Dune: The Machine Crusade

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Savant Holtzman sported stiff and formal white robes, but seemed more comfortable in them than in the utilitarian laboratory smock a real scientist might wear. Other chairs were occupied by counsel representatives and attorneys for Poritrin, all of whom looked stern and hawkish.

  Entering the room alone, Venport studied the professionals that Poritrin had arrayed against him, and sighed heavily as he sat down. “Lord Bludd, Savant Holtzman, I have come by myself concerning a matter of interest to both of you. I wish to candidly discuss possible solutions to our dispute.” He scowled at all of the attorneys. “If you would do me the courtesy of dismissing these extra ears, we can sit down like men and reach an accord.”

  The indignant attorneys sat up quickly, as if spring-loaded. Savant Holtzman seemed confused, but said nothing. Lord Bludd was defensive. “These are my chosen experts, Directeur Venport. I rely heavily on their—”

  “Then you may have them vet any agreement we propose. Later. But if you insist on conducting this through formal channels, we all know the matter will drag on for years and years at great expense.” He smiled disarmingly. “Wouldn’t you rather hear what I have to say first?” Venport crossed his arms and waited, making it clear that he intended to engage in no negotiations until the legal armada departed.

  The nobleman glanced at his advisors, who uttered a chorus of, “My Lord, we strongly advise against…” “This is most irregular and suspicious…” “What is he trying to hide that he doesn’t want…”

  Lord Bludd dismissed them all with a snap of his fingers and then called for refreshments. Venport met the nobleman’s eyes. They both understood that they would get far more accomplished quietly, behind closed doors.

  Holtzman cleared his throat and picked up papers from the table in front of him. “Before you begin, Directeur Venport, I believe you should understand that VenKee Enterprises really has no case.” He extended one of the documents. “This is a release signed by Norma Cenva when she first came to work for me. In it she acknowledges that whatever technologies and ideas she develops while working under my auspices belong to the citizens of Poritrin to do with as we wish. She had no right to give you an extremely valuable commercial patent.”

  Venport studied the document, reading the words that he had already managed to see by bribing Senator Hosten Fru back on Salusa Secundus. No surprises there. Unimpressed, he pushed the document back.

  “I do not challenge that Norma’s signature is genuine, Savant Holtzman. Can you also offer similar proof that Norma was given full access to legal counsel and professional advice before she signed such a ridiculous document? Can you also prove that she was of legal age to enter into the agreement? According to my records— and they are accurate, since I am the man who arranged for her transport to Poritrin in the first place— she was only fifteen years old when she departed from Rossak.” He tapped his fingertips on the table. “Tell me, Lord Bludd, is this truly a matter you wish exposed in open League court?”

  Servants hurried in to serve lunch, and Venport waited until the clatter and disruption had died down. He wanted no extra ears to hear their conversation, though he was certain the Poritrin nobleman was recording every one of his words— again, inadmissible in any court, since Venport had never consented to such surveillance.

  “Gentlemen,” he continued, “Norma Cenva is a treasure and a genius. I don’t believe you give her the respect, resources, or freedom that she deserves.”

  “Norma has lived off of our good will for many years,” Holtzman said. “In the decades that she’s been with us she has accomplished nothing worthwhile since… since…” He shrugged. “I will have to look at my records.”

  “That is no surprise, considering the embarrassing and inferior work space you’ve provided for her.”

  “But before that she—”

  “Enough squabbling,” Lord Bludd interjected. “Whatever the circumstances, the very foundation of your lucrative glowglobe industry was developed here on Poritrin. My own treasury paid for the research. VenKee Enterprises is not entitled to all those profits.”

  “I understand your basis for objection,” Venport said, sure to keep the smallest conciliatory tone in his voice. “I am willing to forfeit a certain portion of VenKee’s income derived from the sale of glowglobes.” He held out his finger as both Holtzman and Bludd lit up with delighted surprise—”on the condition that Norma is freed from her obligations to work for Savant Holtzman.”

