Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Heaving deep breaths on the precarious stairs, the woman Vor had rescued said, “We hit a big flowmetal vein, and our resonators started a cascade. It broke underground barricades and flooded out—much more than we could handle. Sometimes the damned stuff seems alive!”

  Since this had once been the central city of the evermind Omnius, Vor realized that perhaps the flowmetal was alive, in an eerie, machine way. Two more bodies drifted past, already crushed by the flowmetal, their arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles.

  The silvery, glowing river made a scraping, grinding noise as it surged through the tunnel like a force of nature, and in a matter of minutes it was past, leaving wreckage and corpses behind. The tunnel was empty now, except for oozing patches that clung to the walls and shining puddles on the floor. Vor felt great sadness that he had not been able to save more of the victims.

  Beside him, the rescued woman shuddered with exhaustion and fear. Vor looked behind him to see other bedraggled people crowded at the top of the stairwell, just watching him. Korla stood with them, wearing her scuffed jumpsuit and flowmetal cape.

  The rescued woman looked in fearful revulsion at the flowmetal staining her outfit, then shook her head. “Thank you. I’m Horaan Eshdi.”

  “And I am Vorian Atreides.”

  “Maybe you truly are him,” Korla boomed out. “The real Vorian Atreides might have done something like that.” Her expression went dark. “This is the worst disaster we’ve encountered, but not the first. Last year another flowmetal surge collapsed an entire section of the tunnels, killed twelve of us.”

  As the scavengers regrouped, Vor was astonished to hear his own name called over the comm that each of the workers carried—a familiar male voice. “Calling the settlement ahead. Vorian Atreides? Vorian! I know you came here. I see your ship.”

  “There’s a small drop-shuttle on its way down from orbit.” Korla checked her comm, frowned at Vor. “Just landed.”

  The group of scavengers climbed out to the surface of the blasted world, where the night had a ruddy tinge from the backscattered light of Corrin’s red sun. Around them, the ruined city seemed to be shifting and moving, like boulders in a slow, glowing lava flow.

  Korla peered all around her, saw the lights of the landed shuttle, and barked into the comm, “Who’s calling? Identify yourself out there.”

  Vor could make out a suited figure picking its way carefully over the unstable ground. An answer came over the comm, “My name is Willem, and I’m looking for Vorian Atreides. I’ll pay a large reward to anyone who can direct me to him.”

  At the offer of the reward, the comm-system filled with “helpful” scavenger voices. Vor stiffened, worried that Willem had left his safety on Chusuk. He had wanted the young man to stay away while he faced the Harkonnens himself and ended the decades-long feud. Was it so terrible for Willem to have remained behind with Princess Harmona? But Vor should have known Willem would never be satisfied with a passive, comfortable role on the sidelines. He sighed.

  The young man waved to him, trudging over the rubble toward the group of scavengers, and Vor realized he was glad to see him anyway. When they came together, he said, “It’s dangerous here.”

  Willem’s eagerness would not be shaken, though. “That’s not much of a welcome! I came a long way to see you. You abandoned me on Chusuk.”

  “To recover from your injuries—with a beautiful woman.”

  Willem seemed embarrassed. “I am fully recovered. And Harmona is waiting for me, waiting for us to finish the work we have to do.”

  “I left a message for you to stay away.”

  “I decided to ignore it.” Willem grinned. “And if you were me, you would have done exactly the same thing. I need to be here with you—if they’re coming for you. You’re luring the Harkonnens here.”

  Instinctively, Vor glanced up at the starry, red-tinged sky, but saw no sign of any approaching craft. If Willem had tracked him down this quickly, then maybe the Harkonnens would not be far behind.

  The young man lowered his voice. “You’re setting a trap, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but it’s my responsibility to spring it. You have a future, and can still have a family. I made arrangements for you on Salusa Secundus, at the Imperial Court. The Emperor will personally give you a position—all you have to do is show up.” His voice took on a pleading tone. “Go live your life, a normal life. Let me take care of this.”

