Prescience cannot be a random thing. It must be by design. The question is, whose design?

—comment, Intergalactic Commission on Spirituality

For several days, as the two boys settled into their new circumstances aboard the Guildship, the Wayku steward showed them around the service decks. Exclusive side passages allowed employees to move about without mingling with the passengers.

Paul and Bronso wore common work clothes, and Ennzyn assigned them to jobs that even the Wayku found unpleasant. Because the boys had no better option, they worked without complaint. The man showed a remarkable lack of curiosity, not even bothering to ask their full names. Wayku seemed to respect secrets and privacy.

Paul and Bronso stood with him on a wide landing surrounded by exposed pipes, power conduits, and harsh glowglobes. Ennzyn warned, “Beware of Guild officials or Heighliner inspectors. They are the greatest hazard on this ship: Don’t let them notice you. If anyone asks to see your employment documentation, send them to me. We Wayku have a certain amount of influence.”

Paul noted his odd attire. “Your people seem to be everywhere on Guildships, but where’s your home world? Where do the Wayku come from?”

“By Imperial decree, all of our planets were destroyed in the Third Coalsack War—ages ago. Our descendants have no home, and we are forbidden from ever setting foot on a planetary surface.”

Paul could not imagine the level of vindictiveness that would lead to the obliteration of entire planetary populations. “For what offense?”

“When a few militant commanders committed war crimes, my entire race was held accountable for the atrocities.” Ennzyn pushed his dark glasses up, clicked them into his headset, and regarded the boys with his blue eyes. “The Wayku backed the wrong side against a powerful emperor, and he sent his armies to annihilate us. But the Spacing Guild granted us sanctuary aboard their ships, where our people have worked for many generations.

“We are space gypsies and survive as best we can, without riches or a homeworld. So much time has passed that not many people remember. In fact, I could probably slip off a Guildship if I truly wanted to.” He clicked his glasses back into place over his eyes. “But why would I want to? The Guild pays us well, and we make our homes in their midst.”

He motioned both boys to step out of the way as they heard approaching voices. Moving briskly, a contingent of officials dressed in gray marched past them and up the metal stairs, speaking in an arcane tongue. The men passed through a hatch and onto the brightly lit main decks, wasting not so much as a glance on the steward or his young companions.

When they were gone, Ennzyn said, “The powerful are often blind to those they believe to be insignificant. We Wayku are invisible, unless we do something to call attention to ourselves.”

Two weeks later, inside the small interior cabin they shared aboard the Heighliner, Paul scowled at Bronso. The pair had just completed a food service shift in one of the passenger lounges, and Bronso combed his hair, wiped his hands on a towel. “Neither of us has ever seen a Navigator! This could be our only chance.”

The redheaded boy sometimes tested the limits and put both of them at risk, to the consternation of their mentor Ennzyn. “You’re trying to get us thrown off the ship,” Paul said. Then, he thought, at least they could go home. How much longer did Bronso want them to remain on the run? He knew many people must be terribly worried about them by now. Knowing he wouldn’t convince his friend, he suggested, “We should find a way to send a message to Ix or Caladan, just to let our parents know we’re all right.”

Bronso stiffened. “Parents? My mother is in a coma and being held by the Bene Gesserit, and I never met my real father.”

“You’re being unfair to Rhombur. He tried—”

“He should have been honest with me.”

“Still, there has to be a way for us to get back home. We’re both noble heirs, future leaders of our Great Houses. We shouldn’t have run away.”

“I ran away. You just came along to keep me safe.” He tossed the used towel onto the floor next to his discarded work clothes. “Are you going with me to see the Navigator, or not?” Using his projected schematics of the Ixian-built Heighliner, Bronso had already plotted a way for the two of them to sneak onto the navigation deck. “I want to find out for myself if they’re mutated monsters, or human just like us. Why else would the Guild keep them so secret?”

Paul frowned, but had to admit he was intrigued. One of the reasons his father had sent him from Caladan was to have new experiences. “When I’m Duke, I’ll have dealings with the Spacing Guild. I suppose the information might be useful.”

