Dune (38 page)

His reputation!

“Have the man killed,” the Baron said.

“M’Lord! Kynes is the Imperial Planetologist, His Majesty’s own serv–”

“Make it look like an accident, then!”

“M’Lord, there were Sardaukar with our forces in the subjugation of this
Fremen nest. They have Kynes in custody now.”

“Get him away from them. Say I wish to question him.”

“If they demur?”

“They will not if you handle it correctly.”

Nefud swallowed. “Yes, m’Lord.”

“The man must die,” the Baron rumbled. “He tried to help my enemies.”

Nefud shifted from one foot to the other.

“Well?”

“M’Lord, the Sardaukar have . . . two persons in custody who might be of
interest to you. They’ve caught the Duke’s Master of Assassins.”

“Hawat? Thufir Hawat?”

“I’ve seen the captive myself, m’Lord. ‘Tis Hawat.”

“I’d not’ve believed it possible!”

“They say he was knocked out by a stunner, m’Lord. In the desert where he
couldn’t use his shield. He’s virtually unharmed. If we can get our hands on
him, he’ll provide great sport.”

“This is a Mentat you speak of,” the Baron growled. “One doesn’t waste a
Mentat. Has he spoken? What does he say of his defeat? Could he know the extent
of . . . but no.”

“He has spoken only enough, m’Lord, to reveal his belief that the Lady
Jessica was his betrayer.”

“Ah-?h-?h-?h-?h.”

The Baron sank back, thinking; then: “You’re sure? It’s the Lady Jessica who
attracts his anger?”

“He said it in my presence, m’Lord.”

“Let him think she’s alive, then.”

“But, m’Lord–”

“Be quiet. I wish Hawat treated kindly. He must be told nothing of the late
Doctor Yueh, his true betrayer. Let it be said that Doctor Yueh died defending
his Duke. In a way, this may even be true. We will, instead, feed his suspicions
against the Lady Jessica.”

“M’Lord, I don’t–”

“The way to control and direct a Mentat, Nefud, is through his information.
False information–false results.”

“Yes, m’Lord, but . . . ”

“Is Hawat hungry? Thirsty?”

“M’Lord, Hawat’s still in the hands of the Sardaukar!”

“Yes. Indeed, yes. But the Sardaukar will be as anxious to get information
from Hawat as I am. I’ve noticed a thing about our allies, Nefud. They’re not
very devious . . .politically. I do believe this is a deliberate thing; the
Emperor wants it that way. Yes. I do believe it. You will remind the Sardaukar
commander of my renown at obtaining information from reluctant subjects.”

Nefud looked unhappy. “Yes, m’Lord.”

“You will tell the Sardaukar commander that I wish to question both Hawat
and this Kynes at the same time, playing one off against the other. He can
understand that much, I think.”

“Yes, m’Lord.”

“And once we have them in our hands . . . ” The Baron nodded.

“M’Lord, the Sardaukar will want an observer with you during any . . .
questioning.”
“I’m sure we can produce an emergency to draw off any unwanted observers,
Nefud.”

“I understand, m’Lord. That’s when Kynes can have his accident.”

“Both Kynes and Hawat will have accidents then, Nefud. But only Kynes will
have a real accident. It’s Hawat I want. Yes. Ah, yes.”

Nefud blinked, swallowed. He appeared about to ask a question, but remained
silent.

“Hawat will be given both food and drink,” the Baron said. “Treated with
kindness, with sympathy. In his water you will administer the residual poison
developed by the late Piter de Vries. And you will see that the antidote becomes
a regular part of Hawat’s diet from this point on . . . unless I say otherwise.”

“The antidote, yes.” Nefud shook his head. “But–”

“Don’t be dense, Nefud. The Duke almost killed me with that poison-?capsule
tooth. The gas he exhaled into my presence deprived me of my most valuable
Mentat, Piter. I need a replacement.”

“Hawat?”

“Hawat.”

“But–”

“You’re going to say Hawat’s completely loyal to the Atreides. True, but the
Atreides are dead. We will woo him. He must be convinced he’s not to blame for
the Duke’s demise. It was all the doing of that Bene Gesserit witch. He had an
inferior master, one whose reason was clouded by emotion. Mentats admire the
ability to calculate without emotion, Nefud. We will woo the formidable Thufir
Hawat.”

“Woo him. Yes, m’Lord.”

