Unfettered III

by Shawn Speakman (ed)

  In his false Harkonnen uniform, Jopati faced an Atreides captain, a deeply tanned man with three ornate metal pins on his chest, apparently awards for service or commendations for valor. The captain’s uniform cap was askew from when he and his men had rushed out of the troop barracks to form this frantic defense.

  Seeing how easily the renowned Atreides fighters had been surprised, the colonel bashar realized a weakness he had not previously considered. Atreides honor was legendary and Duke Leto’s adherence to that core principle had made him a hero among the Landsraad. Leto was revered, celebrated, and even liked among the other noble houses, enough to intimidate and annoy Emperor Shaddam IV. But that unwavering devotion to honor also created a blind spot for the Atreides. Despite all their suspicions and precautions, they had not given enough credence to the possibility that one of their own could betray them so completely.

  They had a traitor in their midst, very close to the Duke.

  With his shield belt surrounding him in a comforting hum, Jopati threw himself upon the Atreides captain, his kindjal raised while his opponent defended himself with a longer sword. Their body shields sparked as they crashed into each other. The shimmering Holtzman barrier slowed or deflected any rapid thrust, forcing their desperate battle to become more of a slow dance of thrust blades carefully deflected, points dodging, slashing, stabbing.

  “Harkonnen scum!” the captain snarled.

  Jopati responded with a hard smile. “You don’t even know who you’re fighting.” He found it insulting to be considered a member of that vile house, but that was part of the plan. Even though Jopati knew he would kill this man, he could not reveal the deception. The Sardaukar had their own code of honor.

  The Atreides captain managed to slice his arm with the sword tip, surprising Jopati. He had looked forward to fighting some of the legendary protectors of House Atreides, the troubadour warrior Gurney Halleck, the Swordmaster Duncan Idaho, even the old Mentat, the Master of Assassins Thufir Hawat, but this guard captain was his opponent now. Warm blood trickled down the gray sleeve of his Harkonnen uniform, and he was angry with himself. A Sardaukar should never have been wounded by a mere unnamed captain.

  Seeing the splash of blood, tasting just a hint of victory, the Atreides man surged forward. “For the Duke!”

  Jopati brought up his kindjal to deflect the blade of his enthusiastic opponent. The body shield blocked what would have been a death blow, and Jopati countered with a much more calculated strike, gliding the kindjal tip through the other man’s shield, thrusting into his body slowly, steadily, pushing the tip between the captain’s ribs, cutting deeper, all the way into the left side of his chest.

  “For the Duke,” Jopati whispered as the man died, falling at his feet.

  Around him the other disguised Sardaukar dispatched their opponents, leaving dead Atreides soldiers strewn across the Residency grounds. The first ranks of attackers had already broken inside and were swarming through the corridors. By now, Jopati assumed that Duke Leto had been subdued and captured, his concubine and son possibly killed. The Baron would be unable to control his twisted desire for vengeance, but Jopati had his own orders from the Emperor himself, and had to intervene.

  He respected the loyalty of the Atreides troops. Few other noble families could command such devotion—Baron Harkonnen certainly didn’t! Jopati saw the reason for it himself, and even understood it. He knew from firsthand experience that Duke Leto was no ordinary political leader.

  It was not easy to turn against this nobleman.

  Jopati thought back years ago, to a time when he’d held a lower rank. . . .

  On Salusa Secundus, a violent and strictly regimented existence, Jopati Kolona had received a new uniform to go with his fresh commission as a lieutenant. Then, after further years of grooming, he received an assignment more challenging than the most dangerous survival exercises he had faced.

  He was sent to Kaitain to become one of the Emperor’s elite guard in the Imperial Palace itself.

  Though raised as a noble son on Borhees, the new lieutenant now found that he was a stranger to civilization. With their machinations and schemes, the nobles were just as predatory as the poisonous Salusan reptiles, but in a different way. Jopati wore a formal uniform, ate well, and slept in comfortable quarters, but never let his sharp edge of wariness and violence grow dull. His life, loyalty, strength, and skills were sworn in service of the Padishah Emperor, a man who had previously been only a symbol, a name that Colonel Bashar Horthan invoked while shaping the recruits.

