Paul of Dune

The crowd whistled and applauded, while Paul raised his hand to them, feeling somewhat ill at ease. “Please, please — my schedule has not yet been set.” Already feeling the call of his responsibilities, he wondered what difficulties Alia and Chani might be facing as they managed the government in Arrakeen in his absence. Even though the people of Caladan were right here in front of him, his thoughts raced to distant star systems, where worlds would eventually — sometimes painfully — fall under his banner. “I will stay here as long as I am able.”

The people cheered again, as if he’d said something important, and Orleaq hurried them toward a luxurious groundcar that would take the noble visitors and their entourage up to the ancestral castle on the cliffs above the sea. Sitting across from Paul in the rear passenger compartment of the vehicle, Chatt the Leaper looked extremely suspicious of the Caladanians, until Paul signaled for him to relax slightly. The young ruler remembered learning that Old Duke Paulus had insisted that he need not fear his people because they loved him, but many conspirators already wanted to kill Muad’Dib. Even this planet wasn’t necessarily safe for him. And assassins had come after Paul in Castle Caladan before, a long time ago….

“You are everything to the citizens of Caladan, Sire,” Orleaq said. “They loved Duke Leto, and they remember you as a boy. You are one of their own, and now you have become the Emperor and married Shaddam’s daughter.” He grinned. “Just like a fairy tale. Sire, is it true that you’re going to make Caladan your new capital world instead of Arrakis or Kaitain? The people would be so honored.”

Paul knew he could have no capital other than Dune, but his mother broke in before he could say anything. “Rumors are just rumors. Paul has made no… firm decision.”

“I now serve in a capacity that goes beyond the Duke of Caladan,” Paul said in a somewhat apologetic tone, looking out the window at the crowd as the long vehicle passed them. “The first battles for the Jihad are raging on at least thirty planets. I could be called away at any time.”

“Of course, Sire. We all understand that you are the Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib, a man with much greater responsibilities than one world.” But Orleaq didn’t sound as if he understood at all. “Still, they know you have fond memories of them. If you establish your Imperial capital here, think of what it can do for Caladan.”

“Muad’Dib has visited your world,” Chatt the Leaper said in a gruff voice. “You have already been touched by greatness.”

***

THAT EVENING IN the familiar old castle, Paul did enjoy sleeping in his boyhood room again. On the wall hung a magnificent quilt, hand-stitched in squares by representatives of local villages; Paul remembered that it had been a gift to Duke Leto, but he could not recall the occasion it commemorated.

“I should have brought Chani with me,” he murmured to himself. But she had not wanted to leave Dune. Perhaps one day, though…

In an unguarded moment when he allowed himself to forget about the Jihad, he imagined what it would be like to retire on Caladan and walk with Chani along the ocean cliffs, seeing the spray like tiny diamonds on her brown cheeks and forehead. The two of them could dress in ordinary clothing and spend their time in uncomplicated happiness, strolling through the gardens and fishing villages. As he drifted off to sleep thinking of that unlikely dream, his fatigued mind convinced him it might be possible. But not for many years. His erratic prescience did not tend to show him peaceful, noncritical moments.

When he arose the next day, Paul found the castle’s main reception hall bedecked with flowers and ribbons, the stone-block walls papered with notes, letters, and drawings. To welcome him, the joyful people had brought presents — colored shells, large reefpearls floating in oil, dried flowers, and baskets of fresh fish. The simple locals meant well, lining up outside in the courtyard, through the gates, and partway down the hill just for a chance to see him.

But already, he felt restless.

His mother was up and watching the activities, having greeted the throngs outside the main gates. “They have been waiting a long time to have their Duke back. They want Paul Atreides. When you return to being the Emperor Muad’Dib, who will fill that role? Do not just abandon these people, Paul. They are worth a great deal to you.”

Paul picked up one of the handwritten letters, perused a message from a young woman who remembered having met him in the village years ago, when he’d been walking with Duke Leto. She said that at the time she’d been carrying a banner of silver and blue ribbons. Hearing this, the Emperor looked up at his mother. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember her.”

“She certainly remembers you, Paul. Even the smallest things you do have an effect on these people.”

“On all people.” Paul could never completely escape his violent visions of the Jihad’s horrific fallout, how difficult it would be to control the monster that would have been unleashed with or without him. The only true path to survival of the human species lay as narrow as a razor, and slippery with blood.

“So now you are too important for Caladan?” Her remark stung him. Could she not see that was exactly the case? The more excitement he witnessed among these people, the more uncomfortable he felt here.

Prince Orleaq rushed them through an extravagant breakfast, eager to take Paul on a procession through the village. The nominal leader of Caladan finished his meal, then wiped his mouth with a lace napkin. “You must be anxious to revisit the places you miss so much, Sire. Everything has been prepared specially for your visit.”

Paul walked outside with his mother and the others. As he made his way through the harbor town, he could not brush aside the odd and overwhelming sensation that he no longer belonged here. The air was damp and clammy, every breath sodden with moisture. As much as he cherished his boyhood home, it now seemed, in its own way, as alien as Fremen civilization had ever been.

He felt simultaneously connected to, and entirely separate from, these people — his people. He was no longer a man of one world — or even two. He was Emperor of thousands. The conversations around him about fishing, Duke Leto, the upcoming storm season, Old Duke Paulus and his spectacular bullfights… all seemed small and lacking in perspective. He found his thoughts drawn to the initial military campaigns he knew were taking place across the Imperium. What was Gurney doing now? And Stilgar? What if Alia and Chani needed him for pressing matters of state? What business did he have leaving Dune at such an early stage of this war?

In one of his first acts as Emperor, he had increased taxes and levies on any world that did not immediately accept his rule, and many had swiftly pledged themselves to him, if only for economic reasons. Paul was convinced that this bit of monetary coercion would save many lives by preventing unnecessary battles. But much of the fighting could not be avoided, and he could not escape his responsibilities, even here on his boyhood world.

That evening, watching from a viewing platform where he stood with his mother, along with Prince Orleaq and other local dignitaries, Paul could hardly focus on the Caladanian dancers who performed for him in their colorful costumes. He felt detached from his roots, like a tree that had been moved across the galaxy and replanted somewhere else. Plants did not grow as easily on Dune as on Caladan, but the desert world was where he needed to be, where he thrived. He had not expected to feel like this.

Abruptly, a messenger arrived from the Cala City spaceport on a fast groundcycle. Seeing the flushed courier and the armband she wore, Paul motioned for Chatt the Leaper to let her pass.

The villagers were slow to react to the interruption. The dancers faltered, then stood to the side of the stage, waiting to resume their performance. Orleaq looked concerned. Paul was intent only on the courier’s message. Urgent news was rarely good news.

The courier spoke in a breathless voice. “Emperor Muad’Dib, I bear a battlefield message from Stilgar. We felt the news important enough to divert a Heighliner in order to inform you as soon as possible.”

Orleaq spluttered. “You diverted a whole Heighliner just to bring a message?”

A thousand scenarios thundered through Paul’s mind. Had something terrible happened to Stilgar? “Speak your words.” His prescience had not warned him of any immediate disaster.

“Stilgar bade me to say this to you, ‘Usul, I did as you requested. Your armies have captured Kaitain, and I shall await you in the palace of the fallen Emperor.’”

Unable to contain his joy, Paul stood and shouted to the crowd. “Kaitain is ours!”

In response to his excitement, an uncertain wave of applause passed through the crowd. Jessica stepped