“I do not need a psychologist!” Lethea shrieked. “I need Jessica. Bring her to me from Caladan! There are things I must say to her, things she must realize! We have little time to control her! Take her away!”
Harishka went to the bed and placed a reassuring hand on Lethea’s forearm. “She will be coming. Our summons will arrive very soon.”
The ancient Kwisatz Mother was drenched in sweat from the effort she expended, but Harishka’s words finally calmed her. She relaxed her shoulders and looked up with filmy, bloodshot eyes. “Is that true? She will be here?”
“I sent the command myself. She must obey.”
Lethea shuddered and sighed. “Then the patterns may be back in alignment. Take her away from Caladan. You would not understand. Only a Kwisatz Mother can comprehend this.” She closed her eyes and appeared to fall into a deep sleep. The roiling energy faded, and her waving hair settled.
Filled with questions, Harishka stared down at her. For decades, the Sisterhood’s breeding program had been Lethea’s sole domain, and this woman grasped threads and tangles that no one else could, and straightened them out. Lethea saw the countless necessary paths that would someday lead to the ultimate Bene Gesserit goal: creating the Kwisatz Haderach, the male superhuman who could bridge space and time.
Jessica, daughter of Mohiam and concubine of Duke Leto Atreides, somehow played a key role here. But when she finally received her summons and traveled to Wallach IX, Mother Superior Harishka would have to protect her. Lethea had already proved deadly.
Some part of human instinct allows people to sense things about others. It is an innate survival skill to intuit that another person is dangerous. This also applies on a larger societal scale, when a leader feels he may need to kill millions of people.
—Bene Gesserit teaching
Twenty spindly date palms stood in front of the Arrakeen Residency. On many worlds, such trees would have been unremarkable, but here on Arrakis, they stood like victory banners. The palms had been planted as a defiant affirmation that humans could conquer such an inhospitable place, that by brute force and the extravagant use of resources, those in power could make even trees grow here.
Today, Count Fenring watered them with blood.
Dressed in light, cool clothes, he and Lady Margot observed the activity, satisfied but appropriately stern. Margot looked up at the palms, admired the broad fronds and noted tiny clusters of dates, none of which were ripe.
Sullen workers came forward with bowed heads, and opened sealed containers. Bending before the base of the palms, they poured the thick red liquid into the sand, where it could seep down and water the roots. A gathered, uneasy crowd watched, but no one commented.
Humming to himself, Fenring looked up at Baron Harkonnen, who also observed the spectacle. The enormous man was dressed in grand finery, heavy garments lined with whale fur, utterly inappropriate for the desert heat. He sweated, and his fat face held a look of confusion. The Baron did not know why he had been called here.
When Fenring sniffed, the dry air burned his nostrils. “Ahhh, Baron, it is said that out in the desert, wild Fremen distill the blood of their victims and drink the resulting water.” He watched as workers moved from one palm to the next, pouring measured amounts of red liquid onto the ground around the trees. “In this instance, I thought we would simply use the pure blood and save a step of distilling, hmmm?”
“I am sure human blood has certain essential nutrients to help the palms thrive,” the Baron said. He thrust out a thick lip, clearly wondering whether or not he was in trouble. “But I am less interested in horticulture than in knowing whose blood that was.”
Fenring reassured him, or at least distracted him. “No need to fear, Baron, hmmm … although the matter does concern you. You are fully aware that my own private Mentat, Grix Dardik—”
“Failed Mentat,” the Baron interrupted. When Fenring flashed him a deadly glare, the fat man quickly added, “Very well, I will not question his competence. Go on.”
“Dardik, along with the Emperor’s Mentat accountants, discovered subtle anomalies in melange production, shipment, and reported income. Collectively, we have analyzed all available CHOAM records of sales, taxes, and fees paid, as well as the solaris allocated to the new spice surtax.”
“I am fully aware of the damnable spice surtax.” The Baron bit off his words like a man chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat.
“I also conducted a thorough analysis from the Arrakis end. I found the exercise, ahhhhh, highly informative.”
Margot slipped her arm through his. “My husband is the Imperial Spice Observer, Baron. He watches very closely.”
Fenring continued, “I assigned my spies and observers to the task, particularly my contacts within the smuggler network. I was determined to find out what is really happening here, and then inform the Emperor.”
Now the Baron looked alarmed. Fenring could read subtle changes in his expression and demeanor, although the other man covered it with swift and forced indignation. “If you are concerned about illicit spice operations, Count Fenring, you should arrest all the smugglers. I have done my part by unleashing Rabban, letting him hunt them down so we can eliminate their illegal activities.”
“Yes, ahh, that will no longer be necessary. I have taken care of the core problem.” He smiled at the blood being poured around the palm trees.
The Baron narrowed his close-set eyes. “You executed them all?”
“I found certain pirates who refused to operate within the rules, but the others have my tacit acceptance. Emperor Shaddam has long been aware of the smugglers here on Arrakis, and some of them provide worthy services. You will henceforth leave them alone.”
“You want me to just … just ignore smugglers?”
“Those smugglers are my smugglers, and they provide services and pay appropriate fees. The Emperor is satisfied with them.” Fenring paused and then spoke in a hard voice that slashed like a sharp, curved knife. “He is not pleased with those who bypassed our known network.”
The workers poured more blood around the trees, moving down the line of palms, emptying two of their containers. The crowd remained silent, cowed.
“I was able to expose a separate band of pirates working the sands,” Count Fenring said. “Parallel smuggling operations that steal spice from the desert and sell it directly to offworld customers. Their activities were isolated from our ability to monitor or document. A large amount of melange was sold on the black market, circumventing the Emperor’s spice surtax and all of the normal fees, hmmmmm, or the appropriate bribes.”
The Baron quivered, held upright by his suspensor belt. “Indeed!” He seemed shocked.
“We apprehended the ring leader of these pirates. Rulla Tuek, the wife of the primary smuggler chief. She was running a side game, cheating the Emperor and her own husband.” He paused to sniff the dry air again. “She has been dealt with.”
Fenring saw the confusion change to genuine glee on the Baron’s face. Interesting. This was not what he had expected.
* * *
BARON HARKONNEN TRIED to control himself as he heard this revelation. From his own spies, he knew that somehow the Emperor and his maddeningly clever Mentat accountants had found questionable results. They suspected the existence of an independent flow of spice from Arrakis, which meant that the Baron needed to cover up his secret business dealings with CHOAM and Malina Aru more carefully. If Shaddam was suspicious, then Fenring was damnably more dangerous.