Piter looked indignant on his behalf. “My Baron, this is a Grumman
The Baron frowned at him. “Use your deductive reasoning, Mentat. Hundro Moritani loves his specially bred stallions. He probably considers this an honor.” He had heard the magnificent horses were huge and dangerous. The beasts certainly made a frightful amount of noise.
On the flight down from orbit, the pilot had pointed out the walled city of Ritka on the edge of a dry seabed that butted up against a low mountain range. Most of the people on Grumman were nomadic, wandering over the rugged land to eke out an existence from the sparse remaining resources. The inhabitants of Ritka depended almost entirely on offworld supplies.
Beneath the dry seabed and its surrounding plains, the crust had been riddled with interconnecting tunnels and mine shafts by Grumman mineral extractors that chewed like termites, scraping away every speck of worthwhile dust. The Baron had been nervous that the whole plain would collapse under the weight of the passenger ship as it landed outside of Ritka.
House Moritani was desperate, and for good reason. The Baron was eager to hear what the Viscount intended to propose. If he could use the Grumman hatred of Ecaz to inflict collateral misery on House Atreides, he would be well pleased. In the meantime, however, he was not pleased with this long wait.
Something caught his eye in the distant sky, a lumbering aircraft flying low over the hills. Soon he heard the steady, muffled drone of engines. A large, heavy creature dangled in a metallic sling from the fixed-wing flier — an animal with long legs, black hide, flailing mane and tail. One of their monster horses?
The plane hovered over a landing pad not far from the connected yurts and tents, easing the black brute down to the ground. The Baron could see vicious-looking spines protruding from the stallion’s head. Men on speedcycles encircled the creature and fired bright yellow loops of energy at it, which they tightened on all sides as the beast pulled against the restraints. Shield ribbons, the Baron realized; he’d heard of them. Releasing the harness from the aircraft, the cycle wranglers sent the sling mechanism back up into the air. As they worked, the Baron recognized one of the wranglers as the Grumman Swordmaster, Hiih Resser. The redhead was multi- talented, it seemed. The fixed-wing flier landed nearby, and Moritani emerged from the craft, flushed and grinning.
“Piter, come meet our host,” the Baron said. Buoyed by his suspensor belt, he strode purposefully toward the landing area, careful to stay clear of the thrashing animal and the cycle wranglers who fought to drag it toward a corral.
Viscount Moritani marched down the aircraft’s exit ramp wearing a brown leather jerkin, a pointed cap, chaps, and glistening spurboots. “I trust you enjoyed the show, Vladimir! You should see what my stallions can do in a blood tournament.”
“Perhaps later… after we discuss our business. I have been waiting here for quite some time.”
“Apologies. A prized wild stallion was spotted on the steppes. He led us on quite a chase, but we finally got him. Very valuable breeding stock, a thoroughbred Genga — our ancient breed is found nowhere else in the galaxy. One of the few truly profitable things left on Grumman.”
Before the handlers could get the huge spiny horse into a stall, the creature broke free of the shield ribbons and charged back out, wild-eyed, toward the Baron and the Viscount. The two noblemen stumbled toward the dubious shelter of the plane. Boosted by his suspensors, the Baron reached the ramp first. The wild stallion slammed into the thin metal walkway as the Viscount tried to get around the Baron, causing the two men to stumble into each other.
The Baron shouted, “Piter, stop that beast!” The Mentat was not sure what to do with a spiny horse that neighed and roared.
The wranglers sped forward on their cycles, throwing out more shield ribbons, but missed their mark. Standing alone, unmoving, Swordmaster Resser fired a volley of stun darts at the horse as it charged toward him. Finally it collapsed in its tracks with a heavy thud.
The Baron brushed himself off, trying to regain his composure by venting his anger at Piter de Vries. Viscount Moritani roared with laughter. “Gengas are the most spirited horses in the Imperium! Each one is big and fast, a lethal combination that can defeat the largest Salusan bull.”
After the drugged horse was safely hauled away, an aide hurried up to issue a weather report. Frowning, Moritani turned to the Baron. “I intended to put on a horse show for you, but alas our climate-control methods are rudimentary in comparison with those of other worlds.” Black clouds had begun to gather over the mountains. “We will have to retire to my fortress in Ritka.”
“Too bad,” the Baron said, but he didn’t mean it.
THE ARCHITECTURE OF the Viscount’s dim and dusty fortress made it seem like a tent made of stone, with angled slabs for ceilings. As the two noblemen took their seats at a private table of dark, age-stained wood, the Baron held out his hand to Piter. The Mentat handed him a bulky packet, which the Baron extended toward Hundro Moritani. “I bring a gift for your son, a supply of semuta-laced melange. It may help his condition.” From what he’d seen of the boy, Wolfram had very little time left anyway.
Piter stepped forward to explain. “Apparently, the combination of drugs yields the same euphoric effects of semuta, but without that annoying music.”
Nodding sadly, the Viscount said, “A kind gesture, considering how difficult it is to procure even semuta on the black market, now that Armand Ecaz has cracked down on his exports.” With a darkening expression and a thickening accent as he grew more upset, the Viscount launched into his proposal without so much as serving refreshments, making the Baron think that the Ritka fortress received few noble guests. “Vladimir, we can help each other. You hate the Atreides, and I hate the Ecazis. I have a way to solve both of our problems.”
“I already like the way you think. What do you suggest?”
“The news is fresh, but verified. Duke Leto Atreides intends to marry Ilesa Ecaz, sealing the two Houses together. The ceremony is scheduled to be held on Caladan in six weeks.”
“My spies already informed me of this. How does it help us? After Shaddam’s latest spectacle, I am weary of weddings. In any case, neither of us is likely to be invited to the nuptials.”
“That doesn’t mean we cannot send a special gift — something to make the occasion memorable. We have atomics.” The Viscount raised his bushy eyebrows. “I presume you do as well?”
The Baron reeled in alarm. “Atomics are forbidden by the strictest possible terms in the Great Convention. Any use of atomics by one House against another is cause for the immediate extinction of that House —”
Moritani cut him off. “As I well know, Baron. And if I have any hope of securing Ecaz as my own new fief, I wouldn’t want to turn it into a charred ball, now would I? I mention the idea only in passing.”
Though open warfare involving great military forces and planetary-scale battles was nearly inconceivable these days, the rules of conflict among the Landsraad houses still allowed direct assassination attempts under specific circumstances. This dance of controlled violence permitted rulers to exhibit their dark sides without risking entire populations. This compromise had stood for ten thousand years, under the shield of the Great Convention.
“Ah, Vladimir — we can send an entirely different sort of message to Atreides and Ecaz, a much more personal one. I want Archduke Armand to know that I am his attacker.”
The Baron narrowed his gaze. “I, on the other hand, would prefer to keep any Harkonnen involvement secret.” He had not the time nor patience for a War of Assassins right now. “You may take all the credit, my dear Viscount.”
The other man smiled. “Then we are in perfect accord.”
8
The weather changes, and friends come and go, but blood ties withstand great cataclysms.
