Sisterhood of Dune (5 page)

Even the short-range fishing boats rarely managed to make it out to deep waters, and the catch was sparse. The people often had to resort to eating last year’s salted fish and preserved whale meat. In comparison to the glory and riches of the old days, the Harkonnens had few prospects.

Griffin Harkonnen—the elder son of Vergyl, who was the ostensible Landsraad League ruler on Lankiveil—hated this planet, as did his younger sister, Valya. The two of them had an arrangement, a plan, by which they hoped to pull the family out of the pitiful existence that had been left for them because of the mistakes of their great-grandfather, Abulurd, and the treachery committed against him by Vorian Atreides. Their parents and the rest of the family did not share their ambitions, but indulged their determination, and allowed Griffin and Valya to see what they could do, despite their youth.

While Valya was away, seeking to advance herself in the Sisterhood (and thereby gain power and influence for House Harkonnen), Griffin remained behind, working to build the family’s commercial assets, extend their investments, and step out of their isolation. Each day he spent long hours at his studies, intent on learning the family business and improving the standard of living for the people of this backwater planet. It was not a comfortable world, but he refused to allow himself to be beaten down by it, and was as determined as his sister to see their fortune and influence in the Imperium restored. His part of their agreement was an ambitious one, including the management of family assets and seeing that they were invested properly, as well as developing a business plan that went beyond the parochial goal of merely surviving in difficult weather conditions.

Griffin was twenty-three years old with a lean frame, an even-keeled disposition, and a pragmatic way of thinking. Where his sister was the more mercurial of the two, and could no longer tolerate living on Lankiveil, he was calmer, like a captain steering his ship through icy waters, plowing ahead as he looked for better seas, and the sunshine he knew was out there, beyond the clouds.

Despite his young age, Griffin already had a good knowledge of history, mathematics, commerce, and government, as he intended to make himself a qualified and competent leader of the planet someday … thus paving the way for future Harkonnen generations to return to prominence in the Imperium.

Already Griffin knew more than his father about the intricacies of whale-fur commerce, profit-and-loss ratios, and Imperial regulations. Despite his inherited title, Vergyl Harkonnen simply had no interest in it, and left much of the hard work and thinking to his son. Vergyl was content to wield power comparable to that of a town mayor rather than a Landsraad leader. He was a good father, though, and gave plenty of attention to his younger children, Danvis and Tula.

Griffin and his sister Valya had greater dreams for the family, even if they were the only ones who did. Once, during a particularly vigorous sparring match with her brother on a rocking wooden raft out in the cold harbor, Valya had said she thought they were the only true Harkonnens on the planet.

Valya was only a year younger, and their mother had limited (“realistic,” the woman said) expectations for her, assuming the girl would marry a local man, perhaps an owner of a whaling boat or two, have children, and carry on. However, after speaking with a missionary Sister who had visited Lankiveil five years ago, Valya found her opportunity to leave, and went to be trained among the adept women on Rossak. But she had not departed before having several long conversations with Griffin, and reaching an agreement with him about how both of them could best improve the fortunes of the family.

Now, Griffin’s father came up behind him as he deciphered paragraphs of opaque bureaucratic language and history, much of which was desperately dry. The young man worked at the documents like a careful surgeon, dissecting the sections until he understood the labyrinthine nuances of government.

Vergyl seemed amused to see his son so intent. “I used to study history when I was your age, and my grandfather Abulurd told me his stories, but I couldn’t bear how the official Corrino records talked about our family. I decided just to live my life. Best if those days are not revisited.”

Griffin gestured toward the documents. “I’ve read enough about that particular past, Father, but now I’m analyzing something on a larger scale. Imperial politics is important to our future.” He stroked his chin. The pale brown hair of his mustache and goatee matched the hair on his head. He thought the facial hair made him look distinguished, giving him the appearance of someone to be taken seriously. “I’m studying the structure of the Landsraad, reading the charter. I want to take the test and be certified as Lankiveil’s official representative to the Landsraad Council.”

