Dune (63 page)

“Why haven't you ever bought a Bene Gesserit, Uncle?” Feyd-Rautha asked. “With a Truthsayer at your side—”

“You know my tastes!” the Baron snapped.

Feyd-Rautha studied his uncle, said: “Still, one would be valuable for—”

“I trust them not!” the Baron snarled. “And stop trying to change the subject!”

Feyd-Rautha spoke mildly: “As you wish, Uncle.”

“I remember a time in the arena several years ago,” the Baron said.

“It seemed there that day a slave had been set to kill you. Is that truly how it was?”

“It's been so long ago, Uncle. After all, I—”

“No evasions, please,” the Baron said, and the tightness of his voice exposed the rein on his anger.

Feyd-Rautha looked at his uncle, thinking:
He knows, else he wouldn't ask.

“It was a sham, Uncle. I arranged it to discredit your slavemaster.”

“Very clever,” the Baron said. “Brave, too. That slave-gladiator almost took you, didn't he?”

“Yes.”

“If you had finesse and subtlety to match such courage, you'd be truly formidable.” The Baron shook his head from side to side. And as he had done many times since that terrible day on Arrakis, he found himself regretting the loss of Piter, the Mentat. There'd been a man of delicate, devilish subtlety. It hadn't saved him, though. Again, the Baron shook his head. Fate was sometimes inscrutable.

Feyd-Rautha glanced around the bedchamber, studying the signs of the struggle, wondering how his uncle had overcome the slave they'd prepared so carefully.

“How did I best him?” the Baron asked, “Ah-h-h, now, Feyd—let me keep some weapons to preserve me in my old age. It's better we use this time to strike a bargain.”

Feyd-Rautha stared at him.
A bargain! He means to keep me as his heir for certain, then. Else why bargain. One bargains with equals or near equals!

“What bargain, Uncle?” And Feyd-Rautha felt proud that his voice remained calm and reasonable, betraying none of the elation that filled him.

The Baron, too, noted the control. He nodded. “You're good material, Feyd. I don't waste good material. You persist, however, in refusing to learn my true value to you. You are obstinate. You do not see why I should be preserved as someone of the utmost value to you. This ....” He gestured at the evidence of the struggle in the bedchamber. “This was foolishness. I do not reward foolishness.”

Get to the point, you oldfool!
Feyd-Rautha thought.

“You think of me as an old fool,” the Baron said. “I must dissuade you of that.”

“You speak of a bargain.”

“Ah, the impatience of youth,” the Baron said. “Well, this is the substance of it, then: You will cease these foolish attempts on my life. And I, when you are ready for it, will step aside in your favor. I will retire to an advisory position, leaving you in the seat of power.”

“Retire, Uncle?”

“You still think me the fool,” the Baron said, “and this but confirms it, eh? You think I'm begging you! Step cautiously, Feyd. This old fool saw through the shielded needle you'd planted in that slave boy's thigh. Right where I'd put my hand on it, eh? The smallest pressure and—snick! A poison needle in the old fool's palm! Ah-h-h, Feyd....”

The Baron shook his head, thinking:
It would've worked, too, if Hawat hadn't warned me. Well, let the lad believe I saw the plot on my own. In a way, I did. I was the one who saved Hawat from the wreckage of Arrakis. And this lad needs greater respect for my prowess.

Feyd-Rautha remained silent, struggling with himself.
Is he being truthful? Does he really mean to retire? Why not? I'm sure to succeed him one day if I move carefully. He can't live forever. Perhaps it was foolish to try hurrying the process.

“You speak of a bargain,” Feyd-Rautha said. “What pledge do we give to bind it?”

“How can we trust each other, eh?” the Baron asked. “Well, Feyd, as for you: I'm setting Thufir Hawat to watch over you. I trust Hawat's Mentat capabilities in this. Do you understand me? And as for me, you'll have to take me on faith. But I can't live forever, can I, Feyd? And perhaps you should begin to suspect now that there're things I know which you
should
know.”

