Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  The voices grew very quiet, with only a few outlying mutterings.

  “Like living Sisters,” Valya said, “you are under my command. All of you, whatever you are, whoever you are, and whatever experiences you have had in life, you will do as I say. Every one of you will cooperate with me … or you will die in a way that has never happened to you before. From this moment forward, you only exist at my pleasure.”

  The voices grew entirely quiet. She could not even hear a low background hum of hushed awe. They had seen what she accomplished, and what she could accomplish … and Valya felt certain they were impressed. And fearful of her.

  She allowed herself a smile, then—feeling more satisfied than she had expected—she climbed into bed and fell into a deep and rejuvenating sleep.

  Each life has numerous crossroads, paths taken and paths avoided. After each such crux-point, one should examine the thought processes that went into the significant decisions, the opportunities grasped, the successes and failures. The same is true with personal relationships. All important things in life can be distilled down to personal relationships.

  —Old Earth philosopher (name unknown)

  As they hunted for Tula Harkonnen on Chusuk, Vor knew they might face significant danger on this world, yet the potential reward—justice for Orry—outweighed any such concerns. But even if they were successful, would that be the end of the feud?

  Wary and alert, he and Willem sat at a table in a crowded performance hall, surrounded by young dancers, hypnotic music, lights, and show-smoke. Occasionally eager partners tried to coax the two men out onto the dance floor. As part of his act, so as not to draw attention, handsome Willem let himself be swept away, even though he did not know the traditional dance steps.

  He often behaved in an aloof manner with strangers, reminding Vor much of himself as a younger man, but Vor could also see that during the weeks the two had spent on Chusuk searching, Willem had grown close to a pretty brunette who found his helpless clumsiness endearing. Though Willem was coy toward her, even standoffish at times, Vor watched the attraction build between the two young people, as if a magnetic force were pulling them together—and seeing this made Vor sad rather than happy. It made him think of lost possibilities … Nevertheless, it was a night filled with bright music, laughter, and a haze of pheromones.

  While Willem danced with the young woman he liked the most, Vor never dropped his guard, never stopped watching for their quarry.

  After arriving on Chusuk, the two men had asked discreet questions, built around a story that instantly generated trust; they showed happy images of Tula from Orry’s wedding day, and the tale of a runaway bride inspired sympathy, but few useful answers. Some people claimed to have seen a young woman who resembled Tula in the square playing a baliset, but Vor and Willem had not been able to find her; just recently, two helpful witnesses had even said she occasionally went to this performance hall. Could it be her?

  Despite spending several evenings here, the two had seen no sign of her, but they kept watching.

  Willem blended right in—young, dashing, and fun-loving, although Vor knew he had a hardened core beneath his friendly exterior. Now Vor let himself be led out onto the floor by a laughing redhead, only half listening to her clever conversation as he kept moving, scanning the crowd. Attractive, she appeared to be in her late thirties, and would have no idea how old Vor really was—more than two hundred years of age, from a strange procedure his cymek father, Agamemnon, had administered to him in his youth.

  Tula was somewhere on Chusuk—probably in this very city, and she might have been seen in this place. He could not be sure if she guessed they were hunting for her, but she did know what Vor and Willem looked like. They had again disguised their features as best they could, but Tula Harkonnen had been trained in the Sisterhood, and Vor would never underestimate her abilities.

  They had to find her first, and get her before she got them.

  The music rose and skirled. The local musicians used an assortment of unique instruments, including a small harpsie that put out a grandiose sound, a trumpetta played by three men at side-by-side mouthpieces, and a number of stringed balisets, for which the master craftsmen of Chusuk were famed.

  The band stage was flanked by warm pools of water, where shimmer-suited couples cavorted in a splashing ritual of aquatic foreplay that usually led them to rooms in the back. These lissome swimmers also provided entertainment for the more lethargic audience members.

