Margot narrowed her eyes skeptically. “This Leto is exceptionally strong. With his character, he’ll fight on, no matter what.”
Kitebirds flew overhead, their songs like broken crystal. Anirul looked up into the cloudless sky and watched them. “And what if a vengeful Tleilaxu assassinates him, even if the Emperor pardons him? What if a Harkonnen sees an opportunity to create an ‘accident’? Leto Atreides can ill afford to lose the protection of his noble status. We need to keep him alive, and preferably in his position of power.”
“I see your point, Anirul.”
“This young Duke must be protected at all costs— and to begin, we must protect the status of his Great House. He cannot lose this trial.”
“Hm-m-m, there may be a way,” Margot said with a tight-lipped smile. She spoke in a low, musing tone. “Hasimir might even admire my idea, if he learns of it, despite his instinctive opposition. Of course we don’t dare breathe a word of it to him, or to Shaddam. But it will throw all the players into complete confusion.”
Anirul waited in silence, but her eyes burned with bright curiosity. Margot moved closer to her Bene Gesserit companion. “Our suspicion of . . . the Tleilaxu connection. We can use that for a convoluted bluff within a bluff. But can we do it without harming Shaddam or House Corrino?”
Anirul stiffened. “My future husband— and even the Golden Lion Throne itself— are secondary to our breeding program.”
“Of course you’re right.” Margot nodded in resignation, as if shocked at her own gaffe. “But how should we proceed?”
“We begin with a message to Leto.”
Truth is a chameleon.
—Zensunni Aphorism
On the second morning of Leto’s confinement in Landsraad Prison on Kaitain, an official arrived with important documents for him to sign— the official demand for a Trial by Forfeiture, and Leto’s formal surrender of all property held by House Atreides. It was the moment of truth for him, the point at which he had to certify the dangerous course of action he had demanded.
Though undeniably a prison, the cell had two rooms, a comfortable sling couch, a desk made of polished Ecaz jacaranda, a filmbook reader, and other fine appointments. These so-called courtesies had been granted to him because of his status in the Landsraad. No leader of a Great House would ever be treated as a common criminal— at least, not until he either lost everything through due process, or went renegade like House Vernius. Leto knew he might never again be surrounded by such elegant trappings, unless he could prove his innocence.
His cell was warm, the food sufficient and palatable, the bed comfortable— though he had hardly slept at all while preparing for his ordeal. He had little hope of a swift and simple resolution to this matter. The Courier could only be bringing more problems.
The official, a Landsraad courtech with security clearance, wore a brown-and-teal Landsraad uniform with silver epaulets. He referred to Leto as “Monsieur Atreides,” without the customary ducal title, as if the forfeiture documents had already been processed.
Leto chose not to make a point of this faux pas, though officially he remained a Duke until the papers were signed and the sentence thumbprint-sealed by the magistrates of the court. In all the centuries of the Imperium, Trial by Forfeiture had been invoked previously only three times; in two of those cases, the defendant had lost, and the accused Houses were ruined.
Leto hoped to beat those odds. He could not allow House Atreides to crumble to dust less than a year after his father’s death. That would earn him a permanent place in the Landsraad annals as the most incompetent House leader in recorded history.
Wearing his black-and-red Atreides uniform, Leto took a seat at a blueplaz table. Thufir Hawat, acting as Mentat-advisor, lowered himself ponderously into a chair beside his Duke. Together, they examined the sheaf of legal documents. Like most formal matters of the Imperium, the evidence forms and trial documents were inscribed on microthin sheets of ridulian-crystal paper, permanent records that could last for thousands of years.
At their touch, each sheet illuminated so that Leto and Hawat could study the fine text. The old Mentat used his skills to imprint each page onto his memory; he would absorb and comprehend it all in greater detail later. The documents spelled out precisely what was to occur during the preparations and the actual trial. Each page bore the identification marks of various officers of the court, including Leto’s own attorneys.
