Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  He took a cautious step toward the young Mother Superior, thinking there might be another way out of this. “I am the one you want. I’m the one you’ve always wanted. I caused Abulurd’s downfall after the Battle of Corrin and forced his exile to Lankiveil. I was there when your brother Griffin died, even if I did not kill him. End your vendetta against the Atreides here and now, and take it out on me instead. After this, give Willem the freedom to live his own life—so that your sister and her child can be safe.”

  “Why should I listen to you?” Valya’s eyes were steely.

  Vor gave her a cold smile. “We still have something to settle.” He felt no fear, paid no attention to the other Sister commandos who had come here to kill them, didn’t care about Korla or the fascinated scavengers watching the scene now. “I will face you here—as Griffin and I once faced each other in the sietch on Arrakis, before we put aside our differences. But I need assurances of Willem’s safety.”

  The Queen of Trash interrupted them. “I’ll make the arrangements on his behalf. Vorian Atreides did well enough with us here, even saved some of our own. We’ll see that young Willem leaves unharmed, with no interference from these women.”

  The Sisters had a chartered spacefolder in orbit, and with the New Voyager, Vor had his own way off the planet, if he survived. Korla would see that Willem made his way to Salusa Secundus—but Vor had to defeat Valya first.

  Willem finally holstered his weapon, and Tula nearly collapsed from her bleeding wound. While Vor and Valya continued to face each other like hair-trigger weapons, one of the commando Sisters applied a field-dressing medpack to Tula’s injury. The lean, older Sister looked up and gave her assessment. “She needs more care than I can give her here, Mother Superior Valya. We need to get her back up to the main ship.”

  “Not yet,” Valya said. She turned once more toward Vorian. “She will want to watch this. She needs to see it.”

  Vorian’s world focused on his deadly opponent, and he crouched, ready to fight for his life. He reconsidered the wisdom of that, because he knew that even if he defeated Valya Harkonnen here, even if it was a fair fight in front of witnesses, he was sure she would want revenge after all … that she might never let Willem live his life in peace.

  “I am the one you blame for all that has gone wrong with House Harkonnen,” Vor said in a strong voice, hammering the point home. “I am responsible for everything—isn’t that the conclusion you reached? If my life is the only payment you’ll accept for that debt, then come and take it.”

  He saw only one way that the Harkonnens would ever relent. He had been prepared for this all along.

  In a lightning-fast move, Valya lashed out and struck him, knocking him off his feet. He scrambled back up, but she was a dervish, unleashing years of pent-up hatred and blame. He counterattacked, but could hardly land a blow against her. When he did strike a hard blow in her midsection, she brushed it off and redoubled her attack. Her fighting skills were far superior to Griffin’s, and obviously superior to his own.

  Coughing blood, Vor looked up and saw a murderous glint in Valya’s dark eyes. He spoke through bloody lips, “When you kill me, will you finally be satisfied? Will each of our Houses be whole again?” He needed to make her see the folly of her obsession. He was like a man on his deathbed, trying to right a lifetime of wrongs, real or perceived.

  “Stop this, Valya,” Tula pleaded. She looked gray-skinned, and the right half of her dark suit was soaked with blood.

  But Valya came at him again.

  From blow after blow, Vor saw red static around his vision. His head rang as she smashed her open palms against his temples, but they were not mortal blows. In the roar inside his ears, he could hear the Corrin scavengers shouting, calling for him to beat her. He was certain Valya intended to kill him. If he just allowed it, he could end this feud. He’d had a long life, and he was weary in so many ways.

  Valya slammed him down to the rubble, threw herself on top of his prone form, pummeling him. He used all his skills to block her repeated attempts at a deathblow, but his energy was waning. Pain erupted from a dozen different injuries, any one of them nearly crippling.

  On one side, Willem was shouting in dismay.

  Valya knew the most lethal places to strike a human body. She was hurting him intentionally, trying to make him suffer, short of killing him. Finally, he sensed her whole body change, and she coiled for the final deathblow. She would strike like a sledgehammer and cave in his skull.

  And Vor was ready for it.

  Truth and honor are the allies of the righteous.

