The Winds of Dune (45 page)

Certain actions are taken out of mercy, necessity, or guilt. The logic may be impeccable and irrefutable . . . but the heart knows nothing of logic.

—
GURNEY HALLECK
,
Unfinished Songs

W
hen the gaze hounds were on the scent, Gurney loved the flood of adrenaline. As he ran with the animals, he became so engrossed in the chase that he could almost forget the painful memories he had accumulated over a lifetime. With Jessica away on Salusa Secundus and the front lines of Muad’Dib’s Jihad far from here, he considered it an excellent time for a hunt.

Until recently, his life had been so turbulent that he’d never considered owning pets, but he was an Earl of Caladan now, a nobleman. He was expected to have a private estate, a manor house, a retinue of servants—and of course, hunting dogs.

Gurney had never meant to become so attached to the creatures, nor even to give them individual names, but he needed to call them something other than “Blackie” or “White Spot.” For no better reason than that he had no other ideas, he named the six dogs after planets on which he had fought during the Jihad—Galacia, Giedi, Jakar, Anbus, Haviri, and Ceel. Each dog had its own personality, and they all reveled in the attention he gave them by patting their heads and rubbing their chests, brushing their fur, feeding them treats.

The gaze hounds could run for hours across the moors until they scared up a marsh hare, which they chased with a wild baying chorus.
Today, though, the prey had gotten away despite a long and exhausting chase. But at least the dogs got their exercise, and so did he. His clothes were damp with sweat, and his lungs burned.

When he took the dogs back to their kennel and fed them an extra bowl of food, the hound he’d named Giedi growled and sulked as he ate. Uncharacteristically, the dog had lagged behind in the chase today. Concerned, Gurney stepped into the kennel and saw that the animal’s eyes were watery and red. Giedi let out a small defensive growl when his master touched him.

“You look sick, boy. I’d better isolate you from the others.” Tugging on Giedi’s collar, he hauled the reluctant black-and-tan hound to a separate run. If the dog didn’t improve by tomorrow, Gurney would have to go into Cala City and find a skilled veterinarian.

The following morning, the gaze hound looked decidedly worse, eyes scarlet from scleral hemorrhaging. Giedi barked and howled, then whined as if in deep pain. When Gurney approached the kennel, the unfortunate animal threw himself against the barrier, growling and snapping.

Three of the other hounds—Jakar, Anbus, and cream-colored Haviri—had red-rimmed eyes as well and sulked in the backs of their kennels. Gurney felt a heavy fear in his gut, and immediately summoned a veterinarian to his estate.

The man took one look at the animals and shook his head. “Bloodfire virus. The symptoms are unmistakable, and you know it’s incurable, my Lord. Much as you love your dogs, they will only grow worse. They’ll suffer, and will begin to attack one another, even you. You’ve got to put all four of the sick ones down before the last two get infected. I can do it, if you like.”

“No! There must be something you can do.”

The veterinarian looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Blood-fire is a rare disease among animals on Caladan, but once contracted it is always fatal. Separate out the two healthy dogs immediately, or you’ll lose them too. But the others—” The doctor shook his head. “End their suffering now. A mad dog must be put down. Everyone knows that.”

Gurney practically shoved the man back to his groundcar, then returned to the kennels. From their individual cages, the two healthy
dogs, Galacia and Ceel, looked at their sick companions, whining mournfully.

Gurney asked one of his men-at-arms to help him separate the other three moody and lethargic dogs into empty cages. Haviri lashed out and tried to bite him, but with his fighting reflexes Gurney twisted away just in time. Feeling a chill, he realized that if
he
were to contract the disease, his own fate would be a long and painful series of treatments—with no guarantee of success.

The dog named Giedi, sick but not lethargic, threw himself against the kennel barrier, barking and scratching until his muzzle was bloody and his claws shattered. Mucus streamed from the dog’s eyes, and Gurney wept. The animal didn’t know him now, didn’t know anything except its pain and virus-driven fury.

Gurney had faced horrific tragedies in his life: from his youth when he was tormented and forced to work in the Harkonnen slave pits, and they had raped and murdered his sister, to his days in the service of House Atreides, when he tried to stop the horrific massacre at Duke Leto’s wedding, and later when he served on the battlefields of Grumman, Dune, and countless places in Paul’s Jihad. Gurney had been forged and tempered in a crucible of extreme pain.

And this was just a dog . . .
just a dog
.

Gurney quivered as he stood there, unable to see through the veil of tears in his eyes. His knees were weak; his heart pounded as if it would explode. He felt like a coward, unable to do what was necessary. He had killed a great many men with his own hand. But this, what he had to do to a loyal animal.. . .

Moving like an ancient automaton, he went to the hunting locker and returned with a flechette pistol. Time and again he had shot cornered prey and put them out of their misery, making it quick. But now the nerves in his fingers had gone dead. He aimed the pistol, but it wavered even as the dog snarled at him.

Somehow, he managed to fire a needle into Giedi’s chest. The dog let out a final yelp and collapsed into merciful silence.