  With a stubborn shake of his head, Willem said, “Not alone. You always spoke to me about Atreides honor. I’m not going to abandon you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

  Vor looked at him for a long while. This young man was, after all, an Atreides, and Vor had made him understand all the honor and tradition of that name. Willem was doing exactly what he would have done himself. How could Vor possibly send him away?

  “All right, then I can use your help.”

  The mass deaths and injuries that occurred in this place were tragic, but necessary. We must move on from here. My Imperium is now a better place.

  —EMPEROR RODERICK CORRINO, surveying the battlefields of Lampadas

  With the death of Manford Torondo and the subjugation of Lampadas, the backbone of the Butlerian movement had been broken. Exactly as the Emperor had hoped.

  As soon as the swift courier arrived at the capital planet, Roderick commissioned an EsconTran spacefolder to transport his ornate ceremonial barge and Imperial entourage, along with a strong force of peacekeeping troops that would remain behind on Lampadas. He would meet with Admiral Harte, while the last few fanatics were still reeling from their utter defeat.

  Most of the surviving Butlerians were on Lampadas, but he knew there were others around the Imperium, little clusters here and there, and some planetary officials who had been sympathizers—and might still cause problems. He’d seen the intelligence reports. But any fanatics remaining would be nothing compared with what they had been under Manford Torondo. There might be a few brushfires to put out, but no more.

  Roderick made the triumphant announcement from the Imperial Palace before he departed, encouraging independent traders and couriers to disseminate the news across the Imperium. The barbarian movement would now crumble, and Admiral Harte would keep the core of the surviving fanatics bottled up on Lampadas in the meantime. How long would it take for the rest of the planetary leaders to renounce their antitechnology vows and open themselves to unrestricted trade again?

  All was as it should be. Manford Torondo was dead. Josef Venport was defeated. And Roderick Corrino was Emperor. He had an empire to rebuild and new interstellar business consortiums to develop.

  After making his bargain with the Directeur, he had not intended for Admiral Harte to attack the unwary VenHold forces from behind. It seemed a deceitful, even dishonorable move, and Josef Venport surely believed that the Emperor had betrayed him, but Harte had been completely cut off from communication. There had been no way to stop him.

  But now Roderick knew about Venport’s own added treachery, that he had kidnapped Anna. Admiral Harte had passed along the stunning threat Venport had issued just before escaping justice yet again. All the months that Roderick had worried about his sister, feared for her life, sure that she had been murdered … and Venport had known all along!

  He has my sister! One last bargaining chip, one last knife that had been thrust in the Emperor’s side. That could not be tolerated.

  First, he and his Imperial forces would ensure that the subdued Butlerians were under adequate control, with their homeworld locked down so that the fanatics could cause no further trouble. Then he would set about finding where Directeur Venport had gone to ground.

  When his entourage arrived in the Lampadas system, Roderick went with Admiral Harte down to the war-torn surface where the survivors had just begun to pick up the pieces. In devastated Empok, they were greeted at the ravaged landing field by an Imperial color guard in spotless uniforms, carrying bright banners. It was in strong contrast to the des
truction around them, with the city in ruins and buildings burned or smashed to rubble.

  The Emperor and the coolly professional Harte stood watching the crisp performance of the guards, while Manford’s leftover followers looked shell-shocked. Roderick Corrino was their Emperor, and these people of Lampadas could devote their energies to giving their service to the Imperium. They no longer needed Leader Torondo.

  The Admiral was impeccable in his dress uniform, wearing a chest full of colorful ribbons. Roderick intended to give him more commendations once they all returned to Salusa, but the job wasn’t finished yet. The Imperial battle group still had to mop up the remnants of Josef Venport’s fleet and find Anna—wherever they had gone.

  Roderick had already sent a scout ship to the spice operations on Arrakis. Though the Directeur had visibly increased his defenses with a cordon of impressive thinking-machine warships to withstand any Imperial action, Josef Venport was not there himself—nor was Anna. The quick, clandestine survey had made it obvious that the Imperial Armed Forces couldn’t fight those intimidating battleships—not yet. And although the spice industry was valuable, the Emperor had a far more important goal.

