Justice? Who asks for justice? We make our own justice. We make it here on Arrakis—win or die. Do you regret casting your lot with us, sir?
--Duke Leto I
The Arrakeen Spaceport had the functional design so common of the Spacing Guild. It was built for endurance, not luxury or eye appeal. Even on this sandblasted world, all was functionality, with none of the water preserving machines used by the natives. The lean man who stood on the bridge of one of the Atreides super frigates noted this with a glance. Arrogance in the utmost display!
"Are you listening to me, Bashar Cepeda?" Thufir Hawat demanded, intruding on his analysis.
"Yes, sir. I hear you loud and clear," he replied, turning to examine this face he had known since childhood. It was an aged face, scarred with many Atreides campaigns and many battles. Marked with three generations of service to House Atreides. A noble face that spoke volumes of the fanatic loyalty the Red Dukes inspired. Even I am not immune to it.
House Cepeda had fought alongside House Atreides since the days of the Butlerian Jihad and the Battle of Corrin. Though only a House Minor to House Atreides, their loyalty and ability had always been an asset. Especially mine, he thought humorously.
Taking a cue from the Bene Gesserit, his family had been breeding themselves for intelligence and strength for almost a millennium. He was a Mentat, and had been trained by a Swordmaster of Ginaz. He was the temporary peak of their breeding program, until he himself had children.
And the Bene Gesserit had been crucial to that. Their uncounted generations of genetic refinement had saved them centuries of research. Lord Cepeda's had always purchased Bene Gesserit concubines, and bred sons, an odd occurrence, since most Bene Gesserit bore daughters at the command of their Sisterhood. But we learned the Atreides nobility. Nothing fascinates the cynic more than a pure heart! We broke the Bene Gesserit bonds countless times. And the Sisterhood never even guessed!
Thufir examined this young bashar again. One of the best in the Duke Leto's service, he was among the most loyal of the countless retainers. He had been chosen for this special raid mainly because of the loyalty of his House for the last ten thousand years, and their amazing abilities. Even if some of those abilities reek of the witches…
"How many Fremen did you convince to tag along with us, sir?"
Brought back to practical matters, Thufir resumed his briefing. "Some hundred are curious to see beyond their own world. Most came when I mentioned the possibilities of their seeing a sea."
"A sea? That's the persuasion you used to get one hundred renegades to leave their homeworld for a military operation?" the Bashar asked incredulously. He must be joking!
"That and the possibility of killing Harkonnens on their own homeworld, while freeing their slaves."
"Sir? Are you sure we should go? It's dangerous to abandon the Duke at such a perilous time."
Thufir shook his head. By order of the Padishah Emperor, House Atreides had left their paradise homeworld of Caladan for the trackless wastes of Arrakis. Dune, the Desert Planet. Though grim and unpleasant, it was the most precious jewel in the Emperor's crown, especially because of the single commodity it produced: the spice mélange.
"The Duke orders it, Bashar. You are to board the Heighliner and head toward Giedi Prime. Once there, our spies will give you the data on the Baron Harkonnen's hoard. You and I both know that if he keeps that much spice, he is a danger to the spice gathering operations here."
"Yes. He can sabotage all he likes, bring the wrath of the Emperor and his Sardaukar on House Atreides, supply the Great and Minor Houses, and recover Arrakis. I still do not like leaving Milord Duke like this."
A rare smile touched Thufir's lips. He knew all about the loyalty House Cepeda had for the Atreides Dukes. More than once, they had laid their lives down for the Atreides. This lad's grandfather had sacrificed his life for the Old Duke Paulus, the Duke Leto's father, during the Ecazi Revolt. In the process, he had killed Duke Dran Vidal, a leader of the rebels. This act had brought House Cepeda into a state of kanly against House Minor Vidal of Ecaz ever since. "It is too soon for any Harkonnen plans to bloom. There shall be plenty of action for you when you return, Bashar. You can leave with a clear conscience."
