In a rare afternoon of relaxation, while sunning himself on the patio of his Richesian estate, Dr. Wellington Yueh’s mind remained preoccupied with thoughts of nerve patterns and circuit diagrams. Overhead, the artificial laboratory moon of Korona glided along in low orbit, a bright ornament that crossed the sky twice daily.

After the passage of eight years, Yueh had nearly forgotten his unpleasant experiences diagnosing Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The Suk doctor had accomplished so much in the meantime, and his own researches were far more interesting than a mere disease.

Investing the Baron’s extravagant payment in laboratory facilities around his new estate on Richese, Yueh had made great advances in cyborg development. As soon as he had solved the biological-nerve/electronic-receptor problem, the next steps followed in rapid succession. New techniques, new technologies, and— to the Richesians’ delight— new commercial opportunities.

Already Premier Ein Calimar had begun to make tidy profits from the cyborg endeavor, quietly selling Yueh’s designs for bionic limbs, hands, feet, ears, even optical-sensor eyes. It was exactly the boost the failing Richesian economy needed.

The grateful Premier had bestowed upon the doctor a stately villa and vast acreage on the lovely Manha Peninsula, along with a full complement of servants. Yueh’s wife Wanna enjoyed the home, especially the library and meditation pools, while the doctor himself spent most of his time in the research facilities.

After taking a sip of a sweet blossom tea, the mustachioed doctor watched a white-and-gold ornithopter land on a wide expanse of lawn by the water’s edge. A man in a trim white suit stepped out and walked up a gentle slope toward him, moving at a good pace despite his advanced years. Sunlight gleamed from golden lapels.

Yueh rose from his sunning chair and bowed. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Premier Calimar?” Yueh’s aged body was lean and wiry, his long dark hair bound in a ponytail by a single silver ring.

Calimar took a seat at a nearby shaded table. Listening to recorded birdsong from speakers in the bushes, he waved away a servant who arrived with a tray of drinks. “Dr. Yueh, I would like you to consider the Atreides matter, and the grievously injured Rhombur Vernius.”

Yueh stroked his long mustaches. “It is an unfortunate case. Most sad, from what my wife tells me. Prince Rhombur’s concubine is also a Bene Gesserit, like my Wanna, and her message sounded quite desperate.”

“Yes, and perhaps you could help him.” Calimar’s eyes sparkled behind his spectacles. “I’m certain it would fetch an extravagant price.”

Yueh resented the request, feeling languid here on his estate but remembering how much he still wanted to research, how much he had to do. He did not want to move his facilities, especially not to watery Caladan. But he had begun to grow bored in this business park of a planet, with few challenges beyond refining the original work he had commenced years ago.

He considered Rhombur’s injuries. “I have never done such a complete replacement on a human body.” He ran a thin finger along his purplish lips. “It will be a formidable task, requiring a good deal of my time. Perhaps even a permanent assignment to Caladan.”

“Yes, and Duke Atreides will pay for everything.” Behind his thin spectacles, Calimar’s eyes continued to shine. “We cannot pass up an opportunity like this.”

The main hall of Castle Caladan seemed too large, as did the ancient ducal chair, from which Paulus Atreides had spent so many years ministering to his people. Leto seemed unable to fill the vast spaces around him, or in his heart. But still, he had ventured out of his room. That much, at least, was progress.

“Duncan Idaho has brought a most disturbing matter to my attention, Tessia.” Leto stared at the slender woman who stood before him, her mousy brown hair cut boyishly short. “Did you make arrangements for a Suk doctor to come here? A cyborg specialist?”

Wearing a velglow robe, Tessia shifted on her feet and nodded. She did not take her sepia eyes from him, showing a strength like steel that skirted the edges of defiance.

“You told me to find any way to help him, if I could. I have done so. This is Rhombur’s only chance.” Her face flushed. “Would you deny it to him?”

Dressed in a black-and-red Atreides uniform, the new Swordmaster Duncan Idaho stood at one side, scowling. “Did you speak on the Duke’s behalf, and make promises without discussing them? You’re just a concubine—”

“My Duke gave me permission to take any necessary steps.” Tessia turned to Leto. “Would you rather we left Rhombur as he is now? Or would you prefer we asked the Tleilaxu to grow replacement body parts for him? My Prince would choose to die, if that were the only other option. Dr. Yueh’s new cyborg work offers us another chance.”

