Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  As VenHold ships rushed to close in around the embattled foldspace carrier, Admiral Harte drew a deep breath and nodded. His soldiers trusted him implicitly, and engaged the Holtzman engines.

  The carrier folded space and vanished from Kolhar.

  One man’s demon is another man’s angel.

  —Ancient saying

  Emperor Roderick Corrino I. Considering the recent siege by VenHold forces and how close he’d come to losing it all, he wondered if he could ever claim that lofty title again. He could not believe that Josef Venport had attacked him, attacked the Imperium—threatening the throne.

  Manford Torondo and his Butlerians had rescued him, saved the Emperor—and now Roderick dreaded what that would cost him, what Manford would demand in return. The antitechnology fanatics might be even worse for the future of humanity.

  As he stood at the high window of his office, gazing down at the activity in the sunlit central plaza of Zimia, he reminded himself that despite his human frailties and shortcomings, Roderick was responsible for leading civilization, to see that it became strong again. More than eight decades ago at the Battle of Corrin, brave and desperate fighters had finally overthrown the greatest enemy of the human race, the computer-mind enslaver of mankind.

  Why are we so insistent on creating our own enemies?

  The Butlerians had come to save Salusa, but not for altruistic reasons or out of loyalty to the Corrino throne. Manford undoubtedly intended to use his leverage to press other demands and make the Emperor his puppet. Although Salvador would have bowed to anything the fanatic leader asked, Roderick was not so easily cowed.

  This meeting might be as dangerous as the VenHold siege.

  With the Butlerian ships clustered in tight orbit around Salusa “for the Emperor’s protection,” although the sheer military might could easily have been interpreted as a threat, Manford had asked Roderick to prepare for the arrival celebration that he claimed was his due as liberator.

  Even though the situation set Roderick’s teeth on edge, he knew he couldn’t just dismiss or insult the powerful man, who had moved into a key position. Those Butlerian warships, though old, outnumbered the Imperial forces, and had more combined firepower. He had to play this very carefully.

  The Emperor dispatched a shuttle with an Imperial honor guard to Manford’s orbiting flagship, and the shuttle would land shortly in the palace square. The shuttle would carry only the Butlerian leader and a small entourage; Manford had wanted to come down with dozens of his own ships, but Roderick refused to let him. Only the shuttle. He needed to keep some semblance of control over the dangerous situation, and Manford had agreed to the terms only after a long, tense moment when Roderick feared he would have to threaten to shoot down any “celebratory” Butlerian ships that flew into Zimia airspace.

  Manford’s followers were gathering in the square, raucous throngs that seemed to grow exponentially hour by hour. Many of Manford’s people were landing far outside the restricted zone and simply walking for kilometers. Other followers were already in Zimia and they came to answer the holy call, rejoicing in their victory over Venport.

  From his high window, Roderick watched the eager crowd gathered before the Palace. The Butlerians carried red-and-black banners that featured a human fist clenched around a machine gear. He knew that when Manford Torondo landed and emerged from the Imperial shuttle, he expected a cheering reception as the conquering hero who had saved Salusa Secundus. Although Roderick knew that the VenHold ships had truly run away in fear, he still didn’t understand the reason for their unexpected retreat.

  It was a delicate balance, because he knew that Manford could easily summon a murderous, rampaging mob if he felt slighted. Roderick was required to host him and treat him well—after all, they shared a common enemy.

  Oddly, that was exactly the same argument the traitor Venport had used.

  Roderick Corrino would express his gratitude for the Butlerian efforts, while also reminding Manford who was the ruler of the Imperium. The Emperor had imposed strict conditions on the upcoming audience, ensuring that this meeting would be a private conversation, without crowds, just two men discussing important matters. For the meeting, he allowed the Butlerian leader a retinue of no more than four people.

  This man’s mobs had caused the death of sweet Nantha, and they were almost certainly responsible for the disappearance of his sister at the Mentat School. Manford repeatedly denied any involvement since Anna had gone missing, but Roderick now had his Truthsayer, and he intended to get the real answers. Then he would see just how much gratitude Manford Torondo deserved.…

  In preparation for the meeting, Roderick secured the sash of his ceremonial uniform and stepped out onto the open balcony in time to see the Imperial shuttle land in the middle of the palace square.

