Salvador’s voice was darker. “Have you come to set yourself up as the next Emperor? As the people shout out?”
Vorian gave a cold laugh. “I left such personal aspirations behind long ago, and do not intend to revisit them. I have retired and want to be left alone. As I come before you, Sire, I swear my allegiance to you, and swear that I have no interest in taking any role in government or in appearing before the full Landsraad.” His gray eyes hardened. “But I do want my family and planet protected. Keep my people safe and you have nothing to worry about. I will slip back into obscurity. You’ll never see me again.” Vor looked away. “Frankly, I’d rather have it that way, too. I just want to go home and be left in peace.”
“Unfortunately,” Roderick said, “the people know you are alive now. They will come to you at Kepler, beg you, pester you, ask you to come to the aid of the Imperium by taking up the mantle of a legend. How long will you be able to resist their demands for you to return to public life?”
“As long as necessary.”
Vorian understood that Salvador would feel threatened, would never be the center of attention when the great war hero was present. Since the current Emperor was not even the legitimate child of Emperor Jules Corrino, the dynasty was already weakened. Vor could take over the Imperium, if he wanted it. But he didn’t.
“I give you my word I will remain on Kepler with my family. You need never see me on Salusa again.”
Salvador remained silent, considering the offer. Roderick said, “The solution isn’t quite that simple, Supreme Bashar. You have stepped back into the limelight. The people know you are still alive after they’ve assumed you to be long dead. You cannot stay on Kepler. You have to vanish again.”
“I prefer to keep a low profile anyway. I’ll change my name if I must.”
Roderick shook his head. “You won’t be able to stay hidden on Kepler. People know you too well there.” His face was hard. “This is one guarantee we will require of you as a condition of our help. Leave the planet and Kepler will never need to worry about the threat of slavers again. We’ll issue a decree of Imperial protection and provide a few warships in orbit to keep slaver ships away, as you requested. Imperial troops will operate the guard ships initially, but the vessels will eventually be turned over to the control of the local Kepler government. Under this arrangement your people will be safe, your family and friends—but you must leave, go to some other planet.”
“Vanish back into history, where you belong!” Salvador interjected.
Vor swallowed, but could taste only dust. Leave Kepler? Leave Mariella, their children, and grandchildren? He had been happy there for decades, watching the babies grow up to become parents and his wife grow old.… while he had not aged a day.
But he also remembered the lumbering slaver ships, how they had so easily stunned the entire village, whisking away all the captives they wanted and killing a dozen others. He had promised he would find a way to keep them safe.…
“My solution repays the Corrino debt of honor, protects your people, saves a whole world,” Roderick said. “Just move on and quietly vanish again for the rest of your life, however long that may be.”
Before Vor could answer, the Emperor cut in. “That’s our offer. Take it or leave it.”
Unable to forget the burning fields and buildings on Kepler, or the crowded, stinking slave markets of Poritrin, Vor understood the reality. It was time for him to turn the page and begin the next chapter in his long life.
When he agreed, he saw the Emperor breathe an unmistakable sigh of relief.
On my own planet, I make my own rules. And I have many planets.
—JOSEF VENPORT, VENHOLD INTERNAL MEMO
With a private space fleet at his command and dedicated Navigators to guide him safely through foldspace, Josef Venport could travel wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. His wife, Cioba, could easily handle the intricate management activities back on Kolhar, while he went off to deal with other important business. Some of his destinations were unknown to anyone else in the Landsraad League, planetary coordinates held only in the grossly expanded minds of the Navigators. The galaxy was a vast place, and even something as large as a solar system could easily be overlooked.
Many isolated colonies and outposts had been established, and forgotten, during the millennium of thinking-machine rule; Emperor Salvador—and especially the barbarian fanatics—did not need to know about them. The sanctuary planet of Tupile was one such world, the hiding place to some of the Imperium’s most-wanted fugitives (after they paid exorbitant fees to VenHold). Josef didn’t care much about the people who hid there; it was simply a business transaction.
Dr. Zhoma had come through for him with the genetic samples, as he’d known she would. The Suk School had no other choice, and her little misdeed wasn’t, after all, so much to ask.
His own particular interest at the moment was the unpleasant planet Denali, a small, hot world with a thick and poisonous atmosphere, where no human could survive except inside sturdy colony modules. Josef had made a point of establishing his own private outpost in a solar system that no scout would ever notice, on a world where the Butlerians would never discover the research projects funded by Venport Holdings.
A personal Navigator flew him aboard a small spacefolder to the Denali system, after which Josef personally guided the shuttle through the orange-gray clouds that denoted sulfur and chlorine gases. He landed in the paved clearing next to the cluster of garishly lit metal domes, the laboratory modules and living spaces for his scientists.
Josef looked through the cockpit windows into the corrosive murk as the connecting airlock sealed his shuttle to the docking module. Outside, he could see a few discarded skeletal forms of cymek walkers, hulking machine bodies that had once held the brains of near-immortal men and women. Long ago, this harsh planet had been a cymek outpost, and the debris of their mechanical bodies lay strewn about, dumped into a scrap heap for spare parts. Research materials. Just one of many projects here on Denali.
