Shaddam clasped his long-fingered hands together. Fenring flushed and leaned forward, his dark eyes widening with interest. The Crown Prince sighed in resignation. “The Tleilaxu sent two assassins to kill Leto Atreides in his protected cell.”
Fenring’s heart leaped, wondering if this was good news or bad. “And did they succeed?”
“No, no. Our young Duke somehow managed to smuggle a weapon in and protected himself. But this causes me great concern.”
Fenring hunkered down, astonished at the news. “That’s impossible. I thought you’d already spoken to our Tleilaxu contact and told him in no uncertain terms—”
“I did,” Shaddam snapped. “But apparently you aren’t the only one who no longer listens to my commands. Either Ajidica ignored my instructions, or he has no power to control his own people.”
Fenring growled, happy to divert the Crown Prince’s anger. “We need to strike back in a similar manner: Let Hidar Fen Ajidica know that he must heed all orders from his Emperor, or the price will grow much higher.”
Shaddam looked at him, but his eyes were weary now and no longer as warm or open as they had once been. “You know exactly what to do, Hasimir.”
Fenring seized the chance to restore himself to the Crown Prince’s good graces. “I always do, Sire.” He scuttled away across the long reception hall.
Shaddam paced the polished floor in front of the crystalline throne, trying to calm himself and put his thoughts in order. Just as Fenring reached the archway, he called out, “This isn’t over between us, Hasimir. Things must change once I am crowned.”
“Yes, Sire. You must . . . hm-m-m-m, do as you see fit.” Bowing deeply, Fenring backed out of the audience chamber, relieved to depart with his life.
When faced with necessary actions, there are always choices. So long as the job gets done.
—COUNT HASIMIR FENRING,
Dispatches from Arrakis
The Tleilaxu pilot who had survived the Atreides attack inside the Heighliner was a material witness at the trial, and thus had been forced to remain on Kaitain. He wasn’t a prisoner, and his needs were taken care of, though no one sought out his company. The Bene Tleilax hadn’t even made his name commonly known. He wanted to be back on his ship, back at work.
However, because of the huge influx of guests arriving for Shaddam’s upcoming coronation ceremony and the Imperial wedding, accommodations were difficult to find. Shaddam’s protocol ministers had taken great pleasure in finding only an austere and unpleasant room for the man.
Much to the protocol ministers’ annoyance, the Tleilaxu pilot didn’t seem to mind. He said nothing in complaint while he waited, and sulked and stewed until he could bring the foul criminal Leto Atreides to justice. . . .
Kaitain nights were perfect, clear and full of stars and moons. Through shimmering curtains of auroras, complete darkness never fell. Even so, most of the capital city slept during certain hours.
Hasimir Fenring easily crept into the sealed room that held the Tleilaxu man. He moved stealthily, like a shadow on a suspensorlift, and made no sound, used no illumination. He was accustomed to the night; it was his friend.
Fenring had never seen a Tleilaxu asleep before— but as he stepped closer to the bed, he found the pilot already sitting up, totally awake. The gray-skinned man stared at him through the darkness as if he could see better even than Shaddam’s henchman.
“I have a fléchette pistol trained directly at your body core,” the Tleilaxu said. “Who are you? Have you come to kill me?”
“Hm-m-m-m-ah, no.” Fenring recovered quickly and used his sweetest, silkiest voice to introduce himself. “I am Hasimir Fenring, boon companion to Crown Prince Shaddam, bearing a message and a request.”
“What is it?” the pilot said.
“Crown Prince Shaddam beseeches you to reconsider the details of your testimony, hm-m-m-m? He desires peace among the Houses of the Landsraad, and does not wish for such a shadow to fall upon House Atreides, whose members have served the Padishah Emperors since the time of the Great Revolt.”
“Nonsense,” the Tleilaxu snapped. “Leto Atreides fired upon our sovereign ships, destroying one, damaging mine. Hundreds are dead. He has created the largest political firestorm in recent decades.”
“Yes, yes!” Fenring said. “And you can prevent it from escalating further, hmmm? Shaddam wishes to begin his reign with quiet and prosperity. Can you not consider the larger picture?”