“I give you my pledge and what do you give me?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“I let you go on living,” the Baron said.

Again, Feyd-Rautha studied his uncle.
He sets Hawat over me! What would he say if I told him Hawat planned the trick with the gladiator that cost him his slavemaster? He'd likely say I was lying in the attempt to discredit Hawat. No, the good Thufir is a Mentat and has anticipated this moment.

“Well, what do you say?” the Baron asked.

“What can I say? I accept, of course.”

And Feyd-Rautha thought:
Hawat! He plays both ends against the middle... is that it? Has he moved to my uncle's camp because I didn't counsel with him over the slave boy attempt?

“You haven't said anything about my setting Hawat to watch you,” the Baron said.

Feyd-Rautha betrayed anger by a flaring of nostrils. The name of Hawat had been a danger signal in the Harkonnen family for so many years... and now it had a new meaning: still dangerous.

“Hawat's a dangerous toy,” Feyd-Rautha said.

“Toy! Don't be stupid. I know what I have in Hawat and how to control it. Hawat has deep emotions, Feyd. The man without emotions is the one to fear. But deep emotions... ah, now, those can be bent to your needs.”

“Uncle, I don't understand you.”

“Yes, that's plain enough.”

Only a flicker of eyelids betrayed the passage of resentment through Feyd-Rautha.

“And you do not understand Hawat,” the Baron said.

Nor do you!
Feyd-Rautha thought.

“Who does Hawat blame for his present circumstances?” the Baron asked. “Me? Certainly. But he was an Atreides tool and bested me for years until the Imperium took a hand. That's how he sees it. His hate for me is a casual thing now. He believes he can best me any time. Believing this, he is bested. For I direct his attention where I want it—against the Imperium.”

Tensions of a new understanding drew tight lines across Feyd-Rautha's forehead, thinned his mouth. “Against the Emperor?”

Let my dear nephew try the taste of that,
the Baron thought.
Let him say to himself: “The Emperor Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen!”
Let
him ask himself how much that's worth. Surely it must be worth the
life
of one old uncle who could make that dream come to pass!

Slowly, Feyd-Rautha wet his lips with his tongue. Could it be true what the old fool was saying? There was more here than there seemed to be.

“And what has Hawat to do with this?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“He thinks he uses us to wreak his revenge upon the Emperor.”

“And when that's accomplished?”

“He does not think beyond his revenge. Hawat's a man who must serve others, and doesn't even know this about himself.”

“I've learned much from Hawat,” Feyd-Rautha agreed, and felt the truth of the words as he spoke them. “But the more I learn, the more I feel we should dispose of him... and soon.”

“You don't like the idea of his watching you?”

“Hawat watches everybody.”

“And he may put you on a throne. Hawat is subtle. He is dangerous, devious. But I'll not yet withhold the antidote from him. A sword is dangerous, too, Feyd. We have the scabbard for this one, though. The poison's in him. When we withdraw the antidote, death will sheathe him.”

“In a way, it's like the arena,” Feyd-Rautha said. “Feints within feints within feints. You watch to see which way the gladiator leans, which way he looks, how he holds his knife.”

He nodded to himself, seeing that these words pleased his uncle, but thinking:
Yes! Like the arena! And the cutting edge is the mind!

“Now you see how you need me,” the Baron said. “I'm yet of use, Feyd.”

A sword to be wielded until he's too blunt for use,
Feyd-Rautha thought.

“Yes, Uncle,” he said.

“And now,” the Baron said, “we will go down to the slave quarters, we two. And I will watch while you, with your own hands, kill all the women in the pleasure wing.”

“Uncle!”

“There will be other women, Feyd. But I have said that you do not make a mistake casually with me.”

Feyd-Rautha's face darkened. “Uncle, you—”

“You will accept your punishment and learn something from it,” the Baron said.

