As Duke, he knew that flying in the face of Court politics was unwise. But his heart told him to gamble when the stakes were important enough, when he was on the side of righteousness -- where he always intended to be. The Old Duke had taught him no less.
His father had shown him that a gambit filled with bravado often paid off far more substantially than a conservative and unimaginative plan . . . so why not this? Would the Old Duke have done something similar, or would he, guided by his wife, have taken a safer course? Leto had no answer for that, but was thankful that he didn't have anyone like the stern and inflexible Lady Helena getting in his way now. When he decided to marry, it would never be to anyone like her.
He had sent a formal Courier to the Sisters in Isolation compound on the Eastern Continent, notifying his mother that he and Rhombur would journey to Kaitain. He didn't delineate their plan or comment on the obvious risk involved, but he wanted her to be prepared for the worst. With no other heirs, Lady Helena would become the ruler of House Atreides should things go wrong, should Leto find himself executed or "accidentally" killed. Though he knew she had instigated the murder of his father, he had no choice in this circumstance. It was a matter of form.
The final pieces of Atreides luggage and trunks were loaded aboard, and within seconds the big frigate leaped into the gray-locked skies of Caladan. This would be different from his previous trips -- the future of Rhombur's bloodline hung in the balance . . . and perhaps his own as well.
With all the ceremonial fanfare, Leto was fortunate to have been granted an Imperial audience four days after the coronation. At that time he and Rhombur would make a formal petition to Shaddam, stating their case and throwing themselves on his mercy.
In the glorious first days of his regime, would the new Padishah Emperor risk casting a dark pall upon the festivities by renewing a sentence of death? Many Houses still saw omens in every action, and Shaddam was rumored to be as superstitious as any of them. This omen would be clear enough. By his own decision, Shaddam would establish the tenor of his reign. Would the Emperor want to begin by denying justice? Leto hoped not.
The ducal frigate took its assigned position inside the Heighliner's cavernous but crowded cargo bay. Nearby, shuttles full of passengers moved delicately into position, along with transports and cargo ships filled with the trading goods of Caladan: pundi rice, medicinals from processed kelp, handmade tapestries, and preserved fish products. Privately owned lighters were still loading merchandise into the hold, ferrying up from the surface to the Heighliner. This huge Guild ship had gone from world to world on its roundabout route to Kaitain, and the province-sized cargo bay was dotted with ships from other worlds in the Imperium, all on their way to the coronation.
While they waited, Thufir Hawat looked at the chronometer mounted on a bulkhead of the frigate. "We still have three hours before the Heighliner completes loading and unloading and is ready to depart. I suggest we use this time for training, m'Lord."
"You always suggest that, Thufir," Rhombur said.
"Because you are young and require considerable instruction," the Mentat countered.
Leto's plush frigate was so full of amenities that he and his entourage could forget they were even off-planet. But he'd had enough of relaxing, and the anxiety of impending events filled him with a nervous energy that he wanted to discharge. "You have a suggestion, Thufir? What can we do out here?"
The Master of Assassins' eyes lit up. "In space, there are many things a Duke -- and a Prince --" he said with a nod to Rhombur," can learn."
A WINGLESS COMBAT pod the size of an ornithopter dropped out of the hold of the Atreides frigate and descended away from the Heighliner, into space. Leto worked the controls with Rhombur sitting in the copilot's seat to his right. It reminded Leto for a moment of their brief training attempt in the Ixian orship, a near disaster.
Hawat stood behind them wearing a mobile crash restraint. In his harness he looked like a pillar of wisdom, frowning down at the two young men as they felt their way through the combat pod's controls for the first time. An emergency override panel floated in front of Hawat.
"This craft is different from a coracle at sea, young sirs," Hawat said. "Unlike the larger ships, we're in zero gravity here, with all the flexibility and constraints that implies. You have both done the simulations, but now you are about to discover what real space combat is all about."
"I get to fire the weapons first," Rhombur said, repeating their prior arrangement.
"And I'm piloting," Leto added, "but we switch in half an hour."
Behind him, Hawat spoke in a monotone: "It's not likely, m'Lord Duke, that you will find yourself in a situation that requires space combat, but --"
"Yes, yes, I should always be prepared," Leto said. "If I've learned anything from you, Thufir, it's that."
"First you must learn maneuvering." Hawat guided Leto through a series of cruising curves and sharp arcs. He stayed sufficiently far from the enormous Heighliner, but close enough that he felt it constituted a genuine obstacle at this speed. Once, Leto reacted too quickly and plunged the combat pod into an uncontrolled spin, which he pulled out of by firing reaction jets to stop them without sending the craft spiraling in the opposite direction.
"Reaction and counter-reaction," Hawat said, with approval. His now-tilted mobile crash restraint righted itself. "When you and Rhombur had your boating accident on Caladan, you were able to run aground on a reef to stop things from getting worse. Here, though, there is no safety net to catch you. If you spin out of control, you will continue to do so until the proper countermeasures are taken. You could fall and burn up in the atmosphere, or in deeper space you might hurtle into the void."
