Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [36]
“When you’re Emperor?” Fenring and the Crown Prince held so many deadly secrets between them that neither could imagine keeping knowledge from the other. “Shaddam, are you listening to what I’m telling you, hmmm?” He gave an annoyed sigh. “You’re thirty-four years old, sitting on your hands and waiting for your life to begin—your birthright. Elrood could last another three decades, at least. He’s a tough old Burseg, and the way he gulps spice beer, he might outlive both of us.”
“So why even talk about it?” Shaddam toyed with the shield-ball controls, clearly wanting to play another round. “I’ve got what I need here.”
“You’d rather play games until you’re an old man? I thought you had better things in store for you, hm-m-m-m-ah? The destiny of your Corrino blood.”
“Ah, yes. And if I don’t achieve my destiny,” Shaddam said in a bitter tone, “where does that leave you?”
“I’ll do fine, thank you.” Fenring’s mother had been trained as a Bene Gesserit before entering Imperial service as lady-in-waiting to Elrood’s fourth wife; she had raised him well, preparing him for great things.
But Hasimir Fenring was disgusted with his friend. At one time, in his late teens, Shaddam had been much more ambitious to claim the Imperial throne, even to the point of encouraging Fenring to poison the Emperor’s eldest son, Fafnir, who had been forty-six and eagerly awaiting the crown himself.
Now Fafnir was dead for fifteen years, and still the old vulture showed no signs of ever dying. At the very least, Elrood should abdicate with good grace. Meanwhile, Shaddam had lost his drive, and instead occupied his time enjoying the pleasures of his station. Being Crown Prince posed few hardships in life. But Fenring wanted much more—for his friend, and for himself.
Shaddam glowered at the other man. The Crown Prince’s mother, Habla, had cast him aside as an infant—her only child by Elrood—and let her lady-in-waiting, Chaola Fenring, serve as wet nurse. From boyhood, Shaddam and Hasimir had talked about what they would do when he ascended to the Golden Lion Throne. Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV.
But for Shaddam such conversations no longer held their childhood magic. Too many years of reality had settled in, too much waiting to no purpose. His grip on hope and his enthusiasm for the job had faded into apathy. Why not spend the days playing shield-ball?
“You’re a bastard,” Shaddam said. “Let’s start another game.”
Ignoring his friend’s suggestion, Fenring shut down the console. “Maybe so, but the Imperium has too many critical matters that require attention, and you know as well as I do that your father is bungling the job. If a company head ran his business the way your father runs the Empire, he’d be sacked. Think of the CHOAM scandal, for example, the soostone skimming operation.”
“Ah, yes. Can’t argue with you on that, Hasimir.” Shaddam heaved a deep sigh.
“Royal impersonators—a Duke, a Duchess . . . a whole damned family of fakes, right under your father’s nose. Who was watching? Now they’ve disappeared to a rogue planet somewhere beyond Imperial control. That should never have occurred, hmm-m-m-m? Just imagine the lost profits for Buzzell and the adjoining systems. What was Elrood thinking?”
Shaddam looked away. He didn’t like to bother with serious Imperial matters. They gave him headaches. Given his father’s apparent vigor, such details seemed distant and, by and large, irrelevant to him.
But still Fenring persisted. “The way it looks now, you won’t get a chance to do better. One hundred and fifty-five years, and still in remarkable health. Fondil III before him lived to be one hundred seventy-five. What’s the longest a Corrino Emperor has ever lived?”
Shaddam frowned and looked longingly at the gaming apparatus. “You know I don’t pay attention to things like that, even when the tutor gets angry with me.”
Fenring jabbed a finger at him. “Elrood will