“Hawat, unfortunately, had a master whose resources were poor, one who could
not elevate a Mentat to the sublime peaks of reasoning that are a Mentat’s
right. Hawat will see a certain element of truth in this. The Duke couldn’t
afford the most efficient spies to provide his Mentat with the required
information.” The Baron stared at Nefud. “Let us never deceive ourselves, Nefud.
The truth is a powerful weapon. We know how we overwhelmed the Atreides. Hawat
knows, too. We did it with wealth.”

“With wealth. Yes, m’Lord.”

“We will woo Hawat,” the Baron said. “We will hide him from the Sardaukar.
And we will hold in reserve . . . the withdrawal of the antidote for the poison.
There’s no way of removing the residual poison. And, Nefud, Hawat need never
suspect. The antidote will not betray itself to a poison snooper. Hawat can scan
his food as he pleases and detect no trace of poison.”

Nefud’s eyes opened wide with understanding.

“The absence of a thing,” the Baron said, “this can be as deadly as the
presence. The absence of air, eh? The absence of water? The absence of anything
else we’re addicted to.” The Baron nodded. “You understand me, Nefud?”

Nefud swallowed. “Yes, m’Lord.”

Then get busy. Find the Sardaukar commander and set things in motion.“

”At once, m’Lord.” Nefud bowed, turned, and hurried away.

Hawat by my side! the Baron thought. The Sardaukar will give him to me. If
they suspect anything at all it’s that I wish to destroy the Mentat. And this
suspicion I’ll confirm! The fools! One of the most formidable Mentats in all
history, a Mentat trained to kill, and they’ll toss him to me like some silly
toy to be broken. I will show them what use can be made of such a toy.

The Baron reached beneath a drapery beside his suspensor bed, pressed a
button to summon his older nephew, Rabban. He sat back, smiling.

And all the Atreides dead!

The stupid guard captain had been right, of course. Certainly, nothing
survived in the path of a sandblast storm on Arrakis. Not an ornithopter . . .
or its occupants. The woman and the boy were dead. The bribes in the right
places, the unthinkable expenditure to bring overwhelming military force down
onto one planet . . . all the sly reports tailored for the Emperor’s ears alone,
all the careful scheming were here at last coming to full fruition.

Power and fear–fear and power!

The Baron could see the path ahead of him. One day, a Harkonnen would be
Emperor. Not himself, and no spawn of his loins. But a Harkonnen. Not this
Rabban he’d summoned, of course. But Rabban’s younger brother, young Feyd-
Rautha. There was a sharpness to the boy that the Baron enjoyed . . . a
ferocity.

A lovely boy, the Baron thought. A year or two more–say, by the time he’s
seventeen, I’ll know for certain whether he’s the tool that House Harkonnen
requires to gain the throne.

“M’Lord Baron.”

The man who stood outside the doorfield of the Baron’s bedchamber was low
built, gross of face and body, with the Harkonnen paternal line’s narrow-?set
eyes and bulge of shoulders. There was yet some rigidity in his fat, but it was
obvious to the eye that he’d come one day to the portable suspensors for
carrying his excess weight.

A muscle-?minded tank-?brain, the Baron thought. No Mentat, my nephew . . .
not a Piter de Vries, but perhaps something more precisely devised for the task
at hand. If I give him freedom to do it, he’ll grind over everything in his
path. Oh, how he’ll be hated here on Arrakis!

“My dear Rabban,” the Baron said. He released the doorfield, but pointedly
kept his body shield at full strength, knowing that the shimmer of it would be
visible above the bedside glowglobe.

“You summoned me,” Rabban said. He stepped into the room, flicked a glance
past the air disturbance of the body shield, searched for a suspensor chair,
found none.

“Stand closer where I can see you easily,” the Baron said.

Rabban advanced another step, thinking that the damnable old man had
deliberately removed all chairs, forcing a visitor to stand.

“The Atreides are dead,” the Baron said. “The last of them. That’s why I
summoned you here to Arrakis. This planet is again yours.”

Rabban blinked. “But I thought you were going to advance Piter de Vries to
the–”

“Piter, too, is dead.”

“Piter?”

“Piter.”

The Baron reactivated the doorfield, blanked it against all energy
penetration.

“You finally tired of him, eh?” Rabban asked.

His voice fell flat and lifeless in the energy-?blanketed room.

“I will say a thing to you just this once,” the Baron rumbled. “You
insinuate that I obliterated Piter as one obliterates a trifle.” He snapped fat
fingers. “Just like that, eh? I am not so stupid, Nephew. I will take it
unkindly if ever again you suggest by word or action that I am so stupid.”

