Road to Dune (15 page)

“Counselor Bauers was just about to go and order his inspection ship to withdraw to a convenient distance,” Jesse said. “He doesn’t want to block our spice export vessels.”

Bauers said with a sniff, “On the contrary, I, and my ship, will depart only at a time of my choosing. For now, the vessel remains precisely where it is.”

Coolly, Tuek nodded. “Very well then, Counselor, my information concerns you as well. My men have scanned the identities of your crewmen who are milling about at the main spaceport landing fields. Are you aware that your ship carries known Hoskanner agents who were evicted from Duneworld a year ago?”

Bauers seemed genuinely surprised. “What?”

“Your specialty may be fine print, but General Tuek’s is security,” Jesse said with a cautious smile. “He is never mistaken about such matters.”

“Ahh, I certainly had no idea any of my crew had ever been to this planet before.”

“The Hoskanners undoubtedly fooled you, too,” Jesse said, “though you do not look like a man who is easily hoodwinked.”

Standing stiffly in his dusty uniform, Tuek added, “Due to the obvious security threat, Counselor, we must insist that your crew remain within the confines of the landing zone for the duration of your stay here. I will assign a cordon of our security troops to assist you in this matter. No member of your crew is to set foot in Carthage or mingle with either the convict workers or freedmen.”

Jesse smiled thinly. “You, of course, are welcome to come and go as you please, Counselor Bauers.”

“I know nothing of Hoskanner agents.” The persnickety man sniffed. “The Grand Emperor has sent me here to inform you that the spice must flow. If you do not show dramatic progress soon … hmm, he is not a patient man.”

18

History has shown that if a noble goes soft, it will be his undoing. To avoid this calamity, he must always maintain an emotional distance from the people around him.

—GRAND EMPEROR CHAM EYVOK III (THE WARLORD EMPEROR)

W
ith Linkam spice production drastically reduced, the hopes of the sandminers had plummeted along with their income. Despite harsh working conditions under the stern Hoskanners, at least back then some of the men had eventually earned enough credits to buy their way off of Duneworld. Now the freedmen were angry with the downturn in the economy, and the convicts saw no chance for going home when they finished their sentences, despite Jesse’s promises.

Having little discretionary income, the sandminers could not spend money in the shops and saloons of Carthage, and so the businessmen, water merchants, and wrung-out pleasure women fell on hard times. Even the Catalan staff missed their ocean world. They stared at the empty desert skies and longed for rainfall instead of dust.

House Linkam generated enough capital to keep operating, if just barely, from their meager spice exports, augmented by hard-fought contributions from a handful of noble families. In his precarious financial situation, Jesse had been forced to impose austerity measures in the mansion and in Carthage, thus making life even more difficult for the workers.

He lost much sleep, feeling their misery and discontent, and he wished he had the means to improve their lives. Back on Catalan he had been in touch with his people, and they had loved him. He’d been a good leader, caring for their needs, listening to their problems. But here …

Meeting with Dorothy, he discussed many alternatives to ease the burden on the people, but without any financial cushion whatsoever, he had his hands tied. Though it made administration more difficult, he instituted tax relief, forcing his own Catalan staff to work with their salaries postponed. On Dorothy’s suggestion, he distributed some of the old stored luxury clothes and trinkets the Hoskanners had left behind, but these superficial items helped little and only served to point out how drab and hard their lives were on Duneworld. The hard-bitten sandminers and townspeople whispered among themselves about Linkam management, asserting that the nobleman’s ineptitude was stealing their future.

Out in the desert, every piece of functional harvesting equipment was in use, protected by live-rubber shielding. Extra teams worked without rest in the repair bays to put the spice harvesters and carryalls back into service with all due speed.

Some sandminers had received unrequested furloughs, laid off because there simply wasn’t enough functional equipment to put them to work. Left to themselves, bored, restless, and angry, the men continued to grumble, blaming all their troubles on House Linkam. The convicts especially, espousing the increasingly radical teachings of the prison-offshoot Zensunni religion, demanded that Jesse return melange operations to the Hoskanners, “who knew what they were doing.”

