Shaddam was not in an open-minded mood. “Think about what you are saying! The core of the Noble Commonwealth’s argument is planetary rights as opposed to Imperial rights, scattered independence versus strong unification. A nobleman who is in favor of planetary rights might be an enemy of the throne.”
The aides responded with dead silence.
Kolona remained at attention, listening as the Emperor’s rant gained momentum. Though he was a loyal Sardaukar, Kolona had mixed feelings about this man. Shaddam Corrino had demonstrated the utmost cruelty in the service of maintaining his firm hand of leadership. Fifteen years ago, Shaddam had executed his own half brother in the Imperial Plaza after declaring him a traitor. He was not averse to hard decisions or extreme acts.
Yet Kolona had also seen Emperor Shaddam show surprising kindnesses. He recalled a day when Shaddam had been walking in the gardens with Princess Irulan, his favorite daughter, when they noticed a commotion at the West Gate. Several dozen people clamored at the edge of the palace grounds, begging for food. Some of the Imperial guards had begun taking the ragged people into custody, but Shaddam and Irulan intervened before the beggars could be hauled away. Irulan had charmed her father into feeding the beggars from the palace kitchens. The Emperor personally handed out food, despite the security risk.
Of course, the moment Shaddam and his daughter walked into the palace, the Sardaukar had roughly escorted the people away, then set up procedures to keep them from ever getting so close to the palace grounds again. Even so, the Emperor had made the gesture to help them … an impulsive act, perhaps, but it said something about the man’s heart, and about Irulan as well.
Despite the deep-seated loathing Kolona felt toward House Corrino for Elrood’s part in bringing down his own noble house, Jopati Kolona couldn’t help but respect this Emperor.
Similarly, despite what Paulus Atreides had done, he could not help liking Duke Leto himself.
Now Shaddam waved his hand, dismissing the scolded advisers. They bowed in near unison and backed out of the chamber. Kolona remained at attention, staring straight ahead, not moving a muscle.
Freedom of choice implies that one is willing to make a given choice. But what if every option is disastrous? Is it better to make no choice at all, or to choose and then face the consequences, whatever they may be?
—The Mentat’s Handbook, “The Paradox of Leadership”
Paul was glad to be back home in Castle Caladan after their wilderness expedition, but Thufir Hawat gave him little time to rest. Within a day, the Mentat teacher resumed his intense mental training.
Feeling confined in the castle, Paul asked Thufir if they could go into Cala City for their discussions and mental exercises. His teacher did not object. “So long as you continue your learning, the environment is irrelevant. You must not become stagnant.” His red-stained lips smoothed in a smile. “We will go to Cala City, have a fine meal in one of the restaurants, and ponder difficult matters. If we dress in plain clothes, maybe they will think you are just a boy with his uncle, having a bite to eat.”
Paul laughed. “After all the years you’ve served House Atreides, you think no one will recognize the Master of Assassins?”
“And you are well known and loved as the Duke’s son, but because these people respect House Atreides, maybe they will allow us our little fiction and give us a few hours of normalcy while you study.”
* * *
CALA CITY WAS a mixture of historic homes and newer structures. Thufir led them to an outdoor café on the waterfront, from which they could watch fishing boats out in the harbor and aircraft skimming up and down the coast to land in the open field above the city.
Paul and the old veteran sat across from each other at a small wooden table outside, facing the harbor. The café proprietor let his gaze linger on them, but did not remark on who they were. The two were served strong, bitter coffee and a large steaming bowl of frilled Caladan squid laced with stringy cliff greens.
At the end of the harbor, Paul could see the promontory of rock on which towering statues held ever-burning flames, the equivalent of a lighthouse. The titan-sized figure of bearded Paulus Atreides guarded the harbor, as prominent in his stone-and-steel form as he had been in his flamboyant days as planetary leader. The Old Duke’s hand rested paternally on the shoulder of a young boy—Victor, Leto’s first son, tragically killed in an explosion. Both statues looked out to sea.
