Brian Herbert - Paul of Dune

The original de Vries had been killed on Kaitain by the witch Mohiam. Afterward, the Baron had been served by a ghola of the Mentat, who had purportedly died on Arrakis along with the captive Duke Leto Atreides in a mysterious release of poison gas.

“Gholas?” Fenring asked. “Why are there so many of them?”

“Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had a standing order for us to keep several ready for delivery. The growth and Twisting process takes a good deal of time.”

“The Baron has been dead for a year,” Margot pointed out.

Ereboam frowned at her, then deigned to answer. “Yes, and they are therefore no longer commercially viable. We contacted other noble houses to try to market them elsewhere, but the Baron managed to taint the reputation of this one. Such a waste of time and resources, and now this line has been discontinued. At least they can serve as experimental subjects for a new nerve poison. Observe. That is why I’ve brought you here.”

In unison, the de Vries gholas took on identical expressions of agony and clutched at their heads. As if choreographed, they fell writhing to the floor one by one, with the degree of their reactions depending on the strength of the poison to which they’d been exposed. They all began babbling long strings of prime numbers and tables of useless facts. Fenring exchanged a quizzical glance with his wife.

“The new poison is a marketable assassination tool,” Ereboam said. “How delightful; their thoughts are detonating inside their brains. Soon they will all go insane, but that is a mere side effect, however interesting it may be. Death is our primary goal with this substance.”

Thick blood and mucous began running out of the mouths, ears, and nostrils. Some of the victims screamed, while others whimpered.

“Because they are all virtually identical,” Ereboam continued, “these discontinued gholas provide an opportunity for us to test various potencies of the neurotoxin. A controlled experiment.”

“This is barbaric,” Margot said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

“Barbaric?” Ereboam said. “Compared to what Muad’Dib has set loose on the universe, this is nothing.”

Count Fenring nodded, realizing that the Tleilaxu man was making some sense — in his own twisted way.

It was a matter of simple mathematics, and the numbers did not add up.

For years before it happened, Paul had experienced visions of his Jihad, a storm of armed and fanatical Fremen sweeping across star systems, planting the banners of Muad’Dib and slaughtering any populations that resisted. Though history would paint a dark picture of his rule, Paul could see beyond the next sand dune in the wasteland of time, to the next, and the next. He knew that his Jihad would be but a flurry compared with the titanic upheavals that lay ahead in the path of human destiny, upheavals that would be far more deadly if he failed now.

While still on Kaitain, having dispatched the Fremen warriors to other battlefields and summoned cleanup and reconstruction crews to cement the occupation of the former Imperial capital, he considered his next move. Although he missed Chani greatly, he had vital work to do here.

To win this Jihad he would have to lay down a new, enduring rule. He had to derail humanity and its politics from the rut into which it had allowed itself to fall. No, not a rut, he decided. A death spiral.

But the numbers…

On the entire planet of Arrakis, Paul knew there were perhaps ten million Fremen scattered among numerous sietches. Ten million, half of whom were men, of which perhaps a third could be called upon to act as warriors in his Jihad. Less than two million fighters… and he knew from his dreams, his calculations, and cold logic that he would have to conquer — maybe even slaughter — countless populations before this war was over.

Even with all the faithful, though, he simply did not have enough fighters to make this a strictly military conquest. His soldiers, no matter how dedicated, couldn’t possibly kill everyone who disagreed with him. Besides, he had no desire to be the emperor of a galaxywide charnel house.

Though Paul’s prescience told him he had to win many victories, he hoped to prevail on most leaders of the Imperium with subtlety and intelligence, using sophisticated means of persuasion. His mother had already begun to make overtures for him. He had to demonstrate that surrender to and alliance with Muad’Dib was a smart decision, the best alternative. The only alternative. But in order to accomplish that, he needed to employ the Paul Atreides side of his brain, rather than the raw Fremen side of Muad’Dib. Through all available means, he needed to control what remained of the Landsraad. He needed to gather allies.

While his initial instinct was to return to Arrakeen and summon the members of the most important noble Houses, Paul decided that could send the wrong signal, because seeing him there the noblemen might consider him a piratical leader of desert bandits. On Dune, Paul was surrounded by a groundswell of fanaticism, the resolute loyalty that was simply not understandable to anyone who did not grasp the power of blind religious devotion. After years of complacency under the secular Corrino Imperium, many Landsraad members had paid little attention to religion, viewing the Orange Catholic Bible as nothing more than a document of deep historical interest but without true passion.

Even if Paul called in old family alliances and recruited the political friends of his father, it was not likely to be enough. Paul’s jihadis might even kill some of the recalcitrant nobles, showing them a different kind of passion that even Paul might not be able to stop. There were potential second- and third-level consequences that he did not like, and he knew his prescience would not show him every possible pitfall.

So, the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib made plans to summon them to Kaitain. A familiar place, and a symbol of how much he had already conquered in so short a time.

With the Imperial Palace torched and the marvelous city ransacked, he dispatched urgent protocol teams to prepare for the event. They cleaned the gutted Landsraad Hall of Oratory and rehung the banners of all the Houses who had agreed to attend.

Paul selected the invited representatives carefully. Duke Leto had been quite popular among important families, so much that he had unwittingly sparked Shaddam’s jealousy — a resentment that had led to the Duke’s political entrapment and murder on Arrakis. But even all of his father’s friends would not be enough. He would also need to rely on the numerous planetary rulers who bore their own enmity toward Shaddam IV — and there were many of those from which to choose. When the guest list was set, his subordinates arranged Guild passage to bring the invited Landsraad representatives to Kaitain. For the event, Muad’Dib had personally guaranteed their safety and offered them incentives.

While Paul waited for the delegates to arrive, Fedaykin guards swept the former Imperial city. They rooted out any “suspicious” people and locked them up, all in the name of ensuring the safety of the Emperor. Paul had an unsettling realization that his own people were resorting to tactics quite similar to those the Harkonnens had used, but he also understood the very real threat posed by assassins and conspirators. He had to allow some excesses for the greater good, though he doubted his explanations would comfort the families of those innocents who fell victim to Fremen zeal….