Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [211]
Before he could retreat, C’tair heard something on his left—a clank of metal and a scuffing noise—and ducked back toward the lift tube to return to his own floor. Too late. He’d been seen.
“You there, stranger!” a shadowy man called out in Ixian-accented Galach. “Come out where we can see you.” Probably one of the collaborators—an Ixian turncoat who had sold his soul to the enemy at the expense of his own people.
Fumbling with his bioscram card, C’tair trembled at hearing the heavy sounds of approaching boots. He swiped the card through the lift-control reader. More voices called out. He expected weapons fire at any moment.
After an interminable instant, the lift tube opened—but as he dashed through the doorway, C’tair accidentally dropped the bag containing the parts he had just purchased. No time to retrieve it.
With a muttered curse he dived into the lift and ordered the correct floor in a harsh, commanding whisper. Just in time, the door clicked shut, and the sound of voices faded. He worried that the guards might disable the lift or call in Sardaukar—so he needed to exit quickly. It seemed to take forever to reach his floor.
The door opened, and C’tair peered out carefully, looking right and left. No signs of anyone here. Reaching back into the lift tube, he programmed it to stop at four other floors, then sent it off empty to soar even higher into the crustal passages.
Seconds later, C’tair stood sweating in the sanctuary of his shielded chamber, thankful to have escaped with his life, but angry at himself for his carelessness. He had lost the precious components, and also given the Tleilaxu a clue as to what he had been up to.
Now they would be looking for him specifically.
We all live in the shadows of our predecessors for a time. But we who determine the fate of planets eventually reach the point at which we become not the shadows, but the light itself.
—PRINCE RAPHAEL CORRINO,
Discourses on Leadership
As an official member of the Federated Council of Great and Minor Houses, Duke Leto Atreides embarked on a Heighliner and traveled to Kaitain for the next Landsraad meeting. Wearing his formal mantle off-planet for the first time, he thought he had recovered enough from the loss of his father to make a major public appearance.
After Leto had made his decision to attend, Thufir Hawat and several other Atreides protocol advisors had locked themselves with him in Castle meeting rooms to give him crash courses in diplomacy. The advisors hovered around him like stern teachers, insisting that he be brought up to speed on all the social, economic, and political factors a Duke must take into account. Harsh glowglobes lit the stone-walled room, while a sea breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing with it the sound of crashing waves and screaming gulls. Despite the distractions, Leto attended to the lectures.
For his turn, the new Duke had insisted that Rhombur sit beside him during the training sessions. “One day he will need to know all these things, when his House is restored,” Leto had said. Some advisors had looked skeptical, but they did not argue.
As he departed from Cala City Spaceport, accompanied only by Thufir Hawat as his escort and confidant, Leto’s counselors had warned him against rash behavior. Leto had pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I understand,” he said, “but my sense of honor drives me to do what I must do.”
By ancient tradition it was Leto’s right to appear in the Landsraad forum and put forth his demand. A demand for justice. As the new Duke, he had an agenda, and enough anger and youthful naÏveté to believe he just might succeed, no matter what his advisors might tell him. Sadly, though, he remembered the few times when his father had petitioned the Landsraad; Paulus had always returned home red-faced, expressing