Yes, it was fitting for him to be here now … and to lure the Harkonnens here.
After inoculating himself against residual radiation from the old atomic attack, he landed the New Voyager in a cleared area not far from the largest settlement. He donned protective filmgoggles against the harsh light of the red sun, and emerged into what had once been the glorious machine capital. He carried a satchel filled with clothing and small weapons that he might need to use in a pinch. If Valya or Tula came after him here, he needed to be ready.
Omnius’s prime city had been flattened in the nuclear blasts, but many twisted towers of exotic materials remained as silent sentinels over a dead empire. Strange, stunted flora struggled to grow on the destroyed landscape, achieving no more than feeble footholds. It would be centuries before this planet would thrive again, if ever. His skin tingled as he remembered his youth in this place, before he went away and fought in the Jihad, before the holocaust here. This stark, haunted landscape still had an aftertaste of humanity’s suffering.…
It was an unsettling homecoming. Everything he remembered here had been blasted into rubble more than eight decades ago—destroyed by his ships in the Army of Humanity. Even so, he had a strange, powerful feeling of belonging under the red giant sun. It would be fitting for the blood feud to end here.
If he could end it.
As Vor explored, heading toward the large settlement he had noticed in the ruins, he perspired under the harsh sunlight, but gradually grew acclimatized.
Scavengers now lived in the rubble in a makeshift settlement, and he introduced himself to a hard-bitten woman called Korla, the self-anointed Queen of Trash, the planetary leader. She had a dirty face, a tangle of black hair, and a stained, patched-together radiation suit that looked more suitable for a burn pile than for daily use. An unusual, silvery flowmetal cape curled around her shoulders, as if the garment were alive.
Several thousand ragged, worn-looking refugees scraped out a living on Corrin. The wreckage of the once-great machine cities contained riches and oddities for those who were willing to risk the effort to find them. Many were working the piles now, using tools to drill and dig.
Vor gave his real name, because he wanted to be sure the Harkonnens could follow the clues. It was clear, though, that neither Korla nor any of the other scavengers believed he was truly the legendary hero of the Jihad. The Corrin scavengers didn’t much care about a newcomer living there, though, so long as he posed no threat.
The real threat would be coming directly after him.
The husky-voiced leader led Vor up a rough, sloping pile of black slag. From the top of the mound, they saw scavengers mining scraps of flowmetal, using cutting tools and pulsing electronic devices. A pasty flow of the strange metallic substance oozed out of a cut the crew had made; Vor remembered the flowmetal used by the most sophisticated thinking machines long ago, but he had never seen these wild, unruly remnants.
The Queen of Trash nodded toward the group. “Our devices tune the collapsed flowmetal underpinnings to resonant frequencies, and that makes the substance mobile. Working together, my teams can coerce it into containers for shipping. It’ll be worth a fortune, if we ever resume regular trade throughout the Imperium again.”
That evening, Korla invited Vor to dine with her in an underground dwelling formed out of the frozen flowmetal to create a cavelike, sheltered place. The two sat at an irregular black table that had been shaped by cutting and grinding tools. Vor could hear the soft whirring of recirculating fans in the background.
“I don’t know why you came here, Vorian Atreides,” Korla said, making his authentic name sound like a fine joke, “but I assume you’ll tell me who you really are whenever it pleases you to do so. For now, whether you call yourself an emperor, a prince, or a legendary war hero, you’re one of us.”
After dinner, the scavengers led him through a maze of dim, hermetically sealed tunnels beneath the wrecked city. Vor would make himself a simple and basic home here, and would wait for his trap to spring.
He had no idea how long it would be before the Harkonnens took the bait, but he felt confident that they would.
Vor did not think Valya would arrive with a large force. Even though the two of them were sworn foes, as the leaders of their respective noble families they should engage in a one-on-one personal combat between them, to settle everything. Honor and tradition dictated that.
But, to play it safe against someone who hated him so much (and now he felt the same way toward her), all evening long Vor had been looking for places to set explosive charges throughout the tunnel system—tiny, undetectable devices that only he could detonate, if they were needed.
