Princess of Dune, page 20
Maldisi blinked at him, then burst out laughing. “Oh? Is that all you want?” She paused, then seriously considered what he was proposing. “What’s to stop me and my friends from just vanishing once we reach Kaitain? We could start our lives over there and live comfortably. That’s obviously better than a suicide mission.”
He continued to stare at her. “Is that what you would do?”
After a tense moment, she shrugged. “Don’t worry, this is exactly the kind of demanding assignment I like.”
“Good.” He brought out briefing materials from a drawer, a ridulian crystal that projected a detailed layout of the sprawling Imperial Palace, each of its levels and wings, the gardens, and the support buildings. He highlighted the separate wings.
“Familiarize yourself with every detail. The Emperor’s quarters are here, and he has significant security when he retires behind his privacy walls. His five daughters live in their own quarters, in varying levels of palatial extravagance. The youngest, Rugi, still has tutors, nannies, and minders, and the next one, Josifa, is nineteen years old. Little is known about either of them, as they have been kept out of the public eye. I’ve heard conflicting reports, but they may have left Kaitain for schooling on Wallach IX.”
Maldisi grimaced. “I could dress up in pretty clothes, but I would never be able to infiltrate the Bene Gesserit.”
“You won’t have to. We’ll concentrate on the other daughters as potential weak points. Irulan, Chalice, Wensicia.”
She leaned closer to the projection. “Do you want them killed, too?”
He shook his head. “No, they are to be left strictly alone. Since all five daughters are still unwed, any one of them can be used for immediate marriage alliances to cement my new reign.”
Maldisi nodded. “I prefer to kill men anyway.”
He did not smile. “We’ll send you and your companions to Kaitain separately, and I want each of you to look for an opening to get to the Emperor. Redundancy, multipronged attacks to increase the odds of one succeeding.”
“I assume we are not to communicate with one another when on Kaitain?”
“Correct. One of my most trusted officers, Staff Captain Dudier Pilwu, is in charge of preparing you. I have many unexpected allies in and around the Imperial Court who will aid and protect you behind the scenes.”
Maldisi did not seem intimidated or uneasy about the assignment. In fact, she looked pleased. “You rescued me from a hell-world, Commander-General. I will do as you say, and do it gladly, giving it everything I’ve got.” She snickered. “I can’t wait to see the expression on Shaddam’s face when he’s dying. I’ll be the last person he ever sees.”
“I couldn’t ask for more.” He rose to his feet and dismissed her.
The comm gave the signal that all military ships had been loaded aboard the Heighliner and the massive cargo doors were sealed for the voyage. As expected, the Guild had not asked for details or requested verification for moving the Imperial fleet division. After ten thousand years of tradition and treaties, Zenha could count on the momentum of diplomacy.
He remained standing, studied the report from the officers on board his new warships. His revolt had begun less than two months ago, and the vastness of the Imperium meant that rumors and actual facts about what he had done would take far longer than that to propagate. Still, he had to move quickly.
When planning a garden we can choose where to plant seeds, tend the shoots, water and nurture each plant. We can prune unnecessary leaves, even uproot weeds when we see them. In society, we do the same thing with human lives.
—IMPERIAL PLANETOLOGIST PARDOT KYNEs, called Umma by the Fremen, lectures to the sietches
The high canyon walls blocked the direct sun, and Chani worked with her brother in the shade. Under a rough overhang, she and Khouro documented the growing plants in a small alcove garden, a secret island of fertilized soil, chemical nutrients mixed with animal dung and human feces.
Using a stylus and a pad of spice paper, Khouro counted saguaro, mesquite, and sagebrush, then used a measuring guide to note the height of each one. “Two of these plants are struggling. They need more water.”
“I’ll adjust the catchtrap tubes.” Bending low, Chani moved among the equipment.