Thufir followed Paul’s gaze to the statue of the young boy, Paul’s half-brother, whom he had never met. His expression became warm but calculating, as if he could read his ward’s mind. “You are Duke Leto’s son, too, and like Victor, you were born of a concubine, not a wife. But you are the heir to House Atreides, and your father loves you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yet you worry that the situation might change.”
Paul was unsettled by the Mentat’s incisive comments. “You taught me to think for myself, Thufir, but now you express my thoughts even before they occur to me.” He took a sip of strong coffee, winced, and swallowed. “Not so long ago, my father arranged to marry Ilesa Ecaz, and though my mother understood the political necessities, she was hurt by the idea. My father’s decision changed everything in my world. If the marriage had succeeded, any child born to Duke Atreides and Ilesa Ecaz would have become his true-blood heir. I would be a mere bastard son.”
Thufir’s brows knitted together. “The Duke would not discard you so.”
“My father is guided by the rules of politics. He did promise me and my mother that he would not marry, but now he has put me on the market for betrothal instead. I think any promises are made of paper.”
“A properly worded document on paper can be as binding as plasteel cuffs,” the Mentat said. “Your father was presented with untenable choices, and no answer was acceptable to him. As always, Leto will do his best by you, just as you will be the best son to him, whether you are the next Duke of Caladan, an important trade minister for House Atreides, or even the Emperor of the Known Universe.”
Paul forced a laugh. “That’s a wide range of possibilities.”
Thufir removed a vial of sapho juice from his pocket and gulped down the cranberry-colored, mind-enhancing liquid. “I want you to consider impossible choices, young Master. That is today’s lesson. Recall the classic example of the Bridge of Hrethgir at the end of the Butlerian Jihad—the impossible choice that formed the basis of the long-standing feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen.”
“I learned all about the Battle of Corrin,” Paul said. “The last stand against the thinking machines, where my ancestor Vorian Atreides won the day and Abulurd Harkonnen was convicted of cowardice. Humanity almost went extinct because of that man.”
“That’s a nice story.” Thufir’s eyes had a piercing intensity. “But the reality is not so simple. The Bridge of Hrethgir became a classic conundrum, a situation with no acceptable outcome, no correct choice. The planet Corrin was the last stronghold of the evermind Omnius and his fellow thinking machines, and after centuries of Jihad, it would be the final battle. Human forces led by Vorian Atreides and Abulurd Harkonnen surrounded Corrin, intending to eradicate the machine scourge no matter the cost. But Omnius had encircled the planet with metal stations filled with hundreds of thousands of innocent human hostages, all of whom would be killed if the humans attacked. Abulurd Harkonnen valued the innocent lives too much, but Vorian paid the price without counting the cost.”
Paul was troubled. “But the Harkonnens are murderers. They are evil.”
“Many of them are, young Master, but over the course of ten thousand years, perhaps some of them had hearts and souls.”
“So what really happened at the Bridge of Hrethgir?” Paul asked. “The thinking machines were obviously defeated, and Abulurd Harkonnen was banished for cowardice.”
“I will let you read your histories, Paul. Think about other impossible choices now. Before you blame your father too much for his decisions about marriage, or for putting you forward in a
possible political union, let us conduct a Mentat exercise.” His eyes had an intense sparkle. “This is not a set of esoteric facts. It is an experience. Look at me, deep into my eyes. Make it real in your mind.”
The young man followed his trainer’s instructions, as always. Thufir’s gaze fixed on him, and Paul felt the surrounding sounds fading away. Disoriented, he felt as if he were falling into those dilated pupils. The warrior Mentat continued to stare. “Imagine. Place yourself in the scenario. Believe.”
Paul believed.
“You have been captured by Harkonnens. Picture yourself in a box, a prison, close plaz walls around you, pain amplifiers strapped to your body.”
