Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [29]
Instead, the hunt captain smiled without humor and said, “Congratulations, boy. You made it.”
Exhausted and back in his cell, Duncan sat with his mother and father. They ate their daily meal of bland cereals, starch-cakes, and protein chips—nutritionally satisfying yet almost maliciously made with either foul flavors or no taste whatsoever. So far the boy hadn’t been told more by his captors, just that he’d “made it.” That had to mean freedom. He could only hope.
The family’s cell was filthy. Though his parents tried to keep it clean, they had no brooms, mops, or soap, and very little water, which couldn’t be wasted on mere sanitation.
During the months of confinement, Duncan had undergone vigorous and violent “training,” while his family sat fearfully offstage, doing nothing with their days. All of them had been given numbers, slave-cell addresses, and (with the exception of Duncan) nothing to do—no labor, no entertainment. They simply awaited any change in their sentence . . . and dreaded that such a change would someday come.
Now with excitement and pride Duncan told his mother of his adventures, how he had outwitted the pursuers, how he had been resourceful enough to defeat even the best Harkonnen trackers. None of the other children had succeeded on this day, but Duncan was certain he’d done what was necessary to buy freedom.
Any minute now they’d be released. He tried to imagine his family standing together again, free, outside, looking up into a clear, starlit night.
His father gazed proudly at the boy, but his mother found it difficult to believe that such a thing could possibly be true. She had good reason not to trust Harkonnen promises.
Before long, the cell lights flickered, and the opaque door field became transparent, then opened. A group of blue-uniformed prison guards stood beside the smiling hunt captain who had chased him. Duncan’s heart leaped. Are we going to be set free?
He didn’t like the hunt captain’s smile, though.
The uniformed men stepped aside in deference to a man with broad shoulders, thick lips, and big muscles. His face was sunburned and ruddy, as if he had spent a great deal of time far from gloomy Giedi Prime.
Duncan’s father sprang to his feet, then bowed clumsily. “M’Lord Rabban!”
Ignoring the parents, Rabban’s eyes sought out only the round-faced young trainee. “The captain of the hunt tells me you’re the best boy,” he said to Duncan. As he stepped into the cell, the guards hustled in behind him. Rabban grinned.
“You should have seen him in today’s exercise, m’Lord,” the hunt captain said. “Never had a more resourceful pup.”
Rabban nodded. “Number 11368, I’ve seen your records, watched holos of your hunts. How are your injuries? Not too bad? You’re young, so you’ll heal quickly.” His eyes hardened. “Lots more fun left in you. Let’s see how you do against me.”
He turned about. “Come with me for the hunt, boy. Now.”
“My name is Duncan Idaho,” the boy responded, in a defiant tone. “I’m not a number.” His voice was thin and high-pitched, but held a gruff bravery that shocked his parents. Surprised, the guards turned to stare at him. Duncan looked to his mother for support, as if hoping for some kind of challenge or reward. Instead, she tried to hush him.
Rabban coolly snatched a lasgun from the guard standing next to him. Without the slightest pause, he fired a lethal blast into the chest of Duncan’s father. The man slammed against the wall. Before his corpse could slide to the floor, Rabban shifted his weapon and incinerated the head of Duncan’s mother.
Duncan screamed. Both of his parents tumbled to the floor, lifeless mounds of blistering, burned flesh.
“Now you have no name, 11368,” Rabban said. “Come with me.”
The guards grabbed him, not even letting Duncan rush to his fallen parents. Not even giving him time to cry.
“These men will have to prepare you before we can begin the next round of fun. I need a good hunt for a change.”
The guards dragged Duncan, kicking and screaming,