Roderick’s military had many well-armed ships dispersed around the Imperium as peacekeepers, but few of those were equipped with Holtzman engines. Thus, the Imperial military had to be carried aboard other large ships, and the Venport Holdings Spacing Fleet had provided transportation services for years, delivering military ships wherever they were deployed. At the time when the Emperor declared Josef an outlaw, this VenHold carrier had been hauling seventy Imperial military vessels to quell Butlerian unrest on outlying worlds. In retaliation for the arrest order, Josef had simply captured all those battleships, refusing to let them rejoin the Imperial Armed Forces. Instead, he took them to Kolhar and held them in orbit; the carrier had become their prison ship. For the time being, Admiral Umberto Harte and all his subcommanders just had to remain on the sidelines.
Of course, the victory owed more to fortuitous circumstances than to tactical genius, but Josef wouldn’t complain. He had taken those strategic pieces off the game board, and he had no intention of letting the Emperor have his assets back until he and Josef resolved their differences. This could be settled so easily, if only the Emperor would see reason!
As his shuttle cruised over the sweeping curve of the city-sized foldspace carrier, Josef was pleased to think of the neat, bloodless victory here. The carrier’s cavernous cargo vault held those Imperial warships locked into place like prisoners manacled to the walls of a dungeon. He hadn’t even needed to send his people aboard; there had been no fighting, not a single casualty. He wished all coups could be so swift and simple.
Right now, he would have the same discussion with Admiral Harte as he’d had before, but he expected no different result. Still, it had to be done before he traveled with Norma to take care of their business on Arrakis.
Once aboard the carrier, he spoke briskly to one of his VenHold employees. “Summon the Admiral—he will try to stall, as a form of passive aggression. But don’t let him be late. It’s a matter of courtesy to me.”
He made his way to the piloting deck, where the carrier’s Navigator rested in a spice-filled chamber surrounded by sweeping starry views. Inside the tank drifted a distorted figure with atrophied arms and legs, a swollen head, and oversized eyes. If Josef recalled correctly, this one’s name was Dobrec, although Navigators rarely used names, considering such labels beneath them. Without even acknowledging the Directeur’s presence, Dobrec drifted in his tank while staring into the infinity of his mind, pondering foldspace calculations or other incomprehensible thoughts.
Josef had long since stopped viewing the mutant creatures with revulsion; with their advanced minds they accomplished things no mere human ever could. And although not all Navigator candidates were volunteers, strictly speaking, and many didn’t survive the physical transformation, he did not regret what he did to them. He saw it as a tremendous opportunity, even if the candidates themselves did not always agree.
While waiting for Admiral Harte, he peered through a lens-window in the bulkhead wall to view the captive Imperial warships stacked in their holding array inside the carrier’s huge hold. Each vessel bore the Corrino crest.
The hostage battleships made him feel sad as well as triumphant. He and the Emperor should be on the same side, fighting against the Butlerian nonsense. But Roderick refused to set aside his personal vendetta, his need to make Josef face justice for the death of Salvador. That was the Emperor’s primary mistake. It would have been far better for the Imperium if he would just move on.
In the meantime, Josef could not let Roderick have these troops back. Although Harte’s crew considered themselves prisoners of war, the soldiers were still a viable, angry fighting force, which made them dangerously unpredictable. Their weapons-command systems were neutralized, but Josef wanted to come to terms with the Admiral, to make the best of an unpleasant situation.
Before the Imperial commander arrived, Josef smelled a pungent burst of ozone and saw a pale blue shimmer in the air, just as Norma Cenva’s sturdy, ornate vault appeared on the deck next to Dobrec’s tank.
Josef gave her a wry smile. “So, you decided to join us, Grandmother.”
Norma stared through the curved windowport. “I am concerned for my Navigators … for the continuing flow of spice from the planet Arrakis.” She paused, then added, “I am anxious for this distraction to be over.”
