Road to Dune Read Online Free PDF Page B

sellers of sundries and desert garb remained in Carthage, ostensibly eking out a minimal living. Tuek suspected that many of them might be saboteurs, intentionally left behind to work against House Linkam.
    The old veteran’s first order of business was to secure a chief of spice operations, someone with experience as a sandminer but with no love for the Hoskanners. He wanted to choose a man well down in the ranks, believing that anyone high in the former hierarchy might feel loyalty to the previous masters, whereas a miner suddenly jumped in rank and responsibility—not to mention pay—would be inclined to offer his full allegiance to House Linkam.
    Tuek and the Linkam family jongleur, Gurney Halleck, met with each of the men who applied for the job, as well as others who had learned not to call attention to themselves under the Hoskanners. A redheaded boulder of a man, Gurney had a sharp eye and a deadly blade, though his jovial demeanor kept his enemies continually off guard.
    After interviewing more than forty candidates, Tuek decided on an ambitious spice-crew manager named William English. Even after the Hoskanners departed, English had taken charge of three spice crews and arranged for them to keep harvesting melange—and acquiring bonuses—during the change of government. In his favor, the manager came from a noble bloodline, his grandfather having been a Linkam ally before an economic downturn ruined House English. The left side of the man’s face was rough and waxy, as if scoured by an industrial polisher. English had been caught out in a furious sandstorm, unable to find adequate shelter in the rocks. Most of his exposed left cheek had been worn away. The medical facilities in Carthage had been sufficient to save his life, but not to make him handsome again. He had no love for the Hoskanners.
    Tuek was more interested in the unusual chevron tattoo over the potential foreman’s right eyebrow, however. “What is that symbol? I’ve seen them in Carthage, often among the seasoned sandminers.”
    “Something to do with the Zensunni prison religion?” Gurney offered. “Were you brought here as a convict laborer?”
    English’s expression shifted into one of pride as he tapped the tattoo. “Most of us came here as prisoners, but this mark signifies that I am a freedman. I was convicted of a crime and sentenced to twenty years of hard labor in the penal caves on Eridanus V. Then the Grand Emperor and the Hoskanners offered amnesty to any prisoner who worked on Duneworld for a time equivalent to twenty-five percent of the original sentence. I had to work only five years of my original twenty.”
    Gurney grunted. “The Hoskanners needed a lot of manpower for their spice operations.” Always eager to find new stories and material for the songs he loved to write, he asked, “What was your crime? Something to do with the unfortunate fall of your House?”
    English’s mood darkened. “My sentence has been commuted, the records expunged. Therefore, I committed no crime.” He smiled wryly. “Isn’t every person guilty of something anyway?”
    Ever conscious of security, Esmar Tuek did not like the fact that most of his sandminers were convicts. How trustworthy could they be? However, he also knew that many of the best military fighters with whom he had served were those with shady pasts or guilty consciences.
    In a conciliatory tone, he asked, “How long do you have left on Duneworld? I don’t want a spice foreman who’ll leave us in a few months’ time.”
    “As I said, I am now a freedman. I have been here twelve years, seven past the end of my sentence.”
    Gurney exclaimed, “Then why haven’t you left, man? I can’t imagine anyone staying in this wretched place by choice.”
    “It is not by choice. When our time is finished, we are not allowed to leave unless we pay our own passage offplanet. Few except the most crafty and devious are able to acquire that kind of money. Thus, even freedmen stay