Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Josef’s stomach knotted as the answer came to him. He could think of no one else who might even conceive of such a thing. It was a powerful, violent message, designed to cripple him. Josef looked around at the disaster site, smelled the smoke, and the rich, bloody scent of spilled melange.

  “Roderick … Emperor Roderick did this.”

  Achieving vengeance and completing a quest are similar matters to an obsessive person.

  —HEADMASTER GILBERTUS ALBANS, Mentat School teachings

  After the rest of the VenHold fleet vanished inexplicably, Draigo’s ship had remained in orbit just long enough to retrieve the cymek walkers that launched from their siege positions around Zimia. Retreating! But he had gotten the walkers away before they could be destroyed.

  Draigo did not know what was happening, only that Norma Cenva had issued urgent instructions, just before the Directeur’s battleships flew off in the middle of the space battle—leaving his ship alone and vulnerable.

  When all thirty-one cymeks had returned to the carrier’s hold, still intact, Draigo fought his way out of Salusan orbit as the unruly Butlerians swooped in, crowing over communications lines about their unexpected victory. In the aftermath, stunned Imperial ships took potshots at Draigo’s ship even after the main invading fleet had gone.

  His shields endured a tremendous pounding as he fought to escape, and his hull suffered some damage, but nothing structural, and the Holtzman engines remained intact. He directed his Navigator to fold space and escape.

  But the Mentat remained baffled by what had happened.

  When the Navigator-cymek brains were secure once more in their proper holding racks, the preservation canisters containing Ptolemy and Noffe trundled forward on carrier carts to the command bridge. They demanded answers, confused as to how their imminent victory had suddenly collapsed. Why?

  Draigo was just as perplexed as the cymek scientists were. Even though he ran numerous Mentat projections, he could find no conclusions that logically fit the facts. Why would Directeur Venport have withdrawn all his ships without explanation, on the verge of a huge victory? A message from Norma Cenva instructed Draigo’s lone ship to return the Navigator-brain cymeks to the safety of Denali. But why?

  Draigo knew he would have to wait until he reconnected with Directeur Venport—where? On Kolhar? Impatient, he stepped up to face his ship’s Navigator. “I need to be debriefed by Directeur Venport as soon as possible. Where has he gone?”

  The Navigator would not look at him. “Directeur Venport and his ships went to Arrakis to protect the spice stockpile. Norma Cenva informed me that you would be of greater use on Denali, where you will continue to prepare against our enemies.”

  Draigo digested the information, which told him almost nothing. Beside him, the preservation tanks of Noffe and Ptolemy shimmered as electrafluid nutrients processed their agitated thoughts. “Denali has many weapons in prototype stage,” said Noffe. “But our main thrust has been to complete the rest of our new cymeks for the conquest of Lampadas. The destruction of the Butlerians is our goal!”

  Ptolemy pondered longer. “At first I questioned Directeur Venport’s decision to turn our forces against the Emperor instead of the Butlerians, and yet we just saw that Roderick Corrino—supposedly a rational man—has entered into a dangerous alliance with Manford Torondo. Therefore, our work at Denali is more urgent than ever. We must have our full force of cymeks ready to attack Lampadas, and soon.”

  * * *

  ONCE BACK INSIDE the laboratory domes, Draigo urged the scientific teams to work with renewed determination. While he waited for some kind of explanation from Directeur Venport, the Mentat assessed the various projects in progress, rating each concept’s probability of success, as well as the destructive potential and how close each one was to completion.

  Though Administrator Noffe’s human body had been damaged in a horrific explosion, he still used his detail-oriented mind to monitor the projects. From his brain canister, Noffe presented feedback, while the robot Erasmus offered several thinking-machine weapons, but so far those designs were inferior to the other work the Denali scientists had produced. For the time being Erasmus seemed obsessed with his growing biological body. He promised more help, though.

  Since the large cymek project showed the clearest probability of success against the barbarian enemy, most of the Denali workers devoted their time to that effort. The force of more than one hundred battle machines had to be ready.

