Paul of Dune

increase the Guild’s spice allotment by three percent per annum if you contribute another two hundred ships to his Jihad.”

“Two hundred Heighliners!” Crozeed said. “So many?”

“The sooner my brother consolidates his rule, the sooner you can have your precious monopoly back.”

“How do we know he will not be defeated?” Loyxo asked.

Alia glared at him. “Ask your Navigators to look into their prescience to see if Muad’Dib rules the future.”

“They have looked,” Ertun said, “but there is too much chaos around him.”

“Then help him reduce the chaos. Help him put everything in order, and he will be eternally grateful. Muad’Dib’s generosity — like his rage against his enemies — knows no bounds. Do you wish to be in the same category as the foolish houses who dare oppose us?”

“We are not the Emperor’s enemies,” Ertun insisted. “The Spacing Guild’s constant neutrality is our safety net.”

“There is no safety for you in such a position,” Alia said. The words were terse, weighted. “Understand this, and understand it well. All those who do not openly support Muad’Dib may be considered his enemies.” The girl made a gesture of dismissal. “This audience is concluded. Others have waited long to speak with me. The Spacing Guild shall have its increased spice only after the ships are delivered.”

After the three dissatisfied representatives marched awkwardly out of the chamber, an aged bald man with a high forehead entered, accompanied by a female attendant. The man’s steps were halting, and he used his sonic staff as a walking stick instead of an instrument of state.

Surprised, Irulan caught her breath. Though she had not seen him in years, she recognized her father’s Court Chamberlain, Beely Ridondo. At one time Ridondo had been a person of considerable influence, managing Landsraad and palace schedules for the Padishah Emperor. Ridondo had gone into exile on Salusa Secundus with Shaddam IV, but now he had come here.

Maybe she should give Ridondo an inscribed copy of her book… or would that only enrage her father?

As the chamberlain neared the throne, clicking his ornate cane on the blood-red marble floor, Irulan noticed that the years had not been kind to him. His white-and-gold suit was dusty and slightly wrinkled on the sleeves; at one time he would never have gone to an Imperial function looking anything other than immaculate. Leaving his attendant behind, the man stopped in front of the throne. After a long and awkward silence, Ridondo spoke, “I am waiting to be announced.”

“You may announce yourself.” Alia’s voice was high-pitched. “As Shaddam’s chamberlain, you have sufficient experience.”

Irulan could see his indignation. “I bring an important message from his Excellency Shaddam Corrino, and I demand to be treated with respect.”

Taking a half step forward, Korba put a hand to the crysknife at his waist, acting the good Fedaykin again, but at a gesture from Alia he relaxed.

The girl looked bored. “I shall announce you. Comes now Beely Ridondo, personal chamberlain to the exiled Emperor.” She gazed at him with Fremen-blue eyes out of an oval face that was just beginning to lose its baby fat.

Ridondo turned to Irulan, as if hoping for a better reception from her. “Your father will be pleased to know you are well, Princess. Is that still your proper title?”

“Princess will do.” Empress Irulan would have been more fitting, but she did not expect that. “Please state your business.”

Gathering himself to his full height, Ridondo stood free of the sonic staff. “I speak the words of the Padishah Emperor, and he —”

Chani cut him off. “The former Padishah Emperor.”

Alia said, “Very well, what does Shaddam have to say?”

Pausing only a moment to recover, he said, “With respect, my… Lady… when Emperor Paul-Muad’Dib exiled the Padishah Emperor to Salusa Secundus, he promised that the world would be improved. Shaddam IV inquires when such measures will begin. We live in squalor, at the mercy of a harsh environment.”

Irulan knew that the very severity of Salusa’s landscape had been a fine catalyst for toughening the pool of men from which her father drew his Sardaukar. By softening that training ground through terraforming, Paul meant to soften the former Emperor’s potential soldiers as well. Apparently Shaddam did not see the virtues of such extreme hardships now that he, his remaining family, his retainers, and a small police force of Sardaukar had been exiled there.

“We’ve been preoccupied with our Jihad,” Alia said. “Shaddam will need to be patient. A bit of discomfort will not harm him.”

The chamberlain did not back away. “The Emperor promised us! Here are Muad’Dib’s exact words, spoken when he sentenced Shaddam Corrino to exile: ‘I will ease the harshness of the place with all the powers at my disposal. It shall become a garden world, full of gentle things.’ He does not appear to be using all the powers at his disposal. Does Paul-Muad’Dib break his word?”

Just then Korba leaped forward, sliding his crysknife from its sheath. Irulan shouted, trying to stop him, but the Fremen leader did not listen to her. Neither Alia nor Chani spoke a word as Korba slit the chamberlain’s throat before the old man could raise his sonic staff to defend himself.

The crowd blocked the female aide from escaping, and Korba stalked forward, clearly intending to dispatch her as well, but Alia stopped him. “Enough, Korba.” Alia stood from the throne and gazed down at the chamberlain’s fallen body. A widening pool of blood spilled out onto the impermeable polished stones, where it could be collected and reclaimed.

The Fedaykin commander lifted his chin. “Forgive me, Lady Alia. My enthusiasm to defend the honor of Muad’Dib knows no bounds.” He uttered a quick prayer, and some members of the audience echoed his words.

Irulan stared in horror at the dead chamberlain, then slowly turned to glare at Alia and Chani. “He came here as an ambassador, bearing a message from the former Emperor. He had diplomatic immunity and should not have been harmed!”

“This is not the old Imperium, Irulan,” Alia said, then raised her voice. “Send the aide safely back to Salusa Secundus. She can tell Shaddam and his family that Emperor Muad’Dib will send terraforming experts and machinery as soon as they become available.”

The crowd chanted, “Muad’Dib! Muad’Dib!”

With a feral gaze, obviously in a mood for more killing, Korba glanced at Irulan, but only for a moment before wiping his knife and resheathing it. Unafraid, but sickened by the bloodshed, the Princess stared at him defiantly. Given her Bene Gesserit training, he would not have had such an easy time dispatching her.

Servants hurried forward to whisk away Ridondo’s body and mop up the blood. Alia sat back on her throne. “Now, who wishes to be announced next?”

No one stepped forward.

6

I leave my footprints in history, even where I do not tread.

— The Sayings of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

The shuttle from the Heighliner set down on Kaitain. From the viewing lounge of the craft, Paul watched the hordes of victorious Fedaykin commandos presenting themselves on the landing field. He could hear the din even over the engines. In a perverse dichotomy, the screaming crowds and cheering soldiers at the spaceport only reinforced the feeling that he was alone.

On Caladan he had briefly hoped to feel like one of the common people again — as his father had always insisted a Duke should be — only to be reminded that he was irrevocably different. As it must be. He was no longer simply Paul Atreides. He was Muad’Dib, a role he had assumed so easily and perfectly