Dune - House Atreides

by Brian Herbert

  "You are unknown to them, little more than a boy, reputed to be brash and impulsive. For now, my Duke, we must be more concerned with the verdict itself, and less with the reasons. If you succeed, you will have many years to rebuild your reputation."

  "And if I lose, it won't matter a bit."

  Nodding solemnly, Hawat stood like a monolith. "There are no set rules for conducting a Trial by Forfeiture. It is a freestyle forum without rules of evidence or procedures, a container without contents. Without a disclosure process, we don't have to reveal to the court what evidence we'll present -- but neither does anyone else. We can't know the lies our enemies may tell, or what exhibits they may have doctored. We won't see ahead of time what alleged proof the Tleilaxu possess, how their main witnesses will testify. Many ugly things will be said about House Atreides. Prepare yourself for it."

  Looking up at a noise, Leto saw a guard shut down the humming confinement field to let Rhombur enter. The Ixian Prince wore a white shirt with a Vernius helix on the collar. His face was flushed from a session in the gym, his hair wet from a shower. On his right hand, the fire-jewel ring glinted.

  Leto thought of the similarities between his situation and his friend's, with their Houses in disarray and near annihilation. Rhombur, who had received the temporary protection of the court, came at the same time each day.

  "Finish your exercises?" Leto inquired, forcing a hearty tone despite Hawat's grim pessimism.

  "Today I broke the physical-training machine," Rhombur responded with an impish smile. "The device must have been built by one of those disreputable Houses Minor. No quality control. Certainly not good Ixian stuff." Leto laughed as he and Rhombur interlocked fingertips in the half handshake of the Imperium.

  Rhombur scratched his damp, tousled blond hair. "The hard exercise helps me to think. These days it's difficult enough to concentrate on anything. Uh, my sister sends her support, by the way, via a fresh Courier from Caladan. I thought you'd like to know. It might cheer you up."

  His expression grew serious, and revealed the layered strain of his long ordeal, the subtle signs of stress and instant maturity that a boy of sixteen shouldn't have had to endure. Leto knew his friend was concerned about where he and Kailea would end up if House Atreides lost this trial . . . two great noble families destroyed in a frighteningly short time. Perhaps Rhombur and Kailea would go in search of their renegade father . . . .

  "Thufir and I were just discussing the merits of our case," Leto said. "Or as he might put it, the lack of merits."

  "I wouldn't say that, my Duke," Hawat protested.

  "Well, then, I bring good news," Rhombur announced. "The Bene Gesserit wish to provide Truthsayers at the trial. Those Reverend Mothers can draw falsehoods out of anyone."

  "Excellent," Leto said. "They'll end this whole problem in a moment. Once I speak, they can verify I'm telling the truth. Can it be that simple?"

  "Normally a Truthsayer's testimony would be inadmissible," Hawat cautioned. "An exception may be granted here, but it's doubtful. Witches have their own agendas, and legal analysts posit that they can therefore be bribed."

  Leto blinked in surprise. "Bribed? Then they don't know very many Reverend Mothers." He began to think more about this, though, considering various possibilities. "But secret agendas? Why would the Bene Gesserit make such an offer? What do they have to gain by my innocence -- or my guilt, for that matter?"

  "Be cautious, my Duke," Hawat said.

  "It's worth a try," Rhombur said. "Even if it isn't binding, a Truthsayer's testimony would lend weight to Leto's version of events. You and all the people around you -- including Thufir, me, the frigate crew, and even your servants from Caladan -- can all be scrutinized by Truthsayers. And we know the stories will be consistent. They'll prove your innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt." He grinned. "We'll be back on Caladan before you know it."

  Hawat, though, remained unconvinced. "Exactly who contacted you, young Prince? Who among the Bene Gesserit made this generous offer? And what did she ask in payment?"

  "She, uh, didn't ask for anything," Rhombur said, surprised.