The enemy of my enemy can still betray me.
The enemy of my enemy can still kill me.
—EMPEROR RODERICK CORRINO I
Thirty well-armed Imperial spacefolders arrived at Arrakis, bearing the Emperor on his secret mission. He hoped it would be a great enough show of strength to intimidate Josef Venport.
Roderick Corrino was uneasy about the proposed meeting with Directeur Venport, but the session could not be avoided. And since a fast scout ship had just brought him images verifying the destruction of Kolhar—it was true, the madman had used forbidden atomics!—Roderick knew that the Butlerian transgression required a strong and decisive response. No wonder Manford had seemed so confident, so cocky when he’d departed from Zimia with all his followers. It would only be a matter of time before he flooded back to Salusa Secundus with a large entourage, to make further impossible demands.
Roderick also realized that Josef Venport had never before been so weak, so backed into a corner. This might be the Emperor’s best chance. He understood the wealth of possibilities that Venport Holdings had to offer, yet he wrestled with a silent, important quandary: How could he get control over the vital commercial spacefolders and the esoteric Navigators, and still get rid of Venport?
By careful arrangement, they would hold the secret détente meeting inside an empty, orbiting cargo container that had been verified as neutral to the satisfaction of both sides.
Despite Venport’s difficult situation, Roderick doubted if his own Imperial military forces could defeat these remnants of the VenHold Spacing Fleet in battle, if shooting started. He feared a ploy from the Directeur, some deception meant to lure Imperial defenses away from Salusa Secundus. Maybe Venport intended to slip in and conquer the capital world once and for all, as he had tried to do before.
Yes, his Truthsayer had verified what Venport’s wife claimed … but Cioba was one of the Sisters too, and Roderick could not be certain what tricks of artful deception she might know, or exactly where her loyalties lay. Or Fielle’s, for that matter.
On the other hand, Kolhar was indeed destroyed. Atomics! There could be no denying it. Manford Torondo was indeed a worse threat to civilization than Venport.
It was a risky balancing act for the Emperor. With his defenses stretched paper thin, Roderick felt very exposed, yet he did not dare permit Josef Venport to see any sign of weakness.
He took as many warships to the meeting as he dared, leaving as substantial a guardian force in fixed orbit above Salusa as possible. Admiral Harte’s fleet of slow-moving warships had already departed for Lampadas, where they would await their opportunity, and during that journey they were entirely out of reach of communications. They could not be recalled to reinforce defenses over the Imperial capital; the moment they activated their FTL engines and surged into space, they were beyond the point of no return. Unfortunately, Harte was expecting most of the Butlerian fleet to have been wiped out at Kolhar—but now Roderick knew that Manford’s ships had emerged from the atomic attack mostly unscathed. When the Butlerian warships returned to Lampadas, they would presumably be as powerful as ever. Harte would not be ready for that.
Now it was more imperative than ever that the Butlerian fanatics be contained, or destroyed—before they could unleash another atomic attack, perhaps against Salusa next time. B
ut to ally himself with a man like Venport …
In deciding to partner with either Torondo or Venport, the Emperor was faced with a Hobson’s choice. Both alternatives were very bad, and presented their own large risks.
Roderick’s nostrils flared as he remembered how Venport had stood smiling before the new Emperor’s throne after the coronation, saying he was ready to get down to business, knowing all the while that he was responsible for Salvador’s death. Then, once the treachery was revealed, Venport fled like a cowardly worm, whisked away by Norma Cenva.…
Now when Roderick entered the improvised meeting chamber in the orbiting cargo hauler, accompanied by his guards and Truthsayer, the Navigator woman’s tank was already in the room. He knew that Norma’s priorities were far beyond his understanding. Despite the distraction of the large tank, Roderick focused his entire attention on Josef Venport. His enemy.
