As an official member of the Federated Council of Great and Minor Houses, Duke Leto Atreides embarked on a Heighliner and traveled to Kaitain for the next Landsraad meeting. Wearing his formal mantle off-planet for the first time, he thought he had recovered enough from the loss of his father to make a major public appearance.

After Leto had made his decision to attend, Thufir Hawat and several other Atreides protocol advisors had locked themselves with him in Castle meeting rooms to give him crash courses in diplomacy. The advisors hovered around him like stern teachers, insisting that he be brought up to speed on all the social, economic, and political factors a Duke must take into account. Harsh glowglobes lit the stone-walled room, while a sea breeze drifted in through the open window, bringing with it the sound of crashing waves and screaming gulls. Despite the distractions, Leto attended to the lectures.

For his turn, the new Duke had insisted that Rhombur sit beside him during the training sessions. “One day he will need to know all these things, when his House is restored,” Leto had said. Some advisors had looked skeptical, but they did not argue.

As he departed from Cala City Spaceport, accompanied only by Thufir Hawat as his escort and confidant, Leto’s counselors had warned him against rash behavior. Leto had pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I understand,” he said, “but my sense of honor drives me to do what I must do.”

By ancient tradition it was Leto’s right to appear in the Landsraad forum and put forth his demand. A demand for justice. As the new Duke, he had an agenda, and enough anger and youthful naÏveté to believe he just might succeed, no matter what his advisors might tell him. Sadly, though, he remembered the few times when his father had petitioned the Landsraad; Paulus had always returned home red-faced, expressing scorn and impatience at the bumbling bureaucracy.

But Leto would start fresh, with high hopes.

Under the eternally sunny skies of Kaitain, the massive Landsraad Hall of Oratory stood high and imposing, the tallest peak in a mountain range of legislative edifices and government offices surrounding an ellipsoidal commons. The Hall had been erected by contributions from all the Houses, each noble family trying to outdo the others in grandeur. Representatives from CHOAM had helped to procure resources from across the Imperium, and only by special order of a former Emperor— Hassik Corrino III— had the exorbitant Landsraad construction plans been curtailed, so as not to overshadow the Imperial Palace itself.

Following the nuclear holocaust on Salusa Secundus and the relocation of the Imperium’s seat of government, everyone had been anxious to establish an optimistic new order. Hassik III had wanted to show that even after the near obliteration of House Corrino, the Imperium and its business would continue at a more exalted level than ever before.

Banners of the Great Houses rippled like a rainbow of dragon scales along the outer walls of the Landsraad Hall. Standing there in the glittering commons surrounded by towering metal-and-plaz buildings, Leto was hard-pressed to locate the green-and-black flag of House Atreides, but finally found it. The purple-and-copper colors of House Vernius had been taken down and publicly burned.

Thufir Hawat stood beside the young Duke. Leto longed for the presence of his friend Rhombur, but it was not yet safe for the exiled Ixian Prince to leave the sanctuary of Caladan. Dominic Vernius still had not emerged from hiding, even following reports of Shando’s death; Leto knew the sharp-eyed man would be mourning in his own way. And plotting revenge . . .

In any case, Leto would have to do this himself. His father would have expected no less of him. So, under the bright Kaitain sunshine, he squared his shoulders, thought of his family history and all that had occurred since the dark days of Atreus, and fixed his gaze forward. He marched ahead along the flagstoned streets, not allowing himself to feel small in the face of the Landsraad’s grandeur.

As they entered the Hall of Oratory in the company of other family representatives, Leto spotted the colors of House Harkonnen, with its pale blue griffin symbol. Just looking at the banners, he could name a few other families: Houses Richese, Teranos, Mutelli, Ecaz, Dyvetz, and Canidar. In the center of all the flags hung the much larger Imperial banner of House Corrino, in striking scarlet and gold with its central lion symbol.

The fanfare surrounding his entrance, and that of the other arriving representatives, was deafening and constant. As the men and a few women entered, a crier announced each person’s name and position. Leto saw only a few true nobles; most arrivals were Ambassadors, political leaders, or paid sycophants.

