“I know,” Phillips said, “but I thought sandworms caused most of the deaths.”

“Worms aren’t the only hazard in the desert,” Vor said. “I remember one accident that involved an airtight evac compartment hauled away from a spice factory. It became a death trap with poisonous exhaust sealed inside.” He nodded toward the wrapped bodies the desert people were whisking away. “That hauler flies around Arrakis City, looking for bodies in the streets, whether knifed or shot, or simply dead from lack of hope.”

After each body was removed from the hold, workers quickly ran their hands over the garments, but found few treasures to retrieve. Obviously, the victims had already been robbed.

Phillips shook his head. “What a waste of life.”

“Nothing goes to waste in this place,” Vor said. He lowered his voice. “You might think the bodies are just discarded out in the desert, dumped in a mass grave of some kind. Few will speak of what I am about to tell you, but there are rumors that the desert people are so desperate for water that they render down the bodies for whatever moisture is found within the flesh.”

Phillips looked decidedly queasy, but Vor recognized the necessities in such a harsh place. “We have the option to leave here, Captain. Many of these people don’t. When they die on Arrakis, they vanish.” He felt a heaviness in his chest.

Not wanting the body of Griffin Harkonnen to suffer a similar fate, Vor had sent it home so that the young man could be buried on family ground.

Griffin had been a young man out of his depth who sought unwise and unchanneled revenge. Vor understood why Griffin blamed him for the disgrace of House Harkonnen, but the young man hadn’t needed to die.

I couldn’t save him, Vor thought. And the Harkonnens continued to hate him. Was that all Vor had accomplished with his life? Was that his legacy now, the shadow that would cling to his family name?

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 protégé Abulurd Harkonnen, which had 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. For the sake of all his descendants, regardless of where they were, the name of Atreides was bigger than he was.

When the cargo ship settled into its docking hold aboard the spacefolder, Vor said to Captain Phillips, “I’m sorry, but I have … another calling. I’ll need to leave the ship as soon as I can arrange alternate passage.”

The captain looked shocked, even dismayed. “But I’ve come to depend on you! Do you need a raise?” He smiled awkwardly. “Do you want my job? I’d be happy to switch places — I’d never offer that deal to anyone else, but you’re the most qualified pilot and worker I’ve ever had.”

“No, it’s not about money or position.” In fact, Vor had great wealth distributed across numerous planetary banks, a fortune he had acquired over his long life. “There are … certain issues I need to resolve from my past. I regret the damned short notice. I’m sorry to do this to you.”

Phillips waited for further details, but Vor kept them to himself. Finally the captain sighed. “It’s obvious to anyone that you’re overqualified for your job — I should have guessed you were carrying a book of secrets in your brain.”

Vor gave a mysterious nod. Actually, my secrets would fill many volumes, not just one book. “Maybe our paths will cross in the future.”

Phillips placed a muscular arm over his shoulder. “No need to arrange for alternate transportation. I’ll get you wherever you want to go, and Nalgan Shipping will pay for it. What is our destination?”

After a moment of intense thought, Vor said, “Lankiveil.”

When Draigo Roget returned to Arrakis City and breathed the crackling dry air, he viewed the details around him with the catalog focus of a trained Mentat. He also drew upon his own experiences. He had been to this planet many times.

Among Draigo’s other duties, Directeur Venport had delegated oversight of the spice-harvesting operations to him. With his Mentat focus and loyalty to VenHold, he had already improved the efficiency and profitability of the work.