Dune - House Atreides

by Brian Herbert

  In the enormous Hall he wondered where he might find the empty seats formerly occupied by House Vernius; he took only small satisfaction in knowing that, though they now held Ix, the Bene Tleilax would never receive any such honors. The Landsraad would not allow despised Tleilaxu representatives into this exclusive club. Normally Leto would have had no patience for such wholesale prejudice, but in this case he made an exception.

  As the Council meeting commenced with interminable formalities, Leto took his seat in a plush black-and-maroon booth along one side, similar to those provided for the dignitaries of other Houses. Hawat joined him, and Leto watched the business unfold, eager to learn, ready to do his part. But he had to wait until his name was called.

  The real family heads could not be bothered to attend every such meeting, and as a number of trivial matters were heard -- items that dragged on for far longer than was necessary -- Leto soon understood why. Little business was accomplished despite all the talking and arguing and niggling over fine points of protocol or Imperial law.

  Newly installed in his title, though, Leto would make this his formal reception. When the scrolling agenda signaled his turn to speak at long last, the young man crossed the dizzying expanse of polished floor in the cavernous chamber, unaccompanied by the warrior Mentat or any other assistant, and climbed to a central lectern. Trying not to look like a mere teenager, he remembered his father's powerful presence and recalled the cheers as they stood in the arena, holding a bull's-head high.

  Gazing across the sea of bored, dignified representatives, Leto took a deep breath. Amplifiers would snatch his words and transmit them so that all listeners could hear; shigawire recordings were made for documentation purposes. This would be a vital speech for him -- most of these people had no inkling of his personality, and few even knew his name. Realizing that they would form their impression of him from the words he said that day, Leto felt the weight on his shoulders grow even heavier.

  He waited to be certain he had everyone's attention, though so late in the Council meeting he doubted anyone had the mental energy required to concentrate on anything new.

  "Many of you were friends and allies of my father, Paulus Atreides," he began, then dropped his bombshell, "who was recently murdered through a heinous and cowardly act of assassination." He glanced pointedly over at the seats held by representatives of House Harkonnen. He didn't know the names or titles of the two men there representing the enemy household.

  His implication was clear enough, though he made no specific accusation, nor did he have any specific proof. Stablemaster Yresk, who had not survived his interrogation as Leto had requested, had confirmed Helena's complicity, but could give no further details about coconspirators. So the new Duke Atreides simply used his statement to gain the attention of the bored people in the chamber -- and now he certainly had it.

  The Harkonnens whispered among themselves, casting nervous and angry looks at the podium. Leto ignored them and turned back to the central cluster of representatives.

  Directly in front of him in the seat of House Mutelli he recognized old Count Flambert, an utterly ancient gentleman whose memory was said to have failed him many years before. With his long-term recollection gone, he kept at his side a squat former Mentat candidate with blond hair, who served as a portable memory for the Count. The failed Mentat's sole duty was to remind the ancient Flambert of things, providing every bit of data the nobleman might require. Though he had never completed his training as a human computer, the failed Mentat served the senile Count's needs well enough.

  Leto's voice carried across the assemblage, as clear and concise as the pealing of buoy bells on a cool Caladan morning: "A sign over the Emperor's own door declares that 'Law is the ultimate science.' Thus, I stand here not on my own behalf, but on behalf of a former Great House, one that can no longer come here to speak. House Vernius was a close ally of my family."

  Several people on nearby benches groaned. A few others fidgeted impatiently. They had already heard too much about Vernius.

  Boldly, the young Atreides continued: "Earl Dominic Vernius and his family were forced to declare themselves renegade after the illegal takeover of Ix by the Bene Tleilax -- whom all here know to be a depraved and disgusting breed, and unworthy of representation before this august body. While House Vernius cried out for help and support against this outrageous invasion, all of you hid in the shadows and dallied until such assistance became irrelevant." Leto was careful not to point the finger at Elrood himself, though it was clear in his mind that the Emperor had encouraged the stalling.

  A great murmur arose in the Landsraad Hall, accompanied by expressions of confusion and outrage. Leto could see that they now viewed him as a young upstart, a brash and ill-mannered rebel who didn't know the true order of things in the Imperium. He'd had the bad form to bring such unpleasant matters out into the open.

  Leto was unswayed, though. "You all knew Dominic Vernius as an honorable, trustworthy man. You all traded with Ix. How many of you did not call Dominic your friend?" He looked around quickly, but spoke again before anyone could get up the nerve to raise a hand in public.

  "Though I am not a member of the Vernius family, the Tleilaxu invaders threatened my own life, and I barely escaped through my father's assistance. Earl Vernius and his wife also fled, forsaking all their possessions -- and recently the Lady Shando Vernius was murdered, hunted down like an animal!" His vision spun with anger and grief, but he took a deep breath and continued.

  "Know, all who can hear me, that I express grave reservations about the Bene Tleilax and their recent outrageous actions. By any means, kanly or otherwise, they must be brought to justice. House Atreides is no ally of the illegal government of Ix -- how dare they rename the planet Xuttuh? Is the Imperium civilized, or do we drown in a sea of barbarians?" He waited. His pulse pounded loudly in his head. "If the Landsraad ignores this incredible tragedy, can you not see that this could happen to any one of you?"