  Emperor Shaddam IV had ascended to the throne after the death of his father, Elrood IX. Now in his later middle years, Shaddam had reddish hair held in place with delicately scented pomade, an aquiline nose, sharp intense eyes, and thin lips that never smiled. The Emperor loved to surround himself with uniformed Sardaukar and reveled in well-choreographed military parades in the great plaza. Shaddam enjoyed standing at one of his tower windows to watch the precision spectacle from a safe distance without risking interaction with his own subjects.

  Jopati had no friends among the Sardaukar, since he had learned not to allow any personal weaknesses. He served as ordered, and because his days in the palace did not involve a constant struggle to survive, he had time—too much time—to remember his murdered family, the destruction of his noble House through the schemes of Duke Paulus Atreides . . . how the guerilla fighters had hidden themselves in the hills, only to be overrun by Sardaukar wearing false Atreides uniforms. He did not understand how Duke Paulus could have been aligned with old Emperor Elrood’s wishes.

  Though Jopati did not resent what he had become—a far superior human being and an incomparable fighter—his anger toward the Atreides had festered inside him, so much that he did not grieve when he learned that Duke Paulus had been killed in a bullfight, gored to death by a maddened Salusan bull. Yet he felt cheated that he’d not had the opportunity to do it himself. . . .

  Years later, hardened into Imperial service and having successfully performed several risky missions to increase Shaddam’s power, Jopati had been on duty in the cavernous palace throne room, standing at attention, when he was shocked and disoriented by a supplicant who presented himself before the Golden Lion throne.

  Duke Leto Atreides himself.

  He was a dark-haired man with gray eyes and hawk features, not dissimilar to Shaddam’s appearance. He exuded confidence, having comfortably settled into his role after the death of Duke Paulus. Wearing a civilian suit with the Atreides crest on the jacket, he strode into the throne room in an erect soldierly posture, crossing the expanse of polished stone tiles accompanied by a young man, his bodyguard and Swordmaster, introduced as Duncan Idaho. Jopati’s fellow Sardaukar guards immediately gauged the potential threat posed by the Swordmaster, but Jopati riveted his attention on Leto.

  This was the heir to the House that had overthrown his family, that had killed the Count and Countess Kolona and all of Jopati’s brothers. This was Duke Leto Atreides, who ruled the planet Borhees as an auxiliary holding, taking the profits for his own coffers on Caladan. Jopati did not doubt that Duke Leto was just as treacherous as his father had been.

  Leto paid no attention whatsoever to the Sardaukar guards as he walked up to the throne carved out of a block of Hagal crystal. His bow before Shaddam was polite and respectful but not obsequious. “Cousin, it is good to see you again,” Leto said. “It has been awhile since I had personal business on Kaitain.”

  Jopati narrowed his eyes and felt emotions roil up, hard memories of death and vengeance. He was a loyal Sardaukar, but he was also the last surviving son of the fallen House Kolona.

  Shaddam lifted his hands in an impatient gesture, even though Leto was already rising from his bow. “I’m always happy to see you, cousin.” Jopati recognized no warmth or welcome in the Emperor’s voice. “It is a good sign that you don’t come here often, because that means your rule is smooth and without problems. I wish I could say the same of more Landsraad nobles.”


  Leto smiled. “Perhaps it is because I’m content with my Caladan fief and not desperate to increase the power and influence of House Atreides.”

  “I wish I could say the same of more Landsraad nobles,” Shaddam repeated, then coolly raised his eyebrows. “House Atreides has more holdings than just Caladan, though. You administer the planet Borhees as well. I receive my tithes from you for both worlds, at least according to my treasurer.”

  Coiled with rage, Jopati did not dare make a move now, could not draw his weapon and attack Leto Atreides before the court, though as a member of the Imperial Sardaukar he had the ability to move throughout the palace. He had allies who would follow his commands without question. He could find a way to abduct Leto, interrogate him, and kill him. Would that be sufficient to balance the scales for House Kolona? Duke Paulus was already dead, but the sudden death of Leto might settle the debt.

