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Mentats of Dune 7 страница
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He was the son of the hated cymek Titan Agamemnon, but Vor had overcome that to become the greatest Hero of the Jihad. He had won the Battle of Corrin and defeated the thinking machines forever. But he was also responsible for the disgrace of his proté gé Abulurd Harkonnen, which had the effectively brought down that entire noble house and sent them into exile.…
He wished he could have traveled to Lankiveil with Griffin’s body, faced the family, explained what had happened rather than writing a brief, cryptic note. But the Harkonnens already hated him too much and would have killed him on the spot. His peace overture would have been seen as pouring salt on an open wound. He had shirked his responsibility, though, and there was no excuse for that, no matter how painful it might have been.
Uneasy, Captain Phillips turned away from the wrapped bodies. “I can’t get off this planet soon enough.”
* * *
As the cargo ship lifted off from Arrakis and headed for the Nalgan Shipping spacefolder waiting in orbit, Vor sat in the copilot seat. He instinctively watched the instruments and everything the captain did, though he had other things on his mind.
In his long, long life, Vor had always tried to do the moral thing, taking actions he would not later regret. But in living for more than two centuries, he’d done too many things that he wished had turned out differently … things that hung in his memory, incomplete. At the end of the Jihad, he had retired and tried to vanish into history, but history would not let him go. His own memories would not let him go.
No matter which planet he visited, he saw reminders of the past, and things he wanted to change about the future. Thoughts of Griffin Harkonnen, and memories of how Vorian had harmed the Harkonnens—whether intentionally or accidentally—moved to the forefront of his awareness and whispered like ghosts around him.
Vor didn’t know what his legacy would be if he vanished entirely from the Imperium. How would he define the purpose of his life? For decades he’d been a warrior—a hero to most, but a villain to others. He had left a trail of death, destruction, and broken dreams. In all that time, he especially regretted losing two much-loved women—Leronica, who died on Salusa Secundus at age ninety-three even before the end of the Jihad, and most recently his dear Mariella, whom he’d married on Kepler and then stayed with as she, too, grew old … until Emperor Salvador forced him to leave Kepler and vanish again. Given the choice, Mariella had opted not to go with him, and instead remained with their children and grandchildren.
His heart ached from missing both of those women, and his children, and his grandchildren. Many decades ago, he’d been estranged from his twin sons by Leronica, and had left all of them behind. He probably had many other grandchildren he didn’t know about, even great-great-grandchildren, and more.
Since Griffin’s death, he had simply been going nowhere, wandering without a destination, keeping his head down … but why shouldn’t he at least try to do some good? He had not been born to be a passive bystander—and he could not remain invisible indefinitely. He longed to accomplish something that really mattered.
As the spice-loaded shuttle approached the Nalgan spacefolder in orbit, he gazed out at the stars. Since signing aboard as a footloose crewman, he had continued to feel the guilt gnawing at him, and this return to Arrakis only made the sting more painful. Vor decided he had to heal the wounds.
The desert is endless. Even if one journeys across the dunes all through the day and night, at sunrise the horizon will be just as far away and look the same as the day before.
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