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Jim Baen's Universe


Vol 1 Num 2: August 2006


Credits, Issue 2

Written by Jim Baen's Universe! Staff

Jim Baen's Universe Magazine, Volume 1 Number 2

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in
this magazine are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or
incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by Jim Baen's Universe

A Baen Publishing Enterprises Publication
Jim Baen's Universe
P. O. Box 7488
Moore, OK 73153-1488

ISSN: 1932-0930

"Treasure in the Sand" Copyright © 2006 by Kevin Anderson and Brian
Herbert
"Dog Soldier" Copyright © 2006 by Garth Nix
"When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth" Copyright © 2006 by Cory Doctorow
"The Ruby Dice" Copyright © 2006 by Catherine Asaro
"Sisters of Saronnym, Sisters of Westwind" Copyright © 2006 by L. E.
Modesitt, Jr.
"As Black as Hell" Copyright © 2006 by John Lambshead
"What Sleeps in the Shadows Belongs in the Depths" Copyright © 2006 by
Julie Czerneda
"Benny Comes Home" Copyright © 2006 by Esther Friesner
"The Ancient Ones Part 2" Copyright © 2006 by David Brin
"Travails with Momma, part 2" Copyright © 2006 by John Ringo
"Fish Story, Episode 2" Copyright © 2006 by Andrew Dennis, Eric Flint
and Dave Freer
"Decaf and Spaceship, To Go" Copyright © 2006 by Katherine Sanger
"Technical Exchange" Copyright © 2006 by Kevin Haw
"Medic" Copyright © 2006 by William Ledbetter
"The Best Plaid Lans" Copyright © 2006 by Loren K. Jones
"Supercargo" Copyright © 2006 by M. T. Reiten
"Robowar" Copyright © 2006 by Gregory Benford
"Lulu" by Clifford Simak was first published by Galaxy Science Fiction
in June, 1957
"Pollock and the Porroh Man" by H. G. Wells was first published by New
Budget in May, 1895

First electronic publication: August 2006

STORIES


Treasure in The Sand



Written by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson
Illustrated by Phil Renne


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"When the last worm dies and the last melange is harvested upon our
sands, these deep treasures will spring up throughout our universe. As
the power of the spice monopoly fades and the hidden stockpiles make
their mark, new powers will appear throughout our realm."
-Leto Atreides II, the God Emperor of Dune