  "Not yet, maybe," Hawat said, "but those witches think in the long term."

  The Ixian Prince scratched his temple. "Her name is Margot. She's in Lady Anirul's entourage, here for the Imperial wedding, I suppose."

  Leto drew a quick breath as an idea occurred to him. "A Bene Gesserit is to be married to the Emperor. Is this Shaddam's doing, then? In response to our message?"

  "The Bene Gesserit aren't errand girls for anyone," Hawat said. "They're notoriously independent. They made this offer because they wanted to, because it benefits them somehow."

  "I didn't stop to wonder why she would come to me, of all people," Rhombur said. "But think about it: Her offer could be of no advantage to us, unless Leto is indeed innocent."

  "I am!"

  Hawat smiled at Rhombur in admiration. "Of course. But now we have proof that the Bene Gesserit know Leto's telling the truth, too, else they would never have made such a suggestion." He wondered what the Sisters knew, and what they hoped to gain.

  "Unless they were testing me," Leto suggested. "Just by accepting their Truthsayer, they'd know I wasn't lying. If I turned them down, they'd be convinced I have something to hide."

  Standing by the cell wall, Hawat gazed through an armor-plaz window. "Be mindful that we're in a trial that is a shell only. Prejudices exist against the Bene Gesserit as well and their arcane weirding ways. Truthsayers might betray their oath and lie for a greater purpose. Witchcraft, sorcery . . . Perhaps we should not be so quick to accept their help."

  "You think it's a trick?" Leto asked.

  "I always suspect deception," the Mentat said. His eyes flashed. "It's in my nature to do so." He switched to Atreides hand signals and signed to Leto, "These witches may be on an Imperial errand after all. What alliances are hidden from us?"

  The worst sort of alliances are those which weaken us. Worse still is when an Emperor fails to recognize such an alliance for what it is.

  -PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO,

  Discourses on Leadership

  Crown Prince Shaddam did as little as possible to make the Tleilaxu representative feel comfortable or welcome in the Palace. Shaddam hated even being in the same room with him, but this meeting could not be helped. Heavily armed Sardaukar escorted Hidar Fen Ajidica through a back passageway, through maintenance corridors, down unmarked stairways, and finally behind a succession of barred doors.

  Shaddam chose the most private room, a chamber so discreet it appeared on no printed floor plans. Long ago, a few years after the death of Crown Prince Fafnir, Hasimir Fenring had uncovered this place during his usual skulking around. Apparently, the hidden room had been used by Elrood in the early days of his interminable reign, when he had taken numerous unofficial concubines as well as those he formally adopted into his household.

  A single table remained in the chill room, illuminated by new glowglobes dragged in for the occasion. The walls and floor smelled of dust. The sheets and blankets on the narrow bed against the wall were now little more than frayed fibers and lint. An ancient bouquet, now petrified into a clump of blackened leaves and stems, lay in a corner where it had been tossed decades ago. The place conveyed the desired impression, though Shaddam knew the Bene Tleilax were not known for their attention to subtleties.

  Across the plain table, Hidar Fen Ajidica, swathed in his maroon robes, folded his grayish hands on the wooden surface. He blinked his close-set eyes and looked across at Shaddam. "You summoned me, Sire? I came from my researches at your command."

  Shaddam picked at a plate of glazed slig meat one of the guards had brought him, since he'd had no time today for a formal dinner. He savored the buttery mushroom sauce, then grudgingly nudged the platter toward Ajidica to offer his guest a morsel.

  The diminutive man drew back and refused to touch the food. Shaddam frowned. "Slig meat is of your own manufacture. Don't you Tleilaxu eat your own delicac
ies?"

  Ajidica shook his head. "Though we breed those creatures, we do not consume them ourselves. Please forgive me, Sire. You need offer me no amenities. Let us discuss what we must. I am anxious to return to Xuttah and my laboratories."

