Immersed in the smoke and stench of the catastrophe, bands of Sardaukar loaded the gunships with contraband spice. Like swollen bumblebees, the ‘thopters lumbered into the skies toward waiting transport ships. The Emperor would deliver the confiscated melange as a reward to CHOAM and the Spacing Guild. With self-righteous confidence, he would declare this the opening salvo of his “Great Spice War.”
The Supreme Bashar anticipated exciting times ahead.
Operating on a tight timetable, Garon ordered his remaining ground troops to return to the large military vessels. With the recovered melange safely in hand, the rest of the annihilation could be accomplished from a distance; Garon would watch from his command chair without dirtying his hands. The squadron lifted off, oblivious to the moans of the injured, the screams of children.
The heavy battleships moved into low orbit. From there, they would finish the job of leveling the city, and then they would target a certain nearby estate.
* * *
In Reffa’s fern gardens, a hot breeze picked up, rippling the verdant fronds with a sound like fluttering feathers. Charence, the property administrator, switched off the fountain cascades as he walked up the slope. He had already commissioned gardeners and aquatic engineers to complete a full maintenance check of the fountain systems while his master was away on Taligari.
Meticulous in his duties, Charence took great pride in knowing that Tyros Reffa never even noticed the work he did on the estate. This was the best compliment an administrator could hope to receive. The gardens and household ran so smoothly that his master never had cause for complaint.
The Docent had assigned Charence to serve Tyros Reffa from the moment the mysterious boy had arrived on Zanovar, more than four decades ago. The loyal servant had never asked questions about the boy’s parentage, or the source of his inexhaustible fortune. Charence, a focused man with plenty of responsibilities, had no time for curiosity.
As the last trickles of water drained from the fountain cascade, he stood inside the flowtree gazebo atop a flagstoned knoll. Workers in overalls carried buckets and hoses as they marched toward piping substations carefully hidden in the mushroom gardens. Charence could hear them whistling and chattering in the clear air.
He never noticed the warships overhead. The estate manager focused on the real world around him, rather than looking at the sky above. Lasgun blasts tore through the air like bolts hurled by an angry thunder god. Sonic booms of ionized air flattened the trees. Parks and lakes crackled on the horizon, vaporized into a dead plain of glass.
Eyes aching from the brilliant light, Charence looked up now, watching the myriad bolts of destruction intersect at Reffa’s estate. He stood frozen, unable even to flee. He faced the storm as a locomotive of hot wind howled toward him.
Flames rolled across the landscape like red tsunamis, a stampede of white-hot incandescence that flashed the patchwork fields and forested areas into oblivion so quickly that even smoke didn’t have a chance to rise.
When the shock wave passed by, it left nothing of the beautiful gardens or buildings. Not even rubble.
* * *
In the shimmering city of Artesia, on the night side of the Taligari homeworld, Tyros Reffa attended the glamorous suspensor opera alone. He sat in a private box, intent on understanding the nuances and complexities of the show, enthralled by the color and spectacle.
All in all, he enjoyed it very much and looked forward to sharing his experience with the Docent when he got home to Zanovar.…
Following two generations of chaos, when mankind finally overcame the insidious control of machines, a new concept emerged: “Man may not be replaced.”
— Precepts of the Butlerian Jihad
From a balcony, Prince Rhombur peered down into the Grand Ballroom. The preparations continued with a relentless momentum: servants, decorators, and caterers swarmed through Castle Caladan. It was like watching an army get ready for war.
Though few of his original physical systems remained, Rhombur felt anxiety in the pit of his artificial stomach. He observed unobtrusively, because if he were seen, a dozen people would assault him with endless questions about a thousand little decisions— and he had enough on his mind.
He wore a white retrotuxedo that had been fitted to cover the synthetic skin and servomechanisms that moved his replacement limbs. Despite his extensive scarring, Rhombur looked quite dashing.
Exactly as a man should, on his wedding day.