  The Duke’s expression grew more serious. At his side, Duncan Idaho stood stoic and alert. The Swordmaster seemed completely content, utterly loyal. Although Idaho was not to be underestimated, Jopati felt certain he could defeat him. Regardless of whether they were evenly matched, Jopati had the added leverage of vengeance and surprise. The Swordmaster didn’t know the dark stain on Atreides history.

  “Yes, Borhees is a secondary holding of House Atreides,” Leto said. “Previously, the planet was administered quite capably by House Kolona, but my father assumed control of the planetary operations.” His voice hardened. “In a manner that has always puzzled me, and now I am very disturbed by it.”

  Jopati tensed but made no move, showed no reaction. The Emperor raised his eyebrows, showing only mild interest.

  “I’ve already presented a petition to the Landsraad,” Leto continued. “It is highly unorthodox but perfectly legal, so I see no reason why it will not be approved. I came here as a courtesy to inform you.”

  Shaddam frowned, obviously more tense. “What is it you find so important?”

  “I have come to believe that our administration of Borhees is not legitimate. It always seemed peculiar that my father would have made such an atypical move on such an unusual target. House Atreides did not previously seek expansion beyond Caladan. Then why Borhees? My father only spoke of the matter rarely, and if I ever asked him about it, he seemed genuinely distressed. Once, he told me it was a stain that could not be washed away.”

  Jopati felt cold inside. His arms were straight at his sides, his hands clenched quietly and unnoticed into fists. The thought of Leto Atreides even speaking his family name seemed like a sacrilege, but the nobleman’s words gave Jopati pause. He watched the Emperor’s reaction, how he sat on his throne, puzzled and intrigued.

  “What nonsense is this? Borhees was granted to House Atreides by right of conquest when your father responded to a ruling. Evidence showed that House Kolona was prepared to go renegade after being accused of embezzling from the Imperial treasury.” Shaddam looked down at his fingers as if considering a manicure after the discussion was over. “But that was many years ago. Is Borhees not a profitable holding? Are the people troublesome and causing unrest?”

  “No, Sire, neither of those.”

  Shaddam pursed his lips, seeming to grow impatient. Jopati listened in stony silence, wanting to scream out thousands of questions.

  Leto said, “In studying my father’s records to instruct my young son Paul in leadership, I came upon some troubling documents. I suspect that the entire operation was not, in fact, instigated by Duke Paulus, and that he merely provided political cover for Emperor Elrood.” He paused to let the revelation sink in. “Many of the Kolona holdings were absorbed into the Imperial treasury, though Elrood’s name was kept entirely out of it. House Atreides received a substantial payoff for facilitating Elrood’s plans and for my father’s silence.” His hard gaze was locked upon Shaddam, who sat motionless upon the throne. Leto lowered his voice, speaking in the tone of a friend to his cousin, “I know you had no great love for your father, Sire, and although you had no knowledge of this illegal scheme to crush a member of the Landsraad, it cannot be a complete surprise.”

  Jopati felt a knot in his stomach. What was this Atreides Duke doing?

  “I came here to Kaitain to rectify the situation,” Leto said.

  Duncan Idaho glanced at his Duke, and the look on his face was one of complete satisfaction, almost bliss.

  Shaddam’s expression darkened. “Rectify? How?”

  Aloof, Leto ran his left hand through his long dark hair. “I have already petitioned the Landsraad Council, releasing details of this unconscionable plot. Any noble House could have been the victim of such a world-grabbing scheme, and they are relieved that your father’s ire didn’t fall upon them.” He straightened. “Although all known members of House Kolona are dead, the Count and Countess and their sons, there are still extended family members who can claim to be legitimate heirs. I offer to return Borhees into their care.”

  Shaddam half rose from the crystalline throne. “Why would you do that? It paints a shadow across my reign!”

  “Not yours, Sire—your father’s, and he is long gone. I know that you, dear cousin, would wish to do the moral thing, the just thing. The Landsraad members applauded my decision, and I believe they are voting now. We can expect the results soon.”

