The Winds of Dune (20 page)

Almost immediately a thin Wayku attendant approached, his eyes shielded behind dark, opaque glasses. He sported a black goatee on a very pale face; a headset blocked his ears, and Paul heard loud noises—music? voices?—wafting from the earpieces. The steward said tersely, “This food is for a private CHOAM party. You are not members of that party.”

Bronso grabbed another bite before he rose to his feet. “We didn’t realize. Should we return the food to the buffet? We haven’t touched much of it.”

“You’re stowaways.” They could not read his eyes behind the Wayku’s dark lenses.

“No,” Bronso said. “We’re paying passengers.”

“It is my profession to spot anything out of the ordinary. You must have been very clever to get aboard the Heighliner.”

Bronso looked angry, as if the steward had insulted him. “Come on, Paul. Let’s go.”

The deck vibrated and hummed, and a faint ripple of disorientation passed through them. The set of the Wayku man’s expression changed, and he let out a resigned sigh. “Those were the Holtzman engines. We have already left the system, so there would be little point in sending you back to Ix. My job is to keep the passengers satisfied and maintain uninterrupted service.”

“We won’t cause any trouble,” Paul promised.

“No, you won’t, provided you pay attention and follow certain rules. I don’t intend to turn you in. I am Ennzyn, one of the chief stewards, and I have jobs for both of you. We’re somewhat understaffed.” He lifted his dark glasses to reveal pale blue eyes. His tone suggested that they had no choice. “I need help with the cleanup duties.”

Paul and Bronso exchanged glances and nods of acceptance.

“Finish your meals first.” Ennzyn motioned them back to their seats. “I abhor waste. When you’re done, I’ll show you where to stow your gear.”

Is it better to remain blissfully ignorant of a tragedy, or to know all the details even when you can do nothing about it? That question is not easy to answer
.

—
DUKE LETO ATREIDES

W
hen Rhombur Vernius approached Jessica on an enclosed balcony in the Grand Palais, the cyborg Earl opened his mouth, but no words came forth. She knew immediately that something terrible had happened. “Tell me—what is it?”

“It’s the boys . . . Bronso and Paul. They’re gone!” He explained in a rush, but as he finished, the confusion passed from his demeanor like mist blown on a wind, and he drew himself taller. “I promised Leto to keep your son safe. If an enemy has abducted them, or
harmed
them—!”

Jessica forced herself to rally, to speak in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that helped focus Rhombur. “There are several possibilities. It seems most likely that someone has taken them, they’re lost or injured, or they’ve run away. How long have they been gone? The first few hours are the most critical.” When his expression flickered, then fell, Jessica realized he had not told her everything. “Now is not a time for secrets, Rhombur—our sons are missing!”

With deep regret, the cyborg Prince described how he had revealed the boy’s true parentage—and Bronso’s angry, distraught reaction to the news. Bronso’s voice shook with tension. After the loss of his wife, Jessica didn’t know how much more the rebuilt man could bear.

Back inside the Grand Palais, in the lower exhibition chamber surrounded
by transparent plaz walls, Jessica helped Rhombur establish an emergency center. Gurney and Duncan came running at her summons, and both vowed to find the boys at all costs. Gurney paced across the checkerboard floor and doubled back. “Call that Avati in here again. I still think he had something to do with what happened to Tessia, and the boys would be his next likely target. ‘Suspicion is like a foul odor, tainting all and slow to disperse.’ ”

“Even if they are innocent, the technocrats will rejoice to hear about another problem I have to face,” Rhombur groaned. “Another Vernius blunder.”

Jessica’s voice was hard as she called up projected maps of the subterranean city complex. “What if they’ve left the planet? Could they have fled or been taken to the surface? Gotten aboard a ship?”

“Uh, we have security systems. I have already asked teams to check the imagers, but they saw no record of—” His shoulders sagged again. “But it would have been child’s play for Bronso to bypass them. He had access to any number of scramblers. He used them as toys, but now . . . I don’t know.”

“Let’s have a look at your spaceport records, to find out how many ships have come and gone since the boys went missing.”

“Dozens,” Rhombur said. “Shipping is quite active, with vessels coming and going at all hours. We’ve had three Heighliners since yesterday—”

Jessica cut him off. She would not allow Rhombur to drown in his doubts, but urged him to pursue every possibility. “Then we will also obtain Spacing Guild records. We’ll study the routes of those three Heighliners, and determine which ships the boys could have gotten on—willingly or unwillingly—and plot a matrix of destinations where they might be.”

