The Sixth House
Comstar may have presented themselves as a moolithic order to the rest of the Inner Sphere, but that would be far from the truth.
A star spanning organization would have people that came from different walks of life with different ideas of how things were done, with their own cliques of like minded people all in service of allowing interstellar communications to connect the human sphere.
Of course when a sublime and revolutionary book called Dune, every rank, every facet of an organization would not remian untouched in how they viewed the book given their biases, their relative knowledge of the inner workings of Comstar, and their life experiences prior to joining the order.
The acolytes of ComStar were the lowest rung of the Blessed Order, the tireless hands and feet that kept the grand machine running. They operated the hyperpulse generators, maintained the relay stations, and performed the endless, unseen tasks that ensured ComStar's dominion over interstellar communication remained absolute.
They were also, despite the Order's outward control of knowledge, far more exposed to outside influences than their superiors liked to admit. The nature of their duties required them to interact with the wider Inner Sphere, even in small ways—whether through monitoring transmissions, handling data packets, or simply overhearing things whispered in the halls of ComStar facilities by those higher up the chain.
And so, Dune reached them.
It spread in whispers first, as rumors always did. A novel, written by some obscure Davion scientist, that wasn't just good, but transcendent. A book about a distant future where a monolithic order controlled the most vital resource in existence. A book where knowledge was power, where secrecy was survival, and where a messianic figure emerged from exile to reshape the universe.
For the acolytes, Dune resonated in ways few works ever had.
Some read it and saw in it the echoes of the Order itself in how ComStar controlled the single most vital aspect of interstellar civilization, much as the Spacing Guild did in Dune. How the Inner Sphere depended on them, relied on them, even as it chafed under their control. To those acolytes, the novel reinforced their belief in ComStar's divine mission. If history had placed them in a position of such power, then surely it was because they alone were worthy of wielding it.
Others saw something far more troubling.
In Dune, the great and powerful institutions were not benevolent guardians. The Spacing Guild was not a wise, impartial steward but as a parasitic entity, hoarding its knowledge and strangling progress for its own ends. The Bene Gesserit were not shepherds of humanity's fate, instead they were manipulators, playing with bloodlines and destinies for their own shadowy purposes.
And what, then, was ComStar?
Acolytes who dared to ask this question found themselves grappling with uncomfortable answers. Did the First Circuit truly safeguard knowledge, or did it hoard it out of self-interest? Was ComStar's monopoly a necessity, or a self-perpetuating scheme to ensure no one else could threaten its grip on power?
Some saw Juan Holtzman himself as a warning; as a man who had discovered something that could change the balance of power, just as spice and shields had in Dune. And what had ComStar done? It had moved to control, to suppress, to monitor. Just as the Guild had.
Still others latched onto something different: the idea of the Fremen. A scattered, overlooked people, underestimated by the great powers, who in the end would rise up and change the course of history. The acolytes were at the very bottom of ComStar's rigid hierarchy, but Dune planted the idea that the lowest ranks might one day shape the destiny of the Order itself.
It was a quiet, dangerous thought.
And yet, for all these varied interpretations, one truth remained undeniable: Dune truly had taken root among the acolytes. Some read it and found affirmation. Some read it and found doubts. And some, though they would not say it aloud, read it and wondered if the story's greatest lesson was not about spice, power, or prophecy…
…but about what happened when a sleeping force awakened.
===
The Adepts of ComStar were the true functionaries of the Order—the bureaucrats, the scholars, the engineers, and the priests of technology. Unlike the Acolytes beneath them, who were little more than cogs in the grand machine, the Adepts possessed knowledge. Not all knowledge, of course—the First Circuit ensured that—but enough to understand the weight of what they protected and controlled.
And so, when Dune made its way into their hands, it was not through whispered rumors or stolen data packets. It came through controlled channels, passed among trusted circles, dissected and analyzed like any other text of interest. But Dune was no mere book.
It was an enigma.
For many Adepts, the most immediate parallel was obvious: the Spacing Guild. A monopoly over the lifeblood of civilization? An organization that ensured no one else could challenge its position? A technological secret held so tightly that entire empires bent the knee to it?
This was ComStar.
And yet, the Guild in Dune was not a benevolent custodian. It was self-serving, manipulative, more interested in preserving its own power than in guiding humanity forward. That was a troubling comparison and one some Adepts dismissed outright.
ComStar was different. It had to be different.
But others saw the warning.
