Norma took the matter seriously. “I can peer through my prescience, but the detail is not sufficient. I cannot predict exactly what he will do.”
Josef couldn’t forget the grim prescient vision she had offered: If he lost the epic battle of reason versus mob-insanity, human civilization could fall into the dark ages for thousands of years. This wasn’t just a war for profit or even a battle of ideologies. It was more fundamental than that and would span many planets, and possibly many lifetimes. “We will prepare our commercial fleet for a long war, which appears to be necessary.”
Each of the new Nalgan vessels would be taken to Kolhar to be refitted with armaments—both for defense and, should the opportunity arise, to annihilate any Butlerian ship that got in the way.
“But first, we go to Salusa Secundus. If they’ve recovered from the mayhem and riots, I intend to address the Landsraad.”
* * *
AS A POWERFUL noble in his own right, it was Josef Venport’s prerogative to address the Landsraad Council whenever he pleased. Even though he was disgusted with them and their dithering politics, he had to deal with them.
As he watched the planetary leaders gathering in the great hall, he mentally divided them into categories: those who publicly supported his cause (not nearly as many as he had hoped), those who quietly acted in their own best interests (and thus could be bribed or manipulated), those who were simply barbarians and therefore lost causes (unless he could overthrow their governments) … and those who were genuinely neutral or undecided. He didn’t understand how anyone could straddle the vast gulf that was tearing apart human civilization.
Josef had assigned junior Mentats to study the lives, connections, alliances, and shadowy secrets of all Landsraad members. Using that surreptitious information, he could cement the loyalty of those who sided with civilization, or he could use it as a weapon against his enemies.
He had never guessed the challenge would be so hard, though. Wasn’t it obvious? Common sense? Once he embargoed the worlds that took the Butlerian pledge, he had expected them to crumble quickly as they felt the lack of products and trade.
Fanatics were difficult to understand. Their foibles would have been laughable, had the fools not been so annoying and narrow-minded.
Emperor Salvador Corrino sat in his gaudy parliamentary chair, looking regal and pompous. He was surrounded by six dark-robed Sisters, with Dorotea closest to him, whispering in his ear, advising him. She was supposedly able to detect falsehood spoken in her presence, but Josef thought her a charlatan, one of the turncoat Sisters who pandered to the Emperor rather than helping to rebuild the school on Wallach IX. He knew that Dorotea was also a follower of the Half-Manford, so, in Josef’s mind, she was already suspect.
Standing in the center of the Landsraad Hall, the Directeur looked around at the empty seats. Too many nobles had chosen not to attend the meeting. Cowards, all of them. Some politicians believed that if they avoided putting their thoughts on record, they could play both sides of the conflict. Josef wouldn’t allow that, and neither would Manford Torondo. It was perhaps the only thing on which the two men agreed.
Josef addressed the diminished Council in a firm voice. “I stand on the side of civilization and prosperity rather than ignorance and destruction. Human greatness cannot cower like a child afraid of the darkness.”
He heard a muttering of discontent in the audience, but he didn’t care that his words were provocative. Josef brushed a forefinger down his bushy mustache, and smiled as he looked around the echoing chamber. “Today, I bring you good news—a step toward binding all civilized worlds into a much stronger Imperium. Venport Holdings has just purchased the vessels of Nalgan Shipping to expand our Spacing Fleet. With these additional ships, we can efficiently service every civilized planet in the Imperium, and adjust our routes to give the Butlerians their opportunity to live without technology, supplies, medical assistance, or commerce—since that is what they seem to want.” He had already terminated all Nalgan Shipping routes to planets that accepted Manford Torondo’s destructive pledge. Now they were effectively cut off.
The muttering rose to an uproar, and Josef reveled in it. He continued to smile. How much more would it take for them to see? “I+fulp mme am also happy to announce an exclusive alliance with Combined Mercantiles for the distribution of spice from Arrakis. From now on, VenHold will be the sole distributor of melange throughout the Imperium. Butlerians on isolated worlds will no longer be tempted by this so-called vice that increases the vigor and longevity of so many.”
