Instead, Gilbertus locked away every memory of Jewelia, every conversation, every moment they’d spent together, each tender kiss and embrace, preserving those experiences as an immeasurable treasure.
Gilbertus had departed Lectaire, following the robot’s grandiose dreams and encouragement to form a school that would surreptitiously teach thinking-machine techniques. Erasmus also convinced him to reclaim his original name of Gilbertus Albans, which few people had known even on Corrin, and had likely forgotten long ago.…
Similarly, Horus Rakka had tried to disappear in a normal, unobtrusive life, before his discovery and execution. But Gilbertus had given up any opportunity to be ordinary, accepting the greater calling that Erasmus cultivated within him.
Now, as he emerged from his Memory Vault, he realized that Erasmus had continued speaking, not recognizing the telltale physical signs that indicated his ward had gone into a Mentat trance. “We must develop an escape plan,” the robot said, “so we can leave Lampadas the moment there is danger. Our very existence may depend on being fully prepared.”
Gilbertus reoriented himself to the present. “I already have a private emergency aircraft in the school’s secure hangar. I can fly away if necessary.”
The robot paused. “We should take Anna Corrino with us when we go.”
“I still won’t allow you to perform experiments on her.”
“Nevertheless, I will be watching her carefully.”
A chime sounded at the locked office door, despite ”
Some people look up into the night and are awed by the stars they see. I will not be satisfied until my ships fly to all those star systems.
—DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, VenHold internal memo
In the past year, Josef Venport had transformed his headquarters planet into a veritable fortress. The conflict with the Butlerians was an undeclared war, but a war nevertheless. He saw it as a struggle for the future of humanity—and he was the person to be in charge of it.
A time of crisis demanded a great leader, such as Serena Butler, who had launched her Jihad against thinking machines, or Faykan Butler, who led the final victory on Corrin, or even Jules Corrino, who quelled the CET riots after the release of the incendiary Orange Catholic Bible.
Emperor Salvador, though, was not such a person. As the Half-Manford tried to plunge human society back into barbarism, and Josef fought to preserve civilization, the Emperor was caught like a melon in a vise, doing nothing and easily crushed.
Josef had to pay lip service to the throne, so that he did not provoke any outright Imperial resistance while he gathered his own allies. Much of Salvador’s fleet was carried aboard VenHold haulers, but Josef could not count on those soldiers to defend his interests if the Emperor refused to take sides.
In times like these, he wished Prince Roderick were the leader instead of Salvador. But for an accident of birth …
Since Kolhar served as the headquarters of Venport Holdings and the creation ground for mutant Navigators, Josef could not allow the planet to be vulnerable. He had to protect himself, and he certainly had the means to do so.
In the centuries-long war against the thinking machines, many human worlds had been protected by planetary shields originally created by Norma Cenva. Now, Josef also used those types of shields to protect his groundside industrial bases and construction docks in orbit—to protect them against the Butlerians. Dedicated VenHold warships, many of which were salvaged from old robotic vessels, patrolled space around Kolhar. His defenses would strike without hesitation if any barbarians tested Venport defenses. Josef had installed ground weaponry and deployed a picket line of patrol ships as well as a network of surveillance sensors throughout the system.
The planet should be secure, but when it came to the antitech fanatics, nothing was certain.
At the Thonaris shipyards, Josef had let his guard down and underestimated the Half-Manford’s violence and savage stupidity, and he had nearly lost everything. He would never make that mistake again. Josef knew that Kolhar would be a primary target if the barbarians ever organized themselves. Oh, he could disintegrate hordes of the savages, but more would keep coming. He had explicitly told his employees and allies that he would not be d about the Mentattooisappointed if someone just assassinated Manford Torondo. Without their charismatic demagogue to lead them, the chattering monkeys would disperse and find some other idiotic superstition to believe in.
From Kolhar’s high admin-tower, the Directeur surveyed his bustling shipyards, landing fields, and assorted industries. The way to achieve victory was through civilization and efficiency. “You never lose when you bet on human nature,” he had once told Cioba. “Take advantage of greed and the universal desire for easy living. That’s the deep flaw in the Butlerian thesis: The Half-Manford expects people to choose deprivation and suffering over their own comfort and well-being? It can never last.”
Though he knew he was right, Josef was sorely disappointed that the rest of the Imperium was taking so long to reach the same conclusion. Many planets had taken the Butlerian pledge, so Venport Holdings cut them off. When they grew desperate, Josef offered them a perfectly reasonable solution—admit that they preferred civilized society over primitive squalor, and he would reopen galactic commerce with them. As simple as that. He had slipped his own ships to outlying towns on Lampadas, taking a cold satisfaction in tempting those people right under the nose of the Butlerian leader.
But he underestimated human stubbornness. They were taking much too long to break under the pressure.
The communication system transmitted a message into his office. “The spice hauler just arrived from Arrakis, Directeur. With your permission, we will open the planetary shields to allow for passage.”
“Permission granted. Direct the ship to Landing Zone Twelve. I’ll take a groundcar and meet Draigo myself.” He tidied his desk and retrieved a jacket before heading out into the chill air.