  Ptolemy was consumed with the idea of turning them loose on Manford Torondo. Draigo knew that back on Zenith, Ptolemy and Dr. Elchan had been naïve humanitarians, entirely unprepared when they inadvertently provoked the fanatics. Now Ptolemy was obsessed with destroying him. Ironically, Manford Torondo had created his own nemesis by inflicting such misery … and every researcher here on Denali had a tale similar to poor Ptolemy’s. All these brilliant men and women were dedicated to the cause of destroying the Butlerians.

  Unlike the Tlulaxa scientist Noffe, who had no choice but to abandon his ruined body, Ptolemy had voluntarily given up his physical form to become a cymek. For no reason other than that he wanted to be stronger, he had ordered Tlulaxa surgeons to convert him into a powerful weapon to be unleashed against the enemy.

  Ptolemy’s ruthless determination had pushed him to the edge of madness, which could have been a cause for concern, but Draigo wondered if madness, at least a form of it, might be the only effective way to stand against the insanity of Butlerian fervor.…

  The day after they returned from Salusa Secundus, he went to inspect Ptolemy’s work in the frantic push to complete the cymek army. Though Ptolemy’s preservation canister could be installed in any number of walkers, he chose a smaller articulated mobile form with multiple limbs and attachments.

  This mechanical body now worked inside one of the sealed hangars, tinkering with another cymek framework. Beside Ptolemy’s artificial body, a team of human engineers also worked to strengthen the war-machine’s components, installing a high-powered cannon.

  Ptolemy swiveled his sensors to face Draigo. “This one is nearly complete. Later today, I’ll present a detailed manifest of the walker forms, the weapons each one possesses, and which Navigator brains have trained on that unit. We will soon have our full force, Mentat.”

  “When will we be ready to launch the attack?” Draigo asked. “The Directeur will want to know. Especially after the rout at Salusa.”

  Ptolemy didn’t hesitate. “We can go now with what we have, or tomorrow, or next week—whenever the Directeur unleashes us. And I hope it is soon.”

  “Soon enough. When we hear from him again.”

  With a whir of attached tools, Ptolemy’s walker finished assembling a clawlike attachment and scuttled over to the Mentat. “With the data from our test mission to Lampadas, I have developed thorough plans for a complete cymek assault. I would like to submit my outline to Directeur Venport. I have the perfect plan.”

  “Is any plan really perfect?” As a Mentat, Draigo could always find ways for details to go awry.

  “This one is.” Ptolemy’s simulated voice invited no argument. “With more than one hundred armed cymek walkers guided by Navigator brains, we will be invincible against the primitive barbarian defenses. We shall overthrow Manford Torondo and obliterate his mindless mobs. It must be done.”

  Draigo pondered. The arrival of the Butlerian warships at Salusa had altered the balance of that battle. At least that was the perception, although his Mentat projections suggested that Directeur Venport could still have won. But the Navigators had whisked all the VenHold ships away. He still didn’t know why.

  “I believe we will succeed,” Draigo said. “But have you contemplated your next step after victory? What will happen after you get your revenge against Manford Torondo?”

  The mechanical form remained motionless, while the electrafluid in the brain canister throbbed to show Ptolemy’s furious thoughts. “After that, I don’t care.”

  For
our sanity and honor, as prisoners of war we must convince ourselves that we died on the battlefield the day we were captured. That mindset liberates us to do what we need to do. If we make it back to our loved ones afterward, that is an unexpected reward.

  —ADMIRAL UMBERTO HARTE, private message circulated among the hostage Imperial troops

  Every time he had been summoned to the foldspace carrier’s Navigator deck, Admiral Harte had memorized the route, the various decks and access points, the security hatches and VenHold guard forces. He needed this information in order to develop a plan. And now that they had their chance to escape, he was ready.

  Directeur Venport had claimed he didn’t want outright war against the Imperium, suggesting a negotiated settlement instead of conflict, but the idea offended Admiral Harte. His soldiers were infuriated at being held prisoner and treated as pawns.

