Paul of Dune

windblown, powdery spice. Al-Lat, the golden sun, was just rising over an escarpment, but he did not yet feel its warmth. A deep desert chill had settled into his bones, and into his thoughts.

Though his body had hardly moved, his mind had ranged far.

The course he had chosen for mankind was difficult. Billions of people had already been killed in his name — some justifiably, many not. Wave after wave of violence came as his warrior legions surged out into space, hunting any enemy of Muad’Dib, whether real or imagined. Allowing such horrendous damage to be done in his name had left an indelible mark on his soul. But it was his terrible purpose.

He remembered the joy of returning home from Grumman when he was a boy, the smell of the Caladan seas and the drifting cries of seabirds. Not so long ago, Paul had been the proud son of a nobleman, heir to the Atreides tradition, destined to be a Duke.

How could I have forgotten Caladan so easily? he wondered. Dismissing those people my father loved so well? No one should consider himself that important. Duncan Idaho and Thufir Hawat would have given him a powerful dose of humility. Had Gurney himself given up on Paul, retiring from the uncontrollable Jihad to find a bit of peace on Caladan?

Paul felt like a man tumbling off a cliff, taking everyone he loved and all of his followers with him. He heard the harsh, unsettling cry of a bird. Looking up into the brightening sky, he watched two vultures drifting overhead, as if examining him with interest. Presently, they flapped their wings and moved on. Paul was not dead, but he was dying inside.

A distant and mechanical sound intruded, and he saw an ornithopter circling to the east. With the sun behind it, the operator was trying to avoid being noticed. Undoubtedly, Muad’Dib’s Fedaykin had picked up his location and were monitoring him, making certain he was safe.

No one leaves me alone.

Korba’s motives were transparent and refreshingly understandable. The Fedaykin leader had used Paul to broker his own power, his own religion… but the reverse was true as well, and Paul had exploited others like him, those who sought personal power through the new order. By fanning the flames of his holy war, the divine Emperor had intended to purge the old ways of the Imperium and set up a future in which there would be no more wars. Throughout history, however, many others had used the same excuse….

In embarking upon that terrible but necessary course, he had known from the outset that it would not be possible for him to remain a purely heroic figure. Never had any one person held such absolute power. It was inevitable that he would become hated, especially when he did what prescience demanded.

He had already seen a turning point in the wildfires of rebellion around the Imperium, blazes that kept flaring up no matter how hard his soldiers tried to extinguish them. Opposition was to be expected, and Memnon Thorvald wasn’t particularly competent or effective, yet he provided a constant reminder that not everyone worshipped the sand on which Paul-Muad’Dib walked. Assassination attempts and conspiracies would spring up for as long as Muad’Dib ruled, and one day there would be a point at which the fires of rebellion would rise higher than his own light. A funeral pyre would burn for House Atreides.

Ultimately, out of the ashes, history would be written by the survivors, and no matter how many volumes Irulan left behind about the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib, he would be reviled as a monster… until someone worse came along. Was that his true legacy? He heaved a great sigh of resignation. Chani knew of his pain over this. So long as some people realized why Muad’Dib had done what he did, all was not lost.

Now alone, Paul considered wandering off into the desert and vanishing. His skills were sufficient that he could avoid the Fedaykin indefinitely. But he could not bear the thought of leaving Chani, of never seeing her again. It was not a path he could take.

Sunlight warmed the spice sands around him, causing their rich cinnamon odor to seep into his mind, enhancing his consciousness. Multiple futures shifted in and out of his view. Prescience was always with him, sometimes as a whisper, sometimes as a shout. Paul saw countless circuitous paths, any one of which could be triggered by the tiniest act.

In his mind’s eye, he saw marching armies in every color and cut of uniform, their varied weapons dripping with blood, surging across vast sectors of space. He could barely discern his own legions in their midst, so dwarfed were they by the shadowy shapes of mankind’s future.

Across Paul’s melange-saturated mind, myriad possibilities spun and clashed and tangled, then fused into one path of certainty. Memnon Thorvald. Paul saw Guild Heighliners traveling clandestinely between planets, loading the secret battle fleets of Landsraad nobles and delivering them to a staging area in orbital space over the rebellious earl’s planet. He recognized the indigo-and-yellow colors of House Thorvald, along with the banners of CHOAM, the Spacing Guild, and even golden lion crests and blue griffins on a handful of ships. Though both House Corrino and House Harkonnen had been devastated at the beginning of Muad’Dib’s Jihad, their stubborn, ragtag remnants still resisted him.

In his vision Paul watched Thorvald receive sanctuary and shielding from the Guild, aided by CHOAM — both of which saw the turmoil of the Jihad as bad for commerce. Normal warfare provided numerous economic advantages for the trading conglomerate, but Paul’s fanatics did not follow predictable lines. They caused damage without the compensation of increased profits.

Paul suddenly knew what was different. These families allied against him had been emboldened by Bludd’s spectacular hunter-seeker attack in the Celestial Audience Chamber. Thorvald had continued to take credit for the act, though he’d had nothing to do with it.

No longer content to be seen as mere gadflies and annoyances, these rebels had gathered their resources to make a concerted strike. They had carefully selected a target that would hurt Muad’Dib deeply.

They intended to destroy Caladan.

He saw that all of the ships carried aboard two Guild Heighliners would be disgorged over the ocean world. Thorvald would unleash his most devastating weaponry, specifically targeting Castle Caladan, the Lady Jessica, Gurney Halleck, and Cala City. Everything Paul remembered and loved from his childhood, and all that Duke Leto had held so dear, would be sterilized.

They’re going to destroy Caladan!

Paul tried to shake himself free of the vision, the nightmare. With sand dropping through the hourglass of the future, he could not afford to sit and watch the remaining details. He had to return. He had to stop this.

For several long moments, his eyes would not open, and he could not hear or feel anything. Finally, in bright sunlight, he gazed out on the sands and saw the ornithopter flying in the sky, searching for him. Paul rose to his feet and signaled it. Time to stop hiding.

He shook with fury.

5

Children play with toys and games. My brother Muad’Dib plays with Empires and entire populations.

—ST. ALIA OF THE KNIFE

Because of her unique background, Alia could immediately see how peculiar a child Marie was. She had the demeanor of something else about her.

After Lady Margot had departed to rejoin her husband, leaving her daughter behind in the care of Muad’Dib, Alia delved within her Other Memories as they became accessible to her. She reviewed Bene Gesserit training scattered throughout her mother’s past, as well as some of the interconnected Fremen lives Jessica had obtained from the ancient Sayyadina Ramallo. Alia knew the Sisterhood’s tricks in honing and shaping a young girl’s personality, and Lady Margot Fenring was herself an adept. No doubt she had shared that wisdom with her daughter. In addition, Marie had been raised under strange Tleilaxu oppression, and Alia, even with all of her inborn pasts, still knew nothing about those closed worlds or the cloaked society of the Tleilaxu.

Months ago, Princess Irulan had admonished Alia to find a childhood of her own, so she had decided to try. Now that she had a playmate, she attempted to wall off the inner voices in order to ignore those myriad other lives