The Emperor had gone pale, and leaned forward in his ornate chair. Salvador worked his jaw as if massaging the words before they burst out of his mouth. “Directeur Venport, you are in no position to issue an ultimatum to my Imperium. I am the Emperor.”
Josef turned to him with mild surprise on his face. “Sire, I run a commercial enterprise, and I must decide which markets best serve my business. I would never hinder your personal transport needs,
One man’s mission is another man’s folly.
—saying of the desert
Taref had not been thirsty for weeks, nor had he felt dust on his skin or in his hair. It was a marvelous sensation at first, and then became strange and unsettling. He hadn’t expected he might miss what he had previously scorned. Far from the desert world, this climate felt so strange.
He and his companions had been instructed to wear loose-fitting clothes that allowed perspiration to evaporate into the air; at some point later, it would fall back down onto the surface of Kolhar. He found this planet’s weather amazing, incomprehensible, and disturbing. His companions chafed in the strange garb and remained uncomfortable throughout their training sessions. Waddoch groaned that he was never going to get used to it.
Each day’s experiences forced Taref to reassess his understanding of the universe. For years he had dreamed of leaving the arid wastelands to explore exotic worlds and enjoy new experiences. He still marveled at what he was doing now, away from the harsh day-to-day sietch existence.
Yet the food here had strange seasonings and was difficult to enjoy. His desert friends remained astonished that offworlders had so much excess water to drink that they had the decadent luxury of adding flavors to their beverages.
He could see the difference in Lillis already: Her lean, leathery features were beginning to show soft curves as her body gained water fat. Shurko had grown ill from eating the unfamiliar items. Chumel developed a skin rash, some kind of rot or fungus that developed from too much moisture and too-frequent bathing, and he was ashamed of the amount of creams and salves he was required to apply. Waddoch and Bentur seemed edgy and irritable. None of them liked the annoying films they were forced to apply to their eyes to cover the distinctive blue-within-blue.
Though Taref anticipated seeing the ocean world of Caladan, he realized that his companions were growing homesick for Arrakis as they trained here. But they had barely begun their mission and still had much to learn.…
For the day’s instruction, Draigo Roget led them inside one of the landed spacecraft in the Kolhar shipyards. They followed the Mentat instructor down metal corridors until they reached the dim, stuffy engine decks.
On Arrakis, Taref had been aboard spice harvesters many times, and he was familiar with the loud hammering noises, the roar of engines, the unavoidable vibration that would inevitably summon a sandworm. Previously, he had scorned the giant spice factories, knowing that a group of Freemen could simply skitter across the sands, harvest raw melange, and carry it away with deft hands and irregular footsteps—all without summoning a worm. It had seemed so simple to him; that was the way a sietch gathered the melange they needed.
But he had never before u had no idea who he really wassa m2Inderstood the sheer volume of spice harvesting and the voracious appetite of the Imperium. Seeing the incredible amounts of melange the VenHold Navigators required, as well as the addicted populations of world after world, he was beginning to comprehend the scope of that h
unger. Stopping that demand would be like trying to stop the moving sands.
Back on Arrakis, even if he and his companions sabotaged a spice harvester to hinder the work of Combined Mercantiles (more as a game to prove themselves than as a radical political statement), he knew their efforts would make no difference to the overall company operations. It was like removing a spoonful of sand from a giant dune.…
Draigo halted the group inside an engine chamber. “Observe the tasks we need you to do. This is a cumbersome old spaceship we recently acquired from a small company, Nalgan Shipping. These vessels are very similar to the ones used by EsconTran—the ships that will be your targets.”
“You want us to fight your battles for you,” Shurko said. “You are sending us out to destroy your rival’s ships so that VenHold vessels will be victorious.”
