No more than four months after Vorian Atreides and the Jihad engineers had departed from Caladan, Leronica Tergiet agreed to marry a man who had courted her unsuccessfully for years.

Leronica was one of sixteen local women who found themselves pregnant by boisterous Jihad soldiers. She was not ashamed of her condition and actually laughed quietly as her father tried to console her. Back when Vor’s contingent of technicians were stationed in town, Brom Tergiet had been working offshore in the waters east of town, and was blind to how much time his daughter had spent with one particular man.

After she could no longer deny pregnancy and had waited long enough to be confident she would not lose the child through miscarriage, she finally confessed to her father. Saying nothing in response, Brom Tergiet had sat on the dock, working diligently to repair tangled fishing nets. He did not meet her proud, unabashed gaze, but shook his head, as if in disbelief and disgust.

“Oh, Dad, we all know well enough how biology works,” Leronica said, somewhat amused by his reaction. “I’m entirely happy with the special times Virk and I shared, and I am content to accept whatever he was able to give me, including his child.”

She had not, however, revealed to anyone— not even to her father, the real identity of the military officer. Now that she knew she would bear his child, the secret was more important than ever, and she did not want to put her baby at risk.

“You will be on your own, Leronica,” Brom warned. “That soldier will never come back for you, or his baby.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said, unperturbed, “but I have my memories of him and his stories of exotic places. That is enough reward for me. Would you have me be a helpless woman, whining and bemoaning my situation? I like my life and my circumstances. I’d prefer your moral and emotional support, but I can manage on my own if necessary. I can keep working up until the time of the birth, and I’ll only take a few days off to deliver the child.”

“You always have been independent,” Brom said with a smile, and then climbed to his feet, leaving the fish nets tangled on the pale, weathered boards of the wharf. He hugged his daughter, letting his touch and gestures tell her what he could not say out loud. “After all, the welfare of my grandchild is the most important thing to consider.”

In fact, with Caladan’s minuscule population, the coastal villages welcomed any children that brought fresh infusions to the thin local bloodlines. The jihadis would bring a new generation of vitality to this rural, often overlooked region.

So, without any giddy nonsense or moping around waiting for Vorian Atreides to come back and take her away from Caladan— which she felt certain would never happen— Leronica decided it would be best to move on and find a husband who was willing to raise the baby as his own….

KALEM VAZZ WAS a quiet, diligent bachelor, ten years Leronica’s senior. Three times since the young woman had come of age, Kalem had asked her to be his wife. She had turned him down consistently, not out of spite or because she was toying with his affections, but because she didn’t want to be bothered with taking care of a husband along with her father, the tavern, and the fishing boats. But now her life had changed.

After making up her mind, Leronica went early one dawn to Kalem’s home before he headed out to the docks to board his fishing boat. She chose a clean dress, bound her curls in a scarf, and wore a necklace of finely worked coral.

After she pounded on his door, Kalem appeared on the threshold, hurriedly tucking in an extra shirt to protect against the cold blanket of sea fog. He looked surprised and bleary-eyed, but did not pretend to make small talk, knowing she must have come for an important reason.

“You asked me to be your wife,” she said. “Does your offer still stand, Kalem Vazz, or have you stopped waiting for me?”

His square-jawed face lost fifteen years of apparent age as he smiled in amazement. Her pregnancy was already showing, but she doubted he had noticed. “What changed your mind?”

“There are some conditions,” she said and then explained about her baby. He took it well, made some supportive comments and showed sympathy. Finally she said, “If you would be a husband to me, you must also agree to act as father to another man’s child. Other than that, I make no demands of you, and I promise to be the wife you expect of me.”

Satisfied that he understood the situation and that she was in no way deceiving him, she awaited his response to this straightforward and no-nonsense offer, on which she would base the rest of her life. She had already dabbled in silly romance and would always cherish the memories of Vor in her heart, but that had no bearing on her present circumstances.

“And what if he comes back?” Kalem said.

“He will not be back.”

He looked at her intensely, and both of them knew her answer was not good enough. He asked, “If he did, would you run off to his arms again? Or, worse, would you refuse to do that and stay with me, and then brood about your decision for the rest of your life?”

“The tide may rise and fall, Kalem, but do you believe my heart is like a bit of flotsam to be tossed about, this way and that? If I make a promise, I keep it.”

Kalem pursed his lips as if considering a business proposition, but she saw his eyes twinkling at his sudden change of fortune. “First, I must make one demand of my own.”

She gazed at him steadily, hands on her hips, prepared for the details of his negotiations.

“If this Jihad soldier of yours is truly gone and you agree to marry me, then you must never do me— or him— the dishonor of comparing the two of us in any way.” Kalem folded his big callused hands together. “I know I’m not the perfect man, and I cannot take your memories from you. But your time with him is only a memory, while I am your reality. Can you live with that?”

Leronica did not hesitate at all before agreeing.

