Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [97]
Perhaps even to Leto Atreides . . .
A comeye blinked yellow on the wall, interrupting his thoughts. An important message, an update of the troubling rumors that had spread like poison through a cistern.
“Yes?” he said. Without being asked, Kailea walked across the invisible floor and stood next to him to read the report as it imaged itself on the quicksilver surface of his desk. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she read the words.
The smell of his daughter’s faint perfume and the glitter of combs in her dark bronze hair brought a paternal smile to his face. Such a young lady. Such a young businesswoman.
“Are you sure you want to concern yourself with this, child?” he asked, wishing to shelter her from the grim news. Labor relations were so much more complex than technological innovations. Kailea just looked at him in annoyance that he would even ask the question.
He read more details on what he had been told earlier in the day, though he still couldn’t quite believe everything Leto Atreides claimed he’d heard and seen. A disturbance was brewing in the deep-ground manufacturing facilities, where the suboid workers had begun complaining—an unprecedented situation.
Kailea took a deep breath, marshaling her thoughts. “If the suboids have such grievances, why haven’t they elected a spokesman? Why haven’t they delivered any formal demands?”
“Oh, they’re just grumbling, child. They claim they’re being forced to assemble machines in violation of the Butlerian Jihad, and they don’t want to perform ‘blasphemous labor.’ ”
The message screen went dark after they finished reading the summary report, and Kailea stood up, hands on her hips. Her skirts rustled as she huffed. “Wherever do they get such ridiculous ideas? How can they even begin to understand the nuances and complexities of running these operations? They were bred and trained in Ixian facilities—who put those thoughts in their minds?”
Dominic shook his gleaming head, and realized his daughter had raised a very good question. “You’re right. Suboids certainly couldn’t come up with such extrapolations on their own.”
Kailea continued to be indignant. “Don’t they realize how much we give them? How much we provide, and how much it costs? I’ve looked at the costs and benefits. The suboids don’t know how good they have it compared to workers on other planets.” She shook her head, and her curved mouth bent downward in a frown. She looked through the floor at her feet, to the manufactories in the cavern far below. “Maybe they should visit Giedi Prime—or Arrakis. Then they wouldn’t complain about Ix.”
But Dominic wouldn’t let go of her first thread of conversation. “Suboids are bred for limited intelligence, only enough to perform assigned tasks . . . and they’re supposed to do it without complaining. It’s part of their mental makeup.” He joined his daughter in staring down at the floor of the grotto, which swarmed with Heighliner construction workers. “Could our bio-designers have overlooked something important? Do the suboids have a point? The definition of machine-minds encompasses a broad range, but there might be gray areas. . . .”
Kailea shook her head and tapped her crystal pad. “Our Mentats and legal advisors are meticulous about the precise strictures of the Jihad, and our quality-control methods are effective. We’re on solid ground, and they can prove every assertion we make.”
Dominic chewed his lower lip. “The suboids couldn’t possibly have specifics, since there aren’t any violations. At least we haven’t knowingly stepped over the line, not in any instance.”
Kailea studied her father, then looked down at the bustling work area again. “Maybe you should have Captain Zhaz and a team of inspectors turn over every stone, investigate every aspect of our design and manufacturing processes. Prove to the suboids that their complaints are groundless.”
Dominic considered the idea. “Of course I don’t want to be too hard on the workers. I want no crackdowns, and certainly no revolts. The suboids