Thin plastic tendrils extended from catchtraps and color-changing dew collectors tucked into crannies above. Each evening, the equipment condensed a few drops of moisture out of the air as temperatures cooled, then funneled it into the tubes.
She looked at one stunted saguaro no taller than her knee. It seemed to be begging for help. Just another sip of water. She found the moisture tube and shifted it away from a mesquite bush that was thriving.
Khouro frowned. “If you take water from a strong plant to help a weaker one that might die anyway, does that make the best garden?”
Chani countered, “By taking just a bit of water from one that has enough, we could save this cactus and make the entire garden stronger.”
Khouro muttered as he moved to the next plantings. The shadowed canyon was not far from Sietch Tabr. The garden produced no food for the tribe, yet it was another small piece in the overall dream. As she toiled among the hardy and defiant plants, she mused about the Arrakeen Residency’s tall date palms.
After leaving the dirty, noisy city with her father, she was relieved to be back in the desert, where she belonged. In the familiar sietch at last, she had stripped out of her stillsuit and used clean sand to scrub her skin, removing the unpleasantness of so many people, so many offworlders.
She appreciated the purity of the desert more than ever and was happy to take her turn to work in these plantings, as all sietch members did. Chani was glad to be with her brother, even if he was not talkative. She didn’t pry about his mood, knowing he would eventually tell her what was troubling him.
He moved to a taller saguaro and carelessly scratched his hand on the needles. Khouro hissed in surprise more than pain, looked at the dark red line that congealed almost instantly. Fremen metabolism did not waste even the tiniest bit of water. He licked the scratch, and the blood stopped.
Khouro looked at her with hooded eyes and finally spoke. The muscles in his jaw jumped as he struggled to form words. “I should have gone with you to Arrakeen.”
“You would not like it there,” Chani said.
“Still, I should have gone with you … and him. He raised us both to know about planetology, to follow in his footsteps and help build the Fremen future. Yet he took only you, not me.”
“I did not want to go,” she insisted.
“He keeps reminding us of how his father trained him to follow in his footsteps, ensuring that he could serve as the next Imperial Planetologist.”
She saw Khouro’s jealous anger, tried to alleviate it. “He thinks I would benefit from training at an Imperial Academy! Ridiculous! He suggested I should become certified, whatever that means. Why do I need a paper from some offworld government to prove that I know the science of living in the desert?”
“We both know about that.” Khouro scowled as he looked away. “He never turns down a chance to remind me that I am not his son.”
Chani was startled by the raw comment. “And you often remind him of that yourself, Liet-Chih.” She pointedly used his real name, then quoted a Fremen proverb that Reverend Mother Ramallo had taught her. “Unnecessary conflict waters no plants and gathers no spice.”
His expression darkened, as he apparently found no merit in her reasoning.
She softened her voice. “I do not dream of power or influence by gaining the same title my father has. That bureaucratic foolishness is what forces him to split his energy and his work. But I am Fremen in my heart and soul.” She touched the center of her chest. “And so are you.”
“I am Fremen in my heart, too,” Khouro said, “and yes, I know my heart.”
* * *
FROM A ROCK-RIMMED window opening on the opposite wall of the canyon, Liet-Kynes watched them in the shadows. He had come to this private overlook to contemplate and spotted his daughter and stepson going about their tasks. He was about to work his way down to the canyon floor to join them, but when he heard the buzz of their voices, he thought better of it. Instead, he just watched and listened.
These siblings were like friends holding a casual conversation, but they were more than that, bound by the blood of their mother, although the blood of two different fathers separated them. Seeing them work among the cacti and sagebrush, he recognized familiar mannerisms that were his beloved Faroula’s, though they probably didn’t even know it.
His heart ached for his wife. Faroula had died no more than a weakened husk of who she had once been, yet in his mind she was still just as bright and vibrant as the woman he’d fallen in love with. Now, much too late, Liet wished he had shown his love for her more openly. The Fremen were a passionate people, yet contradictory, because they did not easily reveal their personal emotions. It was not the Fremen way … but he could have changed it.
