Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  But the searing acid inside his mouth and nose was uncomfortable, and very disturbing. He held his breath as he ran, but before he could find her, he had to gulp in more air. Biological imperative. When he choked in a breath, it was like swallowing a river of fire. The caustic fumes charred his lung tissue with shocking pain, and his eyes burned as if someone had thrown a handful of hot sharp needles into them.

  Erasmus reeled. His plan to run and retrieve Anna was quickly falling apart. Even with his running start, after a few steps he could barely see. He coughed and sucked in a deep breath, which made the situation much worse. His skin began to blister and burn. Even the fabric of his garment turned brown and began to smoke, but he kept struggling his way forward. Three additional steps. Then two more—closer to Anna. He could almost reach out and touch her.

  With some difficulty he made it to Anna’s side. Erasmus dropped to his knees next to her, lifting her small body. She twitched and coughed, her body wracked with spasms. Her eyes were milky white and already burned into blindness by the acid air.

  Erasmus could barely see her because his own vision was blurred and burning, but he held her, cradled her.

  He spoke, his words ragged and raw. “Anna, I did not mean to hurt you.” Each breath he took caused more and more damage, as if he were being hollowed out from inside. He didn’t know if Anna could hear him, but still he spoke the words. “I am terribly, terribly sorry. You are my love. You taught me what is important in life.”

  When Anna coughed, dark, smoking blood dribbled from her mouth. As if she could sense he was there, she reached out to touch his face. He strained to hear her voice, but her words were little more than a racking, faltering breath. “My Erasmus—”

  Anna Corrino died as he held her. Erasmus pulled her closer against his biological body, knowing his own bodily tissues were failing. The deadly atmosphere would eat away his flesh, his bones, but he thought his brain, the gelsphere core, would survive. Anna was already a burned and disfigured form, but even his sight of her melted into a blurred mix of colors, then black, as he lost his eyes.

  Erasmus thought only of how beautiful Anna had looked when he’d made love to her earlier as she had taught him, the delicate, lingering touch of their lips. Since the scientists would have to grow another body for him, maybe they could find enough viable cells to clone Anna, too.

  If anything remained of Denali and its research labs.

  If anyone ever found him.

  When he tried to move, Erasmus found that his muscle control was gone. His limbs failed him. He tried to get to his feet, but collapsed, sprawling on the ground beside Anna. Deep in his memories of human literature and song, he thought about the legends of star-crossed lovers dying in each other’s arms. And he appreciated Anna’s last words to him.

  His own name.

  Reassessing now, Erasmus thought that he might truly have loved Anna in the best, most pure way possible; somehow, in simulating love he had attained more than his expectations, without realizing it. He understood now that love had made him do something foolhardy by rushing out here into the deadly atmosphere. Against logic, he had assumed he could just return to the dome after saving her.

  Anna had said the Sisterhood taught that the emotion of love was dangerous, and now he had an inkling of why. There was much more to learn about many things, but he might never again have the opportunity.

  Around him, his physical body smoked and bubbled, the acids scouring away his borrowed flesh, eating down to the bone, then wearing down his skull and collapsing the structure that supported the gelcircuitry sphere. Through it all, Erasmus’s thoughts kept swirling, and he pondered that this fate was not at all what he had expected.

  When the biological shell finally dissolved, exposing his memory core to the destructive gases, he was shocked to feel his thoughts melting away, dispersing, disintegrating. Finally, the acids destroyed the gelsphere, erasing every last vestige of Erasmus, down to the final question mark.

  The value of a hostage is determined by how much he or she is loved or needed.

  —HEADMASTER GILBERTUS ALBANS, Mentat School records

  The alarms throughout the Denali domes were intended to inspire a sense of urgency and determination in a crisis, yet the primary result was to cause a panic. Josef had to grit his teeth and calm himself so he could think straight. He couldn’t let himself appear intimidated in front of the Emperor.

  As the Directeur of Venport Holdings, he had the best minds at his disposal; he represented the future of civilization, the triumph of reason over barbarism. He had hoped Roderick Corrino believed the same, but now he knew the man was simply prosecuting his own personal vendetta.

