Dune: House Corrino (Prelude to Dune Series #3)

by Kevin J. Anderson

Overview

The triumphant conclusion to the blockbuster trilogy that made science fiction history!

In Dune: House Corrino Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson bring us the magnificent final chapter in the unforgettable saga begun in Dune: House Atreides and continued in Dune: House Harkonnen.

Here nobles and commoners, soldiers and slaves, wives and courtesans shape the amazing destiny of a tumultuous universe. An epic saga of love and war, crime and politics, religion and revolution, this magnificent novel is a fitting conclusion to a great science fiction trilogy ... and an invaluable addition to the thrilling world of Frank Herbert’s immortal Dune.

Dune: House Corrino

Fearful of losing his precarious hold on the Golden Lion Throne, Shaddam IV, Emperor of a Million Worlds, has devised a radical scheme to develop an alternative to melange, the addictive spice that binds the Imperium together and that can be found only on the desert world of Dune.

In subterranean labs on the machine planet Ix, cruel Tleilaxu overlords use slaves and prisoners as part of a horrific plan to manufacture a synthetic form of melange known as amal. If amal can supplant the spice from Dune, it will give Shaddam what he seeks: absolute power.

But Duke Leto Atreides, grief-stricken yet unbowed by the tragic death of his son Victor, determined to restore the honor and prestige of his House, has his own plans for Ix.

He will free the Ixians from their oppressive conquerors and restore his friend Prince Rhombur, injured scion of the disgraced House Vernius, to his rightful place as Ixian ruler. It is a bold and risky venture, for House Atreides has limited military resources and many ruthless enemies, including the sadistic Baron Harkonnen, despotic master of Dune.

Meanwhile, Duke Leto’s consort, the beautiful Lady Jessica, obeying the orders of her superiors in the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, has conceived a child that the Sisterhood intends to be the penultimate step in the creation of an all-powerful being. Yet what the Sisterhood doesn’t know is that the child Jessica is carrying is not the girl they are expecting, but a boy.

Jessica’s act of disobedience is an act of love — her attempt to provide her Duke with a male heir to House Atreides — but an act that, when discovered, could kill both mother and baby.

Like the Bene Gesserit, Shaddam Corrino is also concerned with making a plan for the future — securing his legacy. Blinded by his need for power, the Emperor will launch a plot against Dune, the only natural source of true spice. If he succeeds, his madness will result in a cataclysmic tragedy not even he foresees: the end of space travel, the Imperium, and civilization itself.

With Duke Leto and other renegades and revolutionaries fighting to stem the tide of darkness that threatens to engulf their universe, the stage is set for a showdown unlike any seen before.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780553580334
Publisher:	Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:	08/27/2002
Series:	Prelude to Dune Series , #3
Edition description:	Reissue
Pages:	688
Product dimensions:	4.20(w) x 6.80(h) x 1.50(d)
Age Range:	14 - 18 Years

About the Author

Brian Herbert, the son of Frank Herbert, is the author of numerous acclaimed science fiction novels, including Sidney's Comet; Sudanna, Sudanna; Prisoners of Arionn; The Race for God (a Nebula Award nominee); and Man of Two Worlds (written with Frank Herbert). He has also written Dreamer of Dune, a comprehensive biography of his illustrious father.

Kevin J. Anderson has written twenty-six national bestsellers and has been nominated for the Nebula Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the SFC Reader's Choice Award. He also set the Guinness world record for "Largest Single-Author Book Signing."

Read an Excerpt

The axis of spin for the planet Arrakis is at right angles to the radius of its orbit. The world itself is not a globe, but more a spinning top somewhat fat at the equator and concave toward the poles. There is a sense that this may be artificial, the product of some ancient artifice.
— Report of the Third Imperial Commission on Arrakis

Under the light of two moons in a dusty sky, the Fremen raiders flitted across the desert rocks. They blended into the rugged surroundings as if cut from the same cloth, harsh men in a harsh environment.

Death to Harkonnens. All members of the armed razzia squad had sworn the same vow.

In the quiet hours before dawn, Stilgar, their tall and black-bearded leader, stalked catlike ahead of a score of his best fighters. We must move as shadows in the night. Shadows with hidden knives.

Lifting a hand, he commanded the silent squad to halt. Stilgar listened to the pulse of the desert, his ears probing the darkness. His blue-within-blue eyes scanned towering rock escarpments profiled against the sky like giant sentinels. As the pair of moons moved across the heavens, patches of darkness shifted moment by moment, living extensions of the mountain face.