“We will go there soon, Grandmother. Spice production continues, even though our operations are more limited than before. Even though the Imperial guardian ships can still harass our work, they are not very effective. The flow of melange will continue—don’t be concerned.”
“Spice is always a matter of great concern. Prescience shows me turbulence in the future. How can you ensure a sufficient supply?”
He smiled. “I have tasked my Mentat administrators in Combined Mercantiles to establish an enormous stockpile, a spice bank. We’ll hide it in the deep desert, a guarded reserve that should see us through any difficulties.”
She drifted, as if trying to grasp what he was saying. “How will you hide it and guard it?”
“Combined Mercantiles just purchased an entire sietch in the desert, bought out the tribe of people who are living there and forced them to move. I will show you as soon as we reach Arrakis. Soon, we will fill those caves with spice so you and your Navigators will always have what you need. We can ride out any political turmoil in the Imperium.”
“It would be wise to enlarge our existing reserves on Kolhar and Denali as well,” she said. “We don’t want to put all of our eggs in one basket.”
“Of course, but those will be smaller stockpiles. Arrakis is the best place to hold the big reserve.”
“All right. Now finish your meeting so that we can go.”
He turned as the straight-backed Umberto Harte was escorted onto the piloting deck. Harte’s every step was like a parade presentation. He was handsome and middle-aged, with crow’s feet just beginning to appear around his eyes. His trim brown hair was perfectly in place, and his medal-bedecked uniform was spotless and freshly pressed. Despite his cool professionalism, his gaze smoldered.
“Thank you for joining me, Admiral,” Josef said. “As before, I’m here to verify the health and disposition of your troops, who are my guests.”
“Prisoners, you mean.”
“Your crew is being held so they cannot harm either my interests or themselves. It is necessary until this unfortunate situation is resolved.”
“We are loyal to the Emperor. That will not change.”
Josef raised his eyebrows. “Do you mean Emperor Salvador, who dispatched you on patrol? I prefer not to speak ill of the dead, but let’s not delude ourselves. You know that man was bringing the human race to ruin.”
Harte sniffed. “Roderick Corrino is Emperor now. Our loyalty transferred to him as soon as he accepted the crown.”
Josef made a dismissive gesture. “Roderick has not yet shown himself worthy of your loyalty—or mine.” He stroked his bushy mustache. “Though I did have such high hopes.”
“Directeur Venport, it is the duty of my soldiers to fight against all threats—including your uprising. We are loyal to the Imperium.”
“The Imperium … a weak and shaky construct that has existed for less than a century. We are talking about the future of civilization itself! Who is most qualified to lead the human race, to guide us where we wish to go? The insane Butlerians, who want us to hurl ourselves over a cliff into a new dark age? Believe me, Admiral, I would much rather work with Roderick … but if he doesn’t have humanity’s best interests at heart, then I will be forced to make a political shift.”
He leaned closer to the indignant commander, noted tiny beads of perspiration on the man’s brow. “I do not question your loyalty or your military skill, sir. I believe your captured fighters are good men and women, but they are operating under a misguided sense of their own best interests. That’s why I’m forced to hold your ships until this misunderstanding is over. It should not take too long, I hope.”
Harte’s response was cold. “You are a traitor. Do you intend to seize the throne for yourself?”
Josef laughed. “I’d rather not be Emperor unless it is absolutely necessary. I am only interested in a stable future for humankind so I can conduct important interplanetary business.” He realized that this discussion was going nowhere, and Norma was anxious to be off to Arrakis. “You are dismissed, Admiral. My representatives will see that you are well cared for. Do your soldiers have any special needs at the moment?”
“Yes, our freedom.”
“I’ll take that under consideration. Thank you for your time.”
Josef felt disappointed. Under different circumstances, Umberto Harte might have been a very worthwhile asset, but Josef had to let cooler heads prevail. Eventually, Roderick should come to understand the best solution. A man blinded by revenge was not a fit negotiator.