“I know I can get us inside.” Bronso searched among his belongings and withdrew two Ixian gadgets, bypass keys he could use on the Heighliner’s security systems. “You worry too much.” He sealed his pack and stood. “Ready?”

“I haven’t agreed to go.” Stalling, Paul stepped out of his soiled work coveralls, hung them in a small closet, and reached for a clean pair of trousers.

“If you’re afraid, just wait here. When I get back I’ll tell you about the experience.” Without another word, Bronso darted out into the corridor.

Torn between keeping himself out of trouble and watching out for his friend, Paul struggled into his clothes. By the time he ran after Bronso, the boy was nowhere in sight, but Paul knew where he must be headed. He ran up four flights of back-deck stairs and crossed a connecting walkway to a secure lift. An override security code took him to the restricted navigation levels.

Worried about his friend’s impulsive decision, Paul moved cautiously toward where they suspected the Navigator was located. Ahead, shouts came from the opposite side of a sealed hatch. Abruptly, the door burst open and two uniformed Guildsmen stumbled out, each rubbing their eyes and cursing. A yellowish mist hung in the air. As the blinded men careened past without seeing him, Paul smelled the gas, but it wasn’t the cinnamon odor of melange. A sulfurous burn irritated his nostrils, and he staggered back.

Two more Guild security men wrestled someone—Bronso—out of the chamber. “Let go of me!” The boy kicked one man in the shin and wrenched free, but the other seized him. Ixian devices clattered out of his pockets onto the deck. More guards rushed toward them, and Paul, rubbing his stinging eyes, saw no way to avoid them. He refused to abandon Bronso to his fate, but he didn’t see how he could help.

A sour-faced Guild administrator arrived in a huff, inspecting the scene with distaste. Through the open door and the swirling, yellowish gas, Paul caught a glimpse of a large, clearplaz chamber that enclosed thicker smoke of a rust-brown color, and a shadowy shape visible inside. The Navigator? Abruptly, the doors sealed shut again, cutting off the foul defensive gas.

“Remove these boys to a secure area!” The administrator picked up Bronso’s scattered devices from the floor, looked them over. “They are obviously spies or saboteurs.”

Paul’s captors held his arms behind his back, and he struggled, unable to break free. Remembering what the steward had said, he blurted, “We aren’t spies. We work for the Wayku. Ennzyn will verify it.”

He and Bronso stood behind the electronic containment barrier of a holding cell. Waiting. The Guild had already done full identification scans on them, and soon enough somebody would figure out who they really were.

From the other side of the pale yellow barrier, Ennzyn’s voice was the embodiment of a sigh. “You can give someone advice, but you cannot force them to listen.” At the Wayku’s command, a guard dropped the security barrier so that the boys could step out. Ennzyn barely even looked disturbed. “I knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to come here. Fortunately, you two were so predictable that I had the forethought to make a contingency plan.”

The steward was accompanied by a tall, elderly man in a white suit with long tails and an eccentric, old-fashioned top hat; every item of clothing, even his shoes, sparkled with tiny ice diamonds. He carried himself with an air of success and elegance.

“Rheinvar the Magnificent has agreed to take you off my hands,” Ennzyn said. “You’ll disembark with his Jongleur troupe at the next planetary stop. I used all my influence just to prevent the Guildsmen from tossing you both into space. It just so happens that my good friend Rheinvar has offered to provide you with probationary positions to assist him. Besides, he owes me a favor.”

“We’re joining a Jongleur troupe?” Bronso sounded excited now. Paul had sensed that his companion was already growing bored with his menial duties aboard the Guildship.

Rheinvar the Magnificent doffed his stylish hat with a flourish. His blue eyes twinkled, and Bronso noticed happy creases on his face, seemingly from a lifetime of practiced smiling for audiences. “Welcome to the life of a Jongleur.”

“Thank you, Ennzyn,” Paul said. “Thank you for everything.”

Ennzyn was already walking away, accompanied by the two sour-looking guards. “I enjoyed the experience as well. And now, I leave you in Rheinvar’s capable hands. Learn something from him.”