Paul knew it was just his imagination, but his surroundings grew fuzzy, and he envisioned himself in a plaz-walled chamber like a coffin. He felt the needles and barbs, the cuffs, the electrodes piercing his skin. He was trapped, confined, and about to be tortured. He thrashed, but could not escape.
“Next,” Hawat continued, “there is another chamber. Your mother and father are both there—also held prisoner, also connected to pain amplifiers. And they will not survive the torture. You know the truth of it.”
“I know it.” He saw Jessica and Leto distraught, their clothes tattered, their hair tangled. Their eyes were shadowed, their cheeks hollow. Clearly, they had been tortured already. Damned Harkonnens! Jessica pounded on the plaz wall, but sound dampeners muffled the noise. He saw her lips move. She was saying something to Duke Leto, pleading with him. He shouted commands to his son, but Paul couldn’t hear them.
Thufir’s voice jarred him again. “And a third thing you must know in your heart. The Harkonnens have found the Atreides family atomics, seized them, and planted them in Cala City and all the main cities on this planet. The warheads are linked to a single trigger. With one gesture, the Baron can detonate the warheads and annihilate three-quarters of Caladan’s population.”
“No!” Paul exclaimed.
“Now you have a choice. The Baron has granted you one favor—only one. You have three choices but you may make only a single request. You can save your parents, set them free with a simple appeal. Or you can save the population of Caladan. The Baron will surrender the nuclear triggers, and all those people will be safe—but he will surely torture your parents, and you, to death. Or third, you can save your own life. The Baron will free you. Your parents will die in agony. The people of Caladan will die. And you can only choose once.”
Paul was engulfed by the provocative experience, trapped in the scenario. In his mind, he pounded on the plaz walls, shouted to be released, but nothing happened. He saw his parents desperately trying to break free of their own prisons as the pain amplifiers increased. At the same time, he was aware of the atomics everywhere and the devastation those warheads would cause, millions of people dead if he made that choice.
“Decide!” Hawat insisted. His command lashed out like a whip. Paul jerked. “Do you save your parents? Do you save yourself? Do you free all the people of Caladan, or do you let them die in a nuclear holocaust? Do you watch the Duke and his lady writhe in agony as they are flayed before your eyes? Or do you face that death yourself?”
It was so real that Paul felt caught in the hypnotic scenario the warrior Mentat had triggered within him. “No. I won’t choose.”
“But you must. If you do not choose, then you all die.”
“No!” Paul said.
“You must choose!” Hawat shouted. The roar of his voice penetrated the illusion around him.
Paul focused his thoughts, snapped himself free, and stared out at the statues at the edge of the harbor, the flames shining from the lighthouse. As he sat at the outside table, Cala City seemed so peaceful, the blue skies scudded with fluffy clouds. “Thufir, don’t make me…”
“You see, young Master. It is a simple choice, is it not? The parameters are perfectly clear. Why not just select an option?”
“There must be another way,” Paul insisted. “I’ll think of a different idea.”
“I gave you none,” Thufir said. “There may well come a time when you are faced with such an impossible choice.”
Rattled and breathing hard, Paul gazed at the people moving along the streets, simple Caladan folk, merchants, fishermen, boatwrights. A teacher with a dozen children in tow walked along the byway toward the promontory park. Paul’s heart pounded as he let the magnitude of the experience sink into him.
I won’t choose! It was the fourth choice available to him, no decision. Giving up his parents and his own life was not a victory, even though he knew what he would choose.
“I refuse.”
“Then all will die,” Hawat said.
Frustrated, Paul refused to accept the terms. “There must be another perspective, some negotiation—”
Suddenly, his attention was riveted by a young woman strolling toward the corner. He saw her, recognized her features—dark reddish hair, large eyes, elfin face. She reminded him of the young woman in his recurring dreams, but this was not a desert, not some hot cave or canyon. Still, he watched her move, and his attention was jarred from his confusing thoughts. Startling the Mentat instructor, he lurched to his feet. He had to know who she was.