  He has my sister! The Directeur must be hiding in some other bolt-hole, and Roderick would uproot him there, once he discovered where it was.

  The commander of the color guard separated from the rest of the troops and stepped in front of the Emperor, maintaining a long salute, while the two flag bearers spun their scarlet-and-gold Corrino banners. The battered Butlerian survivors looked on without enthusiasm. The air reeked of smoke, dust, and blood.

  Roderick returned the salute with a brief, concise motion, as did Admiral Harte. When the color guard performance was concluded, the Admiral led him into the devastated city. Imperial soldiers helped the survivors put out the last few fires and spray down the powdery toxic residue from the poison clouds spewed by cymek walkers.

  The main effort was to gather and bury the bodies, for the corpses outnumbered the living by a wide margin. The wrecked cymeks were motionless, giant mechanical monsters defeated by the sheer force and fanaticism of countless martyrs.

  The Emperor felt a chill go down his back as he grasped just how many Butlerians had given their lives here. His momentary sympathy for the victims was tempered by the realization of how much unbridled power the movement had wielded. These people had killed Nantha, and had used atomics, despite the strict prohibitions in the Imperium. Manford surely would have turned against him before long.

  Yes, it was good they were defeated.

  The Emperor and the Admiral reached the site where the Butlerian leader had died, and the smashed cymek walker that had killed him now looked like a slain dragon. The surviving fanatics had been building a haphazard shrine from the rubble, but without guidance. Roderick could sense their despair, but also their remaining fervor, which made him uneasy.

  Manford had always talked about the power of a martyr, and if at all possible the Emperor had no intention of letting the man become one. What was next, yet another statue erected next to Nantha’s? He vowed to quench this spark before it became a flame, to ensure that the Butlerians remained broken.

  Dirt- and soot-smeared, Anari Idaho moved away from the growing cairn of rubble being laid at the shrine site. The Imperial soldiers demanded that she surrender her sword in the presence of the Emperor, but she stiffened, obviously insulted. “I am a Swordmaster of Ginaz. I have never relinquished my weapon before, not even in the Imperial presence.”

  “But you will today,” Admiral Harte insisted.

  After a long, grudging standoff, she handed her sword to an Imperial soldier, then faced Roderick proudly, as if she were his equal. “Sire, after such a tragedy, our followers are pleased that you have come to commemorate the fall of our blessed leader. Manford faced the demons that haunt all of us, and in the end his noble fight destroyed him. But not his memory.”

  Roderick frowned at her statement and attitude. “Manford died, as did a great many here on Lampadas, and my next priority is to mete out justice against Directeur Venport.” Upon her look of satisfaction, he continued in a much more stern voice, “But I did not come here to mark the death of Leader Torondo. I came to impose order and to accept the formal disbanding of your movement.”

  Anari rocked back at the unexpected response. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Surrender, Sire? But we have always fought on your side—on the side of humanity.”

  “The Butlerians changed that when they used forbidden atomics to destroy Kolhar. That alone carries a sentence of death under Imperial law. Manford is no longer alive to face the war crimes tribunal I intend to hold on Salusa Secundus, but his followers have committed many crimes against humanity.”

  Anari trembled with rage, and the Imperial soldiers tensed, ready to shoot down the Swordmaster if she made a move against him. “Crimes against humanity, Sire? Our every action was for the welfare of humanity, to save the human soul from the temptation of thinking machines.”

  “And for the sake of humanity, we must strengthen the Imperium. Because these people have suffered so severely, I will forego the need for a formal surrender ceremony from you, but know this: I will never allow the Butlerians to become an unruly mob again. The last of you will remain here on Lampadas, and will be watched closely.”

  Roderick gestured to Admiral Harte, and they continued the inspection, leaving Anari behind at a makeshift shrine the Emperor would order destroyed, and then find a way to keep people from restoring it.

