But the stranger did not notice him as he pressed into a sheltered corner and unslung his pack, glancing from side to side. With instinctive wariness, Leto remained in the shadows. Something didn’t feel right. This man’s manner was not that of a weary worker going about a tedious daily assignment; his movements seemed furtive.
Leto thumbed off the power to the crystal player so Jessica’s message would not replay.
The worker dug into his pack and removed a thin crystal filmscreen, to which he attached a transmitting device. Leto couldn’t see exactly what the man was doing, only that he called up images on the screen, orbital charts, curves, and bright pinpoints that burned red and green. The worker hunched over and spoke into the transmitter pickup. Leto could discern only “activate … systems … wait.”
The furtive man touched a corner of the ethereal screen, and from a distance, Leto saw images of the discarded dump boxes and cargo containers in orbit. Lights suddenly winked on in the great dark hulks.
The stranger snapped the screen shut and stuffed it back into his pack. Concerned, Leto drew himself up and emerged from his alcove. “You there! Hold!”
The worker bolted, and Leto sprang after him. The man turned a sharp corner into a side passage, slipped between stacked shipment cases, ducked low under an overhang. One corner, then another, a maze of access alleys. Leto ran after him, dodging debris and calling out, trying not to lose him in the clutter, until he burst out into the full, noisy city again.
A fanfare of brassy music played from loudspeakers, and Otorio’s sunlight dazzled him. Crowds and diversions drowned out Leto’s shout. He thought he saw the suspicious worker turn left, darting away.
Leto sprinted after the man, shouting, knowing there were countless security forces around the complex, not to mention Sardaukar, if only he could get their attention. He raised a hand, looking for the ubiquitous patrols, but saw only colorfully clad celebrants.
The city guard force found him as he called out again. Dressed in red and gold, the Imperial troops escorted a pompous-looking official who strode up to him. “Duke Leto Atreides of Caladan,” he said in a booming voice that somehow cut through the cacophony of the great plaza.
Leto spun. “Yes. I need to report—”
The official cut him off with a well-practiced smile, holding up a bejeweled message cylinder. “We have been searching for you since your yacht landed.” With great reverence, he extended the cylinder. “You may keep this personal invitation as a memento, perhaps display it on Caladan for future generations.”
The man cleared his throat and recited, “His Excellency, the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV awaits you at a special reception in the Imperial Monolith. Come with me.” The official seemed surprised that Leto wasn’t swooning with delight. “Now.”
History is a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded. The past must conform to the needs of the Imperium, otherwise an Emperor has failed utterly in his duty.
—EMPEROR FONDIL III, THE HUNTER, “Private Guidance on the Expansion of Imperial Archives on Kaitain”
From the top floor of the Monolith, Shaddam IV placed his hands behind his back and drank in the glorious Corrino complex as if it were a fine vintage. He turned to the vulpine-faced man beside him with a satisfied smile. “The people look so small from up here, Hasimir.”
Count Hasimir Fenring raised his expressive eyebrows as he joined Shaddam in surveying the spectacular plazas and monuments. “So you like to look down on people, hmmm-mmm?” He had a nasal voice, and his sentences often ended with some annoying vocal mannerism.
The plaz window was as transparent as air. The gleaming slivers of many noble spacecraft rested on the nearby field adjacent to the central plaza. “I like to observe my subjects from an objective distance. This vantage gives me a unique perspective.”
Shaddam marveled at the towering statues of his Corrino forebears. They looked like titans arrayed in the city. Once word spread, Otorio would become a destination for countless travelers. Armies of tourists would stream here to pay their respects and pour money into the planetary treasury—and hence, into the Corrino coffers. Soon, the Spacing Guild might even offer direct Heighliner routes from Kaitain.
“We brought civilization to this unremarkable place,” the Emperor said. Light-headed with satisfaction, he hummed deep in his throat, then stopped himself as he realized it was the same annoying noise that Fenring often made. “We did a great thing here.”
Small-statured but with deceptive strength and considerable acumen, Fenring was the Emperor’s boyhood friend and still his most respected adviser on complex and confidential matters. Fenring held one of the most influential positions in Shaddam’s government, Imperial Spice Observer on Arrakis. An unattractive man with exaggerated facial features, the Count styled himself in expensive garments: an overlarge frilled collar, cuffs buttoned up with thick blue jewels. His fingers were nimble and fidgety, adorned with gold and platinum rings.
“Yes, hmmm, I am glad I rediscovered this planet, Sire, though I still have questions about why it remained a cipher for so long.” Fenring’s nostrils narrowed as he sniffed. “I am still investigating. My guess is that Otorio was not accidentally misplaced in the records. The local inhabitants were, ahh, reticent to provide information. They’re either ignorant about Otorio’s previous rulers, or they are complicit.”
Shaddam didn’t care. “It is irrelevant now. Otorio will forever be known as the site of the Grand Corrino Museum.”
By happy coincidence, an eccentric Mentat—actually, the failed Mentat Grix Dardik—had stumbled upon a misfiled mention of the planet Otorio in old Imperial records. The inhabitants of the unnoticed planet did not have so much as a House Minor lord to represent them in the Landsraad. They had no contact with the wider politics of the Imperium, had not participated in any census, nor had they paid Imperial taxes for generations. Dardik had reported the discovery to Count Fenring, the only person who had the patience to keep him around, and Fenring had in turn shown it to Shaddam. With the stroke of his ornate Imperial pen, the Emperor had annexed Otorio and chosen it as the site for his fabulous museum.
With a swirl of diamondweave skirts, a damask corset, and a blouse embroidered with bloodfibers, the new Empress Aricatha approached the two men, slipping between them at the broad viewing window. “Shaddam, my Lord.” She gave him a sweet, sincere smile.
Aricatha was his sixth and newest wife—very new after the death of the disappointing, drab Firenza Thorvald, who had been a mediocre political match and a very poor spouse. The lovely Aricatha still had the shine of a fresh marriage, and Shaddam accepted her conjugal company more often than he visited his concubines.
Her full lips were painted a deep maroon, and her teeth were perfect and even, like fine pearls. “You are being a poor host, my dear. Come away from the window. These people have traveled here at your command specifically to see you.”
“They came here to be seen by me.” He glanced at the crowds milling in the penthouse reception chamber. “I can observe them just as well from here.”
Fenring let out a snicker. “Shaddam has a point, my lovely Empress, but so do you, mmmm-ahh? Sire, we can scheme and plot any time. Perhaps we should let you be respected and adored today. It doesn’t happen often, hmmm?”