Princess of dune, p.1
Princess of Dune, page 1
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by Brian Herbert
This book, like so many others I have written individually and in collaboration, is for my beautiful, intelligent wife, Jan Herbert, who has dedicated her entire life to me. I can think of no one else as deserving of my humble words of praise. I remember well the first time we met as teenagers, and how that initial spark has lasted through fifty-five incredible years of marriage, to the very moment when I am writing this tribute to her. With Jan it is always a grand adventure, and I am eternally grateful to her for everything.
by Kevin J. Anderson
In a book about princesses, how can I not think of my little sister, Laura? So, from me, this book is dedicated to Laura Anderson, who had to grow up with a brother who was always shut in his room pounding on the typewriter or off with his friends doing nerdy things. She wasn’t exactly a princess, and she grew up to be a big reader. I think she turned out pretty well.
10,189 A.G.
Two years before House Atreides arrives on Arrakis
Two women were critical in shaping the pivotal events of our time—Princess Irulan, firstborn daughter of Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV, and the Fremen Chani, daughter of Imperial Planetologist Liet-Kynes. They came from opposite ends of the political and economic spectrum, but their lives hurtled on collision courses with Paul Atreides, the legendary Muad’Dib.
—Imperial Archives on Kaitain
Certain things about Navigators and foldspace mechanics must never be revealed to outsiders.
—NORMA CENVA, genius Rossak scientist and first Navigator, written before her transformation into the Oracle of Time
In a prominent viewing stand, Princess Irulan sat beside her father, Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe, surrounded by opulence but without any Imperial entourage. They were extremely honored guests; historically, spectacles such as this one were for the eyes of the Spacing Guild only.
The funeral of a Navigator was a rare and solemn event.
Amid the exotic lights and sounds, the regal pair gazed across the immensity of the Junction spaceport and its array of enormous landed Heighliners. The Guild held its secrets.
Irulan and her father wore fine but tastefully subdued garb: the Princess in a dark dress and minimal jewelry with her blond hair neatly coiffed, and Shaddam IV in a dark robe of state with little adornment. Guild dignitaries filled the other seats of the viewing area.
It was an overcast day on the central Guild planet, warm but not humid. Breezes whisked away industrial odors from the presentation complex, and a haze of artificial lights filled the air. At the entrances to the restricted viewing area, Imperial Sardaukar stood at attention, and more of the Emperor’s elite soldiers remained back at the luxurious Imperial frigate, awaiting Shaddam’s return to the spaceport.
Irulan’s father had grudgingly agreed to the security restrictions, after Guild reassurances from their high-level representative, Starguide Serello. Now the Starguide sat on the other side of the Emperor in the viewing stand, and he had presented guarantees from his superiors that the Corrino guests would be safe, and a Guild guarantee was not given lightly. In this ultra-security zone, Irulan felt assured that she and her father need not worry.
The Padishah Emperor and his eldest daughter were the only outsiders allowed to see this celebration of a Navigator’s life. To Irulan’s knowledge, such an honor had never been granted in the millennia of cooperation between the Spacing Guild and House Corrino.
The invitation included her, rather than the Empress, because Shaddam was currently without a wife, having recently lost his latest spouse, Firenza Thorvald. Irulan, at twenty-six years old, was the Princess, his most important child. In her position, Irulan had traveled on diplomatic missions and visited many worlds, but she had never been to the Guild’s headquarters. Few outsiders saw any part of Junction, the nexus of all galactic spacefaring routes. Even her father, for all his grand importance, had never been here.
Ahead of her on the presentation field, the vast array of Heighliners filled her with awe. The enormous ships landed on no other planet, and now hundreds of them covered the ground as far as she could see—all to memorialize one of the powerful, mysterious Navigators.
Her father seemed pleased to witness the event. He leaned close to her. “Most impressive, isn’t it? This will be noted in my official biography.” He kept his voice to a whisper out of respect, although even a shout would have been swallowed by the immensity.
The handsome Starguide glanced at the visitors, noting the whispers, but his expression remained stony and unreadable. Serello had a solid jaw and a thick head of dark, wavy hair; his eyes were a startling deep black. A man of illustrious credentials and reputation, he reported directly to a small cadre of Guild leadership; an hour ago, he had met Shaddam and Irulan at the Imperial frigate and escorted them here for the event.
The ceremony unfolded, and the Imperial guests watched with rapt attention. Despite her Bene Gesserit upbringing and long years of practice maintaining a calm demeanor, the Princess felt a rush of excitement just to be here.
Thousands of uniformed Guildsmen gathered in the foreground below, making little noise despite their large numbers. The Guildsmen displayed a variety of body shapes, but they all wore similar gray uniforms. Many looked ordinary to Princess Irulan, but others had physical deformities, which gave them an alien air.