“I think only of my people,” the pilot said, “and how we have been wronged by one man. Everyone knows the Atreides is guilty, and he must pay the price. Only then will we be satisfied.” He smiled with thin lips. The fléchette pistol in his hand did not move a millimeter. Fenring could see how this man could have risen to the rank of pilot; he clearly had the stomach to command ships. “After that happens, Shaddam may have as quiet a reign as he chooses.”
“You make me sad,” Fenring said, sounding disappointed. “I will take your answer back to the Crown Prince.” He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed in farewell, extending his palms forward. The motion triggered two needle guns mounted to his wrists. In silence, they fired deadly paralytic darts into the pilot’s throat.
The Tleilaxu clenched in a spasm, reflexively firing the fléchette pistol. Fenring easily ducked out of the way. The long spikes hammered into the wall and hung there quivering. A second later, an occupant in the adjacent room pounded on the wall for quiet.
Still in darkness, Fenring studied his work. The evidence was all here, and the Bene Tleilax would understand what had happened. After the outrageous assassination attempt on Leto Atreides— despite Shaddam’s specific orders for them to drop the matter— Hidar Fen Ajidica had much to atone for.
The Tleilaxu prided themselves on their ability to keep secrets. No doubt they would discreetly remove the pilot’s name from the witness list and not mention him again. Without his testimony, their case would be weaker.
Fenring hoped, though, that this murder wouldn’t make the little men even more vengeful. How would Hidar Fen Ajidica respond?
Departing from the locked room, Fenring slid through the shadows. He left the body, just in case the Bene Tleilax wanted to resurrect him as a ghola. After all, despite the little man’s failings, he might have been a good pilot.
In plotting any course of revenge, one must savor the anticipation phase and all its moments, for the actual execution often differs widely from the original plan.
—HASIMIR FENRING,
Dispatches from Arrakis
The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen couldn’t have been more delighted at the way events were turning out. He might have taken deeper pleasure if the rest of the Imperium could appreciate the delicious complexities of what he had done— but of course he could never reveal those.
As an important House, as well as the current stewards of spice production on Arrakis, the Harkonnens received fine accommodations in a distant wing of the Imperial Palace. Tickets for reserved seats at the coronation and the wedding had already been delivered to their quarters.
And, of course, before all the pomp and ceremony, it would be the Baron’s sad duty to watch the terrible trial of Leto Atreides. He tapped his fingers against his leg and pursed his generous lips. Ah, the burdens of nobility.
He lounged in a plush indigo chair, cradling a crystal sphere in his lap. From the depths of the transparent ball shone holo-images of fireworks displays and light shows, previews for the spectacle that would shower Kaitain in a few days’ time. In a corner of the room a musical fireplace whispered quiet notes, making him yawn. Lately, he felt tired so often, his body weak and shaky.
“I want you to leave the planet,” the Baron told Glossu Rabban without looking up from the crystal sphere. “I don’t want you here during the trial or the coronation.”
The broad-shouldered, thick-lipped man bristled. His brown hair had been hacked short, without finesse, for the public appearance, and he wore a padded dra-leather vest that made h
im look even more like a barrel than usual. “Why? I did everything you asked, and our plans turned out beautifully. Why send me away now?”
“Because I don’t want you here,” the Baron said, running a hand along his widow’s peak to smooth down his thick hair. “I can’t have anyone taking a look at you and thinking you might have had something to do with poor, dear Leto’s plight. You have that . . . gloating manner about you.”
The Baron’s nephew frowned and drew a deep breath, still defiant. “But I want to be there so I can look in his eyes when he receives his sentence.”
“That is exactly why you must be gone. Can’t you understand? You’ll give something away.”
With a deep breath and a grunt, Rabban finally backed down. “May I come to the execution at least?” He sounded dangerously close to pouting.
“It depends on the timing.” The Baron stared at his ring-studded fingers and tinkled their metal against the smooth surface of the sphere in his lap in his habitual rhythm. “At the very least I’ll make sure the event is recorded for your enjoyment.”
