Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [6]
The pilot took a deep breath. “I’ve heard the Fremen talking about something they call a . . . spice blow.” He seemed like a statue now, as if the terror had transformed him into something much stronger. “It happens in the deep desert, where few people can see.”
“Who cares what the Fremen say?” He curled his lip at the thought of the dirty, nomadic indigents of the great desert. “We’ve all heard of spice blows, but nobody’s ever actually seen one. Crazy superstitions.”
“Yes, but superstition usually has some kind of basis. They see many things out in the desert.” Now the Baron admired the man for his willingness to speak out, though Kryubi must know of his temper and vindictiveness. Perhaps it would be wise to promote him. . . .
“They say a spice blow is a chemical explosion,” Kryubi continued, “probably the result of a pre-spice mass beneath the sands.”
The Baron considered this; he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes. One day maybe someone would understand the true nature of melange and be able to prevent disasters like this. So far, because the spice was seemingly inexhaustible to those willing to make the effort, no one had bothered with a detailed analysis. Why waste time on tests, when fortunes waited to be made? The Baron had a monopoly on Arrakis—but it was also a monopoly based on ignorance.
He gritted his teeth and knew that once they returned to Carthag he would be forced to blow off some steam, to release his pent-up tensions on “amusements,” perhaps a bit more vigorously than he had earlier intended. He would have to find a special candidate this time—not one of his regular lovers, but someone he would never have use for again. That would free him of restraint.
Looking down, he thought, No longer any need to hide this site from the Emperor. They would record it, log it as a find, and document the destruction of the crew and equipment. No need to manipulate the records now. Old Elrood would not be pleased, and House Harkonnen would have to absorb this financial setback.
As the pilot circled around, the surviving spice crew assessed their damages on the ground, and over the comlink reported losses of men, equipment, and spice load. The Baron felt rage boiling within him.
Damn Arrakis! he thought. Damn the spice, and damn our dependence on it!
We are generalists. You can’t draw neat lines around planetwide problems. Planetology is a cut-and-fit science.
—PARDOT KYNES, Treatise on the Environmental Recovery of Post-Holocaust Salusa Secundus
On the Imperial planet Kaitain, immense buildings kissed the sky. Magnificent sculptures and opulent tiered fountains lined the crystal-paved boulevards like a dream. A person could stare for hours.
Pardot Kynes managed to catch only a glimpse of the urban spectacle as the royal guards marched him at a rapid clip into the Palace. They had no patience for a simple Planetologist’s curiosity, nor any apparent interest in the city’s wonders. Their job was to escort him to the tremendous vaulted throne room, without delay. The Emperor of the Known Universe could not be kept waiting for mere sight-seeing.
The members of Kynes’s escort wore gray-and-black uniforms, impeccably clean and adorned with braids and medals, every button and bauble polished, every ribbon straightened and pressed. Fifteen of the Emperor’s handpicked staff, the Sardaukar, surrounded him like an army.
Still, the splendor of the capital world overwhelmed Kynes. Turning to the guard closest to him, he said, “I’m usually out in the dirt, or tromping through swamps on a planet where nobody else wants to be.” He had never seen, or even imagined, anything like this in all of the rugged and out-of-the-way landscapes he had studied.
The guard made no response to this tall, lean off-worlder. Sardaukar were trained to be fighting machines, not conversationalists.
“Here I’ve been scrubbed clean down to the third layer of my skin and dressed like a noble.” Kynes tugged at the thick corded fabric of his dark blue jacket, smelled the soap and scent of his own skin. He had a high forehead, with