As part of the unorthodox procedure, the crew of the Atreides frigate had been released and permitted to return to Caladan, though many loyal followers remained on Kaitain to offer their silent support. Any individual or collective culpability had been shouldered entirely by the commander, Duke Atreides. In addition, the guaranteed sanctuary of the Vernius children would continue, regardless of the status of the House. Even with the worst possible outcome of the trial, Leto could take comfort in that small victory. His friends would remain safe.
Under the forfeiture provision— which even his estranged mother could not countermand from her retreat with the Sisters in Isolation— Duke Leto surrendered all of his family assets (including the House atomics and stewardship of the planet Caladan itself) to the general supervision of the Landsraad Council, while he prepared for a trial before his peers.
A trial that might be rigged against him.
Win or lose, though, Leto knew he had averted a major war and saved billions of lives. His action had been the right one, regardless of the consequences to himself. Old Duke Paulus himself would have made no other choice, given the alternatives.
“Yes, Thufir, this is all correct,” Leto said, turning the last page of shimmering ridulian crystal. He removed his ducal signet ring, snipped the red armorial hawk from his uniform, and handed the items over to the courtech. He felt as if he had just cut away pieces of himself.
If he lost this desperate gambit, the holdings on Caladan would become the prize in a Landsraad free-for-all, the citizens on the watery world no more than helpless bystanders. He had been stripped, his future and fortune placed in limbo. Perhaps they’ll give Caladan to the Harkonnens, Leto thought in despair, just to spite us.
The courtech handed him a magnapen. Leto pressed his forefinger against the soft side of the tiny inking device and signed the crystal documents in a wide, flowing script. He felt a faint crackle of static electricity on the top sheet, or perhaps that was just his own anxiety. The courtech added his own ID print to witness the papers. With obvious reluctance, Hawat did the same.
As the courtech departed in a swirl of brown-and-teal livery, Leto announced across the table, “I am a commoner now, without title or fief.”
“Only until our victory,” Hawat said. With the faintest tremor in his voice, he added, “Regardless of the outcome, you will always be my Honored Duke.”
The Mentat paced the length of the cell like a captive marsh panther. He paused with his back to a tiny window that looked out on the immense flat black plain of an outbuilding to the Imperial Palace. The morning sun flowing from behind him cast Hawat’s face in shadow.
“I have studied the official evidence, the data taken by scanners in the Heighliner hold, and eyewitness accounts. I agree with your attorneys that it looks very bad for you, m’Lord. We must begin with the assumption that you did not instigate this act in any way and extrapolate from there.”
Leto sighed. “Thufir, if you don’t believe me, we have no chance whatsoever in the Landsraad court.”
“I take your innocence as fact. Now, there are several possibilities, which I will list in the order of least likelihood. First, though it is a remote possibility, the destruction of the Tleilaxu ship may have been an accident.”
“We need something better than that, Thufir. No one will believe it.”
“More likely, the Tleilaxu blew up their own ship simply to incriminate you. We know the small value they place on life. The passengers and crew on the destroyed craft may have only been gholas, and thus expendable. They can always grow more duplicat
es in their axlotl tanks.”
Hawat tapped his fingers together. “Unfortunately, the problem is lack of motive. Would the Tleilaxu concoct such a complex and outrageous scheme merely to get petty revenge against you for harboring the children of House Vernius? What would they gain by this?”
“Remember, Thufir, I did declare my clear enmity against them in the Landsraad Hall. They see me as an enemy as well.”
“I still don’t think that is sufficient provocation, my Duke. No, this is something bigger, something for which the perpetrator was willing to risk all-out war.” He paused, then added, “I am unable to determine what the Bene Tleilax could possibly gain by the embarrassment or destruction of House Atreides. You are a peripheral enemy to them, at best.”
Leto wrestled with the conundrum himself, but if even the Mentat could not find a chain of associations, then a mere Duke wouldn’t be able to follow such subtle threads. “All right, what’s another possibility?”
