special services." But this time Baron Harkonnen had secretly vowed to do things differently.

  Stepping in perfect rhythm, a stony-faced regiment of the Baron's household troops marched up to surround the Bene Gesserit shuttle -- more than sufficient to intimidate the witches.

  The Burseg Kryubi, formerly a pilot on Arrakis and now head of Harkonnen house security, stood in front of the shuttle-debarkation ramp, two steps ahead of his nearest troops. All were dressed in formal blue.

  Mohiam appeared at the top of the ramp, engulfed in her Bene Gesserit robes and flanked by acolyte retainers, personal guards, and other Sisters. She frowned with disdain at the Burseg and his men. "What is the meaning of this reception? Where is the Baron?"

  Burseg Kryubi looked up at her. "Do not attempt your manipulative Voice on me or there will be a . . . dangerous . . . reaction from the troops. My orders state that you alone are allowed to see the Baron. No guards, no retainers, no companions. He awaits you in the formal hall of the Keep." He nodded toward the attendants behind her in the shuttle. "None of these others may enter."

  "Unthinkable," Mohiam said. "I request formal diplomatic courtesy. All of my party must be received with the respect they are due."

  Kryubi did not flinch. "I know what the witch wants," the Baron had said. "And if she thinks she can show up here to rut with me on a regular basis, she's sadly mistaken!" -- whatever that meant.

  The Burseg stared her down, eye to eye. "Your request is denied." He was far more frightened of the Baron's punishments than of anything this woman could do to him. "You are free to leave if this does not meet with your approval."

  With a snort, Mohiam started down the ramp, flashing a glance at those who remained in the ship. "For all his perversions, the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen is somewhat prudish," she said mockingly, more for the benefit of the Harkonnen troops than for he
r own people. "Especially when it comes to matters of sexuality."

  Kryubi, who had not been apprised of the situation, was intrigued by this reference. But he decided that certain things were best left unknown.

  "Tell me, Burseg," the witch said to him in an irritating tone, "how would you even know if I was using Voice on you?"

  "A soldier never reveals his full arsenal of defenses."

  "I see." Her tone was soothing, sensual. Kryubi didn't feel threatened by it, but wondered if his bluff had worked.

  Unknown to this foolish soldier, Mohiam was a Truthsayer capable of recognizing nuances of falsehood and deception. She allowed the pompous Burseg to lead her across an overpass on a walkway tunnel. Once inside Harkonnen Keep, the Reverend Mother put on her best air of aloof confidence, gliding along with feigned nonchalance.