Bashar Adan Cepeda examined his soldiers. They had just blasted off from Arrakis and entered the Heighliner. Most of them were men who belonged to Duncan Idaho's group. He, himself, was one of the Swordmaster's trusted lieutenants. But one group of them was not Idaho's. They wore the jubba cloaks and the blue-within-blue eyes of the Fremen.
Silently, he reviewed what he knew of those mysterious people. Fremen: tribes of nomads who have made Arrakis their home. Zensunni descent. Blue-within-blue eyes are a marker of total spice addiction. Men and women are equally ferocious fighters, possibly as fearsome as the Imperial Sardaukar. Hunted by the Harkonnen scum for sport. Potential allies, do not anger them.
With military preciseness, he walked over to where they congregated. They were evenly split, fifty men and fifty women. More than one of his troopers had looked ready to try their charm on the Fremen women, but Adan had put an end to that with a single barked command. Clearing his throat, he waited for all of them to look at him.
"Welcome, Fremen of Dune," he began, aware that they examined him even as he spoke. He knew what they would see: a lean, broad-shouldered man with sharp features, hawk nose, thin face, and cold eyes. Brown hair, and color-shifting brown eyes, a water-fat offworlder. "I do not doubt that our customs differ, but I wish to ask your patience while we learn the ways of each other. I am the Bashar Adan Cepeda, Lord of House Cepeda, loyal vassal of the Duke Leto Atreides. Do you have one among you to speak for you?"
One of the Fremen came forward. Adan's trained eyes noted the strength of the gait, a definite strut of a man born to lead. The Fremen, not much taller than him, stopped two paces in front of him. He wore the stillsuit underneath the jubba cloak. Removing the mouth guard, the man spoke to him. "I am the Naib Taman. I speak for my people. Why does your Duke wish us on this attack?"
The blunt command ignited Adan's rage for a moment before he let it go. Aristocratic arrogance might offend these proud nomads, and that would not do. "The Duke offers you a chance to avenge yourself on the Harkonnens by attacking their homeworld. He has no desire to allow House Harkonnen any respite from justice."
"You do not need us here, then. You can handle them yourself. Why were we brought here?"
Adan paused as he tried to think of something to appeal to this man. He recalled their Zensunni origins, and tried out one of the sayings he had learned. "Answers are a perilous grip on the universe. They can appear sensible yet explain nothing."
The Fremen stared at him in shock. Even their leader seemed unnerved. Reassessing the situation at lightning speed, he came to a startling conclusion: the Fremen retained the same fanaticism that the Zensunni had been known for. This dictated that he explore more of their beliefs, chiefly, the belief that the young Master Paul Atreides was a messiah. With some hesitation, he said, "We serve the Lisan al-Gaib. Do you, Naib?"
The man froze. So did his people. They stared at him as if he were a saint. The feeling made him mildly uncomfortable. At last, the Naib raised himself out of his religious stupor and asked, "Does the Mahdi test us in the land of his enemies?"
"The Mahdi wishes you to punish the heathens as a prelude to the conversion of the Imperium," he replied, knowing he was treading a thin line.
"His will be done," the Naib whispered, the words echoed by the others.
Mentat awareness warned Adan that he had most likely planted the seeds of a Jihad. I hope the young Master is not who they believe. If he is, God help us.
"They're arrogant, the bastards," Adan muttered to his lieutenant. Gesturing, he pointed out the cause of this curse: ship after ship was boarding the Heighliner, each one loaded with enemy troops. Monitor, crusher, frigate, troop carrier, lighters, dump-boxes…hundreds of ships!
"Get ready. We might have to…" he trailed off as he noted the arrival of the Fremen Naib. "Damnable hells. Why now?"
