me to round up some suspects and interrogate them? I’ll make them confess to whatever you like.”
Outside, the blare of trumpets cracked through the dry air, announcing the arrival of the Harkonnen troops.
“Not good enough, Rabban. I want you to select three villages, I don’t care which ones. Point your fingers at a map, if you like. March in with commandos and raze the settlements to the ground. Level every building, kill all the people, leave only black spots in the desert. Maybe I’ll write up a decree explaining their supposed crimes, and you can scatter copies among the carnage, so the rest of the Fremen rabble can read it.”
Again, trumpets blew outside in the square. The Baron accompanied his nephew out onto the observation platform. A sullen crowd filled the square, unwashed bodies whose stench reached him even here, three floors up. The Baron could only imagine how unbearable the smell must be down there in the heat.
“Entertain yourself,” the Baron said, twiddling his ring-studded fingers. “One day your brother Feyd will be old enough to accompany you on these… instructive exercises.”
Rabban nodded. “We’ll teach those lawless bandits who wields the real power here.”
The Baron responded in a distracted tone. “Yes, I know.”
The soldiers lined up in their ceremonial uniforms, lovely muscular men— a sight that never failed to stimulate the Baron. The parade began.
Every man has the same final destination: death at the end of life’s road. But the path we travel makes all the difference. Some of us have maps and goals. Others are just lost.
— PRINCE RHOMBUR VERNIUS,
Ruminations at a Fork in the Road
Trapped on the stranded Heighliner, Gurney Halleck stared out the frigate porthole at the airless void of the cargo hold. Hundreds of ships hung precariously in their berths, clustered together, some smashed and upended. Aboard those craft, many people must be injured or dead.
Next to him, still wearing the concealing cloak and cowl, Rhombur studied the Heighliner’s framework, reassembling details from a blueprint in his mind.
Two hours earlier, another holoprojection of the oddlooking Flight Auditor had appeared inside each ship. “We have, nnnn, no additional information. Please stand by.” Then the images had dissolved.
The Heighliner held numerous cargo ships and transport frigates, some of which were filled with foodstuffs, medicines, and trading goods, enough to keep the tens of thousands of passengers alive for months. Gurney wondered if they would remain marooned out here until starving people began to attack each other. Already, some passengers were nervously gorging themselves on personal supplies.
Gurney remained far from despair, though. In his younger days he had survived Harkonnen slave pits and had escaped from Giedi Prime by concealing himself in a shipment of blue obsidian. After that, he could tolerate going astray on a spaceship….
Abruptly, Rhombur lunged to his feet with his baliset and turned his scarred face toward his companion. “This is driving me mad.” The sinews of the Prince’s neck stood out so that Gurney could make out the polymer connections where human muscles had been grafted onto prosthetic parts. “The Guild is full of administrators, bureaucrats, and bankers. The support staff on a Heighliner performs only menial duties. None of them has much expertise in these vessels or the Holtzman engines.”
“What are you getting at?” Gurney looked around. “How can I help?”
Rhombur’s gaze took on the rigid, expectant stare of a leader, eerily similar to the countenance of Dominic Vernius, which Gurney remembered so well. “I have spent my life like the passengers on this Guild ship, waiting for someone else to solve my problems, expecting the situation to fix itself. And I won’t do it any longer. I must try, no matter the result.”
“We have to keep our identities secret in order to complete our mission.”
“Yes, but we can’t help Ix unless we can get there.” Rhombur went to the nearest observation porthole, staring out at the other ships trapped there. “I’m willing to wager that I know more about the intricacies of this ship than any other person aboard. Emergency situations call for strong leadership, and the Spacing Guild doesn’t staff its regular passenger vessels with strong leaders.”
Gurney placed their balisets in a storage locker, but did not bother to lock it. “Then I am at your side. I’ve sworn to protect you and assist you in any way.”
Rhombur looked out a large window at the convoluted catwalks and structural girders that formed the giant ship’s framework. His gaze acquired an unfocused quality, as if he were trying to recall subtle