To win this Jihad he would have to lay down a new, enduring rule. He had to derail humanity and its politics from the rut into which it had allowed itself to fall. No, not a rut, he decided. A death spiral.
But the numbers…
On the entire planet of Arrakis, Paul knew there were perhaps ten million Fremen scattered among numerous sietches. Ten million, half of whom were men, of which perhaps a third could be called upon to act as warriors in his Jihad. Less than two million fighters… and he knew from his dreams, his calculations, and cold logic that he would have to conquer — maybe even slaughter — countless populations before this war was over.
Even with all the faithful, though, he simply did not have enough fighters to make this a strictly military conquest. His soldiers, no matter how dedicated, couldn’t possibly kill everyone who disagreed with him. Besides, he had no desire to be the emperor of a galaxywide charnel house.
Though Paul’s prescience told him he had to win many victories, he hoped to prevail on most leaders of the Imperium with subtlety and intelligence, using sophisticated means of persuasion. His mother had already begun to make overtures for him. He had to demonstrate that surrender to and alliance with Muad’Dib was a smart decision, the best alternative. The
While his initial instinct was to return to Arrakeen and summon the members of the most important noble Houses, Paul decided that could send the wrong signal, because seeing him there the noblemen might consider him a piratical leader of desert bandits. On Dune, Paul was surrounded by a groundswell of fanaticism, the resolute loyalty that was simply not understandable to anyone who did not grasp the power of blind religious devotion. After years of complacency under the secular Corrino Imperium, many Landsraad members had paid little attention to religion, viewing the Orange Catholic Bible as nothing more than a document of deep historical interest but without true passion.
Even if Paul called in old family alliances and recruited the political friends of his father, it was not likely to be enough. Paul’s jihadis might even kill some of the recalcitrant nobles, showing them a different kind of passion that even Paul might not be able to stop. There were potential second- and third-level consequences that he did not like, and he knew his prescience would not show him every possible pitfall.
So, the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib made plans to summon them to Kaitain. A familiar place, and a symbol of how much he had already conquered in so short a time.
With the Imperial Palace torched and the marvelous city ransacked, he dispatched urgent protocol teams to prepare for the event. They cleaned the gutted Landsraad Hall of Oratory and rehung the banners of all the Houses who had agreed to attend.
Paul selected the invited representatives carefully. Duke Leto had been quite popular among important families, so much that he had unwittingly sparked Shaddam’s jealousy — a resentment that had led to the Duke’s political entrapment and murder on Arrakis. But even all of his father’s friends would not be enough. He would also need to rely on the numerous planetary rulers who bore their own enmity toward Shaddam IV — and there were many of those from which to choose. When the guest list was set, his subordinates arranged Guild passage to bring the invited Landsraad representatives to Kaitain. For the event, Muad’Dib had personally guaranteed their safety and offered them incentives.
While Paul waited for the delegates to arrive, Fedaykin guards swept the former Imperial city. They rooted out any “suspicious” people and locked them up, all in the name of ensuring the safety of the Emperor. Paul had an unsettling realization that his own people were resorting to tactics quite similar to those the Harkonnens had used, but he also understood the very real threat posed by assassins and conspirators. He had to allow some excesses for the greater good, though he doubted his explanations would comfort the families of those innocents who fell victim to Fremen zeal….
On the day of the first official Landsraad meeting in his new reign, Paul stepped onto the central speaking podium and looked out at the anxious and angry faces of the gathered nobles. Brilliant Atreides banners hung on either side of him. Instead of his stillsuit and Fremen robe, he chose to wear an old-design black House Atreides uniform with a red hawk crest prominent on the right breast. His hair had been trimmed, and he had been washed and groomed so that he looked like the proud and dignified son of a noble Duke.
But he could not bleach the blue from his eyes or mask the dark tan of his skin, the weathered creases from windblown dust, the leanness of a face that had adjusted to a much lower water content.
More than sixty noble Houses had sent representatives, and he spotted familiar faces. He noted the old one-armed Archduke Armand Ecaz, who had no legal heir, and whose holdings were primarily managed by his Swordmaster. Also a lead administrator of the technocrats of Ix (Paul was not surprised that the son of House Vernius had not come in person, considering their past). In addition, he picked out O’Garee of Hagal, Sor of IV Anbus, Thorvald of Ipyr, Kalar of Ilthamont, Olin of Risp VII, and others.
Even though his loyal Fremen guards were in evidence in the Hall of Oratory, Paul faced the Landsraad members alone. When he spoke, he raised his voice, pitching his tone to use not only the powers his mother had taught him, but also his intimate knowledge of the nuances of command from his experience in leading Fremen tribes and Atreides soldiers. He owed much to Gurney Halleck, Duncan Idaho, Thufir Hawat, and, most of all, to his father. Paul had to remind these men that he was Duke Leto’s son.
“The Padishah Emperor was defeated,” he said, pausing for a moment to let them wonder what he would say next. “Defeated by his own arrogance, by the overconfidence of his Sardaukar, and by the spider web of political machinations that trapped him in much the same way he intended to trap House Atreides.” Another pause, scanning the faces in the assemblage to look for emotion, for anger. He saw some of that, but more fear. “Most of you knew my father, Duke Leto. He instilled in me the principles of honor and leadership, which I intend to maintain on the Imperial throne — if you will let me.”
Paul let his gaze rest on a diminished-looking Armand Ecaz sitting stonily in his chair. Several noblemen and dignitaries were taking notes, and still more leaned forward curiously, waiting to see how they could benefit from the situation.
“As Shaddam had no legal sons, and I have taken his eldest daughter Irulan as my wife, I am the legitimate heir to the Lion Throne. But my rule is not a mere continuation of Corrino rule. We have all learned our lesson from that! Some have seen this transition of power as a time of turmoil, but you can help me establish stability again.”
“Stability?” shouted a man from a high tier. “Not much stability left, thanks to you!” Paul saw that the outspoken man had long gray-blond hair tied back behind his shoulders, a leonine frosty beard, and piercing pale blue eyes. He recognized Earl Memnon Thorvald, the bitter brother of one of Shaddam’s later wives. Paul had invited him, thinking that Thorvald might hold enough of a grudge against the Corrinos to make him an ally. Now though, the Earl’s palpable anger made it clear that he was in another category. Paul might have to isolate him.
“You may speak freely, Earl Thorvald!” Paul shouted to the upper tier. “Though few noble leaders will agree with you.”
Showing surprise at the invitation, Thorvald nonetheless obliged. “Your Fremen armies are like packs of wild wolves. We can all see what they’ve done to Kaitain. They burned the
“Call it the price of war — a war I never sought.” Paul spread his hands across the podium. “We can stop the bloodshed immediately. Your holdings will be safe and protected if you sign an alliance with me. You know the law is on my side, as is the power base. And,” he added, bringing out his most powerful card, “I control the spice. The Spacing Guild and CHOAM are behind me.”
Thorvald’s anger only intensified. “So, our choice is between bloody instability and bowing to religious tyranny?”
Bolig Avati, the lead administrator of the Ixian technocrats, rose to his feet and spoke in a firm voice. “If we agree to your proposed alliance, Paul Atreides, must we worship you as a god? Some of us have outgrown the need for false and convenient deities.”
The Hall filled with angry muttering, some of it directed at the dissenters, some disturbingly in agreement with them. More leaders agreed with Thorvald than Paul anticipated.
Raising his voice over the mounting commotion, Paul said, “My best fighters were bred in the harsh deserts of Arrakis. They fought the ruthless Harkonnens and the Emperor’s Sardaukar. What they have seen of Imperial