Norma was still there waiting, drifting in spice gas, and he turned to her tank. “Let me say goodbye to Cioba, and then you and I will head off to Arrakis.”
I’m going to rule all of that someday.
—SALVADOR CORRINO at age ten, to his father, Emperor Jules, while gazing up at the stars
“I don’t understand the politics of the Sisterhood at all,” said Haditha. “They insist they aren’t religious, yet they follow rituals and practices suggesting exactly the opposite.” She lowered her voice. “Frankly, I don’t trust them.”
“My love, there are a great many people whom I don’t trust—Josef Venport and Manford Torondo foremost among them,” Roderick said. “Yet the Imperium must function, and I need a new Truthsayer.”
His auburn-haired wife wore a white dress with gold brocade on the collar and sleeves, and a beret to match. They stood together in one of the palace gardens, awaiting the arrival of the Truthsayer who would take Dorotea’s place. With the new Mother Superior, most of the Sisters were being replaced at the Imperial Court. Something to do with internal politics, his advisers had informed him. A changing of the guard.
While waiting in the quiet greenhouse gardens, Roderick used the time to kneel on a pad and plant the cutting of an ornamental rose, taken from rootstock that had been in the Corrino/Butler family since before the Battle of Corrin. Emperor Faykan, Roderick’s grandfather, had started the tradition of planting roses as a sign of good luck for the reign, and Roderick intended to carry it forward. Salvador had not done so, complaining that it was unseemly for an Emperor to get his hands dirty with gardening work. Roderick did not place stock in superstitions, but his brother’s reign had not gone particularly well.…
Now that he was Emperor, Roderick had decided to establish another tradition. He would rule the people of the Imperium with a just and honorable hand, and would raise his twelve-year-old son, Javicco, to behave in the same manner. Roderick supposed all Emperors began their reigns with silent vows, of one sort or another.
“I still think you should consider negotiating with Directeur Venport,” Haditha said. “At least make the attempt.”
“If General Roon is successful, I won’t need to negotiate.” The large strike force had just departed for Kolhar, with all the ships finally loaded aboard the military carrier.
“The Imperium still needs Venport’s ships, his Navigators, his technology. Isn’t a resolution better than a conquest?”
He frowned at her. His wife always tried to be the voice of wisdom and reason. “He murdered my brother. I must make him feel profound pain before I can consider his debt paid.”
Haditha knelt near him, closely examining an exotic flower, one that bloomed all year, no matter the weather. Then she looked at him. “Is that what’s best for the Imperium, or is it just your own personal vendetta?”
“The Emperor and the Imperium are one,” he said, with a deep sigh. “Let us wait and hear the report from General Roon. If Kolhar is defeated, it will put our negotiations on a much different footing. We both want this conflict over, but we have very different ideas of how to accomplish that.”
He finished tamping down the new soil around the rose planting, and then straightened with her as an escort of Imperial guards led several black-robed women into the greenhouse garden. At the front of the group, a large-framed woman presented herself with a formal bow. “Sire, I am Reverend Mother Fielle. I have been assigned as your new Truthsayer.”
Roderick wiped his hands on a cloth, looked at the entourage. “And these other Sisters?”
“To fill the roles of those who were recalled to Wallach IX at the request of Mother Superior Valya.” They all bowed. “Sire, we exist to serve.”
Roderick caught his wife’s suspicious frown and admitted his own uneasiness. “But whom do you serve? Your Emperor? Or your order … or perhaps the highest bidder among the noble houses?”
Fielle’s fleshy face showed no reaction. “Who could possibly bid higher than the Emperor himself? We serve the Sisterhood as well, but that is a school where female candidates seek to achieve the greatest human potential. We develop a special set of skills, such as my ability to discern truth from lies. The Mother Superior deemed me worthy of filling that role for you, and I am pleased to be here.”
“Then I accept your services,” he said. “Provisionally.” He did not know the new Mother Superior Valya any more than he knew Fielle. “We shall let you prove your worth.”