  Despite the setbacks, despite betrayals from every side, Josef knew there had to be a solution. He had to find a way to win—and with Anna Corrino he could at least force the Emperor to talk.

  Josef had settled into the offices that had once belonged to Administrator Noffe as a place to concentrate. Draigo stood at silent attention beside him; even the Mentat was at a loss to suggest a clever solution.

  “We have to find a way out of this,” Josef said. “How do we stand up against the Imperial forces? How do we fight? There are more geniuses consolidated on Denali than on any other world in the Imperium, and I brought them here for a reason.”

  The black-garbed Mentat nodded. “Yes, Directeur, and they have a substantial incentive to remember why they are here. But most of your geniuses are theorists, not military strategists. They develop ideas.”

  Noffe’s old desk, built to accommodate the Tlulaxa administrator, was too small for Josef, but he sat at it anyway. “We are under threat right now—there’s no time to play with esoteric ideas.”

  Frustrated, Josef shut down the automated alarms, and an ominous silence fell over the complex of domes. “That racket wasn’t helping. My people are already tense enough. I need everyone to concentrate.” He looked around, impatient, and his stomach clenched. “Where is Erasmus? He was supposed to deliver a report. I expected him to offer solutions—for his own survival if for no other reason.”

  Draigo frowned. “The robot is usually reliable. I will send out inquiries.”

  For the hundredth time, Josef wished Cioba were here. His wife was like a rudder to his drifting ship. With her Sorceress blood and Sisterhood training, she might figure a way out, and at the very least, her presence and guidance might have inspired him to come up with a viable solution. But she was far away now, and he wanted her to be safe. She was better off on Salusa. He was sure she would escape if anything happened to him, and then fold herself back into the Sisterhood.

  The people on Denali did not have the option to slip away, though. This would have to be their last stand.

  In orbit, the Imperial ships did not back down. Instead, they loomed in a threatening posture with all weapons activated. Before they opened fire, Roderick broadcast again. “Directeur Venport, I demand to see proof of life before I even consider negotiations. Let me speak with my sister.”

  Judging by the Emperor’s image on the comm screen, the man had not slept recently. His Truthsayer stood at his side, so Josef could not lie; fortunately, he did not have to. “Sire, your sister is safe and comfortable here—completely oblivious to the events taking place, and the danger she is in. I have not told her how you betrayed me. Her safety now depends on your actions.”

  The Emperor’s eyes were bloodshot. “Show her to me, and I may decide not to annihilate you.”

  Josef watched the Imperial forces close in overhead. Numerous VenHold ships prepared to face them, but many of his vessels still needed repair after being damaged at Lampadas. They were not in top fighting condition.

  Josef had to buy time. “Easily done, Sire. I will get Anna. Then we can finally negotiate an acceptable solution.” He cut off the transmission and looked at Draigo. “There, the Emperor has shown his weakness. Send Anna Corrino to me.”

  * * *

  BUT THE YOUNG woman could not be found.
Anywhere.

  Draigo sent a summons over the laboratory-wide intercom system, and when she did not respond, he made a priority broadcast. “Anyone who has seen Anna Corrino, please inform us. It is most urgent.”

  Still nothing. They couldn’t find Erasmus, either. Their searches turned up no sign of the independent robot.

  Josef raised his voice. “I don’t understand. These are self-contained domes! How can they be missing?”

  Draigo redoubled the search efforts, calling on all scientists, engineers, and security troops to inspect every corridor, ransack every chamber. The Mentat surrounded himself with display screens and reviewed every surveillance recording, scanning through records at the accelerated speed of his mind, absorbing multiple lines of input.

  Anna Corrino was not difficult to spot in the recent images. Draigo noted that she looked distraught, walking unevenly and weeping. He watched her enter the cymek hangar and pass through an airlock to emerge in the outside air—to her certain death. Even more astonishing, Erasmus rushed after her only a few minutes later. Both of them had gone outside unprotected.