Draigo Roget would be bringing a full assessment of the Combined Mercantiles spice-harvesting operations. Draigo was the most talented graduate of the Mentat School and an invaluable employee of Venport Holdings.
As soon as Josef had learned of the school, he’d seen the potential of the so-called human computers. Not only did Mentats possess tremendous analytical and predictive abilities, they could calculate with the speed of thinking machines, while retaining more of their humanity than the mutated Navigators did. Therefore, he wanted to use Mentats to enhance his own business interests.
With this in mind, Josef had selected a young man named Draigo Roget and planted him in the Mentat School on Lampadas, giving him a false past. His plan was to have Draigo learn Mentat techniques so he could return to Kolhar and teach other candidates. Josef needed as many as he could get.
Guiding the groundcar himself, Josef drove across the busy landing zone, weaving his way among cargo containers and refueling trucks. He could smell the hot metal, fumes, and stressed polymers. The Directeur was not a man who sat in his office and let others handle the work (although he might have preferred that, if he could be confident everyone would perform up to his standards). But he had few people he could truly count on. His wife, Cioba, was one of them; Draigo Roget was another.
As he parked outside Landing Zone 12, he watched the spice hauler descend through the gray sky, noting its design. VenHold spacecraft came from many ship architects and manufacturers. He had gathered every salvageable robot ship he could find; he had purchased (or stolen) ships from defunct or weak transportation companies; and he was in the process of constructing as many new spacefolders as his industries could produce. His aim was to drive all rivals out of business, just as he had done with spice poachers on Arrakis.+ of re the
In order to remain in the Emperor’s good graces, VenHold foldspace haulers transported battleships from the Imperial Armed Forces. The Imperial military had their own Holtzman engines that could fold space, but VenHold ships were much more reliable, and Josef charged very little for the service.<
br />
There were other space transportation carriers throughout the Imperium, but the rival vessels used archaic navigation technology, hurtling through foldspace with the blind hope that they would not encounter a navigational hazard. Josef had a monopoly on prescient Navigators, and as a specialized backup and closely guarded secret, many VenHold ships also used navigation computers.
Flatbed groundcars rolled up to the landed spice hauler, which steamed in Kolhar’s chill air. Cargo doors unfolded, and workers emerged with loads of packaged spice. The factory-ship reeked of melange, and Josef drew a deep breath. He used the stuff only occasionally; he didn’t need it, since he was invigorated enough by the skyrocketing profits from selling spice.
Draigo Roget walked down the ramp, scanning the crowd until he spotted the Directeur. A dark-haired man wearing a black outfit, the Mentat had the demeanor of a stealthy shadow; his darting eyes drank in more details than a normal human could absorb.
He stopped before Josef with a confident expression, forgoing pleasantries. “Directeur Venport, our operations on Arrakis are sound. I reviewed all records with Mentat focus and completed an audit more thorough than any Imperial inspector could conduct. There is no detectable link. As far as anyone can determine, there is no connection between Venport Holdings and Combined Mercantiles.”
“And spice production?” Josef asked. “Our priority is to fulfill the requirements of our Navigators first, and then sell any surplus melange to worlds that side with us against the Butlerians.”
Draigo showed no reaction. “You realize that the populations on many of the embargoed planets are addicted, Directeur?”
“Exactly, and if they simply renounce their support for the Half-Manford, they can resume interplanetary commerce. I’ll provide all the spice they like, but first they must choose. It’s a matter of priorities and allegiances.” He shook his head. “I thought this nonsense would be over long before now.”
The Mentat gave a cool, noncommittal nod. “It is difficult to overcome the legacy of thousands of years of machine oppression in a generation or two. We can’t underestimate the deep pain and horror some people experience when reminded of their enslavement.”
Josef shook his head. He still didn’t understand it.
From any other operative, he would have expected formal documents listing amounts of spice produced and shipped, and losses due to storms, sandworm attack, or sabotage. Draigo, however, simply recited everything from memory. As the flow of numbers continued, Josef held up a hand. “Highlights only, please. Others can attend to the minutiae later.”
Draigo shifted his report to a summary. “This hauler carries sufficient spice for the proto-Navigators currently undergoing metamorphosis, and it will supply many of the Navigators already in service. Forty-three percent of this shipment can be sold to other customers to generate profits for continued spice production.”
Josef led Draigo to the groundcar. “Come with me to the Navigator field. We’ll tell Norma.”
As he guided the humming groundcar away from the landing zone operations, Josef escape plan,” the robot saidlyp mme said, “As soon as Baridge or one of the other barbarian planets changes sides, a flood of others will follow suit. We just need one to set the process in motion. Nobody wants to be the first, but I’ll keep tempting them.” He frowned. “If I promise them spice as a reward, however, we have to make certain we actually have plentiful stockpiles of melange. I cannot renege on a promise.”
“I have already seen to that, Directeur. I diverted some profits into the construction and deployment of more spice-harvesting machines. Combined Mercantiles is hiring offworld crews and paying high wages. Our best workers come from the free people of the desert. They are well seasoned to work out in the deep dunes, but they are emotionally volatile, especially the young men. Some of them try to sabotage our equipment.”