The reviled Directeur had already seated himself at the negotiating table, his cinnamon-brown hair perfectly combed, his thick mustache trimmed, his eyes narrowed and intense. “Thank you for joining me, Emperor Roderick Corrino.”
Roderick stood in front of the table, not yet deigning to sit down. “At least you acknowledge my rightful title this time.”
“I acknowledged it when I went to swear loyalty to you at your coronation, Sire. I meant it then, and I mean it now—provided we can come to a reasonable agreement.”
VenHold security troops were lined up at the back of the room, while an equal number of tense Imperial guards waited nearby, weapons at the ready, but Roderick doubted there would be any violence during this discussion. That was not Josef Venport’s way. He preferred to do things behind peoples’ backs.
Roderick took a seat across from him while the Truthsayer remained standing at his side. She frowned, as if trying to assess whether or not Venport was lying. The Emperor said, “I remind you that we still have your wife in the Imperial Palace as insurance, should you attempt any treachery.”
Cioba had agreed to the arrangement, understanding the wisdom of it, though she would rather have been at her husband’s side. The Emperor had made it clear those terms were not negotiable.
The Directeur placed his elbows on the table. “Surely you can see that your real enemy, our shared enemy, is Manford Torondo and his bloodthirsty mobs. They bullied, twisted, and manipulated your brother. They rampaged through the streets of Zimia, burning and looting. They killed your daughter. They overthrew the Mentat School on Lampadas and murdered or kidnapped your sister. And now they’ve destroyed my planet, using forbidden atomics.” Venport leaned over the table. “How much more convincing do you need, Sire? You know full well they will turn against you next, if you don’t do exactly as they say.”
Noncommittally, the Emperor said, “I agree that the Butlerian mobs are cause for great concern, and their use of forbidden atomics—even against you—makes them infinitely worse. It is apparent that they would bend any rule, break any law, to achieve their aims.” Roderick folded his hands in front of him on the negotiating table. “And their aims are not generally aligned with those of the Imperium. I can see that.”
Venport smiled in obvious relief. “Exactly as I have always maintained, Sire. We must work together. I can be your greatest ally, if we find a way to put this unpleasantness behind us.”
“Unpleasantness? My brother is dead because of you. The Emperor is dead because of you!”
Venport lifted his hands in contrition. “I understand your outrage, Sire. It was truly an unfortunate turn of events. Salvador’s death was never my intent, though I admit I wanted to remove him from the throne in order to stop the damage he was doing, the weakness he was bringing upon the Imperium.” He used his most reasonable businesslike voice. “I know you saw it yourself, Sire. You are nobody’s fool.”
“He was my brother,” Roderick insisted.
“Sadly, my operatives were far too enthusiastic. I meant for them to take Salvador to a safe, sheltered place and hold him in temporary exile. I hoped I could convince him to abdicate in favor of your leadership. Let us be blunt, Sire—you are far more suited to the Imperial throne than he ever was.” The Directeur shook his head. “But the plan went wrong. A sandworm came unexpectedly, and the harvester could not be evacuated in time. I offer my deepest apologies, and I ask you to suggest any appropriate fine as compensation. I want to make this right between us.”
Roderick glanced up at his Truthsayer. Fielle had been watching the Directeur and listening to his words, and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Venport was lying or at least distorting something in his favor, just as Roderick had suspected.
The Directeur continued, “You’ve already seized the assets of my interplanetary banks, Sire, and a vast stockpile of melange here on Arrakis was obliterated.” He narrowed his blue-eyed gaze. “I assume you had something to do with that?”
“I’m sure it was just an unfortunate accident, like the one that killed my brother,” Roderick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A situation that went further than I’d intended. Perhaps my operatives were too enthusiastic.”
Norma spoke up from her tank. “So much spice was destroyed … a setback to my Navigators. And it was unnecessary. End this squabble.” Her unusual voice seemed to carry a heavy undertone of threat. “If you do, the universe will be secure.”