The Baron got out of his chair with an effort and cinched the sash around his tighter-than-usual lounge robe. With a sigh he circled the elaborate room on bare feet, saw the ornate bathtub with its complicated temperature and massage controls. Since his body continued to be plagued by mysterious pains, he decided to take a long and luxurious bath— if he could find someone to serve him properly here on Kaitain.
Rabban, still displeased, stood on the threshold of the Baron’s opulent guest quarters. “What shall I do, then, Uncle?”
“Take a lighter and board the first available Heighliner. I want you to go to Arrakis and watch over the spice production there. Keep adding to our profits.” The Baron smiled at him, then waggled his fingers to shoo the nephew away. “Oh, don’t look so gloomy. Go hunt a few more Fremen if you like, just to amuse yourself. You’ve already done your part in this plot, and done it well.” He made his voice sound soothing. “But we have to be very careful. Especially now. Just pay attention to what I do and try to learn from it.”
Grabbing something to eat from a sampling tray that hovered by the archway, Rabban departed. Alone at last, the Baron began to contemplate how best to find a young, soft-skinned boy to tend him in his bath. He wanted to be completely relaxed and prepared for the following day.
Tomorrow, he would have nothing to do but observe and enjoy the event as young Leto Atreides found himself caught in more traps than he could begin to understand.
Soon there would be no more House Atreides at all.
What matters more, the form of justice or the actual outcome? No matter how a court may dissect the evidence, the foundation of genuine truth remains unblemished. Unfortunately for many of the accused, such genuine truth is often known only to the victim and the perpetrator. All others must make up their own minds.
—Landsraad Law, codicils and analyses
On the morning of the trial in Landsraad court, Leto Atreides chose his wardrobe carefully. Others in the same situation might have worn their most expensive finery, the grandeur of merh-silk shirts, pendants and earrings, along with whale-fur-lined capes, and stylish caps adorned with feathers and baubles.
Instead, Leto dressed in plain dungarees and a blue-and-white-striped shirt with a navy blue fisherman’s cap— the simple garb he would have to wear if he could no longer be a Duke. In a sash at his waist he carried a pouch of fishing lures and an empty sheath for a knife. He wore no Atreides insignia and no ducal signet ring. An ordinary commoner— which was all he would be if found guilty— Leto showed the Landsraad by his humble demeanor that he would survive, somehow. Even simple things would be enough for him.
Following his father’s example, he had always tried to treat his loyal men well, to such an extreme that many of the servants and soldiers considered Leto one of their number, a comrade-in-arms. Now, as he groomed himself for trial, he began to think of himself as a plain man . . . and discovered that the feeling wasn’t so bad. It made him realize the tremendous burden of responsibility he had shouldered since the death of the Old Duke.
Being a poor fisherman might actually be a relief, in certain ways. He wouldn’t have to worry about plots, shifting alliances, and betrayals in the Imperium. Unfortunately, though, Kailea would never want to be a fisherman’s wife.
And I cannot let my people down.
In a curt letter from Caladan, his mother had expressed her complete disagreement with his demand for a Trial by Forfeiture. To her, the loss of stature associated with the destruction of House Atreides would be a huge blow, even though she now (temporarily, in her mind) lived an austere life among the Sisters in Isolation.
With the decline of House Richese, Helena had married into House Atreides as a way to stabilize her family’s waning fortunes, after Emperor Elrood had withdrawn their quasi-fief of Arrakis and turned it over to the Harkonnens.
As for Helena’s dowry, House Atreides had received political power, a CHOAM directorship, Landsraad voting privileges. But Duke Paulus had never brought his wife the fabulous riches she had wanted, and Leto knew she must harbor hopes of returning to the former glories of her family. All of that would be forever impossible if he lost this gambit.
After receiving the early-morning summons, Leto met his legal team in the corridor outside his cell: two brilliant Elaccan lawyers, Clere Ruitt and Bruda Viol— women renowned for their criminal-defense work. They had been offered by the Ixian Ambassador-in-exile, Cammar Pilru, and thoroughly interviewed by Thufir Hawat.