And so they were married, one of sixteen quick ceremonies that took place in the fishing villages. Few of the bridegrooms looked troubled; instead, they seemed unable to believe their good fortune in obtaining attractive wives they had previously thought beyond their reach.

In ensuing weeks, Kalem Vazz worked his fishing boat alongside Brom Tergiet’s. Together with the income from the popular tavern, Leronica and her men lived comparatively well.

It was the best she had hoped for on Caladan, though at night as she rested beside Kalem in their shared bed, tracing her fingertips along the growing curve of her belly, she thought about all the wondrous, alien places Vor had described for her in the League of Nobles.

Leronica lay in silence, looking out the open window into the starry sky, and thought about Vorian Atreides, so far away from her. Right now, he would be fighting evil robots, leading great battleships… possibly even thinking of her now and again. Such a handsome, dashing warrior. She sighed.

Sometimes she would roll over and see Kalem lying awake and motionless, his eyes open and glittering— with tears?— but he said not a word and gave no indication that he guessed her thoughts. Kalem never asked, never pried. He had never even inquired about the name of her soldier, so she was glad she did not have to lie to him to keep her promise to her former lover. This good, hardworking man seemed entirely satisfied with what he had… and Leronica tried to feel the same.

Both of them knew that the jihadi would never come back.

WHEN THE TIME came, Leronica gave birth to twins, healthy sons that she insisted on naming Estes and Kagin, after her husband’s two grandfathers. She wanted no connection with Vor’s name. The villagers universally remarked that the boys bore a strong resemblance to Brom Tergiet— which made the fisherman swell with embarrassing pride— though a few of his fellows jokingly hoped the twins would not be cursed with their grandfather’s horse laugh.

Each time she looked at the boys, though, Leronica could see echoes of the adventurous, dark-haired officer who had stolen her heart, and then gone away to space.

True to his word, Kalem Vazz outdid himself as a faithful husband, industrious worker, and attentive father. He doted on Estes and Kagin, never hinting that they were not his own. Kalem considered his love for the boys more important than their paternal bloodlines.

Two years after Vor left, Leronica felt no sadness, only a wistful curiosity about what he might be doing, and if he was safe. For the first time in her life, however, she paid attention to the overall landscape of the Jihad, following word of the major battles.

At least once a month, Kalem and her father took their fishing boats out into the fertile waters around distant reefs. On these occasions, as was her new habit, Leronica left the twins with a neighbor woman, borrowed one of the village’s methcars, and drove north up the rough coastal road to the military installation and tracking station that had been established two years ago by the Army of the Jihad.

The handful of dedicated soldiers stationed there were content to live in prefabricated barracks, where they diligently attended to their duties. Occasionally, two or three men would make the trek down to the village to purchase fresh fish and supplies; on other occasions, Leronica made deliveries of food from the tavern’s kitchens, providing lunch in exchange for news of the continuing struggle against Omnius.

She became a familiar sight in the control huts beneath the reinforced towers that linked the satellite network encircling Caladan. The clearing near the outpost, where shuttles had landed and launched regularly not long ago, might eventually become a full-fledged spaceport, but for now it was rarely used.

The Jihad soldiers falsely believed Leronica was simply curious about politics and military tactics, and they gave her copies of the greatest speeches of Priestess Serena Butler and the recorded rallies of Grand Patriarch Iblis Ginjo. In truth, she was eager only to hear any mention of Primero Vorian Atreides, though she was careful never to reveal that she actually knew him.

Bright-eyed, Leronica listened while the soldiers summarized the clashes at Bela Tegeuse and, more recently, the horrific machine annihilation of the isolated colony on Chusuk. She eventually uncovered more details about Vor’s past exploits, especially how he had helped to save IV Anbus, and later tricked the thinking machines with a hollow fleet at Poritrin.

Sometimes, Vor sent her letters and packages, always under an assumed name. They usually arrived when her husband was out working. Though the soldiers who delivered articles to her undoubtedly assumed she had a sweetheart somewhere out in the Jihad, she never uttered his name. She read the messages with an intensity she never revealed to Kalem. She hated to keep secrets from this good man, but did it to protect him, not out of guilt.

She never tried to send a message in response, never dared to— for reasons she did not entirely understand herself. Fighting his far-off war, Primero Atreides did not even know about his twin sons, nor did she intend to tell him. She hoped only that he remained unharmed, and that he thought about her occasionally.

Satisfied with what she had heard, Leronica thanked the jihadis and rode her methcar back down to the fishing village, hurrying to arrive before sunset. Kalem and her father would not return for at least two days, but she needed to pick up the twins and cook dinner at the tavern. Though motherhood kept her busy, Leronica still ran the tavern and fed the workers who were too tired to cook for themselves.

Leronica maintained a secretive smile as she reopened the doors for an evening crowd of boisterous men. The fresh news and stories— along with the special letter that proved her departed lover really did remember her— would satisfy her for a while.

But when her husband returned she would focus entirely on him. As she had promised, she never compared Kalem with the other man in her life… but she could not forget the brave officer, either. In a sense, she had the best of both worlds.