Dune (29 page)

“It’s the traitor,” someone said.

“The Baron will want to see you soon,” another said.

I must get to the ‘thopter, Yueh thought. I must put the ducal signet where
Paul will find it. And fear struck him: If Idaho suspects me or grows impatient-
-if he doesn’t wait and go exactly where I told him–Jessica and Paul will not
be saved from the carnage. I’ll be denied even the smallest relief from my act.

The Harkonnen guard released his arm, said “Wait over there out of the way.”

Abruptly, Yueh saw himself as cast away in this place of destruction, spared
nothing, given not the smallest pity. Idaho must not fail!

Another guard bumped into him, barked: “Stay out of the way, you!”

Even when they’ve profited by me they despise me. Yueh thought. He
straightened himself as he was pushed aside, regained some of his dignity.

“Wait for the Baron!” a guard officer snarled.

Yueh nodded, walked with controlled casualness along the front of the house,
turned the corner into shadows out of sight of the burning palms. Quickly, every
step betraying his anxiety, Yueh made for the rear yard beneath the conservatory
where the ‘thopter waited–the craft they had placed there to carry away Paul
and his mother.

A guard stood at the open rear door of the house, his attention focused on
the lighted hall and men banging through there, searching from room to room.

How confident they were!

Yueh hugged the shadows, worked his way around the ‘thopter, eased open the
door on the side away from the guard. He felt under the front seats for the
Fremkit he had hidden there, lifted a flap and slipped in the ducal signet. He
felt the crinkling of the spice paper there, the note he had written, pressed
the ring into the paper. He removed his hand, resealed the pack.

Softly, Yueh closed the ‘thopter door, worked his way back to the corner of
the house and around toward the flaming trees.

Now, it is done, he thought.

Once more, he emerged into the light of the blazing palms. He pulled his
cloak around him, stared at the flames. Soon I will know. Soon I will see the
Baron and I will know. And the Baron–he will encounter a small tooth.

= = = = = =

There is a legend that the instant the Duke Leto Atreides died a meteor streaked
across the skies above his ancestral palace on Caladan.
-the Princess Irulan: “Introduction to A Child’s History of Muad’Dib”
The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen stood at a viewport of the grounded lighter he
was using as a command post. Out the port he saw the flame-?lighted night of
Arrakeen. His attention focused on the distant Shield Wall where his secret
weapon was doing its work.

Explosive artillery.

The guns nibbled at the caves where the Duke’s fighting men had retreated
for a last-?ditch stand. Slowly measured bites of orange glare, showers of rock
and dust in the brief illumination–and the Duke’s men were being sealed off to
die by starvation, caught like animals in their burrows.

The Baron could feel the distant chomping–a drumbeat carried to him through
the ship’s metal: broomp . . . broomp. Then: BROOMP-?broomp!

Who would think of reviving artillery in this day of shields? The thought
was a chuckle in his mind. But it was predictable the Duke’s men would run for
those caves. And the Emperor will appreciate my cleverness in preserving the
lives of our mutual force.

He adjusted one of the little suspensors that guarded his fat body against
the pull of gravity. A smile creased his mouth, pulled at the lines of his
jowls.

A pity to waste such fighting men as the Duke’s, he thought. He smiled more
broadly, laughing at himself. Pity should be cruel! He nodded. Failure was, by
definition, expendable. The whole universe sat there, open to the man who could
make the right decisions. The uncertain rabbits had to be exposed, made to run
for their burrows. Else how could you control them and breed them? He pictured
his fighting men as bees routing the rabbits. And he thought: The day hums
sweetly when you have enough bees working for you.

A door opened behind him. The Baron studied the reflection in the night-
blackened viewport before turning.

Piter de Vries advanced into the chamber followed by Umman Kudu, the captain
of the Baron’s personal guard. There was a motion of men just outside the door,
the mutton faces of his guard, their expressions carefully sheep-?like in his
presence.

The Baron turned.

Piter touched finger to forelock in his mocking salute. “Good news, m’Lord.
The Sardaukar have brought in the Duke.”

“Of course they have,” the Baron rumbled.

He studied the somber mask of villainy on Piter’s effeminate face. And the
eyes: those shaded slits of bluest blue-?in-?blue.