  Swordmasters had always been honorable, and Anari Idaho had been flawlessly loyal to her master. Perhaps Roderick should send her off to Ginaz, where she could continue to serve, but cause no further trouble.

  The Butlerian capital was a wasteland, and Roderick could only imagine the fierce battle that had occurred here. He shuddered to think of the power of that mob. The growing shrine around Manford’s death site made him uneasy, and he would take action to stop it quickly.

  His staff took orders. “To show my Imperial generosity, I will send construction teams to rebuild Empok, funded by my own treasury.” He knew Haditha would approve. “We’ll raze the old city, burn all the remnants. I want nothing left of the place where Manford fell: no memorials, no statues, no rallying point. They will have a whole new Imperial-class city on this spot.”

  Admiral Harte nodded.

  “And the job isn’t finished. We still have to force the unconditional surrender of Directeur Venport—and get Anna back. Continue the investigation and interrogations, Admiral. I need to know where he went.”

  The fall from complete triumph to abject defeat is a great distance, but can take very little time.

  —DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, personal log, Denali laboratories

  It was a full-blown retreat—Josef could think of no other way to say it, no way to sugarcoat it. He couldn’t label it as a “commercial setback” or “disruption of trade activities.” This was completely different.

  The universe had gone mad, yet he refused to admit defeat.

  He’d been hammered by fanatical Butlerian suicide runs, maniacs who used atomics, who fired lasguns at shielded ships. And then, just after he had crushed the fanatics, Imperial ships attacked him in the lowest form of treachery. Betrayed by Roderick Corrino—the man Josef had personally placed on the Imperial throne. I should have known not to trust him.

  It was a bitter pill to swallow. Josef had devoted his efforts and his fortune to saving civilization, and now they were trying to destroy him from every quarter. To hell with them all! He would find a way to come back on his own terms.

  After Admiral Harte’s shameful, backstabbing attack, the remaining VenHold ships had reeled away, heavily damaged. Dozens of Josef’s wrecked vessels had been left around Lampadas, as he had been unable to retrieve the crippled vessels from orbit. Another terrible loss …

  When his fleet regrouped around the secure site of Denali, Josef ordered his engineers to make as many repairs as possible. The secret
Denali laboratories had been designed for research and development rather than heavy assembly, but they were the only option he had. The main Kolhar industrial facilities were nothing more than radioactive slag.

  But his people had always been innovative, breaking rules and achieving the unexpected. They would do so again. He needed his fleet back in shape and ready to fight.

  Standing next to a pale Draigo Roget aboard the flagship, Josef kept shaking his head in dismay. This was the low point of his entire life and career. “The Emperor made a bargain with me. I destroyed Manford exactly as he instructed me to do. I wanted to put the Imperium back together.”

  “Apparently, Emperor Roderick had plans of his own,” Draigo said.

  Josef felt his face burn. “At least now he knows that I hold his sister hostage. He has always made this disagreement personal, and I’ve just made it more personal yet. If he doesn’t come to terms now, maybe I’ll send her back to Salusa, piece by piece … to pay him back for this betrayal.”

  But it was an empty threat, and he knew it. Anna was his last asset, the only remaining lever he could use to move Roderick.

  He felt a chill as he remembered that Cioba was also being held on Salusa. What would the Emperor do to her if anything happened to Anna? Josef knew that his wife was incredibly resourceful, not just due to her Sisterhood training but also because of her Sorceress blood. He was sure Roderick Corrino would underestimate her, and he hoped Cioba would get herself to safety. He worried about her.

  Not long ago, Josef had expected to return here victorious, with the Butlerian problem resolved and VenHold restored to the Emperor’s good graces. As soon as Josef had restored business as usual to the Imperium, without the antitechnology fanatics, he had even considered offering Denali scientific advances to the Imperium at large, in the name of progress and prosperity for all of humankind. He would have delivered Anna Corrino unharmed, a bargaining chip no longer needed, a peace offering. That should have ended the dispute.