Taman stopped and once again evaluated the man. The features reminded him of the holograph Stilgar of Sietch Tabr had shown them of the Duke this man followed. Ability, loyalty, honor…this man could have been born a Fremen and not known it. But his water waste bothered him. They had all been treated to the luxuries these water-fat offworlders enjoyed: vibration showers to remove dirt, cool water not recycled from stillsuits, cold air that did not carry desert heat. In the week since they had embarked on the Heighliner, they had seen many worlds. The one that had made the greatest impression on the Fremen had been Buzzell. A world covered by water, with almost no land. Many had prayed to Shai-Hulud at the sight. And now they had arrived at their target. Giedi Prime, home of the demon rulers, the Harkonnens.
"Why do we not attack, Bashar?" Taban asked, curiosity present.
"Because we cannot win, Naib," Adan replied. "We must wait until they leave. Then, we strike their stockpiles and return to Arrakis before the Harkonnens can attack."
"Surely fear of death does not stay your hand. Why do you not fire on your shields with lasguns? That would destroy your enemy."
Horror appeared on the face of every man present on the bridge. The effect of a lasgun fired on shields produced clean atomics that would easily cripple the Heighliner. Any attack on Guild Heighliners had been forbidden by the Great Convention, and would bring the vengeance of every power in space upon any violators. Adan finally spoke. "The effect of such an attack would have every House in the Imperium howling for Atreides blood. We would have to flee to Tupile to escape the hunters. And our orders were not to stop the Harkonnens. They were to wipe out the stockpiles."
" I see," Taman said, though he did not.
"Choose two Fremen, preferably female, Naib. Wear contact lenses. Blue-within-blue may be common on Arrakis, but not in the rest of the Imperium. We need to reach our contact, then use the information to strike. Then, we return to Arrakis."
"Deception. A good tactic we Fremen use. We are alike in this, Bashar."
"I did not doubt it, Naib. Come. The lighter ought be ready."
Shania tried not to gag. She had volunteered to join her brother Taman on this trip, but was already regretting it. The air here smelled of unclean things. Evil odors permeated, and her friend and brother shuddered at the disaster implied by this. The offworlder had explained to them that this world, Giedi Prime, was soaked with burned materials that produced bad smells. These square shapes and sharp corners were preferred by the Harkonnens, who no doubt would abandon this world once it had been used up and move on to another. In the meanwhile, it was a festering hellhole squeezed for all it was worth.
She also did like the lenses she wore over her eyes. She understood the need for stealth, but she did not wish to see things she should not. The eyes of Ibad gave the faithful clean sight, unlike the untinted eyes of the bashar.
They followed the bashar into a bar, and watched as he led them to a table with an exit nearby. His eyes were searching, watchful for betrayal, and humorless. Before she could ask what he sought, she felt a man touch her arm.
Whirling, she saw a massive man, leering at her. "Hello, gorgeous," he slurred. "How's 'bout spendin' da night wit me? I can pay real good."
Adan turned to face the drunk. No doubt about it: the man had said the appropriate words in the right way. Now came the diversion. "Sorry, friend, but she's with me."
"So? Just offerin' her some extra business. What's a twit like you goin' do about it?"
Adan shrugged, noting the anger in Taman's face. With a finger signal, he told him to edge toward the exit. "Not much," Adan said with forced casualness, waiting until his fellows were out. "Just this!"
The vicious punch sent the diversion flying into a group of patrons who had reached the surliness stage. They hurled him off their table with a roar. Another man snuck up behind Adan and tried to clobber him with a bottle: this one received a side kick that landed him in front of a group of thugs out looking for trouble. And soon the tavern was enveloped in the disorder of a bar fight…
Taman stared at the chaos from the alley window. He was shocked at the way Adan was fighting. Moving quickly and efficiently, he was like a worm among Fremen, taking them before they could escape. Suddenly, a chair flew toward the window and shattered it. And out leapt Adan, graceful and with a smile. "Well, that was fun. I just hope it didn't scare off our contact."
"It didn't. Glad you made it."