“Perhaps . . . Ixian sabotage. The result of an Ixian renegade who sought to strike back against the Tleilaxu. A misguided attempt to assist the exiled Dominic Vernius. It’s also possible that Dominic himself was involved, though there have been no sightings of him since he went renegade.”
Leto digested this information, but the practical question nagged him. “Sabotage? By what means?”
“Difficult to say. The gutting of the Tleilaxu ship’s interior suggests a multiphase projectile. Chemical residue analysis also confirms this.”
Leto leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. “But how? Who could have fired such a projectile? Let’s not forget that witnesses claim to have seen shots launched from the direction of our frigate. The Heighliner hold was empty in the vicinity. You and I were both watching. Ours was the only ship close enough.”
“The few answers I can suggest are extremely unlikely, my Duke. A small attack craft could have fired such a projectile, but it is not possible to hide such a vessel. We saw nothing. Even an individual suited up with breathing apparatus would have been noticed in the cargo hold, so that rules out shoulder-launched missiles. Besides which, no one is allowed outside the ships during foldspace transit.”
“I’m no Mentat, Thufir . . . but I smell Harkonnens in this,” Leto mused as he ran his finger in circles on the slick, cold surface of the blueplaz table. He had to think, had to be strong.
Hawat gave him a concise analysis. “When a foul deed occurs, three principal trails invariably lead to the responsible party: money, power, or revenge. This incident was a setup, designed to destroy House Atreides— possibly linked to the scheme that killed your father.”
Leto heaved an enormous sigh. “Our family had a few quiet years under Dmitri Harkonnen and his son Abulurd, when the Harkonnens seemed to let us live in peace. Now I’m afraid the old feud has resurfaced. From what I hear, the Baron revels in it.”
The Mentat smiled grimly. “Exactly what I was considering, m’Lord. I am absolutely baffled as to how they might have accomplished such an ambush with so many other ships watching. Proving such a conjecture in Landsraad court will be even more difficult.”
A guard appeared at the force-barred cell and entered, carrying a small parcel. Without uttering a word or even looking Leto in the eyes, he placed the package on the slick table and departed.
Hawat ran a scanner over the suspicious parcel. “Message cube,” he said. Gesturing for Leto to stand back, the Mentat removed the wrapping to reveal a dark object. He found no markings, no indication of the sender, yet it seemed to be important.
Leto held up the cube, and it glowed after recognizing his thumbprint. Words flowed across its face in synchronization with his eye movements, two sentences that spoke volumes of provocative information.
“Crown Prince Shaddam, like his father before him, maintains a secret and illegal alliance with the Bene Tleilax. This information may prove valuable to your defense— if you dare use it.”
“Thufir! Look at this.” But the words dissolved before he could shift the face of the cube toward the Mentat. Then the message cube itself crumbled to brittle debris in his palm. He had no idea who could have sent such a bombshell to him. Is it possible that I have secret allies on Kaitain?
Suddenly uneasy, even paranoid, Leto switched to Atreides hand signals, the secret language Duke Paulus had taught close members of his household. The young man’s hawklike face darkened as he recounted what he had read and asked who could have sent it.
The Mentat considered for just a moment, then answered with his own flickering hand gestures: “The Tleilaxu are not known for their military prowess, but this connection might explain how they could so easily crush the Ixians and their defensive technology. Sardaukar might secretly maintain control over the downtrodden populace underground.” Thufir finished: “Shaddam is mixed up in this somehow, and doesn’t want that fact revealed.”
Leto’s fingers flashed in inquiry: “But what does that have to do with the attack inside the Heighliner? I don’t see a connection.”
Hawat pursed his stained lips and spoke aloud in a husky whisper. “Maybe there isn’t one. But it might not matter, so long as we can use the information in our darkest hour. I propose a bluff, my Duke. A spectacular, desperate bluff.”
In a Trial by Forfeiture, the normal rules of evidence do not apply. There are no disclosure requirements that evidence be revealed to the opposition or to the magistrates prior to the court proceedings. This places the person with secret knowledge in a uniquely powerful position— commensurate with the extreme risk he takes.