"Uh, let's not do any of that today," Rhombur said. He looked over at his friend. "I'd like to try some practice shots now, Leto, if you can keep this thing flying straight for a few minutes."
"No problem," Leto said.
Bending to the weaponeer station between the boys, Hawat said, "I loaded skeet-drones into the hold. Rhombur, try to fire and nullify as many of them as you can. You have free range to use whatever weaponry you wish. Lasbeams, conventional explosives, or multiphase projectiles. But first, m'Lord" -- Hawat squeezed Leto's shoulder -- "please take us around to the other side of the planet where we won't have to worry about hitting the Heighliner when Rhombur's shots go wild."
With a chuckle, Leto did as he was instructed, cruising high above the clouds of Caladan to the nightside, where the planet lay black below them except for necklaces of city lights strung along the distant coasts. Behind them, the glare of Caladan's sun formed a halo against the dark eclipse of the planet.
Hawat launched a dozen spinning, glittering globes that flew off on random paths. Rhombur grabbed the weapons control -- a stilo bar with multicolored panels -- and blasted shots in all directions, most of which missed entirely, although he did remove one drone with a spray of multiphase projectiles. They all knew the bull's-eye was a mere accident, and Rhombur took no pride in it.
"Patience and control, Prince," Hawat said. "You must use each shot as if it were your last. Make it count. Once you've learned to hit things, then you can be more liberal with your expenditures."
Leto chased after the drones as Rhombur fired with the full array of weapons available to him. When Rhombur had finally succeeded in eliminating all the targets, he and Leto switched positions and went through more practice maneuvers.
Two hours passed swiftly, and finally the Mentat instructed them to return to the Guild Heighliner so they could make themselves comfortable before the navigator folded space and guided the ship to Kaitain.
SETTLED IN, LOUNGING on his plush hawk-crested chair, Leto stared out the window into the crowded cluster of ships inside the Heighliner bay. He sipped a mug of mulled wine that reminded him of Kailea and the stormy night when they had rummaged through the Old Duke's Possessions. He longed for peaceful interludes and warm companionship, though he knew it would be a long time before his
life became settled again.
"The ships are so close together here," he said. "It makes me uneasy." He watched two Tleilaxu transports take positions near the Atreides frigate. Beyond the transports a Harkonnen frigate hung in its Guild-assigned place.
"Nothing to worry about, my Duke," Hawat said. "By the rules of warfare dictated by the Great Convention, no one can fire a weapon inside a Heighliner. Any house breaking that rule faces permanent forfeiture of its access to Guild ships. No one would risk that."
"Are our shields up anyway?" Leto asked.
"Vermillion hells, no shields, Leto!" Rhombur said, with alarm in his voice. He laughed. "You should have learned more about Heighliners on Ix -- or were you looking at my sister the whole time?"
Leto flushed crimson, but Rhombur explained quickly. "Aboard a Heighliner, shields interfere with the ship's Holtzman propulsion system, preventing it from folding space. An active shield disrupts a Navigator's ability to hold his navigation trance. We'd be dead in space."
"It is also forbidden under our Guild transport contract," Hawat said, as if the legal reason might somehow carry more weight.
"So we're all here unprotected, naked, and trusting," Leto grumbled, still seeing the Harkonnen ship through the plaz ports.
Rhombur said with a defeated smile, "You're making me remember how many people wish me dead."
"All ships inside this Heighliner are equally vulnerable, Prince," Hawat said. "But you should not concern yourself just yet. Your greatest peril lies ahead, on Kaitain. For now, even I intend to rest a bit. Here on board our frigate, we are as safe as we can be."
Leto looked out and up at the distant roof of the Heighliner hold. High above in a miniscule navigation chamber, a single Navigator in a tank of orange spice gas controlled the enormous bulk of the ship.
Despite Hawat's assurances, he remained uneasy. Beside him, Rhombur fidgeted as well, but struggled to cover his anxiety. With an agitated breath the young Duke sat back, trying to let his tension drain away and prepare for the political crisis he was about to initiate on Kaitain.
Storms beget storms. Rage begets rage. Revenge begets revenge. Wars beget wars.
-Bene Gesserit Conundrum
The Guild Heighliner's external hull hatches were sealed, the cavernous openings closed, and the vessel made ready to depart. Soon the Navigator would go into his trance, and the ship would be under way. The next and final destination on this route would be Kaitain, where representatives of the Great and Minor Houses of the Landsraad had begun arriving for the coronation of Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV.
The Navigator maneuvered the enormous vessel away from the gravity well of Caladan and out into open space, preparing to engage the huge Holtzman engines that would carry it in wild leaps across foldspace.
The passengers aboard family frigates within the liner's holding bay discerned no movement whatsoever, no motion from the engines, no change in position, no sound. The packed ships hung in their isolated spaces like data bricks in a secure library complex. All Houses followed the same rules, putting their faith in the ability of a single mutated creature to find a safe course.
Like giedi-cattle in a slaughter pen, thought Rabban as he climbed into his invisible attack ship.
He could have wiped out a dozen frigates before anyone figured out what was going on. Given free rein, Rabban would have enjoyed causing such mayhem, the exhilarating sensation of extravagant violence . . . .
