Within sight of the Baron’s square-walled Keep, the industrial floatcraft rose high in the gloomy sky.

Inside the floatcraft’s large cargo hold, directly over its gaping, open hatch, Glossu Rabban hung spread-eagled. Shackles secured his wrists and ankles, but little else kept him from falling into the open sore of Harko City. His blue uniform was torn, his face bruised and bloodied from the scuffle with Captain Kryubi’s troopers when they’d subdued him, pursuant to the Baron’s orders. It had taken six or seven of the burliest guards to control the “Beast,” and they had not been gentle. Now, on chains, the brutish man thrashed from side to side, looking for something to bite, something to spit at.

Steadying himself against a rail while the wind whipped up through the yawning hatch, Baron Harkonnen gazed dispassionately down at his nephew. The obese Baron’s spider-black eyes were like deep holes. “Did I give you permission to kill my brother, Rabban?”

“He was only your half-brother, Uncle. He was a fool! I thought we would be better off—”

“Don’t try to do any thinking, Glossu. You aren’t good at it. Answer my question. Did I give you permission to kill a member of the Harkonnen family?”

When the response didn’t come quickly enough, the Baron moved a lever on a control panel. The shackle on Rabban’s left ankle sprang open, leaving the leg to dangle out over open space. Rabban writhed and screamed, unable to do anything. The Baron found the technique a primitive but effective method of increasing fear.

“No, Uncle, I did not have your permission!”

“No, what?”

“No, Uncle . . . I mean no, my Lord!” The blocky man grimaced in pain while he struggled for the correct words, trying to understand what his uncle wanted.

The Baron spoke into a com-unit to the floatcraft operator. “Take us over my Keep and hover fifty meters above the terrace. I think the cactus garden there could use some fertilizer.”

Looking up with a pitiful expression, Rabban declared, “I killed my father because he was a weakling. All his life, his actions brought dishonor on House Harkonnen.”

“Abulurd wasn’t strong, you mean . . . not like you and me?”

“No, my Lord Baron. He didn’t measure up to our standards.”

“So now you have decided to call yourself Beast. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Un— I mean, yes, my Lord.”

Through the open hatch, Baron Harkonnen could see the Keep’s spires. Directly below them was a garden terrace where he sometimes liked to sit and eat sumptuous meals in privacy, in the midst of the spiny desert growths. “If you look below, Rabban— yes, I believe you have a good view now— you can see a certain modification I made to the garden earlier today.”

As he spoke, the metal tips of army lances emerged from the dirt beside thorn-saguaro and chocatilla. “See what I planted for you?”

Dangling from the three remaining shackles, Rabban twisted to look. His face filled with terror.

“Note the bull’s-eye arrangement of the tips. If I drop you just right, you will be impaled in the exact center. If I miss by a little, we can still earn points for the hit, since every lance has a scoring number written on it.” He stroked his upper lip. “Hmm, perhaps we can even introduce slave-dropping as an event for our arena crowds. Quite an exciting concept, don’t you think?”

“My Lord, please don’t do this. You need me!”

With emotionless eyes, the Baron looked down at him. “Why? I have your little brother Feyd-Rautha. Perhaps I’ll make him my heir-designate. By the time he’s your age, he certainly won’t make as many mistakes as you have.”

“Uncle, please!”

“You must learn to pay close attention to what I say, at all times, Beast. I never make idle chatter.”

Rabban squirmed, and the chains jingled. Cold, smoky air drifted into the floatcraft as he tried desperately to think of what to say. “You want to know if it’s a good game? Yes, uh, my Lord, it’s most ingenious.”

“So I’m a smart man to devise it? Much smarter than you, correct?”

“Infinitely smarter.”

“Then don’t ever try to oppose me. Is that understood? I’ll always be ten steps ahead of you, ready with surprises that you could never imagine.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

Relishing the abject terror he saw in his nephew’s face, the Baron said, “Very well. I shall release you now.”

“Wait, Uncle!”

The Baron touched a button on the control panel, and both arm shackles opened, so that Rabban dropped upside down into open air, held by only the right ankle band. “Ooops. Do you think I hit the wrong button?”

Screaming: “No! You’re teaching me a lesson!”

“And have you learned that lesson?”

“Yes, Uncle! Let me come back. I will always do what you say.”

Into the com-unit, the Baron said, “Take us to my private lake.”

The floatcraft glided over the estate until it was directly over the grimy waters of a man-made pond. Following previous orders, the operator descended to ten meters over the water.

Seeing what lay in store for him, Rabban tried to pull himself up by the single shackle. “This isn’t necessary, Uncle! I’ve learned—”

The rest of Rabban’s words were lost in a clatter of chain as the remaining shackle was released. The burly man fell, flailing and screaming, a long way down into the water.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the opportunity to ask,” the Baron shouted through the opening as Rabban went under. “Can you swim?”

Kryubi’s men were stationed around the lake with rescue equipment, just in case. After all, the Baron couldn’t risk the life of his only trained heir. Though he would never admit it to Rabban, he was actually pleased at the loss of bleeding-heart Abulurd. It took guts to do what he had done to his own father— guts and ruthlessness. Good Harkonnen traits.

But I’m even more ruthless, the Baron thought as the floatcraft glided back to its landing field. I’ve just demonstrated that, to keep him from trying to kill me. “Beast” Rabban must prey only on the weak. And only when I say so.

Still, the Baron faced a much greater challenge; his body continued to decline each day. He’d been taking imported energy supplements, and they helped to keep the weakness and bloating in check— but it was becoming necessary to consume more and more pills to achieve the same benefit, with unknown side effects.

The Baron sighed. It was so difficult to medicate himself, when there weren’t any good doctors around. How many had he killed now for their incompetence? He’d lost count.