Liet’s eyes burned as he thought of his lost beloved … who was also Warrick’s beloved. They had been friends despite their rivalry over Faroula, and they had worked out their differences. The two young men had accepted the challenge of the sandworm race, and Liet had acknowledged his defeat, wishing only the best for Warrick and Faroula as they wed. When baby Liet-Chih had been born, Liet vowed to be the child’s guardian. He had never expected—never wanted!—the tragedy that would befall Warrick, not even in the tiniest secret corner of his soul. Later, when Faroula took him as her second husband, he had seen it not as a triumph, but the saddest of victories.
Liet-Chih had been too young to know any of this, but the boy had imagined his own answers and convinced himself they were true. Liet had tried to make peace with him, but the angry young man never showed interest in that. Chani did her best to smooth over the breach, and Liet only hoped that someday his stepson’s heart would soften.
Now the pair’s words drifted up to him, confined in the canyon walls and amplified by the shape of the cliffs. He had never imagined that Liet-Chih—Khouro, he reminded himself—would have had any interest in going to Arrakeen, especially not as the planetologist’s assistant.
Liet resolved to make more of an effort to reach out to the young man. He would offer to teach Khouro the formalities of serving as an Imperial Planetologist. Maybe his stepson could help him prepare documents, cover up undesirable data, divert attention from true numbers. Or would the young man simply scoff at that, too?
Liet believed the unsettling story of the mysterious ship the two had seen, a marauder that had stolen the corpse of a Navigator. A secret Tleilaxu project? All Fremen disliked offworlders, but the Tleilaxu were reviled even among citizens of the Imperium. Now the Guild had suggested that the genetic wizards might have a hidden facility here on Arrakis! That offended Liet to his core.
The Spacing Guild wanted to find that facility at all costs, and they had tasked Chani and her friends to accomplish it. But Liet knew this was a much larger errand. It was a crisis that affected all Fremen! Offworlders could not with impunity set up a dangerous genetic laboratory in the Fremen desert. He shuddered to think of the disruptions that might happen to his delicate terraforming work, his careful and precise plantings.
From his alcove, he listened to the conversation dwindle outside. Chani and her brother packed up and moved down the canyon to the next hidden planting. As they left, Liet felt a warmth in his heart, proud of the two of them, proud of his stepson even if the young man kept his distance. He would help both of them.
Concerned about the Tleilaxu, Liet had already sent hundreds of Fremen scouts to look even harder. If the genetic researchers were here on Arrakis, his people would find them.
Then he would be happy to let Chani, Khouro, and their commando friends destroy the place.
Death is a part of life, and life a part of death.
—Bene Gesserit observation
For years, Princess Irulan had thought her pampered life was a pleasant monotony, each day much like the one before it. Even gala palace events and royal court sessions had a familiarity, but she’d been shaken out of her humdrum malaise by the upstart Zenha’s audacious proposal. That startling request had triggered a series of dramatic events that no one could have predicted.
Of course it would fail. Over thousands of years of Corrino rule, there had been numerous revolts championing one cause or another, and none had succeeded for more than a brief interim.
Irulan remained dutifully silent, though she agreed with the essence of Zenha’s complaint, that the Imperial military was top-heavy with incompetent noblemen. When bad decisions led to the unnecessary deaths of hundreds or thousands of soldiers, was there no imperative to challenge those decisions? In that respect, had Zenha been wrong?
It was logical that the rebel commander would have gone into hiding, taking his outlaws to some obscure planet where they would never be found. Nevertheless, the man had to face the consequences, once he was caught.
Her father shielded her from private discussions of the Zenha matter, but she noticed that he seemed worried and upset every day. The two no longer shared meals and casual conversation as before, no walks together in the garden. More rumors about the rebellious commander trickled in, but the Emperor’s intelligence operatives could provide few details. Even under normal circumstances, status updates from across the vast Imperium took months, sometimes as much as a year to arrive.
