Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [221]
He met the Mentat advisor’s alarmed gaze. “It is dangerous to bring the son of Vernius, m’Lord.”
“And precisely what they will not expect.”
What senses do we lack that we cannot see or hear another world all around us?
—The Orange Catholic Bible
Some considered the rocky wilderness of Forest Guard Station to be beautiful, a pristine and natural wonderland. But Baron Vladimir Harkonnen disliked being so far from enclosed buildings, sharp angles, metal, and plaz. The cold air smelled harsh and unpleasant without the familiar fumes of industry, lubricants, and machinery. Too raw, too hostile.
The Baron knew the importance of their destination, though, and entertained himself by watching the even greater discomfort exhibited by his twisted Mentat. With a dirty robe and mussed hair, Piter de Vries struggled to keep up. Though his mind operated like a powerful machine, his body was pampered, scrawny, and weak.
“Everything is so primitive out here, my Baron, so filthy and cold,” de Vries said, his eyes feral. “Are you certain we have to go this far? Have we no alternative, other than jaunting out into the forest?”
“Some people pay dearly to visit places like this,” the Baron said. “They call them resorts.”
“Piter, shut your mouth and keep up with us,” Rabban said. They trudged up a steep hillside toward an ice-glazed and cave-pocked wall of sandstone.
Scowling, the Mentat returned the jab with his own barbed words. “Isn’t this the place where that little boy bested you and all your hunting team, Rabban?”
The Baron’s nephew turned back, his thick-lidded eyes staring at de Vries, and growled, “I’ll hunt you next time if you don’t watch your tongue.”
“Your uncle’s priceless Mentat?” de Vries said in a carefree tone. “But how would he possibly replace me?”
“He has a point,” the Baron agreed, with a chuckle.
Rabban muttered something to himself.
Earlier, the Baron’s guards and hunting experts had combed the isolated hunting preserve, a security check so that the three men could walk alone, without their usual entourage. Carrying a maula pistol on his hip and a heat-scattering rifle slung over his shoulder, Rabban insisted that he could take care of any gaze hounds or other predators that might attack. The Baron didn’t share such complete confidence in his nephew, considering the fact that a small boy had indeed outwitted him—but at least out here they could stay away from prying eyes.
At the top of a bluff the three of them rested on a ledge, then ascended another slope. Rabban led the way, clawing aside thick scrub brush until they reached more exposed sandstone. There, a low crack yielded a black space between crumbling stone and the ground.
“It’s down here,” Rabban said. “Come on.”
The Baron knelt and shined a ring-light into the opening of a cave. “Follow me, Piter.”
“I’m not a spelunker,” the Mentat replied. “Besides, I’m tired.”
“You’re just not physically fit enough,” the Baron countered as he took a deep breath to feel his own muscles. “You need more exercise. Keep yourself in shape.”
“But this isn’t what you purchased me for, my Baron.”
“I purchased you to do anything I tell you to do.” He bent and crawled through the opening; the tiny but powerful beam of light on his finger probed the darkness ahead.
Though the Baron tried to maintain his physique in a perfect condition, he had been plagued with body aches and unexpected weakness over the past year. No one had noticed—or perhaps no one had dared mention—the fact that he’d also begun to gain weight, through no change in his diet. His skin had a thicker, pastier appearance. He had considered discussing his problem with medical experts, maybe even a Suk doctor, no matter the incredible expense of consulting one. Life, it seemed, was an endless string of problems.
“It smells like bear piss in here,” de Vries complained as he squirmed through the hole.
“How would you know what bear piss smells like?” Rabban said, pushing the Mentat