soldiers did not follow the same rules.
Filled with passion and determination, Stilgar led his men into battle on the streets of the former capital. With his sword in one hand and crysknife in the other, Stilgar ran ahead of the troops in the opening encounter, shouting, “Long live Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib!”
Although this world should have been the most fortified and well-defended of all that now faced the storm of the Jihad, Imperial security was predicated upon family ties and alliances, marriages, treaties, taxes, and penalties. The Rule of Law. All of that meant nothing to the Fremen armies. Kaitain’s security troops — a mere handful of Sardaukar no longer duty bound to protect a defeated Emperor — lacked cohesiveness. The Landsraad nobles were too shocked and astonished to put up a real fight.
Commandos raced through the streets, screaming the name of their young Emperor. At their head, Stilgar watched the grinning sons of Jamis rush forward to demonstrate their prowess and spatter themselves with blood. This planet would be a highly significant conquest, an important piece in the high-stakes political game of the Imperium. Yes, Muad’Dib would be pleased.
Leading his men farther into the carnage, Stilgar shouted in the Fremen tongue, “Ya
Yet Stilgar drew little satisfaction from the actual battle as he and his Fremen swept so easily over their opponents. These civilized people of the Landsraad were not, after all, very good fighters.
4
When Duke Leto Atreides accepted the fief of Arrakis, Count Hasimir Fenring ceased being the planet’s Imperial Regent and was instead given provisional control of the Atreides homeworld, Caladan. Though he served as siridar-absentia there (at the behest of Shaddam IV), Fenring took scant interest in his new backwater fief, and the people of Caladan matched his disinterest with their own. They had always been a proud and independent people, more concerned with ocean harvests than galactic politics. Caladanians were slow to understand the importance of the heroes they had created in their midst. After Shaddam’s fall and the ascension of Muad’Dib, Gurney Halleck in turn became involved in the governance of this world, though the obligations of the Jihad often kept him far away.
Leaving behind the violent Jihad he had spawned, Paul looked forward to returning to Caladan, a place bright with memories. Knowing the battles that were even now being launched across the Imperium, and aware through prescience of how much worse they would become, Paul decided that this short visit would renew him.
Caladan… the seas, the windswept coast, the fishing villages, the stone towers of the ancient family castle. He paused halfway down the frigate’s ramp in the Cala City spaceport, closed his eyes, and drew a long, slow breath. He could smell the salt air, the iodine of drying kelp, the ripening sourness of fish, and the moisture of sea spray and rain. All so familiar. This had once been home. How could he have forgotten so quickly? A smile touched his face.
As he recalled the shrine he had commissioned for his father’s skull, he now wondered if Duke Leto might have preferred to be interred here instead, on the planet that had been home to House Atreides for twenty-six generations.
On the surface this world seemed completely unchanged since his family’s departure, but as he stepped away from the ship Paul realized that
Jessica placed her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, Paul. We’re home.”
He shook his head, kept his voice low. “Much as I love this place, Dune is my home now.” Paul could not go back to the past, no matter how comfortable it might be. “Caladan is no longer my entire universe, but a speck in a vast empire that I have to rule. Thousands of planets are depending on me.”
Jessica rebuked him, using an edge of Voice. “Your father was Duke Leto Atreides, and these were his people. You may control an Imperium, but Caladan is still your homeworld, and its people are still your family as surely as I am.”
He knew she was right. Paul found a smile, a real one this time. “Thank you for reminding me when I needed it.” He feared that his preoccupation might grow worse as he faced further crises. Shaddam IV had treated many of his planets with disdain, seeing them only as names in a catalogue or numbers on star charts. Paul could not let himself fall into the same trap. “Every fishing boat on Caladan needs its anchor.”
The crowds of locals at the edge of the spaceport cheered when they saw the pair step forward. Paul scanned the hundreds of faces: men in dungarees and striped shirts, fishwives, net-weavers, boat-builders. They had not burdened themselves with ridiculous court finery, nor were they attempting to put on haughty airs.
“Paul Atreides has returned!”
“It’s our Duke!”
“Welcome, Lady Jessica!”
His personal Fedaykin guards accompanied him, led by a man named Chatt the Leaper. They stood close by Paul, ever alert for assassins in the crowd. His fighters were uneasy in this strange place that smelled of fish and kelp, with its cottony clouds, fog clinging to the headlands, and crashing surf.
Absorbing the resounding welcome of the people, Paul couldn’t help feeling excitement, as well as pangs for the halcyon life he might have led if he’d remained here, comfortably accepting the duties of Duke when the time came. Memories from his childhood came rushing back — peaceful days spent fishing with his father, trips to the back country the two of them had made, and hiding with Duncan in the jungles during the terrible War of Assassins that had embroiled Atreides and Ecaz against House Moritani. But even the violence of that conflict paled in comparison with Paul’s Jihad, where the scope and scale of carnage would be exponentially greater, and the stakes infinitely higher.
“We should have brought Gurney with us,” Jessica said, interrupting his thoughts. “It would do him good to come back to Caladan. He belongs here.”
Paul knew she was right, but he could not afford to surrender the services of such an unquestionably loyal and skilled officer. “He is doing vital work for me, Mother.”
Officially, Gurney had been granted an earldom on Caladan as part of Shaddam’s surrender terms, but Paul had given Gurney no chance to settle here. Not yet. In the interim, Gurney had assigned planetary management to the representative of a minor noble family from Ecaz, Prince Xidd Orleaq. Until the Jihad was over, Paul would have to keep Gurney, Stilgar, and the best Fremen out on the front lines.
The pudgy, red-faced Prince Orleaq greeted Paul and Jessica, shaking hands vigorously with each of them. To Paul he seemed energetic and dedicated, and reports on the nobleman were good, though the people of Caladan had been slow to warm to him. He might be efficient enough, but he would always be an outsider to them. “We have made the castle ready for you both — your old quarters restored to the way they were, as best we could manage. My own family is living there, since we’re the provisional government, but we know we’re only stewards. Would you like us to vacate the castle for you while you are here?”
“Not necessary. The rooms you arranged will be sufficient — I cannot remain here long. My mother… has not entirely decided what she will do.”
“I may stay a bit longer,” Jessica said.
Orleaq looked from one to the other. “We’ll be ready for you either way.” He raised his voice to the crowd, who took his teasing good-naturedly. “Make sure you’ve tidied everything up! On the morrow, Duke Paul Atreides will tour the village. Perhaps we could talk him into spending an afternoon in his great chair, listening to your concerns as his father used to do. Maybe we can even stage a bullfight in the arena? It has been empty for too long.” As if just remembering that the Old Duke had been killed by a Salusan bull in the arena, Orleaq flushed scarlet. “We can find plenty to keep him occupied here.”
