The towering government buildings of Corrinth, the capital city of Kaitain, rose around Abulurd Harkonnen like a drug-induced fantasy. In his wildest dreams he had never visualized so many soaring edifices, jeweled inlays, and polished slabs of precious stone.

On Giedi Prime, where he’d grown up under the watchful eye of his father Dmitri, cities were crowded, with dirty settlements erected for function and industry rather than beauty. But here, it was quite different. Colorful chime kites were tethered to the tall buildings, writhing on breezes in the perpetually blue skies. Prismatic ribbons drifted across the sky and shed rainbows on the flagstones below. Kaitain was obviously more concerned with form than substance.

Within an hour, the sunny dazzle of perfect skies made Abulurd dizzy, causing an ache in the back of his skull. He longed for the overcast skies of Lankiveil, the damp breezes that cut right to the bone, and the warm embrace of Emmi.

But Abulurd had an important task to perform, an appointment at the daily Landsraad Council meeting. It seemed a mere formality, but he was determined to do it, for the sake of his family and his infant son, and it would change his life forever. Abulurd longed for the days to come.

He strode along the promenade under banners of Great and Minor Houses that flapped precisely in the gentle winds. The imposing buildings seemed even more massive and powerful than the cliffs bounding the fjords of Lankiveil.

He had taken care to wear his grandest whale fur cloak adorned with precious jewels and hand-worked scrimshaw amulets. Abulurd had come to Corrinth as a legal representative of House Harkonnen to reclaim his title as subdistrict governor of Rabban-Lankiveil. It had always been his right, but never before had it mattered to him.

Because he walked without an escort or a retinue of sycophants, the clerks and functionaries dismissed Abulurd as not deserving of notice. They looked out the windows, sat on balconies, or bustled to and fro with important documents scribed on ridulian crystal sheets. To them, he was invisible.

When seeing him off at the Lankiveil spaceport, Emmi had coached him, making him rehearse for her. According to the rules of the Landsraad, Abulurd had the authority to request an audience and to file his documents. The other nobles would see his request as minor . . . trivial, even. But it meant so much to him, and he had put it off for too long.

During the months of Emmi’s pregnancy, happy again, they had reopened the main lodge and tried to bring life and color back into their lives. Abulurd subsidized industries, even seeded the waters with fish so that boatmen could earn a livelihood until the Bjondax whales chose to return.

Then, five months ago, Emmi had quietly given birth to a healthy baby boy. They named him Feyd-Rautha, partly in honor of his grandfather Onir Rautha-Rabban, the slain burgomaster of Bifrost Eyrie. When Abulurd held the baby in his arms, he saw quick, intelligent eyes and an insatiable curiosity, exquisite features, and a strong voice. In his heart this was now his only son.

Together, he and Emmi had searched for the old Buddislamic monk who had been responsible for the pregnancy. They wanted to thank her and have her bless the healthy infant, but they could find no trace of the wizened woman in sky-blue robes and gold embroidery.

Now, on Kaitain, Abulurd would do something to benefit his new son more than a simple monk’s blessing could ever accomplish. If it went well, little Feyd-Rautha would have a different future, untainted by the crimes in House Harkonnen’s extended history. He would grow up to be a good man.

Standing tall, Abulurd entered the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, passing beneath a mottled coral archwork that rose over his head like a bridge across a mountain chasm. Upon arriving at the capital world, he had made an appointment with an Imperial scribe to add his name to the agenda. When Abulurd refused to bribe the functionary, though, the scheduling secretary was unable to find a slot open until the end of a long session, three days hence.

So Abulurd had waited. He despised bureaucratic corruption and preferred to inconvenience himself rather than bow to the unfortunate standards of Shaddam IV’s court. He disliked long-distance travel, would rather have stayed home tending his own affairs or playing board games with Emmi and the household staff, but the requirements of noble status forced him to do many things he came to regret.

Perhaps today he would change all that for the better.

Within the Hall of Oratory, meetings were held by representatives of the Great and Minor Houses, CHOAM directors, and other important officials who had no noble titles. The business of the Imperium continued daily.

Abulurd expected his appearance to draw little attention. He’d not forewarned his half-brother, and knew that the Baron would be upset when he found out, but Abulurd continued into the enormous hall, proud and confident— and more nervous than he had ever been in his life. Vladimir would simply have to accept this.

The Baron had other problems and obligations. His health had failed greatly over the years, and he’d put on such an enormous amount of weight that he now walked with the aid of suspensors. How the Baron kept going despite all that, Abulurd didn’t know; he understood little of the engines that drove his half-brother.

Abulurd quietly took a seat in the gallery and called up the agenda to see that the meetings had already fallen an hour behind the time slots— which was to be expected, he supposed. So he waited, straight-backed on the plastone bench, listening to dull business resolutions and minor adjustments to laws that he didn’t pretend to care about or even understand.