The men picked their way up a rock buttress, using dark-adapted eyes to follow a steep, tool-hewn trail. The terrain seemed hauntingly familiar, though Stilgar had never been here before. His father had described the way, the route their ancestors had taken into Hadith Sietch, once the greatest of all hidden settlements, abandoned long ago.

“Hadith” — a word taken from an old Fremen song about the patterns of survival in the desert. Like many living Fremen, he carried the story etched into his psyche ... a tale of betrayal and civil conflict during the first generations of the wandering Zensunni here on Dune. Legend held that all meanings originated here, in this holy sietch.

Now, though, the Harkonnens have desecrated our ancient place.

Every man in Stilgar’s commando squad felt revulsion at such sacrilege. Back in Red Wall Sietch, a flat stone held tally marks of all the enemies these Fremen had slain, and tonight more enemy blood would be shed.

The column followed Stilgar as he picked up the pace down the rocky trail. It would be dawn soon, and they still had much killing to do.

Here, far from prying Imperial eyes, Baron Harkonnen had been using the empty caves of Sietch Hadith to conceal one of his illegal spice hoards. The embezzled stockpile of valuable melange appeared on no inventory sheet ever submitted to the Emperor. Shaddam suspected nothing of the ruse. But the Harkonnens could not hide such activities from the eyes of the desert people.

In the squalid village of Bar Es Rashid at the base of the ridge, the Harkonnens had a listening post and guards up in the cliffs. Such minor defenses presented no obstacle to the Fremen, who long ago had built numerous shafts and entrances into the mountain grottoes. Secret ways...

Stilgar found a split in the trail and followed the faint path, searching for the hidden opening into Sietch Hadith. In low light he saw a patch of darkness beneath an overhang. Dropping to all fours, he reached into the darkness and located the expected opening, cool and moist, without a doorseal. Wasteful.

No bright light, no sign of guards. Crawling inside the hole, he stretched a leg down and located a rough ledge, where he rested his boot. With his other foot he found a second ledge, and below that another. Steps going down. Ahead, he discerned low yellow light where the tunnel sloped to the right. Stilgar backed up and raised a hand, summoning the others to follow.

On the floor at the base of the rough steps he noticed an old serving bowl. Tugging off his nose plugs, he smelled raw meat. Bait for small predators? An animal trap? He froze, looking for sensors. Had he already tripped a silent alarm? He heard footsteps ahead, and a drunken voice. “Got another one. Let’s blow it to kulon-hell.”

Stilgar and two Fremen darted into a side tunnel and drew their milky crysknives. Maula pistols would be far too noisy in these enclosed spaces. When a pair of Harkonnen guards blundered past them, reeking of spice beer, Stilgar and his comrade Turok leaped out and grabbed them from behind.

Before the hapless men could cry out, the Fremen slit their throats, then slapped spongepads over the wounds to absorb the precious blood. In an efficient blur of motion, Fremen removed hand weapons from the still-twitching guards. Stilgar seized a lasrifle for himself and passed one to Turok.

Dim military glowglobes floated in ceiling recesses, casting low light. The razzia band continued down the passageway, toward the heart of the ancient sietch. When the passage skirted a conveyor system used for the transportation of materials in and out of the secret chamber, he detected the cinnamon odor of melange, which grew stronger as the group went deeper. Here, the ceiling glowglobes were tuned to pale orange instead of yellow.

Stilgar’s troop murmured at the sight of human skulls and rotting bodies, propped against the sides of the corridor, carelessly displayed trophies. Rage suffused him. These might have been Fremen prisoners or villagers, taken by the Harkonnens for sport. At his side, Turok glanced around, searching for another enemy he might kill.

Cautiously, Stilgar led the way forward and began to hear voices and clanging noises. They came to an alcove rimmed with a low stone railing that overlooked an underground grotto. Stilgar imagined the thousands of desert people who must have thronged into this vast cavern long ago, before the Harkonnens, before the Emperor ... before the spice melange had become the most valuable substance in the universe.

At the center of the grotto rose an octagonal structure, dark blue and silver, surrounded by ramps. Smaller matching structures were arranged around it. One was under construction; plasmetal parts lay strewn about, with seven laborers hard at work.