Rhombur was moving now, ready to gather the information. He looked stronger and more determined, and Jessica was relieved. She had helped him out of his malaise, and now he was ready to charge ahead. “You’re right, Jessica. If they ran away, Paul or Bronso must have left some trace. They’re just boys, after all.”

Jessica didn’t contradict him, though she knew that Paul was not just a boy. Next she turned to her own difficult task, mentally composing a message to be given to the next Guild courier to depart from Ix.

She had to tell Duke Leto the bad news.

Prescience cannot be a random thing. It must be by design. The question is, whose design?

—comment, Intergalactic Commission on Spirituality

F
or several days, as the two boys settled into their new circumstances aboard the Guildship, the Wayku steward showed them around the service decks. Exclusive side passages allowed employees to move about without mingling with the passengers.

Paul and Bronso wore common work clothes, and Ennzyn assigned them to jobs that even the Wayku found unpleasant. Because the boys had no better option, they worked without complaint. The man showed a remarkable lack of curiosity, not even bothering to ask their full names. Wayku seemed to respect secrets and privacy.

Paul and Bronso stood with him on a wide landing surrounded by exposed pipes, power conduits, and harsh glowglobes. Ennzyn warned, “Beware of Guild officials or Heighliner inspectors. They are the greatest hazard on this ship: Don’t let them notice you. If anyone asks to see your employment documentation, send them to me. We Wayku have a certain amount of influence.”

Paul noted his odd attire. “Your people seem to be everywhere on Guildships, but where’s your home world? Where do the Wayku come from?”

“By Imperial decree, all of our planets were destroyed in the Third
Coalsack War—ages ago. Our descendants have no home, and we are forbidden from ever setting foot on a planetary surface.”

Paul could not imagine the level of vindictiveness that would lead to the obliteration of entire planetary populations. “For what offense?”

“When a few militant commanders committed war crimes, my entire race was held accountable for the atrocities.” Ennzyn pushed his dark glasses up, clicked them into his headset, and regarded the boys with his blue eyes. “The Wayku backed the wrong side against a powerful emperor, and he sent his armies to annihilate us. But the Spacing Guild granted us sanctuary aboard their ships, where our people have worked for many generations.

“We are space gypsies and survive as best we can, without riches or a homeworld. So much time has passed that not many people remember. In fact, I could probably slip off a Guildship if I truly wanted to.” He clicked his glasses back into place over his eyes. “But why would I want to? The Guild pays us well, and we make our homes in their midst.”

He motioned both boys to step out of the way as they heard approaching voices. Moving briskly, a contingent of officials dressed in gray marched past them and up the metal stairs, speaking in an arcane tongue. The men passed through a hatch and onto the brightly lit main decks, wasting not so much as a glance on the steward or his young companions.

When they were gone, Ennzyn said, “The powerful are often blind to those they believe to be insignificant. We Wayku are invisible, unless we do something to call attention to ourselves.”

Two weeks later, inside the small interior cabin they shared aboard the Heighliner, Paul scowled at Bronso. The pair had just completed a food service shift in one of the passenger lounges, and Bronso combed his hair, wiped his hands on a towel. “Neither of us has ever seen a Navigator! This could be our only chance.”

The redheaded boy sometimes tested the limits and put both of them at risk, to the consternation of their mentor Ennzyn. “You’re trying
to get us thrown off the ship,” Paul said. Then, he thought, at least they could go home. How much longer did Bronso want them to remain on the run? He knew many people must be terribly worried about them by now. Knowing he wouldn’t convince his friend, he suggested, “We should find a way to send a message to Ix or Caladan, just to let our parents know we’re all right.”

Bronso stiffened. “Parents? My mother is in a coma and being held by the Bene Gesserit, and I never met my real father.”

“You’re being unfair to Rhombur. He tried—”

“He should have been honest with me.”

“Still, there has to be a way for us to get back home. We’re both noble heirs, future leaders of our Great Houses. We shouldn’t have run away.”

“
I
ran away.
You
just came along to keep me safe.” He tossed the used towel onto the floor next to his discarded work clothes. “Are you going with me to see the Navigator, or not?” Using his projected schematics of the Ixian-built Heighliner, Bronso had already plotted a way for the two of them to sneak onto the navigation deck. “I want to find out for myself if they’re mutated monsters, or human just like us. Why else would the Guild keep them so secret?”

Paul frowned, but had to admit he was intrigued. One of the reasons his father had sent him from Caladan was to have new experiences. “When I’m Duke, I’ll have dealings with the Spacing Guild. I suppose the information might be useful.”