The Mentat drew his dark brows together. “In essence, yes. But the battle is more subtle than that, and much larger in scale. We need to do more than destroy a ship or two—rather, we need to fan the flames of fear.”
The desert recruits stood at the control panel connected to the ship’s foldspace engines. Draigo worked the grid, and system lights became a dizzying storm of colors and readouts.
“If we can make people believe that EsconTran ships are unreliable, then we cause far more havoc. We want the Imperium to think that VenHold has the only safe method of space travel, thanks to our Navigators. Already Escon’s safety record is less than ninety-eight percent, as best we can determine. Out of every hundred flights, two or more vessels disappear, on average.”
To Taref, the number did not sound so terrible. At least that many attempted sandworm rides ended in disaster. But weak offworlders had less tolerance for risk, he supposed.
Lillis said, “EsconTran must have faulty spaceships, then, or incompetent pilots.”
Draigo’s smile was faint, but Taref noticed it. “Or perhaps we have other operatives, just like you, who work on maintenance crews in certain rival docking facilities. For years our quiet saboteurs have been causing accidents, devastating their safety record.”
He guided their attention to the control grid. “The more complex the machinery, the easier it is to sabotage. I shall teach you all the ways.”
Taref drank in the details as the Mentat summarized how to adjust standard fuel flow, how to deflect heat-dissipation systems, how to set up a resonance feedback loop so that engines would explode moments after the ship folded space.
“That will kill many people,” Lillis pointed out.
“Only those who chose the wrong method of transport,” Draigo said, unconcerned. “Our goal is to see that EsconTran has a failure rate of seven percent or more within the next few months. Manford Torondo claims that his followers are protected by God. With such a disastrous loss rate, they’ll start thinking they’ve been cursed.”
When the group of friends had first arrived on Kolhar, Taref had only a vague idea of who Manford Torondo was, but Josef Venport had left a holo-recording for Draigo to use. Many VenHold workers had seen it. In the holo, t+stch womanhe Directeur spoke with palpable anger, showing images of the legless, fanatical leader who rode on the shoulders of a female Swordmaster.
“This man is the greatest enemy of humanity,” Venport said, pointing at Manford in the holo. “Unless we stop the dark and primitive future he intends to create, he will cause the death of billions, if not trillions. By removing this one person, we can save the human race.
“As you fan out to various planets, I would be very pleased if Manford Torondo”—the image zoomed closer, showing the face of the Butlerian leader—“were to be removed from the interplanetary stage and prevented from causing further harm. I don’t care how it’s done.”
Taref had never forgotten that speech. Desert people had their feuds and unpopular Naibs, so he was no stranger to that way of dealing with problems, but Manford Torondo must be a terrible person to warrant such bloodshed. He let himself dream for a moment. If he could achieve such a victory, how much better it would be than earning respect in his tribe by sabotaging a spice-harvesting machine or two. Eliminating Leader Torondo would be far greater than anything Taref’s stern father could ever hope to accomplish.…
Though attentive, his companions showed little enthusiasm. Draigo continued to lecture the group as he led them away from the control grid and into the complex foldspace engines. “If you cannot gain access to the control panels, there are still simple ways you can cause damage using a few basic tools. Let me show you.”
He took out a small pry bar and a spanner, but before using them he turned to face Taref and his companions. “I believe that you Freemen have more potential than any of our other operatives.”
* * *
OUT ON THE field of Navigator tanks, Draigo spoke with three of his Mentat students, whose training was far more rigorous than what Taref and his companions were going through. Out of more than twenty volunteers for the intense Mentat instruction, these three—Ohn, Jeter, and Impika—had shown the most skills.
Draigo admitted that the trainees would have done better if they’d attended Headmaster Albans’s school on Lampadas. Although Draigo had memorized the curriculum of the great academy, he was not as gifted a teacher as the Headmaster. He missed his mentor, wished that he and Gilbertus had not found themselves on opposite sides of an immense conflict. He didn’t understand how the wise teacher could accept the antitechnology fervor that caused so much obvious harm.