All across the gleaming floor below, servants bustled under the direction of the festival planner, an exquisitely attired off-world woman with a narrow, dark face that gave her a look of intriguing contrasts, like a Caladanian primitive vaulted into modern society. Her melodious voice cut through the clamor as she issued a steady stream of orders in formal Galach.
Servants jumped to follow her commands, setting up baskets of blossoms and sprays of colored corals, arranging ritual articles on the altar for the ceremonial priest, cleaning up spills, straightening wrinkles. Overhead, in an unobtrusive clearplaz enclosure between the beams of a curving, vaulted ceiling, a holoprojection crew set up and tested their equipment.
Immense chandeliers of the purest Balut crystal hung in tapered tiers, casting a golden glow over the congregational seating. An arrangement of exotic vine flowers climbed a pillar next to Rhombur’s perch, imparting a sweet perfume of rare hibiscus violets. The aroma was a bit too strong, and with a slight twist of a control knob on a panel at his waist, he adjusted his olfactory sensor to diminish its sensitivity.
At his insistence, the Caladan ballroom looked as if it had been transported intact from the Grand Palais of Ix. It reminded him of a time when House Vernius had headed the powerful industrial world, developing innovative technology. As it would again…
As he stood on the high balcony, he became aware of the pumping action of his mechanical lungs, the rhythmic beating of his machine-heart. He looked at the inorganic skin on his left hand, the intricate fingerprint whorls and the naked third finger, over which Tessia would soon slip a wedding ring.
Many soldiers chose to marry their sweethearts before rushing off to war. Rhombur was about to lead the conquest of Ix and restore his family fortunes. How could he do any less than make Tessia his wife?
He flexed the thick prosthetic digits, and they did as his mind commanded, but with an ever-so-slight stiffness. Recently he had experienced dramatic improvements in his fine motor control, but he felt a slight regression today— perhaps from the stress of the occasion. He hoped he didn’t do anything humiliating during the ceremony.
On a platform behind the altar, an orchestra practiced the processional from the Ixian Wedding Concerto, traditional music by which all Vernius noblemen had taken their marital vows. And the time-honored practice would continue, no matter how far his House had fallen from favor. The stirring music— with rhythmic, brassy sounds suggestive of large-scale industry— filled him with nostalgia and strength.
Rhombur’s sister Kailea had always fantasized about such a ceremony for herself. If only she could still be here, if only things had been different and she’d made other choices.… Had she truly been an evil person? Rhombur wrestled with the question every day, as he dealt with the aftereffects of her misguided treachery. Despite the lingering pain, he had made up his mind to forgive her, but it was a continuing struggle.
Light flashed from above, projectors hummed, and a solido holo-form appeared in front of him. He caught his breath. It was an old animated image of his sister in a brocaded lavender dress and diamonds, when she was still a teenager… strikingly beautiful, with shimmering copper-dark hair. The image flickered and seemed to come alive, a smile on the generous, catlike mouth.
From the Grand Ballroom floor, the wedding coordinator gazed toward the projection and spoke into a holocom transceiver at her neck. At the coordinator’s command, the image of Kailea placed its hands on its hips and the mouth moved. “What are you doing way up there? You can’t hide from your own wedding
. Get yourself into the dressing room for your boutonnière. Your hair looks mussed.” The pretty hologram glided through open air toward the seating section, where her image would symbolically occupy one of the front-row seats.
Self-consciously, Rhombur touched his head, where manufactured hair covered the metal skullcap that protected his cranium. Chagrined, he waved to the wedding coordinator and hurried into an adjoining room, where manservants attended him.
Shortly after the Ixian fanfare sounded in the ballroom, the wedding coordinator appeared in the doorway. “This way, please, Prince Rhombur.” Showing no awareness or concern because of his artificial limbs, she extended a hand. With dignified steps, she led him to a flower-decked narthex.
For the past hour, invited guests had streamed in, wearing fine clothes, pressing into the allocated seats. Uniformed members of the Atreides House Guard lined up against the stone walls, carrying purple-and-copper banners. The only conspicuous exceptions were Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck, who had not yet returned from their infiltration of Ix.