Adan had turned to face the man, but the Fremen had already noticed he was there. With lightning speed, they grabbed him and held him. Silently, he studied the man. He was a grubby-looking man, his skin smeared by lubricants and grime despite evidence of cleaning up. "Are you Renno?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm Renno! Now tell these garbage scows to let go of me!" he growled.
To test this, he tried one of the code phrases. "How is Janess? Well, I hope."
As expected, a brief mask of grief flitted across the man's face to be replaced by pure loathing. "She is where the griffin cannot reach," he replied.
Satisfied, he gestured for the Fremen to release him. "Alright, Renno. No games. Where are the Baron's stockpiles?"
"What guarantees that you won't garrote me, eh?"
"You brought Duncan Idaho to Caladan. That is all the guarantee you need. Atreides gratitude for giving us our Swordmaster."
He watched as the understanding seeped into his face. The entire Atreides inner circle knew the story: the boy Duncan had been imprisoned with his family for some imagined slight. A woman named Janess Milam had betrayed them, and Duncan had been forced into a brutal training regimen. Training to be the Beast Rabban's prey on a hunt. At the Forest Guard Station, Duncan had outwitted and humiliated Rabban, the Baron's own nephew. He had then been rescued by Milam, who had taken him to Renno. Renno, second mate on a ship, had whisked the boy off Giedi Prime, and transported him to Caladan. Rabban, however, did not ignore Janess' role in his escape: she had been taken to Arrakis and fed to the worms, while the Baron and his nephew sadistically enjoyed her demise.
"The Baron's stockpiles? They are halfway across Giedi Prime. He stored them in Mt. Ebony, along with two brigades of his best troops." His eyes glittered with hatred. "Make him pay, Atreides. Make him pay."
"Why did you let him escape?" Taman demanded as soon as the contact had left. "A traitor cannot be trusted."
"Be silent, Taman. Didn't you hear the hatred in his voice when he said 'Baron'? He is part of the death tripod."
The Fremen all fell silent. Death tripod meant he was part of the brotherhood of hatred that would avenge themselves on the Baron. That meant he could be trusted in causing the Baron's demise. No more, and no less.
Onboard the frigate, Adan had redressed himself in his usual uniform of black and green, with its insignia: the red Atreides hawk gripping the red and pale green Cepeda shield. He stood with the unit commanders, and explained his plan to them.
"We'll be doing the unexpected. The troop carriers will set us down on Giedi Prime while our frigate and lighters blast their satellites. A secondary feint will wipe the top of Barony off," he said, mentioning the massive black plaz city that had imprisoned Idaho and his family and was still used as a slave camp by House Harkonnen. "They'll be blind and confused, and we can use the decoy attacks to lure them away from our own attack on Mt. Ebony. When we overwhelm the defenders, we'll have to make it look good. We'll be setting up a number of shields, and lasguns as well. When they're in position, we'll retreat and strike at one of their slave quarries. We'll rescue as many as we can, then return to space. On the return, we'll set off the lasguns and wipe out the stockpiles. We'll board the next Heighliner, and escape."
All the commanders nodded silent approval. Even his usually reserved lieutenant seemed animated. "We're ready to go Bashar."
"Then start us off, Bator Boont."
Nodding, he began a red alert. The troopers would even now be boarding their carriers. Taking up his sword, Adan trotted toward the carrier assigned the Fremen.
Naib Taman was not having a good day. It would be the second time in as many days he would be returning to that miserable foul-smelling planet, and all he longed for were the walls of his yali, his home, and the clean smells of Dune. This did not stop the feeling of excitement he felt about the upcoming battle. Soon, they would strike, and the Harkonnens would feel the Fremen knives.
"You look as happy as a man rushing to his enemy's funeral."
The interruption startled Taman. He turned around to see the bashar grinning at him as twenty or so of his troopers entered the carrier. Sitting down, the bashar activated his shield and checked the integrity of his weapons. "Why do you do this, Bashar?"