Vergyl chuckled. “But we already have a proxy. There’s no need for you to travel all the way to Salusa Secundus for meetings.”

Griffin fought back a flush of annoyance and stopped himself from snapping at his father. “I studied the trade agreement that was arranged by our purported proxy. It involves ninety-two planets, including Lankiveil—believe me, the agreement does not benefit
us.
It is going to cost Lankiveil and eighty-four other planets additional taxes, while eight planets that are already well-off are receiving real benefits. It looks to me like the proxy was paid off.”

“You don’t know that for sure. I’ve met Nelson Treblehorn, and he seems like a nice fellow.”

“Charming, yes. Effective on our behalf, no. Father, the first step in regaining respect for our family is to have direct representation in the Landsraad. I intend to journey to Salusa Secundus, where I can see the Landsraad Hall and look into the eyes of my beloved cousin,
the Emperor.
”

Several generations back, the Harkonnens and the Butler/Corrinos had been the same family, but now the leaders of the Imperium considered the Harkonnen name an embarrassment and never spoke of it. Griffin knew how his sister longed to remove the blot of shame caused by Vorian Atreides. Griffin felt the weight of the injustice committed against the family, too, and each of them played a part in the planned restoration. In addition to his business goals, Griffin was working to build political alliances, and one day he would travel to Salusa to claim Lankiveil’s rightful seat in the Landsraad Hall. He intended to
earn
Harkonnen importance.

Now that all the League worlds and former Unallied Planets had been drawn together in the same net, the combined Imperium encompassed more than thirteen thousand worlds. But no business could possibly get done if that many separate planetary representatives had to address every bureaucratic measure before a vote could be taken. Proxies designated by Emperor Salvador collected dozens of loosely related worlds under a single umbrella and cast votes on behalf of their populations. It was considered a convenience (earning Imperial subsidies or other benefits), but not mandatory, and exceptions were allowed, at the expense of the benefits. As far as Griffin was concerned, the Imperial favors Lankiveil gained in exchange for the proxy relationship were so minimal as to be nonexistent.

On Salusa Secundus, Griffin intended to speak for his planet, and for his family. Personally. With Valya becoming one of the skilled Sisters from the respected school on Rossak, and Griffin soon to be serving as an official representative to the Landsraad League, while also managing and expanding the family’s commercial operations, the prospects for House Harkonnen were brightening.

“Well, I’m sure it’s the right decision then.” Vergyl seemed amused by his son’s grand ideas. Though Griffin had taken over much of the business work and decisions, his father still thought of him as a naïve young man.

For an ambitious new merchant venture that Griffin and Valya had brainstormed together, he had asked their uncle Weller to travel from planet to planet representing the family and arranging whale-fur contracts. Though Weller was an excellent salesman and everybody liked him, he did not have a very good head for business, and his brother Vergyl was even more out of touch with important issues affecting the family. At least Uncle Weller understood commercial tactics and goals, wanted to do something, and was willing to contribute his time and talents; Vergyl had basically given up. If Griffin’s father ever had any ambitions at all when he was younger (and Griffin was not sure about that), he certainly did not have any now.

In the year previous, investing and planning for the expanded market, Griffin had arranged to dispatch hundreds of additional ships to secure the largest single fur-whale harvest the planet had ever produced. Then he had brokered a transportation and cargo-hauling deal with the low-end shipping company Celestial Transport, to take Uncle Weller and his wares across the Imperium.

The League’s dominant transportation line was the VenHold Spacing Fleet. Its safety record was impeccable, because their ships were guided by mysterious—some said inhuman—Navigators who could foresee hazards and accidents before they occurred. But VenHold charged prohibitively high fares, and House Harkonnen had invested a significant portion of their family profits into this expansion. Griffin could not justify the additional expense; though Celestial Transport was slower and did not use Navigators, they did offer very favorable terms. So, with all the details arranged, Griffin’s uncle had departed with a huge cargo of silky whale fur, hoping to establish a demand and then lock down lucrative distribution deals with other planets.

