The Winds of Dune (46 page)

True to his promise, Paul had assigned his best planetology teams to Salusa, and they remained out in the field, combing the landscape, setting up testing stations. The men rarely had any need to come to Shaddam’s domed city.

Jessica gazed out the leisurely vessel’s plaz observation window, seeing clumps of hardy shrubs, arroyos carved by abrupt flash floods, and bizarre twisted hoodoos of rock sculpted by the hammerwinds. Despite its unpleasant environment, the planet supported a reasonable population of hardy survivors and descendants of prisoners who had been deposited over the centuries. Here and there, sheltered domes and prefabricated structures were nestled in box canyons. Crops struggled to grow beneath retractable reflective tarps that provided shelter from the worst blasts of weather.

“Salusa does not look so harsh in comparison with Dune,” Chani said, standing next to her. “It is obvious that people can survive here if they are careful and resourceful.”

Irulan came up behind them. “But not comfortable by any means.”

Chani shot back. “Is it Muad’Dib’s task to make them comfortable? That is something people must do for themselves.”

“They are trying,” Jessica interjected. “
Humans
caused this damage long ago, and now humans are trying to fix it.”

Shaddam announced from the viewing platform on the bridge, “Our destination is the northwest basin, the site of the most extensive restoration work.” He pointed to a prominent line in the terrain. “The ground team’s current camp is in the base of that dry gorge. You can see all you need to see from the air.”

“We decide what we will need to see,” Chani said. “Take us down
there. I would speak with the planetologists face to face. They are doing work in the name of Liet, my father.”

“No, we can see quite enough from up here,” Shaddam replied, as if he had the final word.

But Chani would have none of it. “Irulan and I have instructions to observe.” She glanced sidelong at the Princess. “Unless you are afraid to get your hands dirty?”

Incensed, Irulan turned to her father. “Take us down, now.”

With a beleaguered sigh, the deposed Emperor passed instructions to the pilot. The aerial transport and its accompanying ships landed like an invasion, startling the planetology team at their labors. Wearing dusty, stained jumpsuits, the terraformers left their machinery and hurried forward to greet the visitors.

The two men in charge of the dry canyon worksite were Lars Siewesca from the stark planet of Culat, and a stocky man who introduced himself as Qhomba from Grand Hain. Neither of those worlds was a pleasant place, Jessica knew.

Siewesca’s appearance unsettled Jessica, for the man was tall and lean, with sandy blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Was he intentionally mimicking the late, murdered Dr. Liet-Kynes? Though the visitors included Shaddam IV, his daughter Princess Irulan, and Lady Jessica, the two planetologists were most impressed to meet Chani.

“Daughter of Liet! We are honored that you have come,” Siewesca said, bobbing his head. “My companions and I all completed our training at the School of Planetology in Arrakeen. Please, let us show you our work! It is our heartfelt goal to honor your father’s teachings and his dreams.” They bustled around her, ignoring Shaddam, much to his annoyance, even though he had no particular interest in the operations.

Chattering to Chani, the two team leaders expressed unbridled enthusiasm, rattling off the hectares reclaimed, temperature gradients, and relative humidity traces. While they droned on with obscure numbers, percentages, and technical details, Chani dropped to her knees in the loose sandy ground of the canyon floor. She dug her fingers into the soil, working them deep, pulling up pebbles, sand, and dust. “This world is more dead than Dune.”

Irulan remained standing, pristine and beautiful, profiled against
the wasteland. “But Salusa is more hospitable and getting better. According to the reports, new ecosystems are catching hold, and the worst storms have abated in only a year.”

Chani stood and brushed her hands on her thighs. “I did not mean dead in that way. Salusa was ruined by atomics and used for centuries as a prison planet—this place is dead in its
soul
.”

The planetology team hurried to finish their preparations for a large test. “Deep scanning shows a substantial aquifer sealed beneath caprock,” said Siewesca. “We were about to break open the barrier and create a channel so the underground river can flow again. It’ll change the face of the continent.”

“Very well, get on with it,” Shaddam said, as if they had been waiting for him to issue orders.

Over the next hour, the crew packed their equipment and machinery, withdrawing their transports to the rim of the canyon above. Qhomba and Siewesca asked to be invited aboard the observers’ ship in order to provide commentary. With the canyon work site abandoned and explosives planted in deep shafts, the rest of Shaddam’s ships withdrew to a safe distance.

Qhomba and Siewesca pressed up against the observation windows, and Jessica sensed the genuine dedication of these men. The wait seemed interminable. Shaddam uttered a complaint about the delay, only to be interrupted by explosions that rumbled deep beneath the ground, hurling debris and dust in a feathery pattern against the wide canyon walls.

From behind the plume of smoke and debris, a roiling, stampeding wall of water spurted like pumping blood into the confines of the canyon, dragging layers of sediment with it. The surge swirled centuries-old dirt into a brown torrent that churned along.

Qhomba let out a high-pitched cheer. Siewesca grinned, scratching his sandy beard. “Salusa will become a garden in half the time it’ll take us to reclaim Dune! In only a few centuries, this place will be a fertile world again, capable of supporting many kinds of life.” He looked as if he expected them all to applaud.

Shaddam merely made a sour comment. “A few centuries? That does me no good.” He did not behave as if he planned to stay here that long.