  Shaddam sniffed, relieved that he didn't have to make any further attempts to be polite. He had no interest in displaying proper etiquette to this man. Instead, he rubbed his temples, where his long-standing headache threatened to grow even worse within the hour. "I must make a request -- no, a demand as your Emperor."

  "Forgive me, my Lord Prince," Ajidica interrupted, "but you have not yet been crowned."

  The guards at the door stiffened. Shaddam's eyes flew open wide in astonishment. "Does any man's command bear more weight than mine? In all the Imperium?"

  "No, m'Lord. I was merely correcting a matter of semantics."

  Shaddam pushed the food platter to one side and leaned over the table like a predator, so close that he could smell the man's unpleasant odors. "Listen to me, Hidar Fen Ajidica. Your people must withdraw your charges in the trial of Leto Atreides. I don't want this matter to come to open court." He sat back again, took another bite of slig meat, and continued with his mouth full. "So, just drop your accusations, I'll send some treasure your way, and everything will settle down."

  He made the solution sound so simple. When the Tleilaxu man did not respond immediately, Shaddam rambled on, trying to be gracious. "After discussing this with my advisors, I have decided that the Tleilaxu can be compensated, paid blood money for their losses." Shaddam brought his reddish eyebrows together in a stern expression. "Real losses only, though. Gholas don't count."

  "I understand, Sire, but I am sorry to say that what you ask is impossible." Ajidica's voice remained low and smooth. "We cannot ignore such a crime committed against the Tleilaxu people. It strikes to the heart of our honor."

  Shaddam nearly choked on another bite of his food. " 'Tleilaxu' and 'honor' aren't words usually used in the same conversation."

  Ajidica brushed the insult aside. "Nevertheless, all of the Landsraad is aware of this horrible event. If we withdraw our objections, then House Atreides will have attacked us openly -- destroyed our ships and people -- with impunity." The pointed tip of his nose twitched. "Surely you have enough statecraft, Sire, to know that we cannot back down on this matter."

  Shaddam fumed. His headache was getting worse. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

  The little man considered this for some time, his dark eyes glittering. "Might I inquire as to why the fate of Leto Atreides is so important to you, Sire? The Duke represents a relatively unimportant House. Why not throw him to the wolves and give us our satisfaction?"

  Shaddam growled deep in his throat. "Because somehow Leto knows about your artificial-spice activities on Ix."

  Alarm finally registered on Ajidica's masked features. "Impossible! We have maintained the utmost security."

  "Then why did he send me a message?" Shaddam demanded as he half stood from his seat. "Leto is using this knowledge as a bargaining chip, to blackmail me. If he is found guilty at trial, he will expose all of your work, and our collusion in it. I'll be faced with a rebellion in the Landsraad. Think of it -- my father, with my help, allowed a Great House of the Landsraad to be overthrown. Unprecedented! And not just by any rival House, but by you . . . the Tleilaxu."

  Now the researcher seemed to take offense, but still did not respond.

  Shaddam groaned, then remembered appearances and glowered instead. "If it becomes known that I did all this in order to have access to a private source of artificial spice, thereby cutting the Landsraad and the Bene Gesserit and the Guild out of their profits, my reign won't last a week."

  "Then we are at an impasse, m'Lord."

  "No, we are not!" Shaddam roared. "The pilot of the surviving Tleilaxu ship is your key witness. Get him to change his story. Perhaps he didn't see everything as clearly as he thought at first. You will be well rewarded, both from my coffers and from those of House Atreides."

  "Not sufficient, Sire," Ajidica said with a maddeningly impassive expression. "The Atreides must be humiliated for what they have done. They must be embarrassed. Leto must pay."

  The Emperor looked down his nose in disdain at the Tleilaxu researcher. His voice was cold and controlled. "Would you like me to send more Sardaukar to Ix? I'm sure another few legions walking the streets would keep a very close eye on your activities there."

  Ajidica still revealed no emotion.

