Dune: House Atreides (25 page)

"What were we to do, Heinar?" Ommun looked surprised. "I needed his vehicle to bring Stilgar here."

"You could have taken this man's groundcar and all his possessions and given his water to the tribe," the Naib said, his voice low.

"We can still do that," one of the women rasped, "as soon as Turok gets here with him."

"But the stranger fought and killed Harkonnens! We three would have died, had he not arrived when he did," Ommun insisted. "Is it not said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"I do not trust or even understand the loyalties of this one," Heinar said, crossing his sinewy arms over his chest. "We know who he is, of course. The stranger comes from the Imperium -- a Planetologist, they say. He remains on Dune because the Harkonnens are forced to let him do his work, but this man Kynes answers only to the Emperor himself . . . if that. There are unanswered questions about him."

Wearily, Heinar sat down on a stone bench carved in the side of the wall. A colorful tapestry of spun spice fibers hung across the cave opening, offering a limited sort of privacy. Sietch inhabitants learned early that privacy was in the mind, not in the environment.

"I will speak with this Kynes and learn what he wants of us, why he has defended three stupid and careless youths against an enemy he had no cause to make. Then I will take this matter to the Council of Elders and let them decide. We must make the choice that is best for the sietch."

Ommun swallowed hard, recalling how valiantly the man Kynes had fought against the ruthless soldiers. But his fingers strayed to the pouch in his pocket, counting the water rings there -- metal markers that tallied the accumulated wealth he had in the tribe.

If the elders did decide to kill the Planetologist after all, then he, Turok, and Stilgar would divide the water treasure equally among them, along with the bounty from the six slain Harkonnens.

WHEN TUROK FINALLY led him through the guarded openings, past a doorseal, and into the sietch proper, Kynes saw the place as a cave of infinite wonders. The aromas were dense, rich, and redolent with humanity: smells of life, of a confined population . . . of manufacturing, cooking, carefully concealed wastes, and even chemically exploited death. In a detached way, he confirmed his suspicion that the Fremen youths had not stolen the Harkonnen corpses for some sort of superstitious mutilation, but for the water in their bodies. Otherwise, it would have gone to waste . . . .

Kynes had assumed that when he finally found a hidden Fremen settlement, it would be primitive, almost shameful in its lack of amenities. But here, in this walled-off grotto with side caves and lava tubes and tunnels extending like a warren throughout the mountain, Kynes saw that the desert people lived in an austere yet comfortable style. Quarters rivaled anything Harkonnen functionaries enjoyed in the city of Carthag. And they were much more natural.

As Kynes followed his young guide, he found his attention riveted on one fascinating sight after another. Luxurious woven carpets covered portions of the floor. Side rooms were strewn with cushions and low tables made of metal and polished stone. Articles of precious off-planet wood were few and seemingly ancient: a carved sandworm and a board game that he couldn't identify, its ornate pieces made of ivory or bone.

Ancient machinery recirculated the sietch air, letting no breath of moisture escape. He smelled the sharp cinnamon sweetness of raw spice everywhere, like incense, barely masking the sour pungency of unwashed bodies packed into close quarters.

He heard women talking, children's voices, and a baby crying, all with a hushed restraint. The Fremen spoke among themselves, eyeing this stranger with suspicion as he passed, led by Turok. Some of the older ones flashed him wicked smiles that gave the Planetologist some concern. Their skin looked tough and leathery, leached of all excess water; every pair of eyes was a deep blue-within-blue.

Finally Turok raised a hand, palm outward, signaling Kynes to halt inside a large meeting hall, a natural vault within the mountain. The grotto had ample floor space for hundreds and hundreds to stand; additional benches and balconies zigzagged up the sheer reddish walls. How many people live in this sietch?

Kynes stared upward in the empty, echoing room to a high balcony, a speaking platform of some sort.

After a moment, a proud old man stepped forward up there to look disdainfully down at the intruder. Kynes noted that the man had only one eye, and that he carried himself with the presence of a leader.

"That is Heinar," Turok whispered in his ear, "the Naib of Red Wall Sietch."

Raising a hand in greeting, Kynes called out: "I am pleased to meet the leader of this wondrous Fremen city."