It was clear that Zenha’s task force, seized after the murder of Duke Bashar Gorambi, had vanished. Other Imperial warships seemed to have gone missing on dispersed missions, and Kaitain waited for them to check in. Irulan had studied the reports of the other missing ships and tried to connect the dots, but saw no pattern yet to prove that an even larger mutinous fleet was converging under Zenha’s leadership.
The Padishah Emperor would never admit that his petulant provocation of the ambitious Zenha had instigated the chain of events. Perhaps if Shaddam had made an ally of the man, rather than setting him up for failure and disgrace, maybe offering marriage to Chalice instead.…
Her sister Wensicia seemed fascinated by the rebel officer, and she had buried herself in troop movements and fleet deployments. The Spacing Guild delivered ships according to established routes and long-standing treaties, but they did not share their records, even with the Emperor—and certainly not with his third daughter.
Wensicia had, however, offered her insights to Irulan, who listened without being entirely convinced. Irulan did acknowledge gaps in Imperial military reporting, ships with competent second-line officers who served under the worst of the showpiece noble commanders. Those vessels, even entire battle groups, were among those that had failed to report in. Perhaps there was a connection.
For the afternoon, Irulan sat in on an Imperial Court session on the lowest level of the palace, back to the routine daily activities. Here, she watched Wensicia make her case to be named to yet another committee (she was on two already). Even as a child, Wensicia could be demanding and knew how to manipulate others to do what she wanted. Now, CHOAM President Frankos Aru sat in the session, one of the most important people in the Imperium.
Knowing it was better to have her as an ally than a foe, Irulan wanted Wensicia to find a role that would satisfy her ambition. The Princess Royal saw that the lethargic committee members were paying little attention to Wensicia making her case, so she rose to her feet to interrupt the session’s discussion. “I vote for my sister for this important committee assignment. Wensicia clearly wants to learn and increase her experiences. As a daughter of the Padishah Emperor, I believe this is unquestionably a good thing. You should allow her to serve.”
Wensicia looked at her in surprise, then smiled in appreciation.
Irulan’s vote was a highly visible and influential one, and the committee members quickly followed suit.
* * *
AS PRINCESS CHALICE Corrino busied herself dressing for that evening’s banquet, she heard a disturbance in the corridor outside her apartments. Her three ladies-in-waiting looked up from their tasks—one of them selecting jewelry, another fixing her hair, and a third brushing on her makeup. Two additional attendants had managed to get the new dress on her, while the tailor adjusted the seams.
But Chalice broke away to see what was going on in the hall. She heard shouting, and as she hurried, her attendants followed, clinging to threads, necklaces, pins.
Count Fenring stood outside her door, his expression frightening as he rebuked the liveried palace guard who stood at his post outside her quarters. “Be more alert! Only one guard? For the second daughter of the Emperor? I could have killed you without a thought and been inside the dear Princess’s chambers causing havoc! You must always be ready for an assassination attempt against the royal family!”
“I am at my regular post, my Lord. A guard is always assigned to Princess Chalice.” The uniformed man squirmed under the Count’s obvious ire. “Is something out of the ordinary? We take all necessary precautions.”
“Obviously, ahhh, many more precautions are necessary. We have had word of a rebellion brewing, a mutiny among Imperial military ships. One of those criminals could make a move on the Corrino family.” The guard paled, and Fenring continued, “You saw what the fanatics did on Otak! And there is a banquet tonight, which is a possible point of vulnerability. I’m going to make certain every guest is searched—for the safety of Princess Chalice and her sisters.” He sniffed.
Hearing this alarming news, Chalice let out a small gasp and felt her pulse race. Her attendants stood next to her, aghast.
Fenring’s expression instantly changed, grew warm and comforting. “I did not mean to alarm you, ahhh, my dear. But I would not want you in harm’s way.”