Fielle bowed slightly. “Sire, to begin my service with a goodwill gesture, I am prepared to offer secret information about your rival Directeur Venport. You may find it valuable, or at least interesting. And it will begin to prove my value to you.”
Roderick was intrigued. “Information about Venport could indeed be of use to me.”
The Sisters conferred in whispers, and then Fielle reported, “Venport Holdings is desperate to control the spice operations on Arrakis for reasons that go beyond mere profits. I’m sure you realize that the Imperial military force your brother left there is not capable of maintaining control over the planet. Combined Mercantiles, a puppet corporation for Venport Holdings, continues harvesting spice, producing far more than the independent Imperial contractors. Sooner or later Venport will no longer tolerate the Imperial presence, and their incentive will be to drive out your ships. Combined Mercantiles has more spice-gathering crews on the desert planet than you do, and greater military might to defend them. The resources that Directeur Venport is willing to expend to control Arrakis exceeds what you can spare, especially with Admiral Harte’s battle group held hostage.”
Roderick scowled. “I do not have any spare ships that I can use to impose my authority on Arrakis.” But if Roon is successful at Kolhar, I will win control over all the VenHold operations anyway.
Roderick ground his teeth together. That infernal planet had caused so much trouble, and his brother’s inept handling of an attempted takeover had led to the current crisis—as well as his own death. Frowning, he said, “That confirms information I already have, Truthsayer. You have told me nothing new.”
“You cannot extract your mining crews and troops from Arrakis. They are struggling to defend their spice operations, but they have no feasible way to deliver the spice they produce, other than by using black-market runners, who steal as much as they sell. Your citizens are addicted and demanding melange, and they are growing restless. They need to see the flow of spice restored.”
Roderick admitted, “We didn’t station enough firepower there to hold spice operations under Imperial control, and I don’t have the forces to recapture it. Venport’s profits must be immense if he continues to expend so much to maintain his operations there.”
“Spice means more than just profits to Directeur Venport. You must understand this, Sire.” Fielle gazed at him. “He needs to provide a constant supply of spice for his Navigators. Without spice, his Navigators cannot envision safe paths through the universe. Without spice, he cannot create more Navigators. Without spice, Venport Holdings cannot function. That is why Arrakis is so vital to him.”
“And how did you come by t
his information?” Haditha interjected, looking suspicious.
“I cannot reveal our internal source, but Mother Superior Valya requested that I share this knowledge with you.”
Frowning, Roderick said, “I will consider it thoroughly.” Then he spoke to the honor guard. “Take these women to the quarters vacated by the previous Sisters. Reverend Mother Dorotea served me well—so when I have need of a Truthsayer, I hope I can trust you as I did her.”
As if choreographed, Fielle and the women bowed in unison, then turned to follow their escort, leaving Roderick and Haditha next to the new rosebush. He spoke quietly, relying on his wife as a sounding board, as he always did.
“I am far more worried about Venport and his control of Arrakis than I am about the schemes of those women. But General Roon and his strike force should reach Kolhar soon. If he breaks Venport Holdings, then we will have all the time we need to reassert control over Arrakis.” He drew a deep breath. “The Imperium will be stable again.”
A plan is only that—a plan. It is not the actual doing of a thing.
—SUPREME COMMANDER VORIAN ATREIDES, Annals of the Jihad
After the pilot checked and rechecked his manual calculations, the giant foldspace carrier plunged into the labyrinth between space, carrying the Imperial strike force toward the Kolhar system. The carrier would arrive close to the VenHold stronghold, depending on the variance and navigational errors.
As soon as the Imperial carrier emerged above the planet, the attack ships would be dispatched in an overwhelming surprise assault. Without any time to respond, Venport Holdings would fall. Anticipation built among the troops.
General Roon stood on the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. He looked forward to the spectacle, since it gave him the opportunity to prove himself. A defeat of Directeur Venport would dispel any lingering personal issues between himself and Roderick Corrino. At last.
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