Slipping back into shadows, the raiders crept down shallow stairs to the grotto floor. Turok and the other Fremen, each man holding his confiscated weapons, took positions in different alcoves overlooking the grotto. Three raiders raced up the ramp that encircled the largest octagonal structure. At the top, the Fremen vanished from view, then reappeared and made rapid hand signals to Stilgar. Six guards had already been killed without making a sound, dispatched in deadly crysknife silence.

Now the time for stealth had ended. On the rock floor, a pair of commandos pointed their maula pistols at the surprised construction workers and ordered them up the stairs. The sunken-eyed laborers complied grudgingly, as if they didn’t care which masters held them captive.

The Fremen searched connecting passageways and found an underground barracks with two dozen guards asleep among bottles of spice beer scattered on the floor. A strong odor of melange permeated the large common room.

Scoffing, the Fremen charged in, slashing with knives, kicking and punching, dealing out pain but no fatal wounds. The groggy Harkonnens were disarmed and herded to the central grotto.

His blood running hot, Stilgar scowled at the slouching, half-drunken men. One always hopes for an honorable enemy. But we have found none tonight. Even here, in the highly secure grotto, these men had been sampling the spice they were supposed to guard — probably without the Baron’s knowledge.

“I want to torture them to death right now.” Turok’s eyes were dark under the ruddy glowglobe light. “Slowly. You saw what they did to their captives.”

Stilgar stopped him. “Save that for later. Instead, we shall put them to work.”

Stilgar paced back and forth in front of the Harkonnen captives, scratching his dark beard. The stink of their fear-sweat began to overpower the melange odor. In a low, measured tone, he used a threat their leader Liet-Kynes had suggested. “This spice stockpile is illegal, in explicit violation of Imperial orders. All melange on the premises will be confiscated and reported to Kaitain.”

Liet, as the recently appointed Imperial Planetologist, had gone to Kaitain to request a meeting with the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV. It was a long journey across the galaxy to the Imperial Palace, and a simple desert dweller like Stilgar could scarcely comprehend such distances.

“Says a Fremen?” sneered the half-drunk guard captain, a small man with quivering jowls and a high forehead.

“Says the Emperor. We take possession of it in his name.” Stilgar’s indigo eyes bored into him. The red-faced captain didn’t even have enough sense to be frightened. Apparently, he had not heard what Fremen did to their captives. He would find out soon enough.

“Get to work unloading the silos!” Turok barked, standing with the rescued workers. Those prisoners who weren’t too exhausted to notice seemed amused to see the Harkonnens jump. “We’ll have our own ’thopters here soon to pick up the spice.”

As the rising sun blistered the desert, Stilgar hovered on the tense edge of anxiety. The Harkonnen captives worked, hour after hour. This raid was taking a long time, yet they had so much to gain.

While Turok and his companions kept their weapons ready, surly Harkonnen guards loaded packages of melange onto rattling conveyor belts that led to openings on the cliff faces near ’thopter landing pads. Outside, the Fremen raiders hauled away enough treasure to ransom a world.

What could the Baron possibly want with such wealth?

At noon, precisely on schedule, Stilgar heard explosions from the village of Bar Es Rashid at the base of the ridge — the second Fremen razzia squad attacking the Harkonnen guard post in a well-coordinated assault.

Four unmarked ornithopters circled the rock buttress gracefully, flapping their mechanical wings until Stilgar’s men guided them onto the landing slabs. Freed construction workers and the Fremen commandos loaded the craft with the packaged, twice-stolen melange.

It was time for the operation to end.

Stilgar lined the Harkonnen guards along a sheer dropoff over the dusty huts of Bar Es Rashid far below. After hours of hard work and brewing fear, the jowly Harkonnen captain was fully sober now, his hair sweaty and eyes haunted. Standing before him, Stilgar studied the man with utter contempt.

Without a word, he drew his crysknife and slit the man up the middle, from pubic bone to sternum. The captain gasped in disbelief as his blood and entrails spilled out into the sun.

“Waste of moisture,” Turok muttered beside him.

Several panicked Harkonnen prisoners tried to break away, but the Fremen fell upon them, hurling some over the cliff and stabbing others with sharp blades. Those who stood their ground were dispatched quickly and painlessly. The Fremen took much longer with the cowards.

The sunken-eyed construction workers were ordered to load bodies into the ornithopters, even the decaying corpses found in the passageways. Back at Red Wall Sietch, Stilgar’s people would render the bodies in a deathstill, extracting every drop of water for the benefit of the tribe. Desecrated Hadith would be left empty again, a ghost sietch.