  Yet Harte’s fleet was not quite as neutralized as Venport thought they were. His soldiers were ready to do something about their captivity, even at great risk. They would follow their commander’s lead.

  But first Harte needed to find the right moment, the right opportunity. Since being captured, he had kept looking for a chance to break free of their orbiting prison and escape from Kolhar. That was the duty of any prisoner of war, but so far he’d seen no opening.

  Until now.

  When Directeur Venport assembled a host of warships and set off for Salusa Secundus, leaving his headquarters planet with only a skeleton crew of defenders, Harte knew he would have no better opportunity. Guessing what Venport intended to do to the Imperial capital (and the rightful Emperor) forced Harte to take action.

  Umberto Harte had enjoyed a distinguished military career. He had been put to the test as a young officer under Emperor Jules during the religious uproar after the Council of Ecumenical Translators released the controversial Orange Catholic Bible. He had received a commendation for his meritorious service; Emperor Jules had personally pinned a gaudy medal on his chest. Harte served with equal distinction throughout Salvador’s reign, but had never expected to find himself at war against Directeur Venport.…

  His seventy Imperial warships were held inside the carrier’s cavernous hold, but each remained separate and isolated, the crews given no opportunity to conspire or take concerted action. Per Venport’s order, Harte and his individual captains could not meet in person, although they could hold virtual debriefing sessions through their communication links, which were closely monitored by VenHold. That made planning an intricate conspiracy and breakout very difficult.

  But not impossible.

  One of his engineers developed a simple communications limpet, a device that if attached to the hull of another ship could link up a narrow-beam comm network that could not be intercepted. Harte’s flagship secretly dispatched several limpet-comms using compressed air, which left no energy signature. The drifting limpet-comms struck adjacent vessels, which neatly connected the Admiral in point-to-point transmissions with several other captains. After a number of excruciating days and failed attempts, they were all connected in a private network, and their VenHold captors could not eavesdrop on them. From there, Admiral Harte and his captains covertly planned their escape.

  Once Directeur Venport and his assault fleet were gone, leaving Kolhar relatively unguarded, Harte signaled his ships, gave a shortened timetable for action, and when all the pieces were in place and his soldiers were ready, he sent the activation signal.

  The breakout was on. They would have but one chance, one window of opportunity.

  Everyone understood it was an all-or-nothing gambit, and that they would likely be executed if they failed. The soldiers also knew that Salusa Secundus would be under attack by their enemy, so there was more at stake than just their own welfare. They had all the incentive they needed. They would succeed.

  But his hostage ships aboard the carrier did not have Holtzman engines, only standard faster-than-light drives, and even if they broke free of the prison ship, it would take weeks for them to reach Salusa.

  Admiral Harte had a more ambitious plan than that. He intended to seize this entire foldspace carrier and fly them directly to Salusa, coercing the Navigator if necessary—but his people had never used Navigators before, so they could be resistant. One way or another, they would be home free.…

  The plan went into activation. As Harte watched the seconds tick down, four of his widely spaced ships powered up their restored weapons. At the same instant, they opened fire with a long and powerful salvo inside the carrier’s hold. Venport thought he had neutralized all the firing controls when he took the ships hostage, but Harte’s engineers had rebuilt the systems from scratch.

  Now their weapons fired at the opposite interior walls of the VenHold carrier, blasting through the exterior shell. The gunners had chosen their targets carefully so as not to harm the carrier’s Holtzman engines, which Admiral Harte hoped to use, but the damage to the spacefolder’s hull was dramatic and extensive.

  The unexpected blasts caused an immediate uproar inside the VenHold carrier-ship, exactly as expected. Harte shouted over his comm-system. “Time to move!”

  While the VenHold crew responded to the internal attack, the Admiral—whose flagship was directly connected to the access hatches into the main body of the carrier—stormed the connecting tunnel with his soldiers.

