The Winds of Dune (62 page)

Bashar Garon remained cool. “I am eager to begin an open battle to restore you to the Lion Throne, Majesty. The rogue sandworm in Arrakeen was a good preliminary strike, an opening gambit.”

The fallen Emperor frowned. “I had hoped for dozens of rogue worms to make it through the breach in the Shield Wall. Does that mean the plan was a failure, Hasimir?” His voice had a sharp accusatory tone.

“Even one rampaging sandworm caused a great deal of destruction, Sire, leaving Arrakeen in an uproar. Alia’s Regency already has enough troubles to deal with, and we just added another significant disruption. Some of the locals are claiming it was Muad’Dib’s angry spirit, returning for revenge.”

“What superstitious fools they are!” Shaddam laughed, then paused. “Or did we start the rumors ourselves?”

“We did not need to, Sire.” Fenring consulted his crystalpad, where an intricately coded message described the event on Arrakis. Two of their spies had been killed in the worm’s onslaught, innocent bystanders in the Arrakeen slums, but one surviving operative had sent a detailed eyewitness account. “As the locals scramble to repair the damage, they’re frightened, and some see it as a sign of God’s displeasure in Alia’s rule.
That
rumor is one of ours. . . .”

The rugged red-walled canyon opened into a sheltered valley, far from prison settlements or Shaddam’s domed city. On schedule, the Tleilaxu corpse ship settled onto the hard-packed ground, stirring a haze of rusty grit with a roar of suspensor engines.

Garon said, “I do not like these ghola troops, but I recognize the need for them, since my efforts to recruit fighters from the prison population here have met with less success than I had hoped.”

Count Fenring knew the secret antipathy Garon held toward the failed Emperor; he blamed Shaddam for the many disasters that had shamed the Sardaukar ranks and cost the life of his own son. “The single legion of Sardaukar loyalists that Muad’Dib let you keep has never, ahh, been adequate for our purposes.”

“Why is it so hard to train the prisoners?” Shaddam snapped. “When I was on the throne, Salusa provided a ready pool of Sardaukar trainees, who were already hardened by survival experiences here.”

Garon bit back an annoyed retort, and said with forced calm, “In those days the prison population was much greater. Kaitain sent shipload after shipload of dissidents here, political prisoners, outright traitors, and violent criminals. Only a small percentage survived, and an even smaller percentage of those became Sardaukar recruits. When the Atreides Emperor stopped sending his prisoners here, our pool dwindled considerably. And his years of terraforming work—which you wanted—have made the Salusan landscape less of a challenge to harden our available men.”

When Paul-Muad’Dib gave his promise to turn this hell into a planetary garden, supposedly as a concession to the defeated Shaddam, Count Fenring had detected subtleties in his reasons: In such a difficult environment, where daily life was a brutal challenge, only the strongest, most resourceful, and most hardened prisoners survived, and thus they became perfect Sardaukar candidates. By softening the populace and dulling the edge of Salusa Secundus, Muad’Dib had hamstrung Shaddam’s ability to find adequate replacements for his terror troops.

For his own plan, however, Shaddam Corrino had looked elsewhere.

When the corpse ship’s hatches opened and a series of parallel ramps extended to the ground, more than six thousand new ghola soldiers marched out. Their uniforms were mismatched—the better to blend in among the planet’s ragtag population. Many of them showed scars from mortal wounds. They had already been indoctrinated by the Tleilaxu, their loyalty programmed to the Padishah Emperor. Their old reflexes, muscles, and automatic responses had been reawakened.

As the last ghola soldiers emerged from the vessel, a gray-robed little Tleilaxu man scuttled toward them, crystalpad projector in hand. The Count knew the man would demand his payment now.

Shaddam looked at the new arrivals, satisfied but somewhat bored. “For the sake of humanity, and the sake of history, Hasimir—we have to get rid of these damnable Atreides monsters, and those bastard twins, too. It would be best if someone just drowned the two babies and had done with them.”

Fenring smiled. “It would be truer Fremen fashion, Sire, if they could be buried alive out in the sands.”

We write our own definitions of gratitude.

—Bene Gesserit axiom

U
pon careful consideration, Alia decided to grant an audience to the visitor from the Bene Gesserit. It was a lone Reverend Mother, someone who obviously considered herself important and was willing to take the risk of coming here despite Alia’s obvious and dangerous antipathy toward the Sisterhood.

After Alia had ordered the execution of Reverend Mother Mohiam, the Bene Gesserits had been wise to avoid her. The young Imperial Regent had long since made up her mind that she would never forgive them for conspiring against her brother. Still . . . she found this intriguing.

As the visiting Reverend Mother made her way to the Regent’s private offices, Alia considered summoning her mother to join her. Jessica had no great love for the Sisterhood either; they could sit together, a powerful alliance of mother and daughter. Then again, Alia was never sure how her mother would react to particular situations. In the end, she decided she could always tell Jessica after the meeting, when she found out what the Sisterhood wanted.

