Dune: House Atreides (73 page)

"I do," the Navigator assured him, in a firmer tone, more accustomed to speaking now.

Finally, still nervous, Leto switched off the frigate's shields and sagged into his chair, trembling. The other ships in the immense hold powered down their weapons, though the tempers of their crews continued to flare.

Now the real battle would begin.

In the long history of our House, we have been constantly shadowed by Misfortune, as if we were its prey. One might almost believe the curse of Atreus from ancient Greek times on Old Terra.

-DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES,

from a speech to his generals

On the prism-lined promenade of the Imperial Palace, the Crown Prince's new fiancee Anirul and her companion Margot Rashino-Zea strode past three young women, members of the Imperial Court. The showpiece city extended all the way to the horizon, and massive works filled the streets and buildings, colorful preparations for the upcoming spectacular coronation ceremony and the Emperor's wedding.

The trio of young Court women chattered excitedly, barely able to move in their stuffed gowns, sparkling ornamental feathers, and kilograms of gaudy jewelry.

But now they fell silent as the black-robed Bene Gesserit drew near.

"Just a moment, Margot." Pausing in front of the elaborately coiffed women, Anirul snapped with the barest hint of Voice, "Don't waste your time gossiping.

Do something productive for a change. We have much to prepare before all the representatives arrive."

One of the young women, a dark-haired beauty, glared for a moment with large brown eyes, but then had second thoughts. Her manner took on a conciliatory expression and tone. "You are right, Lady," she said, and abruptly led her companions down the promenade toward a wide, arched doorway of pitted Salusan lava rock that led to the Ambassadors' apartments.

Exchanging smiles with the secret Kwisatz Mother, Margot quipped, "But aren't Imperial Courts about gossiping, Anirul? Isn't that their primary business?

The ladies were performing their duties admirably, I'd say."

Anirul glowered, looking much older than her young features. "I should have given them explicit instructions. Those women are merely decorations, like the jeweled fountains. They don't have the slightest idea how to be productive."

After her years on Wallach IX, knowing through her Other Memory just how much the Bene Gesserit had accomplished over the landscape of Imperial history, she considered human lives precious, each one a tiny spark in the bonfire of eternity. But such courtesans aspired to be no more than . . . than morsels for the appetites of powerful men.

In reality, Anirul had no jurisdiction over such women, not even as the Crown Prince's future wife. Margot placed a soft hand on her forearm. "Anirul, you must be less impulsive. Mother Superior recognizes your talent and skill, but says you must be tempered. All successful life-forms adapt to their surroundings. You are now at the Imperial Court, so adapt to your new environment. We Bene Gesserit must work invisibly."

Anirul gave her a wry smile. "I always considered my outspokenness to be one of my primary strengths. Mother Superior Harishka knows that. It enables me to discuss matters of interest and to learn things I might not have learned otherwise."

"If others are capable of listening." Margot raised her pale eyebrows on her flawless forehead.

Anirul continued down the promenade, head held high, like an Empress. Precious gems glittered in a headpiece that covered her bronze hair like a spiderweb.

She knew the courtesans gossiped about her, wondering what secret tasks the Bene Gesserit witches were performing at Court, what spells they had woven to lure Shaddam. Ah, if they only knew. Their gossip and speculations would only serve to enhance Anirul's mystique.

"It seems that we have things to whisper about, ourselves," she said.

Margot brushed a lock of honey-blonde hair out of her eyes. "Of course.

Mohiam's child?"

"And the Atreides matter as well."

Anirul drew a deep breath from a hedge of sapphire roses as they reached a patio garden. The sweet perfume awakened her senses. She and Margot sat together on a bench, where they could observe anyone approaching, though they spoke in directed whispers, secure from any spies.

"What can the Atreides have to do with Mohiam's daughter?" As one of the Bene Gesserit's most accomplished operatives, Sister Margot possessed inner-circle details on the next stage of the Kwisatz Haderach program, and now Mohiam herself had been briefed as well.