  Shaddam's gaze turned stony. "For month after month I've waited, and still you haven't produced what I needed. Now you say it could take decades more. Neither of us will last that long if Leto exposes us."

  The Crown Prince finished eating the slig morsels and pushed the plate away. Though the dish had been prepared perfectly, he had barely tasted it because his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the throbbing within his skull. Why did being Emperor have to be so difficult?

  "Do what you will, Sire," Ajidica said, his voice more strident than Shaddam had ever heard it. "Leto Atreides is not forgiven and must be punished."

  Wrinkling his nose, Shaddam dismissed the little man, gesturing for the Sardaukar to haul him away. Since he would soon be the Emperor of the Known Universe, he had many other things to do, important things.

  If only he could get rid of this damned headache.

  The worst sort of protection is confidence. The best defense is suspicion.

  -HASIMIR FENRING

  Thufir Hawat and Rhombur Vernius could leave the cell at their leisure, while Leto was honor-bound to remain, in part for his own safety. The Mentat and the Ixian Prince often went out to discuss testimony with various crew members from the Atreides frigate and anyone else who might help their cause in any way.

  Leto, meanwhile, sat at the desk alone in his cell. Although the old Mentat had always trained him never to sit with his back to a door, Leto felt that he should be safe enough inside a maximum-security cell.

  For the moment he reveled in a few moments of silence and concentration as he pored over the copious evidence projections that had been prepared for him. Even with Sardaukar guards as escorts, he would have been reluctant to walk through the Imperial Palace knowing that the shadow of accusation still hung over him. He would face his peers soon enough and proclaim his innocence.

  He heard a noise at the cell confinement field behind him, but delayed looking back. With a humming scriber in his hand, he finished a paragraph about the complete destruction of the first Tleilaxu ship, noting a technical detail he hadn't considered before.

  "Thufir?" Leto asked. "Have you forgotten something?" Casually, he glanced over his shoulder.

  A tall Landsraad guard stood there in a colorful, billowing uniform. The man wore a strange expression on his broad face, especially in the dark eyes. His skin looked pasty, as if painted on. And Leto spotted something different about the body, an odd lumpiness in the man's peculiar, jerky movements. A disturbing, grayish tone to the skin on the hands, but not the face . . .

  Reaching under his desk, Leto slid his fingers over the handle of a knife that Hawat had sneaked into the cell for him. It hadn't been difficult for the warrior Mentat. Leto felt the hilt, gripped it without shifting his position or changing the placid and expectant expression on his face.

  Every lesson the weapons master had ever taught him simmered in his muscles, alert and ready. Spring-coiled, Leto didn't speak, didn't challenge the intruder. But he knew something was wrong, and his life was on the line.

  In a heartbeat the tall man slipped out of the voluminous uniform, maneuvering the static-seals that held the cloth together-and when the fabric slid away, so did the dull, expressionless face. A mask! The hands and lower arms went, too, dropping in a pile on the floor of the cell.

  Dizzy with confusion, Leto threw himself to one side, tumbled off the chair onto the floor, and crouched beside the slim shelter of the desk. He held the knife ready, still out of the intruder's view, and cons
idered his options.

  The tall guard's body split at the waist, as if breaking in half -- and a pair of Tleilaxu men spun around to face him, each a leathery-faced dwarf. One leaped down from the shoulders of the other and tumbled to the floor. They were both dressed in tight black outfits that showed every rippling, thick muscle.

  The Tleilaxu assassins moved away from one another, circling him. Their tiny eyes glittered like buckshot. Something gleamed in each of their hands -- four weapons, indistinct but assuredly deadly. Leaping wildly at Leto, one of the Tleilaxu screeched, "Die, powindah devil!"

  In a flash, Leto considered crawling under the desk or the cart, but first he decided to even the odds by killing one of the attackers . . . to keep them from acting in a coordinated plan. With well-practiced aim, he hurled Hawat's knife. It found its mark, pierced the dwarf's jugular and knocked him backward.