The attorneys wore dark business suits and would follow the legal forms, though in this unusual trial Leto knew it would be primarily up to him and his own personality. He certainly had no hard evidence in his favor.
Clere Ruitt handed him a thin sheet of ridulian crystal that contained a brief legal pronouncement. “I am sorry, Lord Leto. This came to us only moments ago.”
Already feeling dread, Leto scanned the words. Beside him, Hawat’s shoulders sagged, as if he had guessed the document’s contents. Rhombur pressed close, trying to read the etchings on the crystal. “What is it, Leto? Let me see.”
“The tribunal of magistrates has ruled that no Bene Gesserit Truthsayers may speak on my behalf. Such testimony will not even be introduced.”
Rhombur sputtered in indignation. “Vermilion hells! But everything is admissible in a Trial by Forfeiture! They can’t make such a ruling.”
The other Elaccan attorney shook her head, and her expression remained bland. “They have taken the position that the weight of all other Imperial Law argues against it. Numerous rules and statutes explicitly forbid Truthsayer testimony. The requirements of evidence may be loosened in a forfeiture proceeding such as this, but the magistrates have determined that even loose rules must not go too far.”
“So . . . no Truthsayers.” Rhombur scowled, fully sullen now. “That was the best thing we had going for us.”
Leto held his head high. “Then we’ll just have to do this on our own.” He looked at his friend. “Come now, I’m not usually the one to shore up your optimism.”
“On a brighter note,” Bruda Viol said, “the Tleilaxu have removed the pilot of their attacked frigate from the witness list. They provided no explanation.”
Leto heaved a long sigh of relief, but Hawat cautioned him, “We will still hear plenty of damning testimony, my Duke.”
Silently, he accompanied his advisors into the crowded Landsraad courtroom. At the head of a long aisle he took a seat between them at the defense table below a towering bench for the magistrates who would hear the case. Ruitt whispered in his ear, but he didn’t focus on her words. Instead he closely studied the names of the assigned magistrates: seven Dukes, Barons, Earls, Counts, and Lords randomly chosen from among the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad.
These men would decide his fate.
Since the Tleilaxu belonged to no royal House and had been spurned for membership even after their takeover of Ix, they were no
t represented in the Landsraad. In the days preceding the trial, outraged Bene Tleilax dignitaries had shouted in the Palace courtyards, demanding justice— but after the Tleilaxu attempt on Leto’s life, Sardaukar guards had kept them silent.
Now, with a rustle of robes and formal uniforms, the chosen magistrates filed solemnly into the courtroom. They took seats at the curved stonewood bench that loomed over the defense table. The colorful banners and crests of their Houses hung behind each chair.
Having been coached by his attorneys and Thufir Hawat, Leto recognized all of them. Two of the magistrates, Baron Terkillian Sor of IV Anbus and Lord Bain O’Garee of Hagal, had been strong economic trading partners with House Atreides. One, the black-haired Duke Prad Vidal of Ecaz, was an avowed enemy of the Old Duke, an ally of the Harkonnens. Another, Count Anton Miche, was reputed to be susceptible to bribery, making him easily adaptable to the needs of the Harkonnens, since neither Rhombur nor the loyal Mentat had gotten to him first.
Two to two, he thought. The other three magistrates could go either way. But he detected the rank odor of betrayal in the air; he saw it in the cold expressions of the judging panel, the way they avoided making eye contact with him. Have they already decided my guilt?
“We have more bad news . . . Duke Leto.” Bruda Viol hesitated before using his former title. Her face was squarish and stern, but oddly passionless, as if she’d seen so much injustice and manipulation that nothing bothered her anymore. “We’ve only just discovered that one of the three undecided magistrates, Rincon of House Fazeel, lost an immense fortune to Ix in a secret trade war. It had to do with ring-asteroid mining in the Klytemn system. Five years ago, Rincon’s advisors barely kept him from declaring a blood feud against Dominic Vernius.”
The other attorney nodded and lowered her voice. “We have heard a rumor, Monsieur Atreides, that Rincon sees your personal downfall as his only chance to get even with Ix, now that House Vernius has gone renegade.”
Dune: House Atreides Page 60