Feyd-Rautha met the gloating stare in his uncle's eyes.
And I must remember this night, he thought. And remembering it, I must remember other nights.

“You will not refuse,” the Baron said.

What could you do if I refused, old man?
Feyd-Rautha asked himself. But he knew there might be some other punishment, perhaps a more subtle one, a more brutal lever to bend him.

“I know you, Feyd,” the Baron said. “You will not refuse.”

All right,
Feyd-Rautha thought.
I need you now. I see that. The bargain's made. But I'll not always need you. And... someday ...

—
from “The Sayings of Muad'Dib” by the Princess Irulan

 

I'VE SAT across from many rulers of Great Houses, but never seen a more gross and dangerous pig than this one,
Thufir Hawat told himself.

“You may speak plainly with me, Hawat,” the Baron rumbled. He leaned back in his suspensor chair, the eyes in their folds of fat boring into Hawat.

The old Mentat looked down at the table between him and the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, noting the opulence of its grain. Even this was a factor to consider in assessing the Baron, as were the red walls of this private conference room and the faint sweet herb scent that hung on the air, masking a deeper musk.

“You didn't have me send that warning to Rabban as an idle whim,” the Baron said.

Hawat's leathery old face remained impassive, betraying none of the loathing he felt. “I suspect many things, my Lord,” he said.

“Yes. Well, I wish to know how Arrakis figures in your suspicions about Salusa Secundus. It is not enough that you say to me the Emperor is in a ferment about some association between Arrakis and his mysterious prison planet. Now, I rushed the warning out to Rabban only because the courier had to leave on that Heighliner. You said there could be no delay. Well and good. But now I will have an explanation.”

“You will not leave here until I've had a full and complete explanation,” the Baron said.

“You speak too casually of Salusa Secundus,” Hawat said.

“It's a penal colony,” the Baron said. “The worst riff-raff in the galaxy are sent to Salusa Secundus. What else do we need to know?”

“That conditions on the prison planet are more oppressive than anywhere else,” Hawat said. “You hear that the mortality rate among new prisoners is higher than sixty per cent. You hear that the Emperor practices every form of oppression there. You hear all this and do not ask questions?”

“The Emperor doesn't permit the Great Houses to inspect his prison,” the Baron growled. “But he hasn't seen into my dungeons, either.”

“And curiosity about Salusa Secundus is. . . ah. . . .” Hawat put a bony finger to his lips. “. . . discouraged.”

“So he's not proud of some of the things he must do there!”

Hawat allowed the faintest of smiles to touch his dark lips. His eyes glinted in the glowtube light as he stared at the Baron. “And you've never wondered where the Emperor gets his Sardaukar?”

The Baron pursed his fat lips. This gave his features the look of a pouting baby, and his voice carried a tone of petulance as he said: “Why ... he recruits... that is to say, there are the levies and he enlists from—”

“Faaa!” Hawat snapped. “The stories you hear about the exploits of the Sardaukar, they're not rumors, are they? Those are first-hand accounts from the limited number of survivors who've fought against the Sardaukar, eh?”

“The Sardaukar are excellent fighting men, no doubt of it,” the Baron said. “But I think my own legions—”

“A pack of holiday excursionists by comparison!” Hawat snarled. “You think I don't know why the Emperor turned against House Atreides?”

“This is not a realm open to your speculation,” the Baron warned.

Is it possible that even he doesn't know what motivated the Emperor in this?
Hawat asked himself.

“Any area is open to my speculation if it does what you've hired me to do,” Hawat said. “I am a Mentat. You do not withhold information or computation lines from a Mentat.”

For a long minute, the Baron stared at him, then: “Say what you must say, Mentat.”

“The Padishah Emperor turned against House Atreides because the Duke's Warmasters Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho had trained a fighting force—a
small
fighting force—to within a hair as good as the Sardaukar. Some of them were even better. And the Duke was in a position to enlarge his force, to make it every bit as strong as the Emperor's.”