"Hate to have my weapon break while in the middle of the fight," Adan muttered. Raising his voice, he said, "Alright, listen up! We'll be landing on a hot zone. We have to move in and make it look we might be repulsed. We fake a retreat, but only after we activate the pseudo-atomics, and leave. We'll rescue some Harkonnen slaves, return to the frigate, and escape on the Heighliner due in-system in ninety minutes. Hear that? We have one hour to do this op in and go. Don't get left behind!"
Atmospheric buffeting stopped the Bashar's explanation. When it ceased, he took a deep breath and felt the lurch of gravity. "Get ready! It's almost go time."
"Bashar! Bator Boont has begun the attack!" the pilot yelled.
Before he could reply, the troop carrier landed and started disgorging soldiers. Combat pods flew over them, providing cover, and more decoys for the enemy. Moving quickly, Adan exited the carrier and led his group up the slopes of the mountain.
Unsurprisingly, men in the blue livery of the House Harkonnen charged their positions, their shields active and weapons out. Activating his own personal shield, Adan shouted, "Long live the Duke!" a cry taken up by the other Atreides soldiers.
Moving quickly, Adan dealt death to the Harkonnen brigades, who were nowhere near as good as the crack troopers under his command. His sword and kindjal left death wherever he turned. But his performance was nothing compared to the Fremen's.
They were berserkers, ripping through the enemy lines with no regard for their own safety. They had refused the shields offered by the Atreides, and were fighting at the peak of their abilities. For every Harkonnen slain by an Atreides, the Fremen killed two. Soon, they had reached the inner cave complex. Moving swiftly, several quick-thinking Atreides troopers removed a long ton of mélange, while their comrades pushed the Harkonnens deeper and deeper.
Even so, the Harkonnens had begun to rally, repulsing the Atreides. With a bark of battle language, Adan ordered them to abandon the fight and return to the carriers. The shields had been set up, and soon, the lasguns rigged to fire at a precise time would go off. To discourage pursuit, Adan's combat pods did bombing runs on the Harkonnens, forcing them to take refuge inside of the mountain. With a final glower, Adan took over the controls of his troop carrier and led them away from the mountain.
Burseg Kryubi glared at the enemy ships retreat. He had served the Baron for almost forty years as a loyal soldier. No doubt they had been after the spice stockpiles hidden in the mountain. His troops had barely managed to push them back out from the inner facilities, and the Atreides soldiers would probably make for space. Heading toward the communication board to make his report to the Baron, he paused when he noted an odd box. Nearing it, he saw a timer counting down. 5…4…3…2…1…0
When the timer reached zero, the force of the lasgun-shield interaction, which mimicked forbidden atomics, wiped out Kryubi and the mountain with its illicit spice hoard.
Ignoring the blinding burst of light right behind him, Adan flew the carrier into the slave pits. Landing perfectly, he led his troops trough the enemy lines and butchered enemy troops left and right. Reaching the area set aside for the soldier's recreation, he burst into the slave quarters. Medics moved as quickly as they could to get the weakened slaves out. Blessings and tears were sent their way by those women who had not yet had their vocal cords removed by the sadistic Harkonnens. Looking around, Adan noted the shock on the Fremen faces when they saw the tears flowing from the slaves. Shaking his head, he bent down to a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and asked, "Can you move?"
She nodded her head and tried to stand. Her muscles gave out and she would have collapsed had Adan not caught her. "Easy now, girl. I'll help you out of here, and we can get you some help." Turning his attention away from the delicately beautiful girl, he bellowed, "Get a move on, you ground hogs! That Heighliner isn't going to wait for us! And kill all of the Harkonnen surgeons! We can't let them get away with these crimes…"
"Right, Bashar!" was the reply he heard from several of his troopers and, to his surprise, several Fremen as well. He watched just long enough to confirm that they were obeying, and then focused his attention on helping the girl. She could not walk, so he was forced to carry her. Moving quickly, he heard the sharp beep of his communicator. Turning it on, he heard the unmistakable sound of panic in Boont's voice. "Bashar! There's a monitor heading this way!!"