A warning to the Baron.

One by one the loaded ’thopters rose like dark birds into the clear sky, while Stilgar’s men trotted beneath the hot sun of afternoon, their mission complete.

As soon as Baron Harkonnen discovered the loss of his spice hoard and the murder of his guards, he would retaliate against Bar Es Rashid, even though those poor villagers had had nothing to do with the raid. His mouth set in a grim line, Stilgar decided to move the entire population to the safety of a distant sietch.

There, along with the captive construction workers, they would be turned into Fremen, or killed if they did not cooperate. Considering their squalid lives in Bar Es Rashid, Stilgar felt he was doing them a favor.

When Liet-Kynes returned from his meeting with the Emperor on Kaitain, he would be very pleased with what the Fremen had accomplished.

Table of Contents

What People are Saying About This

From the Publisher

"A good, steady, enjoyable tale." —-Publishers Weekly

Interviews

Inventing History for Dune
When Frank Herbert first created the Dune universe almost four decades ago, he placed his story on a canvas that spanned more than 20,000 years. A masterpiece of world building and history, Dune is richly detailed, full of characters and cultures, clearly giving the impression that the author knows much more than he's letting on.

One of the most tantalizing events mentioned in all six of Frank Herbert's Dune novels is the Butlerian Jihad, a titanic conflict of humans against thinking machines, which serves as the genesis for many of the familiar ingredients in Dune. This fascinating part of Dune history is the single event most hotly anticipated by Frank Herbert fans.

After completing three immediate prequels to Dune -- House Atreides, House Harkonnen, and House Corrino -- we reawakened the fervor for Frank Herbert's grand history. Many readers have returned to the original novels, and new fans have picked up the books. Our first prequel trilogy features all familiar characters and events, leading directly into Dune.

For The Butlerian Jihad, we had to travel back 10,000 years before the events in the original story. This posed a difficult, but entertaining, challenge -- to create an original universe, building our own characters and events, yet one that captures the flavor and essence of Dune.

Armed with Frank Herbert's unpublished notes and background material, we had some important clues to the events of the Butlerian Jihad, but none of the extensive details. Building on this material, The Butlerian Jihad answers the most vital questions fans have been asking: the circumstances behind the great betrayal that made mortal enemies of House Atreides and House Harkonnen, the foundations of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, as well as the creation of the Order of Mentats, the Suk doctors, the Swordmasters of Ginaz, and the Spacing Guild. We also show the dramatic struggle of the oppressed Zensunni Wanderers who escape their bondage and flee to an uncharted desert world, where they settle among the spice and sandworms and declare themselves "Free men" of Dune. Readers will recognize some familiar names and meet new friends and enemies.

Because The Butlerian Jihad is so far removed from the original classic novel, we felt we had a greater freedom but also a greater responsibility. We are opening a new chapter in this grand history, yet it must be familiar enough to belong beside the other Dune novels. We created a new set of characters that we found remarkable in their own right -- the half-machine tyrant Agamemnon and his brainwashed son Vorian Atreides, the dedicated free human Xavier Harkonnen, the genius scientist Tio Holtzman, and of course the incomparable heroine, Serena Butler. The independent robot Erasmus -- whom Publishers Weekly calls "a Thinking Machine Hannibal Lecter with whimsical Mr. Spock-ish meditations" -- is probably the best villain either of us has ever concocted. The Butlerian Jihad is just the first of a projected trilogy. Frank Herbert has left us a vast landscape to explore, but at least we have a map. We still have a lot more history to create. Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson

Editorial Reviews

The Barnes & Noble Review
With Frank Herbert's death in 1986, the science fiction phenomenon known as the Dune series seemed fated to end with its sixth volume, Chapterhouse: Dune. But Herbert's son, Brian, working from his father's files, collaborated with Kevin J. Anderson on a series of three prequels, concluding with Dune: House Corrino. Taken together, they form an introductory series that can proudly be touted as a robust addition to the original epic work.

Emperor Shaddam IV continues to extend his rule as he oversees the research and development of a synthetic spice on the captured machine world of Ix. The banished Prince Rhombur Vernius, along with Duke Leto Atreides, each do what they can to free Ix and prevent the emperor from controlling the million worlds of the known universe. Shaddam's evil and ambitious adviser, Count Fenring, has his own plans for making use of the manufactured melange, even while the mystical Bene Gesserit must deal with the fact that their one great hope lies now in the unborn child of Leto and his concubine, Jessica. As House Atreides prepares to go to war with House Harkonnen, all await the birth of a child that will change the course of history.