At the altar, Duke Leto Atreides wore a formal green jacket with a ducal chain of office hanging from his neck. Though his eyes were somber and his face was seamed with tragedy, he brightened upon seeing Rhombur. Duncan Idaho stood as Master of Arms, proudly holding the Old Duke’s sword, ready to lop off the head of anyone who objected to the marriage.
Holo-relays glimmered across the ceiling, causing an image of Rhombur’s father to appear beside the Prince as soon as he stepped into the aisle. Directed by transmissions from the wedding coordinator, the holographic Dominic Vernius wore a huge grin under his broad mustache, and his bald pate shone.
Momentarily overwhelmed by the sight, Rhombur swayed on his prosthetic feet and whispered, as if the holo next to him could hear him. “I have waited long enough, Father. Much too long, and I feel shame for it. My life was too comfortable before the accident that made me like this. I think differently now. Ironically, I am stronger and more decisive, better in many ways than I was before. For you, for the suffering people of Ix, and even for myself, I will retake our homeworld… or die in the effort.”
But the holo-image, if it contained any spirit of Dominic himself, did not show it; the grin remained, as if the Ixian patriarch had not a care in the universe on his son’s wedding day.
With a deep sigh of his mechanical lungs, Rhombur stepped forward into position. He was grateful to Tessia for encouraging him, for demanding that he become strong. But he no longer needed to be chided by her; as he recovered physically, reminded every day of the accident that nearly took his life, he felt more and more determined. The Tleilaxu would not get away with what they had done to his family, to his people.
Catching the gaze of Duke Leto at the altar, Rhombur realized he must look too serious for such an occasion. So, he smiled broadly, but not with the vacuous expression of the holo-Dominic beside him. Rhombur’s smile was one of happiness tempered by a clear view of his place in history. This wedding day, this bond with an incredible Bene Gesserit woman, was a stepping-stone. One day, he and Tessia would occupy the Grand Palais of Ix as Earl and Lady.
Many of the guests had also dressed in Ixian finery to join the famous holo-forms filling the pews. Vivid reminders, both happy and sad. The former Ambassador to Kaitain, Cammar Pilru, was there in the flesh, though his deceased wife S’tina was present only in holo-form. Their twin sons, D’murr and C’tair, looked exactly as they had when they were growing up on Ix.
Rhombur remembered scents, sounds, expressions, voices. During rehearsal the day before, he had touched his father’s hand, but had felt nothing, only static and projected electricity. If only it could be real.…
He heard a rustling behind him, and a whisper of indrawn breath from the audience. Turning, he saw Tessia gliding toward him from an arched alcove, with all the poise of a high-ranking Bene Gesserit. Vibrant and smiling, she looked like an angel in a long gown of pearlescent merh-silk, her head bowed behind an exquisite lace veil. Normally rather plain-looking, with sepia eyes and mousy brown hair, Tessia summoned an aura of self-assurance and grace today that made her thrum with an inner beauty. Everyone in the audience seemed to see in her what Rhombur had known and loved all along.
An image of Lady Shando Vernius walked beside the bride. Rhombur had not seen his mother since they’d been separated during the frantic, bloody Tleilaxu takeover of Ix. She had always expected so much from her son.
Now, the four of them came together in the center aisle, the holoprojections of Dominic and Shando on the outside, Rhombur and Tessia at the center. Behind them strutted the ceremonial priest, carrying a thick bound copy of the Orange Catholic Bible. The crowd fell into a hush. The House guards stood at attention, holding the Ixian banner high overhead. Duncan Idaho grinned, then took on a more serious expression.
Trumpets blared, and the Ixian Wedding Concerto resounded through the ballroom. The bride, groom, and entourage proceeded down the purple-carpeted aisle. Rhombur marched with a flawless mechanical stride, his chest puffed out in the manner of a proud nobleman.
Though space for the general audience was limited, images of the scene were transmitted across the planet, capturing every moment. The people of Caladan had always loved a spectacle.
Rhombur concentrated on moving his legs to propel himself along the purple carpet ahead of him… and on the loveliness of Tessia.