While Duncan continued to scowl, Leto found himself nodding. He shuddered at the thought of how much of his friend’s body would be replaced with synthetic parts. “When is this Suk doctor scheduled to arrive?”

“In a month. Rhombur can stay on life support that long, and Dr. Yueh requires the time to build components to match Rhombur’s . . . losses.”

Leto took a deep breath. As his father had instructed him so many times, a leader must always remain in control— or give the impression that he is. Tessia had acted ambitiously, spoken in his name, and Duncan Idaho was right to be upset. But there had never been any question as to whether Leto would spend every solari in the House Atreides coffers to help Rhombur.

Tessia straightened, and the fierce love in her eyes was genuine. Duncan cautioned, though, “There are political complexities you must remember, Sire. Vernius and Richese have been rivals for generations. There may be a plot afoot.”

“My mother was born a Richese,” Leto pointed out, “and therefore so am I, by distaff lineage. Count Ilban, a mere figurehead on Richese, wouldn’t dare strike against my House.”

Duncan’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Cyborgs are composite living forms, with machine-body interfaces.”

Tessia remained stony. “So long as none of the parts simulate the workings of the human mind, we have nothing to fear.”

“There is always something to fear,” Duncan said, thinking of the unexpected ambush and slaughter on Ginaz. Gruff and stern, he sounded like Thufir Hawat now, who had not yet returned from his negotiations with the Tleilaxu. “Fanatics do not examine evidence rationally.”

Leto was not entirely recovered from his injuries. He heaved a tired sigh and raised a hand to silence the young man before he could make another argument. “Enough, Duncan, Tessia. Of course we’ll pay. If there’s a chance to save Rhombur, we must do it.”

On an overcast afternoon, Leto sat in his study trying to concentrate on the business of Caladan. For years, even when their relationship had soured, Kailea had done more work than Leto had ever realized. He sighed and went over the numbers again.

Thufir Hawat strode in, fresh from the spaceport. Deeply troubled, the Mentat thumped a sealed message cylinder on the desk and stepped back, as if in disgust. “From the Tleilaxu, Sire. These are their terms.”

Duke Leto lifted the cylinder, looked pensively at Hawat, searching for any hint, any reaction. Suddenly apprehensive, he pried off the cap. A sheet of tan paper fell out as supple as if it had been made from human skin. He scanned the words quickly; his pulse quickened.

“To the Atreides: After your unprovoked attack on our transport ships and your devious escape from true justice, the Bene Tleilax have awaited an opportunity such as this.”

The palms of his hands were moist and clammy as he continued. Leto knew Hawat disagreed with his idea to offer the Tleilaxu information about the invisible Harkonnen attack ship. If too many people learned about the dangerous technology, it could fall into the wrong hands. For the time being, the wreckage seemed safe enough with the Bene Gesserit, who had no military aspirations of their own.

One thing was certain, though: The Tleilaxu would never believe him without proof.

“We can return your son to you, but you must pay a price. Not in solaris, spice, or other valuables. Instead, we demand that you surrender Prince Rhombur Vernius to us— the last of the Vernius bloodline and the only person who continues to threaten our possession of Xuttuh.”

“No . . .” Leto whispered. Hawat stared at him like a grim statue.

He continued to read. “We give our guarantees and assurances that Rhombur will not be physically harmed, but you must make a choice. Only this way can you have your son back.”

Hawat seethed with anger as Leto finished reading. “We should have expected this. I should have predicted it.”

Leto spread the parchment out in front of him and spoke in a small voice, “Leave me to consider this, Thufir.”

“Consider it?” Hawat looked at him in surprise. “My Duke, you cannot possibly entertain—” Seeing Leto’s glare, the Mentat fell silent. With a brief bow, he departed from the study.

Leto stared at the terrible terms until his eyes burned. For generations, House Atreides had stood for honor, for the course of righteousness and integrity. He felt a deep obligation to the exiled Prince.

But for Victor . . . Victor.

Wouldn’t Rhombur be better off dead, anyway? Better off without inhuman cyborg replacements? As Leto considered this, he felt a dark stillness in his soul. Would history judge him severely for selling Rhombur to his sworn enemies? Would he become known as Leto the Betrayer instead of Leto the Just? It was an impossible conundrum.

The intense loneliness of leadership enveloped him.

In his soul of souls, at the deepest core where only he could look and find absolute truth, Duke Leto Atreides wavered.

Which is more important, my closest friend or my son?