"What is it you want from us, Imperial man?" Heinar called down in a tone that was ruthless and demanding. His words rang like cold steel against the stone.

Kynes drew a deep breath. He had been waiting for an opportunity such as this for many days. Why waste time? The longer that dreams remained mere dreams, the more difficult it was to mold them into reality.

"My name is Pardot Kynes, Planetologist to the Emperor. I have a vision, sir --a dream for you and your people. One I wish to share with all the Fremen, if only you will listen to me."

"Better to listen to the wind through a creosote bush than to waste time with the words of a fool," the sietch leader responded. His words had a ponderous weight, as if this were an old and recognizable saying among his people.

Kynes stared back at the old man and quickly made up his own platitude, hoping to make an impression. "And if one refuses to listen to words of truth and hope, who then is the greater fool?"

Young Turok gasped. From side passages Fremen onlookers stared wide-eyed at Kynes, amazed by this stranger who spoke so boldly to their Naib.

Heinar's face became dark and stormy. He felt a sullenness permeate him, and he envisioned this upstart Planetologist lying slain on the cave floor. He put his hand on the hilt of a crysknife at his waist. "Do you challenge my leadership?"

Making up his mind, the Naib yanked the curve-bladed knife from its sheath and glowered down at Kynes.

Kynes didn't flinch. "No, sir -- I challenge your imagination. Are you brave enough to meet the task, or are you too frightened to listen to what I have to say?" The sietch leader stood tense, holding his strange milky blade high as he stared down at the prisoner. Kynes simply smiled up at him, his expression open. "It's difficult to talk to you way up there, sir."

Finally, Heinar chuckled, looked down at the bare blade in his hand. "A crysknife, once drawn, must never be sheathed without tasting blood." Then he quickly slashed its edge across his forearm, drawing a thin red line that coagulated within seconds.

Kynes's eyes glittered with excitement, reflecting the light cast by the clusters of glowglobes that floated in the large meeting chamber.

"Very well, Planetologist. You may talk until the breath flows out of your lungs. With your fate undecided, you will remain here in the sietch until the Council of Elders deliberates over what must be done with you."

"But you'll listen to me first." Kynes nodded with utter confidence.

Heinar turned, took a step away from the high balcony, and spoke again over his shoulder. "You are a strange man, Pardot Kynes. An Imperial servant and a guest of Harkonnens -- by definition, you are our enemy. But you have killed Harkonnens as well. What a quandary you present for us."

The sietch leader made quick gestures and barked commands, ordering a small but comfortable room to be prepared for the tall and curious Planetologist, who would be their prisoner as well as their guest.

And Heinar thought as he strode away, Any man who would speak words of hope to the Fremen after our many generations of suffering and wandering . . . is either confused, or a very brave man indeed.

My Father had only one real friend, I think. That was Count Hasimir Fenring, the genetic-eunuch and one of the deadliest fighters in the Imperium.

-From "In My Father's House" by the Princess Irulan Even from the highest, darkened chamber of the Imperial observatory, the pastel glow of the opulence-choked capital drowned out the stars over Kaitain. Built centuries earlier by the enlightened Padishah Emperor Hassik Corrino III, the observatory had been used little by his recent heirs . . . at least not for its intended purpose of studying the mysteries of the universe.

Crown Prince Shaddam paced across the cold, burnished-metal floor as Fenring fiddled with the controls of a high-powered starscope. The genetic-eunuch hummed to himself, making unpleasant, insipid sounds.

"Would you please stop those noises?" Shaddam said. "Just focus the damned lenses."

Fenring continued to hum, only fractionally quieter now. "The oils must be in precise balance, hm-m-m-m-ah? You would rather have the starscope perfect, than fast."

Shaddam huffed. "You didn't ask my preference."

"I decided for you." He stood back from the starscope's calibrated phased optics and bowed with an annoyingly formal gesture. "My Lord Prince, I present to you an image from orbit. See it with your own eyes."

Shaddam squinted into the eyepiece pickups until a shape became startlingly clear, soaring silently in the distance. The image shifted between brittle resolution and murky ripples caused by atmospheric distortion.

