"I recently had to reprimand Duke Prad Vidal because he attempted to make a black-market cargo shipment against my express orders. Once caught, Vidal simply offered to pay me half the profits, expecting to be forgiven, but I spat in his face. I literally spat in his face!" Armand blinked at Leto, as though surprised at himself. "He submitted a formal apology for his actions, and seemed to expect one from me in return. My administrators claim we are losing profits because of the embargo, but what is mere money? I hate the Moritanis."

In a quiet voice, Leto said, "I have heard that the Viscount's son suffers from a terrible disease, and that a cure is available here on Ecaz. If you showed compa.s.sion by providing medicine, would that not be a way to resolve your conflict peacefully?"

Armand said acidly, "How could I save his pathetic son, when he murdered my daughter? he murdered my daughter? By denying Moritani the medicine, I'll make that madman feel some of the pain he has inflicted on my House. This dispute will not end without a complete extermination of one family or the other." By denying Moritani the medicine, I'll make that madman feel some of the pain he has inflicted on my House. This dispute will not end without a complete extermination of one family or the other."

The Archduke lifted a small crystalline vial that stood near his place on the table. "This is the rare medicine the Viscount so desperately needs. Esoit-poay requires months to extract, refine, and process. Yes, I could provide this to Moritani. I could could save his son." save his son."

Armand clenched the tiny bottle in his hand, then hurled it to the stone tiled floor, smashing the vial to glinting shards. "I would rather let the cure dry on the ground than have it touch the lips of that vile Grumman sp.a.w.n." He lowered. "Imagine if you were given a chance to provide comfort or save the Baron Harkonnen's young nephew. Would you do it?"

Leto sighed heavily. "I doubt it. The Harkonnens were involved in the death of my father, and quite probably were part of the scheme that cost the life of my firstborn son. No, I'd throttle Feyd-Rautha with my bare hands rather than save him."

"Then you understand my position better than most people."

Leto nodded. "I agree to the terms."

The rest of the negotiations went smoothly, and soon it was time for Leto to return home with Paul and Jessica and begin the preparations. The wedding would take place at Castle Caladan in two months.

Former friends make the most bloodthirsty enemies. Who is in a better position to know how to inflict the greatest pain?

-from The Wisdom of Muad'Dib The Wisdom of Muad'Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Centuries of exploitation by the Harkonnens had wrung nearly every resource out of Giedi Prime. Even the Baron recognized that. The Moritani home planet of Grumman, however, was in far worse shape.

House Moritani had abused the landscape for generations until it was little more than the husk of a once-fertile world, mined out and barely capable of sustaining even the hardiest crops. The natives could extract very little more from the planet, and House Moritani was hungry for a new fief. The Viscount had already pet.i.tioned the Emperor several times, specifically mentioning Ecaz as a possibility, but his requests had been turned down.

No wonder the man is always in a foul mood, wonder the man is always in a foul mood, the Baron thought as he gazed across the patchy steppes. Even the breezes through the dry remnants of vegetation sounded like a death rattle. the Baron thought as he gazed across the patchy steppes. Even the breezes through the dry remnants of vegetation sounded like a death rattle.

Dressed entirely in black, the large Baron stood impatiently outside a series of linked insulated yurts and stable-sized tents. Through the fluttering tent flaps he saw high wooden stall doors, and men in leathers. He heard specially bred horses neighing and kicking in their stalls, and handlers trying to calm them.

After his arrival from Giedi Prime, a rugged open vehicle had brought him and his Mentat, Piter de Vries, directly from the s.p.a.ceport.

A thick-armed driver with s.h.a.ggy hair and a long mustache had said that Viscount Moritani would meet them there, but failed to say when. Now, the Harkonnen leader pulled his collar up around his neck. The air seemed laden with grit and dust, worse even than Arrakis. Vladimir Harkonnen was not accustomed to waiting.

Piter looked indignant on his behalf. "My Baron, this is a Grumman barn! barn! Hardly an appropriate meeting place if the Viscount is trying to impress you." Hardly an appropriate meeting place if the Viscount is trying to impress you."

The Baron frowned at him. "Use your deductive reasoning, Mentat. Hundro Moritani loves his specially bred stallions. He probably considers this an honor." He had heard the magnificent horses were huge and dangerous. The beasts certainly made a frightful amount of noise.

On the flight down from orbit, the pilot had pointed out the walled city of Ritka on the edge of a dry seabed that b.u.t.ted up against a low mountain range. Most of the people on Grumman were nomadic, wandering over the rugged land to eke out an existence from the spa.r.s.e remaining resources. The inhabitants of Ritka depended almost entirely on offworld supplies.

