Even sophisticated cooling systems could not keep up with the solar heat pounding on the Arrakis headquarters of VenKee Enterprises. For all the profits that the melange trade had made for Aurelius Venport, it seemed he had to waste a great deal of money on the simplest of things here in the spaceport city. He spent the equivalent of a high-level salary just to fill the closed-system humidifiers to make these office quarters endurable.
Venport would rather have been on Salusa Secundus influencing League officials and defending his commercial rights against the grasp of the Jihad Council. He also wanted to return to the lush jungles of Rossak, where he could oversee his varied pharmaceutical interests. Most of all, though, he realized with a growing warmth in his heart, he longed to be on Poritrin with Norma Cenva. Aside from his personal interest in her he was, of course, curious to see if her space-folding project might bear fruit and make his investment pay off.
In fact, he would have preferred to be anyplace other than Arrakis, but the spice business was a cornerstone of VenKee Enterprises. Despite this planet’s harsh environment, its outrageous distance from any civilized world, and the difficult Zensunni fanatics like Naib Dhartha, the income from melange was substantial. And demand was only growing throughout the League of Nobles.
Now, wiping sweat from his forehead, he studied the documents in front of him, ledgers and accounting bins that traced deliveries and supplies Dhartha’s organized spice scavengers brought to the spaceport. Opening an electronic folio, he then contrasted this information with the ever-increasing losses and damaged equipment.
Any good businessman knew to devote the greatest amount of time and energy to the concerns that offered the greatest potential for profit— and Venport had proven himself an excellent businessman indeed. Thus, he had no choice but to stay here on Arrakis himself, until the problems were resolved.
He had hired a contingent of soldiers and guards, mercenaries and security men to maintain order in Arrakis City. The spaceport was a dirty, hard place, populated by dirty, hard men, but his troops kept the landing field and commercial buildings relatively safe.
The real problems occurred out in the deep desert, where no one could oversee.
Almost since the beginning of the spice trade on this desert hellhole, there had been numerous incidents of sabotage. In the past decade, pirate and bandit attacks had increased steadily, ominous signs that the resistance movement was gaining followers. For some reason these backward desert people scorned the benefits of civilization and the better standards of living.
Venport didn’t need to understand the outlaws’ way of thinking, was not required to sympathize with their point of view— but he did need to solve the problem. It was a task he would have preferred to leave to his partner, but through a maddeningly ironic twist of circumstances Keedair was now on Poritrin overseeing Norma’s work… while Venport was stuck on Arrakis.
Damned poor planning.
One of his assistants appeared at the office doorway, a VenKee functionary from Giedi Prime who had requested the assignment to Arrakis in order to increase his chances for promotion. The gangly man now spent every day counting the hours until he could return to a League World— any League World. “Sir, that old desert fellow is here to see you— Mr. Dhartha.”
Venport sighed, knowing that when the Zensunni leader appeared without an appointment, he invariably brought bad news. “Send him in.”
The functionary ducked away from the door, and moments later Naib Dhartha appeared, wrapped in folds of white cloth smeared with dust. The Naib had dark, leathery skin and an intricate tattoo on his cheek. Wearing a stony expression, he remained standing, and Venport did not invite him to sit down. Dhartha, like all Zensunni men, stank of dust and sweat and various unpleasant bodily odors. It wasn’t surprising that the Zensunni desert rats bathed rarely, if ever, since water was so precious here, but Venport had trouble ignoring his own hygienic expectations.
Before Naib Dhartha could say a word, Venport spoke. “First off, Naib, I want none of your hackneyed, tiresome excuses.” He indicated the ledger documents and accounting bins, knowing Dhartha would not understand them. “These delays and slowdowns are inexcusable. Something must be done.”
The old desert man surprised him. “I agree. I have come to ask for your assistance.”
Venport covered his shock and leaned forward on the desk. “I’m listening.”
“The cause of all our troubles is one man named Selim. He is at the heart of this band of troublemakers, wily foxes of the desert. They strike without warning, then flee and hide. But without Selim, the saboteurs would all vanish like smoke. The deluded fools see him as a hero. He calls himself ‘Wormrider.’”
“Why has it taken so long to get rid of him?”
Naib Dhartha fidgeted. “Selim is elusive. A year ago he lured my innocent young grandson to his death, and I have sworn a vow of vengeance. We have sent many hunting parties out to search for the Wormrider, but he always dodges them. Finally, however, our best scouts have discovered his hideout, a cave complex far from other settlements.”
“Then go take care of him,” Venport demanded. “Must I offer you a reward to do this job well?”
Dhartha lifted his chin. “I need no monetary incentive to kill Selim Wormrider. I do, however, need your mercenary soldiers and offworld weapons. The outlaws will fight, and I must be assured of victory.”
Venport knew it was a reasonable request and an appropriate investment. The infernal outlaws had destroyed many shipments of melange. Any expenses that VenKee Enterprises incurred in bringing business back to normal would be repaid many times over. “I am surprised your Zensunni pride allows you to solicit assistance from me.”
Dhartha’s deep blue eyes flashed. “This is not about pride, Aurelius Venport. This is only about killing a pest of the desert.”
Venport stood. “Then you shall have everything you require.”