He left the table and began to hurry after her, but Thufir lunged up, seized his wrist, and pulled him back. “I did not give you leave to go.”
“But, Thufir, that’s the girl! The one I saw in my dreams. The one I sketched.”
Anger flared in the Mentat’s eyes. “I did not give you leave to go. Sit down!” His command was sharp with rebuke, and Paul reacted almost as if his mother had used the Voice on him. “Even here, my class is still in session.”
Paul looked longingly as the girl vanished around a corner. He stared after her in disappointment.
Thufir rapped his knuckles and pushed him back into the chair. “I require your undivided attention, young Master.”
Paul sighed and looked back at his teacher.
No matter how compelling the argument, an evil justification is still evil.
—DUKE PAULUS ATREIDES, private letter about the Kolona Affair
The towering lighthouse statues of his father and his first son reminded Leto of the greatest pain he had ever suffered, but the monuments also calmed and reassured him.
On the spit of rocks at one end of the main harbor, huge boulders formed a jetty, and Leto walked along the gravel path alone. On this sunny day, more than a hundred people had gathered in a wide park around the base of the colossal statues. Fishermen sat on the outer rocks and dangled lines in the water, families held picnics, and children flew colorful kites.
He looked up at the stone face of Paulus Atreides in his matador outfit. Yes, the Old Duke had always been larger than life, and this great statue made him even more so. The lighthouse fire in his hand blazed bright, flames fed through fuel tubes so the light was never extinguished.
Leto had grown up knowing his mother was stern and humorless, and he understood that the marriage between Paulus and Helena was loveless and political, but when had it become murderous? How could Lady Helena have killed her husband?
His eyes stung as he saw the flash of a reflector kite dancing across the face of the taller statue. Leto remembered when young Victor had done that, playing with reflective strips that flew in the air caught on salty updrafts. Oh, the little boy had laughed and laughed!
He paused in his step and closed his eyes as he remembered the flare of fire in the airship, the horrendous explosion that had killed Victor … and the even greater pain when he later learned who had set that tragedy in motion. How could his concubine Kailea have hated him so much?
Both Kailea and Helena had wanted the impossible, demanded something their men could not give, and they had responded with bloodthirsty personal violence.
Leto could never imagine Jessica doing such a thing. He loved her deeply, and he was sure that Jessica loved him as well, despite her Bene Gesserit training. He did not trust the Sisterhood, but he knew Jessica
better than he knew anyone else, and could not conceive that she was capable of the bitter violence Helena and Kailea had shown.
Or was he only being naïve? As Duke, he had made hard decisions and shown iron fortitude. He had faced treachery and defeated it. He knew every person close to him, his family, and his staff. He trusted them, and earned their trust in return by showing an unwavering sense of honor.
Shrieking seabirds wheeled overhead, excited by a young couple tossing bread crumbs into the air. The birds fought one another for scraps. A similar thing was happening now in the Imperium as Landsraad survivors squabbled over the holdings left vacant because of Jaxson Aru’s terrorist attack. Leto was glad to be out of that scheming nonsense.
On the smaller stone figure, Victor’s cherubic face stared out to sea with a wistful smile. The Old Duke’s face, though idealized by a sculptor, was etched with timeworn experience and hard realizations. When Leto looked in the mirror, his own face often wore a similar expression.
The weight of concern had increased since he and his companions had rushed home from the northern wilderness. They had found at least one field of barra ferns, and tomorrow, Leto would send in flyers to wipe out the growing area, a firm and clear retaliation against this Chaen Marek. Then he would dispatch survey parties throughout the wilderness, combing the rugged landscape to find other fields. Duke Leto Atreides would be thorough and unwavering.
The first responsibility of a Duke is the safety of his people.
There would be no more ailar deaths on his watch, on or off Caladan, if he could help it. He would eradicate the illegal drug operations. He doubted Lord Atikk would ever forgive him for the death of his son, but it was the right thing to do. There would be no more Caladan drug.
Dune: The Duke of Caladan Page 26