Beneath the dry seabed and its surrounding plains, the crust had been riddled with interconnecting tunnels and mine shafts by Grumman mineral extractors that chewed like termites, sc.r.a.ping away every speck of worthwhile dust. The Baron had been nervous that the whole plain would collapse under the weight of the pa.s.senger ship as it landed outside of Ritka.

House Moritani was desperate, and for good reason. The Baron was eager to hear what the Viscount intended to propose. If he could use the Grumman hatred of Ecaz to inflict collateral misery on House Atreides, he would be well pleased. In the meantime, however, he was not pleased with this long wait.

Something caught his eye in the distant sky, a lumbering aircraft flying low over the hills. Soon he heard the steady, m.u.f.fled drone of engines. A large, heavy creature dangled in a metallic sling from the fixed-wing flier - an animal with long legs, black hide, flailing mane and tail. One of their monster horses?

The plane hovered over a landing pad not far from the connected yurts and tents, easing the black brute down to the ground. The Baron could see vicious-looking spines protruding from the stallion's head. Men on speedcycles encircled the creature and fired bright yellow loops of energy at it, which they tightened on all sides as the beast pulled against the restraints. Shield ribbons, the Baron realized; he'd heard of them. Releasing the harness from the aircraft, the cycle wranglers sent the sling mechanism back up into the air. As they worked, the Baron recognized one of the wranglers as the Grumman Swordmaster, Hiih Resser. The redhead was multi-talented, it seemed. The fixed-wing flier landed nearby, and Moritani emerged from the craft, flushed and grinning.

"Piter, come meet our host," the Baron said. Buoyed by his suspensor belt, he strode purposefully toward the landing area, careful to stay clear of the thrashing animal and the cycle wranglers who fought to drag it toward a corral.

Viscount Moritani marched down the aircraft's exit ramp wearing a brown leather jerkin, a pointed cap, chaps, and glistening spurboots. "I trust you enjoyed the show, Vladimir! You should see what my stallions can do in a blood tournament."

"Perhaps later... after we discuss our business. I have been waiting here for quite some time."

"Apologies. A prized wild stallion was spotted on the steppes. He led us on quite a chase, but we finally got him. Very valuable breeding stock, a thoroughbred Genga - our ancient breed is found nowhere else in the galaxy. One of the few truly profitable things left on Grumman."

Before the handlers could get the huge spiny horse into a stall, the creature broke free of the shield ribbons and charged back out, wild-eyed, toward the Baron and the Viscount. The two n.o.blemen stumbled toward the dubious shelter of the plane. Boosted by his suspensors, the Baron reached the ramp first. The wild stallion slammed into the thin metal walkway as the Viscount tried to get around the Baron, causing the two men to stumble into each other.

The Baron shouted, "Piter, stop that beast!" The Mentat was not sure what to do with a spiny horse that neighed and roared.

The wranglers sped forward on their cycles, throwing out more shield ribbons, but missed their mark. Standing alone, unmoving, Swordmaster Resser fired a volley of stun darts at the horse as it charged toward him. Finally it collapsed in its tracks with a heavy thud.

The Baron brushed himself off, trying to regain his composure by venting his anger at Piter de Vries. Viscount Moritani roared with laughter. "Gengas are the most spirited horses in the Imperium! Each one is big and fast, a lethal combination that can defeat the largest Salusan bull."

After the drugged horse was safely hauled away, an aide hurried up to issue a weather report. Frowning, Moritani turned to the Baron. "I intended to put on a horse show for you, but alas our climate-control methods are rudimentary in comparison with those of other worlds." Black clouds had begun to gather over the mountains. "We will have to retire to my fortress in Ritka."

"Too bad," the Baron said, but he didn't mean it.

THE ARCHITECTURE OF the Viscount's dim and dusty fortress made it seem like a tent made of stone, with angled slabs for ceilings. As the two n.o.blemen took their seats at a private table of dark, age-stained wood, the Baron held out his hand to Piter. The Mentat handed him a bulky packet, which the Baron extended toward Hundro Moritani. "I bring a gift for your son, a supply of semuta-laced melange. It may help his condition." From what he'd seen of the boy, Wolfram had very little time left anyway.

Piter stepped forward to explain. "Apparently, the combination of drugs yields the same euphoric effects of semuta, but without that annoying music."

Nodding sadly, the Viscount said, "A kind gesture, considering how difficult it is to procure even semuta on the black market, now that Armand Ecaz has cracked down on his exports." With a darkening expression and a thickening accent as he grew more upset, the Viscount launched into his proposal without so much as serving refreshments, making the Baron think that the Ritka fortress received few n.o.ble guests. "Vladimir, we can help each other. You hate the Atreides, and I hate the Ecazis. I have a way to solve both of our problems."

"I already like the way you think. What do you suggest?"