Were they truly preserving knowledge, or simply hoarding it? Was their mission one of stewardship, or control? The Adepts who asked these questions did so quietly, and often alone, for voicing such thoughts aloud was dangerous. Yet the seed of doubt had been planted.
Others found themselves drawn to the Bene Gesserit, for their methods and philosophies echoed ComStar's own. The Sisterhood manipulated bloodlines and shaped the course of history from the shadows. ComStar, too, guided the Inner Sphere in ways the ignorant masses could never understand. The slow degradation of technology, the careful restrictions on knowledge—these were not failures. They were safeguards.
Civilization could not be trusted with its own destiny.
And yet, even among these Adepts, there was discomfort.
The Bene Gesserit were ultimately undone by their own creation. Paul Atreides, their carefully sculpted tool, became something beyond their control. Was Juan Holtzman such a figure? A man who had touched upon something profound, something that could not be easily contained?
Some Adepts saw him as a kwisatz haderach of his own kind. Not a messiah, but a wildcard, a force that could overturn the delicate balance ComStar had so carefully maintained.
And if that was true, what should they do about it?
The most pragmatic Adepts believed ComStar must seize control of Holtzman, just as the Bene Gesserit had sought to control Paul. He must be brought into the Order, or at least placed under its watchful eye. If his mind had truly unlocked secrets thought lost to history, then only ComStar could be trusted to wield them responsibly.
Others, more cautious, believed his knowledge must be suppressed—that any advancement outside of ComStar's control was a threat. Just as the Great Houses could not be allowed to recover the secrets of the Star League unchallenged, Holtzman's discoveries must be buried before they could upend the Order's dominion.
But there were some (though they would never speak of it openly) who believed something far more heretical.
Dune spoke of stagnation, of institutions that held back progress for their own survival. And in the end, those institutions fell. The Guild, the Emperor, the Bene Gesserit—all were shattered by the forces they had sought to control.
Was that ComStar's future?
For now, such whispers remained buried beneath layers of loyalty and doctrine. But the Adepts had read Dune, and Dune did not forget.
===
For the Precentors of ComStar who were the true architects of the Order's vision, Dune did not arrive as a revelation, nor as a simple work of fiction. It arrived as a problem.
By the time it reached their notice, the book had already infiltrated the ranks of the lower castes. The Acolytes whispered about it in hushed, excited tones, seeing in it reflections of the mysteries they were denied. The Adepts, more disciplined but no less intrigued, had analyzed its themes, drawing their own conclusions about ComStar's place within the story's framework.
It was one thing for a book to exist. It was another for it to be discussed.
And now, because it was being discussed, the Precentors had to take a position.
There was no singular ComStar interpretation of Dune, for there was no singular ComStar. The organization was as much a battlefield of ideology as the Great Houses themselves, though it wore a far more serene mask.
For the Guardians, those who truly believed in the Blessed Blake's vision, Dune was a test.
If the Bene Gesserit and Spacing Guild were cautionary tales of control leading to destruction, then ComStar must learn from their mistakes. They saw in the book a lesson in humility, a warning against the overreach of unchecked power. The Emperor had believed himself untouchable. The Guild had thought itself irreplaceable. The Bene Gesserit had trusted in their superior understanding.
And they had all fallen.
If ComStar was to endure, it must do so not by crushing innovation, but by guiding it, as the Prophet had intended. Juan Holtzman, then, was not an enemy, but a moment of reckoning. Should they approach him as allies? Could he be made to see the wisdom of their ways? Was there an opportunity here to shepherd his genius rather than suppress it?
It was a dangerous thought. The Guardians knew this.
But they also knew that stagnation would kill them as surely as any war.
The Conservatives, however, were unmoved by such introspection.
They saw Dune not as a lesson, but as a threat. And like any threat, it had to be managed. The novel's mere existence was tolerable. It was, after all, just a book. But the discussions it sparked? The comparisons being drawn? The way it encouraged people to question ComStar's role in the Inner Sphere?
That was unacceptable.
The Spacing Guild had lost its monopoly and been destroyed. ComStar would not.
To them, the solution was simple: control the narrative. If Dune could not be erased, then it must be co-opted. ComStar's interpretation had to become the only acceptable interpretation. The Precentors debated commissioning their own "official" analysis, one that would emphasize the necessity of a guiding hand, the wisdom of ComStar's oversight, the futility of rebellion.
