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He studied the carved ornamental handle, turned the gun toward his face, then looked at the short barrel. No initials. "And what about my other things, the objects supposedly owned by Jessica and Duke Leto?"
Some are real, some are not. I'll let you find out which are which. Knowing the nobleman's penchant for buying historical artifacts, the dealer would return to Caladan soon. No one made a fool of the Baron! The Baron ghola decided the next meeting would not be quite so cordial. He would ask a few incisive questions. Alia's voice faded away, and he was glad to have a moment of peace inside his head.
Paolo had consumed two of the orange capsules, and as the melange substitute took hold, the boy dropped to his knees and stared beatifically into the sky. "I see a great victory in my future! I'm holding a knife that drips with blood. I'm standing over my enemy . . . over myself." He frowned, then beamed again, yelling, "I am the Kwisatz Haderach!" Then Paolo let out a bloodcurdling scream. "No . . . now, I see myself dying on the floor, bleeding to death. But how can this be, if I am the Kwisatz Haderach? How can this be?"
The nearest Face Dancer grew animated. "We were instructed to watch for signs of prescience. We must notify Khrone immediately."
Prescience? the Baron thought. Or insanity?
Inside his mind, the presence of Alia laughed.
DAYS LATER, THE Baron strolled along the top of the cliff and gazed out to sea. Caladan did not yet have the lovely, grimy industrial capacity of his beloved Giedi Prime, but at least he'd paved over the gardens in the vicinity of the castle. The Baron hated flowers with their eye-straining colors and sickening odors. He much preferred the perfume of factory smoke. He had great ambitions of turning Caladan into another Giedi Prime. The march of progress was more important than any esoteric plans the Face Dancers had for young Paolo.
On the lowest level of the restored castle, where other great houses would have prepared chambers for "policy enforcement activities," House Atreides had instead used the space for food storage rooms, a wine cellar, and an emergency shelter. Being a more traditional nobleman, the Baron had installed dungeons, interrogation rooms, and a well-equipped torture chamber. He also had a party room on that level, where he often took young boys from the fishing village.
You can't remove the marks of House Atreides with such cosmetic changes, Grandfather, said the pestering voice of Alia. I preferred the old castle.
"Shut up, devil child! You were never here in life, either."
Oh, I visited my ancestral home when my mother lived here, when Muad'Dib was Emperor and his jihad splashed blood across the star systems. Don't you remember, Grandfather? Or weren't you inside my head then?
"I wish you weren't inside mine. I was born before you! I can't possibly have your memories inside me. You're an Abomination!"
Alia chuckled in a particularly disconcerting way. Yes, Grandfather. I'm that, and much more. Perhaps that's why I have the power to be inside you. Or, perhaps you are just flawed--completely mad. Have you considered the possibility that you might be imagining me? That's what everyone else thinks.
Servants hurried by, glancing fearfully at him. Just then the Baron saw a groundcar negotiating the steep road from the spaceport. "Ah, here is our guest." Despite Alia's intrusion, he expected this to be an entertaining day.
After the groundcar pulled up, a tall man stepped out of the rear compartment and made his way past statues of great Harkonnens that the Baron had erected in the past year. A suspensor platform floated behind the antiquities dealer, carrying his wares.
What do you plan to do with him, Grandfather?
"You know damned well what I'm going to do." High on the wall above, the Baron rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "Make yourself useful for a change, Abomination." Alia giggled, but it sounded as if she was laughing at him.
The Baron hurried down as a haunted-looking house servant escorted the visitor inside. Shay Vendee was an antiquities dealer, always pleased to meet with one of his best customers. As he strolled in with his goods trailing behind him, his round face shone as radiantly as a small red sun.
The Baron greeted him with a moist handshake, clasping with both hands and holding on a little too long, squeezing a bit too hard.
The merchant extricated himself from his customer's grip. "You'll marvel at what I've brought, Baron--amazing what turns up with a little digging." He opened one of the cases on the suspensor platform. "I saved these treasures especially for you."
The Baron brushed a speck off one of the jeweled rings on his fingers. "First I have something to show you, my dear Mr. Vendee. My new wine cellar. I am quite proud of it."
A look of surprise. "Are the Danian vineyards operating again?"
"I have other sources."
After the dealer disengaged his suspensor platform, the Baron led him down a wide rock staircase into increasing gloom. Oblivious to the danger, Vendee chattered cordially. "Caladan wines used to be quite famous, and deservedly so. In fact, I heard a rumor that a cache was found on the ruins of Kaitain, bottles perfectly preserved in a nullentropy vault. The nullentropy field prevented the wine from aging and mellowing--in this case for thousands of years--but even so, the vintage must be quite extraordinary. Would you like me to see if I can acquire a bottle or two for you?"
The Baron stopped at the bottom of the dim stairs and peered with spider-black eyes at his guest. "So long as you can provide the appropriate documentation. I wouldn't want to be duped into buying anything fake."
Vendee wore a look of horror. "Of course not, Baron Harkonnen!"
Finally, they passed through a narrow corridor illuminated by smoking oil lamps. Glowglobes were too efficient and harsh for the Baron's taste. He loved the dank, gritty smell of the air; it almost masked the other odors.
"Here we are!" The Baron pushed open a heavy wooden door and led the way into his fully stocked torture chamber. It had the traditional accoutrements: racks, masks, electrified chairs, and a strappado, by which a subject could be alternately hoisted into the air and dropped. "This is one of my new playrooms. My pride and joy."
Vendee's eyes opened wide in alarm. "I thought you said we were going to your wine cellar."
"Why, over there, my good man." With a good-natured expression, the Baron pointed to a table from which loose straps hung. A wine bottle and two glasses sat on top. He poured red wine into both glasses and handed one to his increasingly agitated guest.
Vendee glanced around, nervously eyeing the red stains on the table and rock floor. Spilled wine? "I have just made a long journey, and I'm tired. Maybe we should go back up to the main rooms. You will be absolutely delighted with the new items I've brought. Quite valuable relics, I assure you."
The Baron fingered one of the straps on the table. "There is another matter, first." He narrowed his eyes. From a side door a sunkeneyed boy marched in, carrying what looked like two ornate old weapons, disk handguns of ancient manufacture.
"Do these look familiar? Examine them carefully."
Vendee held one weapon to examine it. "Oh, yes. The antique gun of Alia Atreides. Used by her own hands."
"So you said." Taking the other handgun from the serving boy, the Baron said to Vendee, "You sold me a fake. I happen to know that the gun you hold is not the original weapon used by Alia."
"I have a reputation for integrity, Baron. If anyone has told you otherwise, they are lying."
"Unfortunately for you, my source is beyond reproach."
You are lucky to have me inside you to point out your mistakes, Alia said. If you believe I am real.
Indignantly, Vendee placed the gun on the table and turned to leave. He only made it halfway to the door.
The Baron pulled the trigger of his own weapon, and a large, spinning disk shot out and hit the dealer squarely in the back of his neck, decapitating him. Swiftly, smoothly. The Baron was sure it hadn't hurt a bit.
"Good shot, eh?" The Baron grinned at the serving boy.
The servant did not flinch at the
murder. "Will that be all you desire from me, sir?"
"You don't expect me to clean up this mess myself, do you?"
"No, my Lord. I will get right to it."
"Then wash yourself afterward." The Baron looked him over. "We'll have even more fun this afternoon." Meanwhile, he went back upstairs to study what the antique dealer had brought with him.