  Draigo considered the ten patrol cymeks that remained at Denali, leftover walker forms that had either been under repair or otherwise not ready to join the Lampadas assault. But the machine bodies were functional enough to march around outside. He instructed the patrol cymeks to circle the domes and find where Anna and Erasmus had last been seen.

  Adjusting the input to his screens, he watched as the big walkers searched the area just outside the domes, crisscrossing the rugged terrain. Their imagers used different portions of the spectrum to filter out the poisonous fumes and to cut through the dark gloom.

  In minutes, two cymeks came upon a pair of human-shaped stains. Even the residue had mostly been eaten away by the acid mist, leaving only silhouettes and bone fragments. The cymeks took high-resolution images, zooming in.

  Draigo’s thoughts and projections spun ahead, but he already knew the terrible answer.

  One of the cymeks reached forward delicately, as if testing the dexterity of its large mechanical hands. It reached into the larger stain and scooped out a silvery-blue sphere—or what remained of it: the memory core of Erasmus. As the cymek lifted it, the sphere collapsed and oozed out as a synthetic gelatinous-metallic substance that dripped onto the ground.

  Draigo closed his eyes. Their hostage, their only bargaining chip to prevent certain defeat, was dead—along with Erasmus.

  * * *

  WHEN HE OPENED the channel to Emperor Roderick in his flagship, Josef knew that his own survival, the future of VenHold, the distant spice operations on Arrakis—everything he had—was on the line. He had made his calculations and saw that his remaining Navigator ships could still put up a good fight, as could his handful of patrolling cymeks. He could defend against a frontal assault by Imperial troops, but only for a time.

  It wouldn’t be enough, and he couldn’t fool Roderick for long.

  Right now, he had to make the Emperor believe him, and he had to believe it himself, so he could lie and buy valuable time. Or, he could try to be evasive so that the Truthsayer would not detect his falsehood, giving him a chance to find a way to escape. Maybe during the melee he could fly off in a private ship, leaving it all behind. The Venport legacy would carry on somehow, although it might be hidden in the shrouds of history.

  With a stony expression, he faced Roderick Corrino on the screen. The Emperor looked extremely displeased when he didn’t see Anna there. “I demand to see my sister immediately.”

  “I would like to oblige you, Sire, but she is presently unavailable,” Josef said in a maddeningly calm voice. “She cannot talk with you.” It was the truth. He had to be careful with his choice of words.

  “If you cannot produce her, then you are bluffing. We will commence firing on your ships in orbit and continue until Anna becomes ‘available.’” The Emperor reached forward to sign off.

  “Wait!” Josef cursed his abrupt response, knowing it revealed too much. He caught a subtle flicker in the Truthsayer’s expression as she stood next to Roderick. “Your sister is my most powerful leverage. We both know that. And your Truthsayer can hear that I am not lying—Anna came willingly to me. She wanted to be here. I did not coerce her to come here in any way.”

  Fielle paused, looked uncomfortable. “He is telling the truth, Sire.”

  Josef snapped, “Withdraw your ships and deactivate your weapons so that we can talk like two businessmen.”

  “I am Emperor, and I am here to mete out justice. When will Anna become available?”

  Josef tried not to speak an outright lie but could only come up with, “I cannot say.”

  Sister Fielle interrupted, asking in a sharp tone, “Will she ever be able to speak with us?”

  He tried to think of a way he could answer truthfully. “I won’t reveal more of my situation. Withdraw your ships, Sire.”

  Roderick raised his voice in a demand. “Is my sister still alive?”

  Josef’s pulse raced now. He felt his cheeks flush. Any answer would be a lie, and any hesitation would also reveal the truth. He reached forward to terminate the transmission just as Fielle turned to the Emperor. “Unfortunately, your sister is dead, Sire. Josef Venport’s behavior confirms it, beyond any doubt.”

  Roderick’s face fell. His voice came out cold and hollow. “Damn you, Venport!”

  Almost immediately, the bombardment began.

  There are more ways to win a battle than anyone can teach you.

  And even more ways to lose.

