The pilot sounded disappointed. “Will I have time to buy a gift for my sweetheart, my Lord? And souvenirs for my nephews?”
Leto smiled, indulging the man. He was sure the other retainers felt the same. “Of course. I doubt any part of this event will be speedy.”
As the craft glided smoothly toward the surface, he could see the geometric complex of Shaddam’s new Imperial museum, comprising many square kilometers of towering buildings, wide boulevards, plazas, and monuments—as if a swath of Kaitain’s metropolis had been uprooted and transplanted across the galaxy.
Arko brought the yacht down on the priority landing field adjacent to the new Imperial Monolith. The extraordinary spire was shaped like a narrow wedge, wider at the top and delicately balanced on a fulcrum in the central plaza below. From a distance, some claimed the structure looked like a huge spike driven through the heart of Otorio.
Leto’s pilot and crew were awestruck by the grandeur and would no doubt talk about this experience in Cala City taverns for the rest of their lives. With a quiet smile, Leto gave them a discretionary bonus of funds so they could buy commemorative trinkets, and turned them loose to explore. They went off with delighted gratitude, while he turned to his own official duties.
As Leto emerged from the yacht, he faced a cacophony of sensory impressions. Visiting nobles bedecked with gloriously colored robes and flashing jewels put on quite a show with excessive entourages, trying to look important. Pursuing their goal of being noticed, these ambitious nobles preened and strutted, and few gave him a second glance in his formal but unremarkable clothes. Content with the reputation of House Atreides, Leto ignored the snub. He didn’t need to prove his importance or wealth.
Even though he was the Duke of Caladan, he let himself vanish into the crowd. He often did the same at home, enjoying a few hours as a nondescript person so he could walk unnoticed among his own people. Now he strolled by himself into the vast network of fountains, statues, obelisks, and museum exhibits.
Imperial security forces patrolled the streets dressed in Corrino scarlet and gold, accompanied by fearsome Imperial Sardaukar, the Emperor’s private terror troops. Leto found their presence here interesting. Sardaukar were used for only the most elite missions; the fact that Shaddam assigned them here emphasized the importance of the gala. While Kaitain had innumerable centuries of established security routines, this planet was a clean slate. The show of force was not surprising.
Confident, Leto strode along the broad boulevards, where multi-terraced fountains gushed water and jets of steam; glass prisms split sunlight into rainbows. Towering statues of past Corrino Emperors made every ruler look handsome and brave. A polished biographical tablet on each plinth summarized that Emperor’s accomplishments.
Since the end of the Butlerian Jihad ten thousand years ago, the Corrinos—who took their name after the Battle of Corrin—had ruled as the dominant dynasty. There had been interregnums, coup d’états, and interim administrations by other noble houses, but some vestige of House Corrino always returned to power, marrying into the ruling families, taking control through bloody civil war or administrative fiat. With this celebratory city, Shaddam IV would make certain everyone remembered him and his ancestors.
Leto looked up at a three-meter-high metal colossus of Shaddam’s father, the “wise and benevolent” Elrood IX. He frowned at the glowing description on the plaque, knowing that old Elrood had been a petulant and vindictive man, and Shaddam himself had despised him. Leto’s father, Duke Paulus Atreides, had fought in the Ecazi Revolt to support Elrood, but the leader’s dishonorable dealings had greatly troubled the Old Duke.
Leto walked through the endless complex, his eyes oversaturated, his ears deafened by the clamor of celebration. The crowd was composed entirely of nobles or high-ranking functionaries who had received coveted invitations to this grand gala. He could imagine how Paul would have reveled in all these new experiences.
After an hour, already weary of the spectacle, he began to look for a quiet respite before he would go to see the Emperor himself. He circled around the largest statue near the base of the Imperial Monolith—the beautiful Madonna-like figure of Serena Butler cradling her baby, the martyred infant that had triggered the terrible war against the thinking machines. Her statue towered over a robust but gnarled olive tree that sprang up from the flagstones. A plaque noted that the tree was the last remnant of an extensive olive grove that had covered the lands here until recently. Now it had all been paved over.
Behind the Serena statue, Leto noted a back entrance to one of the large museum buildings. The enormous monument hid what appeared to be a warren of back alleys and service entrances. Confident that no one would pay any attention to him, he slipped under the sheltered overhangs, where bright sunshine dwindled into shadows. The plaza’s artificial mists and perfumes faded to more conventional smells, warm generator exhaust, a hint of garbage, the sweat of workers.
Leto ducked into a sheltered doorway under an overhang, and found the delivery entrance locked. He was alone. Shadows and silence breathed around him like a relieved sigh. Leaning against the alcove wall, he reached into his pocket and removed a tight shigawire spool and a pocket-sized crystal player. He smiled as he activated the recording.
The image shimmered before snapping into focus. Leto was glad to see the beautiful Lady Jessica, his bound concubine, his lover, the mother of his son. She wore a blue gown, a necklace of reefpearls from the Caladan coast. Her long, bronze hair was bound up in pins and carved seashell combs that highlighted her green eyes.
Her voice flowed like music, especially after the noise of the museum complex. “Leto, you said you would not view this until you reached Otorio. Have you been true to your promise?” Her voice held a teasing lilt.
“Yes, I have, my love,” he said aloud, in private.
Her generous lips curved upward, and she touched one of her ornate combs. She knew him well.
One reason she had not accompanied him to the celebration was that she remained his mere concubine, not his wife, and that was how it must stay, for political reasons. Although he remained technically available for a marriage alliance, he accepted that it would never happen. Not after …
He winced as he thought about the bloody disaster of his near wedding to Ilesa Ecaz. So much blood … so much hatred. As a Landsraad noble, he had to keep his options open, technically, but he had made up his mind not to accept any more offers of a marriage alliance. He needed to keep Jessica safe. Not that she couldn’t protect herself, with all of her Bene Gesserit training.…
On the holoprojection, Jessica continued talking, but her voice was itself the message, and that was all he needed to hear. His deep love for her was a weakness he could not allow anyone to see. “Come home to me safely,” she said. “Caladan will be here for you, as will I, my Duke.”
“My Lady.” He smiled as the message ended and the shimmering image faded away. He drew energy from her that he would need for the political obligations and maneuverings he must face now.
Before Leto stepped out of the sheltered doorway, another man darted into the narrow service passageways. He wore a charcoal-gray worker’s jumpsuit with tools at his belt, a loose pack over his shoulder. Knowing he was out of place, Leto prepared to make excuses if anyone asked why he was here, although a worker would not likely challenge a noble.