  “I agree to that,” Holtzman said quickly, as if struggling not to laugh.

  Bludd glared at him for assenting so easily and then frowned back at Venport. “And in return you agree to share your glowglobe profits in perpetuity?”

  Venport sighed. Negotiations were usually not done under such outrageous terms. “Not in perpetuity,” he answered in a scolding voice. No reasonable man would have even suggested such a thing. “We will establish a set term and a set percentage.”

  And from that point, the real work began.

  Venport knew that he had to protect the naive and innocent Norma from future entanglements with these crafty men, and to separate her from all of her fruitless efforts in the past. He had already made extensive calculations about how much this legal dispute was likely to cost him. The League court, greased with bribes from the Poritrin noble family, would surely impose a “compromise” solution that would still cost Venport a great deal in the long run. Right now he wanted to cut his losses and stop wasting time.

  After hours of talk, Venport finally agreed to share with Poritrin a third of the profits from glowglobe sales for the next twenty years, while the other side agreed not to fight his claim to the original patents. Knowing how much income the widespread— and ever increasing— sale of glowglobes generated, both Bludd and Holtzman were astonished. Obviously they saw it as an instant influx of money for which they needed to do no work, since Norma Cenva had already done the development in years past and Venport himself had paid for the manufacturing facilities.

  Two decades seemed a long time, but Venport knew how to look at the big picture. Glowglobes would continue to be used for centuries, perhaps even millennia. Twenty years was a laughable period of time when viewed in that context. Without a doubt, Lord Bludd’s descendants would moan in disgust at the foolish bargain he had made here today.

  “However,” Venport said, leaning forward and hardening his voice, “there is one stipulation that is absolutely nonnegotiable. From this point forward, you will not challenge or dispute Norma Cenva’s right to set up another laboratory of her own, and you will not hinder her from pursuing any further research as she chooses.”

  Holtzman snorted. “As long as I don’t have to pay for it. She’s produced nothing tangible for years anyway.”

  Lord Bludd toyed with his curled beard. “I will have my attorneys draw up an agreement specifically stating that Norma can keep anything she develops from this day forward.”

  Venport nodded. He already felt the great cost of this bargain, but he harbored no doubts, for he had faith in Norma and cared for her deeply. Nonetheless, he was uncomfortable about the innate truth in Holtzman’s statement. Norma had fixated for years on a problem that might ultimately prove fruitless. He didn’t understand the implications of her space-folding equations, but the businessman gritted his teeth and reminded himself of how much money Norma had already made for him with the invention of the glowglobes alone.

  He would show a faith in her that her mother never had.

  “I trust this matter is now concluded?” Lord Bludd said, raising his eyebrows.

  Venport stood, eager to get out of the nobleman’s tower residence. He knew, however, that the matter was just beginning.

  * * *

  UPON ARRIVING AT Starda Spaceport on Poritrin, Tuk Keedair looked frustrated and stressed. Venport met him there, and listened as the Tlulaxa merchant described the constant sabotage and other difficulties caused by an outlaw group on Arrakis. “I understand there’s another Tlulaxa flesh-mercha
nt newly arrived here on Poritrin, trying to buy domesticated slaves? Maybe I can convince him to go back to that desert hellhole and round up all the bandits as slaves.”

  “No one would complain,” Venport said with a smile. Then he explained what Norma had developed, and why he had insisted that his business partner come hear it for himself.

  As they left the spaceport and rode a groundcar to Norma’s riverside laboratory, Keedair was skeptical but intrigued. “A prototype spaceship will cost much more than a few sample glowglobes, Aurelius— but if this space-shortcut idea proves successful, the potential for profits is… staggering.” The Tlulaxa man didn’t want to know the fine details of the mathematics either, only that the concept could work, if properly developed. He stroked his long braid, as if anticipating the continued growth of his wealth.

  Venport took him by the arm. “If the system is possible— and practical— all goods could be delivered in a fraction of the time. Cargoes of spice can be shipped from Arrakis as fast as the Zensunni can harvest it. Perishable drugs could be whisked from Rossak to eager markets all across the League. No other merchant could possibly offer better service.”