Though he visited this secret facility only rarely, he transmitted strict orders that the teams were not to interrupt their work just to greet him with frivolous fanfare. Josef did not want to disturb the individual scientists; there was too much at stake.
As he entered the complex, he drew a breath and caught a sharp whiff of brimstone and harsh chlorine, trace contaminants from the outside air that scrubbers could not remove. Josef supposed his research teams no longer even noticed the odors.
With small hands knotted in front of him, Administrator Noffe greeted Josef. Noffe was a hairless Tlulaxa scientist, the side of his face marred by three startlingly white blotches. Noffe had never explained where the marks had come from, but Josef imagined some kind of laboratory accident, a splashed bleaching chemical that caused permanent damage. VenHold hadn’t hired Noffe to be pretty anyway, but to be brilliant.
The Tlulaxa chief of research always sounded breathless. “Even if we had ten times as many facilities and a hundred times as many researchers, Directeur Venport, it would take more than a lifetime just to recreate the progress that’s been lost since the end of the Jihad.” It was a sobering thought.
Though he was an advocate of progress, Josef was not blind to the dangers raised by some of the research; hence, the other reason for the planet’s isolation. Each lab module had a rigorous quarantine system, protective walls, and self-contained fail-safe circuits so that if an experimental plague were to escape or a computer subroutine were to achieve aggressive sentience, the entire module could be isolated and, if necessary, annihilated.
Noffe had been a well-known researcher back on Thalim, where he had dedicated himself to cloning and genetics investigations, determined to create good works to erase the blotch of shame on his race’s history. But the Butlerian mobs had not liked that. They had come to the Tlulax system, conquered the planet, demolished the genetic and cloning laboratories (which they didn’t understand), and imposed harsh restrictions on all Tl
ulaxa scientists. Under a new draconian rule, they set up a religious board whose approval was required to conduct even the most basic laboratory tests. Noffe spoke out against the injustice, complaining that the zealots didn’t understand how they were harming humanity. And so they arrested and convicted him.
But Josef Venport had recognized the scientist’s potential and arranged for Noffe’s escape, whisking him to Denali and appointing him administrator, where he had been quite content and productive for several years now. Noffe took a cold pleasure in overseeing avenues of investigation that would make the barbarians squirm and gnash their teeth.
Josef carried a small sealed case of biological samples as he followed the small man into the adjoining module. “I have a new project for you, Administrator. Something close to my heart.”
“I’m always open to new ideas. But first let me show you what we’ve accomplished since my last report.” Noffe led him on a cursory inspection of the numerous projects underway at Denali. He was quite proud to guide Josef into a room filled with tanks that held exposed human brains, some swollen and mutated, others shriveled. “The brains of failed Navigators are particularly interesting and responsive,” Noffe said. “We’ve even made preliminary contact with some of the subjects in the preservation canisters.”
Josef nodded. “Excellent work. I’m sure they must be proud to provide such a service, after failing to become Navigators.”
“We learn from failures as well as successes, Directeur.”
Back on Kolhar, Norma Cenva churned through volunteers, expanding and enhancing their minds to make them sophisticated Navigators—but many of the candidates did not survive the transformation, their bodies collapsing, their skulls unable to sustain the physical growth of gray matter. Since the mutated failures would die anyway, Josef dispatched the subjects to Denali so that Noffe’s researchers could perform their experiments. It was a fundamental first step in understanding the remarkable changes undergone by a Navigator; someday, it might be possible to reproduce those mental skills without requiring such extreme bodily changes.
When they returned to Noffe’s office chamber, the Tlulaxa could no longer hide his eagerness as he looked meaningfully at the case that Josef still carried. “What is it you’ve brought, sir?”
He set the case on Noffe’s metal desk, opening the seal. “These are biological samples from Vorian Atreides.” He paused, watching for a reaction on the bald Tlulaxa’s face.
“The greatest hero of the Jihad? Have these samples been preserved in stasis all these years?”
“They are fresh. Taken from Vorian himself only weeks ago.” Seeing the Tlulaxa’s surprise, he continued, “The old warhorse is more than two centuries old and looks as young as I do. His father, General Agamemnon, gave him a life-extension procedure that was common for cymeks.”
“I don’t think anyone knows how to do that anymore,” Noffe said.
“Precisely. I want you to use the cellular history in these samples to rediscover the process. Learn what the cymeks did to prevent Vorian Atreides from aging … and how we can reproduce it for ourselves.” The Denali administrator took the sample case with sudden reverence, and Josef continued, “With all the work we have ahead of us, we are going to need that procedure. We have to survive if we’re going to save humanity.”
Vengeance is as difficult to define as it is to deny.
—GRIFFIN HARKONNEN, LETTER TO VALYA
After the loss of his uncle Weller and the entire shipment of whale fur, Griffin Harkonnen no longer looked forward to the arrival of the regular Celestial Transport supply ship. The cargo vessels had been his connection with the rest of the Imperium, bearing news and messages to and from Salusa Secundus, documents that made Lankiveil, and himself, a part of the larger governmental landscape.