  Attendants rushed in as the main hatch opened. The burly female Swordmaster emerged bearing Manford on her shoulders. The Butlerian leader wore a gaudy uniform with red-and-black piping and epaulets, and a high, old-fashioned military hat, crowned with long white plumes.

  The Butlerian crowd cheered when they saw Manford, and he turned to face the golden-domed Palace. He raised a hand of greeting to Roderick on the high balcony, and the Emperor responded mechanically. The roar of the crowd grew louder, as if they imagined some great friendship between the two men, and an alliance.

  Anari Idaho marched toward a ceremonial platform from which Manford could address the throng, but—as Roderick had ordered—the Imperial honor guard intercepted her and guided them directly toward the Palace entrance instead, before the charismatic leader could rile up the crowd any more than they already were.

  Roderick and Haditha took their places in the Imperial Audience Chamber, waiting for Manford’s arrival. She wore an expression of concern as she took her place on a throne beside his. Fielle stood two paces to his right, silent and imposing, and Chamberlain Bakim stood restlessly at the base of the dais with two advisers.

  As Roderick settled onto his immense quartz throne, he tried to compose himself, tapping his fingers on the throne arm. Haditha whispered, “This is a difficult time, husband, but we are required to show the man some measure of respect. His ships did help turn the tide of battle. If they had not arrived when they did, Josef Venport would have forced you to abdicate. We know this.”

  “Yes, and I will go through the motions with him … but no more than necessary. Manford Torondo may have helped us in this particular instance, but much of the overall crisis is of his own making.”

  When the Butlerian leader arrived outside the closed chamber, Roderick gestured for guards to open the tall double doors. Anari Idaho strode in, carrying Manford in his harness. The legless man rode high on her sturdy shoulders, with the bald and intense Deacon Harian at his side. Contrary to Roderick’s instructions, two dozen Butlerian followers surged around their beloved leader, forcing their way into the throne room. Several of them jostled the Swordmaster, but Anari held Manford secure. A contingent of Imperial guards rushed to the doorway to block more of them from getting in.

  Roderick rose to his feet, in a stormy mood. “We agreed to only four in the entourage. All these others must leave.”

  Chamberlain Bakim shouted, red-faced, “There will be order before the Emperor! No unruly mobs.”

  Manford seemed to feign chagrin. “Excuse the enthusiasm of my supporters, Sire. They wish to join me everywhere.”

  “But not here. If you cannot follow my rules, then you will not be welcome in my Palace.”

  Looking offended, Manford said, “After the great service I just did for you, Sire, I expected a more respectful reception. I am the Protector of the Imperium, the vanquisher of our common enemies, the Savior of Salusa.”

  “And your mobs killed our daughter.” Roderick words were like spears of ice, and the entire audience chamber fell quickly into a shocked silence. “I will not have chaos here. They will leave.”

  In the moments of pause, Imperial guards pushed the people
back. Manford gave a quick nod to his followers, conceding the point. “Of course, Sire. We would not wish to cause unintentional pain from an old wound.” He directed Deacon Harian and two other Butlerians in Mentat garments to stay in the small entourage. The Mentats were male and female respectively, both with close-cropped brown hair and slight builds, so they looked very much alike.

  When the doors closed against the crowd outside, leaving the group standing before the throne, Manford said in a bright tone, “Sire, we should look forward to a glorious future. Venport and his terrible machines are our real enemy. My people have come to Zimia by the hundreds of thousands, and more are certainly on their way. You and I should celebrate our great victory—making the demon Venport flee in terror.” His voice grew harder. “You would do well to be grateful for how we rescued you.”

  Roderick’s tone was even sharper. “And you would do well to remember that I am your Emperor, and any loyal subject should have come to my defense, without requiring gestures of gratitude.” He continued with cool patience. “I appreciate the unexpected service you provided, but I will not forget the harm your people caused in the past. The accounting is not yet finished.”