"Think in the long term, Margot, think of genetic patterns, of the ladder of generations we have plotted. Duke Leto Atreides lies imprisoned, in peril of his life and title. He may seem to be an insignificant noble of an unimpressive Great House. But have you considered what a disaster this situation could be for us?"

Margot took a deep breath as pieces fell into place for her. "Duke Leto? You don't mean he is needed for . . ." She couldn't utter the most secret of names, Kwisatz Haderach.

"We must have Atreides genes in the next generation!" Anirul said, echoing the agitated voices in her head. "People are afraid to support Leto in this matter, and we all know why. Some of the key magistrates can be made sympathetic to his cause for political reasons, but no one truly believes in Leto's innocence. Why would the young fool do such an unwise thing? It goes beyond comprehension."

Margot shook her head sadly.

"Although Shaddam has publicly expressed his neutrality, he speaks against House Atreides in private. He certainly doesn't believe in Leto's innocence," Anirul said. "Yet there could be more to it. The Crown Prince may have some relationship with the Tleilaxu, something he isn't revealing to anyone. Do you think it possible?"

"Hasimir has said nothing to me of it." Margot realized she had used the familiar name, and smiled back at her companion. "And he does share some secrets with me. In time, your man will share them with you as well."

Anirul frowned, thinking of Shaddam and Fenring with their never-ending schemes, like games of politics. "So, they're up to something. Together. Maybe Leto's fate is part of their plan?"

"Perhaps."

Anirul leaned forward on the stone bench to be more sheltered by the rose hedge.

"Margot, our men want House Atreides to fall, for some reason . . . but the Sisterhood must have Leto's bloodline for the culmination of our program. It is our best hope, and the work of centuries hangs on this."

Not entirely understanding, Margot Rashino-Zea gazed at Anirul with her gray-green eyes. "Our need for Atreides offspring is not dependent on their status as a House Major."

"Isn't it?" Anirul patiently explained her greatest fears. "Duke Leto has no brothers or sisters. If he fails in his gambit -- the Trial by Forfeiture -- he could very well commit suicide. He's a young man of tremendous pride, and it would be a terrible blow to him so soon after the loss of his father."

Margot narrowed her eyes skeptically. "This Leto is exceptionally strong. With his character, he'll fight on, no matter what."

Kitebirds flew overhead, their songs like broken crystal. Anirul looked up into the cloudless sky and watched them. "And what if a vengeful Tleilaxu assassinates him, even if the Emperor pardons him? What if a Harkonnen sees an opportunity to create an 'accident'? Leto Atreides can ill afford to lose the protection of his noble status. We need to keep him alive, and preferably in his position of power.

"I see your point, Anirul."

"This young Duke must be protected at all costs -- and to begin, we must protect the status of his Great House. He cannot lose this trial."

"Hm-m-m, there may be a way," Margot said with a tight-upped smile. She spoke in a low, musing tone. "Hasimir might even admire my idea, if he learns of it, despite his instinctive opposition. Of course we don't dare breathe a word of it to him, or to Shaddam. But it will throw all the players into complete confusion."

Anirul waited in silence, but her eyes burned with bright curiosity. Margot moved closer to her Bene Gesserit companion. "Our suspicion of . . . the Tleilaxu connection. We can use that for a convoluted bluff within a bluff.

But can we do it without harming Shaddam or House Corrino?"

Anirul stiffened. "My future husband -- and even the Golden Lion Throne itself

-- are secondary to our breeding program."

"Of course you're right." Margot nodded in resignation, as if shocked at her own gaffe. "But how should we proceed?"

"We begin with a message to Leto."

Truth is a chameleon.

-Zensunni Aphorism

On the second morning of Leto's confinement in Landsraad Prison on Kaitain, an official arrived with important documents for him to sign -- the official demand for a Trial by Forfeiture, and Leto's formal surrender of all property held by House Atreides. It was the moment of truth for him, the point at which he had to certify the dangerous course of action he had demanded.

Though undeniably a prison, the cell had two rooms, a comfortable sling couch, a desk made of polished Ecaz jacaranda, a filmbook reader, and other fine appointments. These so-called courtesies had been granted to him because of his status in the Landsraad. No leader of a Great House would ever be treated as a common criminal -- at least, not until he either lost everything through due process, or went renegade like House Vernius. Leto knew he might never again be surrounded by such elegant trappings, unless he could prove his innocence.