And if certain other interpretations had to be discouraged through subtle means through reassignment, isolation, or quiet removal so be it.
Then there were the Radicals.
They were a minority, but an influential one, lurking in the shadows of the First Circuit. They were the ones who studied the deepest mysteries, who knew the truth of what had been lost, who understood that the great charade of technological decline was a lie carefully maintained for over two centuries.
To them, Dune was not a threat. It was a sign.
The Golden Path.
Not Paul Atreides' path—no, the Radicals did not deal in prophecy—but a path. A vision of a world where technology was no longer hidden, where power was exercised openly, where a single mind could reshape the fate of nations. Juan Holtzman was dangerous not because of what he had built, but because of what he represented.
A man outside ComStar had reached into the dark and pulled forth knowledge long thought lost.
If he could do it, others might follow.
And so, for the Radicals, the book was a revelation. A call to action. The debate among them was not whether Holtzman should be stopped, but whether he should be accelerated.
A weapon, after all, was most useful when wielded by the right hands.
===
For the intelligence arm of ComStar, the men and women of ROM, Dune was not a story. It was not a work of fiction, nor a philosophical exercise, nor even a cautionary tale.
It was a case study.
To the field agents and analysts who operated in the shadows of the Inner Sphere, Dune was a brutally honest depiction of power, control, and the illusions that upheld both. To ROM, the lesson was simple: truth is malleable, belief is a weapon, and secrecy is survival.
It was the kind of story that got discussed in quiet, dimly lit rooms where only the trusted gathered. The kind that was dissected in secure files, stripped of its literary pretensions and reduced to its fundamental lessons. The kind that made certain minds within ROM sit up and take notice.
Because Dune was exactly what they did.
And Juan Holtzman?
He was either an asset… or a problem.
Among the upper echelons of ROM, particularly those who had truly studied the deeper mysteries of ComStar's mission, one thing about Dune stood out above all else: the Bene Gesserit.
A secretive order manipulating the course of civilization?
A breeding program designed to shape the future?
A means of implanting myths to control the masses?
It was all too familiar.
To the highest ranks of ROM, this was not mere coincidence. There were too many parallels between the Bene Gesserit and the work of the Holy Shroud.
The Blessed Blake had given humanity a mission: to guide, to preserve, and to protect the light of knowledge. And if that required secrets? If that required lies? If that required the careful shaping of belief and perception, just as the Bene Gesserit shaped the Fremen mythos?
Then so be it.
One did not guide humanity by appealing to its better nature. One did not save humanity by trusting in free will.
No, humanity had to be led, for its own good.
ROM was already engaged in such work. Hadn't it planted the myths of Jerome Blake's divinity? Hadn't it cultivated the reverence for ComStar's word among the ignorant masses? Hadn't it subtly nudged entire factions, maneuvering events to ensure the slow, inexorable realization of its ultimate goal?
The Bene Gesserit had called it the Missionaria Protectiva.
ROM called it The Word of Blake.
And yet, Dune contained a warning as well.
The Bene Gesserit had failed. They had lost control of their chosen messiah. Their centuries-long plan had slipped from their grasp. Paul Atreides had been an aberration, a variable they could not predict, a force they could not control.
And now, in the real world, there was Juan Holtzman.
A man who had touched upon knowledge long thought lost.
A man whose work threatened to upend centuries of careful guidance.
A man who was not under ComStar's control.
For the Precentors and Adepts, Holtzman was a concern.
For ROM, he was a threat.
He had done what no one outside the Order should have been able to do. He had revived lost science, challenged the enforced decay of knowledge, and—worse—he had written a book that spread dangerous ideas.
His Dune was already influencing minds. It had become a quiet whisper in the halls of power, a topic of discussion among nobility and commoners alike. It was seeping into every level of society.
And if there was one thing ROM knew, it was that ideas were more dangerous than any weapon.
Technology could be hidden.
Inventions could be destroyed.
Scientists could be made to disappear.
But ideas?
They were contagious.
And that meant Juan Holtzman could not be ignored.
Within the sealed chambers of ROM's most senior operatives, the discussions about Holtzman took on a more ominous tone.
One faction, pragmatic and coldly calculating, saw the opportunity. Holtzman had power that was growing—intellectual, social, and perhaps even political in time. It would be foolish to discard such an asset without first determining his potential.
Could he be influenced?
Could he be manipulated?
Could he be brought into the fold?