In the front row sat Jessica, casting occasional glances at Leto, who stood near the altar. She focused on him and narrowed her eyes, trying to determine what he was feeling. Even with her Bene Gesserit powers of observation, she had trouble penetrating Leto’s closely held thoughts. Where had he learned to do that? From his father, undoubtedly. Though he was two decades in his grave, the Old Duke still exercised great influence over his son.
Reaching the altar, Rhombur and Tessia moved apart, allowing the priest to pass between them. They then stepped together behind him, leaving the holo-forms of Dominic and Shando next to Leto, who served as best man. The wedding music ended, and the ballroom fell into an anticipatory silence.
From a golden table on the altar, the priest took two jewel-studded candlesticks and lifted them high in the air. After the priest touched a hidden sensor, a pair of candles extruded from each base and burst into flames of different hues— one purple and the other copper. As he recited the wedding invocation, he handed one set of candles to Rhombur and one to Tessia.
“We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Prince Rhombur Vernius of Ix and Sister Tessia Yasco of the Bene Gesserit.” Flipping through the thick, hand-lettered Orange Catholic Bible on its pedestal in front of him, he read a number of passages, some of which had been suggested by Gurney Halleck.
Rhombur and Tessia turned and extended their candles toward each other. The colored flames merged to become an entwined fire of purple and copper. He lifted Tessia’s veil to reveal her radiant, intelligent face, filled with compassion and love. Her brown hair shone with dark luster, and her wide-set eyes sparkled. Seeing his bride, he ached for her, could not believe that she had stayed with him. Rhombur felt the sting of imaginary tears his damaged body was no longer capable of producing.
Leto stepped forward, holding the rings on a crystal tray. Without breaking their loving gazes, the Prince and his bride placed wedding rings on each other’s fingers. “It has been a long, hard road,” he said in his synthesized voice, “for us, and for all of my people.”
“I will always walk beside you, my Prince.”
The triumphant, energetic recessional from the Wedding Concerto began, and the couple made their way back down the aisle, with Tessia’s arm wrapped in Rhombur’s. Leaning close, she smiled. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“My artificial body is able to withstand even the most grueling of tortures.”
Tessia’s throaty laugh caused several members of the audience to chuckle with her, and to wonder what her whispered response was afterward.
The Ixian couple and their
invited guests banqueted and danced far into the evening. On such a day, Rhombur began to believe in fresh possibilities.
But they still had heard no word from Gurney Halleck and Thufir Hawat.
* * *
On the morning after the wedding, Jessica received a message cylinder bearing the scarlet-and-gold seal of House Corrino.
A curious Leto stood beside her, rubbing his red eyes. Jessica had not counted the number of glasses of Caladan wine he had consumed the night before. “It’s not often that my concubine receives a communiqué from the Imperial Court.”
She cut through the seal with a fingernail and removed an Imperial scroll. Written on Corrino parchment, the message was in a Bene Gesserit cypher. Jessica tried not to show her surprise as she translated the words and relayed them to Leto. “My Duke, it is a formal summons from Lady Anirul Corrino for me to come to the Imperial Court on Kaitain. She says she is in need of a new lady-in-waiting and—” She caught her breath as she read. “My old teacher Mohiam has been appointed the Emperor’s new Truthsayer. She recommended me to Lady Anirul, and she has accepted.”
“Without asking me?” Leto said, anger mounting. “That seems odd… and capricious.”
“I am subject to the commands of the Sisterhood, my Duke. You have always known this.”
He scowled, surprised at himself, because he had initially been so resistant when the black-robed women had first tried to force young Jessica upon him. “I still don’t like it.”
“The Emperor’s wife suggests that I make plans to remain there for… the duration of my pregnancy.” Her oval face showed surprise and bafflement.
Leto took the scroll and looked at it himself, but could not read the strange symbols. “I don’t understand. Have you ever even met Anirul? Why would she want you to have our baby at the Palace? Is Shaddam trying to take an Atreides hostage?”
Jessica reread the scroll, as if the answers might be hidden there. “Truly, my Duke, I do not understand.”
Dune: House Corrino Page 9