"Hells!" Monitors were the largest combat ships in space warfare. They were too big to blast off from a planetary surface, so they had been designed to split into ten separate sections. Bristling with weapons, nothing less than another monitor could take it on, one-on-one. However, their main flaw was that the sections had to be merged in space, and that gave a quick attacker a momentary advantage. "Have they finished merging?"
"No, sir, but they have begun it. We don't have anything to take it on with and-"
"We do have a weapon. Prepare a combat pod and send it in by remote. Have it fire a lasgun on it's own shields when it gets close enough to the monitor. They'll be expecting that, and will try to shoot down the pod. While they're focusing on the pod, prepare to fire the multiphase projectiles. It'll be an unexpected move, which will allow us to feint again, using our lighters to blast it from the side. Get to it!"
"Yes, Bashar!"
Feints within feints within feints, and all of them are lethal.
Adan was on his bed, trying to sleep. The attack had been a success, with the leveling of the mountain and confirmation of the destruction of the mélange stockpiled by the Baron. They had successfully rescued close to one thousand slaves, and had suffered minimal causalities. In a show of bravura, the elite mansions of Barony had been reduced to mere memories, and another five hundred slaves had been rescued. He smiled humorlessly as he recalled the image sent by the monitor captain: that of Count Glossu Rabban, the Beast himself. The man had been furious and screamed all the curses he could at them for the destruction of half his monitor. Before his frigate had entered the Heighliner, Adan had given a cruel parting shot to the Baron's nephew. "Beast Rabban, know that House Atreides and their allies the Fremen have humiliated you today…yet again!"
That smashing success had been several days ago, and soon, they would return to Arrakis, though his Mentat mind knew what he would find once they got there.
Datum: House Harkonnen has loathed House Atreides and vice versa since the Battle of Corrin. The Baron has been ruthless with his enemies, stopping at nothing to eliminate them.
Datum: Duke Leto is a popular man among the Federated Houses of the Landsraad. The powerful envy the popular.
Datum: Duke Leto is of distaff lineage to House Corrino. Emperor Shaddam will not permit any threats to his throne, as he demonstrated on Zanovar near twenty years ago by wiping out all the cities in an attempt to kill his half-brother.
Datum: the Emperor has been stockpiling mélange. Purpose of this mission was to humiliate House Harkonnen before the Emperor.
Datum: the Emperor's involvement means Sardaukar. At least two brigades shall be used against House Atreides.
Counter-Datum: There were one thousand, six hundred and twenty nine ships entering the preceding Heighliner. That is not counting the legions that the Baron may have sent in from Lankiveil and other Harkonnen fiefs, along with the Imperial Sardaukar! Reassessment indicates that as many as fifty legions have been sent against Duke Leto!
Prime Projection: House Atreides will be attacked on Arrakis by overwhelming numbers of enemy soldiers. Duke Leto cannot withstand such military might. House Atreides will not win this direct battle, and will have to bide their time with the Fremen.
Finally shucking sleep off as impossible, he rose and left his quarters to prowl the ship. Stopping near the place reserved for the former slaves, he watched as his medics injected nutrients and other medicines into the maltreated and malnourished people. Pity stirred in his breast. These poor, broken people. Used as less than machines by the Harkonnens, battered, tortured, and stripped of all dignity. Even their hatred for the Baron is nothing compared to Duncan's or Gurney's. It will take some time to return them back to the way they were.
"Your face shows pity. Why do you pity them? They are free of the Harkonnens and can now avenge themselves."
Sighing in annoyance at the Naib's skill at approaching undetected, Adan turned around and faced this proud man who had never tasted defeat. "Look at them, Naib. Look at their eyes, and know that what the Harkonnens have done to you is nothing compared to what they have done to others. These people don't remember the last time they smiled, the last they laughed, or loved. All they have is an ember of hate that has almost been quenched."
