at the big fish the cook had just served. “That smells wonderful.” He turned his head, a slow rotational movement, as if on ball bearings. “Do you think I might eat some of it, Dr. Yueh?”
The Suk doctor stroked his long mustaches. “Just taste it. Your digestive system needs more work.”
Rhombur swiveled his head toward Leto. “It appears I’m going to consume more power cells than desserts for a while.” He lowered himself into his chair, and the others finally resumed their seats.
Leto raised his wineglass, trying to think of a toast. Then his face acquired an anguished expression, and he simply took a sip. “I am so sorry this has happened to you, Rhombur. These… mechanical replacements… were the best I could do.”
Rhombur’s scarred face lit up in a combination of gratitude and annoyance. “Vermilion hells, Leto, stop apologizing! Trying to find all the facets of blame would consume House Atreides for years, and we’d all go mad.” He lifted a mechanical arm, rotated the hand at the wrist joint, and stared down at it. “This isn’t so bad. In fact, it’s marvelous. Dr. Yueh’s a genius, you know. You should keep him around as long as you can.” The Suk doctor fidgeted in an effort to keep from glowing at the compliment.
“Remember that I come from Ix, so I appreciate the marvels of technology,” Rhombur said. “Now I’m a living example of it. If any person is better suited to adapt to this new situation, I’d like to meet him.”
For years, the exiled Prince Rhombur had been biding his time, sending minimal support to the resistance movement on his devastated homeworld, including explosive wafers and military supplies provided by Duke Leto.
In recent months, as Rhombur grew stronger physically, he also grew stronger mentally. Though he was only a fraction of a man, every day he spoke of the need to recapture Ix, to the point where Duke Leto and even his concubine Tessia sometimes had to tell him to calm down.
Finally, Leto had agreed to risk sending the reconnaissance team of Gurney and Thufir, clutching at a goal of his own, a new determination to accomplish something good in the face of all the tragedies he had survived. It was not a matter of if they could mount an attack; it was a matter of when and how.
Tessia spoke without shifting her gaze. “Don’t underestimate Rhombur’s strength. You of all people know how one must adapt in order to survive.”
Jessica couldn’t help but notice the adoring look on the concubine’s face. Tessia and Rhombur had spent years together on Caladan, during which time she had encouraged him to support the freedom fighters on Ix, so that he might regain his royal position. Tessia had stood by him through the worst times, even after the explosion. Upon returning to consciousness, Rhombur had said, “I am surprised you stayed.”
“As long as you need me, I will remain.”
Tessia was a whirlwind working on his behalf, supervising the modification of his Castle apartments and preparing devices to assist him. Much of Tessia’s time was devoted to making him stronger. “Once Prince Rhombur is feeling better,” she had announced, “he will lead the Ixian people to victory.”
Jessica didn’t know if the brown-haired woman followed her heart, or fulfilled an unknown set of instructions secretly given to her by the Sisterhood.
All through her own childhood, Jessica had listened to her teacher and mentor, Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam. She had followed her every draconian instruction, learning what the old woman had to teach her.
But now the Sisterhood wanted the Duke’s genetics combined with hers. In no uncertain terms, Jessica had been ordered to seduce Leto and conceive an Atreides daughter. When she experienced unfamiliar and forbidden feelings of love for this dark and moody Duke, however, Jessica had developed a rebellious streak and delayed becoming pregnant. Then, in the wake of Victor’s death and Leto’s destructive depression, she had allowed herself to conceive a son, against the strictest of orders. Mohiam would feel betrayed and deeply disappointed. But Jessica could always bear a daughter later, couldn’t she?
In his reinforced chair, Rhombur bent his left arm and cautiously thrust his stiff fingertips into a pocket of the short robe. He aimed carefully with his fingers, fished about in there. Finally, he grasped a piece of paper, which he painstakingly unfolded.
“Look at the fine motor control,” Yueh said. “This is better than I had expected. You’ve been practicing, Rhombur?”