Each breath carries the risk that there may not be another one to follow.

—ancient saying

After slipping out of the cavern city and emerging into the starlight near a subsidiary spaceport, Paul followed Bronso toward a large, silent cargo ship on the landing field, its hold open and waiting. “Up the ramp and look for a hiding place aboard! After they finish loading in the morning, this thing will take off and enter the hold of a Heighliner—bound for points unknown.”

Paul wrestled with his friend’s impetuous decision, but he saw no honorable way to abandon him or report his intentions. Duncan and Gurney would never suspect that Paul intended to do something so foolhardy. He couldn’t say goodbye to them, or to his mother. If he saw her, Jessica would instantly sense the change. . . .

Hidden among hard, sharp-edged containers, the boys snatched a few hours of restless sleep until noises woke them: clanging, voices and men moving about, engines humming, loaders stacking cargo.

“Don’t worry, they’ve already loaded this compartment,” Bronso said in a loud whisper. “They’ve got no reason to come here. Nothing to worry about.” Paul listened to the tone of the voices, but detected no hint of hunters, no determined search teams. These were just men at work.

Two hours later, the hold was full, the heavy hatches sealed, the chambers pressurized. The engines surged on, undamped by baffles or insulation, and since the sealed hold had no windowports, the ride to orbit was long, loud, and nerve-wracking. Finally, after a series of heavy clangs, a shudder through the deck and bulkheads, and a sharp hissing of equalizing atmospheres, the cargo ship went absolutely still and silent.

“I think we’re inside a Heighliner hold,” Paul said.

Bronso stretched and looked around in the dim light of emergency strips mounted to the bulkheads. “Let’s go. There are more interesting places to be aboard a Guildship.”

When Bronso found that the access doors had been locked from the outside, he crept up a ladder, pushed open a hatch in the ceiling of the cargo ship, and motioned for Paul to follow. The two of them crawled out onto the main deck. Paul had been aboard Atreides cargo ships and recognized the same general layout. From here, knowing the docking configuration, they could slip off the ship and go out into the layered decks of the immense Guildship.

Bronso marched toward an exit hatch, but Paul grabbed his arm. “Once we make our way to the passenger decks, how do we prove we paid for passage? Maybe we should stay in our safe hiding place.”

The Ixian boy glanced dismissively back at the hold. “Do you want to hide in the cargo ship all the way to its destination, or would you rather ride the Heighliner from system to system? I want to see the Imperium, not just the home world of one Ixian customer.”

Paul relented, and they passed through the cargo ship’s connecting doors into the receiving decks. Other people milled around, disembarking from the hundreds of vessels in the great ship’s hold. Acting as if they had business, the two young men walked briskly away.

Bronso rummaged in his pack for a crystal pad projector and led the way to a quieter alcove. He called up schematics, which he projected in the air for Paul to see. “This Heighliner was built in an Ixian shipyard. I think we’re here, and the levels we want”—he pointed toward a zigzag of ramps on a bulkhead in the hold—“should be in that direction.”

They blended in with other passengers, and followed them up ramps into crowded public promenades that seemed as vast as the cavern city of Vernii. Bronso pointed to a lavishly decorated lounge, where people filled their plates with food from a sumptuous buffet. Paul realized his stomach was growling, and his companion didn’t hesitate. They boldly followed two gentlemen through the door of the lounge, then headed straight to the food-laden table. Trying to act casual, the two filled their plates, then found an unoccupied table.

Almost immediately a thin Wayku attendant approached, his eyes shielded behind dark, opaque glasses. He sported a black goatee on a very pale face; a headset blocked his ears, and Paul heard loud noises—music? voices?—wafting from the earpieces. The steward said tersely, “This food is for a private CHOAM party. You are not members of that party.”

Bronso grabbed another bite before he rose to his feet. “We didn’t realize. Should we return the food to the buffet? We haven’t touched much of it.”

“You’re stowaways.” They could not read his eyes behind the Wayku’s dark lenses.

“No,” Bronso said. “We’re paying passengers.”

“It is my profession to spot anything out of the ordinary. You must have been very clever to get aboard the Heighliner.”

Bronso looked angry, as if the steward had insulted him. “Come on, Paul. Let’s go.”

The deck vibrated and hummed, and a faint ripple of disorientation passed through them. The set of the Wayku man’s expression changed, and he let out a resigned sigh. “Those were the Holtzman engines. We have already left the system, so there would be little point in sending you back to Ix. My job is to keep the passengers satisfied and maintain uninterrupted service.”

“We won’t cause any trouble,” Paul promised.

“No, you won’t, provided you pay attention and follow certain rules. I don’t intend to turn you in. I am Ennzyn, one of the chief stewards, and I have jobs for both of you. We’re somewhat understaffed.” He lifted his dark glasses to reveal pale blue eyes. His tone suggested that they had no choice. “I need help with the cleanup duties.”

Paul and Bronso exchanged glances and nods of acceptance.

“Finish your meals first.” Ennzyn motioned them back to their seats. “I abhor waste. When you’re done, I’ll show you where to stow your gear.”