The mammoth Heighliner was the size of an asteroid, hanging over Kaitain and waiting to be met by a flotilla of small ships from the surface. A tiny movement caught his eye, and Shaddam spotted the yellow-white flickers of engines as frigates rose from Kaitain bearing diplomats and emissaries, followed by transports carrying artifacts and cargo from the Imperial capital world. The frigates themselves were immense, flanked by cadres of smaller ships -- but the curve of the Heighliner's hull dwarfed everything.

At the same time, other ships departed from the Heighliner hold and descended toward the capital city. "Delegation parties," Shaddam said. "They've brought tributes to my father."

"Taxes, actually -- not tributes," Fenring pointed out. "Same thing, in an old-fashioned sense, of course. Elrood is still their Emperor, um-m-m-ah?"

The Crown Prince scowled at him. "But for how much longer? Is your damned chaumurky going to take decades?" Shaddam fought to keep his voice low, although subsonic white-noise generators supposedly distorted their speech to foil any listening devices. "Couldn't you find a different poison? A faster one? This waiting is maddening! How much time has passed anyway? It seems like a year since I've slept well."

"You mean we should have been more overt about the murder? Not advisable."

Fenring took his station back at the starscope, adjusting the automated trackers to follow the Heighliner along its orbit. "Be patient, my Lord Prince. Until I suggested this plan, you were content to wait for decades. What does a year or two matter compared with the length of your eventual reign, hm-m-m-m?"

Shaddam nudged Fenring away from the eyepieces so he wouldn't have to look at his fellow conspirator. "Now that we've finally set the wheels in motion, I'm impatient for my father to die. Don't give me time to brood about it and regret my decision. I'll suffocate until I can ascend the Golden Lion Throne. I was destined to lead, Hasimir, but some have been whispering that I'll never get the opportunity. It makes me afraid to marry and father any children."

If he expected Fenring to attempt to convince him otherwise, the other man disappointed him with his silence.

Fenring spoke again after a few moments. "N'kee is slow poison by design. We have worked long and hard to establish our plan, and your impatience can only cause damage and increase risk. A more sudden act would certainly create suspicion in the Landsraad, hmmm? They would seize upon any wedge, any scandal, to weaken your position."

"But I am the heir to House Corrino!" Shaddam said, lowering his voice to a throaty whisper. "How can they question my right?"

"And you come to the Imperial throne bearing all the associated baggage, all the obligations, past antagonisms, and prejudices. Don't fool yourself, my friend -

- the Emperor is merely one sizable force among many that make up the delicate fabric of our Imperium. If all the Houses banded together against us, even your father's mighty Sardaukar legions might not be able to hold out. No one dares risk it."

"When I'm on the throne, I intend to strengthen the emperorship, add some real teeth to the title." Shaddam stood away from the starscope.

Fenring shook his head with exaggerated sadness. "I'd be willing to wager a cargo hold full of the highest-quality whale-fur that most of your predecessors have vowed the same thing to their advisors ever since the Great Revolt." He drew a deep breath, narrowing his large dark eyes. "Even if the n'kee works as planned, you have at least another year to wait . . . so calm yourself. Take comfort in the increased symptoms of aging we've seen in your father. Encourage him to drink more spice beer."

Miffed, Shaddam turned back to the phased optics and studied the hull patterns along the belly of the Heighliner, the mark of Ixian construction yards, the cartouche of the Spacing Guild. The hold was crowded with fleets of frigates from various Houses, shipments assigned to CHOAM, and precious records earmarked for library archives on Wallach IX.

"By the way, someone of interest is aboard that Heighliner," Fenring said.

"Oh?"

Fenring crossed his arms over his narrow chest. "A person who appears to be a simple seller of pundi rice and chikarba root on his way to a Tleilaxu way station. He's bearing your message for the Tleilaxu Masters, your proposal to meet with them and discuss covert Imperial funding of a large-scale project that will produce a substitute for the spice melange."

"My proposal? I made no such proposal!" Revulsion flickered across Shaddam's face.

"Um-m-m, you did, my Lord Prince. Ah, the possibility of using unorthodox Tleilaxu means to develop a synthetic spice? What a good idea you had! Show your father how smart you are."