Chapter 14: The Knife Turns
The summons came at midday. Not for me—for Venn.
Two Harkonnen functionaries appeared at headquarters. Official seals. Formal language. "Venn is required for questioning regarding irregularities in operational reporting."
The room went quiet. Everyone knew what that meant. Questioning wasn't asking. It was suspicion made manifest.
Venn's face was stone. "I'll need to speak with Turok first."
"Immediately," the lead functionary said. "These matters don't wait."
Turok emerged from his office. Assessed the situation. "What irregularities?"
"That's between your man and our auditors." The functionary's tone allowed no argument.
Turok looked at Venn. Some conversation happened without words. Then Turok nodded once.
Venn left with them. Shoulders straight. Jaw tight. A man walking into fire because hesitation would mean worse.
The door closed. Activity resumed, but quieter. Nervous.
I kept working on the intelligence reports Turok had assigned me two days ago. Just another runner doing new responsibilities. Nothing unusual.
Mala appeared at my elbow. "That's bad."
"Questioning always is."
"No, I mean—Venn doesn't make mistakes. Doesn't skim. Doesn't take unauthorized contracts." She lowered her voice. "Someone told them he did."
I made a note on a supply manifest. "Why would someone do that?"
"Because they wanted him distracted. Or discredited. Or dead." She studied my face. "Any idea who?"
"No." Truth and lie mixed perfectly. I had no idea who Torren's Harkonnen contact was. Just that the information had flowed.
"Hmm." She walked away. Not convinced, but not accusing.
I worked through the afternoon. The intelligence reports were fascinating—troop movements, water allocations, routes that needed syndicate coverage. Information was power, and Turok had handed me quite a bit.
Venn returned four hours later.
He looked like he'd been through a grinder. Bruises on his face—fresh, darkening. His left hand moved stiffly. His eyes carried that thousand-yard stare of someone who'd seen their foundation crack.
He walked straight to Turok's office. Didn't look at anyone. The door closed.
Voices carried. Not words, but tone. Turok's rumble. Venn's sharp responses. Silence. More rumbling.
When Venn emerged twenty minutes later, something had changed. His shoulders were lower. The predator confidence that usually surrounded him had diminished. He looked... human. Vulnerable.
And furious.
His gaze swept the room. Landed on each person. Looking for the traitor. The one who'd fed false information to the Harkonnens.
Torren was in his corner, very carefully not looking up from his work. Smart.
Venn's eyes passed over me. Paused. Moved on.
He didn't know. Just suspected everyone. That was almost worse—paranoid attention scattered across the entire syndicate instead of focused on one target.
I returned to my reports. Let him stew.
Later, after evening meal, I passed Venn sitting alone in a side corridor. Just sitting. Staring at the wall.
For a moment, I saw him as Jorik had described—just another person trying not to die. Someone who'd built their life on being Turok's enforcer, Turok's right hand, and now that position was compromised.
I almost felt sympathy.
Almost.
Then I remembered him promising to follow me into the desert. To expose whatever secret he thought I was hiding. To eliminate the threat I represented.
The sympathy died.
I walked past without comment. He didn't look up.
Three days later, Turok called me to his office.
"The Atreides advance team is in the city. I need intelligence on their operations—where they're setting up, what they're prioritizing, who's running what." He pushed papers across his desk. "You've been doing good work on the reports. This is bigger. More important."
"Understood."
"Venn usually handles high-level intelligence." Turok's voice was carefully neutral. "But he's... distracted. The Harkonnen investigation cleared him, but mud sticks. I need someone I can trust to handle this properly."
The words hung. Someone I can trust. Not Venn anymore. Me.
"I won't let you down."
"I know." He gestured dismissal. "Report back in three days. I want a complete picture of the Atreides situation before they officially take control."
I left his office. The promotion wasn't official. No title. No ceremony. Just more responsibility, more access, more trust.
Perfect.
In the main chamber, Venn sat alone at a corner table. Working through supply manifests—grunt work, the kind new recruits handled. Turok had demoted him without announcement. Just quietly reassigned his responsibilities.
Venn looked up. Saw me emerging from Turok's office. His jaw tightened.
He knew. Maybe not the specifics. But he understood that his position was crumbling and someone was rising to fill the gap.
Our eyes met across the room.
Neither of us blinked.
Then Mala called my name, breaking the moment. I turned away. Let Venn sit with his suspicions and his demotion and his slowly collapsing world.
The knife I'd planted in his back was turning. Not fast. But steady. Inevitable.
He'd wanted to expose me. Instead, I'd buried him.
The game continued.
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