Dune: The Butlerian Jihad by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson

control it, plodded down the street.
    Though Xavier made the best of it all, he found himself constantly glancing at the sky, and at the scars of the wounded city. . . .
    At the conclusion of the parade, Manion Butler delivered a speech celebrating the successful defense but acknowledging the high cost of the battle, tens of thousands killed or wounded. “We have much healing and recovery to do, but we also have an unbroken spirit, no matter what the thinking machines may attempt.”
    Addressing the crowd, the Viceroy summoned Xavier to the central platform. “I present for you our greatest hero, a man who stood firm against the cymeks and made the necessary decisions to save us all. Few others would have been strong enough to do the same.”
    Feeling out of place, Xavier stepped forward to receive a military medal on a striped blue, red, and gold ribbon from the Viceroy. In the midst of cheers, Serena kissed him on the cheek. He hoped no one in the crowd could see him blush.
    “With this commendation comes a promotion to the rank of Tercero, First Grade. Xavier Harkonnen, I charge you with studying defensive tactics and installations for the entire League Armada. Your duties will encompass the local Salusan Militia, along with responsibility for improving the military security of the entire League of Nobles.”
    The young officer felt awkward from the attention, but he graciously accepted the accolades. “I look forward to beginning the hard work of our survival . . . and advancement.” He favored Serena with an indulgent smile. “Following today’s festivities, of course.”

Dune is the planet-child of the worm.

    — from “The Legend of Selim Wormrider,” Zensunni Fire Poetry
    F or an entire day and deep into the night, the monstrous sandworm raced across the desert, forced beyond its normal territorial range.
    As the two moons rose and shone their curious light down upon Selim, he clung to his metal staff, completely exhausted. Though he had escaped being devoured by the wild and confused creature, he might soon perish from the interminable ride. Buddallah had saved him, but now seemed only to be toying with him.
    While thrusting the corroded spear, the youth had wedged himself into a gap between worm segments, hoping he wouldn’t be buried alive if the demon plunged beneath the dunes. He huddled against rank flesh that smelled of rotten meat impregnated with pungent cinnamon. He didn’t know what to do, but prayed and contemplated, searching for an explanation.
    Perhaps it is a test of some kind.
    The sandworm continued to flee across the desert, its undersized brain seemingly resigned to never again finding peace or safety. The beast wanted to wallow into the dunes and hide from this malicious imp, but Selim pried the spear as if it were a lever, irritating the wound anew.
    The worm could only surge onward. Hour after hour.
    Selim’s throat was parched, his eyes caked with grit. He must have crossed half the desert already, and recognized no landforms on the monotonous open bled. He had never been so far from the cave community— no one had, as far as he knew. Even if he somehow escaped this giant monster, he would be doomed in the unforgiving Arrakis wasteland because of his unjust sentence.
    He was certain his faithless friend Ebrahim would be exposed one day, and the truth would come out; the traitor would violate other tribal rules, and would eventually be recognized for the thief and liar that he was. If Selim ever saw him again, he would challenge Ebrahim to a fight to the death, and honor would win out.
    Perhaps the tribe would applaud him, since no one in even the grandest fire poems had ever braved a giant sandworm and lived. Maybe the saucy, dark-eyed young Zensunni women would look at Selim with bright smiles. Dust-covered but with his head held high, he would stand before stern Naib Dhartha and demand readmittance to the community. To have ridden a desert demon and lived!
    But, though