Even though he himself carried a royal title, Leto did not feel powerful or important. After all, what was the Duke of a mid-level House compared with even the prime minister of one of the wealthy families? Though he controlled the economy and population of Caladan and the other holdings of Atreides, many Great Houses held dominion over far more wealth and worlds. He envisioned himself for a moment as a small fish among sharks, then quashed such thoughts before they could diminish his confidence. The Old Duke had never allowed him the luxury of feeling small.

In the enormous Hall he wondered where he might find the empty seats formerly occupied by House Vernius; he took only small satisfaction in knowing that, though they now held Ix, the Bene Tleilax would never receive any such honors. The Landsraad would not allow despised Tleilaxu representatives into this exclusive club. Normally Leto would have had no patience for such wholesale prejudice, but in this case he made an exception.

As the Council meeting commenced with interminable formalities, Leto took his seat in a plush black-and-maroon booth along one side, similar to those provided for the dignitaries of other Houses. Hawat joined him, and Leto watched the business unfold, eager to learn, ready to do his part. But he had to wait until his name was called.

The real family heads could not be bothered to attend every such meeting, and as a number of trivial matters were heard— items that dragged on for far longer than was necessary— Leto soon understood why. Little business was accomplished despite all the talking and arguing and niggling over fine points of protocol or Imperial law.

Newly installed in his title, though, Leto would make this his formal reception. When the scrolling agenda signaled his turn to speak at long last, the young man crossed the dizzying expanse of polished floor in the cavernous chamber, unaccompanied by the warrior Mentat or any other assistant, and climbed to a central lectern. Trying not to look like a mere teenager, he remembered his father’s powerful presence and recalled the cheers as they stood in the arena, holding a bull’s-head high.

Gazing across the sea of bored, dignified representatives, Leto took a deep breath. Amplifiers would snatch his words and transmit them so that all listeners could hear; shiga-wire recordings were made for documentation purposes. This would be a vital speech for him— most of these people had no inkling of his personality, and few even knew his name. Realizing that they would form their impression of him from the words he said that day, Leto felt the weight on his shoulders grow even heavier.

He waited to be certain he had everyone’s attention, though so late in the Council meeting he doubted anyone had the mental energy required to concentrate on anything new.

“Many of you were friends and allies of my father, Paulus Atreides,” he began, then dropped his bombshell, “who was recently murdered through a heinous and cowardly act of assassination.” He glanced pointedly over at the seats held by representatives of House Harkonnen. He didn’t know the names or titles of the two men there representing the enemy household.

His implication was clear enough, though he made no specific accusation, nor did he have any specific proof. Stablemaster Yresk, who had not survived his interrogation as Leto had requested, had confirmed Helena’s complicity, but could give no further details about co-conspirators. So the new Duke Atreides simply used his statement to gain the attention of the bored people in the chamber— and now he certainly had it.

The Harkonnens whispered among themselves, casting nervous and angry looks at the podium. Leto ignored them and turned back to the central cluster of representatives.

Directly in front of him in the seat of House Mutelli he recognized old Count Flambert, an utterly ancient gentleman whose memory was said to have failed him many years before. With his long-term recollection gone, he kept at his side a squat former Mentat candidate with blond hair, who served as a portable memory for the Count. The failed Mentat’s sole duty was to remind the ancient Flambert of things, providing every bit of data the nobleman might require. Though he had never completed his training as a human computer, the failed Mentat served the senile Count’s needs well enough.

Leto’s voice carried across the assemblage, as clear and concise as the pealing of buoy bells on a cool Caladan morning: “A sign over the Emperor’s own door declares that ‘Law is the ultimate science.’ Thus, I stand here not on my own behalf, but on behalf of a former Great House, one that can no longer come here to speak. House Vernius was a close ally of my family.”

Several people on nearby benches groaned. A few others fidgeted impatiently. They had already heard too much about Vernius.