Fear showed in the squinting of Rabban’s eyes. He knew within certain limits
how far the old Baron would go against family. Seldom to the point of death
unless there were outrageous profit or provocation in it. But family punishments
could be painful.

“Forgive me, m’Lord Baron,” Rabban said. He lowered his eyes as much to hide
his own anger as to show subservience.

“You do not fool me, Rabban,” the Baron said.

Rabban kept his eyes lowered, swallowed.

“I make a point,” the Baron said. “Never obliterate a man unthinkingly, the
way an entire fief might do it through some due process of law. Always do it for
an overriding purpose–and know your purpose!”
Anger spoke in Rabban: “But you obliterated the traitor, Yueh! I saw his
body being carried out as I arrived last night.”

Rabban stared at his uncle, suddenly frightened by the sound of those words.

But the Baron smiled. “I’m very careful about dangerous weapons,” he said.
“Doctor Yueh was a traitor. He gave me the Duke.” Strength poured into the
Baron’s voice. “I suborned a doctor of the Suk School! The Inner School! You
hear, boy? But that’s a wild sort of weapon to leave lying about. I didn’t
obliterate him casually.”

“Does the Emperor know you suborned a Suk doctor?”

This was a penetrating question, the Baron thought. Have I misjudged this
nephew?

“The Emperor doesn’t know it yet,” the Baron said. “But his Sardaukar are
sure to report it to him. Before that happens, though, I’ll have my own report
in his hands through CHOAM Company channels. I will explain that I luckily
discovered a doctor who pretended to the conditioning. A false doctor, you
understand? Since everyone knows you cannot counter the conditioning of a Suk
School, this will be accepted.”

“Ah-?h-?h, I see,” Rabban murmured.

And the Baron thought: Indeed, I hope you do see. I hope you do see how
vital it is that this remain secret. The Baron suddenly wondered at himself. Why
did I do that? Why did I boast to this fool nephew of mine–the nephew I must
use and discard? The Baron felt anger at himself. He felt betrayed.

“It must be kept secret,” Rabban said. “I understand.”

The Baron sighed. “I give you different instructions about Arrakis this
time, Nephew. When last you ruled this place, I held you in strong rein. This
time, I have only one requirement.”

“M’Lord?”

“Income.”

“Income?”

“Have you any idea, Rabban, how much we spent to bring such military force
to bear on the Atreides? Do you have even the first inkling of how much the
Guild charges for military transport?”

“Expensive, eh?”

“Expensive!”

The Baron shot a fat arm toward Rabban. “If you squeeze Arrakis for every
cent it can give us for sixty years, you’ll just barely repay us!”

Rabban opened his mouth, closed it without speaking.

“Expensive,” the Baron sneered. “The damnable Guild monopoly on space
would’ve ruined us if I hadn’t planned for this expense long ago. You should
know, Rabban, that we bore the entire brunt of it. We even paid for transport of
the Sardaukar.”

And not for the first time, the Baron wondered if there ever would come a
day when the Guild might be circumvented. They were insidious–bleeding off just
enough to keep the host from objecting until they had you in their fist where
they could force you to pay and pay and pay.

Always, the exorbitant demands rode upon military ventures. “Hazard rates,”
the oily Guild agents explained. And for every agent you managed to insert as a
watchdog in the Guild Bank structure, they put two agents into your system.

Insufferable!

“Income then,” Rabban said.

The Baron lowered his arm, made a fist. “You must squeeze.”

“And I may do anything I wish as long as I squeeze?”

“Anything.”

“The cannons you brought,” Rabban said. “Could I–”

“I’m removing them,” the Baron said.

“But you–”
“You won’t need such toys. They were a special innovation and are now
useless. We need the metal. They cannot go against a shield, Rabban. They were
merely the unexpected. It was predictable that the Duke’s men would retreat into
cliff caves on this abominable planet. Our cannon merely sealed them in.”

“The Fremen don’t use shields.”

“You may keep some lasguns if you wish.”

“Yes, m ‘Lord. And I have a free hand.”

“As long as you squeeze.”

Rabban’s smile was gloating. “I understand perfectly, m’Lord.”

“You understand nothing perfectly,” the Baron growled. “Let us have that
clear at the outset. What you do understand is how to carry out my orders. Has
it occurred to you, nephew, that there are at least five million persons on this
planet?”