“Why? Do they resent offworlders for some reason?”
“It is more a rite of passage, I believe.”
“Then it needs to be stopped. Arrest the saboteurs, bring them to justice, make them pay for the damage they cause.”
“They’re impossible to catch, Directeur. And even if we arrested and made an example of several young men, the other tribes would band together against us. We cannot afford that.” He paused, raising his dark eyebrows. “I have another suggestion.”
“A Mentat projection?”
“Just an idea.”
“I’m still interested.”
“Recruit them, sir. Get them to work for VenHold. I could disseminate word among the disaffected young people: If any of them wants an opportunity, we’ll take them away from the desert and show them the universe. What bored young Freeman from a backward desert village wouldn’t jump at the chance?”
“What use could we possibly have for uneducated nomadic primitives?”
“They’ve already proved their skill in sabotaging our equipment. We could train them and turn them loose aboard some of your competitors’ ships.”
“We already have saboteurs who have infiltrated EsconTran. That’s one reason their safety record is so abysmal,” Josef said.
“I believe that properly trained Freemen might be even more effective. And we need only to offer the right ones a chance to go offworld. They will become loyal to us.”
Josef brushed his fingers down his thick mustache. “Yes, my Mentat. I like that idea. Recruit some Freemen to add to our sabotage teams already at work.”
They reached the flatlands beyond the outskirts of the city. Weedy fields were dotted with plaz chambers in which Navigator volunteers spent their days saturated in spice while undergoing high-level mathematical instruction that only Navigators could comprehend. Though Norma Cenva often guided VenHold ships to continue her exploration of the universe, she could also fold space with her own mind without even needing Holtzman engines. No other Navigator came close to matching her abilities.
A monitor crew drained spice gas out of a plaz tank for recycling. Two hazard-suited workers climbed into the chamber to remove the body of a failed Navigator. The flaccid, distorted form flopped out onto a suspensor-borne stretcher. The body still twitched; the mouth hung slack; the eyes were gray, blind, covered with a caul. Josef preferred to retrieve these failures before they died, since their still-living brains could be sent off+ou. p to his secret research facility on Denali. Even failed Navigator brains were highly useful for experiments.
Leaving the groundcar at the edge of the field, he and Draigo passed among the tanks. A remarkable number of candidates were undergoing the extreme physical and mental transformation. Josef didn’t know where all the volunteers came from, nor did he bother to ask. Even forcibly transformed Navigators—such as Royce Fayed—were grateful once the mysteries of the universe unfolded in front of them.
His great-grandmother’s tank rested on top of a small rise. Other VenHold workers, revering Norma Cenva, had built a structure that looked like a temple. Sensing their arrival, Norma drifted close to a curved plaz wall and peered out at them. Her appearance would have startled most people—hairless, with large eyes and an amphibious look—but Josef had known her like this all his life.
“A ship has brought spice, Grandmother—enough for all our current Navigators.”
Norma’s response was a long time coming, as if she had to adapt and customize her thoughts so that mere humans could understand. “I know. I saw it.”
“We hope to increase spice production to create many more Navigators. We also want more melange sales to entice those planets that refuse to accept civilization. It is our best leverage.”
“A terrible war. But critical for human civilization,” Norma said. “In spice visions I see truth. The Butlerian threat spreads like disease.”
“Don’t worry, we will defeat them,” Josef said.
“You re
With human imagination, it is possible to achieve great things. Yet with volatile human emotions, it is just as possible to destroy those achievem+ visit Tit
ansitents.
—PTOLEMY, Denali Laboratory Report #17-224
The caustic vapors swirling outside the isolated laboratory domes had a hypnotic effect on him. Ptolemy liked to stare out there and let his thoughts roam free. Too often, though, his ruminations were twisted by painful memories. He blamed the misguided Butlerians and their freakish, madman leader.
Directeur Venport had established a research facility on the poisonous planet Denali, a protected fortress where the best intellects could develop ways to fight against the ignorance and fear spread by the antitechnology fools.
Ptolemy turned away from the curls of discolored mist and focused his attention on the bright laboratory interior with its clean alloy fixtures and transparent plaz tanks. The tanks held enlarged living brains surgically removed from the bodies of failed Navigators.
On his home planet of Zenith, Ptolemy once had another facility, where he had spent years with his best friend and research partner, Dr. Elchan, a Tlulaxa biological scientist. Elchan’s innovations on nerve-muscle-thoughtrode linkages allowed Ptolemy to make great breakthroughs in limb replacement methods. Those had been exciting, golden days!
Even though Elchan’s progress had been based on information gleaned from forbidden cymek technology, Ptolemy had worked diligently (and obliviously, he realized later) on Zenith, convinced that his research benefited all humanity. No reasonable person could possibly object. He thought of the amputees and paralyzed people he could help, glad to put once-hated technology to work for the greater good. Ptolemy believed that science was a neutral thing that could help the masses, if used by a good-hearted person—like himself. Or it could cause great damage, if corrupted by an evil man.
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