Soon I mast remove him, the Baron thought. He has almost outlasted his
usefulness, almost reached the point of positive danger to my person. First,
though, he must make the people of Arrakis hate him. Then–they will welcome my
darling Feyd-?Rautha as a savior.

The Baron shifted his attention to the guard captain–Umman Kudu: scissors-
line of jaw muscles, chin like a boot toe–a man to be trusted because the
captain’s vices were known.

“First, where is the traitor who gave me the Duke?” the Baron asked. “I must
give the traitor his reward.”

Piter turned on one toe, motioned to the guard outside.

A bit of black movement there and Yueh walked through. His motions were
stiff and stringy. The mustache drooped beside his purple lips. Only the old
eyes seemed alive. Yueh came to a stop three paces into the room, obeying a
motion from Piter, and stood there staring across the open space at the Baron.

“Ah-?h-?h, Dr. Yueh.”

“M’Lord Harkonnen.”

“You’ve given us the Duke, I hear.”

“My half of the bargain, m’Lord.”

The Baron looked at Piter.

Piter nodded.
The Baron looked back at Yueh. “The letter of the bargain, eh? And I . . .”
He spat the words out: “What was I to do in return?”

“You remember quite well, m’Lord Harkonnen.”

And Yueh allowed himself to think now, hearing the loud silence of clocks in
his mind. He had seen the subtle betrayals in the Baron’s manner. Wanna was
indeed dead–gone far beyond their reach. Otherwise, there’d still be a hold on
the weak doctor. The Baron’s manner showed there was no hold; it was ended.

“Do I?” the Baron asked.

“You promised to deliver my Wanna from her agony.”

The Baron nodded. “Oh, yes. Now, I remember. So I did. That was my promise.
That was how we bent the Imperial Conditioning. You couldn’t endure seeing your
Bene Gesserit witch grovel in Piter’s pain amplifiers. Well, the Baron Vladimir
Harkonnen always keeps his promises. I told you I’d free her from the agony and
permit you to join her. So be it.” He waved a hand at Piter.

Piter’s blue eyes took a glazed look. His movement was catlike in its sudden
fluidity. The knife in his hand glistened like a claw as it flashed into Yueh’s
back.

The old man stiffened, never taking his attention from the Baron.

“So join her!” the Baron spat.

Yueh stood, swaying, His lips moved with careful precision, and his voice
came in oddly measured cadence: “You . . . think . . . you . . . de . . . feated
. . . me. You . . . think . . . I . . . did . . . not . . . know . . . what . .
. I . . . bought . . . for . . . my . . . Wanna.”

He toppled. No bending or softening. It was like a tree falling.

“So join her,” the Baron repeated. But his words were like a weak echo.

Yueh had filled him with a sense of foreboding. He whipped his attention to
Piter, watched the man wipe the blade on a scrap of cloth, watched the creamy
look of satisfaction in the blue eyes.

So that’s how he kills by his own hand, the Baron thought. It’s well to
know.

“He did give us the Duke?” the Baron asked.

“Of a certainty, my Lord,” Piter said.

“Then get him in here!”

Piter glanced at the guard captain, who whirled to obey.

The Baron looked down at Yueh. From the way the man had fallen, you could
suspect oak in him instead of bones.

“I never could bring myself to trust a traitor,” the Baron said. “Not even a
traitor I created.”

He glanced at the night-?shrouded viewport. That black bag of stillness out
there was his, the Baron knew. There was no more crump of artillery against the
Shield Wall caves; the burrow traps were sealed off. Quite suddenly, the Baron’s
mind could conceive of nothing more beautiful than that utter emptiness of
black. Unless it were white on the black. Plated white on the black. Porcelain
white.

But there was still the feeling of doubt.

What had the old fool of a doctor meant? Of course, he’d probably known what
would happen to him in the end. But that bit about thinking he’d been defeated:
“You think you defeated me.”

What had he meant?

The Duke Leto Atreides came through the door. His arms were bound in chains,
the eagle face streaked with dirt. His uniform was torn where someone had ripped
off his insignia. There were tatters at his waist where the shield belt had been
removed without first freeing the uniform ties. The Duke’s eyes held a glazed,
insane look.

“Wel-?l-?l-?l,” the Baron said. He hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. He knew
he had spoken too loudly. This moment, long envisioned, had lost some of its
savor.
Damn that cursed doctor through all eternity!