At the school, Draigo and Gilbertus had matched wits many times on theoretical battlefields; they had even clashed for real at the Thonaris space shipyards. How much more formidable the two of them could be if they fought on the same side! He wished the Headmaster would join him in the fight against rampant fanaticism.
He doubted Gilbertus believed machines were innately evil. Draigo monitored Lampadas with his own secret spies and observers among the Butlerians. Over the years, Headmaster Albans had made questionable comments that attracted suspicion, making others wonder if he might be a machine sympathizer after all.
Draigo wondered if that could be true. He hoped it was true.
As he joined his companions out on the Navigator field, he knew these three students were his own now, his most talented apprentices. All three of them had bright lips, disturbingly stained, which escape plan,” the robot saidEre the told him they were continuing to consume the experimental sapho. Since it increased the mental acuity of his trainees, Draigo encouraged Ohn, Jeter, and Impika to use it. He would not turn down any chance to improve his students, his loyal Mentats.
Some of the candidates who did not prove sufficient to become Mentats volunteered instead to be sealed inside spice tanks for conversion into Navigators. The supreme privilege of being a Mentat demanded constant concentration, whereas a Navigator required a flexible, voracious mind, a great deal of melange, and good fortune. Mentat candidates who became Navigators might be a tremendous asset for VenHold.…
Draigo and his students stepped up to the translucent, gas-filled chambers. Inside, the half-converted, mutant volunteers seemed to be suffocating in open air. Draigo had never let himself grow fond of any particular student, but he was concerned. Despite his own teachings that a human computer must be like a thinking machine—coldly analytical and without emotions—Draigo knew that Headmaster Albans had actually cared for him on a personal basis, and now he had similar feelings for these three.…
The Mentat students stared at the transforming subjects who had recently been their classmates. “Are they in pain? Are they suffering?” Jeter asked.
“Who knows what pain is required before a person can become a Navigator? We did not all become Mentats, nor can we all become Navigators. Greatness requires sacrifice.”
A voice echoed from the chamber of an older, more experienced Navigator—Royce Fayed, who was a special protégé of Norma Cenva.
“They may endure pain,” said Fayed’s burbling voice, “but if they survive, they will know a greater joy than t
hey ever imagined possible.”
“They volunteered for the process,” Draigo pointed out.
“They don’t all volunteer,” remarked Impika.
“No survivoronsidering the
Humans never stop looking for ways to make their lives easier. Yet in taking that course they weaken the species and accelerate the process of genetic atrophy. When the Butlerians rail against computers, they have inadvertently stumbled upon this truth, yet in our quest to breed the perfect human we rely on computers. We have no alternative.
—MOTHER SUPERIOR RAQUELLA BERTO-ANIRUL, private notes
During her months on Wallach IX, Tula threw herself into Sisterhood training with impressive dedication. She seemed obsessed with learning the rigorous techniques as swiftly as possible. Valya had already introduced her to the basic methods on Lankiveil, but now Tula was eager—even desperate—to become as talented as her sister.
Valya was pleased to see the difference in her younger sibling. Tula’s former shyness was replaced with new confidence; she never mentioned being homesick for Lankiveil, never talked about their parents or brother, even though Valya knew the younger girl was close to Danvis, as she herself had been to Griffin. She couldn’t help but smile; her sister’s savage determination was a good sign. Tula was nearly ready. Valya kept watching.
In private, the Harkonnen sisters discussed plans against the Atreides—a goal they shared even beyond their dedication to the Sisterhood. Valya, who had already shed blood to protect the Sisterhood, primed Tula to avenge their family’s shame through bloodshed.
Her sister was no shy and trembling flower. Valya had trained with her in mock Laboratory Journals
The young blonde had a certain allure about her, an innocence and feigned vulnerability that made her attractive to young men. Valya had been helpinb-SC" aid="12A
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