But now he felt as if a door had been slammed in his face. His sister was well aware of the importance of their uncle’s venture, and Griffin didn’t know how he was going to tell her.…
“It’s a setback, not a complete disaster,” Griffin said to his father, though he did not truly believe his own words.
Standing next to him in the parlor, his father said, “Of course, you’re right. We’ll get through this. My brother never should have left the planet, should have just remained here, at home.…”
In the latest mail delivery, among the letters and packages, Griffin found a paltry settlement payment from Celestial Transport to compensate for the loss of their “loved one” (the form letter hadn’t even included the name of the deceased) as well as payment for the insured amount of the cargo, which was vastly undervalued. Due to the limited distribution, Griffin could not prove how much whale fur was worth away from Lankiveil. If the commercial venture had succeeded and the demand had risen, they would have had plenty of financial data, but as it was, he couldn’t prove the case.
“Please accept our deepest sympathies and this respectful attempt to make things right,” the letter continued. “Note that acceptance of these funds constitutes an agreement to hold Celestial Transport blameless and waives the right to claim further damages against this company or any of its subsidiaries. This agreement is legal and binding upon you, your heirs, and assigns in perpetuity.”
Griffin was upset by the callous tone in the letter, and considered the amount of the check an insult. “This is only a fraction of the cargo’s value! How does that compensate for our loss? I’ve studied legal precedents in the Salusan code. We have two years in which to file a dispute and pursue litigation.”
Vergyl Harkonnen, though, had neither the heart nor the inclination to fight. “Chasing after wealth cost Weller his life.” Holding the check, he sat down and shook his head. “Why let greed and vengeance deepen our wound? We must accept this payment, and make the best of rebuilding our lives.”
Griffin let out a bitter sigh of resignation. Although he knew Celestial Transport was cheating them, a legal battle against such a wealthy entity would be like wading chest-deep through a bog in the Lankiveil highlands. To fight them for their incompetence he would have to dig deeper into the severely weakened treasury, devoting all of his attention to the matter while letting other commercial opportunities fall by the wayside. The matter would drag on for years … and even if House Harkonnen won the case, the final balance sheet would show a loss.
If he received confirmation that he had passed his political examination, Griffin could go to Salusa Secundus as Lankiveil’s official planetary representative, and address the Landsraad assembly. He could demand tighter regulations, more oversight on foldspace shipping operations. If he could get appointed to important committees, he intended to demand an investigation into Celestial Transport’s business practices.
But he could not abandon the family holdings here on Lankiveil. Their treasury was badly diminished, and his parents could not manage or even grasp the magnitude of the crisis they faced. It would take the greatest finesse for Griffin to keep House Harkonnen solvent, hoping that someday he could rehabilitate the stained family name. With the loss of his uncle and the huge monetary setback of an entire fur-whale harvest, Griffin felt his diminished dreams turning inward, leaving him with little ambition beyond keeping his home and family from ruin.
A setback, he emphasized to himself … not a complete disaster.
He knew his sister would have clung to her righteous indignation as a weapon, demanding satisfaction from Celestial Transport rather than peace. Griffin and Valya had always enjoyed a close bond, while a large gap of age separated them from their younger siblings, Danvis and Tula.
But Valya had been away on Rossak for years, and he hoped her time with the Sisterhood’s intensive studies and meditation had channeled her energies in productive directions. She counted on him here, but he feared he had already let her down.…
Ten years ago, when he and his sister were thirteen and twelve, respectively, his father and uncle had taken them out on a boat into the frigid northern waters, tracking a fur-whale pod. Riding into choppy
seas, Griffin and Valya both enjoyed the adventure. They had never imagined danger, and their father had ignored the need for life preservers, against the advice of the crew.
Standing on the bow, laughing at the spray, the teenage Griffin failed to see the wave that came from the starboard side and washed him overboard with the casual unexpectedness of someone swatting an insect. Griffin was stunned—plunged into the arctic water and clamped in an impossible vise of cold. In only a few seconds he could barely move, and could barely manage to keep his head above the surface.
As he struggled in the water, he remembered looking up to see his father staring down in horror from the deck rail, and his uncle Weller yelling for ropes and a life preserver. Then Griffin slipped under.
And Valya … Valya went in after Griffin. With no thought of herself, she dove into the water. Defying the paralyzing cold, she stroked out to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and lifted his head above water. And then, her adrenaline exhausted, she began to succumb to the icy water, too.
Life preservers and rescue ropes had splashed in the water, and he could barely hold on. Gasping, shivering, cursing, Valya kept him afloat just long enough for the boat to come around again … but now she was slipping away. She made certain Griffin had a hold on the life preserver, and then went limp and gray.
Though Uncle Weller shouted for the sailors to haul up the rope, Griffin clutched his sister, refusing to let go. He kept his frozen fingers knotted into her wet blouse. He lost consciousness, but never released his grip.
Afterward, when they were both dry, wrapped in thick blankets and surrounded by heaters in the cabin of the fur-whale boat as it chugged back to their home fjord, Griffin looked at his sister in disbelief. “That was stupid. You shouldn’t have jumped in after me.”
Sisterhood of Dune Page 19
