Not waiting for his uncle, Rabban began to eat messily with his hands and a large knife. Feyd and de Vries were more meticulous.
The Baron let his gaze move from severed head to severed head. The dead female’s eyes seemed to look directly at him, as if she still possessed a spark of defiance. He would make sure that a full account of this private, vengeful spectacle was distributed throughout Carthag, and maybe it would quiet the simmering unrest among the desert people. His soldiers and security needed to do more.
While recovering from his injuries, the Baron could not allow anyone to see him as weak. He would not report the assassination attempt to Emperor Shaddam or his lapdog Count Fenring, but rather would concoct some other excuse for not attending the gala. He also refused to return to Giedi Prime, because that would look like he was fleeing Arrakis after the attempt on his life.
He finally began to eat, ripping a leg off the roasted fowl, but he had time to savor only one bite before he was interrupted. A uniformed Imperial messenger strode into the banquet hall without introduction. The man carried a sealed, ornate cylinder marked with the Corrino lion. “My lord Baron, I bear news directly from the Imperial Palace.”
Wary that the Emperor would rebuke his absence from the gala, the Baron accepted the message cylinder with a greasy hand and unsealed the security ring. He removed the sheet of durable instroy paper and read the message as the courier quickly withdrew. The Baron turned pale.
Feyd-Rautha stared at him, intent and curious. “What is it, Uncle? You look upset.”
He read with disbelief, viewing the summary of the disaster on Otorio—complete destruction of the Emperor’s new museum complex. “A truly spectacular assassination attempt!” He described the report, and the others seemed both horrified and fascinated.
Piter de Vries sprang out of his chair and hurried to read the message for himself. “Did Shaddam survive?”
The Baron let his Mentat take the paper. “It seems he was evacuated in time, but many members of the Landsraad were killed. They are still counting numbers. Someone from the Noble Commonwealth claimed responsibility.”
Rabban stopped chewing. “We were supposed to be there, Uncle. You would have been killed.”
The Baron felt a sudden, sharp chill. “Yes! I was ready to depart—” He looked at the gory heads distributed around the banquet table, spoke to them. “Ah, it appears your little attack may have saved my life.”
The slack face of the nearest dead man showed no appreciation for the news.
A sudden, unexpected death leaves deep scarring in the hearts of those left behind. The harm caused by unexpected survival, however, is less visible.
—Suk School Investigative Report, Psychological Division
Caladan welcomed Leto home with expansive oceans, rich, moist air, wild and fertile lands, and warmhearted people.
During the frantic evacuation from Otorio on that terrible night, Leto had been forced to leave everything behind except for his life. Most of those who had come to celebrate the Corrino memorial had lost even that. Now, after long delay, he traveled on a commercial transport from Kaitain with Imperial passage and papers. He could not get back home fast enough. The court chamberlain, tall and funereal Beely Ridondo, urged Leto to wait for more luxurious diplomatic-class tickets, but the Duke insisted on boarding the first ship heading out with Caladan on its route.
Leto still felt disconnected, swept up in the tragedy and the ever-growing repercussions. His mind was filled with the panicked evacuation, all those doomed people left behind while the Sardaukar hustled him aboard the escape lighter. The fiery impact of the three gigantic projectiles, the smear of incandescent devastation as he had watched from high above.…
Upon reaching Otorio orbit, Shaddam had commandeered the waiting Heighliner and ordered its immediate departure for Kaitain. The Guild Navigator delayed only long enough for a small flurry of escape ships to limp up out of the atmosphere. Leto’s heart had ached when he saw how few vessels made it away. Sadly, his Atreides yacht and its small crew had not managed to evacuate. They had been wiped out with so many others in the blast.
In the reckoning of casualties, he was glad to learn that his old friend Archduke Ecaz had escaped along with a small crowd of nobles. In all, barely a hundred had gotten to safety—most of them because of Leto’s urgent warning across the site-wide communication network. He tried to take heart from that, to grant himself a small measure of peace. Those souls were alive because of him. And he, Duke Leto Atreides, was alive.
But all those others …
Reports of Jaxson Aru’s attack spread like shock waves throughout the Imperium, but many details were confused and uncertain. At first approximation, and surely inaccurate, 84 important Landsraad nobles had been obliterated, as well as 241 additional high-ranking family members, and uncounted locals, support staff, guards, service workers, numbering as many as ten thousand.
Once back on the capital world, with the Imperium in chaos and crisis, Leto was easily lost in the shuffle. Empress Aricatha wrote him a personal note, applauding his alertness, which had saved them. Chamberlain Ridondo provided everything he needed—clothes, money, supplies—but seemed in no hurry to help Leto arrange passage back home.
While Leto had waited, seeking travel alternatives, Reverend Mother Mohiam approached him in a side hallway of the Imperial Palace, once more offering to provide suggestions of suitable mates for Paul, many of whom had Bene Gesserit training. He found the old woman’s statement intrusive and inappropriate, especially in such turbulent times. Paul’s eventual bride was far from his greatest concern right now. He brushed her aside and made arrangements to leave Kaitain, glad to be gone within the hour.…
When the Guild ship arrived at his beautiful ocean world, Leto was in range and could finally use direct communication systems to speak with Jessica. It was the first uplifting moment he had experienced in days. On the screen, he saw the expression of joy and relief on her lovely face. Until that point, she had not even been sure he was alive, having heard only fragmented rumors of the disaster.
As the passenger shuttle left the Heighliner and landed at the Cala City Spaceport, Leto felt as if a great weight had lifted from him. The hatch opened and the ramp extended, but the other passengers and merchants held back, deferring to the Duke. He stepped forward, feeling intensely alive. He drew in a quick breath of the fresh salt air. Scudding clouds overhead presaged afternoon storms.
A crowd stood beyond the demarcation zone, wearing familiar Caladan garments—fishermen, boatwrights, innkeepers, craftsmen, wealthy merchants, and quiet servants. They let out a resounding cheer. The response buoyed him up, and tears stung his eyes, but he did not let them show.
Jessica and Paul stood at the front of the crowd, flanked by his Mentat Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck, with Duncan Idaho just behind them. Leto’s heart swelled as Jessica locked her gaze with his, and Paul ran forward, a fourteen-year-old full of energy with coal-black hair so similar to Leto’s.
Leto bounded down the shuttle ramp to meet his son, and Paul crashed into him. The young man cried out, “I had a dream you were in terrible danger!” His raw emotion unsettled Leto, who was not a man to show boundless public affection. Even with Lady Jessica, he opened his heart to her only in the privacy of their chambers.