But that was not in the plan, at least not for now.
His uncle had developed a scheme of beautiful finesse. "Pay attention and learn from this," he'd said. Good advice, Rabban admitted to himself. He had been discovering the benefits of subtlety and the enjoyment of a revenge long savored.
This didn't mean Rabban would forsake the more blunt forms of violence at which he excelled; on the contrary, he would simply add the Baron's methods to his homicidal repertoire. He'd be a well-rounded person by the time he took over the leadership of House Harkonnen.
In an unobtrusive movement, the hatches of the Harkonnen family frigate slid open, and the containment field faded just long enough to let Rabban's sleek warship descend into the sealed vacuum within the Heighliner hold.
Slowly, quietly, patiently.
Before anyone could see his fighter craft, he engaged the no-field, working the controls the way Piter de Vries had shown him. He felt no different, saw no change in the view transmitted from his monitors. But now he was a killer ghost: invisible, invincible.
From anyone else's viewpoint, and from external sensors, all electromagnetic signals impinging on the no-field would reflect off and bend around, transforming his ship into an empty spot. The attack craft's engines, more silent than the softest whisper, made no detectable sound or vibration.
No one would suspect a thing. No one could even imagine an invisible ship.
Rabban activated the no-ship's attitude jets, silently coaxing the deadly craft away from the innocent-looking Harkonnen frigate, toward the Atreides vessel. This attack ship was too big for his liking, not very maneuverable and rather bulky for a quick fighter, but its invisibility and stone-silence made all the difference.
His thick fingers danced over the control panels, and he felt a measure of glee, of power, glory, and satisfaction yet to come. Soon a ship full of nasty, brutish Tleilaxu would be destroyed. Hundreds of them would die.
Always before, Rabban had used his position in House Harkonnen to get what he wanted without question, to manipulate other people and kill those few who were unfortunate enough to stand in his way. But that had been mere play for his personal amusement. Now he was performing a vital function, an act upon which the future of House Harkonnen depended. The Baron had picked him for this mission, and he vowed to do it well. He certainly didn't want to be sent back home to his father.
Rabban maneuvered the ship into place slowly, gently -- no hurry, now. He had the entire transspace voyage in which to start a war.
With the no-field around his attack craft, he felt like a hunter concealed in a blind. This was a different kind of hunting, though, requiring more sophistication than blowing up sandworms on Arrakis, more finesse than chasing children in the Harkonnen forest preserve. Here, his trophy would be a change in Imperial politics. In the end he would hang the trophies of greater power and fortunes for House Harkonnen on his wall, stuffed and mounted.
The invisible attack craft approached the Atreides frigate, almost close enough to touch.
Noiselessly, Rabban powered up his weapons systems, making sure his full array of multiphase projectiles was ready to launch. He would rely on manual targeting in a case like this.
At point-blank range, he couldn't possibly miss.
Rabban turned his no-ship, pointing the gunports toward two nearby vessels, Tleilaxu transports that had, through a substantial Harkonnen bribe paid to the Guild, been ordered to park adjacent to the Atreides frigate.
Bound from Tleilax Seven, the ships undoubtedly carried genetic products, the specialty of the Bene Tleilax. Each ship would be commanded by Tleilaxu Masters, with a crew of Face Dancers, their shape-shifting servants. The cargo might be slig meat, animal grafts, or a few of those abominable gholas -- clones grown from the flesh of dead humans, copies nurtured in axlotl tanks so that bereaved families could once again see fallen loved ones. Such products carried high price tags and made the gnomelike Tleilaxu extremely wealthy, despite the fact that they undoubtedly would never be granted Great House status.
This was perfect! With all the Landsraad listening, young Duke Leto Atreides had declared his vendetta against the Tleilaxu, swearing vengeance for what they had done to House Vernius. Leto had not been circumspect with regard to the statements he'd made on the record. Everyone knew how much he must hate the occupants of these Tleilaxu ships.
As a bonus, the renegade Rhombur Vernius was at this very moment aboard the Atreides frigate, yet another person to be caught in the Harkonnen web, yet another victim in what would soon be a bloody Atrei
des-Tleilaxu war.
The Landsraad would accuse Duke Leto of being a hothead -- brash, impetuous, and violent, pushed to ill-advised acts by his misplaced Ixian friendships and his inconsolable grief over the death of his father. Poor, poor Leto, so inadequately trained to cope with the pressures bearing down on him.
Rabban knew full well what conclusions the Landsraad and the Imperium would draw, because his uncle and the twisted Mentat had explained it to him in detail.
Hovering immediately in front of the Atreides frigate, invisible and cloaked in anonymity, Rabban targeted the nearby Tleilaxu ships. With a smile on his generous lips, he reached for the controls.
And opened fire.
Tio Holtzman was one of the most productive Ixian inventors on record. He often went on creative binges, locking himself up for months on end so that he could work without interruption. Sometimes upon emerging he required hospitalization, and there were constant concerns over his sanity and well-being. Holtzman died young -- barely past thirty Standard Years -- but the results of his efforts changed the galaxy forever.
Dune - House Atreides Page 57