Mentats of Dune

Chapter 25 (We can never atone for all the harm we cause)

The shuttle that Vorian Atreides rode down to Lankiveil was a flying bus full of laborers, mostly offworlders ready to work in boats on the cold seas. More than fifty men and women had been transferred here to fill jobs promised by the wealthy Bushnell family, who had encroached on the best fur-whale harvesting waters. As House Harkonnen waned, the Bushnells saw an opportunity and moved into territory that Vergyl Harkonnen could no longer protect.

The Bushnells had noble blood, but a century ago they had fallen into political disfavor after withdrawing from some of the most vigorous battles in the Jihad. Even so far from Salusa Secundus, the Landsraad still had influence, and current Bushnell ambitions had been thwarted by other nobles who still held grudges. Seeking to recover their standing, the family had moved in on backwater Lankiveil, where the Harkonnens were also held in low esteem.

Vor knew the Harkonnens had little chance without good business leadership. Their noble house had fallen on hard times after several commercial failures, especially the loss of an entire season’s whale-fur harvest when a cheap cargo carrier vanished in foldspace. Vergyl Harkonnen was not a skilled planetary ruler, and his elder son, Griffin, had been the family’s best hope … until Griffin was murdered on Arrakis, with Vor at his side, unable to protect him.

Now Vor hoped that if he went to Lankiveil, he could do something for Griffin’s family. The proud Harkonnens would never accept charity or assistance from the man who had caused their downfall, but if he could accomplish it without their knowledge.…

He didn’t think he had ever been to this chill, windswept world before, even though he knew his former friend and protégé Abulurd had been exiled here. He promised himself he would make up for that now. During the journey that Captain Phillips arranged for him, Vor had studied images of the planet’s docks and city buildings nestled among rugged fjords. Vergyl Harkonnen and his family lived here, operated the planetary government offices, and managed their own fur-whale harvesting fleet.

As the shuttle landed in a wet, blowing sleetstorm, no one seemed concerned about the weather. After disembarking, the already assigned Bushnell hires took a snowbus that had been sent to pick them up. Vor paid for a local transport that took him to the other side of the fjord, the crowded village, and the wood-framed Harkonnen main house.

The gray clouds had thinned by the time he arrived in the small, snow-glazed whaling village and tramped along a wooden sidewalk on the main street. He wore thick, waterproofed clothing and carried a heavy satchel with personal belongings.

Before Vor left the Nalgan Shipping vessel, Captain Phillips had given him everything he needed, and he needed very little. Phillips had asked him to reconsider, but seeing the look of determination in Vor’s gray eyes, he let the matter drop. “I hope you find what you’re looking for down there.”

Even Vor wasn’t sure what he was looking for, except that he needed to lighten his conscience.

Only a few people were outside, men in heavy weatherproof clothing for a day on rough seas. The wind blew hard, and the harbor water was the color of dull steel, but several whaling craft were heading out, their running lights bright in the mist and falling snow.

After checking into a rooming house, Vor entered the adjacent restaurant, where diners were eating lunch. Unusual cooking odors assailed him: fish, salt, pungent spices. A woman with long red hair worked the floor, serving thick whale steaks accompanied by steamed greens and bowls brimming with chowder. While Vor waited for her to bring him a meal, he noticed two men standing at a message board, reading notices posted there.

The waitress brought his bowl of thick chowder. “Did you come in on the shuttle, looking for work on a whaling ship?”

“Is Vergyl Harkonnen hiring?”

“Usually, but the Bushnells pay better. That’s the only reason newcomers are interested in Lankiveil. Where are you from?”

“Lots of places. I travel and find work where I can.”

The waitress indicated the message board. “Post a note there with your qualifications. Somebody will see it.”

When Vor finished his meal, he wrote an unusual card, offering to work on a Harkonnen whale-fur boat at no salary, in exchange for taking images so he could compile a research report on his experiences. He claimed to be a freelance writer, using the assumed name of Jeron Egan. He knew well enough not to use the name Atreides around here.

The following morning, the boardinghouse manager told him that Vergyl Harkonnen wanted to see him. Vor went to the large weathered house on the fjord. As he regarded the imposing structure, the wooden walls, the lap-shingled roof, he realized that Abulurd had built this place decades ago, making his home here and enduring his exile, no doubt passing along his resentment of the Atreides to the next generation.