Gurney staggered to the other kennels, where the remaining sick dogs huddled uncertainly. But he could not bring himself to put them down. They hadn’t reached that point yet. Letting the needle pistol drop to the ground, he staggered away.

Only two of his gaze hounds remained uninfected. He ordered them quarantined.

The next day, Ceel also showed reddened eyes, and Gurney dragged him out of the kennel with Galacia. Five of the six! He had been too afraid, had avoided the hard truth too long, and he steeled himself now.

He was forced to use the needle pistol four more times. It didn’t get any easier. He stood there trembling, stunned, torn.

Afterward, only Galacia remained, the gentlest of the hounds, the one who most adored attention, the female who wanted to be treated like a princess.

When he was all alone in the silence of the kennels, smelling the blood, Gurney slipped into the cage with her and collapsed beside her. Galacia lay down, resting her head in his lap, her ears drooping. He stroked her tawny fur and felt sadness rage through his body. At least he had saved her. Only one . . .

If he had acted more swiftly, if he had taken the first dog into quarantine as soon as he’d suspected the illness, if he had gone to the veterinarian earlier, if . . . if . . . if he’d been brave enough to face the pain of losing a few dogs, he might have saved the others. He had hesitated, denied his duty, and the other gaze hounds had paid for it.

No matter how much he loved them, killing the dogs had been the only way to cut losses, to stop them from doing further damage, to minimize the inevitable greater pain. As soon as the virus began to spread, the rest of his options had disappeared.

Gurney heaved a great breath. He felt so weak, so devastated. Galacia whimpered, and he patted her head. She looked up at him, helplessly.

Her eyes had begun to turn red.

Why is it that harm can be done in an instant, while healing requires days, years, even centuries? We exhaust ourselves trying to repair damage faster than the next wound can occur.

—
DR. WELLINGTON YUEH
, Suk medical records

S
ince the former Emperor decided to accompany the inspection group out to the terraforming sites, a simple trip out to the barren lands became a matter of such complexity that it rivaled the preparations for a major battle. The Imperial aerial transport was stocked with food and refreshments and staffed with at least one servant for every high-ranking passenger.

The Qizaras accompanying Irulan and Chani saw no benefit in the former Emperor’s presence; many of them could not understand why he remained alive, since any fallen Fremen leader would have long since been killed—but Irulan told them to keep their objections to themselves. “It is the way things are done.”

Aboard the large floating transport, Jessica remained alert for frictions among the Fedaykin, priests, and Corrino household guards. A few Sardaukar troops formed a personal bodyguard around the fallen Emperor to protect him in case any of Muad’Dib’s men secretly tried to assassinate him. Jessica knew, though, that if Paul ever decided to get rid of Shaddam IV, there would be nothing secret about it.

When Chani directed the Fedaykin and the priests to their places, Shaddam made little effort to hide his scorn from her, remaining aloof in the forward observation area of the floating transport. “A mere concubine
should not be ordering men about.” His voice was loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of settling people.

Chani’s hand went to her crysknife, and the Fedaykin and the priests were perfectly ready to go to battle, then and there. The Sardaukar moved close to the former Emperor in a tight protective posture.

But Jessica placed fingers on Chani’s forearm. She said, also loudly enough to be heard, “The former Emperor is merely incensed that his own role is even less than that of a concubine. I was once a concubine, and now I am a ruling Duchess.”

Shaddam was startled by the insult, and when Count Fenring chuckled loudly, he turned red.

“Enough of this posturing,” Irulan snapped. “Father, you would be well advised to remember that my husband could sterilize Salusa Secundus all over again. Everyone here would be most pleased to complete this inspection as soon as possible, so let us go about our work without delay.”

As the aerial transport departed, Jessica selected her seat, placing herself between Chani and Irulan. Though they shared no affection, both lived in the Arrakeen citadel and had long ago learned to tolerate one another. Each wanted something from the other: Chani wanted to be called Paul’s wife, and Irulan wanted Paul’s love.

Jessica showed no favoritism to either, lowering her voice to keep the conversation private. “I need your insights, both of you. I’ve been isolated from my son for so long I’m not sure I know him any longer. I see his decisions only through a filter of distance and biased reports, and frankly much of what he does disturbs me. Tell me about Paul’s daily life, his mood, his opinions. I want to
understand
him.”

Most of all, she wanted to know why he so easily accepted slaughter in his name. Long ago, when Paul had slain Jamis in a knife duel, Jessica had squashed his feeling of triumph, forcing him to feel the consequences and obligations of that one action, that one death. “How does it feel to be a killer?” Her son had been stung, shamed.

And now he blithely allowed the deaths of billions. . . .

I am Paul’s mother,
Jessica thought.
Should I not love him and support him, anyway? And yet, if he continues on this course, the whole galaxy will see him as history’s greatest tyrant.

Irulan’s words were stiff and formal, but she allowed a faint glimmer of pain to leak through. “Paul does not speak openly with me. Chani is his confidante.”

Jessica didn’t think Chani ever criticized or questioned Paul’s actions. Chani shrugged. “Muad’Dib is guided by prescience and by God. He sees what we cannot. What is the purpose in asking for explanations to that which is inexplicable?”