Another faction was less patient. They saw only the danger, the precedent he set. Holtzman had bypassed centuries of careful information control. He had proven that lost knowledge could be recovered. What if others followed in his footsteps? What if his book led to more thinkers, more dreamers, more innovators who questioned the Holy Shroud's grip on technological truth?
That could not be allowed.
The final decision was, as always, pragmatic.
For now, Holtzman would be observed. His movements, his communications, his research—all would be tracked. They ahd to find where he was right now after that failed assassination attempt. His associates would be profiled.
If he could be influenced, then he would be.
If he could be manipulated, then he would be.
But if he could not…
Then ROM had ways of dealing with heretics.
The Bene Gesserit had lost control of Paul Atreides and paid the price.
ROM would not make the same mistake.
=
There was a tension in the air of Hilton Head, the kind that went unspoken but was no less real than the weight of gravity itself. The domed chambers of the First Circuit were usually the heart of calm deliberation, of slow, meticulous decision-making that shaped the Inner Sphere in ways no one beyond these walls would ever realize.
But now?
Now there was Dune.
Now there was Juan Holtzman.
Now there was an Idea.
And that was infinitely more dangerous than any warlord or Successor Lord's petty ambitions.
The Precentor ROM sat stiff-backed, his hands folded as he listened to the discussion unfolding around him. He was a warrior of the shadows first, an enforcer of the Order's will, but he knew better than to dismiss the gravity of what had been laid before them.
"It is a book," Precentor New Avalon, said with exasperation, as if that simple truth should be enough to banish all concern. "A well-written, imaginative book, yes, but a book nonetheless. We are acting as though Blake's own words have been cast into the void!"
"Do not be flippant!" Precentor Atreus interjected sharply. *"You know as well as I that this…Dune is not just a book. It is an infection. It is an unshackling of the mind. It is precisely the kind of work that breaks the control we have spent centuries cultivating."
"An unshackling, or an opportunity?"
The words came from Precentor Sian a rare voice of innovation among a body dedicated to stagnation. The old man stroked his chin thoughtfully, leaning forward. "I have studied it carefully. I have spoken with our agents, both those in ROM and those embedded in academia. This is not merely some passing fad. The work resonates because it touches on fundamental truths. The struggle for power. The shaping of belief. The harnessing of history itself to forge a future of one's own making."
"It is heresy."
Precentor Dieron said the word with the absolute certainty of someone who adhered to the purest form of Conrad Toyama's doctrine.
"It is wisdom."
Precentor Tharkad replied with a smirk, though whether it was amusement or something more calculating was unclear. "Perhaps that is what truly frightens us. That in this book, in the lessons it provides, we see our own reflection staring back at us."
The Primus Allen Rusenstein, the highest authority of the First Circuit, had remained silent throughout the discussion. But now, at last, she spoke.
"Enough."
The voice of Rusenstein was soft, yet it carried the weight of finality. The chamber stilled.
He turned her gaze upon them, and all at once, they were reminded of why she sat at the pinnacle of ComStar.
"Dune is a mirror."
He let the words hang in the air.
"We see in it the echoes of our own mission, our own purpose. We, like the Bene Gesserit, have shaped belief and history. We, like the Padishah Emperor, rule through control of infrastructure and communication. We, like the Fremen, understand the power of the faithful, the will of those who would fight for something greater than themselves. And we, like the Spacing Guild, hold dominion over travel but in our case its interstellar communications, over the very arteries of the Inner Sphere."
His gaze sharpened.
"But Dune is also a warning."
The chamber was silent.
"The Bene Gesserit lost control. The Emperor fell. The Guild was rendered powerless. The illusion of control is fragile. We have built our Order upon the principle that knowledge is power, that the guiding hand of ComStar is necessary to ensure civilization does not collapse into ruin. But if we do not recognize the dangers of this book, if we do not understand what it reveals about us then we are no better than those who allowed their own demise."
He leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"Holtzman must be watched. Not simply as an individual, but as a phenomenon. His work, his ideas—they are already slipping beyond our grasp. The nobility reads it. The military discusses it. The commoners playacts of it. We cannot simply erase it. That is a fool's errand. To do so would only immortalize it as forbidden knowledge, and we have learned well what happens when knowledge is made taboo."
He exhaled slowly.