“You brought a military force to Salusa Secundus and placed the Imperial capital under siege,” Roderick continued, as if listing the man’s crimes. “You threatened my citizens and my rule. You used cymeks, and yet you rail about atomics? If the Butlerians hadn’t arrived at the right time, you might have brought down the Imperial throne.”
Venport folded his arms across his chest, squirmed, then put his hands back on the table. “Only because you forced me to, Sire. I never wanted to rule in your stead. Even the actions I took against your brother were because I wanted you to rule the Imperium. Not me. I know you are wise and competent, but you forced me into an untenable situation.” The Directeur slumped back and glanced at Norma’s sealed tank, as if beseeching her for advice.
Glancing at Fielle, Roderick saw that these words were true. Venport didn’t want to be Emperor.
Emperor Roderick knew what the loss of Kolhar meant to Venport Holdings, and he knew that the company was nearly bankrupt after the seizure of their financial assets across the Imperium; the destruction of their spice stockpile had only made matters worse. These VenHold ships above Arrakis and his assets on the ground might be all the Directeur had left to his name.
Roderick assessed his nemesis, judging that Josef Venport was not yet defeated, but near it, and on the ragged edge of desperation. The Emperor intended to press his advantage. “And how do you propose to make amends?”
“Manford Torondo and his Butlerians committed serious crimes of their own, and I trust they will be punished. But who will do the punishing?” The business mogul’s eyes narrowed. “I can help with that, Sire. Let us find a way to resolve our differences, and get back to business as usual.”
Business as usual! Roderick fought to keep the disgusted expression off his face. The man acts as if he wants to be friends! He remained silent.
Venport pressed, “How can we end this feud, Sire? Please give me your ideas, and I will do everything in my power to meet your terms.”
A strong Josef Venport would never have made such an offer. Roderick squared his shoulders and looked the Directeur straight in the eye. “Take care of my Butlerian problem—completely and immediately. Then, and only then, will we talk.”
He knew that Venport didn’t have enough ships or weapons to face off against the Butlerian throngs. Even if Manford had no more atomics to use against Venport, the fanatics could absorb appalling losses and still call it victory. But they would be weakened … perhaps weakened enough by the time Admiral Harte’s slow fleet arrived.
Venport’s answer surprised him, though. “It would be my pleasure to take care of that for you, Sire. Consider it done.
We will level Lampadas, just as Manford obliterated Kolhar. Except we won’t use illegal atomics.”
Josef rose to his feet, went to the Emperor, and extended his hand, but Roderick merely gave him a curt nod. “We will talk again—if you succeed.”
While lashing out against an insult can provide a certain gratification, a long-anticipated and carefully planned revenge is far more satisfying.
—DIRECTEUR JOSEPH VENPORT, private conversation with his wife, Cioba
Now that he had the Emperor’s blessing—rather, his command—to destroy Manford Torondo and his barbarian followers, Josef felt vindicated as well as recharged. He gambled that Roderick would be true to his word, and if this was the price for putting the personal conflict behind them, Josef would gladly pay it. He had already wanted to eradicate the Butlerian vermin for his own reasons. He had intended to go after them with or without the Imperial sanction.
Obviously, the Emperor realized the necessity of eliminating the fanatics, even if he used VenHold to take care of the dirty work. This was truly a perfect solution, but the Emperor had no idea what kind of weapons VenHold could bring to bear against the Butlerians.
According to Draigo, their force of cymek warrior forms was ready to launch from Denali—more than one hundred battle machines with perfectly configured Navigator brains—not to mention the forty refurbished robot ships, which were ready to be placed into service as well. Josef intended to station those new warships at Arrakis, refusing to weaken his grip here while he went to Lampadas. No one would dare to challenge him.
And after their atomic attack on Kolhar, Manford and his savages had gone home to their primitive planet, where they were completely vulnerable.
Yes, this plan was indeed coming together nicely. Once they were back in the Emperor’s good graces and the antitechnology cancer had been excised, the Imperium would be strong again. VenHold and Josef would be strong again! Then he could come back and resume his spice production with a vengeance.
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