  Duncan Idaho’s firm lips began to quirk in a small smile. Jopati couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Into Shaddam’s stunned silence, Leto continued, “My father hammered into me the idea that honor is the most important thing in any man’s heart and mind. I don’t know why he was forced to accept the blame and the credit for what he did to House Kolona, but I intend to provide a righteous example for my own son. This is the honorable thing to do. If the Atreides cannot follow the course of honor, then my House is like a Guild ship without a Navigator.”

  The Emperor could do nothing to stop Leto’s plan, because it was already in motion, already publicly announced. If he interfered with the Landsraad vote, Shaddam would look corrupt as well as complicit in what Elrood had done. A masterstroke, Jopati thought, and it would greatly increase Leto’s standing among the Landsraad. They would love him for what he had done.

  Failing to find a counterargument, the Emperor abruptly dismissed Leto, who bowed again and withdrew with his faithful Swordmaster.

  Unable to believe or process the startling information he had just heard, Jopati Kolona watched the two Atreides men depart. He felt off-balance, and wondered about the true motivations of Emperor Elrood IX. Previously he had blamed Paulus Atreides for the entire affair, but what if the late Atreides Duke was merely camouflage, coerced into cooperating?

  And Leto . . . the young Duke might have kept his silence. In stepping forward, he had everything to lose and nothing to gain.

  Except honor.

  Jopati decided he might have to reconsider. Perhaps he liked this Duke after all.

  That had been years ago.

  Now, following orders, the colonel bashar dispatched his troops throughout the Residency of Duke Leto. The fighting continued, and many of his men—Sardaukar!—had been killed in hand-to-hand combat. How could that be possible?

  The Atreides were indeed fierce and determined opponents, valiant foes. Thufir Hawat ran the household troops with an iron fist, and against any normal attack by mere Harkonnen troops, they would likely have been victorious. But not against Sardaukar.

  By now the Baron Harkonnen’s own ship had landed nearby, which he used as his base of operations on Arrakis. As soon as Colonel Bashar Kolona locked down the Residency, he would report to the Baron and insist that he follow the Emperor’s orders about the manner of Leto’s death. Jopati had conflicting reports about whether Duke Leto had already been captured or killed in the fighting.

  In the courtyard of the Residency, soldiers dragged bodies in Atreides uniforms into lines on the brick pavement, while the fighting continued around the perimeter. Jopati had personally killed twelve during the assault.
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  Fires burned through the night. Military aircraft cruised across the skies through a maze of smoke columns. Booming rumbles echoed from the fringe of the city where heavy artillery, archaic weaponry deployed by the Harkonnens, pummeled hideout cliffs in the Shield Wall. No one expected such retrograde technology in this day and age, and they were not prepared for it. The Atreides troops who had fallen back to the shelter of the cliffs were being pounded. The dull, booming sounds were like the persistent drumbeat of a funeral procession.

  The uniformed troops ransacking the Residency and destroying anything that bore the Atreides hawk crest were real Harkonnen soldiers. Jopati didn’t care about them. His Sardaukar troops followed their orders exquisitely, and so did he. He felt unsettled, since the events of this evening reminded him so much of the downfall of House Kolona. The turnabout seemed appropriate and poignant, the perfect way to balance the scales of justice . . . if such scales still needed to be balanced. But Duke Leto Atreides had already settled that score without being coerced, because it was the right and moral thing to do.

  Jopati was a Sardaukar officer, but he had no name that anyone remembered or noted. It was not possible for him to rise up, reveal himself and claim the Kolona holdings on Borhees. That possibility had long ago been erased, but he did not yearn for it. He was content with knowing that his relatives had their rightful holdings back. He was a Sardaukar now, so nothing else mattered. He followed the orders of the Padishah Emperor, but he had his own code of honor, a personal matter guiding his actions.

  At the far side of the Residency, in the open landing field with guard towers and a small hangar, shouts erupted along with the clang of metal. He saw a furious fight, a lone man in an Atreides uniform against three true Harkonnen troops and two disguised Sardaukar—and the man was holding his own! Jopati jogged forward, saw his other Sardaukar watching the combat with detached interest. They stood with weapons that ranged from heavy launchers to small hand knives. They did not doubt this one man would be defeated, but they marveled at his bravery and fighting finesse. His skill was honed even sharper through desperation.