His cell was warm, the food sufficient and palatable, the bed comfortable --though he had hardly slept at all while preparing for his ordeal. He had little hope of a swift and simple resolution to this matter. The Courier could only be bringing more problems.

The official, a Landsraad courtech with security clearance, wore a brown-and-teal Landsraad uniform with silver epaulets. He referred to Leto as "Monsieur Atreides," without the customary ducal title, as if the forfeiture documents had already been processed.

Leto chose not to make a point of this faux pas, though officially he remained a Duke until the papers were signed and the sentence thumbprint-sealed by the magistrates of the court. In all the centuries of the Imperium, Trial by Forfeiture had been invoked previously only three times; in two of those cases, the defendant had lost, and the accused Houses were ruined.

Leto hoped to beat those odds. He could not allow House Atreides to crumble to dust less than a year after his father's death. That would earn him a permanent place in the Landsraad annals as the most incompetent House leader in recorded history.

Wearing his black-and-red Atreides uniform, Leto took a seat at a blueplaz table. Thufir Hawat, acting as Mentat-advisor, lowered himself ponderously into a chair beside his Duke. Together, they examined the sheaf of legal documents.

Like most formal matters of the Imperium, the evidence forms and trial documents were inscribed on microthin sheets of ridulian-crystal paper, permanent records that could last for thousands of years.

At their touch, each sheet illuminated so that Leto and Hawat could study the fine text. The old Mentat used his skills to imprint each page onto his memory; he would absorb and comprehend it all in greater detail later. The documents spelled out precisely what was to occur during the preparations and the actual trial. Each page bore the identification marks of various officers of the court, including Leto's own attorneys.

As part of the unorthodox procedure, the crew of the Atreides frigate had been released and permitted to return to Caladan, though many loyal followers remained on Kaitain to offer their silent support. Any individual or collective culpability had been shouldered entirely by the commander, Duke Atreides. In addition, the guaranteed sanctuary of the Vernius children would continue, regardless of the status of the House. Even with the worst possible outcome of the trial, Leto could take comfort in that small victory. His friends would remain safe.

Under the forfeiture provision -- which even his estranged mother could not countermand from her retreat with the Sisters in Isolation -- Duke Leto surrendered all of his family assets (including the House atomics and stewardship of the planet Caladan itself) to the general supervision of the Landsraad Council, while he prepared for a trial before his peers.

A trial that might be rigged against him.

Win or lose, though, Leto knew he had averted a major war and saved billions of lives. His action had been the right one, regardless of the consequences to himself. Old Duke Paulus himself would have made no other choice, given the alternatives.

"Yes, Thufir, this is all correct," Leto said, turning the last page of shimmering ridulian crystal. He removed his ducal signet ring, snipped the red armorial hawk from his uniform, and handed the items over to the courtech. He felt as if he had just cut away pieces of himself.

If he lost this desperate gambit, the holdings on Caladan would become the prize in a Landsraad free-for-all, the citizens on the watery world no more than helpless bystanders. He had been stripped, his future and fortune placed in limbo. Perhaps they'll give Caladan to the Harkonnens, Leto thought in despair, just to spite us.

The courtech handed him a magnapen. Leto pressed his forefinger against the soft side of the tiny inking device and signed the crystal documents in a wide, flowing script. He felt a faint crackle of static electricity on the top sheet, or perhaps that was just his own anxiety. The courtech added his own ID print to witness the papers. With obvious reluctance, Hawat did the same.

As the courtech departed in a swirl of brown-and-teal livery, Leto announced across the table, "I am a commoner now, without title or fief."

"Only until our victory," Hawat said. With the faintest tremor in his voice, he added, "Regardless of the outcome, you will always be my Honored Duke."

The Mentat paced the length of the cell like a captive marsh panther. He paused with his back to a tiny window that looked out on the immense flat black plain of an outbuilding to the Imperial Palace. The morning sun flowing from behind him cast Hawat's face in shadow.