Captain Reeson and his companion came back for yet another run.
The enemy ’thopters continued to pummel the shielded Atreides fighters in an aerial battle. One of the enemy craft drove in, buffeting Reeson’s vessel, then the attacker dropped his shields, and new gunports lit up.
“I can destroy them now, Sire,” Reeson said. “Targeting—”
Paul’s eyes flicked back and forth. “Those are lasguns! And we’ve got shields. They wouldn’t—”
Realizing the danger, Leto shouted, “Get out of—”
The screen flared with a white-hot surge, blinding them. Leto flinched, covered his eyes as the transmission went to static.
Even Hawat was astounded. “They knew our ships were shielded. He intentionally used lasguns—against shields!”
Duncan coughed as if he were about to be sick. “By the gods, pseudo-atomic explosions!”
The Mentat ran an analysis before Leto could form words to express what he had just seen. “They knew they would all die,” Hawat announced. “They violated every standard of the Great Convention, sacrificed themselves in order to hurt us.”
“Not only that,” Duncan said. “They meant to send us a message as well. They are fanatics.”
Thoughts spun in Leto’s mind as he thought of the suicidal caretaker in the first barra field, and he remembered the fear expressed by the ailar sellers and users at the moonfish operations. What could drive such fanatical, inflamed devotion to a cause? To mere drug operations?
Then a second thought sent a wave of ice down his spine. He had almost—almost!—agreed to let Paul and Duncan fly along with the attack wing. No matter their piloting skills, they would both have been vaporized in the blast. Paul …
Leto said in a choked voice, “Chaen Marek thinks he can scare us. But he cannot.” He clenched his fist, looked down at the ducal signet ring. “I want full ground operations ready to launch as soon as possible. We are now at war.”
Expect to hear this from me again: Observe the plans within plans within plans.
—BARON VLADIMIR HARKONNEN to his nephew Feyd-Rautha
As her husband pored over filmbooks, production manifests, and shipping records, Margot Fenring entered his study in the Arrakeen Residency. Silently, she watched him for a long moment, heard him humming to himself. He remained unaware of her presence, although he was a man of keen observation, but she knew how to move without a sound. It could have made her an assassin as skilled as he was, if she had chosen a different profession.
When she made an intentional rustling noise, he spun like a viper, ready to strike. As he recognized her, though, no smile crossed his face. His steel-gray eyes looked tired. Without preamble, he asked, “Do you think Shaddam’s Mentats are right? That we have an unseen hemorrhage somewhere, that melange is being whisked away from Arrakis without anyone knowing? Not Baron Harkonnen, not the smugglers … not me? The Emperor blames the smugglers, but he merely wants an easy answer.” He looked down at the records again. “And if it is not Esmar Tuek’s doing, then how is the melange being smuggled off-planet? And who is the purchaser?”
Margot stepped up behind him, began kneading his tense shoulders; it required some of her best skills to make him relax. “Your failed Mentat seems to agree with the Emperor’s Mentat accountants, but has Dardik ever been wrong? Have the other Mentats been wrong? Or is something genuinely amiss?”
“Hmmm-ah, with Grix it is difficult to tell given such eccentric behavior.” He hummed again. “But the Emperor’s Mentat accountants noticed a subtle discrepancy. Melange is very carefully inventoried, all sales accounted for down to the gram.” He shook his head. “Whoever is doing this is, hmmmm, masterful.”
She kissed the top of his head. Count Hasimir Fenring was not a handsome man, far from it, with close-set eyes and pointed features, but he was the most intelligent, dashing man she’d ever met. He was involved in the Emperor’s darkest schemes, but he cared deeply for her, and Margot felt the same about him.
“Perhaps you need to look more carefully at the smugglers, my husband,” she said. “If nothing else, a visible crackdown from you would reassure Shaddam, who sees traitors everywhere. Even if Tuek is not guilty, he and his people have much at stake here. Could they be selling spice to—I don’t know—the Spacing Guild, because of the quantities needed for their Navigators? With so much usage, an external source of melange could save money and offer additional stability. Of course, the quality of any such illicit spice would be critical.”
He stroked his chin and finally smiled at her. “Ahhhhh, we think alike, my dear. The Guild seems like a possible culprit. And you have made a projection without being a Mentat.” She continued to work his shoulders, and his sigh was genuine, not the vocal mannerism he so often adopted to make others think him a dithering fool.
She heard a rapping on the half-open study door, saw the strange half Mentat lurking outside in the corridor. Dardik shuffled his feet. “You sent for me, Count Fenring?”
Fenring’s shoulders slumped, and he turned away from his reports, looking up at the most-peculiar Mentat. “So? Have you found anything more? What is the source of this additional spice infiltrating the black market? How are they getting it off-planet, and who is selling it? Where is our leak?”
Grix Dardik stood there rocking like a pendulum. “I know only that it is happening, but not how. The plot is very clever and devious.”
“Hmmm-ah, could the Spacing Guild be involved? My wife points out that they need a lot of spice.”
“I have run that possibility, with no suitable answer. The same for large mercantile Houses involved in the spice trade. The same for conglomerates. Even CHOAM could be involved. The Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles is complex, and their records are obtuse, secure from any prying eyes. The same can be said for the Spacing Guild. The Guild not only runs Heighliner ships; they are also bankers. If they could save many solaris in melange purchases, that would put more solaris in their coffers.”
“As far as we know, both the Guild and CHOAM only work through primary channels,” Fenring said. “They pay the surtax.”
Dardik nodded, as if his neck had become too loose. “Yes, yes, they do. Of course they do. But they are clever, and secretive.”
Fenring pursed his lips, and deep furrows appeared on his brow. “But if the Spacing Guild or the CHOAM Company have found a way to circumvent Imperial channels and bypass standard fees and tariffs, including the surtax, that would be troubling.” He smiled. “And if such activities were discovered, and proved … the consequences would be, hmmm, catastrophic to them.”
Margot added, “As for CHOAM, the Ur-Director has been closely watched ever since her terrorist son attacked Otorio. Malina Aru publicly renounced him. She is known to have a close relationship with Empress Aricatha. She would never take such a terrible risk.” She paused to reconsider. “Or is that part of the deception as well?”
Fenring said, “Hmmmm, the plot would be too big, too intricate, and I would need much more time to investigate and unravel.” His eyes flashed at his wife. “I will investigate, but in the meantime, I need to convince the Emperor that I have the situation under control. He is outraged and volatile, and under such circumstances, he tends to overreact. I have seen it many times before. I have to distract him, perhaps find a scapegoat to buy myself some time.” He chewed at his lower lip.