Road to Dune (25 page)

Grabbing the messenger, Jesse said, “You’re flying me back to Carthage right now.” He looked back at Gurney and barked, “You stay here and defend our melange stockpiles. This sounds like a ploy to steal the treasure from us—and I swear, on the sacred honor of my family, that if the Emperor has harmed my son, he will not live long enough to feel his withdrawal from spice.”

32

In every relationship, one party holds leverage over the other. It is simply a matter of degree.

—GRAND EMPEROR INTON WUDA,
Proclamations and Ruminations

F
lying erratically, the ornijet swept in over the mountains of Carthage, passing above the main spaceport where the huge Imperial inspection ship stood like a fortress. At the secondary spaceport across town, Jesse spotted the Emperor’s opulent private yacht waiting.

He directed the nervous pilot to go directly to a small landing zone on the roof of the headquarters mansion. When the ship’s wings and engines had settled, Jesse flipped open the angled door and found a solemn-looking Esmar Tuek standing there flanked by a small honor guard.

The old general appeared to have aged decades since Jesse had last seen him. The scab of an odd triangular cut marked one cheek. The reddish stains around his lips seemed different … more splotchy. Jesse feared that in his shame and despair Tuek had allowed temptation to overwhelm him. Had he resumed his addiction to the sapho drug?

Tuek bowed his head, his eyes watery and forlorn. He held a small flat case with scuffed corners, as if it had been carried from place to place for many decades. He extended the case, opened the lid. Inside, Jesse saw several medals, Catalan rank insignia, as well as ribbons of longtime service to House Linkam. “I have failed you, My Lord. I do not deserve these tokens of honor. I have shamed you and myself.”

“What is this nonsense, Esmar?”

“I hereby resign my post as your security chief. It is my sincerest hope that my successor will not let you down in this crisis, as I have.”

Bristling, Jesse made no move to accept the box of medals. His gray eyes flashed as he stepped closer, then shocked Tuek by delivering a quick, sharp slap across the older man’s face. “Don’t be a fool, Esmar—and don’t treat
me
like one! Do you think anyone could have done better than you? I cannot lose your skills and advice, especially now.”

“I have no honor, My Lord.”

“No one ever gained honor by running away. To regain it, you must help me rescue my son.” He glowered at the security chief until Tuek finally lifted his gaze. Looking at the nobleman, the old man flashed a look of anger mixed with hope.

Jesse lowered his voice. “I need you, Esmar. Don’t make me ask again. Now, tell me exactly what happened, show me your evidence against Dorothy, and I will judge her guilt for myself.”

Tuek’s cheek showed a scarlet mark from Jesse’s blow. He stood wavering, and finally took a step backward. “As you command, My Lord.”

AFTER READING TUEK’S report, Jesse sat alone in a small private office adjacent to his suite, his fingertips touching the papers as he brooded. He could neither believe nor deny the obvious conclusion: There had been a spy in his household. The Emperor and the Hoskanners knew too many secrets, even about the stockpiles of spice. Jesse had trouble believing that his concubine, his business manager, and the
mother of his son
could have betrayed him. His heart told him it wasn’t possible.

But the evidence seemed to offer no alternative.

Tuek suspected the kidnapping and betrayal was a Hoskanner plot at its root, because Valdemar feared the Linkam stockpile had grown so large he would lose the contest. It was an act of desperation. Could the Emperor be involved as well? It seemed unlikely … but then, a lot of things seemed unlikely.

One of the household servants appeared at the open door of the office chamber, fidgeting and clearing his throat. Jesse looked up with heavy, weary eyes. “I asked not to be disturbed. I must think.”

“There is a messenger, My Lord. He is carrying a ransom demand.”

Jesse sat up. “Send him in—and call General Tuek immediately.”

Tuek arrived within moments, fully clad in his most impressive military uniform. Wearing ominous sidearms and all his badges and medals, he stood beside Jesse as the kidnapper’s representative was ushered in.

Jesse was surprised, and then sickened, to see that it was Ulla Bauers. So this was the Grand Emperor’s scheme after all! He could have fought the Hoskanners—House against House—but the Emperor had brought an impossible amount of power to bear against him.

