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"I am going to Ix."
One uses power by grasping it lightly. To grasp with too much force is to be
taken over by power, thus becoming its victim.
-Bene Gesserit Axiom
THE BARON DID NOT TAKE the news about his half-brother at all well.
At the Harko City Spaceport, men were loading his private frigate with the
amenities, supplies, and personnel he would need for a trip to Arrakis. In
order to keep spice operations running smoothly, he had to spend months at a
time on the desert hellhole, squeezing his fist to prevent smugglers and the
accursed Fremen from getting out of hand. But, after the damage Abulurd had
done years ago, the Baron had turned the most economically important planet in
the Imperium back into a huge moneymaker. House profits were increasing
steadily.
And now, just when everything seemed to be going his way, he had to deal with
this! Abulurd, for all his stupidity, had an incredible knack for doing
precisely the wrong thing, every time.
Piter de Vries, sensing his superior's displeasure, approached with mincing
steps, wanting to assist -- or to appear to be doing so. But he knew better
than to come too close. For years he had survived by avoiding the Baron's
wrath, longer than any of his master's previous Mentats. In his younger, leaner
days, Vladimir Harkonnen had been capable of lashing out like a cobra and
striking a person in the larynx to cut off his breathing. But now he had grown
so soft, so corpulent, that de Vries could easily slither out of the way.
Simmering, the Baron sat in the Keep's stone-walled accounting room. His oval
blackplaz table looked polished enough to ice-skate on. A huge globe of Arrakis
stood in one corner, an art object any noble family would have coveted. But
rather than show it off at Landsraad gatherings or blueblood social events, the
Baron kept it in his private room, savoring the globe for himself.
"Piter, what am I to do?" He gestured toward a cluster of message cylinders
newly arrived via bonded Courier. "The CHOAM Corporation demands an
explanation, warning me in none-too-subtle terms that they expect shipments of
whale fur to continue from Lankiveil despite the 'change in rulership.' " He
snorted. "As if I would decrease our quotas! They remind me that spice
production on Arrakis is not the only vital commodity House Harkonnen controls.
They've threatened to revoke my CHOAM directorship if I fail to meet my
obligations."
With a flick of his wrist he hurled a copper-sheathed message cylinder at the
wall. It clanged and clattered, leaving a white nick on the stone.
He picked up a second cylinder. "Emperor Shaddam wants to know why my own half-
brother would renounce the Harkonnen name and take the subdistrict governorship
for himself."
Again he hurled the cylinder at the wall. It struck with a louder clink beside
the first white mark. He picked up a third. "House Moritani on Grumman offers
covert military support in case I wish to take direct action." The third
cylinder struck the wall. "House Richese, House Mutelli -- all curious, all
laughing behind my back!"
He continued to throw message cylinders until his table was clear. One of the
metal tubes rolled toward Piter, and he picked it up. "You didn't open this
one, my Lord."
"Well, do it for me. It probably says the same as all the others."
"Of course." The Mentat used one of his long fingernails to cut the seal on the
capsule, and slid the cap off. Bringing out a piece of instroy paper, he
scanned it, his tongue darting over his lips. "Ah, from our operative on
Caladan."
The Baron perked up. "Good news, I hope?"
De Vries smiled as he translated the cipher. "Chiara apologizes for her
inability to get messages out before this, but she is making progress with the
concubine, Kailea Vernius, turning her against the Duke."
"Well, that's something anyway." The Baron rubbed his fat chin. "I would have
preferred word of Leto's assassination. Now that would have been really good
news!"
"Chiara likes to do things in her own way, at her own pace." The instroy
message faded, and de Vries balled it up, then tossed it and the cylinder aside.
"We aren't sure how far she'll go, my Lord, for she has certain . . . standards
. . . in royal matters. Spying is one thing; murder is quite another, and she's
the only one we could get past Thufir Hawat's security."
"All right, all right." The two of them had been over this before. The Baron
pushed himself up from his seat. "At least we're throwing a bit of sand in the
Duke's eye."
"Perhaps we should do more than that to Abulurd?"
Aided by the suspensor system at his waist, the fat man misjudged the strength
of his own flabby arms and nearly flew off his feet. Wisely, de Vries said
nothing about that, and absorbed data so that he could perform a proper Mentat
analysis as soon as his master demanded it.
"Perhaps." The Baron's face reddened. "Abulurd's older brother Marotin was an
idiot, you know. Literally, I mean. A drooling, brain-damaged moron who
couldn't even dress himself, though his mother simpered over him, as if Marotin
was worth the resources expended to keep him alive." His jowly face was
blotched with pent-up rage.
"Now it seems that Abulurd is just as brain-damaged, but in a more subtle way."
He slammed his flat palm down on the oily blackplaz surface, leaving a handprint
that would gradually be broken down by self-cleaning systems in the furniture.
"I didn't even know his bitch Emmi was pregnant. Now he's got another son, a
sweet little baby -- and Abulurd's robbed the child of his birthright." The
Baron shook his head. "You realize, that boy could be a leader, another
Harkonnen heir . . . and his foolish father takes it all away."
With his master's frustration building, de Vries took extra care to stay out of
reach, on the opposite side of the oval table. "My Lord, as near as I can tell,
Abulurd has followed the precise forms of law. According to Landsraad rules he
is allowed to request, and receive, a concession that few of us would even have
considered. We may not think it wise, but Abulurd was within his rights as part
of House Harkonnen --" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]