Blue-within-blue eyes surveyed the hold, and finally returned to Adan. "Then we must reignite the fire."
Adan nodded agreement, and then turned to question that had nagged him since they had left Giedi Prime. "Why did your people recover the bodies of Harkonnen dead? Why not leave them to the vultures the way they deserve?"
The Naib scowled, his countenance betraying disapproval. "We are not so rich that we can afford to waste water in such a way. We also recovered the bodies of your dead. We shall honor them the way our dead are honored. A water bond has been formed between us, Bashar. We shan't forget it."
Realization flooded Adan's mind. The Fremen intended to distill their bodies for the water present! While he did not mind such a fate for the Harkonnen dead, he was about to protest it for the Atreides when his mind recalled his prime projection: House Atreides will have to bide their time with the Fremen.
Sighing, he said, "A water bond is formed between us. We are yours and you are ours, Naib Taman."
Things are worse than I feared.
They had arrived at Arrakis, and all the communication bands had indicated one thing: a crushing Atreides defeat with even fewer survivors than he had imagined. Moving quickly, he followed Taman's instructions and landed his frigate near an abandoned smuggler base in the southern polar areas. He and his lieutenants had argued for days on what they ought to do. Taman had reminded him that they could take refuge with them and become Fremen. But desire for revenge filled him. Finally, after days of debate, a large portion of his men voted to return to Caladan than remain on the desert planet. Reminding them that they had no money and no friends on Caladan, they grudgingly accepted a temporary stay on Arrakis.
How could they have killed the Duke? Who betrayed us to the Harkonnens?
The sunlight filtered into the base, which had once been a water mine. The place had the rough, prefab look common to industrial complexes, but the ex-owner's quarters combined functionality with frivolity. Ignoring the obvious luxuries, he focused on his emotions.
He clenched his kindjal, a gift from Duke Leto upon his birth. Fury whitened his knuckles as he gripped his weapon, a determined effort to contain his grief. My Duke, the young Master, his mother, and Duncan, all dead. Gurney in hiding, Thufir a Harkonnen prisoner. Thousands of Atreides troops slaughtered, or worse, Harkonnen slaves. And vengeance is only possible by allying with these Fremen. At least they kept their word and rescued the lives of the families of my troops. But how to avenge House Atreides? The family atomics are missing, which means the Harkonnens or the Fremen found them. I only have a brigade left, and the Harkonnens have at least four legions.
Once again, he examined his kindjal, a noble weapon that had spelled much blood for the Red Duke. It was a double-bladed knife, twenty centimeters of slightly curved blade. The blade and shearing guard were made of pure Damasteel. According to legend, every Damasteel blade was cooled in the back of a slave. Near indestructible, it was a weapon of the highest aristocracy. The hilt was decorated with a single black sapphire, a rare gem that sparkled in the light.
"Noble Born, why do you stare at your knife?"
Looking up from his introspection, he nodded a greeting at his two visitors. One of them, Shania, was Taman's Fremen sister. She had a proud face, a fierce beauty that amused Adan even as she intrigued him. The other visitor was the young girl—Theresa—he had rescued from the slave pits, a gentle-featured charmer that not many normal men could resist, who even now was asking him the same question with her eyes.
Resisting the temptations of his body was nothing new to Adan, since stolen Bene Gesserit training was in his repertoire. He calmly began to speak. "Do you know the story of this weapon, my ladies?"