  A representative of House Harkonnen spoke without even the courtesy of standing to announce his intention. "House Vernius declared itself renegade. By ancient law, the Emperor's Sardaukar and any other bounty hunters had a perfect right to hunt down and eliminate the renegade's wife. Have a care, young pup of a Duke. We're only granting you the right to give her children asylum out of the goodness of our hearts. There is no requirement that we do so."

  Leto believed the Harkonnen was wrong, but did not wish to argue a point of law, especially without Thufir's guidance. "So any House can be persecuted, their members assassinated by Sardaukar on a whim, and no one here believes it is wrong? Any power can crush a Great House of the Landsraad, and the rest of you will simply cover your eyes and hope it doesn't happen to you next?"

  "The Emperor does not act on a whim!" someone shouted. A number of voices of assent called out . . . but not many. Leto realized this bit of patriotism and loyalty was probably a consequence of Elrood's severely failing health. The ancient man had not been seen at functions for months, was supposedly bedridden and near death.

  Leto put his hands on his hips. "I may be young, but I'm not blind. Consider this, members of the Landsraad, with your shifting alliances and false loyalties -- what pledge can you offer one another if your promises blow away like dust?" He then repeated the words his father had greeted him with when he'd stepped off the rescue ship from Ix. "House Atreides values loyalty and honor far above politics."

  He raised a hand, and his voice took on a sweeping, commanding resonance. "I admonish each of you to remember House Vernius. It can happen to you, and it will if you are not careful. Where can you place your trust if each House turns upon the other at the slightest opportunity?" He saw his words strike home to some of the representatives, but he knew in his heart that when he called for a vote to advocate removal of the blood price on House Vernius, few would stand in his support.

  Leto took a long breath. He turned, pretending to be finished, but called back over his shoulder. "Perhaps you would
all be better advised to think about your own situations. Ask yourselves this: Whom can you really trust?"

  He stalked toward the arched doorway of the Landsraad Council chamber. There was no applause . . . no laughter either. Only shocked silence, and he suspected he had gotten through to some of them. Or perhaps he was just being optimistic. Duke Leto Atreides had much to learn about statecraft -- as no doubt Hawat would tell him on the trip home -- but he vowed not to become like the lip-service importers in that chamber. For all of his days, for as long as he could draw breath, Leto would remain reliable and faithful and true. Eventually the others would see that in him . . . perhaps even his enemies would.

  Thufir Hawat joined him at the colonnaded portals, and they both passed out of the enormous Hall of Oratory as the Landsraad continued its business without them.

  History demonstrates that the advancement of technology is not a steady upward curve. There are flat periods, upward spurts, and even reversals.

  -Technology of the Imperium, 532nd Edition

  While two shadowy figures watched, a bland-faced Dr. Yungar passed a Suk scanner over the old man, who lay ashen-faced on the bed as if drowning in voluminous coverings, embroidered sheets, and diaphanous netting. The diagnostic instrument hummed.

  He won't be needing his concubines ever again, Shaddam thought.

  "The Emperor is dead," Yungar announced, tossing his long iron-gray ponytail over his shoulder.

  "Ah, yes. At least now he's at peace," Shaddam said in a low, husky voice, though a superstitious chill ran down his spine. Had Elrood known, at the very end, who had been responsible for his demise? Just before death, the ancient man's reptilian eyes had focused on his son. With a twisting in his gut, the Crown Prince remembered the terrible day when the Emperor had discovered Shaddam's complicity in the murder of his elder son Fafnir . . . and how the old man had chortled upon discovering that his younger child had been slipping contraceptives into the food of his own mother, Habla, so she couldn't conceive another son and rival to him.

  Had Elrood suspected this? Had he cursed his own son and heir with his dying thoughts?

  Well, it was certainly too late to change his mind now. The ancient ruler was dead, at last, and Shaddam had been the cause of it. No, not him. Fenring. Let him be the scapegoat, if necessary. A Crown Prince could never admit such guilt.

  Soon he would no longer be Crown Prince -- he would be Emperor, at last. Padishah Emperor of the Known Universe. It was imperative, though, that he not show his excitement or triumph. He would wait until after the formal coronation.

  "Not that this is unexpected," Hasimir Fenring said at his side, his large head bowed low, weak chin tucked against his throat. "The poor man has been degenerating for some time, ah-mm-m-m-m."

  The Suk doctor folded his scanning instrument shut and slipped it into the pocket of his tunic. Everyone else had been ordered out of the room: the concubines, the guards, even Chamberlain Hesban.

  "Something odd about this case, though," Yungar said. "For days now I've had a feeling of unease . . . something more here than an old man dying of natural causes. We must be exceedingly cautious with our analysis, since it is the Emperor --"

  "Was the Emperor," Shaddam said, too quickly. Fenring made a subtle warning gesture to get his attention.