  Here in the performance hall, few gave the two men a second glance, although Vor did notice a pair of statuesque women eyeing them steadily. He supposed that offworlders would naturally be seen as exotic. Those women, though, did not flirt or ask either of the two to dance.

  If Vor and Willem ever did find their quarry, they would certainly be remembered around here. Vor didn’t think of himself as a cold-blooded killer, but after living for more than two centuries and participating in a decades-long war, his hands were by no means clean. He had made up his mind to deal with this himself, even though Willem wanted to kill Tula with his own hands. Instead, Vor would do what was necessary—not for the pleasure, because he would feel none of that. No, if they could not manage to get away, he would take the fall, instead of Willem, who had most of his life ahead of him. Vor had nothing left to lose.

  But first they needed to find her.

  When the music paused again, the two men made their way back to the table, sweating from the dance. Willem stayed close to his date, a young woman named Harmona. She was thin and quite pretty, with a heart-shaped face and long black hair secured by a jeweled clasp on one side. Willem wore a dashing uniform for travel, altered from one of the air-rescue garments he’d worn on Caladan. Vor’s redheaded dance partner left him to find a more attentive companion, and as soon as the music started again, Harmona pulled Willem back out to the floor.

  Sitting at the table by himself, Vor froze, and his vision focused into a pinprick of searing light. Across the dance floor, Tula Harkonnen—it was unmistakably her!—slipped into a seat at a table with a young man. Vor knew the curly blonde hair, the classically beautiful face and generous lips … the hands that had killed Orry.

  He’d been hunting, and now it was time to move in for the kill. He ignored the music, the lovers splashing in the pool, the dancers, the tables—all were just obstacles. He saw only his quarry. He would strike her before she could even take notice of him. Vor had fought her once before, in his lodgings on the night of Orry’s murder, so he knew what a deadly fighter she could be.

  As he moved, he signaled for Willem, who was deep in conversation with Harmona. When the young man finally noticed him, he became instantly alert, and surprise flared in his eyes when he also spotted Tula. He caught up with Vor, and moving together like predators, they slid through the crowded hall toward their target.

  Tula’s male friend looked up as they closed in. He gave Vor a casual glance, but did not otherwise react. With each step, Vor grew more certain that this really was the young woman who had married Orry and slit his throat as he slept.

  Vor lunged forward for an initial attack—only to stagger when something struck him hard on the back of his head. He fell, trying to protect himself as he went down.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Willem rush forward to defend him, but an agile woman swept in from the crowd and struck him down, too. One of the statuesque women he had casually noticed now stood crouched in a well-practiced fighting stance, joined by her companion. The two women had moved so swiftly that they neutralized Vor and Willem, while drawing little attention from the crowd of bystanders.

  The two men landed in defensive postures. At her table, Tula scrambled up, gaping in amazement at the surprise attack and her apparently unexpected protectors. Within Vor’s hearing, one of the women snapped, “We detected the threat. He’s the one you hate, isn’t he? The older one? The Atreides.” Two additional nondescript but powerful women also swept in from the crowd.

  Thoug
h clearly surprised to see her guardians, Tula’s eyes went wide when she recognized Vor and Willem. The color drained from her face. “They are both Atreides,” Tula said.

  As the women formed a barrier between the young Harkonnen and her two attackers, onlookers began to gather. Tula’s male friend spluttered questions that went ignored.

  With no further thought or restraint, but inflamed by memories of blood-spattered Orry, Vor launched himself toward Tula. Her female guardians might be skilled fighters, but so was he. He shoved one of them aside and threw himself upon his intended victim, connecting with a blow that should have sent her sprawling, but Tula countered with a hard, pinpoint blow to his temple.

  Willem yelled, “Murderer!” but the young man had far less fighting skill than Vor or any of these women. A pair of female fighters pummeled him, broke his bones, and sent him crashing to the floor. They continued to beat him.

  Trying to intervene, Vor struggled to reach Tula, throwing off one of the ruthless women who held him back, but a sharp blow struck him from one side. He felt and heard his ribs cracking, just before a hard kick to his midsection brought him down.