"Instead, we must control it. Shape the discourse. Guide the interpretation. If the book is a mirror, then we must ensure that when people look into it, they see us. Dune will not be an indictment of our Order for it will be a justification of it. The narrative must be crafted: Juan Holtzman has, unknowingly, written a text that proves the wisdom of ComStar's vision. The struggle for order. The necessity of leadership. The danger of those who would seek to disrupt the balance of power. We must become the gatekeepers of its legacy."
Precentor Dieron's lips pressed into a thin line. "And if Holtzman does not conform?"
Rusenstein's expression did not change.
"Then ROM will act. As they always have. As they always will. The lesson of Paul Atreides must not be repeated."
===
Yet as the high and mighty made their proclamations to the heavens on how they would things, fate was already in motion.
Man plans, and God laughs.
The acrid tang of machine oil and hot metal filled the industrial district of New Avalon, a scent so deeply ingrained in its foundations that it felt as natural as the air itself. Towering assembly lines and the rhythmic pounding of automated presses formed a mechanical symphony that underscored the city's relentless pace.
An acolyte of ComStar, his robes marking him as one of the Order's low-ranking initiates, moved quietly through the streets. His week of leave had been meant for reflection, a respite from the structured rigidity of his daily duties. Yet, something deeper... some unconscious pull had brought him here.
Perhaps it was a yearning to reconnect with his origins. Before the robes and the prayers, before the sermons on the sanctity of the HPG network and the divinely mandated role of ComStar, he had been a child of New Avalon's industrial district. It was still home, no matter what his superiors claimed. And home, he reflected wryly, was also the place that had birthed Dune.
He wasn't a scholar, nor one of the great thinkers that filled the ranks of Adepts and Precentors, debating high philosophy behind closed doors. He was just a man who had read a book and seen truths in it that he could not ignore. There had always been whispers, of clashes of ideology that never reached the ears of the common citizen but Dune had cast a stark light on them. There were lessons in its pages that the Order did not wish to acknowledge, warnings that some refused to heed. No institution was free of flaws, not even the most sacred.
He believed that Juan was there, to call out the pitfalls that were in front of organizations such as the Blessed Order. No one was free of flaws and biases contrary to declarations, even he knew that.
So why were some of his fellows offended as if the book and the author committed such blasphemous sacrilege? He did not like it at all, those thoughts of those people.
And so, his feet carried him forward, past the nameless factories and forges, until he stood before Chilton Automotive.
The company had become an unlikely titan, catapulted into the public eye not by its machines, but by its decision to publish Dune. It had become something of a pilgrimage site—at least for those who truly understood the book's weight.
Yet, despite its newfound fame, Chilton remained as pragmatic as ever. The workers here had little patience for so-called "literary tourists" or self-important intellectuals who thought themselves above the common man that tried to swarm the place. No matter how many times Dune was hailed as a masterpiece, Chilton's people would not suffer fools.
Stepping inside, he felt the hum of quiet efficiency. No gaudy decorations, no pretentious displays—just shelves lined with books, a few terminals for automated purchases, and a handful of clerks handling business with a quiet professionalism.
It was then that he saw it.
His breath hitched as his gaze landed upon a new book sitting on the shelves, the title embossed in stark, elegant letters:
Dune Messiah.
A sequel?!
The words blurred slightly as he stared at the book, disbelieving. His mind raced. Dune had already shaken the very foundations of how he viewed the world. If this was the continuation of that story, what revelations did it hold?
Before he could fully process his thoughts, a figure approached him from behind the counter.
The man was older, his face lined with the weathering of time and toil, but his eyes were sharp, filled with the weight of experience and a keen understanding of the world.
Elias Chilton.
Not just the owner of Chilton Automotive, but the man who had personally seen to the publication of Dune.
The acolyte swallowed, suddenly unsure of himself. But Elias only raised an eyebrow before giving him a nod.
"Didn't expect to see this so soon, did you?" The older man's voice was laced with amusement.
The acolyte managed to find his words. "No—I mean, I had no idea ithere was even such a thing as a sequel, let alone published. There were rumours, and those that believed hard enough..."
Elias leaned on the counter. "We kept it quiet." He tapped the book's cover. "Word of mouth made Dune what it was. We didn't want to spoil that."
The acolyte's hands tightened around the book. "But why not announce it? Surely people are waiting for it?"
Elias snorted. "Three reasons."
He held up a finger. "First, we needed to print enough copies so that we wouldn't run into the same mess we did with Dune. Demand wiped out the first run before we could blink. This time, we're prepared."
