Discourses on Galactic Leadership

Leto worked his way down to the shore alone, zigzagging along the steep cliffside path and staircase to reach the old quays below the edifice of Castle Caladan.

Through cloud patches, midday sunlight glimmered off the placid water that stretched to the horizon. Leto paused on the sheer, black-rock cliff, shading his eyes to look beyond the aqueous kelp forests, the fishing fleets with their chanting crews, and the line of reefs that sketched a hard topography onto the sprawling sea.

Caladan — his world, rich in seas and jungles, arable land and natural resources. It had belonged to House Atreides for twenty-six generations. Now it belonged to him, uncontested.

He loved this place, the smell of the air, the salt of the ocean, the tang of kelp and fish. The people here had always worked hard for their Duke, and Leto tried to do his best for them as well. If he had lost his Trial by Forfeiture, what would have happened to the good citizens of Caladan? Would they even have noticed if these holdings had been given over to the surrogate governorship of, say, House Teranos, House Mutelli, or any other reputable member of the Landsraad? Perhaps … . Perhaps not.

Leto, though, could not imagine being anyplace else. This was where the Atreides belonged. Even if he’d been stripped of everything, he would have returned to Caladan to live out his life near the sea.

Though Leto knew he was innocent, he still did not understand what had happened to the Tleilaxu ships inside the Heighliner. He had no evidence to prove to anyone else that he hadn’t fired the blasts that nearly triggered a major war. On the contrary, he’d certainly had sufficient motive, and because of this, the other Houses had been reluctant to speak strongly in his defense, allies or not. Had they done so, they would have risked their share of the spoils if the Atreides holdings were forfeited and divided. Yet even during that time, many Houses had sent silent expressions of approval for the way Leto had protected his crew members and friends.

And then, by some miracle, Emperor Shaddam had saved him.

On the flight home from Kaitain, Leto had spoken at length with Thufir Hawat, but neither the young Duke nor the warrior Mentat could fathom Emperor Shaddam’s reason for coming to the aid of the Atreides, or why he had so feared Leto’s desperate bluff. Even as a boy, Leto had known never to trust an explanation of pure altruism, no matter what Shaddam said in his moving statement before the court. This much was certain: The new Emperor had something to hide. Something involving the Tleilaxu.

Under Leto’s guidance, Hawat had dispatched Atreides spies to many worlds, hoping to uncover further information. But the Emperor, forewarned by Leto’s mysterious, provocative message, would no doubt be more careful than ever.

In the vast spectrum of the Imperium, House Atreides was still not particularly powerful and had no hold on the Corrino family, no apparent reason to be protected. The blood ties were not in themselves enough. Though Leto himself was a cousin to Shaddam, many in the Landsraad could trace their bloodlines at least peripherally back to the Corrinos, especially if one went all the way back to the days of the Great Revolt.

And where did the Bene Gesserit fit in? Were they Leto’s allies, or his enemies? Why had they offered to help him? Who had sent the information about Shaddam’s involvement in the first place? The coded message cube had disintegrated. Leto had come to expect hidden enemies — but not allies who remained so secretive.

And, most enigmatic of all, who really had destroyed the Tleilaxu ships?

Alone for the moment, but still troubled, Leto stepped away from the cliffs and crossed a gentle downslope along the gray-black shingle at the water’s edge, until he reached the quiet docks. All the boats had been taken out for the day, save for one small beached coracle and a yacht at anchor, flying a faded pennant with the hawk crest of the Atreides.

That hawk had come perilously close to extinction.

In bright sunlight, Leto sat at the end of the main dock, listening to the lapping waves and the songs of gray gulls. He smelled salt and fish and the sweet, fresh air. He remembered when he and Rhombur had gone out together to dive for coral gems … the accidental fire and the near disaster they had suffered out on the distant reefs. A small matter in comparison with what had occurred later.

Peering into the water below him, he watched a rock crab as it clung to the dock piling, then disappeared into the blue-green depths.

“So, are you satisfied to be a Duke, or would you rather be a simple fisherman, after all?” Prince Rhombur’s loud voice sounded bright, blustering with good cheer.

Leto turned, feeling the sun-warmed dock boards beneath the seat of his trousers. Rhombur and Thufir Hawat trudged across the crunching shingle toward him. Leto knew the Master of Assassins would chide him for sitting with his back vulnerable to the open beach, where the white noise from the ocean might mask any stealthy approach.

“Perhaps I can be both,” Leto said, standing and brushing himself off. “The better to understand my people.”

” ‘Understanding your people paves the road to understanding leadership,’ ” Hawat intoned — an old Atreides maxim. “I hope you were meditating upon statecraft, as we have much work to do, now that all is returning to normal.”

Leto sighed. “Normal? I think not. Someone tried to start a war with the Tleilaxu and blame my family in the process. The Emperor fears what he thinks I know. House Vernius is still renegade, and Rhombur and Kailea remain exiled here, though at least they were pardoned and the blood price on their heads has been lifted. Moreover, my name was never actually cleared — a lot of people still think I attacked those ships.”

He scooped up a beach pebble that lay on the dock and tossed it far out on the water where he couldn’t discern the splash it made. “If this is a victory for House Atreides, Thufir, it’s bittersweet, at best.”

“Perhaps,” Rhombur said, standing next to the beached coracle. “But better than a defeat.”

The old Mentat nodded, his leathery skin reflecting the harsh sun. “You handled yourself with an air of true honor and nobility, my Duke, and House Atreides has gained widespread respect. That is a victory you must never discount.”

Leto looked up at the tall towers of Castle Caladan looming high on the cliff. His Castle, his home.

He thought of the ancient traditions of his Great House, and how he would build on them. In his royal station he was an axis upon which millions of lives revolved. The life of a simple fisherman might have been easier, after all, and more peaceful — but not for him. He would always be Duke Leto Atreides. He had his name, his title, his friends. And life was good.

“Come, young masters,” Thufir Hawat said. “It’s time for another lesson.”

In high spirits, Leto and Rhombur followed the Master of Assassins back up to the Castle.