  Trying to ignore the pain, Vor got back to his feet, caring nothing for the damage done to his body. He drove two of the women away with a volley of kicks and thrusts. His victim was just out of reach.…

  Tula’s expression showed more misery than fury. She seemed transfixed, was staring. Four more women melted out of the dance hall crowd. They grabbed Tula and whisked her away toward one of the exit doors.

  Even though he was severely injured and on the floor bleeding, Willem managed to shove one of the guardian women back with sheer strength. He tried to get to his feet, but two more closed in on him from one side, and three from the other side. They hammered Vor with hard blows that sent him reeling. How many hidden allies did Tula have? It was a small army.

  In dismay, Vor watched Willem fall again, but could do nothing to protect his young ward.

  Burly guards now pushed through the crowd and crashed into the fray. A young woman shouted, “They’re killing him!” Vor saw that Harmona was the one urging her noble guards forward. Soon they were all in a full-fledged brawl, and Tula’s protectors were outnumbered.

  Vor fought alongside his new allies, despite the bone-grinding and skull-cracking pain. Tula struggled as several women pulled her out the door, while her baffled male friend at the table watched in helpless confusion. One of the guardian women snapped to Tula, “We have orders to return you to Wallach IX. You will be safe there.”

  “No!” she cried, but they dragged her away.

  The Sisterhood … Wallach IX. Vor realized that he and Willem would never be able to get to Tula there, if she was under the protection of her powerful order.

  Then one of the remaining women struck Vor a blow to the head that drove him into unconsciousness.…

  Today, I feel as if the universe itself has been taken from me.

  —NORMA CENVA, recorded conversations, subcategory: Arrakis Spice Production

  After Norma tore the VenHold fleet away from certain victory, Josef stood on the Navigator deck raging against her, demanding that she return to Salusa so his warships could get back to the space battle. “We were winning! We could have broken the Emperor’s will and smashed the barbarians.” He could barely keep his voice from becoming a roar. “The victory would have stood for all time.”

  But she simply contemplated in the murky spice gas of her tank, refusing to respond as she made the mental calculations and folded space to Arrakis. “Our spice bank is under attack.”

  “What do you mean?” Josef was startled by this remark, because he had left substantial forces in place at the desert planet, and he couldn’t imagine any military force that could pose a meaningful threat to his spice stockpile.

  Norma was powerful, capricious, incomprehensible, but Josef wanted her to be angry at the same enemies he was. How would he ever recover from this debacle now, after fleeing the battlefield? Emperor Roderick—and worse, the half-Manford—probably assumed the retreat indicated weakness or cowardice. The savages would crow that they had chased away his entire fleet just by puffing up their chests.

  “My priority is Arrakis,” Norma finally answered, her voice coming to him across the speakerpatch on the tank. She sounded distant, as if she were ahead of him in space and he had not yet caught up. “We must get there in time.” As she spoke, they arrived, and the shimmers of folded space pulled away to reveal the normal universe again: a yellow sun and a cracked, waterless planet like a copper coin in space.

  Josef stared down at Arrakis, and Norma peered out of her tank. “I fear our stockpile is already lost.” Her voice was bleak.

  As a captain of industry, Josef was able to hold the big picture in his mind, but he could also compartmentalize his thoughts and focus on one matter at a time. His guarded spice bank held years’ worth of profits—so much melange that it could fund VenHold operations for a very long time. “That’s not possible! We neutralized the Imperials on Arrakis, and we had the best security. Who is attacking us?”

  Norma fell silent.

  As the ships went into orbit, Josef called to his communications chief, “Give me a full planetary scan. I want to know if there are enemy battleships and troop carriers here. Any sign of an attack?” Norma had often admitted that her prescience was unreliable. He clenched his fists. If she had pulled his entire fleet from Salusa Secundus because of a hallucination …

  The communications chief tried to establish contact with the hidden spice bank, but she finally shook her head. “No response from our facility, Directeur, but there are several sandstorms in the vicinity. They could be garbling transmissions. Can’t tell if there is an enemy battle group here.”