Despite the light shining through stained-glass windows and the heaters mounted under the cold stone, this enormous hall had a sterile feel to it. He just wanted to go home. When they finally called his name, Abulurd emerged from his distraction and marched toward the speaker’s podium. His knees were shaking, but he tried not to show it.

On their high bench, the council members sat in formal gray robes. Glancing over his shoulder, Abulurd saw empty seats in the section where formal Harkonnen representatives should have been. No one had bothered to attend this minor daily meeting, not even Kalo Whylls, the long-standing ambassador from Giedi Prime. No one had thought to inform Whylls that the day’s business would involve House Harkonnen.

Perfect.

He faltered as he remembered the last time he’d intended to address a group of people— his citizens rebuilding Bifrost Eyrie, and the horrors that had befallen them before he could speak his piece. Now, Abulurd drew a deep breath and prepared to address the Chairman, a lean man with long braided hair and hooded eyes. He could not remember which House the Chairman belonged to.

Before Abulurd could speak, however, the Master of Arms rattled off his name and titles in a long and droning sequence. Abulurd hadn’t known so many words could follow his name, since he was a relatively unimportant person in the faufreluches system. But it did sound impressive.

None of the sleepy members of the council appeared the least bit interested, however. They passed papers among themselves.

“Your Honors,” he began, “sirs, I have come to make a formal request. I have filed the appropriate paperwork to reclaim the title that is due me as subdistrict governor of Rabban-Lankiveil. I have effectively served in this capacity for years, but I never . . . submitted the proper documents.”

When he began to lay forth his reasoning and his justification in a voice rising with passion, the Council Chairman raised a hand. “You have followed the formal procedures required for a hearing, and the necessary notices have been dispatched.” He shuffled through the documents in front of him. “I see the Emperor has received his notice as well.”

“That is correct,” Abulurd said, knowing that the message intended for his own half-brother had been sent by a slow, circuitous Heighliner route— a necessary sleight of hand.

The Chairman held up a single sheet of parchment. “According to this you were removed from your position on Arrakis by the Baron Harkonnen.”

“Without my objection, your Honor. And my half-brother has filed no objection to my petition today.” This was true enough. The message was still en route.

“Duly noted, Abulurd Harkonnen.” The Chairman looked down. “Nor, I see, does the Emperor object.”

Abulurd’s pulse accelerated as he watched the Chairman study the papers, the legal notices. Have I forgotten something?

Finally, the Chairman lifted his gaze. “Everything is in order. Approved.”

“I . . . I have a second request,” Abulurd announced, somewhat unsettled that things had gone so rapidly and smoothly. “I wish to formally renounce my Harkonnen name.”

This caused a brief titter among the attendees.

He summoned the words he had rehearsed so many times with Emmi and imagined her there beside him. “I cannot condone the actions of my family members,” he said, without naming them. “I have a new son, Feyd-Rautha, and I wish him to be raised untainted, without the black mark of a Harkonnen name.”

The Council Chairman leaned forward, as if really seeing Abulurd for the first time. “Do you fully understand what you’re doing, sir?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, surprised at the strength in his voice. His heart swelled with pride at what he had just said. “I grew up on Giedi Prime. I am the second surviving son of my father, Dmitri Harkonnen. My half-brother, the Baron, rules all Harkonnen holdings and does as he chooses. I ask only to keep Lankiveil, the place I call my home.”

His voice softened, as if he thought a compassionate argument might move the bored men listening to his speech. “I want no part of galactic politics or ruling worlds. I served my years on Arrakis and found that I didn’t like it. I have no use for riches, power, or fame. Let such things remain in the keeping of those who desire them.” His voice choked in his throat. “I want no more blood on my hands, and none for my new son.”

The Chairman rose solemnly and stood tall in his gray robes. “You renounce all affiliation with House Harkonnen forever, including the rights and privileges pertaining thereto?”

Abulurd nodded vigorously, ignoring the muttering voices around the chamber. “Absolutely and without equivocation.” These people would have a great deal to talk about for days to come, but it mattered nothing to him. By then he would be on his way back home to Emmi and their baby. He wanted nothing, only a normal, quiet life and personal happiness. The rest of the Landsraad could continue without him. “Henceforth, I will take my wife’s honored name of Rabban.”

The Council Chairman rapped his sonic gavel, which echoed with a boom of finality through the hall. “So noted. The council approves your request. Notification will be sent immediately to Giedi Prime and to the Emperor.”

While Abulurd stood stunned by his good fortune, the Sergeant at Arms called the next representative, and he found himself ushered out of the way. Rapidly leaving the building, he put the Hall of Oratory behind him. Outside, sunshine splashed his face again and he heard the tinkle of fountains and the music of chime kites. His step had a new lightness, and he grinned foolishly.

Others might have trembled at the momentous decision he had just made, but Abulurd Rabban felt no fear. He’d achieved everything he’d hoped to accomplish, and Emmi would be so pleased.

He raced to pack up the few possessions he’d brought with him and headed for the spaceport, anxious to return to quiet, isolated Lankiveil, where he could begin a new and better life.