Keeping his face hard and unreadable, with his jaw set, Jesse forced out the words. “Why does the Emperor’s man participate in this criminal, barbarous act?”

“Emperor Wuda sends his sincere apologies. His embarrassment is acute for being forced to resort to such, hmmm, medieval tactics. But you have left us no choice in the matter. Hmm-ahh, we thought concern for your son would bring you scurrying out of the desert where you had hidden.”

“To what purpose?” Jesse demanded. “I have done nothing wrong.”

Bauers sniffed. “Your own actions, Nobleman Linkam, are a disgrace. You brought galactic commerce to its knees, but not because of incompetence, as we thought. Instead, we know that you are hiding an illegal hoard of melange. As is clear in Imperial law, all stockpiles belong to the Emperor for distribution as he sees fit.”

“Is that the same Imperial law that prohibits taking noble hostages?” Tuek growled, but Jesse motioned for him to be quiet.

With an effort, Jesse composed himself. “My instructions in the challenge were clear and simple: that by the end of two years I was to surpass Hoskanner production amounts. Never was it said that I had to deliver the melange as soon as I harvested it. Though your inspection ship has harassed us for months, I am required only to show you my total
at the end.
We kept our production hidden for good reason. If the Hoskanners knew how close we were to achieving our goal, they would have increased their sabotage attempts. You pride yourself on being a legal expert, Counselor Bauers. What, exactly, have I done wrong?”

“You strangled the flow of spice. Our Empire depends on it. You are a loose cannon, creating turmoil for your own profit. You can no longer be trusted.”

“Neither can the Grand Emperor, it seems.” Tuek moved to Jesse’s side.

Bauers sniffed. “These are the terms: You will immediately deliver all of your spice stockpiles and surrender your operations on Duneworld to Valdemar Hoskanner, who served us efficiently for many years. We cannot risk further instability such as you have aroused.”

Jesse met the representative’s eyes. “And if I refuse?”

“Hmmm, one cannot say exactly how the Grand Emperor will express his displeasure. However, it seems only your son is readily available to endure his wrath.”

“And my concubine?”

“Hmmm, does she hold some value to you? Interesting. If you comply, the Grand Emperor may be, ahh, generous. We could consider her part of the bargain. They are both on his private yacht, and both are uninjured. At present.”

Jesse’s voice was frozen metal. “You will find, Counselor Bauers, that I do not respond well to coercion.”

“Hmmm, just as the Grand Emperor does not respond well to a loss of spice.”

Jesse turned to Tuek. “General, while I consider my response, please escort the Grand Emperor’s representative to our temporary guest quarters.”

With a faint smile, the old veteran nodded. “The small and uncomfortable ones, My Lord?”

“Those will do fine.” He looked at Bauers.

Pretending not to be alarmed, the gaudily dressed man said, “Hmm, perhaps I wasn’t clear enough, Nobleman. This is not a matter for negotiation. The Grand Emperor wants the spice. No other response will do. Holding me hostage will accomplish nothing.”

“Hostage? You are merely a guest … a guest who has just threatened to murder my son and—with no legal basis—ordered me to forfeit all of my family wealth. I need a little time to contemplate the treachery of Emperors.”

He gestured, and Esmar Tuek brusquely escorted the man away.

THOUGH HE HAD many concerned advisors to assist him, Jesse knew that the terrible decision was his alone to make.

He summoned his security chief to the office chamber, along with the men in charge of monitoring spaceport operations and spice distribution. “The only response to such a terrible ultimatum,” Jesse began, “is to find an even greater threat to hold over our enemy. That is what I intend to do.”

Tuek’s brow furrowed. “That could escalate the situation out of control.”

Jesse slammed his fist on the table and rose to his feet. “They threatened to kill my son!” He swept his gaze around the group of uneasy men. When he saw that he had them cowed, he sat down again and repeated in a quieter but more menacing voice,
“They threatened to kill my son.”

“So what will you do, My Lord?” Tuek said. “We are prepared to follow your commands.”