A second finger joined the first. "Second, we wanted to be smart about who we licensed the printing to. There are plenty of people who'd love to squeeze us dry now that they see the kind of money this is bringing in."
A third finger. "And third?" His grin turned wry. "Have you seen the unreal hype of the Dune film? Dune Messiah doesn't need to ride the coattails of that blockbuster film. It'll stand on its own. If we'd announced it alongside the Dune movie, people would have treated it as a sideshow, instead of what it really is."
The acolyte frowned slightly. "And what is it, really?"
Elias' gaze sharpened. "A warning."
The words sent a chill down the acolyte's spine.
For all its grand narrative and deep philosophy, Dune had also been a cautionary tale. Those who had read between the lines understood the deeper truths—about power, about prophecy, about the dangers of blind faith.
And now, there was Dune Messiah.
The acolyte looked down at the book in his hands, his grip tightening.
He had seen the fractures within the Order, the arguments that had grown ever more hushed, ever more secretive. And if Dune had been the spark that ignited such fierce debate, then what would its sequel bring?
For the first time in a long while, he was afraid.
But he was also curious.
He met Elias' gaze once more, then nodded, reaching into his robes to pull out a few crisp C-bills.
Elias took them without a word, sliding the book across the counter.
And as the acolyte stepped back out into the industrial streets of New Avalon, he realized that once again just as it had before, the words of Dune would change everything.
The rented hotel room was sparse, little more than a bed, a desk, and a chair. Functional. Forgettable. It suited the acolyte's needs perfectly.
So he went back to where he was staying.
He had paid for the room in cash, chosen a hotel far from the HPG station, and ensured he was just another face among the crowds in New Avalon's bustling districts. As much as he was still bound to the Order, he knew how to move unseen when needed.
The moment the door locked behind him, he set to work.
First, he checked for surveillance devices for his training in the Order had taught him that much. The phone's receiver was unplugged, the room's thin curtains were drawn tight, and a wedge from his travel kit was jammed under the door to prevent forced entry. He even took the extra precaution of placing a cup of water on the doorknob—if someone tampered with the lock in the night, he'd know.
Only once he was sure of his privacy did he settle down at the small desk, placing the book reverently before him.
Dune Messiah.
On its first page was 'The Second Book of the Arrakis Saga'
And then he was in a spell as the words flowed.
For three days and three nights, he did not leave his quarters.
He barely slept, subsisting on ration bars and the occasional drink of water, unwilling to pull himself from the words on the pages before him. What he read was... beyond anything he had expected.
It was not a triumphant continuation of Dune's rise to power.
It was a deconstruction.
A warning not just of power's corruption, but of the inevitability of that corruption.
The acolyte had always been wary of those in the Order who saw Dune as mere allegory, or worse, as justification for their own ambitions. Those who sought to use Juan Holtzman's work, rather than learn from it. But Dune Messiah... this was different.
It stripped the illusions away, laid bare the fallacies of prophets, of institutions that convinced themselves they were immune to decay.
Paul Atreides had won everything. And that victory had doomed him.
His Order had won everything. And what if they were already doomed?
When the sun rose on the fourth day, the acolyte opened the door and stepped outside.
He was a changed man.
His robes, the symbols of his Order, had not changed, nor had the sigil upon his breast that marked him as one of ComStar's faithful. But inside, in the places where true battles were fought, something fundamental had shifted.
This had to be spread.
Juan Holtzman had not merely written a book. He had laid down a vision, one that few would dare to see through to the end. The highest echelons of powers of the Inner Sphere (perhaps even ComStar itself) would stop at nothing to erase these truths, to bury them beneath layers of dogma, bureaucracy, and outright suppression.
It was the will of Blake and God (for he was still New Avalon Catholic) that moved in mysterious ways to allow this to happen. It would be better that Dune Messiah spread across the stars in quiet ways and in such numbers beyond the gaze of the powers that be it could not be stopped.
Let them focus so much on the Dune movie.
He had to move carefully. He had to think.
Who could be trusted?
Who among his fellows could read Dune Messiah and understand what it meant? Not just another philosophical discussion in the candlelit halls of the Order, but a revelation of what awaited them all if they did not change?
Juan Holtzman must be protected.
The vision must be preserved.
Even if it meant defying the very Order he had sworn his life to.
(In the depths of his mind, he knew Juan would write another book that would show more of the truth laid here, there was something that he was aiming for