When thirty-four penal laborers refused to work on their assigned harvester teams, Jesse angrily voided their contracts and sent them back to Eridanus V. Meanwhile, the Imperial inspection ship continued to loom over Carthage. He knew Ulla Bauers was watching everything … .

UNDER A HOT and hazy noon sky, Jesse strode through an open marketplace in the center of town. In an effort to disguise himself, he wore the dirty desert cloak of a sandminer, and few people gave him a second glance. As the nobleman of Duneworld, he had been wanting to get out and see some of the common people in their day-to-day activities, instead of viewing them from groundvans or low-flying aircraft. Two plain-clothed guards accompanied him in similar attire, though he knew Tuek was behind them somewhere with a larger force, ever conscious of security.

In the crowded bazaar, shopkeepers and vendors shouted for customers to notice their wares. Incense sellers and purveyors of exotic scents wafted small samples of sweet or pungent smoke, which caught the attention of passersby with the enticingly different smells, unlike the more common odor of melange throughout the rest of Carthage.

Behind a thin wire barrier, two old women sat next to dozens of small gray rock pheasants, which they had raised in pens. The women had the birds’ heads tucked under their wings and tied in place, forcing them to sleep. The desert birds, native to other arid planets, had originally been brought here by the Hoskanners, one of their better decisions. The pheasants drank very little precious water, and their tender flesh was highly prized (and expensive) on Duneworld. Few spiceminers could afford the delicacy, though they much preferred the fare to bland company rations. When a customer agreed on the price, one of the old women would snap the necks of the chosen birds and hand over the fresh meat in spice-fiber sacks.

As Jesse was about to leave, he saw one of his guards talking into a lapel microphone. The man, who had a sharp chin and small, dark eyes, took Jesse aside, and said to him, “My Lord, a spontaneous rally is taking place on the other side of town, led by a freedman. He is calling for House Linkam to leave the planet.”

Outside the market, Jesse met with General Tuek. “I’m going over there,” the nobleman announced. “I’ve been frustrated with the need to speak on my own behalf, and this is my chance.”

“I advise against it, My Lord.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Jesse’s eyes twinkled. In a firm voice, he said he wanted to face the demonstrators, talk with them, and let them know that he heard their grievances and would do whatever he could.

“The crowd is in an ugly mood,” Tuek said.

“Then it’s even more important for me to speak with them.” Jesse lifted his chin stubbornly.

“I expected as much,” the old security chief said. “I’ve already sent for forty of our best guards to go with you.”

ACCOMPANIED BY THE guards, Jesse headed for a fleet of groundvans parked in full view of the towering Imperial inspection ship. The unwelcome vessel remained where it had landed a week before, dominating the main spaceport, so that many smaller vessels had to use secondary fields. He wondered if secret Hoskanner agents had somehow incited the minor uprising from behind their barricades. Were they waiting to enjoy his reaction?

From behind the cordon, Ulla Bauers and the other men noticed Jesse, but he ignored them. He took the van’s controls himself, letting Tuek’s guards find seats or scramble aboard a second vehicle. He roared off in a cloud of Duneworld’s ever-present dust and steered along the steep roads to where milling, angry people had gathered. When he disembarked and strode forward, his phalanx of security men formed a protective wedge to clear a way through the throng. Men in desert bodysuits and women in long robes moved aside, whispering in surprise when they recognized the noble visitor, who now wore the formal cloak of his rank.

With his mind spinning and questing for alternatives, trying to determine what he might say to them, Jesse approached the steps of a large prefab meeting house. A weathered old man stood there shouting, “—better under the Hoskanners!” Jesse recognized him immediately: Pari Hoyuq, the competent captain of a spice harvester that had recently been damaged and remained out of service.
Too much time on his hands,
Jesse thought.
Gurney could have handled this in private, if he’d had a chance.

Seeing him, Hoyuq’s face lit up with intense indignation. “You, Nobleman! Are you going to send more of us back to prison planets?”

Jesse kept walking, forcing himself to remain calm and reasonable. “Are you intending to break your contract, Pari? Like those other men who refused to work in the spice fields?” He climbed the steps to be at the same level as the old sandminer. Alert to danger, Tuek’s Catalan security men hurried to protect him, using the vantage to scan the crowd for threats.

