Navigators of Dune

On the transport from the landing field to the village, they asked about finding work, playing their role. Vor recognized one of the local storekeepers, but the man didn’t give Vor a second glance. “Work?” The grizzled storekeeper shrugged and gestured vaguely out of town. “Check at any orchard. Pickers are always needed at this time of year to bring in the buriak crop.”

Buriak trees bore large, juicy fruit that was good to eat raw, and a smile came to Vor’s face as he remembered the taste. He and his beloved Mariella had managed a small orchard early in their marriage. “The Tulind family orchard is a few miles out of town. I hear they need a lot of laborers.”

A woman brought a jacket up to the counter for purchase, and she joined in the conversation. “The Tulinds need pickers because they run that orchard like a police state, and there was a mass defection of workers last week.”

“Doesn’t sound like a place we want to work,” Willem said.

“Let their damned fruit rot on the trees.” The woman laid the jacket on the counter, brought out her money, and counted it. “There are plenty of better operators. Good people. The Urions are fine, except for the fact that they’ll try to convert you to their obscure religion.”

“They’re Shohkers,” the shopkeeper said. “Refused to accept the Orange Catholic Bible that Emperor Jules imposed on the Imperium.”

“Or, you might try the Atreides orchard,” the woman suggested. “They’re solid, honest people, and they feed their pickers well. Worker housing is basic, but adequate. It’s walking distance, less than an hour north of town on the main road. The owners are Geoff and Nobinia Atreides.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Vor said guardedly. “Thanks, I think we’ll try there first.”

Vor had heard what he needed to know. Geoff was one of his great-grandsons, though they had barely met. If Vor and Willem could get hired there, it would be less risky than getting close to Vor’s actual sons, who might recognize him … which could put them in danger.

Before leaving, Vor displayed an image of Tula Harkonnen, blonde and beautiful, like an angel, taken on the day of her wedding. The image did not show the blood on her hands or the poison in her heart. “Have you seen this woman? A stranger coming through? She would have arrived recently.”

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows and smiled. “No, I would have remembered her!”

“She’s a wanted murderer,” Willem said coldly. “Ruthless and dangerous. Watch out for her. We have reason to believe she might be coming to Kepler.”

Leaving the store, the two men set off on the main road. They had departed from Caladan after the horrific murder of Willem’s brother Orry. Even though Vor doubted the Harkonnens knew about this branch of his family, or that Tula would come here so soon to continue her deadly plans, he needed to make sure. Once he had satisfied himself that she wasn’t here, then he and Willem could go hunting for her.

They headed up the road in the sunny autumn day, and Vor remembered how comfortably warm it usually was at this time of year. Buriak orchards on either side of the road were heavy with fruit—red, yellow, and pink varieties. His heart ached with memories, and he longed to just stay here and disappear. But that was not possible.

Vor led the way down the long dirt driveway of the Atreides orchards, while Willem looked around at the strange sights. “This land used to be owned by my wife’s brother,” Vor said, reminding the young man of his other family. “Let’s see if we can fit in.”

He saw half a dozen pickers working the trees, with portable lifts that elevated flat boxes for the fruit. An old farmhouse and several outbuildings sat at the end of the long driveway. Vor bent to pick up a bright pink buriak that had fallen to the ground. He took a knife from his belt, cut off the bruised part, and pared off a slice, which he passed to Willem before cutting another for himself. Vor savored the half-forgotten sweetness. “This is how life should be, simple, pleasurable, without hatred and warfare. It’s not an easy thing to attain.”

Willem’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Orry and I had that on Caladan. The fishing, the rescue jobs. Life was normal there—until she came.” He plucked another fruit for himself and took out his own knife, but in his tense anger he seemed to be attacking the fruit more than peeling it.

“And now Tula might be coming here, to hunt down more of my family.” Vor sectioned the rest of the fruit and ate it, then tossed the core away before cleaning his knife with a handkerchief. “You and I won’t see much of that sort of life for some time. Enjoy it while we can—but always stay alert.” He led his “nephew” toward the farmhouse.…