The Battle of Corrin

Always bear in mind the inevitability of your end. Only after you have accepted the fact that you are going to die can you truly reach greatness and achieve the highest honor.
— SWORDMASTER ISTIAN GOSS
Abulurd Harkonnen sat in the front row of invited guests in the League’s imposing Hall of Parliament, proudly displaying the bashar insignia on his shoulders and chest. The attendees at the ceremony, a combination of military and political leaders, sat nearby murmuring without obvious enthusiasm.

Supreme Bashar Vorian Atreides had asked to speak to the assembly, promising an important announcement— as he had often done before. However, because he had delivered so many dire warnings and endlessly pessimistic projections over the years, the dignitaries no longer displayed much interest in his talks. They were aware of the new cymek depredations, and the piranha mites had reminded them that Omnius remained a threat; obviously, they expected the old veteran to rail at them for their lack of foresight.

Abulurd, though, knew the true reason for the Supreme Bashar’s speech. He sat, breathing shallowly, keeping himself calm, a model of decorum.

For most of the morning Abulurd had been engrossed in his work in the laboratories near the Grand Patriarch’s administrative mansion. Following their mandate from the Supreme Bashar, his engineering team continued dismantling and analyzing the deadly piranha mites, activating a few of them under carefully controlled conditions. His researchers felt they now had several possible avenues for defense, should Omnius decide to use the ferocious little machines again. Already, two of his engineers had constructed a prototype jammer— not the same as Holtzman’s pulse generators, but a simpler beacon that would overload and confuse the mites’ base programming.

Abulurd had changed out of his laboratory clothes and put on his military uniform for the event. Although formal dress was not required by code, he did it out of respect and honor for the Supreme Bashar.

Now, as soon as the tall doors opened and Vorian Atreides was announced, Abulurd leaped to his feet and saluted. Seeing this, other Army of Humanity officers followed his lead; within moments, the rest of the audience in the assembly chamber stood a few at a time at first, and then in a wave.

His expression unreadable, Vorian strode proudly down the wide aisle. He had chosen to appear grand and imposing with an extravagant assortment of well-earned ribbons, medals, and rank insignia acquired over his decades of military service. He jingled and clanked as he walked, and the weight of all the tokens of service seemed about to tear the fabric of his uniform shirt. The uniform, while freshly pressed, seemed to have a shadow of soil and blood in its stitching, as if the fabric, like the man himself, could never be entirely cleaned.

He glanced over to where he knew Abulurd was; their eyes met, and the younger officer’s heart swelled.

The Supreme Bashar held his head high and kept his shoulders square as he walked up the steps to the stage where Viceroy Faykan Butler presided next to the Grand Patriarch. Xander Boro-Ginjo’s daily uniform was gaudy and full of unnecessary trappings.

“Supreme Bashar Vorian Atreides, we welcome you to our proceedings,” said Faykan. “You have called us here for a vital announcement? We are all interested to hear your words.”

“And you’ll all be thankful that I intend to be brief,” Vor said. Several representatives in the front row chuckled. “As of this month, I have spent one hundred thirteen years as a soldier for humanity.” He paused to let the number sink in. “That’s well over a century of fighting against the enemy and helping to protect the League of Nobles. Though I may still appear to be young and strong, and though I retain my health and my ability, I doubt any person in this assembly would dispute that I have served sufficient time.”

He looked slowly around the audience, finally settling his gaze on the Viceroy. “Effective immediately I wish to resign my commission in the Army of Humanity. Nineteen years ago, the Jihad was declared over. My term of fighting is done. I will take some time for myself and then return to work with the task force to clear the name of Xavier Harkonnen.”

Faykan responded quickly and smoothly, as if he’d known all along what Vor intended to say. “I speak for all those gathered here. We recognize that you have given a long lifetime of faithful service. New challenges face us, with the cymeks and Omnius, but the work is never at an end. It seems we will always need to deal with the enemies of humanity. One man cannot solve all the problems, no matter how hard he tries. Vorian Atreides, you may relax, retire, and do as you will, and let the rest of us continue the work. Thank you for your exemplary service. You deserve all the honor and respect we can offer you.”

The Viceroy began to applaud, and the Grand Patriarch clapped dutifully. Soon, everyone in the assembly chamber joined in a resounding standing ovation. Swept up in the thunderous applause, Abulurd watched his mentor, feeling as if he might drown in emotion, both proud and sad at the same time. The Grand Patriarch offered Vor a formal blessing.

The Supreme Bashar nodded to everyone, and only Abulurd knew that he did indeed intend to continue the fight, though in a fashion the League would never be willing to condone. As Vor was escorted out of the cavernous Parliament building, borne along by cheers, congratulations, and applause, Abulurd followed, hoping he would get the opportunity to say farewell to this man who had done so much for him.

Everything about the announcement and the response had been appropriately respectful, yet Abulurd’s reaction soured. After all the good things Vor had done for the League, and despite the fact that his skills had not waned a bit, not one person in the chamber made even a feeble attempt to talk him out of his departure. They were glad to see him go.






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