Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

After living for more than two centuries, Vor had grown weary of his old persona and all the baggage it carried. He craved something new and fresh, and a universe of options lay before him. It was like shedding his skin.

It was not only a matter of where he was going, but much more. He had many ideas, and plenty of experience, in knowing how not to be found. Out in the Imperium, after so much time, no one even thought to connect Vorian’s face with the visage they saw in history books, on memorial statues, even on Imperial coins. He would make his way to other worlds, backwater worlds, where he might even find a Tlulaxa surgeon who could make cellular alterations to his face. And Vor would survive, for however long his life-extension treatment might last.

He could obtain different features through surgery, and an entirely different existence, but he would still be Vorian Atreides, always an Atreides, on the inside. He could hardly wait to step into the skin of the new person he intended to become.

Secure in his rule, the Emperor stood in his flowmetal cape outside the golden-domed Hall of Parliament. Now that he no longer needed to be concerned about the superstitious Butlerians, he wore the exotic cape as a symbol of pride and confidence, and to mark the victory of humans over machines in the Jihad. He did not fear thinking machines, nor fanatics.

He was the Emperor.

Empress Haditha, Crown Prince Javicco, and the younger princesses Tikya and Wissoma were at his side, gazing out on a sea of people spreading across Zimia’s central plaza. Landsraad nobles flanked the Imperial seats, while behind them a wraparound screen concealed the real reason for the gathering.

Roderick squinted into the bright noon sunlight. Flags hung from government buildings around the square, fluttering in a gentle breeze. The scarlet-and-gold buntings of House Corrino were draped across balconies above, including the balcony from which Emperor Salvador had addressed his subjects on many occasions.

With the major crises solved in the Imperium, the city was in a celebratory mood. The Emperor and Empress were dressed in their formal attire of state—he wore a Corrino uniform with a scarlet sash across his chest, and Haditha a long gown of matching colors, along with Hagal jewels and her impressive crown, the crown that Salvador had rarely let his own wife wear. But Haditha was different; as far as Roderick was concerned, she deserved it.

As he waited for the cheers to fade, he glanced at Fielle, who remained close. His Truthsayer had certainly proved her worth in the last encounter against Directeur Venport, and he valued her presence, although he wasn’t sure how much he could trust the Sisterhood as a whole. In a fit of pique Salvador had disbanded their entire order, and it had been a mistake. Roderick saw that as allies the Sisters could be useful, and as enemies they could be dangerous, but they were so secretive and controlled that one could rarely tell which side they were on.

Such as Cioba Venport … She had come here because of her Sisterhood connections, but as the wife of an outlaw, she had been held on Salusa as a hostage. She had vanished shortly after hearing the news of her husband’s defeat and was nowhere to be found. Was her loyalty to Venport or to the Sisterhood? One rumor suggested that she had fled to Wallach IX, although the Sisterhood denied it. If true, Roderick doubted if he would ever pry her loose from that insular school. But he would keep watching, and would not forget.

Right now, Fielle had been joined by Mother Superior Valya, the leader of the Sisterhood, who wore heavy, dark garments. Valya was astonishingly young for a role of such enormous importance, but her actions and mannerisms carried the weight of countless generations. Her face looked oddly bruised, the worst marks covered with obvious makeup.

The Mother Superior had come here to represent the Sisterhood—as well as her own noble family, House Harkonnen from Lankiveil—for the Imperial victory celebration. Valya had used influence and favors to request a place for her younger brother Danvis at court, so that he could enhance his family’s visibility in the Landsraad. Roderick had granted the request.

Now, sitting in a reserved box seat, Danvis Harkonnen wore whale-fur finery from his home, though his clothes were several years out of style. The bright-eyed young man looked thin and pale, out of his depth, but Roderick found him to be fresh-faced and likable.

When the cheers dampened in anticipation, Roderick spoke in an amplified voice that carried out over the farthest fringes of the crowd. “This gathering makes me recall the celebrations under my grandfather Faykan I, at the end of the Jihad. Today we celebrate a different but equally important victory—peace in the Imperium.

“Even after the fall of the thinking machines, we discovered new enemies in our ranks, those who would pull our civilization in different and dangerous directions. Two extremists tried to tear apart the Imperium from opposite sides.” He paused, staring at the ocean of faces, wondering which factions they sided with. There is only one faction now, he reminded himself. My faction.

“Directeur Josef Venport sought to control us through his monopoly on safe space travel and the distribution of spice. He was a rational but selfish and immoral man, and his unethical stranglehold has now been broken. With the fall of Venport Holdings, our new independent Spacing Guild will guarantee commercial foldspace travel to all worlds in the Imperium.”

He let the crowd acknowledge the tremendous opportunity this would create for all of their lives, and then hardened his voice. “On the other hand, Manford Torondo was not at all rational. He was a power-hungry fanatic who manipulated mobs to cause death and destruction, to the detriment of every Imperial citizen. Such extremism has collapsed under its own intolerance.”

The crowd response was subdued at first, but gradually it built to louder and more sustained applause as the listeners found the courage to express their real feelings. There would be some among the thousands who still sympathized with the Butlerian cause, but the mounting cheer suggested something else to Roderick—that for all the fury and energy of the fanatics, perhaps the rest of the populace had not approved, but were merely too afraid to voice their real objections. As he listened to the crowd, he detected a ragged edge of relief.

He took Haditha’s hand and continued. “Both of those extremists hurt us profoundly. Because of them we lost three members of our family, and our grief is still a painful wound—yet, it is but a microcosm of what others have suffered. The blind ambitions of two men inflicted such a cost on humanity. On each extreme, opposing one another at every turn and harming the Imperium, Torondo and Venport each thought that he alone could drive our future—and both of them failed. We must be vigilant that such devastating ambitions do not tear our society apart ever again.

“As your Emperor I need your help to continue along a new path—one that is much larger than any one person. I seek no glory, for I am but a guide for all of us. Yes, I am just a man.” He smiled and looked at Haditha, then raised her hand high. “I have my Empress at my side, and she is ready and willing to anchor me when I need it. She watches over the people, as I do—she has already demonstrated her energy and skill by managing the relief efforts to help the victims of the recent terrible flood.”

Haditha spoke, “My husband cares for his subjects, as I do. Whether a tragedy hurts one village or the entire Imperium, the pain is part of all of us.” She touched her crown. “The Emperor’s heart is with you. I will continue to advise him, support him, and be his sounding board.”