  Josef spoke over the main comm across all the ships that the Navigators had moved. “My grandmother brought us here from Salusa for reasons she considered sufficient.” He had to bite down hard on the words. “We expected to capture the Imperial capital—but now we’re at Arrakis. The matter may be urgent. I want twenty armored landing vessels to accompany me down to the spice bank, and eighty more at the ready in case I call for reinforcements.”

  With knots of anger inside him, Josef left the piloting deck, not sure whether he wanted Norma to be right or wrong. He dreaded the answer either way.

  * * *

  FLANKED BY ARMORED landers as he approached the spice bank from the air, Josef could see a smoldering blot of destruction around what had once been a sheltered sietch. Though a passing storm swept dust and sand through the air, he saw lingering plumes of smoke, and felt sick.

  Norma was right. Something terrible had indeed happened down there.

  The troop transports descended like a flock of carrion birds. The pilots issued ominous reports as they approached the line of mountains, but Josef barely heard them. He looked through the windowport, thinking of the tall black cliffs, the labyrinth of caves and tunnels … it was all gone. Thousands of Freemen had lived there unmolested for ages, but now, after only a month of active operation, the VenHold spice bank had not only been raided, it had been destroyed.

  The armored landers had to circle in the increasing storm winds, but Josef demanded they find a place to set down. He ordered all personnel to arm themselves, but he could already see that the battle was over. Norma had withdrawn them from their victory at Salusa because of this, and now they had arrived too late. The sand had been terribly churned up here, and he noticed a large break in the rock formation, forming a wide path that led out into the desert.

  This was just the aftermath, the scar. There would be no more fighting to save the spice stockpile—just bloodstains and grief. The melange was gone.

  He disembarked with his security troops, stomping across the sand. They picked their way around boulders the size of houses. Soot stains, sand turned into glass. The devastation was so great that the enclosed cliffs looked as if they had been bombarded from space.

  “What caused all this
destruction?” he demanded. None of his security troops offered an answer.

  Inside the reeking, smoky sietch, he found smashed security walls, a number of torn bodies sprawled on the churned sand, along with destroyed weapons and ruptured crates of melange strewn about as if by a gleeful child.

  A few fires were still burning, giving off the greasy smoke of oil and plastics. On rock faces he saw the scars of projectile explosions, but not nearly enough for this amount of damage. Such wild destruction had not been caused by traditional weaponry or explosives. It seemed primal, wanton … and highly effective.

  His main spice stockpile was gone, leaving only the much smaller reserves on Kolhar and Denali.

  Norma had transported herself down from the Navigator deck of the flagship and now her tank appeared there, resting on a pile of rubble. She drifted in her rich bath of orange vapor, and ripples of tangible distress emanated from the tank, an emotional reaction that Josef had never seen from her before. “So much spice. Many Navigators will be damaged from lack of spice.”

  Josef looked around, his anger slashing like a machete as he analyzed the signs, focused on the wide path leading out into the desert. “This was a ground assault. Someone attacked us from the desert.” Momentarily forgetting about the abandoned victory on Salusa, his troops fanned out through the rubble, searching for survivors, records, evidence, but everything was destroyed.

  “Years of profits … gone.” Josef made a vow for all to hear. “I will track down the spice thieves. We’ll find what they stole, take it back, and make them pay.”

  “No,” Norma said. “It was not stolen. These were not bandits. Our stockpile was obliterated. That was the message they meant to send.”

  Judging by the cinnamon-brown residue and all the smashed containers in evidence among the rubble, Josef realized she was probably right. “But this was enough wealth to buy a dozen planets. Who would just … wreck it? And why?”

  “My prescience is unclear on this matter, but I know the spice is gone.”