  "My point exactly." The Suk doctor brushed a hand across the black-diamond tattoo on his forehead. Shaddam wondered if he was just distressed that he would no longer receive extravagant fees for continuing treatment.

  "My good Doctor, Emperor Elrood was ancient and under a great deal of stress." In an odd benediction, Fenring bent down and placed his fingertips on the old man's cold brow, which reminded Shaddam of a parchment-covered rock. "We who were closest to him saw visible changes in his health and mental capacity in, say, the past two years. It would be best if you do not voice innuendos and unfounded suspicions that could only damage the stability of the Imperium, especially in this difficult time, hm-m-m-m? Padishah Emperor Elrood IX was more than a hundred and fifty years old, with one of the longest reigns in the history of the Corrinos. Let us leave it at that."

  Shaddam cleared his throat. "What else could it be, Doctor? The security around my father is impenetrable, guards and poison-snoopers everywhere. No one could possibly have harmed him."

  Yungar looked uneasily past the Crown Prince to the ferretlike man behind him. "Identity, motive, and opportunity. Those are the questions, and though I'm not a police investigator, I'm certain a Mentat could provide answers to all three. I will compile my data and provide it to a review board. It is strictly a formality, but it must be done."

  "Who would do such a thing to my father?" Shaddam demanded, stepping closer. The doctor's abruptness made him stiffen, but this Suk had already demonstrated his pompous nature. The dead man on the bed seemed to be watching them, his clawed fingers pointing in accusation.

  "More evidence needs to be gathered first, Sire."

  "Evidence? Of what sort?" He calmed himself. Sweat broke out on his brow, and he ran a hand across his carefully styled reddish hair. Perhaps he was carrying the act too far.

  Fenring seemed entirely calm and moved to the other side of the bed, near where the remains of the Emperor's last glass of spice beer sat.

  In a whisper that only Shaddam could hear, the doctor said, "It is my duty as a loyal Suk to warn you, Prince Shaddam, that you, too, may be in extreme danger. Certain forces . . . according to reports I've seen . . . do not want House Corrino to remain in power."

  "Since when does the Suk School obtain reports about Imperial alliances and intrigues?" Fenring asked, slithering closer. He had not heard the specific words, but years ago he had taught himself the valuable skill of reading lips. It helped greatly with his spying activities. He had tried to teach Shaddam the trick, but the Crown Prince had not caught the knack of it yet.

  "We have our sources," the Suk doctor said. "Regrettably, such connections are necessary even for a school such as ours dedicated to healing." Recalling the doctor's insistence on full payment before even looking at a patient, Shaddam frowned at this irony. "We live in perilous times."

  "Do you suspect anyone in particular?" Shaddam husked, following the direction of the doctor's gaze. Perhaps they could set up Chamberlain Hesban to take the fall -- plant evidence, start rumors.

  "In your position it would be safest to suspect everyone, Sire. I would like to conduct an autopsy on Emperor Elrood. Working with a partner from the Inner School, we can scanalyze every organ, every tissue, every cell . . . just to be safe."

  Shaddam frowned. "It seems a terrible disrespect to my father, slicing him up into little pieces. He had quite a . . . a horror of surgery. Ah, yes. Better to let him lie in peace. We must prepare immediately for the funeral of state. And my coronation ceremony."

  "On the contrary," Yungar persisted, "we show respect for Elrood's memory by trying to determine what happened to him. Perhaps something was implanted in his body some time ago, when his behavior began to change -- something that caused his slow death. A Suk doctor could find the subtlest traces, even after two years."

  "The very thought of an autopsy sickens me," Shaddam said. "I am the heir to the Imperium, and I forbid it." He looked down at the dead old man, and his arms broke out in gooseflesh, as if the ancient creature's ghost hovered over his head. He glanced warily at shadows in the corners and in the cold fireplace.

  He had expected to experience elation when his father finally passed the Golden Lion Throne to him -- but now, knowing that his own chaumurky had been the cause of the Emperor's death, Shaddam's skin crawled.

  "According to Imperial Law, I could formally insist upon it, Sire," the Suk doctor explained, his voice still low and calm. "And for your own good I must do exactly that. I see that you are inexperienced in the ways of intrigue, since you have grown up protected in the Court. You undoubtedly think I'm being foolish, but I assure you I am not wrong about this. I feel it in the pit of my stomach."

  "Perhap
s the good doctor is right," Fenring said.

  "How can you . . ." Seeing a peculiar gleam in Fenring's eyes, Shaddam cut himself short, then glanced at the doctor and said to him, "I must confer with my advisor."

  "Of course." Yungar watched them move off to one side, by the door.

  "Are you mad?" Shaddam whispered, when he and Fenring were a distance away.

  "Go along with him for the moment. Then through a . . ." Fenring smiled, selected just the right word. " . . . misunderstanding . . . old Elrood will be cremated before they can cut him open."

  "I see," Shaddam said, with sudden understanding. Then, to Yungar, he said, "Send for your associate and complete your autopsy. My father will be moved to the infirmary, where you may complete the procedure."