  He saw Manford hesitate. Without his howling supporters to shore him up, the mob leader seemed smaller than usual, even less than half a man. The feather on his ridiculous, gaudy cap jostled as he gestured to the two small-statured Mentats; he seemed eager to change the subject. “And as a loyal subject, I bring you a gift, Sire: two talented graduates from my Mentat School on Lampadas, both approved by the new Headmaster Zendur. Their highly developed minds can complete countless calculations and projections … whatever you want them to do. They are human computers, but are in no way corrupted by the machine apologists.”

  Roderick inspected the pair. Beside his throne, the Truthsayer glanced at them, then turned forward again without speaking. The Emperor said, “I agree about the usefulness of Mentats, Leader Torondo, but I already have one at my side. Sister Fielle is herself a graduate of the Mentat School.”

  Obviously flustered, Manford said, “If this woman was trained under Headmaster Albans, then her education and beliefs are suspect. There is proof that Albans collaborated with the robot Erasmus.”

  Roderick cut him off. “Proved to your satisfaction, perhaps, but I find the idea preposterous. In fact, I find many things preposterous about the reports of your takeover of the Mentat School.” He leaned forward on the throne, staring hard at Manford, ignoring everyone else. “Sister Fielle has another skill that’s just as valuable as her Mentat abilities.”

  The dark-robed woman glided down the dais steps so that she stood within arm’s reach of the Swordmaster. Anari Idaho tensed.

  Roderick continued, “She is also a Truthsayer with the ability to detect any nuance of diversion or evasion. She can tell if a person is lying. Therefore, I have one question to pose to you, Leader Torondo.”

  Swallowing visibly, Manford said, “And what might that be, Sire?” The tension increased in the room, like a palpable fog.

  “Do you know what happened to my sister Anna on Lampadas?”

  Manford froze, then smiled with relief. “No, Sire, I do not.”

  “Did you have anything to do with her disappearance? Anything whatsoever?”

  Manford’s smile broadened. “No, Sire. I did not. I honestly do not know what happened to her. Given the turmoil during the liberation of the school, she could have run off into the swamps and been devoured by predators.” He spread his hands. “I cannot say, other than that I had nothing to do with it.”

  Fielle studied Manford for a long moment, before turning to face the throne. “He’s telling the truth, Sire.”

  Sitting back, Roderick felt surprised and disappointed. “Very well, I accept your answer, and I accept the gift of these two Mentats. I am certain we can put them to good use, somehow.”

  With a bow from his harness on Anari’s shoulders, Manford said, “It is my honor to serve you, Sire. I came to you as a dedicated defender in this war for the human soul, and I offer my loyal fighters to you. The Butlerian army will join your defenses, and together we can crush Venport in his stronghold. Countless throngs are already gathering here. Shall we go together to Kolhar, wipe him out once and for all?”

  “It is not that simple.” Roderick scowled. “Directeur Venport controls the largest and most powerful spacing fleet. Without his ships, we cannot restore commerce throughout the Imperium, which becomes more and more imperative each day. Even if we neutralize him by military means and punish him for his crimes, we need to keep his foldspace ships and Navigators. The Imperium requires them.”

  “I care nothing for his Navigator-guided fleet.” Manford sniffed. “I travel from planet to planet using standard foldspace ships. We can make do.”

  “I don’t want to ‘make do.’ I want the Imperium to thrive. Only Venport’s Navigators can absolutely guarantee safe passage.”

  In an indignant tone Manford said, “Only God can guarantee safe passage!”

  “Perhaps, but God guarantees safe passage more readily when VenHold Navigators are involved.”

  “We fight the same enemy,” Manford said. “We must be prepared to lay down our lives to stop that man.”

  Roderick became more calculating. If nothing else, he could use the Butlerian fanatics as expendable shock troops in a frontal assault against the VenHold headquarters on Kolhar. More than anything, he wanted to get their warships away from Salusa, where they hung as an unspoken threat. It was a devil’s bargain, but if the Butlerians threw themselves recklessly at Kolhar, the fanatics would suffer tremendous casualties. Not necessarily a bad thing …

  The Emperor rose from the throne. Taking Haditha by the hand, he announced, “I shall consult with my advisers on how we might implement that. Your efforts would be most appreciated.”