A Reverend Mother named Udine entered the room with a formal bow and a proper show of respect. Genuine humility from a Bene Gesserit was an unorthodox occurrence.

Alia remained seated in her chair, hands folded in front of her on the desk. She wasted neither time nor breath on pleasantries, nor did Udine mince words. “The Sisterhood dispatched me here, Regent Alia, regarding the matter of Bronso of Ix.”

Alia arched her eyebrows. “Proceed.”

“We have unexpectedly come upon certain information that may help you in your efforts to capture him. We have recent knowledge of Bronso’s movements, and strong evidence where he may be, even now.”

“Where?” Alia had one hand ready to call for her amazon guards and dispatch a hunting team immediately, but she was also wary of tricks.

“We believe that he is here, on Arrakis.”

Alia jerked with surprise. “Why would he come here again? That’s a foolish risk to take.”

“Perhaps he has business here.”

“How do you know this?”
And why should I believe you?
she thought.

“For years, Bronso’s mother was held in protective custody on Wallach IX. Tessia Vernius is a valuable specimen.”

Alia frowned. “I remember something about her mental breakdown—it occurred before my birth.”

“We no longer have her.” Udine remained erect, still keeping her eyes slightly averted. “Bronso rescued her.”

Alia laughed sharply. “
Bronso
freed a captive from the Bene Gesserit Mother School?”

Udine was not amused. “He is quite clever, and elusive, as you well know. We do not yet know his allies, nor how he spirited her away. However, you can find Bronso through Tessia—and we believe
she
is on Arrakis.”

“Why do you say that? What is your evidence?”

“While Tessia was in her coma, we implanted certain diagnostics within her. One of them was a device that can be used as a locator.” Udine handed over a small data plaque. “The tracker coordinates indicated Arrakis, and we have every reason to believe that Bronso is with her.”

Alia could barely contain her excitement. This was the best lead she’d had in some time. “Excellent news, Reverend Mother. All Imperial subjects have been asked to assist in the hunt for Bronso of Ix. The
Regency appreciates that you have volunteered this valuable information, but I warn you, there had better not be tricks here.”

Udine folded her arms across her chest. “No tricks on our part, my Lady, but the news is not all good. We tracked Sister Tessia to Arrakis, but lost the trail here . . . perhaps from one of your sandstorms. We no longer have a signal.” She shook her head. “It is most frustrating, but we thought you would like to know what we learned. Though the information is not perfect, we hope that your gratitude will reflect upon the standing of the Sisterhood. We long to return to some positions of influence.”

Annoyed, Alia set aside the data plaque showing the last known coordinates. “The information you brought me is next to worthless. Tell Harishka not to expect anything from me.”

“But you promised a reward. Your announcements, your condemnations of Bronso of Ix have all made it plain that—”

“I made it plain that anyone who reported valuable information would receive the blessings of Muad’Dib.” Alia raised both hands in a benedictory, but dismissive, gesture. “There, you have half a blessing. Let that be enough for you. The Bene Gesserit have done nothing but try to destroy me and my brother.”

Udine looked sickened rather than outraged. “We have not made any moves against you or your Regency, Lady Alia.”

The Regent rose to her feet, walked around her desk to stand by the taller Reverend Mother. “Oh? Have you forgotten how Lady Margot Fenring—
Reverend Mother
Fenring—trained and unleashed her daughter Marie upon me and Paul, hoping to assassinate us? That girl pretended to be my friend, but I killed her anyway. Shall I list more offenses?”

Udine was taken aback. “Lady Fenring acted without our knowledge! That was not a Bene Gesserit plan.”

“Lady Fenring is a Bene Gesserit, therefore it was a Bene Gesserit plan. I am not interested in excuses. Now, scurry back to your Mother School, content in the knowledge that you have assisted us.” When Udine continued to argue, Alia whirled the woman around and pushed her toward the doorway. “Enough! Now leave!”

The shocked Reverend Mother started to say something, then reconsidered, and hurriedly departed. The amazon guards escorted her away.

Paul-Muad’Dib did not have a historical monopoly on creating fanatics, but he perfected the art.

—from
The Mind of a Killer,
a pamphlet published by Bronso of Ix

J
essica had to take extraordinary precautions when she went out to meet Bronso. Considering the mood in the Regency, she felt this might be the most dangerous thing she had ever done.

It did not prove difficult for her to arrange for transportation from Arrakeen out to Sietch Tabr. She had connections and history there, and no one questioned her request to make a personal pilgrimage, nor her desire for privacy. She had done this several times before, and as the Mother of Muad’Dib, was not to be challenged.

Each day, a certain number of offworld visitors flooded out to the famed sietch, like irritating dust blown on the wind, and transport ’thopters departed every hour, weather permitting. Before entering the crowded passenger cabin of the aircraft, Jessica had smeared her face and ragged clothing with dust and slouched her posture, so that when she stepped off, surrounded by the swirl of others, she was just another pilgrim in a press of bodies wanting to see where Muad’Dib had made his first Fremen home, where Chani had given birth to the royal twins, and where the blinded, broken man had vanished into the desert.