—Rogan’s Rules of Evidence, 3rd Edition
As Crown Prince Shaddam read the unexpected message cube from Leto Atreides, a wave of crimson rage tinted his face.
“Sire, my defense documentation includes a full disclosure of your relationship with the Tleilaxu.”
“Impossible! How could he know?” Shouting an obscenity, Shaddam smashed the cube against the wall, chipping the indigo-veined marble. Fenring scuttled forward to pick up the pieces, anxious to preserve the evidence and read the message for himself. Shaddam glared at his advisor, as if this were somehow Fenring’s fault.
It was early evening, and the two of them had left the Palace to go to Fenring’s private penthouse for a few moments of peace. Now Shaddam paced the perimeter of the spacious room, with furtive Fenring following the other like a shadow. Shaddam, though not yet formally crowned, settled onto a massive balcony chair as if it were a throne. With royal reserve, the Crown Prince eyed his friend. “So, Hasimir, how do you suppose my cousin learned about the Tleilaxu? What evidence does he have?”
“Hm-m-m-m, he may simply be bluffing. . . .”
“Such a guess can’t be pure coincidence. We don’t dare call his bluff— if it is one. We can’t risk letting the truth come out in Landsraad court.” Shaddam groaned. “I don’t approve of this Trial by Forfeiture business at all. Never did. It shifts responsibility for the allocation of a Great House’s assets away from the Imperial throne, away from me. I think it’s very bad form.”
“But there’s nothing you can do about it, Sire. It’s an established law, dating back to Butlerian times when House Corrino was appointed to rule the civilizations of mankind. Take heart that in the thousands of years since, this is only the fourth time forfeiture has ever been invoked, mm-m-m-m? It seems the all-or-nothing gambit is not very popular.”
Shaddam continued to scowl, looking across the evening skies at the prismatic domes of the faraway Palace, his gaze distant. “But how could he possibly know? Who talked? What did we miss? This is a disaster!”
Fenring stopped at the edge of the balcony, looking out at the stars with his close-set, glittering eyes. He dropped his voice to an ominous whisper. “Maybe I should pay Leto Atreides a little visit in his cell, hm-m-m-m-ah? To find out exactly what he knows and how he learned of it. It’s the most obvious solution to our little dilemma.”
Shaddam slouched low in the balcony chair, but it felt too hard against his ba
ck. “The Duke won’t tell you anything. He’s got too much to lose. He may be grasping at straws, but I’ve no doubt he’ll carry out his threat.”
The huge eyes darkened. “When I ask questions, Shaddam, I get answers.” Fenring clenched his fists. “You should know that by now, after all I’ve done for you.”
“That Mentat Thufir Hawat won’t leave Leto’s side, and he is a formidable adversary. He’s called the Master of Assassins.”
“My talent, too, Shaddam. We can find a way to separate them. You command it, and I shall see that it is done.” He revealed eagerness at the prospect of killing, with his pleasure heightened by the challenge at hand. Fenring’s eyes shone, but Shaddam cut him off.
“If he’s as smart as he seems, Hasimir, he’ll have established many guarantees for himself. Ah, yes. The moment Leto suspects a threat, he could announce whatever he knows— and there’s no telling what sort of insurance he’s set up for himself, especially if this has been his plan all along.”
. . . full disclosure of your relationship with the Tleilaxu . . .
A cool breeze drifted across the balcony, but he did not go back inside. “If word of our . . . project . . . comes out, the Great Houses could block me from the throne and a Landsraad attack force would be dispatched against Ix.”
“They’ve named it Xuttah now, Sire,” Fenring muttered.
“Whatever they call it.”
The Crown Prince ran a hand through his pomaded reddish hair. The Atreides prisoner’s single line of text had shaken him more than the overthrow of a hundred worlds. He wondered how much this would have disturbed old Elrood. More than the huge revolt in the Ecaz sector early in his reign?
Watch, and learn.
Oh, shut up, you old vulture!
Dune: House Atreides Page 57