Meanwhile, Griffin dove into his studies to take the qualification exam to become Lankiveil’s official representative to Salusa Secundus. He glanced up at his father. “I need to finish studying—I’m required to dispatch my test packet on the next outbound ship.”

Vergyl Harkonnen gave him an offhanded compliment, meant as encouragement. “You’ll do fine, son.” He left Griffin to his studies.

I am a generous man, when my largesse is earned. But I see a difference between generosity to those who deserve it, and charity to those who would take advantage of my wealth.

—
DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT
, standard response to donation request

Narrowing his blue eyes, Josef Venport regarded the nervous crew chiefs who waited to deliver their reports in the environmentally controlled conference room at VenHold’s headquarters on planet Arrakis. “Make no mistake. I will do whatever is necessary to protect my holdings.”

The directeur paced the room to burn off energy, attempting to keep his anger under control. His thick cinnamon hair was brushed back from his forehead, and he sported a bushy mustache above thin lips that rarely smiled. His heavy brows drew tighter as he looked at the managers. “My great-grandmother, Norma Cenva, sacrificed most of her space fleet, not to mention countless human lives, to defeat the thinking machines. Guarding my own business interests may not seem as dramatic, but I advise you not to test my resolve.”

“We have never doubted your resolve, sir,” said Lilik Arvo, overseer of the company spice-harvesting operations on Arrakis. His voice quavered. Arvo’s skin was tanned dark and leathery, like an old raisin. The other two men, section heads of production teams in the deep desert, flinched, also fearing Josef’s wrath. Only a dusty woman sitting at the back showed no fear. She scowled as she watched the proceedings.

“I did not want to come here in the first place,” Josef continued. “I prefer that these operations run independently, but if another company is stealing my spice—
my spice!
—I need to stop it. Immediately. I want to know who is behind the other harvesting operations here, who is funding them, and where the damn spice is going.”

Anyone who had worked his or her way to a position of authority in VenHold understood that when anyone failed Josef, he insisted on balancing the books. And if his overseers and administrators did not want to become targets of his wrath, they had better find a more appropriate recipient for punishment.

“Give us your instructions, sir, and we’ll take care of it,” said the woman in the conference room, whose dusty rags covered a well-fitted and maintained reclamation suit. “Whatever you need.” Among those here, she was the only one he considered competent. She was also the only one who didn’t like to be in the cool, humidified air.

The cracks and wrinkles around her eyes suggested age, though the desiccating desert environment, as well as the life-prolongation properties of melange, made any guess of age problematic. Her eyes were the eerie blue-within-blue that indicated constant spice consumption, even addiction.

Josef regarded her with satisfaction. “You know the situation, Ishanti. Tell us what you recommend.” He shot a withering glance at the crew chiefs who had made excuses rather than suggestions.

She shrugged. “It should not be too difficult to find a name or two.”

“But how?” said Arvo. “We have to find the poachers first. Their machinery is unmarked, and the desert is vast.”

“One simply needs to know where to look.” Ishanti smiled, without showing her teeth. She had rich brown hair bound in a colorful scarf. She wore two pendants of a typical Buddislamic design, no surprise since most of the sheltered deep-desert tribes were Zensunni, primarily refugees from slavers.

Though she held no formal position in Venport Holdings or its commercial subsidiary Combined Mercantiles, Josef paid her well for her useful services. Ishanti came from the deep desert, moving easily from isolated tribal caves to the spaceport and the surrounding settlements. She kept an eye on Venport’s spice-harvesting operations, traded with merchants in Arrakis City, and then vanished like a dust-devil into the dunes again. Josef had never tried to follow her, and he’d given the others strict instructions to let Ishanti have her privacy.

He addressed the listeners. “I want you all to send out messages. Spread bribes if you need to, dispatch spotters to search the desert. Combined Mercantiles will offer a large reward to any spice team that exposes an off-the-books operation out there. I will not leave this planet until I have answers.” His eyebrows drew together. “And I do not want to remain here long.”