Leto guessed that many thousands of holograms were issuing the same statement across the city. Everyone would hear what this man had to say. By an odd trick of projection, Leto thought the shimmering image was looking directly at him. The transmitted voice grew louder. “I have something to say, and you will hear me. The whole Imperium will hear me, because I speak with a thunderous voice.”
“He seems quite full of himself,” muttered one of the pompous lords.
“You do not know me, but you will. I am Jaxson Aru. My message will be carried far and wide, from planet to planet, because freedom will not be silenced.”
“Aru?” Empress Aricatha said. “We know that name.”
Leto remembered a Frankos Aru, who was currently the President of the CHOAM Company. Was this Jaxson related to him?
The holograms continued speaking. “The Corrino Imperium has outlived its usefulness, and we must break it apart. The only way to do that is to cut off its head.”
The Sardaukar fighters tensed, drew closer to Shaddam.
“You all stand here at a crime scene,” Jaxson Aru continued, “one of many Corrino crime scenes. The Emperor stole this world to inflate his ego—just as he has stolen from every single noble family in the Landsraad. We should be kings of our own planets, rulers of our own destinies. The Corrinos have smothered you for thousands of years, and you put up with it! No, you enable it. That ‘noble’ house and the entire core of the Landsraad must be replaced.”
The glow of the holograms washed over the audience. Under the pale illumination, Leto saw Shaddam frown. “What do we know about this man?”
Fenring said quickly, “I briefed you about him not long ago, Sire, hmmm? He is the son of Malina Aru, the Urdir of CHOAM, but little else is known about him.”
“What does that—”
Jaxson raised his voice from the holograms. “Why do you all tolerate an ancient and corrupt Imperium, monopolized by one greedy family, when we could have thousands of thriving independent planets, each controlled by its own leaders and its own people? That is how the human race survives!”
Across the plaza, the distant crowd was also stirring in the darkness. Leto could see them moving about like angry insects among the countless pale Jaxson Aru projections.
One of the nobles in the reception chamber shouted in a loud enough voice to drown out the projected words. “He speaks treason! I am loyal to the Padishah Emperor.”
Leto observed intensely, listening for further explanations as a knot formed in his stomach. Any plot as complex as this would be expressed in more than a simple indignant statement. Jaxson Aru might speak his manifesto and hope to change minds or recruit other rebels, but Leto didn’t think he would be satisfied with only that. There had to be something else afoot.
He looked around, increasingly agitated. He knew there were aircraft on the rooftop of the Imperial Monolith—one level above the penthouse reception hall—but if all these people had to evacuate, the accelerated lift was the main means of escape down to street level. What if Aru had sabotaged the reception somehow? Planted a bomb in the tower?
Leto leaned closer to Aricatha. “I do not like this, Empress. We must prepare ourselves for whatever may come.”
The Emperor turned to the site-wide communicator he had been about to use. “With this, I can summon security from across the complex. My voice will drown out everything that foolish man says.” He waved a hand to activate the speaker, but the system remained dead, all the power out.
Jaxson continued his tirade. “Remember the Noble Commonwealth. Learn our cause. Understand your future. Join us.” The holograms paused, then added, “If you survive tonight.”
As a rush of angry disbelief washed over the room, the images faded away like sea mist burned off by a hot morning sun. With the holograms gone, the reception area and the city outside fell back into total darkness. The crowd murmurs grew louder, though Leto noticed several people had fallen silent, including Lord Atikk. The Duke remembered some of the guests surreptitiously talking about the Noble Commonwealth. Were they involved in this debacle?
Temporary lights flickered on as technicians restored some circuits in the Monolith. The Emperor stood boiling with outrage, surrounded by a close cordon of Sardaukar. Leto had seen Shaddam furious before, but never like this. Jaxson Aru’s rebellious display was not only offensive in its own right, but because it had occurred during the grandiose Corrino gala, it was personally embarrassing.
“Find that man!” Shaddam roared. “Tear up every floor plate and expose the wiring in the walls. How did he accomplish this? Find him. Is he here?”
“I believe that was only a recording, Sire,” Fenring said.
“What did he mean, ‘if you survive tonight’?” Leto said and pushed closer to the Sardaukar guards, wary. “Is there immediate danger?”
Three Sardaukar pressed forward at a militaristic pace, cleaving through the crowd. Leto recognized the colonel bashar who had agreed to investigate the surreptitious maintenance worker in the plaza. The officer shouldered one lord—Count Dinovo—aside, heading like a projectile toward the Emperor. “We are taking you now, Sire. We must evacuate.”
“Evacuate? But this is my gala!”
Showing no deference, the colonel bashar seized Shaddam’s arm. “Duke Atreides’s suspicions proved to be valid.” The Sardaukar looked at Leto. “I’m sorry that it took so long to verify, Sire. There is a plot against the throne.”
“Of course there’s a plot! We just watched it unfold,” Shaddam snapped. “Did you not see the holograms? We have to stop the man from spreading more of his sedition.”
The officer reported in clipped words as he urged the Emperor into motion. “The dump boxes and heavy debris in orbit are not empty, as they appeared to be. They are loaded with inert mass and explosives, making each of them a huge and deadly projectile. Their engines have been activated on a swift burn, and three of them are on a direct descent. This museum complex is the target.”
Shaddam balked, but the Sardaukar maintained a firm hold on him. “We are evacuating you, Sire. Right now!”
The most important parenting skill is knowing when to exert control and when to let go.
—LADY JESSICA
When the ocean storm swept in, Jessica knew that Paul and Duncan were out training with one of the modified ’thopter-flyers. She bundled herself against the cold wind and rain and hurried out of the castle. Half an hour earlier watching from a high window, she’d seen the two of them take off from the military airfield on the headlands and fly out over the water, undaunted by the darkening storm. Paul would revel in the chance to test his skill in the adverse weather.
But the thunderheads had grown uglier, thicker. Off in the distance, flickers of light at the base of the black cloud suggested something more ominous than lightning. This hazard went beyond anything she wanted her son to face in a routine exercise. All sensible fishermen had returned their boats to dock, but Paul’s flyer headed out as if to taunt the storm.
She felt a natural fear for his safety, but she also knew his skill.
Beneath her long coat, she wore an elegant white dress, and her bronze hair was arranged in a bun, studded with rare reefpearls, a gift from Duke Leto. Today was the twentieth anniversary of their very first meeting, and she hadn’t forgotten, even though Leto was away at the new Corrino museum. Yet now, realizing that her son could be at risk, she turned her thoughts to more urgent matters.