Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [243]
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