Nearby, shielded and murky tanks held Navigators, altered humans who guided the great Heighliners safely through foldspace. Preparing for this event, Irulan had studied diligently, utilizing secure Imperial and Bene Gesserit documentation, to learn what was known about Navigators, despite the Spacing Guild’s mystique.
Each Navigator had an enormously expanded consciousness and prescience, by which they chose safe pathways through space. Due to lifelong immersion in spice gas, Navigators typically lived for centuries, and thus the death of one was a momentous event. The name of this fallen Navigator had not been revealed. Irulan wondered if the mutated humans even maintained their original names.
In the wide assembly area below, the motley assortment of Guildsmen encircled a clearplaz globe mounted on a towering column. Serello had explained to them in an awed whisper that the hypnotic orb contained the Oracle of Time, an entity said to be thousands of years old. Irulan found the globe compelling, magical.
Within the sphere and pedestal of the Oracle, lights flickered, then fell entirely dark, as black as deep space. Irulan covered a quiet exclamation so as not to call attention to herself.
Serello leaned over and whispered to the Emperor. The two men rose together and walked to a speaking bubble at the head of the viewing area, while Irulan remained in her seat. Her father was tall, but the Starguide loomed half a head over him.
The Guild representative spoke first, his voice carrying out over the vast assemblage, and all faces turned in his direction. “We are honored to be joined by Emperor Shaddam Corrino IV, as well as his daughter Princess Irulan. His Imperial Majesty will address the loss of our Navigator comrade, who served the Guild and the Imperium so well.”
The big Starguide stepped to one side, and Shaddam moved with Imperial grace to the center of the speaking bubble, his head held high to display his aquiline nose and classic facial features. He looked as dignified and somber as Irulan had ever seen him.
“We offer heartfelt condolences to those who knew this fallen Navigator. The Spacing Guild is an essential partner to House Corrino in commerce, military affairs, and so much more. On behalf of the Imperium, we express our deepest gratitude for his long years of service.” He bowed his head enough to show his respect for the Guild, though she knew it went against his proud nature. The Emperor exited the speaking bubble, and both men returned to their seats.
The field erupted with glowing colors, like an aurora awakening within the globe of the Oracle of Time. The sphere rose from its pedestal, as if borne on suspensor engines. The round chamber lit up with a rainbow of spectacular streaks of color, and Irulan smiled in delight.
Now the sturdy support column illuminated a fiery orange to reveal that the pedestal itself was a tank of spice gas holding a floating, misshapen form—motionless except for the natural eddies in the tank’s gas. Above, the Oracle sphere dimmed so that all eyes focused on the Navigator’s tank.
Inside, a hypnotic display of gases swirled and lights flashed. The dead figure—a grossly distorted humanoid body— seemed to move of its own volition, like a last burst of life before the end.
In the air outside the tank, a parade of immense holograms was projected, a record of the dead Navigator’s life. At first, he appeared as a normal child and young man, dressed in clothing that had gone out of fashion centuries ago. This was followed by his metamorphosed form inside a tank, and then a huge Heighliner moving away from Junction orbit and out to open space.
A funeral dirge came from orchestral instruments, a haunting tune with a slow, regular beat.
Hovering in the air above the immense field, the Oracle of Time brightened, while the coffin tank dimmed to conceal the floating figure. Bursts of light from the Oracle’s globe lit the area.
An eerie, all-encompassing genderless voice filled the air, accompanied by the sphere’s pulsing. Then shimmering ephemeral shapes surrounded the globe as the Oracle spoke. “Hear my words. Our blessed Navigator’s body will return to the source of the spice.”
The globe went dark again, still suspended in the air.
Irulan and her father exchanged curious glances.
Now the darkened tank, like an alien sarcophagus, rose from the ground and floated beneath the globe. As if linked by unseen wires, both objects drifted toward the field of Heighliners.
The Emperor looked at Serello, as if to ask a question, but the Starguide announced in a voice that allowed no discussion, “It is time for you and the Princess to return to Kaitain. The Guild is grateful for your attendance.”
Not accustomed to being dismissed, Shaddam persisted, “I would like to ask—”
“Sire, the rest of this sacred ceremony is strictly confidential. Please understand and respect our ways. We are honored that you attended.”
Shaddam was startled by the attitude. Bowing, the Starguide departed quickly after signaling the Sardaukar to come and escort the Corrinos back to the Imperial frigate.
The desert holds many secrets. And the Fremen know only some of them.
—REVEREND MOTHER RAMALLO, Sietch Tabr
The open sky of Arrakis was wide and clean, with high dunes stretching to the horizon. A smudge of blown dust rose into the air like a primitive marking on the sky.
Seeing such vastness made Chani, daughter of Liet and Faroula, think of freedom. She and two companions had traveled far out into the open bled, telling Naib Stilgar that they were on business for the sietch, but the young Fremen were merely wandering the desert. Their desert. These places, still untouched by the Harkonnen overlords, reaffirmed her belief that the Fremen people would never be conquered.