Boldly, the young Atreides continued: “Earl Dominic Vernius and his family were forced to declare themselves renegade after the illegal takeover of Ix by the Bene Tleilax— whom all here know to be a depraved and disgusting breed, and unworthy of representation before this august body. While House Vernius cried out for help and support against this outrageous invasion, all of you hid in the shadows and dallied until such assistance became irrelevant.” Leto was careful not to point the finger at Elrood himself, though it was clear in his mind that the Emperor had encouraged the stalling.

A great murmur arose in the Landsraad Hall, accompanied by expressions of confusion and outrage. Leto could see that they now viewed him as a young upstart, a brash and ill-mannered rebel who didn’t know the true order of things in the Imperium. He’d had the bad form to bring such unpleasant matters out into the open.

Leto was unswayed, though. “You all knew Dominic Vernius as an honorable, trustworthy man. You all traded with Ix. How many of you did not call Dominic your friend?” He looked around quickly, but spoke again before anyone could get up the nerve to raise a hand in public.

“Though I am not a member of the Vernius family, the Tleilaxu invaders threatened my own life, and I barely escaped through my father’s assistance. Earl Vernius and his wife also fled, forsaking all their possessions— and recently the Lady Shando Vernius was murdered, hunted down like an animal!” His vision spun with anger and grief, but he took a deep breath and continued.

“Know, all who can hear me, that I express grave reservations about the Bene Tleilax and their recent outrageous actions. By any means, kanly or otherwise, they must be brought to justice. House Atreides is no ally of the illegal government of Ix— how dare they rename the planet Xuttuh? Is the Imperium civilized, or do we drown in a sea of barbarians?” He waited. His pulse pounded loudly in his head. “If the Landsraad ignores this incredible tragedy, can you not see that this could happen to any one of you?”

A representative of House Harkonnen spoke without even the courtesy of standing to announce his intention. “House Vernius declared itself renegade. By ancient law, the Emperor’s Sardaukar and any other bounty hunters had a perfect right to hunt down and eliminate the renegade’s wife. Have a care, young pup of a Duke. We’re only granting you the right to give her children asylum out of the goodness of our hearts. There is no requirement that we do so.”

Leto believed the Harkonnen was wrong, but did not wish to argue a point of law, especially without Thufir’s guidance. “So any House can be persecuted, their members assassinated by Sardaukar on a whim, and no one here believes it is wrong? Any power can crush a Great House of the Landsraad, and the rest of you will simply cover your eyes and hope it doesn’t happen to you next?”

“The Emperor does not act on a whim!” someone shouted. A number of voices of assent called out . . . but not many. Leto realized this bit of patriotism and loyalty was probably a consequence of Elrood’s severely failing health. The ancient man had not been seen at functions for months, was supposedly bedridden and near death.

Leto put his hands on his hips. “I may be young, but I’m not blind. Consider this, members of the Landsraad, with your shifting alliances and false loyalties— what pledge can you offer one another if your promises blow away like dust?” He then repeated the words his father had greeted him with when he’d stepped off the rescue ship from Ix. “House Atreides values loyalty and honor far above politics.”

He raised a hand, and his voice took on a sweeping, commanding resonance. “I admonish each of you to remember House Vernius. It can happen to you, and it will if you are not careful. Where can you place your trust if each House turns upon the other at the slightest opportunity?” He saw his words strike home to some of the representatives, but he knew in his heart that when he called for a vote to advocate removal of the blood price on House Vernius, few would stand in his support.

Leto took a long breath. He turned, pretending to be finished, but called back over his shoulder. “Perhaps you would all be better advised to think about your own situations. Ask yourselves this: Whom can you really trust?”

He stalked toward the arched doorway of the Landsraad Council chamber. There was no applause . . . no laughter either. Only shocked silence, and he suspected he had gotten through to some of them. Or perhaps he was just being optimistic. Duke Leto Atreides had much to learn about statecraft— as no doubt Hawat would tell him on the trip home— but he vowed not to become like the lip-service imposters in that chamber. For all of his days, for as long as he could draw breath, Leto would remain reliable and faithful and true. Eventually the others would see that in him . . . perhaps even his enemies would.

Thufir Hawat joined him at the colonnaded portals, and they both passed out of the enormous Hall of Oratory as the Landsraad continued its business without them.