Jessica studied the man closely, and from the furtive look in his eyes she sensed that he was hiding something. She wondered what Shaddam and Fenring might be up to. She did not believe for a moment that the Corrinos had meekly bowed to their circumstances, abandoning all further ambitions.

We avoid what we do not wish to see; we are deaf to what we do not wish to hear; we ignore what we do not wish to know. We are masters of self-deception, of manipulating our perceptions.

—Bene Gesserit summation, Wallach IX archives

A
fter Salusa Secundus, Jessica was glad to return to the calm beauty of Castle Caladan, where she could smell the moist salty air and see the colorful fishing boats in the harbor. Chani and Irulan had returned to Arrakis with their reports, along with a separate report of Jessica’s impressions.

She could again forget about the Jihad and what Paul was doing.

And yet, she couldn’t.

For years, her son had been slipping away from her, becoming a stranger, caught up in his own legend. She had always feared how easily he had accepted the religious mantle in order to make the Fremen follow him. Perhaps she should have stayed on Dune after all, as an adviser; Paul needed her counsel and her moral compass.

She had always given him the benefit of the doubt, but like constant water drops eroding a hollow in sandstone, questions continued to work their way into her mind. He had explained very little to her. What he foresaw might not truly be the sole path of humanity’s survival. What if he had already lost his way and simply made wild pronouncements, expecting his followers to accept them, as Shaddam had done? What if Paul actually
believed
what his adoring sycophants said about him?

Before she could enjoy being home in the ancient castle, Mayor Horvu and the village priest, Abbo Sintra, arrived in the audience chamber, begging for an unscheduled conference.
Again
. Not surprisingly, they claimed it was an emergency. These two men, who had never been off-planet in their lives, did not have an adequate measuring stick to gauge a
real
emergency.

Dressed in homespun robes, the priest looked uncomfortable in the room where he had presided over Leto’s ill-fated wedding ceremony, now thirteen years past. For his own part, Horvu had donned the formal clothes that he wore only at special ceremonies, prominent festivals, and funerals of state.

She was instantly on her guard.

“My Lady Duchess,” Horvu began, “we cannot let this happen. It strikes at the heart of our heritage.”

She took a chair at a writing desk rather than using her formal throne. “Please be more specific, Mayor. Which problem are we talking about?”

The mayor gaped at Jessica. “How can you have forgotten the priests’ proclamation already? Changing the name of Caladan to . . .” His brow furrowed and he looked at the village priest. “What was the name, again, Abbo?”

“
Chisra Sala Muad’Dib
.”

“And who can remember that?” Horvu continued with a snort. “This planet has always been
Caladan
.”

Sintra spread out a spaceport manifest, a record of ships arriving and cargoes departing. Each entry listed the planet under its unwieldy and foreign-sounding new name. “Look at what they have done!”

Jessica hid her own troubled expression. “That means nothing. The men who issued that proclamation don’t live here. Fremen refer to Arrakis as
Dune
—and this planet is
Caladan
. If I speak with my son, he will change his mind.”

Horvu brightened. “We knew you would support us, my Lady. With you on our side, we have the strength we need. In your absence we already began to deal with the problem. As you yourself have withdrawn from the Jihad, so has the population of Caladan.”

Jessica frowned. “What are you saying?”

The mayor seemed quite proud of himself. “We have declared our
planet’s independence from Muad’Dib’s Imperium. Caladan will do just fine on its own.”

Sintra nodded vigorously. “Because of the urgency, we could not wait for your ship to return. The people already signed a petition, and we sent the declaration to Arrakeen.”

These men were like lumbering oxen in a field of porcelain-delicate politics. “You can’t just withdraw from the Imperium! Your sworn oaths, the Landsraad Charter, the ancient laws of—”

The priest waved his hand, seemingly unperturbed. “Everything will work out in the end, my Lady. It is obvious that we are no threat to Muad’Dib. In fact, Caladan is of little use to him except as a gathering place for his pilgrims . . . who have now been mostly turned away.”

Thoughts rushed through Jessica’s mind. What would have been a minor problem might now become a watershed event. If the people of this planet had quietly chosen to ignore the name change, perhaps Paul would have turned a blind eye. But not if they openly defied Muad’Dib. These fools were putting her son in an impossible position, one from which he could not afford to back down.

“You do not understand the repercussions of what you suggest.” Jessica contained her temper only through the use of her most effective Bene Gesserit techniques. “I am your Duchess, and you acted without consulting me? Some rulers would have you executed for that.”

Sintra sniffed. “Come now, my Lady, no ruler of Caladan would punish us for doing what is right. That would be a Harkonnen thing to do.”

“Perhaps you don’t understand Harkonnens,” Jessica said. They could never have imagined that her own father was the Baron himself.

“Oh, we are just one world, and a small one,” Mayor Horvu said. “Paul will see reason.”

Impatience flashed in Jessica’s eyes. “What he will
see
is that one of his planets has defied him—his homeworld, no less. If he ignores that, how many other planets will take that as implicit permission to break away? He’ll face one rebellion after another, because of you.”

Horvu chuckled as if
Jessica
were the one who didn’t understand. “I remember when you came here as a young Bene Gesserit, my Lady, but
we
have been with the Atreides Dukes for century upon century. We know their benevolence.”

Jessica could not believe what she was hearing. These men had seen
none of the Imperium, knew nothing of galactic politics. They assumed that all leaders were the same, that one action was not connected to another and another. They might remember the
young
Paul Atreides, but neither of these men could possibly grasp how much he had changed.