  They walked along a creaking dock, and presently stood inside the laboratory building with Norma. “I apologize for the informality,” she said. If anything, her tables looked more cluttered to Venport than before. “Years from now we will think back on this day and remember the humble place where we first discussed the greatest concept in the history of space travel.”

  Keedair seemed reserved, even suspicious. “You have told no one else about this concept of yours? Not Savant Holtzman? Not Lord Bludd?”

  Embarrassed, Norma shook her head. “Even Savant Holtzman does not understand his own mathematics.’The Holtzman Principle just works,’ he says.” Her voice bore a trace of sad scorn. “And I want to make certain this project is brought to fruition. The Savant does not always complete his large-scale undertakings. He sometimes… loses his way in a jungle of equations.” She went to the window and looked across at the shipyards and factories on the delta. “He has spent the past year building ship hulls in orbit. Some idea of Primero Atreides—”

  “Yes, we saw them when we arrived on Poritrin,” Venport said. The orbital lanes had been so crowded with new warships that they had posed a genuine navigational hazard.

  Keedair looked aghast. “What is the purpose in building ship hulls? Just hulls? Someone else is doing the mechanical installations?”

  Norma seemed suddenly uneasy. “This is supposed to be a secret, and only a few people know the full plan. The shipyard slaves and orbital construction workers each work on a small part. No one knows that it’s all a giant bluff, a lot of foolery.” She sighed. “The hulls will remain empty, just orbiting like a real armada. I acknowledge that the artifice may work, but why would a great man like Savant Holtzman waste his intellect on such a scheme? It requires no science, only window dressing.”

  She lowered a suspensor chair, climbed onto it, then lifted herself up to an adequate height at the table. “That’s why I wrote to you, Aurelius. I have spent a good portion of my life working on these space-folding equations. They must be taken seriously. The project must become a reality, and I am the only one who can do it.”

  Keedair splayed his hands on the tabletop, his dark eyes glistening. “Give us the broad strokes, please. Tell us what you envision.”

  Norma’s hazel eyes narrowed. “In my mind I have seen immense space vessels that can travel in the blink of an eye. I see powerful armies delivered across incredible distances in a matter of moments, surprising the thinking machines.”

  Venport saw the intensity of her expression, felt her conviction and sincerity. “I believe you, Norma. Enough to invest whatever money you need, even though it’s something I don’t understand.” He smiled. “I’m investing in you.”

  Earlier, she had provided rough estimates of the costs required to fund her project. Venport increased her figure by half, then decided to double it. Norma rarely allowed for unforeseen delays and peripheral, costly details.

  “Your service with Savant Holtzman is severed,” Venport announced. “I made all the arrangements, and you no longer need to worry about him. You can leave Poritrin anytime you desire… and work wherever you like.”

  Delighted, Norma came over to hug him. He loved the way she smiled in appreciation and complete sincerity. There was nothing disingenuous about her. “That’s very nice, but I like working here. On Poritrin. I have been here for twenty-seven years. I can’t just pack up and go somewhere else.”

  “Why not Rossak?” Keedair asked. “You come from there, don’t you?”

  Thinking of Zufa Cenva and the palpable disappointment she expressed about her daughter, Venport shook his head even before Norma could answer. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Our initial investment and startup expenses would be smaller if we didn’t have to move everything offworld,” the Tlulaxa merchant pointed out. “And you did receive guarantees and reassurances from Lord Bludd, correct?”

  Norma tapped her temple. “Everything is here.” She turned to look wistfully up at Venport, making him feel warm and benevolent inside. “But I would rather not waste all that time and trouble. Isn’t there someplace closer, where I can just keep working? This is my home, after all.”

  Venport smiled. “I expected as much, and have already been sniffing around for a new place where you can work— a suitable facility with plenty of space and light, everything you need. I have my eye on an abandoned set of mining warehouses and an ore-processing facility in a side canyon up the river. I think it can be modified into a full-scale test bed for a starship.” He had known Norma would be too independent to just leave.