“I believe the good Duke is drugged,” Piter said. “That’s how Yueh caught
him for us.” Piter turned to the Duke. “Aren’t you drugged, my dear Duke?”

The voice was far away. Leto could feel the chains, the ache of muscles, his
cracked lips, his burning cheeks, the dry taste of thirst whispering its grit in
his mouth. But sounds were dull, hidden by a cottony blanket. And he saw only
dim shapes through the blanket.

“What of the woman and the boy, Piter?” the Baron asked. “Any word yet?”

Piter’s tongue darted over his lips.

“You’ve heard something!” the Baron snapped. “What?”

Piter glanced at the guard captain, back to the Baron. “The men who were
sent to do the job, m’Lord–they’ve . . . ah . . . been . . . ah . . . found.”

“Well, they report everything satisfactory?”

“They’re dead, m’Lord.”

“Of course they are! What I want to know is–”

“They were dead when found, m’Lord.”

The Baron’s face went livid. “And the woman and boy?”

“No sign, m’Lord, but there was a worm. It came while the scene was being
investigated. Perhaps it’s as we wished–an accident. Possibly–”

“We do not deal in possibilities, Piter. What of the missing ‘thopter? Does
that suggest anything to my Mentat?”

“One of the Duke’s men obviously escaped in it, m’Lord. Killed our pilot and
escaped.”

“Which of the Duke’s men?”

“It was a clean, silent killing, m’Lord. Hawat, perhaps, or that Halleck
one. Possibly Idaho. Or any top lieutenant.”

“Possibilities,” the Baron muttered. He glanced at the swaying, drugged
figure of the Duke.

“The situation is in hand, m’Lord,” Piter said.

“No, it isn’t! Where is that stupid planetologist? Where is this man Kynes?”

“We’ve word where to find him and he’s been sent for, m’Lord.”

“I don’t like the way the Emperor’s servant is helping us,” the Baron
muttered.

They were words through a cottony blanket, but some of them burned in Leto’s
mind. Woman and boy–no sign. Paul and Jessica had escaped. And the fate of
Hawat, Halleck, and Idaho remained an unknown. There was still hope.

“Where is the ducal signet ring?” the Baron demanded. “His finger is bare.”

“The Sardaukar say it was not on him when he was taken, my Lord,” the guard
captain said.

“You killed the doctor too soon,” the Baron said. “That was a mistake. You
should’ve warned me, Piter. You moved too precipitately for the good of our
enterprise.” He scowled. “Possibilities!”

The thought hung like a sine wave in Leto’s mind: Paul and Jessica have
escaped! And there was something else in his memory: a bargain. He could almost
remember it.

The tooth!

He remembered part of it now: a pill of poison gas shaped into a false
tooth.

Someone had told him to remember the tooth. The tooth was in his mouth. He
could feel its shape with his tongue. All he had to do was bite sharply on it.

Not yet!

The someone had told him to wait until he was near the Baron. Who had told
him? He couldn’t remember.

“How long will he remain drugged like this?” the Baron asked.

“Perhaps another hour, m’Lord.”

“Perhaps,” the Baron muttered. Again, he turned to the night-?blackened
window. “I am hungry.”
That’s the Baron, that fuzzy gray shape there, Leto thought. The shape
danced back and forth, swaying with the movement of the room. And the room
expanded and contracted. It grew brighter and darker. It folded into blackness
and faded.

Time became a sequence of layers for the Duke. He drifted up through them. I
must wait.

There was a table. Leto saw the table quite clearly. And a gross, fat man on
the other side of the table, the remains of a meal in front of him. Leto felt
himself sitting in a chair across from the fat man, felt the chains, the straps
that held his tingling body in the chair. He was aware there had been a passage
of time, but its length escaped him.

“I believe he’s coming around. Baron.”

A silky voice, that one. That was Piter.

“So I see, Piter.”

A rumbling basso: the Baron.

Leto sensed increasing definition in his surroundings. The chair beneath him
took on firmness, the bindings were sharper.

And he saw the Baron clearly now. Leto watched the movements of the man’s
hands: compulsive touchings–the edge of a plate, the handle of a spoon, a
finger tracing the fold of a jowl.

Leto watched the moving hand, fascinated by it.