Interrupting him, Armand Ecaz embraced Leto with his one arm, genuinely overwhelmed to see his friend. “You bring back terrible memories, but we share a pain others cannot understand. I hope you are well.”
Leto winced as he thought of Ilesa Ecaz in her wedding dress, slashed to pieces, dead on the floor at the wedding ceremony. He responded to the embrace, ignoring the other nobles. “I am well.” Leto carefully avoided mentioning Jessica, though he added, “My son, Paul, is fourteen now. I could not be more proud of him. He will be an excellent ruler.”
“Fourteen?” said one of the other nobles, Count Dinovo. “If your son is fourteen, you should start looking for a marriage alliance. It is not too soon. My own daughter is the same age…” He smiled at Leto, let the end of the sentence hang in the air.
Already put off by Mohiam’s mention of the same subject, Leto responded quickly, “For a father, it is always too soon.” He looked around the gathered nobles, not just in his immediate circle but also in the large display room. Was the entire Landsraad looking at his son like predators considering a fresh piece of meat?
Lord Atikk snorted. “Better cast a wide net, Atreides. Caladan is just one planet. Many other noble families would prefer their daughters marry into a House with greater holdings, one that is more … prestigious.”
Leto bristled at the comment. “A daughter with such shallow ambitions would not be appropriate for my son.”
Armand stepped closer to Leto, protective. “When my daughter was alive, I considered House Atreides to be more than acceptable for a marriage alliance.” That stopped further conversation. They all knew what his empty sleeve meant.
Leto extricated himself from the uncomfortable conversation, realizing that this glittering reception was full of political traps.
Do not hunger overmuch for attention. Subtle influence is a more potent key to power than a conspicuous display of wealth or bravado. Patience is a coin of great value.
—MALINA ARU, Ur-Director of CHOAM, sealed letter to her children
Though she could feel faint seismic tremors, the planet was solid beneath her feet. A gray haze of smoke hovered in the air, and distant rivers of open lava illuminated the sky with a scarlet glow.
Tupile had been the secret operational heart of CHOAM for generations, although the hidden world appeared neither on Imperial charts nor in Spacing Guild records. Several planets bore the same code name, equally secret sanctuaries, and Ur-Director Malina Aru found that this only increased the effectiveness of the camouflage.
Her son Jaxson, though, did not care about safety or subtlety. During the restless months he had lived with Malina on Tupile, he had worked himself into an irrational turmoil over the desecration of their family holdings on remote Otorio. Jaxson would leave this sanctuary soon, despite her best advice to the contrary.
Malina had great things in mind for her youngest child, using the influence and resources of CHOAM, if only Jaxson would let her bring her well-developed plan to fruition. Alas, she doubted that would happen. The young man had intensity and drive but lacked patience.
She stood by herself on the open veranda. The smoke from distant eruptions irritated her rich brown eyes, leaving them red-rimmed. She kept her short, dark hair attractively styled, but businesslike, without frivolous ornamentation. Her slacks, made of soft and supple schlag leather, clung to her slender legs like lotion. The planet’s single moon loomed huge overhead, as if poised to crash down through the atmosphere.
Tupile’s seismic unrest always made Malina feel vibrant, reminding her of the power she controlled. The Imperium had a visible hold on all the worlds of humanity, but the showpiece of the Emperor and the extended politics of the Landsraad were, like the wave of a magician’s hand, a distraction for the audience.
Through its web of commerce and alliances, the CHOAM Company was the real framework of civilization. Jaxson, like so many other firebrands, harangued that the bloated Imperium needed to be dismantled. In principle, Malina embraced the same cause, but only under careful and controlled conditions. Her son didn’t have the fortitude for that.
Tupile’s roots as a hidden sanctuary world extended throughout Imperial history. During the riots following the release of the Orange Catholic Bible, members of the Council of Ecumenical Translators had fled for their lives, vanishing into the mystery of Tupile. Through centuries of careful and patient data purges, the Tupile worlds had been removed from star charts and records. Although no official Spacing Guild routes existed for Tupile, due to a long-standing secret agreement, the most senior Directors of CHOAM received confidential transport.
The planet was distant from its dim, red sun and far outside what should have been the life zone, but gravitational flexing from the large moon heated the landmasses to the point of habitability. Wealthy recluses had built private reinforced structures that could withstand the seismic upheavals.
Hearing a click of nails and padded feet, Malina turned to see her two muscular spinehounds following Jaxson out onto the open veranda. It had been only hours since her most recent argument with him. She hoped the calm would last a little longer, but she could see her volatile son was ready to debate again.
He spent a great deal of time with the two pets, though they were bonded to Malina. The spinehounds consisted of coiled fur, muscle, and fangs, their pelts made of silvery spines too thick to be soft hair. Sharp horns protruded from behind their pointed ears. The rumbling growl they made in their broad chests struck terror into their victims, but Malina heard it as a purr.
Choosing not to acknowledge Jaxson yet, she crouched, smiling, and spread out her hands. The spinehounds bounded toward her, leaving Jaxson behind. “Yes, my dear Har and Kar.” She wrapped her arms around them, scratching their muzzles, and accidentally pricked her forefinger on one of the spines. She ignored it. She had many tiny scars from her pets. The spinehounds sat at her feet, doting on her.
Finally, Malina rose and turned to her son, taking charge. “We agree more than we disagree, you know.”
“If we agree, Mother, then why haven’t we destroyed House Corrino for what they did? You could pull the right strings and eviscerate Shaddam with a single memo.”
“Because we are CHOAM, and Shaddam is the Imperium, and we cannot treat this like an undignified schoolyard brawl. The Emperor doesn’t even know what he’s done to us.”
“That does not excuse it! Otorio was our ancestral sanctuary. The damage can never be undone.”
“Therefore, there is no hurry,” Malina said. “Would you take a brash, impetuous revenge right now, or would you rather properly dismantle the Imperium for all time?”
Jaxson bunched his fists. His short, curly hair was tight to his skull, looking like black smoke. His brows were thick over brown eyes as dangerous as unexploded grenades.
Before he answered, she said, “I admire your energy, son. All your life I have strived to channel that energy to the benefit of CHOAM and our family.”
“You want me to be a puppet like my brother and sister!”
Malina let out a burst of laughter at the thought, and the two spinehounds growled in response. One trotted over to Jaxson to be petted, then returned to her. “Frankos and Jalma fill their roles exactly as planned. I wish you would trust that I have great plans for you, too.”