Pressing his fingers against the windowport of the Spacing Guild landing
shuttle, Lokar stared at the blasted world beneath them. Rakis, once called
Dune-home of the holy sandworms, the only natural source of the spice
melange, the place where the God Emperor Leto II had gone into the sand.
Now everything was dead, incinerated by the obliterating weapons of the
Honored Matres. . . .
Lokar, one of the last Priests of the Divided God, closed his eyes before
tears could come. Giving water to the dead. To a whole dead world. He
murmured a prayer, which was drowned out by the sound of dry air currents
that buffeted the descending ship.
"The planet looks like one giant scab. How can there be anything left
down there?" asked Dak Pellenquin. Lokar didn't like him; he was the
expedition member who had talked loudest and bragged most frequently during
the Heighliner journey to Rakis. "One giant scab. Is this expedition going
to be worth our while? Worth anyone's while?"
"We'll find whatever there is to find." Guriff, the expedition leader,
cut him off. "Our priest will show us where to dig." Guriff had close-
cropped dark hair, narrow-set eyes, and a persistent bristly stubble on his
chin, no matter how often he attended to his facial hygiene. "Anything left
down there-that whole planet is ours for the taking."
"Only because no one else wants it," said a stocky man. He had a jovial
expression, but icy cold eyes behind his forced smile. This one called
himself Ivex, though rumor held that this was not his true name. He propped
his feet up on the empty seat in front of him.
Lokar didn't answer any of them, just clung to his prayer like a
lifeline, eyes shut. Joining these treasure hunters on the departure planet
of Cherodo had been a risk, but the devout priest had considered his
options. Rakis was the most sacred of all worlds, home of the great
sandworms that comprised the Divided God. Away from Rakis on a mission
during the cataclysm, Lokar had survived by the purest luck-or divine
destiny. He must recover what he could, if only to atone.
Since scanning had proved imprecise on the planet still in flux after the
bombardment, Lokar had offered to use his own instincts and first-hand
knowledge to guide their searches. Among many poor choices, this one made
the most sense, the only way he could afford to travel back to what was
left of his beloved Rakis. A last, desperate pilgrimage.
He had agreed to accompany their "archaeological expedition"-what a
euphemism!-under very specific terms. CHOAM, the ancient and powerful
trading organization, financed the expedition for its own reasons, hoping
for a financial boon. They had agreed to the priest's demands, drawn up a
contract, and specified the terms. Provided the Priest of the Divided God
could indeed show the scavengers the way, Guriff's men were authorized to
grab whatever physical treasures they managed to dig out of the blasted
sands, but any sacred relics would be turned over to Lokar (though the
distinction between "sacred relics" and "treasure" remained uncomfortably
nebulous).
A slender woman stepped out of the cockpit and looked at the hodge-podge
members of the expedition. Representing CHOAM, Alaenor Ven had reddish-gold
hair that hung to her shoulders, the strands so precisely neat and straight
that they seemed held in place with a nullentropy field. Her eyes were
crystalline blue, her facial features flawlessly (and probably
artificially) sculpted to the absolute perfection one might find on the
visage of a mannequin. In an odd way, her very lack of flaws made her seem
cold and unattractive.
"CHOAM has provided all the equipment you will need. You have two survey
'thopters, two groundcars, prefabricated shelters, excavation machines, and
supplies for two months. Even with all of the sand plankton killed, sample
probes show the air is thin but breathable. The oxygen content remains
tolerable, though diminished."
Ivex gave a scornful laugh. "How can that be? If sand plankton create the
oxygen, and they were all burned away-"
"I merely report the readings. I do not explain them. You will have to
find your own answers."
Listening without participating, Lokar nodded quietly to himself at the
obvious explanation: It was a miracle. There had always been mysteries
about the planet Dune. This was just one more.
"Though the environment is not as inhospitable as one might expect, do
not allow yourselves to be overconfident. Rakis is still a harsh place."
She looked at them again. "We land in forty minutes. Our schedule permits
you only three standard hours to unload and make your preparations."
Eleven members of the team shifted in their seats, fully attentive; two
pretended to sleep, as if ignoring the challenges they would face; the
remaining three peered through the windowports with varying levels of
interest and trepidation.
Pellenquin cried, "Three hours? Can't you wait a day or two to make sure
we're not stranded there."
Guriff scowled at his own crewman. "The Spacing Guild has schedules and
customers. If you don't trust your own survival abilities, Dak, you have no
business on my team. Tear up your contract now and go back with Alaenor Ven
if you like."
"I would if she'd have me," Ivex said with a snort. A few others chuckled
in their seats. The icily beautiful CHOAM woman's expression did not change
at all.
High overhead, the huge Heighliner that had carried them here orbited the
seared desert planet as the landing shuttle set down on the unmarked
ground. Devastating weapons had entirely reshaped the terrain-cities
leveled, mountains turned to glass, oceans of sand vitrified. A few sketchy
landmarks remained, and despite the planet's unpredictable magnetics, the
transport's deep-scan probes had found enough of a street grid to identify
the buried city of Keen. The team would set up camp there.
When the cargo doors opened onto the glassy, baked plain, Guriff's team
wore oxygen intensifiers with supplemental tanks on their shoulders. Lokar
was the first to remove his breather and inhale deeply. The air was thin
and dry, with what others found to be an unpleasant burnt smell; even so,
when he filled his lungs, the taste was sweet. He was returning home. He
fell to his knees on the hard, scorched sand, thanking the Divided God for
bringing him back safely, for helping him to continue holy work.
Guriff went over to the kneeling priest and nudged him roughly. "Work
now, pray later. You'll have plenty of time to commune with your desert
once we set up the camp."
Under a tight schedule, the crew threw themselves into the task at hand.
Guriff shouted orders to them, and the scavengers moved about unloading the
groundcars and 'thopters, removing the shelter structures, prefabricated
huts, crates of food supplies, and large barrels of water. To protect the
exploratory 'thopters and groundcars, they erected a hangar dome.
For his own shelter, Lokar had specified a simple desert tent. To really
understand this planet, to touch its pulse, the Holy Books of the Divided
God said it was better to live on the surface and in natural rock
formations, facing the heat, sandstorms, and behemoth worms. But this was
not the old Rakis, not a great planetary expanse of windblown sand. Much of
the loose sand had turned to glass, and surely the great wor