  Keedair’s eyes flickered back and forth, as if he was doing calculations in his head. “VenKee Enterprises has an infrastructure to channel funds to you. We require a detailed schedule showing how much you expect to spend initially, and month by month.”

  The small woman looked troubled, as if she would rather return to her formulas than engage in this conversation. “All right, I’ll do the research and development budget projections once you tell me when we can start.”

  “The other necessity,” Keedair said, firmer now, “is that you must keep the operation absolutely secret. We already know Savant Holtzman is eager to steal your ideas and our patents. We will need an airtight security system for all workers on the project. I suggest we look into hiring a private mercenary force that has no allegiance to Lord Bludd?” He looked at Venport, who nodded.

  Norma seemed disturbed by the implications, having never dreamed in her esoteric mind of such problems. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Norma, you have already surrendered huge profits by letting Holtzman and Lord Bludd exploit the personal shields and portable scrambler generators. Those were at least partially your concepts. Holtzman would never have come up with them.”

  She looked surprised. “But those were my contributions to the war effort.”

  “And others have benefited from them. Lord Bludd is one of the richest nobles in the League, thanks to you. I don’t want people to take advantage of you anymore, dear Norma… but if this project goes forward with VenKee’s private investment, it must be our proprietary information. That’s the way business works.”

  “Whatever you say, Aurelius. I trust you. How soon can you arrange to let me begin construction of a prototype ship? And I want to set up my new laboratories— as soon, and as close, as possible. The calculations are already finished in my head.”

  Venport put his arm around her shoulders and offered the idea he and Keedair had already discussed. “I have a way to speed things up. My partner and I recently purchased an old cargo ship to expand our fleet of merchant vessels. It’s in spacedock at Rossak, undergoing repairs. Instead of building a new vessel, could you refit an existing craft to hold your new engines? Keedair could bring it back here by the time your new facilities are ready.”
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br />   He and Keedair exchanged glances, then the Tlulaxa man nodded. Norma beamed, looking young, vibrant, and filled with wonder again.

  “The sooner the better,” she said.

  Where one person sees cause for rejoicing, another sees only reason for despair. Pray that you are the former.

  — Buddislamic Sutra, Zensunni interpretation

  After a year of massive effort, a huge expenditure of funds and resources, and countless slaves dying in industrial accidents, the final components of the decoy spaceship fleet were assembled in orbit over Poritrin. With the work nearly finished, the foundries in the delta shipyards would be closed down.

  Late one afternoon, work supervisors summoned the slave crews from their stations. Squinting, dirty captives emerged from the smoke-filled hangars and stood outside on the paved landing ground from which the final shipments were launched into orbit. Hundreds of unfortunate souls milled about in disorganized ranks.

  Ishmael knew that he and his fellow slaves could expect to be assigned to new tasks soon. As always, a time of changes made him uneasy, for fear that he would be separated from Ozza or his two daughters, as Aliid had been taken from his family. Nevertheless, he clung to the hope that Buddallah would keep his family together. The Poritrin slave masters had no reason to separate them.

  But every day at the factories, Aliid simmered with unhealed emotional wounds, always looking for his chance. “Long ago, they took from me my wife and newborn son. I no longer care what they do to me.” Ishmael feared what his friend might do, given enough provocation.

  When Ishmael had been a boy, his grandfather always insisted that he have complete faith in God, that it was arrogance for any person to take matters out of Buddallah’s hands and into his own. Still, uncertainty formed icicles within him… and Aliid showed no willingness to accept those terms.

  As the crew bosses bellowed orders, trying to arrange the slaves into assigned groups for the assembly, Ishmael slipped through the crowd toward a polishing and finishing crew where his wife was stationed. Presently he touched Ozza’s arm, and she reached over to take his hand, sensing her husband’s nearness without needing to look at him. With so many slaves all in one place, the workmasters would not bother to take attendance or herd the people into appropriate groups. That would take all day.