  With the brief audience concluded, Imperial troops escorted Manford and his entourage back out into the great hall, where the Butlerian crowds cheered him. Though he had looked disturbed during the meeting, Manford seemed strengthened by the roar of the crowd. Thousands of them, with more and more coming every day.…

  Watching him, Roderick felt uneasy, knowing how difficult it would be to make the fanatics leave Salusa—unless he managed to send them after another target.

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY, no less than a miracle, a battered foldspace carrier arrived above Salusa. Despite its VenHold markings, the giant vessel carried Admiral Umberto Harte and the hostage Imperial fleet from Kolhar. Even though they bore no news of General Roon’s strike force, which had vanished entirely, this restored seventy warships to the Imperial Armed Forces—enough to keep the Butlerians from making an unwise move.

  Roderick was pleased to learn the even more astonishing news that Harte had captured one of Venport’s mysterious Navigators. A specimen that they would study in great detail.

  That indeed changed the state of affairs significantly.

  Love does not make the world go around. Love is an obstruction in the gears of the universe.

  —MOTHER SUPERIOR VALYA HARKONNEN

  After the attack by Tula’s protectors in the Chusuk performance hall, Vor and Willem were rushed to an emergency medical facility, a small building that consisted of two examination rooms and a lobby filled with portable beds. Seven doctors were crammed into that limited space, tending a battered Willem and Vor, along with a pair of bedraggled-looking women receiving treatment for injuries from a boating accident.

  “This is a private facility, set aside for the use of nobles and visiting dignitaries,” said the young doctor as she bandaged Vor’s head. “The Princess authorized us to treat you—Vorian Atreides.” She said his name with a slight smile. “I’ve never had a true war hero as a patient before.”

  Princess? Vor thought. A chill went down his back. “How do you know my name?”

  The doctor raised her eyebrows, apparently amused. “Your young companion does not know how to keep a confidence.”


  Vor looked over at Willem, who remained unconscious. “No, I suppose he doesn’t.” Had he also inadvertently tipped off the disguised Sisters who had been watching over Tula? Even the murderous Harkonnen girl hadn’t seemed to know she was being guarded.

  Due to his life-extension treatment, Vor healed quickly, but Willem was much more seriously injured. He remained unconscious for hours and suffered from internal bleeding, along with several broken bones. Even after Vor felt recovered enough to leave, he stayed beside his companion. Vor slept restlessly on the portable bed, remaining on guard in case Tula sent anyone to finish the job. He suspected, though, that she had escaped from the planet by now, fleeing justice.

  In the morning Vor’s injuries had dwindled to a lingering headache. His thoughts still spun from what had occurred in the dance hall. He knew he was a gifted fighter with exceptional reflexes, but those women watching Tula were experts in personal combat, trained by the Sisterhood. They were skilled enough that they could easily have killed both him and Willem. And they would have if the added force of guards hadn’t arrived when they did.

  Young Willem had suffered a concussion, broken ribs, and far more serious internal injuries, yet he had the good fortune of being aided by his friend Harmona. Who was she?

  The pretty brunette and her retinue had come into the medical center before dawn and gathered at Willem’s bedside as he awoke, groaning. When his eyes opened to see her there, he showed confusion, then smiled. He tried to sit up, but winced. He tried to take a deep breath and touched the tight bindings on his ribs, glanced at the medical apparatus connected to him. Harmona propped pillows behind his back and helped him to sit as comfortably as possible.

  “Thanks for your help,” Vor said to her. “I am Vorian Atreides … but I think you know that already.” He wished his “nephew” weren’t so forthcoming with details, but he chastised himself for not being more alert.

  “I am Harmona Bach, a member of the ruling Landsraad family on Chusuk. You needed help—and it was about time my bodyguards did something. They’re not usually needed here.” She gave him a cursory smile, but her attention remained on Willem.