In a gripping and forceful manner, the authors meet the extraordinary demands set before them and again prove themselves capable of the same imaginative reach and intricacy as found in the original books. Audacious, complex, and highly engaging, the three prequel novels are destined to develop a vast readership of their own. Dune: House Corrino manages to bring a fascinating and wholly satisfying conclusion to the trilogy, even while creating a resurgent interest in Frank Herbert's enigmatic series. You won't be able to read the first page of any of these chronicles without immediately feeling the burning need to devour all the other books as well. Fans of the original novels will welcome any return to their cherished Arrakis, and new readers will leap at the chance to delve into the mystical sands of Dune. (Tom Piccirilli)

bn.com

In this fully satisfying conclusion (after Dune: House Atreides and Dune: House Harkonnen) to the authors' "House" trilogy, Emperor Shaddam Corrino tries to grasp greater power than any emperor before him and to rule the Million Worlds solely according to his whims. On the captured planet Ix, the research Shaddam directs into the creation of a synthetic spice, amal, that will make him all-powerful spirals out of control, putting the entire civilization at risk. Meanwhile, the enslavers of Ix must contend with threats from exiled Prince Rhombur Vernius, who wishes to rule the planet instead. Tumultuous times are also in store for the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, whose breeding plan has been thrown off course one generation shy of its end. Tension between the houses Atreides and Harkonnen builds to a dramatic showdown. While the intricacy of the first prequel is absent here, so is the filler of the second. Because Herbert and Anderson are extrapolating from someone else's ideas and characters, they tend to overuse catch phrases (like "the Golden Lion throne") from Dune and its sequels with a resulting flatness of language. The inevitable derivative features aside, this is a good, steady, enjoyable tale, and readers who haven't read the first two books can easily follow the plot. A bold, red-and-gold dust jacket, with illustration by Stephen Youll, is a real eye-catcher. Fans who will be sorry to see the end of this series will be heartened by the hint that the Dune saga is far from over. (Oct. 9) Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Publishers Weekly

As Emperor Shaddam IV seeks to consolidate his power as Emperor of a Million Worlds through the monopoly of the spice trade, other forces array themselves in opposition to his increasingly tyrannical rule. Herbert and Anderson conclude their trilogy (Dune: House Atreides; Dune: House Harkonnen) chronicling the years leading up to the events portrayed in the late Frank Herbert's Dune with a war for the liberation of the conquered planet Ix and the birth of a son to Duke Leto Atreides and his Bene Gesserit wife, Jessica. Though dependent on the previous books, this complex and compelling tale of dynastic intrigue and high drama adds a significant chapter to the classic Dune saga. Highly recommended. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 6/15/01.] Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Library Journal

Third in the Dune prequel series from originator Frank Herbert's son Brian and collaborator Anderson (Dune: House Atreides, 1999, and Dune: House Harkonnen, 2000). Duke Leto Atreides plans to attack planet Ix and drive out the occupying genetic-whiz Tleilaxu, while his concubine Jessica must travel to the imperial capital, Kaitain, to give birth to her child-not the daughter she was ordered to bear by her Bene Gesserit superiors. The Emperor Shaddam grows crueler and less restrained as his conspiracy with the Tleilaxu to develop a synthetic substitute for the miraculous spice "melange" advances. Shaddam's coconspirator Ajidica, the Tleilaxu Master, has tested "amal" on himself and obtained a superhuman brain boost; better still, the imperial Sardaukar troops stationed on Ix are already addicted to amal, so that now they'll obey him rather than the Emperor. The Emperor's agent, Hasimir Fenring, isn't convinced that amal will be an effective substitute for melange and demands more tests. Regardless, Shaddam squeezes the Great Families to reveal their secret spice stockpiles; once equipped with amal, he can destroy planet Arrakis-the sole source of the natural spice-and hold the galaxy to ransom. The plot heads for one of those black-comic moments where everybody's holding a gun to somebody else's head. Even though the cracks are beginning to show, and the sheer narrative power of the superb original series is lacking, Dune in any guise is as addictive as the spice itself.

Kirkus Reviews

"A good, steady, enjoyable tale." —-Publishers Weekly

From the Publisher