Chapter 27: The Harkonnen Files
Three days after Korvan's transformation, I started gathering intelligence for Duncan.
The depot raid had been a major win. Duncan wanted more. Sleeper agents. Harkonnen infiltrators in the Atreides household. Anyone who might be a threat when the transition completed.
I had access to that information. Through Torren—my controlled Harkonnen informant. Through Mala—her network of contacts. Through Hetch—who knew everyone's secrets for the right price.
I started with Hetch.
"I need information on Harkonnen plants in the Atreides organization," I said. Paid him a full liter of water upfront. "Deep plants. People who'll still be loyal after the transition."
Hetch's milky eyes gleamed. "That's expensive information."
"I know. That's why I'm paying premium."
He worked his network for two days. Came back with names. Positions. Verification methods.
I cross-referenced everything with Torren's access. Fed him questions disguised as Harkonnen curiosity. "The Harkonnens must have people in the Atreides household. How deep did they plant them?"
Torren, desperate to please his Harkonnen handlers, dug into files he shouldn't have accessed. Gave me details.
Three names emerged. Verified independently by both sources.
A servant in the Duke's household. A guard in the motor pool. A communications tech in the tower.
All Harkonnen sleepers. All waiting for the right moment to strike.
I compiled the data. Made files. Prepared them for Duncan.
But the sleeper data revealed something else.
The pattern showed in troop movements. Supply caches. Equipment distribution.
Harkonnen forces weren't withdrawing. Not really.
They were repositioning. Hidden staging areas in the deep desert. Supply caches that weren't being emptied—they were being filled. Troop rotations that looked like departure but felt like consolidation.
I spread the intelligence across my floor. Studied it.
Staging areas here. Here. Here. Supply lines running from these points. Communications hubs positioned for coordinated action.
This wasn't withdrawal. This was assault preparation.
The pattern matched pre-invasion positioning. Gathering forces out of sight. Stockpiling supplies. Establishing command-and-control infrastructure.
The Harkonnen trap. Confirmed by independent intelligence. About to spring.
My blood ran cold.
I could warn them. Tell Duncan everything. Show him the pattern. Give the Atreides time to prepare, fortify, maybe survive.
Save Duke Leto. Save Duncan. Save the household guards who'd die in their sleep when Sardaukar hit.
Change everything.
I sat with the intelligence for an hour. Thinking.
If I warned them fully, what happened?
Best case: Atreides prepare. Fortify. Maybe survive the attack. But the Sardaukar are Sardaukar. Imperial forces. The Emperor wants the Atreides dead. Guild wants them controlled. Bene Gesserit want Paul shaped their way. Too many enemies. Too much power arrayed against them.
Even warned, they probably die. Just differently.
And if they survive? Paul's development changes. The Fremen integration changes. Jessica's flight changes. The prescient awakening might not happen. The terrible purpose might divert.
The entire future could cascade into unknown territory.
Worse: The System might punish me for derailing its progression path. HR penalties. Power reductions. Or just straight termination for breaking the timeline.
I couldn't stop the tsunami. Only survive it.
That's what I told myself.
Truth was simpler: I was choosing who to save. And I was choosing me.
I pulled the sleeper agent files. Left the assault preparation intelligence hidden.
Three names. That would save some Atreides lives. Would let Duncan root out immediate threats. Would make me valuable without revealing too much.
But it wouldn't save the Duke. Wouldn't save Duncan. Wouldn't stop what was coming.
I was giving them a cup of water while a flood approached.
Heroes warned everyone and died trying. I was a survivor. Survivors chose who to save and lived with the choice.
The System chimed.
[MORAL DECISION DETECTED]
[CHOICE: PARTIAL WARNING VS. FULL WARNING]
[SELECTING: PARTIAL WARNING]
[HR PENALTY: -2%]
[CURRENT HR: 89%]
[ASSESSMENT: SURVIVAL PRIORITY CONFIRMED]
[RECOMMENDATION: PREPARE EVACUATION ROUTES]
Two percent. The price of letting good people die when I could have warned them.
Eighty-nine percent humanity remaining. Eleven percent gone. Nearly an eighth of what made me human.
How much more could I lose before I stopped recognizing myself?
I didn't want to know the answer.
I met with Duncan two days later. Same warehouse. Same professional greeting.
"I have something significant," I said.
I handed him the data chip. "Three Harkonnen sleeper agents. Verified through multiple independent sources. Names, positions, verification methods all included."
Duncan plugged it into his reader. Scanned quickly. His expression hardened.
"This is... this is excellent work, Morvani." He looked up. "How certain are you?"
"Very. Two completely separate sources confirmed the same names. I ran counter-verification through a third channel. It's solid."
"If this is accurate, you've just prevented multiple assassination attempts." He copied the data. "The Duke needs to see this personally."
"I'm glad it helps."
"It does more than help. It saves lives." He stood. Extended his hand. "The Duke is going to want to meet you. Formally thank you. You've earned it."
I shook his hand. Felt the warmth of genuine gratitude. The trust of a good man.
A good man I was letting walk into death.
"Just doing what I can to help," I said.
After he left, I stood in the empty warehouse. Thought about the assault preparation intelligence still hidden in my quarters.
Duncan would show the Duke the sleeper names. They'd arrest the infiltrators. Root them out. Feel safer.
Then the Sardaukar would come anyway. Through different vectors. Overwhelming force. And Duncan would die holding a door while the household burned.
I was choosing who to save.
I'd chosen me.
Hetch's voice echoed from days ago: "Politicians are like sandworms—you only see them when they want to eat you."
I'd laughed. Dark humor in dark times.
But sandworms were honest about what they were. Predators. Hunters. Killers.
What did that make me? Pretending to help while withholding the information that mattered most?
The walk back to headquarters felt longer than usual. The data chip with assault patterns burned in my pocket. Evidence of the coming massacre. Proof I could have given Duncan.
Chose not to.
I'd keep that intelligence. Use it to position myself for survival. Make sure when the fire came, I was standing in the right place to profit from the ashes.
Survivors chose who to save.
I'd chosen.
The weight of that choice felt heavier than Venn's mummified corpse had.
At least Venn had been trying to kill me. These people I was just... allowing to die.
For the timeline. For the System. For survival.
The justifications felt thinner every time I used them.
Eighty-nine percent.
I wondered what percentage I'd be at when this was over.
If I'd still be human enough to care.
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