The history of cooperation between the Suk School and the Sisters of Rossak is not surprising, since Dr. Mohandas Suk and Raquella Berto-Anirul worked together on a plague-relief medical team during the Jihad. Today, the two groups continue to sponsor cooperative educational forums, but we suspect that their ties run much deeper.

—intelligence report to Prince Roderick Corrino

The more he thought about it, the Emperor was deeply troubled by the reemergence of Vorian Atreides, not to mention the demands he made. A legendary war hero, revered by generations of schoolchildren, a leader who had helped save the human race during its greatest conflict … and conveniently back again after eighty years of absence? What did the man really want? A handful of military patrol ships to guard a planet that nobody cared about? That seemed highly suspicious.

Salvador was trying to be cautious in this matter of the Atreides scion and the verification of the man’s identity. Yes, the longevity of Vorian Atreides was well known and well documented, but anyone with similar features could claim to be the long vanished Hero of the Jihad, based upon statues and images in history books. Nobody alive remembered exactly what Vorian looked like in the flesh, or his mannerisms, or the tone of his voice. Besides, the gullible mobs continued to spot the renegade Toure Bomoko around every corner, so appearances were not exactly reliable.

As Emperor, he needed to be careful. But if the man was who he claimed to be (and Salvador suspected he was), perhaps he could ride on the coattails of Atreides’s popularity.

In order to give himself time to think, the Emperor sent away the economic experts, the Landsraad attendees, and the Sisters from Rossak, with strict instructions that they were not to speak of the strange visitor they had seen at court, though he knew rumors would leak out soon enough—and then the uproar!—assuming the man’s identity could be genetically verified. Vorian Atreides had accepted, even seemed to anticipate such questions and doubts, and had not objected when the Emperor demanded biological samples for testing. For now, Salvador could only delay something that was probably inevitable.

The man submitted to a hasty medical examination by Dr. Ori Zhoma herself, the head of the Suk School, who had recently returned to Zimia for business at the old Suk headquarters. His blood samples were even now being analyzed.

While waiting for the answers, Salvador didn’t know whether to be honored or nervous. He needed to talk with Roderick. In the meantime, claiming urgent Imperial matters, he offered Vorian Atreides temporary guest quarters in the Palace. The man from the past seemed to understand Salvador’s reticence, felt the awkwardness of their meeting, and took his leave. “I shall await your summons, Sire.”

Rather than attending to other business, though, Salvador sat by himself, wrestling with possible scenarios, and spent the afternoon anticipating Dr. Zhoma’s report.

Finally, the doctor walked into the throne room, efficient and all business. She performed a pro forma bow to the throne, straightened, and delivered her results in a crisp, professional voice. “We have run our tests, Sire, comparing the new samples with DNA extracted from historical Jihad artifacts. This man is indeed who he says he is: Vorian Atreides.”

The Emperor nodded, though he was not entirely pleased with the news. The hero’s appearance might cause instability at a time when the Imperium could least afford it. Salvador and his brother needed to decide what to do.

*   *   *

AFTER NEWS OF Vor’s return spread, the people of Zimia sprang up in spontaneous celebration, like drooping flowers awakening after a rain. The greatest hero of the Jihad! The legendary Primero who had fought the thinking machines for more than two life spans, from the start of the conflict to its bloody end! The very idea fired their imaginations, excited them, lifted their minds from their troubled, mundane lives. It was as if he had stepped out of a history tome, magically come to life.

Hauling out banners and reenacting pageantry from the days before the Battle of Corrin, the Butlerians marched and chanted, revering the three martyrs: Serena Butler, her baby son, Manion, and Grand Patriarch Iblis Ginjo.

Emperor Salvador accompanied Vor with great smiles in the midst of public acclaim, welcoming him as a long-lost comrade. As the crowds turned out in the Palace square, the Emperor accepted the applause as partially his own. Vor participated in the spectacle like a man enduring an unpleasant medical procedure.

The people treated him as a savior, begging him to touch their babies, to bless their loved ones. The Butlerians adopted him as one of their own, though he did not encourage them. Their movement seemed even more extreme than Rayna Butler’s crusade against all forms of machines and technology back during the darkest days of the Jihad. Rayna’s followers had wrought a great deal of damage, especially on Parmentier, where his own granddaughter Raquella had tended those who fell ill from the Omnius plagues, and Rayna Butler’s followers had turned on her.

These Butlerians made him uneasy.

Decades had passed since Vor last set foot in the capital city, and as he looked around he saw indications of decrepitude; the level of technology had regressed instead of advancing. Subtle signs: vehicles, instruments, even lighting and sound systems for the grand parade in his honor … everything seemed slightly more primitive. But he politely watched as the colorful parade filed past the Imperial viewing stand.

Salvador sat next to him, smiling, while his brother, Roderick, remained behind the scenes arranging the event. As the crowds continued to swell in the Palace square, the cheers and excited voices became deafening. The people called out for Vor, chanting his name and demanding that he give a speech. The Emperor raised his hands and tried to impose order, with little success. But when Vor stood up, the crowd fell into a thunderous hush as swiftly as air rushing from an open airlock.

“I thank you for such a wondrous welcome. It’s been such a long time. I fought my battles in Serena Butler’s Jihad, and now I see the victory I truly gained—a free Imperium, a vibrant civilization, unhindered by the threat of thinking machines.” He smiled with false modesty. “And I’m touched that you haven’t forgotten me.”

In the lull after his words, someone in the crowd shouted out, “Have you come to take the throne? Are you here to lead us?”

Someone else called, “Are you our next Emperor?”

Voices swelled up in a deafening roar, chanting his name: “Vorian! Vorian!”

Startled, Vor laughed and dismissed the comments. “No, no—I came to protect my people on Kepler, nothing more. The Emperor’s throne belongs to the Corrinos.” He turned to Salvador and bowed slightly in deference to him, inspiring further applause among the crowd. But he could still hear them chanting his name, not Salvador’s.

And he could see that the Emperor was not at all pleased.