Hoyuq said, “I would never refuse work—if work were available ! Too many of us have no chance to earn any bonuses. No chance at all. I am a
freedman.
I served my sentence, got my release.” He tapped the chevron tattoo on his forehead. “We all want to leave this place, but you Linkams have made that impossible!”

Jesse kept his eyes on the old sandminer, as if this were a private conversation between the two of them. “I already promised you, and all freedmen, that I would pay your passage home—if we win the contest.”

Instead of cheers, the reminder evoked only groans and grumbles. The man scowled and leaned closer with his leathery face. “Ha! Nobleman, there’s a greater chance of rain falling from the sky! You gave us hope with your empty promise, and we worked hard. We believed you, and for what? You cannot win the challenge, so your promise is empty.”

Jesse felt as if a hot knife had plunged into his chest, and he knew how hopeless the situation must seem to these people. In the headquarters mansion, even he and Dorothy could see the numbers and know that it would require a miracle for them to surge ahead of their rivals. Still, he squared his shoulders. “I have not given up, Pari. And neither should you.” He turned to face the crowd at last. “Not any of you.”

From below, several people shouted. “Life was better under the Hoskanners!”

“No spice, no work, no bonuses—
no reason to be here!
”

“These days, even Eridanus V isn’t as bad as the mess you’ve turned Duneworld into.”

“We want the Hoskanners back.”

Stiffening, Jesse took a breath to quell his outburst. Then he said, “Ah yes, the Hoskanners. Perhaps you should look more closely at your troubles and turn your anger toward the proper target.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who ruined our weather satellites, putting sandminers in danger? Wasn’t it Hoskanner spies who sabotaged equipment so that you can’t go out to work the spice veins? Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who bribed offplanet manufacturers to prevent or delay the delivery of vital machinery? Wasn’t it the Hoskanners who diverted water shipments so that prices climbed higher and higher?” He jabbed a finger at them. “Their only goal is to make House Linkam look weak. I’m asking you for fairness, for common decency. Give me a chance to make your lives better.”

Old Hoyuq clung stubbornly to his anger. “Then make our lives better, Nobleman. You cast blame easily, but if you want us to believe in a conspiracy against you, prove that you are better than the Hoskanners. Show us with your actions.”

Jesse’s mind raced, searching for something immediate. He and Dorothy had discussed many possibilities, all of which they had deemed too extravagant or too risky. Right now, though, he did not have the luxury of studying House Linkam’s resources, its ledgers. He had to do something before a riot broke out.

Jesse folded his arms across his chest. “Very well. In difficult times, we all ration, we all pull together, and we all share discomfort. Beginning tomorrow morning, I will distribute the water reserves from my own family holdings. Anyone who comes to my home will receive an extra share, until our supplies run out. Henceforth, my daily ration will be the same as yours.” At the murmurs of disbelief, his gray-eyed gaze darted from face to face. “I know your money is tight. Therefore, I am also fixing water prices at the level they were when House Linkam came to Duneworld. I will issue a decree to the water merchants.”

As he heard the amazed cheers, he knew he had temporarily dodged the worst unrest. The solution could not last, and it might damage the economy of Carthage, but he could not afford to worry about such matters. He had to keep his operations going, one day at a time.

THE WATER SELLERS and importers expressed their outrage at Jesse’s price controls by declaring a strike. Shipments had been delayed, their own supplies limited, and they had felt perfectly justified in raising prices as high as the city could bear. The greedy businessmen shut down all operations, locked their doors, and refused to sell water at the low prices House Linkam had set. Several plump and disgruntled water sellers demanded justice outside the mansion, but they got little sympathy from the populace, who knew the merchants had been gouging them.

As promised, House Linkam began distributing water freely to the people of Carthage, all of whom were affected by the bad times. While some were too proud to accept the charity, old freedmen, out-of-business shopkeepers, and widows of sandminers began showing up for assistance; each person who asked received a small ration of water. Drop by drop, the Linkam reserves began to dwindle, but the mood in Carthage improved. Valdemar Hoskanner would never have done such a thing.