"The news is fresh, but verified. Duke Leto Atreides intends to marry Ilesa Ecaz, sealing the two Houses together. The ceremony is scheduled to be held on Caladan in six weeks."

"My spies already informed me of this. How does it help us? After Shaddam's latest spectacle, I am weary of weddings. In any case, neither of us is likely to be invited to the nuptials."

"That doesn't mean we cannot send a special gift - something to make the occasion memorable. We have atomics." The Viscount raised his bushy eyebrows. "I presume you do as well?"

The Baron reeled in alarm. "Atomics are forbidden by the strictest possible terms in the Great Convention. Any use of atomics by one House against another is cause for the immediate extinction of that House -"

Moritani cut him off. "As I well know, Baron. And if I have any hope of securing Ecaz as my own new fief, I wouldn't want to turn it into a charred ball, now would I? I mention the idea only in pa.s.sing."

What kind of leader would mention atomics like that? In pa.s.sing! the Baron thought. the Baron thought.

Though open warfare involving great military forces and planetary-scale battles was nearly inconceivable these days, the rules of conflict among the Landsraad houses still allowed direct a.s.sa.s.sination attempts under specific circ.u.mstances. This dance of controlled violence permitted rulers to exhibit their dark sides without risking entire populations. This compromise had stood for ten thousand years, under the shield of the Great Convention.

"Ah, Vladimir - we can send an entirely different sort of message to Atreides and Ecaz, a much more personal one. I want Archduke Armand to know that I am his attacker."

The Baron narrowed his gaze. "I, on the other hand, would prefer to keep any Harkonnen involvement secret." He had not the time nor patience for a War of a.s.sa.s.sins right now. "You may take all the credit, my dear Viscount."

The other man smiled. "Then we are in perfect accord."

The weather changes, and friends come and go, but blood ties withstand great cataclysms.

-DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES

Back home on Caladan, young Paul felt withdrawn. After what he had seen and learned in the Archduke's palace, he had many questions, to which he could not find answers in filmbooks.

He went down to the dockside, wandered past the fish-seller stalls, and made his way up the path to a coastal promontory. Looking for solace, or at least answers that made sense to him, Paul stopped at the colossal harbor statues of Duke Paulus Atreides and young Victor, Duke Leto's first son. My brother, My brother, he thought with a wave of sadness. Paul stared up at the statues. Having seen images of the real individuals, he knew that these representations were accurate, though slightly idealized. Leto had erected the towering sculptures at the mouth of the harbor so that all craft pa.s.sing in or out of Cala City would see them. he thought with a wave of sadness. Paul stared up at the statues. Having seen images of the real individuals, he knew that these representations were accurate, though slightly idealized. Leto had erected the towering sculptures at the mouth of the harbor so that all craft pa.s.sing in or out of Cala City would see them.

Both deaths had left a great mark on his father's life, and it had been during Leto's time of deepest grief following Victor's death that Jessica had gotten pregnant. In a way, Paul realized, he owed his life, his very existence, to that tragedy....

He saw his mother coming up the black rock steps, and presently she stood beside him on the esplanade at the base of the statues. The salty breezes blew strands of her bronze hair about her face. "I thought you might be here, Paul. I sometimes come to this place myself to deal with my own questions."

He gazed at the stone figures, the burning braziers filled with bright flames. "Do they ever answer you?"

"No, the answers have to come from ourselves." She smiled at him. "Unless you would like to speak with me?"

He blurted a response, not thinking. "When my father marries Ilesa Ecaz, will I still be his heir? What is my place in House Atreides?"

"Leto has designated you, Paul. You are his son."

"I know, but if he has another child with Ilesa, his legal wife, won't that boy become his rightful heir instead of me?"

"Are you having dynastic dreams, Paul?" Jessica asked softly. "Do you want to be Duke?"

"Thufir says that anyone who wants wants to be Duke would not be a good one." to be Duke would not be a good one."

"That's the irony of political realities. Your father has promised that your status and mine will not change. Trust him."

"But how can he promise that? Didn't he also make promises to Archduke Ecaz?"

"Your father has made many promises. The challenge will be for him to balance and keep all of them - and you know he'll try. His sense of honor is his most prized possession."

"Do you believe my father is betraying you, or us, by marrying another woman?" Paul watched his mother's expression carefully. He could see the subtle signs of confusion and ambivalence as her Bene Gesserit-trained mind struggled to accept the necessities. Yet, no matter how much Jessica tried to convince herself, she was also a woman, a human being. She had feelings.

"I came to accept Kailea Vernius under similar circ.u.mstances," Jessica said. "I knew my place, and Leto knew his."

"But Kailea didn't accept it. I know what happened."