DURING HIS LIFE, Naib Dhartha had witnessed much hardship and suffering. Years ago his wife and an entire spice caravan had been lost in a furious sandstorm. Then his son Mahmad died of a festering offworld disease. By now he was accustomed to grief. But the death of his beloved grandson Aziz, who had done everything to please his grandfather, drove him closer to despair than anything else. And for that, Dhartha knew exactly whom to blame.
The obsession for revenge had gnawed at him for a full year, and now he was ready to act.
He sat in a cave meeting chamber, glowering at the tribal elders. This was not a council session or a discussion, but a pronouncement, and all those present knew not to argue with the Naib. His spice-blue eyes were red-rimmed, like pits gouged from his face with a blunt knife.
“Selim was an orphan, an ungrateful youth, and— worst of all— a water thief. When he was only a child, our village banished him, assuming he would become food for the desert demons. But since going out on his own, he has been like sand rubbing a raw wound. Selim gathers criminals to raid our villages and prey upon our caravans.
“We have tried to negotiate with him. My own grandson delivered a message asking Selim to rejoin our society, but this prodigal son has made a pact with Shaitan himself. He laughed at my offer and sent Aziz back empty-handed.”
The elders sat looking expectantly at Dhartha. They sipped from small cups of spice-laced coffee. He noticed that most of them wore offworld clothes.
“Not content merely to rebuff my invitation, Selim Wormrider dared to fill that innocent boy’s head with foolish ideas. It was the outlaw’s specific intent to trick Aziz into his foolhardy attempt, knowing that Shaitan would devour him. It is Selim’s revenge against me.” He looked around at the men again, his entire body shaking. “Does anyone here dispute this?”
The men remained silent until finally one elder said, “But what shall we do about it, Naib Dhartha?”
“We have tolerated his harassment for years. Selim’s stated goal is to impede all spice-harvesting activities and destroy our trade with offworld merchants— the trade that has made our village wealthy. I say for a thousand reasons that we must destroy Selim and his bandit followers. We must crush these brigands while our men still remember the hard ways of the desert. We must gather our warriors and march upon the Wormrider’s stronghold.”
He clenched his fist and stood. “I call for a kanla party of vengeance, our best fighters to go with me and destroy Selim, once and for all.”
All the elders stood with him, some reluctantly, others raising their fists in the air. As Naib Dhartha had expected, no one raised a voice of dissent.
THE VISION FROM Shai-Hulud had never been so clear. Selim sat up on his pallet in the dark. A few dim glowglobes stolen from spice caravans hung outside in the corridor of the cave, casting faint pools of light, but he counted on darkness outside, with dawn far away. He blinked his eyes, trying to shift from his inner prophetic vision to his physical surroundings.
Now I see it, so plainly!
Beside him Marha slept in peaceful dreams. She was warm and soft and familiar. They had been married a year, and she was now pregnant with their first child. But he felt as if she had always been part of his life, and of his growing legend. He looked down at her and she stirred, though he had done nothing to disturb her. Marha was so attuned to her husband that she sensed even when his thoughts changed.
For their sleeping alcove, Selim had selected one of the inner chambers whose walls were adorned by etched Muadru rune carvings, the indecipherable symbols that had been placed there by unknown mystical travelers. The ancient writings made Selim feel connected to the soul of Arrakis itself. They helped him achieve a clarity of thought, and his nightly consumption of melange brought him purpose, elucidations, and dreams. Sometimes the visions were murky and difficult to comprehend; on other occasions Selim understood precisely what he must do.
His wife looked up at him expectantly, her eyes glinting in the cave shadows. Trying to keep the tremors out of his voice, he said, “An army approaches, Marha. Naib Dhartha has gathered well-armed offworlders to do his fighting for him. He has cast aside his Zensunni beliefs and his honor. He is a man consumed by his own hatred, and it means more to him now than anything.”
Marha got to her feet. “I will summon all of your followers, Selim. We will gather weapons and prepare to make our stand.”
“No,” Selim said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “They know where to find this place, and will come upon us with an overwhelming force. Regardless of the dedication and ferocity of our fighters, we cannot win.”
“Then we must flee! The desert is vast. We can easily find another hideout far from here.”
“Yes.” Selim stroked her cheek, then bent to kiss her. “You will all go deep into the desert and establish another base to support our cause. But I must remain behind and face him. Alone.”
Marha gasped. “No, my darling, come with us. They will kill you.”
Selim stared into the shadows, his gaze distant and unfocused as if he were peering deeper into a reality that no one else could see. “Long ago, Buddallah blessed me with a sacred mission. All my life I have followed the task He set for me, and it has all come to this nexus. The fate of Shai-Hulud rests upon my actions, and the future that I will help to create.”
“You cannot help create a future if you are dead.”
He smiled faintly at her. “The future is not so simple, Marha. I must set a course that will stand for millennia.”
“I shall stay and fight beside you. I am as capable as any of your fighters. You know I have proven myself—”
He placed his hands on her squared shoulders. “No, Marha. You have a greater responsibility, a much more important one. You must make certain that no one forgets. Only in that manner will we achieve a true and lasting victory.”
Selim inhaled deeply, and the heavy, sweet taste of melange clung to his breath. In the deepest core of his soul he felt a connection with Shai-Hulud.
“I intend to face my enemy alone on the sand.” He turned to Marha’s wide-eyed gaze and gave her a faint but confident smile. His voice held no doubt whatsoever. “As a legend, I can do no less.”