Now, as Vorian climbed the icy stairs to the front porch, the door opened before he could knock, and a bearded man greeted him. Vor recognized Vergyl Harkonnen. “You’re the fellow who posted the notice? You’re a writer?”

Looking at Vergyl’s face, Vor could see the clear resemblance to Griffin’s features. He remembered the last time he had seen the young man, lying dead in the sand with his neck broken. Seeing the lines on the father’s face, Vor felt a heavy sense of dread. This man had endured a terrible grief and had seen the family fortunes fall in the eight difficult decades after the Battle of Corrin.

Vor removed his warm coat and joined the Harkonnen patriarch in a small parlor to discuss his possible employment, as a research assignment. Sonia Harkonnen delivered cups of steaming tea.

“Benz flower tea,” she said. “In the thaw every summer, we pick the blossoms and berries. They’re hardy plants that bloom when they get the first opportunity.”

Vor had learned in his research that Sonia Harkonnen was a Bushnell by birth, but had been estranged from her family for marrying a lesser noble. He wondered now if an eventual reconciliation with the Bushnells would be the only way for Vergyl and Sonia to preserve what little the Harkonnens had left.

Without touching his hot beverage, Vergyl leaned forward. “We never get people wanting to work for free, Mr. Egan, so your offer intrigues me. You’re willing to stay at least a month? Work shifts on the whale-fur boats are physically demanding, with constant cold weather and rough seas. Are you sure your research is worth the misery? Who would want to read about that?”

Vor met the man’s haunted eyes, again seeing a shadow of Griffin. “Money can be spent and lost, but knowledge becomes a permanent part of you. What I learn here will be worthwhile, to me at least.”

Vergyl cocked his eyebrows. “Sometimes there are things I’d rather not know, things I can never forget.”

That afternoon, when the clouds thinned and the snow stopped, Vergyl gave Vor a tour of his boats. “These are workhorses, and I admit they need better maintenance, but our fortunes aren’t what they once were. I’m trying to keep the boats running, but I may have to sell everything before long.”

Although it could never make up for the things the Harkonnens blamed him for, Vor wanted to help them financially, and he had the resources to do so, spread across many planetary banks, even though he could not explain who he was, could never let them know the identity of their benefactor. First, he wanted to get to know them better.

That evening he was invited to dinner in the Harkonnen family home, where Vergyl and Sonia sat at a long, near-empty table with their sixteen-year-old son, Danvis, a pink-faced and lonely-looking young man.

“The house seems so quiet these days,” Sonia said as she served Vor a fur-whale steak. Tasting a bite, he was pleased to discover that the steak was not fishy or salty, and had a pleasingly firm texture. “Danvis is the only one left at home. Our two daughters, Tula and Valya, are being trained in the Sisterhood. And our son Griffin … he died last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Vor meant it with a depth they could never guess. Vergyl showed him images of the two daughters, and Vor remembered how much Griffin had talked about Valya in particular.

Vergyl said, “Griffin is buried just outside of town, in a plot with a magnificent view of the water. At least he has that.…” His voice trailed away, and he pushed aside his unfinished meal.

“It sounds like he was loved very much,” Vor said.

“That he was,” Sonia said.

Vergyl continued, “Griffin was destined to be a great business leader. He even wanted to be our planetary representative to the Landsraad. But all those hopes are lost and gone now.” He gave a dismal, hopeless smile toward his younger son, who sat quiet and awkward at the table; the boy had barely said a word throughout the meal. “So now it’s up to Danvis to carry on the legacy.” Vergyl looked at Vor, cleared his throat. “You arrived at a good time, and we appreciate your willingness to work. We can sure use the help, whatever your reasons.”

“Maybe I can help turn your fortunes around.” He sounded bright and confident.

“I doubt a research project could accomplish that. You can work miracles?” The elder Harkonnen attempted to make his comment a joke, but the humor was forced.

“I can try.” Vor remembered young Griffin, so noble and brave and full of vitality. These broken people were part of the legacy Vor had created, going back decades. House Harkonnen deserved better than this, and he vowed to do everything he could to help them.