  —VORIAN ATREIDES

  Tula had been shot in the shoulder, and in Valya’s moment of sickened hesitation, Vor could have sprung at her and taken her down. Willem’s projectile weapon was pointed directly at the young woman’s head as she stood in front of him, holding a dagger, and bleeding. One twitch of his finger would kill her.

  But Tula faced him, not blinking, not defiant, seemingly not even afraid. She waited with a certain courage and nobility, as if ready to accept her fate, whatever it might be. Yet only months ago she had committed a heinous, cowardly act by murdering Orry.

  Watching the tableau, Valya froze in horror, obviously realizing that if she attacked Vorian now, then Willem would kill her sister. The pause was only a few seconds, but it seemed to stretch out forever. Vor sensed something unusual in the air, something unexpected. Was this hard and vengeful woman’s concern a reflection of her love for Tula? Was the Sisterhood’s leader even capable of such an emotion?

  “If you wish to kill me, Willem Atreides, I cannot stop you,” Tula said, “and I understand why you’re doing it. The terrible pain of your loss justifies your revenge … just as the pain of Griffin’s loss justified our actions. No matter who killed him.”

  The comment surprised Vor. The Harkonnens had been rationalizing their hatred toward him for generations, finding one reason after another to continue the feud against a straw man from the past. None of that, though, warranted the slaughter of an innocent young man on his wedding night, just because of his name.

  “But if you kill me,” Tula continued with a ragged edge in her voice, “you’ll also be killing an Atreides. You see, I am carrying Orry’s child.”

  Willem recoiled. “You’re lying!”

  Vor felt a sick jolt. Was this a desperate trick to save her own life?

  Valya looked at her sister in horror. “It can’t be true!”

  Tula smiled sadly and shifted her body, causing her to wince in pain from the bleeding wound in her shoulder. She gazed at Valya and said, “But it is true, dear sister. I was actually fond of Orry, so even though I followed your command to murder him, I made love to him first.” Her voice hitched, but she forced herself to keep speaking. “When I returned to Wallach IX, you congratulated me for what I’d done … but you never met Orry, did you? You didn’t know him. I saw the obvious goodness in him. But even so, I did what you commanded me to do—for you and for House Harkonnen.”

  “I refuse to
believe this!” Valya stared at her sister in complete revulsion.

  Vor felt no sympathy for the iron-handed Sisterhood leader, nor for gullible young Tula. All he could think of was the blood-spattered bed and the innocent, slaughtered Orry. “You didn’t show any regret when you scrawled your words on the wall in his blood.”

  “Valya told me what to write,” Tula said. “I just delivered the message.”

  Though Willem still pointed the projectile weapon at her, his hands trembled now. Tula continued to gaze at her sister, as if the young Atreides were not there at all. She pressed a hand against the ragged shoulder wound as she said, “Valya, you know I’m not lying when I say I am pregnant. And you know it is Orry’s child.”

  Standing among the Sisters, Cindel nodded, but Valya did not even look in the Truthsayer’s direction. The Mother Superior was white, her eyes narrowed, her breathing fast. Vor thought she might even lash out and kill Tula herself—and he would have to stop her. Not to protect Tula … but for the baby. An Atreides baby.

  Ignoring her sister and the other female commandos, Tula dropped the dagger on the rocky ground with a punctuating clatter. She climbed to her feet and faced Willem, spread her arms. “Get it over with, if that is what you need to do. For Orry’s sake, take me as a sacrifice, and then be done with this. For the Harkonnens and the Atreides.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Valya said, and the words struck Willem like a slap. “She is carrying his baby.” She screamed at the sky, “My own sister is carrying an Atreides child!”

  Still poised to spring, Vor spoke a warning to Willem, who kept his weapon pointed at Tula’s head, “Take great care to make the correct decision here. If you kill Tula, you could be killing your own brother’s child.” His gut also told him that Tula was telling the truth, and that it was not a trick. It was too real; her expressions and behavior were too real. She was with child. Vor did not want Atreides blood on their hands—and Valya didn’t want to spill Harkonnen blood.