Taking a deep breath, Jesse looked toward a window that overlooked the city. Emperor Wuda’s yacht, visible on the other side of dwelling complexes and habitation domes, was well guarded. Tuek had proposed a commando operation to swarm the craft with the best Catalan soldiers and snatch the hostage boy. But Jesse could only foresee disaster in such an attempt. So he played another card instead, the ultimate gambit.

“Send a message to Gurney Halleck. Tell him to rig explosives laced with toxic contaminants to all of our spice stockpiles. Be prepared to destroy all one hundred thousand Imperial tons of concentrated melange.”

There were gasps and murmurs around the table. Each man knew that such an amount of spice would not only buy offworld passage for the entire population of Duneworld, but would allow them to live like nobles for the rest of their lives.

Tuek nodded slowly. “That will definitely get the Grand Emperor’s attention, My Lord. Which security code should I use for the message?”

“No code, Esmar I want the Emperor to hear it. Tell Gurney to rig the spice harvesters and carryalls, too. Let’s make it as hard on the Emperor as possible. If people are already rioting for spice, the nobles could overthrow Wuda for this.”

“You’re pushing back awfully hard,” Tuek said quietly.

“It doesn’t match the executioner’s axe they hold over my head.” Jesse narrowed his eyes. He had done what no other person had ever accomplished: He had gone beneath the surface of Duneworld, seen the interconnected spice plants and the network of struggling life in the desert, and returned alive after three days. Now Jesse would deliver an ultimatum to trump all ultimatums. “Next, Esmar, remove all the reactor drives from our fleet of ships. Build as many crude nuclear warheads as you can, and disperse them to the richest spice veins in the desert. How many drives do you think we can scavenge in the next few hours?”

The general withheld his questions and calculated. “More than a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty.”

Jesse’s face was a grim mask of determination. “Good. We need our family atomics.”

“KEEP THE CONCUBINE, Emperor,” he said in a voice colder than the icecaps on Catalan. As he recorded his message, Jesse spoke with a righteous anger and a raw power that made his threat utterly convincing. “But know this—if you do not release my son unharmed, if you force my hand, I
will
destroy every speck of melange on this planet, now and forever.”

He slapped the messagestat cylinder into the hand of an alarmed and chastened-looking Ulla Bauers. “Make no mistake, without my son, without my title, and with the overwhelming debt I have incurred, I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

Jesse sent the Counselor scurrying to the Imperial yacht, then sat in the headquarters mansion and waited for the Emperor’s response.

33

Duneworld is not a dead planet after all, but full of hidden and marvelous life. Humans, however, can change that in short order.

—DR. BRYCE HAYNES,
Ecological Notebooks

F
rom the sun-filtered window in a high tower of the mansion, Jesse looked across the rooftops and crags of Carthage toward the secondary spaceport. His message had been delivered to the Grand Emperor six hours ago, but so far the Imperial yacht remained silent and ominous.

Gurney Halleck had sent confirmation that all stockpile silos, hidden cave caches, spice harvesters, and carryalls had been rigged with conventional explosives and toxic contaminants. Jesse did not doubt the spice foreman would destroy it all if given the command. In a maddeningly cheery voice, Gurney added over the open channel that his inventory calculations had actually underestimated the stores of melange—when fully compiled, all the hidden storehouses actually held an extra four thousand Imperial tons. It was an added twist of the dagger into the Emperor’s side.

Esmar Tuek had used their nuclear engines to create seventeen dirty atomic warheads, which had been dispersed to the richest spice sands, where they could be remotely detonated on a moment’s notice.

Emperor Wuda and his advisors knew that Jesse was not bluffing … .

Dr. Haynes became frantic when he learned about the desperate tactics. The planetary ecologist sent an urgent message from the forward base. “This is not a game, Nobleman Linkam! The Grand Emperor is deadly serious, and I don’t think he’ll back down.”

“Neither will I.”

“Nuclear fallout will destroy the spice cycle, break the biological chain, and make the sandworms and spice plants extinct. You could wipe it all out forever!”

“I hold my son in the highest possible regard,” Jesse said icily, forcing the scientist to believe his intent. “If the Emperor harms him, he will pay the price, even if it costs the ecosystem of this planet and the industry on which the Empire is addicted.” Abruptly, he terminated the communication and went back to waiting.