Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [249]
“Vermilion hells, they think you did it, Leto!” Rhombur said.
Hawat had already dashed to the defensive panel. “The Tleilaxu have powered up weapons for a counterstrike against you, my Duke.”
Leto ran for the comsystem and threw open a channel. In only a few seconds his thoughts accelerated and compressed in a manner that astonished him, for he was not a Mentat capable of advanced reasoning powers. It was like dream-compression, he realized . . . or the incredible array of visions that reportedly flashed across a person’s mind when faced with imminent death. That’s a grim thought. He had to see a way out of this.
“Attention!” he shouted into the voice pickup. “This is Duke Leto Atreides. We did not fire upon the Tleilaxu ships. I deny all accusations.”
He knew they would not believe him, would not cool down soon enough to avoid an eruption of open hostilities that could result in a full-scale war. And in a flash he knew what else he had to do.
Faces from his past scrolled across his mind, and he locked on to a memory of his paternal grandfather Kean Atreides gazing at him with expectation, his face a crease-map of his life experiences. Gentle gray eyes like his own held a disarming strength that his enemies often overlooked, to their great peril.
If only I can be as strong as my ancestors. . . .
“Do not fire,” he said, addressing the Tleilaxu pilot and hoping all the other captains would listen.
Another image took shape in his mind: his father, the Old Duke, with green eyes and the same expression, but on a face that was Leto’s age now, in his teens. In a microflash, more images appeared: his Richesian uncles, aunts, and cousins, the loyal servants, domestic, governmental, and military. All of them carried the same blank expression, as if they were one multiplexed organism, studying him from different perspectives, waiting to make a judgment about him. He saw no love, approval, or disrespect in their faces—just a nothingness, as if he had truly committed a heinous act and no longer existed.
The sneering face of his mother appeared, faded.
Don’t trust anyone, he thought.
A feeling of despondency settled over Leto, followed by extreme, bitter loneliness. Deep inside himself, in a lifeless and bleak place, Leto saw his own emotionless gray eyes, staring back at himself. It was cold here, and he shivered.
“Leadership is a lonely task.”
Would the Atreides lineage stop here with him at this nexus-moment, or would he father children whose voices would be added to those of all the Atreides since the days of the ancient Greeks? He listened for his children in the cacophony, but did not sense their presence.
The accusing eyes did not waver.
Leto spoke the words to himself. Government is a protective partnership; the people are in your care, to thrive or die based upon your decisions.
The images and sounds faded, and his mind became a quiet, dark place.
Barely a second had passed in his tension-spawned mental journey, and Leto knew exactly what he had to do, regardless of the consequences.
“Activate shields!” he shouted.
Peering at an observation screen in the belly of the seemingly innocent Harkonnen frigate, Rabban was surprised by what he saw. He raced up from one deck to the next, until finally he stood red-faced and puffing in front of his uncle. Before the indignant but timid Tleilaxu pilot could open fire, a shield began to shimmer around the Atreides ship!
But shields were forbidden by Guild transport contract, because they shattered a Navigator’s trance and disrupted the foldspace field. The Heighliner’s enormous Holtzman generators would not function properly with the interference. Rabban and the Baron both cursed.
The Heighliner shuddered around them as it plunged out of foldspace.
In the navigation chamber