Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [223]
“And we’ve certainly paid him enough,” Rabban added.
“Worth every solari,” the Baron continued. He drummed his fingers in a habitual rhythm on the tabletop. “Inside this no-globe, not a soul can overhear us, not even a Guild Navigator and his damnable prescience. We’ve now got Chobyn working on . . . something even better for us.”
Rabban impatiently slumped back in one of the seats. “Let’s get on with what we need to talk about.”
De Vries sat down at the self-scrubbing table, eyes bright, Mentat capabilities already whirling and grasping the implications of an invisibility technology. How it could be used . . .
The Baron shifted his gaze from his blunt-featured nephew to his twisted Mentat. What an utter contrast these two are, representing the extremes of the intellectual spectrum. Rabban and de Vries both needed constant supervision, the former because of his thick skull and short fuse, and the latter because his brilliance could be equally dangerous.
Despite his obvious deficiencies, Rabban was the only Harkonnen who could possibly succeed the Baron. Certainly Abulurd wasn’t qualified. Other than those two bastard daughters the Bene Gesserit had forced from him, the Baron had no children of his own. He therefore had to train his nephew in the proper uses and abuses of power, so he could eventually die content with the knowledge that House Harkonnen would continue as it always had.
It would be even better, though, if the Atreides were destroyed. . . .
Perhaps Rabban should have two Mentats to guide him, instead of the customary one. Because of his bullish nature, Rabban’s rule would be especially brutal, perhaps on a scale never before seen on Giedi Prime, despite the Harkonnens’ long history of torture and harsh treatment of slaves.
The Baron’s expression became grim. “Down to business. Now listen, both of you. Piter, I want you to use your full Mentat abilities.”
De Vries removed his small bottle of sapho juice from a pocket inside his robe. He gulped, and smacked his lips in a manner that the Baron found repulsive.
“My spies have reported very distressing information,” the Baron said. “It involves Ix and some plans that the Emperor seems to have made before he died.” He drummed his fingers in time to the little ditty that always ran through his head. “This plot has serious implications for our family’s fortunes. CHOAM and the Guild don’t even know about it.”
Rabban grunted. De Vries sat up straight, awaiting more data.
“It seems that the Emperor and the Tleilaxu have made some kind of an alliance to do unorthodox and highly illegal work.”
“Sligs and shit go together,” Rabban said.
The Baron chuckled at the analogy. “I’ve learned that our dearly departed Emperor was personally behind the takeover on Ix. He forced House Vernius to go renegade and set the Tleilaxu up so they could begin research, adapting their methods to sophisticated Ixian facilities.”
“And what research is that, my Baron?” de Vries asked.
The Baron dropped his bomb. “They seek a biological method to synthesize melange. They think they can produce their own spice artificially and cheaply, thereby cutting Arrakis—us—out of the distribution channels.”
Rabban snorted. “Impossible. Nobody can do that.”
But de Vries’s mind spun as related information clicked into place. “I would not underestimate the Tleilaxu—especially when combined with the facilities and technology on Ix. They’ll have everything they need.”
Rabban drew himself up. “But if the Emperor can make synthetic spice, what happens to our holdings? What happens to all the spice stockpiles we’ve spent years building up?”
“Provided the new synthetic is cheap and effective, Harkonnen spice-based fortunes would evaporate,” de Vries said stonily. “Practically overnight.”
“That’s right, Piter!” The Baron slammed a ringed fist on the table. “Harvesting spice from Arrakis is incredibly expensive. If the Emperor has his own