Crossing his arms over his chest, Willem said, “For years I served in the Air Patrol, so I know how to handle myself in a crisis. I can be cool, and I am not out for blood. But with Orry dead, and Uncle Shander … and my parents, there’s not much left for me on Caladan. I can stay behind, alone, and be reminded every day. Or I can go with you.”
Vor met the young man’s urgent gaze, saw a hint of Leronica there, from across the generations. And he saw a bit of himself, too. Something in Willem’s demeanor reminded him of his own cocky determination when he’d been a young officer, the confidence and certainty in his own abilities.
Vorian Atreides had come to Caladan to regain a grounding in his life, to find his family and reestablish a long-lost connection. That connection was not about a place, but about the bonds of blood. “I’ll let you convince me, then,” he said with a small smile. “But I won’t have a loose cannon at my side seeking revenge.”
Willem’s eyes shone with gratitude. The shuttle up to the spacefolder was ready to be boarded. “I’m levelheaded. But if a Harkonnen tries to kill me or you, I’ll kill them first.”
Vor said, “I can accept that.” Together, they boarded the shuttle.
Chapter 79 (How do we measure the loss of Salvador Corrino)
How do we measure the loss of Salvador Corrino? Is it a blow to the Imperium, or do the people actually benefit from his demise? The answer rests in large part on the shoulders of his brother, our newly seated Emperor.
—“anonymous” pundit (name known, but withheld)
The Imperial Barge had vanished somewhere in the vast emptiness, and the ache left a hole in Roderick’s chest. As the weeks passed and no word came, he could not escape the grim conclusion. Salvador was gone!
After being pressed for answers, Directeur Josef Venport said that the Emperor and his entourage had inspected the spice-harvesting operations and then departed as scheduled. An Imperial investigation team descended upon the Arrakis spaceport, but found only a notation in the log that the barge had departed on its slow, safe journey with old-fashioned FTL engines.
The mechanics and engineers who had checked the opulent barge before its departure from Salusa faced intense scrutiny, but their records were impeccable. The spacecraft had passed all routine safety tests. Under interrogation by a Truthsayer, the Arrakis City maintenance crew revealed nothing other than a routine servicing.
Roderick dispatched another team, including two Scalpel practitioners, to interrogate the members of House Péle who had last worked on the vessel before Salvador confiscated it as punishment for their fraudulent schemes. Even the most skeptical questioner found no evidence that House Péle had planned some subtle sabotage in retaliation for their immense political and financial losses.
Salvador was gone. Navigation accidents occurred, and too frequently. Emperor Salvador Corrino had vanished, along with his ship and crew. An ignominious, but not unexpected, accident.
In a recorded message to Roderick, to express his concerns and condolences, Josef Venport shook his head sadly. “Space travel involves risks, and far too many ships disappear. Look at the appalling record of EsconTran. Even though the Imperial Barge avoided using foldspace technology, the design of the FTL engines was centuries old. If only all vessels would use my Navigators, then we could ensure their safety. Let us hope that Emperor Salvador has only been delayed, and will arrive safely soon.”
But the Emperor had been missing for weeks past his expected arrival.
Now, Roderick Corrino faced his own challenge. He stood alone in the Audience Chamber, staring at the unoccupied green-crystal throne, listening to the silence, seeing the emptiness where his brother had held court so many times. A deep sadness washed through him, but this had to be done. The business of the Imperium must continue. The Emperor had been absent for too long.
Just as heartbreaking, their sister, Anna, was still missing on Lampadas, with no sign of her at the overrun Mentat School. Roderick felt another twinge of anger. Yet another violent riot caused by Butlerian mobs, and Headmaster Albans had been executed after an unbelievable accusation. Roderick felt sorry for the Headmaster, who had seemed like a reasonable man. Had the whole Imperium gone insane?
Perhaps the mad Butlerian movement was at last imploding. He could only hope.
Roderick felt the burn of anger and dismay deep inside him. A Butlerian riot had killed sweet Nantha, another killed Headmaster Albans, and now Anna had also disappeared in the upheaval. Maybe Manford was actually holding her as a hostage for future leverage. But why would he keep her hidden? Maybe she had escaped — or worse, dear Anna might be dead.
He decided to send an army to Lampadas to interrogate the Butlerians, to search for his missing sister and learn what had really happened. Manford would not like it, but Roderick didn’t care. The mad dog of a Butlerian leader had to be put in his place. And now Roderick was in a position to do what had to be done.
First, though, he would deal with the matter of the empty throne. Each day Haditha had been counseling him, supporting him, and listening to him. “You must take the throne — provisionally. The Imperium requires more than just the hope of a leader. Where there is doubt, there is weakness. If your brother returns, you can step aside.” She came close, held him. “But you must become the Corrino Emperor.”
Knowing he could no longer delay, he called an urgent meeting with the highest-ranking members of the Landsraad and his most valued advisers. While waiting for them to arrive, Roderick stepped onto the raised dais and peered into the translucent facets of the great throne, where the reflections created a glittering green universe. It was the throne that Faykan Butler — crowned Emperor Faykan Corrino — first used when he forged the Imperium out of the rubble of the Jihad. The throne had held Emperor Jules Corrino and then Emperor Salvador Corrino … the Corrinos. Roderick had not dared to dream that he would be the Emperor one day. Nor had he wanted it.
He had spent so much time at his brother’s side that he had few close friends among the nobles and courtiers. Salvador and Anna had demanded most of his attention in their own ways, so that he had little left for Haditha and his own children. Even Nantha.
Now, however, he would have to concentrate on his own political alliances, if he hoped to succeed as the acting Emperor.
Of those he trusted in the palace, the Truthsayer Dorotea was well respected, but she had not yet returned from her mysterious mission to Wallach IX, and he didn’t have as much trust and faith in the other Sisters. For the most part, he would be alone with his own decisions.
Hearing a murmur of voices, Roderick watched the highest-ranking members of the Landsraad file into the chamber. He stood beside the throne and waved them forward. They had appointed Naza Ibilin as their spokesperson. She was a small woman, normally quiet and subdued — at least publicly — but she wielded a great deal of influence behind the scenes. She stepped to the dais, gave a brief, formal bow.
“What happened was a terrible thing, Prince Roderick. Whether Emperor Salvador is dead, or unable to return here, the result is the same. The Imperium must have an Emperor. No one questions the succession. The noble houses of the Landsraad beg you to accept the crown so that the peoples of all planets can be reassured.”
A number of leading nobles stepped forward to join Naza Ibilin. “Times are troubled enough, Prince Roderick,” said Chamberlain Bakim, a man of about Roderick’s age. “At this time of tragedy, you are our salvation, and can assure stability. We look to you to lead us.”
Roderick knew the parliamentary rules regarding succession — he had, in fact, reviewed the document recently, although it made his heart heavy — and this was certainly a quorum. He realized that the crowd was composed almost entirely of moderates, none of Directeur Venport’s most vehement supporters, and none of the most vocal adherents to the Butlerian pledge. Good.