They had been on their own for four days. Chani and her companions would summon a worm, ride all day, then make camp in the rocks before departing with the next sunrise. She traveled with her older half brother, Liet-Chih (known by his Fremen name of Khouro), along with Jamis, the oldest of their band, who had been on more razzia raids than either of them. But Chani was only fourteen, and she had time to gain in experience.
On the morning of the fifth day, after the trio awoke in stilltents tucked among the rocks, they watched the sunrise. Jamis shaded his eyes and stared at the undulating dunes. He sniffed the air and frowned, then removed a pair of oil-lens binoculars. He turned to Chani and Khouro. “Do you smell it? It’s far away, but even here…”
Chani closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath, concentrating on the subtleties in the dry, dusty air. “Spice chemicals, raw vapors. Harsher than a normal melange field.”
Her brother’s blue-within-blue eyes shone with eagerness. “We should investigate.”
Chani would not be rushed into rash action. “You are always in a hurry, Khouro.” She took her time to consider. The chemicals were faint as they wafted toward them. Yes, she detected the hint of an alkaloid scent. “A pre-spice mass nearby, within a few kilometers.”
Chani’s father, Liet, served as the Imperial Planetologist on Arrakis. He would explain science to his daughter, imagining that someday she would be his successor, just as he had served after his own father was killed in a cave-in at Plaster Basin. Though she had no interest in serving the Padishah Emperor, Chani did want to learn ecology, as it would be useful for the Fremen dream of a green Arrakis.
She took the binoculars from Khouro and adjusted the focus. Far off, she could see a rounded bulge under the open sand unlike the swell of a dune: an expanding bubble of carbon dioxide in the underlayers as organic matter from the Little Makers mixed with a trickle of buried water, as well as the pooled detritus from sandworms. She saw the copper-colored tracery of spice, like burst blood vessels on an old Fremen’s face. Rising fumes addled the air above the swell as chemical reactions churned and changed, molecules interlocking in an ancient mystical puzzle.
As if the decision had already been made, Khouro stuffed his belongings into his Fremkit and was ready to go. He adjusted his stillsuit, and Jamis did the same, as if it were a race. Chani realized they would have little time.
The brooding power of the spice blow fascinated her. Such events were rarely witnessed from this close. She and her companions had come out to scout, possibly to observe illicit Harkonnen spice operations, but any occurrence important to the desert was important to the Fremen.
The pre-spice mass was close enough that they would not summon a worm. “We have to cross open sand,” she said. “But worms won’t go near a brewing spice blow.”
“I will lead like a wisp of dust blown on the wind,” Khouro said as he scrambled down the rocks. He had taken his private name from the Fremen word for a wind that lifted a transient skirl of dust, like a phantom flitting across canyon floors. He had announced the choice after his first successful razzia against a Harkonnen spice factory, and he prided himself on leading his life that way, like a khouro.
When they reached the base of the rocks, the trio set off across the sand, walking with uneven footsteps. Before they had gone twenty paces, Chani heard a distant, out-of-place hum, more a feeling than an actual sound. She raised her hand to signal a halt. Her companions froze, looked for any sign of danger. Pulling out the binoculars, she scanned the sky and tried to track what she heard. High against the dusty yellow sky, she saw a black speck growing larger. “A ship.”
Without a word, the three bolted back to the shelter of rocks. As they retreated, Chani brushed their tracks to erase the abbreviated trail.
Back in the safety of shadows, she watched the strange vessel approach. They could all hear the hum of its engines now. Khouro said, “Not an ornithopter, and not Harkonnen.”
She scanned the sturdy craft, noting that it was not built for sandstorms and abrasion—a vessel designed for space. “It’s a Guild ship!” She tightened the focus, made out no markings on the hull. “It’s going straight for the spice blow.”
“Do they not know the danger?” Jamis said in a mixture of scorn and disbelief. “If they’re caught in the explosion, maybe we can salvage something from the wreckage.”
Her brother stared, intent with anticipation. A kilometer away, the Guild ship hovered above the increasingly obvious bulge of the pre-spice mass. As more gases escaped, Chani could smell the bitter chemicals plainly in the air.
“They’re using suspensor engines,” Khouro said. “They’ll be lucky if they don’t draw a worm and drive it into a frenzy.”
“Strangers do many foolish things.” Chani passed him the binoculars. “But who can explain offworlders, and especially the Guild?” Her father had told her about his few dealings with Guild representatives and claimed they were always unsettling encounters.
The hovering vessel was bigger than a spice factory, with heavy engines and bulbous nodules on its sides, dotted with small windowports. Chani wondered how many strange people were inside looking out.
Jamis shook his head. “I give that spice blow less than an hour.”
Chani considered what her father would do. “Maybe they are performing experiments.” Liet-Kynes and his father before him had studied spice blows in an attempt to understand how melange was linked to the life cycle of sand plankton, sandtrout, and the worms.