They shook their heads and resumed their silent, expectant pose. The two had been as inseparable as sisters since the rescue. Without taking his eyes from the weapon, he began to relate its tale. "This kindjal is made of Damasteel. Master blacksmiths, who take great pains to make Damasteel weapons the best in the Known Universe, forged it. They supposedly cool the newly forged blades in the bodies and blood of the strongest slave gladiators. Did you know that Duncan Idaho's sword was originally the Old Duke's own Damasteel blade? It's said that that weapon alone has tasted the blood of over one thousand men. This kindjal—" he lifted the weapon so that they could see it better "—was made at Duke Leto's command. He was aware of my impending birth, and had it made to commemorate the ten thousand years of faithful service of my House to the Atreides. The sapphire is of the rarest kind, meant to represent the truth that wards off evil. I've been using it since I was able to walk. And that was thirty years ago." His eyes adopted a murderous quality. "And this kindjal is the one that will avenge the Duke's death by finding a home in the bodies of every Harkonnen noble!"
"A truly fascinating story, Bashar." Not bothering to turn around, he knew who had spoken. He had been aware of Taman's eavesdropping since he begun the story.
"And it still has more of a story to write. What brings you here, Naib?"
The Naib moved with that same commander's strut Adan had noticed on the Giedi Prime raid. He obviously had something important to say, so Adan gestured for him to speak.
"I must inform you that we may no longer linger with you. It is a twenty-thumper journey to return to our sietch, and we've had news that the Sardaukar have started a pogrom against us. It is necessary for us to relocate."
Silently, Adan processed the information. He was weary, and it was obvious the Naib was serious. "Can I ask for your help? We intend to become a smuggler band. It will be the easiest way to stay near Arrakis…and near the Beast Rabban. I promise you refuge from the Harkonnen scum. And if it becomes necessary, escape from the pogrom."
Taman nodded. "I thank you for the offer. Our water bond will remain strong. I bid you farewell, friend Bashar. Shania, come!"
With the slightest of bows, the Fremen departed. And, too soon, Boont entered. "Bashar, I have bad news. Another seven of the rescued slaves died overnight. The medics are doing their best, but we doubt more than nine hundred will survive. Also, we have only one frigate. How are we going to—"
"Get the frigate ready. There should be enough spice for us to pay for a slot on a Heighliner. Our goal is Richese. We're going to steal a few of their ships."
Boont stared. Stealing warships, while not forbidden by the Great Convention, was strongly discouraged. There were several Great Houses that manufactured the battleships, chief among them were House Vernius of Ix and House Richese of Richese. Ix had trounced Richese in all-out economic warfare, and a second devastating blow had occurred when Shaddam's Sardaukar had destroyed their artificial laboratory satellite Korona. They barely survived as a cheap manufacturer of everything from ships to their fabulous Richesian mirrors. "Sir, I don't recommend—"
"Where was Count Richese, our own Duke's uncle, when the Harkonnens attacked?" Adan snapped. "Where was Earl Vernius, the son of one of the Duke's best friends, when we were forced to move to Arrakis? We are renegades, Boont. Our only loyalty is to avenge Duke Leto!"
"But the Duke is dead. We cannot care more for the dead than the living!"
With a movement too fast for the eyes to trace, Adan threw his knife at Boont, which passed within a millimeter of his head. Fear was dominant in every nuance of Boont's body. Mercilessly cold, Adan said, "You swore an oath. That oath is not done until you are dead, or until the Duke is avenged. If you do not wish to fulfill your oath, I will happily send you to the deepest most lava-blasted hell-grotto!"
Boont nodded, mute with terror. Adan began issuing orders. "Act like a soldier! Start finding as many of our comrades as survived. Prep the ship and get the appropriate bribes ready! The Harkonnens have not heard the last of the Atreides!"
Nor of the Cepedas. I might be Lord of a mere House Minor, but I trained under Duncan Idaho, Gurney Halleck, and Thufir Hawat! I shall avenge their loss, and the loss of Duke Leto and Prince Paul!
A twinge of sorrow came over him when he thought of the young ducal heir. I wish the boy had survived. But they say he was caught in a coriolis storm. Nothing survives of the House Atreides' bloodline. Nothing but the ghola cells of Victor Atreides. And those are a carefully kept secret. We shall have to avenge them all!