  Two thousand loyal Imperial fighters, armed with hand weapons from the flagship’s sealed armory, surged out while the VenHold crew was still reeling from the multiple blasts that had pierced the outer hull. Shaped explosive charges blew down the barricade door, giving Harte’s team access to the main decks. They ran into the VenHold carrier.

  The Admiral led them at a run to the carrier’s command center and Navigator deck. This was no stealth mission; racing forward, they gunned down any VenHold employee who tried to stand in the way. They had to make it to the engine controls. Anyone in their way fell to a barrage of weapons fire.

  Alarms shrieked throughout the carrier, and damage reports blared from speakerpatches in the walls. VenHold staff and crew streamed out of their work stations, as Harte’s troops climbed to higher levels. Leaving bodies in their wake, they captured deck after deck, until they finally blasted through the last set of armored doors and charged onto the Navigator deck.

  The carrier’s piloting deck was surrounded by technological systems and broad viewing windows—and in the center, a large sealed tank held a mutated Navigator obscured by orange clouds of spice gas. The creature stared out at them with oversized, inhuman eyes, as if his prescience had told him that ruthless invaders would arrive at any moment.

  Harte strode up to the tank. “We’ve taken control of your ship.”

  “You may believe so.” The Navigator’s voice seemed to come from a great distance.

  “Yes, I do. In fact, I know so.”

  Imperial fighters swarmed onto the deck, yanking terrified VenHold employees from their seats, killing one woman who resisted; the rest surrendered. Three of Harte’s technical officers rushed to the Navigator tank and disconnected the fittings to the nav-systems. Harte had specifically chosen fighters who were familiar with foldspace engines and piloting. They severed the linkages to the Navigator tank so that the mutated creature could no longer control the carrier.

  “He’s neutralized, Admiral,” announced one of his tech officers. Unlike Norma Cenva, who could fold space with her mind, the other Navigators required a direct connection to the Holtzman engines.

  The Navigator stared blankly at them, while other soldiers went to the control panels. Frantically, they studied the activation systems, ready to launch out of orbit and fold space.

  “We don’t have much time,” Harte called. “Kolhar will soon respond and cut off this vessel. We have to fly this carrier out of here.”

  “Firing up the foldspace engines now, sir. Setting course for Salusa Secundus.”

  Harte stood before the Navigator tank. “What is your name?”

  “Navigato
r.”

  “What was your human name?”

  “It was…” The creature seemed to be searching deep into his past. “Dobrec … but Navigator is all that matters now.”

  The deck trembled as Harte’s captive Imperial ships within the great hold blasted more holes through the outer hull, careful not to endanger the integrity of the main structural framework. Even with numerous holes in its outer shell, the giant carrier could carry them through folded space back to the Imperial capital.

  “Tell all our hostage ships that we’ve taken control of the carrier, and we’ll be home soon.” Harte directed his pilots to activate the carrier’s Holtzman drive. Thrumming increased throughout the decks as the foldspace engines gathered power.

  The Navigator—Dobrec—blinked his large, soulless eyes. “You do not know how to navigate. There is danger in flying this ship without the prescience of my guidance.”

  The Admiral glared. “Then guide us—or risk dying with the rest of us. Your choice.”

  One of the tech officers cried out, “VenHold interceptors closing in fast, sir. If they damage our Holtzman engines, we’ll never break orbit. We have to go.”

  “Activate those engines now,” Harte snapped, then turned to the Navigator. “If you have any suggestions for course adjustments, tell us now.”

  He felt a smooth machine sensation as the engines went on.

  Dobrec remained silent, as if accessing data. “I suggest a slight alteration to avoid colliding with a double star en route.” He specified a variant set of coordinates.

  “How do I know you’re not going to fly us directly into a sun?”

  “You must gamble as well. You must believe that I do not wish to die any more than you do. I still have too much of the universe to see and experience.”

  Harte stared at the mutated Navigator in the tank, but could read nothing on the strange, distorted features. He barked to his surrogate navigator at the controls. “Alter course as Dobrec says.”

  The soldier swallowed hard and made the change.