"Neither did your grandmother Helena. Your father knows he is treading on dangerous ground, but I will not try to talk him out of it."

Jessica turned from the statues and surprised Paul by hugging him fiercely. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she brushed away the dampness. "Always remember one thing, Paul. Your father loves you, he truly does."

Yes, he knew that in a way that went beyond politics or logic. "I will never forget it."

A MONTH Pa.s.sED, and the wedding drew closer. Paul did his best to concentrate on his many duties and responsibilities as the son of a Duke.

Paul trained daily with Thufir Hawat. Gradually, the Weapons Master set the training mek to higher and higher skill levels, as if to express his own anger. The veteran Mentat had served House Atreides for generations; he had seen old Paulus and Helena during their legendary fights and watched Leto and Kailea as their relationship tumbled into disaster. But in his position as the Atreides Master of a.s.sa.s.sins, he turned a blind eye to personal matters in the household, except where they might affect ducal security.

Paul fought against the mek, ducking to avoid its slashing metal arms, parrying with a short sword. Since the mindless, reactive device generated its own shield, he could practice the slow plunge of the knife through the resistance, adjusting the speed of his thrust to make the blade pa.s.s through. After each exhausting session, Thufir replayed Paul's moves via a holo-image so he could critique and a.s.sess the young man's strengths and weaknesses.

Now, Paul compartmentalized his thoughts as his mother had taught him, so that he could carry on a conversation while still fighting at the peak of his abilities. This habit had always startled his teachers, and Paul did it just to see the effect it had on the old Mentat. "Tell me how my grandfather died, Thufir."

"Bullfight. A Salusan bull killed him."

Paul slashed and ducked. One of the mek's cutting edges came very close to slicing open his left shoulder. "You would make a poor Jongleur. Your storytelling ability is greatly lacking."

Thufir continued to watch him, and finally said more. "Old Duke Paulus died because of treachery, and your grandmother was forced to take the veil with the Sisters in Isolation."

Pieces clicked together in Paul's mind. He had never bothered to compare the exact dates. According to stories and rumors around Castle Caladan, Lady Helena had withdrawn to the fortress nunnery out of grief. This was shocking new information. "Was she responsible for the plot?"

"Not for me to say... but in exile she remains. Duncan was but a stable hand at the time. Even he was implicated in the plot for a while."

"Duncan?" Paul nearly missed a thrust from the mek and stepped out of the way, letting the shield take the brunt of the blow when his artificial opponent thrust too quickly. "Duncan involved in the death of my grandfather? But he carries the Old Duke's sword." Paul nearly missed a thrust from the mek and stepped out of the way, letting the shield take the brunt of the blow when his artificial opponent thrust too quickly. "Duncan involved in the death of my grandfather? But he carries the Old Duke's sword."

"He was cleared of all charges." Thufir terminated the fighting exercise and shut down the mek. "That is enough, if you are going to insist on jabbering. You can pretend to do both at the same time, but I saw your mistakes, which could have been fatal if not for my presence. We will review them carefully, young Master. For now, go clean up, change your clothes, and prepare to receive our guests. The first members of the Ecazi wedding party arrive this afternoon."

Politicians and predators operate on disturbingly similar principles.

-DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES, letter to his wife, Helena

Several weeks after the Baron Harkonnen departed from Grumman, where plans had been set in motion, the Viscount lost all reason for restraint.

Hiih Resser stood with a dozen members of the Moritani royal court, packed shoulder to shoulder in the sickroom of the dying boy. Viscount Moritani spoke to them all in a voice like ripping paper. "The Suk doctor says my son will soon breathe his last. It is only a matter of days, or less. If only we had the drug to cure him." Moritani's broken whisper drove a knife of sorrow into Resser's heart. If only. If only.

On his bed, reeking of melange and semuta smoke, accompanied by wailing atonal music, whether or not the melodic trance effects were necessary, Wolfram was beyond hearing his distraught father.

Some of the witnesses sobbed softly, but Resser had no way of judging if their tears were sincere. Looking on, he was convinced that this clumsy demonstration of support was largely an effort to gain favor with the Grumman lord.

Preoccupied with his work, Dr. Terbali made adjustments to Wolfram's intravenous lines, while the wild-haired Viscount leaned over his son from the other side, kissed his sunken cheek, and spoke quietly.

The unfortunate boy did not respond, but stared vacantly, only occasionally twitching a muscle or blinking his red-veined eyes.

The sick boy slipped so quietly into death that even Moritani did not notice for several seconds, though he held the boy's limp hand. Then, in delayed reaction, he let out a b.e.s.t.i.a.l sound that was half wail, half roar.

Dr. Terbali straightened from the bedside after checking vital signs. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

Hundro Moritani swept an arm across a tray of medical instruments, sending them clanging to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.