  Desperation and deceit are the allies of the morally weak.

  —ANARI IDAHO

  Emperor Roderick’s sudden salvo took the crews aboard the damaged VenHold ships by surprise. Kinetic projectiles slammed against enhanced shields, and even though they failed to penetrate, the avalanche of explosive shells overloaded some of the shield generators that had been under repair since the battle of Lampadas.

  As the barriers wavered, Emperor Roderick sat on his command bridge, flanked by Truthsayer Fielle and Admiral Harte. “Continue the bombardment on those ships. Their systems will fail soon, if we can keep firing.” He turned to Harte. “With our inventory of projectiles, how long can we sustain the barrage at this intensity?”

  The Admiral asked a young officer on the bridge, who responded, “We planned for this, Sire. Our ships carry weaponry that is disproportionate to their model. We can continue at this constant rate for seven hours. I cannot say whether that will be sufficient.”

  “We will have our answer sooner than seven hours.” The Emperor felt an angry ache inside that sharpened his focus into an executioner’s blade. Anna … such an innocent, naïve girl. He couldn’t believe Venport would be so foolish as to kill her preemptively; therefore, something else must have happened. An accident? An illness? Some other tragedy? It didn’t really matter. In any case, she was dead. Roderick knew that his sister had often been her own worst enemy.

  While he could never forgive Venport for assassinating his brother, Salvador’s stupid actions had brought about his own demise. Anna, though, was merely a pawn—a flighty girl with absolutely no understanding of the web tangled around her. Venport had taken her hostage for his own purposes, and now she was dead.

  For that, Roderick vowed to obliterate the Directeur and everything he cherished.

  The VenHold defenders fought back against the Imperial forces, launching a high-powered retaliation, but Roderick remained grimly determined. His fleet pressed onward. Occasionally, one of Harte’s ships withdrew, but only if it had suffered so much damage that it could no longer function properly. Still, the rest of the Imperial fleet kept firing. He had learned that type of relentlessness from the Butlerians.

  “Continue bombardment. Maintain maximum shields.” Their invisible defenses were a complex, flickering pattern in which sections of overlapping Holtzman shields dropped to allow the launch of projectiles, then resealed the gaps with nanosecond timing.

  Soon, some of the VenHold vessels—particularly the undamaged commercial ships that had come here at Norma Cenva’s call—became adept at finding and predicting those nanosecond weaknesses, and a few projectiles managed to slip through and seriously damage two Imperial ships. Other shields were failing as well.

  That only made Roderick angrier.

  Admiral Harte turned to the Emperor. “If I might suggest, Sire—the laboratory domes on the surface are far more vulnerable to bombardment than these warships.” His voice grew harder. “And since you no longer need to worry about protecting an innocent hostage, dropping suborbital explosives would destroy, or certainly imperil, Venport’s operations. That is his weakness.”

  Roderick felt sickened. “That would bring a swift and decisive end to this, but I want Venport in shackles, dragged before my throne on Salusa. We can’t just obliterate him from orbit, as satisfying as that might be. He should be convicted and punished appropriately in front of the entire Imp
erium, in a very public and painful execution.” He nodded slowly, knowing how much Salvador would have enjoyed that. “Bombard only the landing facilities and the outlying domes. Those will be hangars and supply depots. Let him know that we can take him out at any time, unless he surrenders.”

  Soon, their missiles and bombs plunged down to produce precisely targeted explosions on the surface, and the relentless Imperial pummeling of the VenHold warships continued. Even the strongest shields had never been designed to withstand hours of nonstop bombardment like this.

  The Emperor couldn’t tear his gaze away from the tactical screens, waiting, willing, the enemy shields to fail.

  As he watched, one of the VenHold ships finally did succumb. The shields flickered off, and the vessel exploded—a loss that must have dealt a severe psychological blow to the enemy.

  Roderick spoke quietly to Fielle and Admiral Harte. “I learned a thing or two from Serena Butler’s Jihad: Keep pressing forward, persevere, ignore the odds. Our determination, our sense of moral righteousness, and our refusal to admit defeat is stronger than any of the enemy’s weapons.”

  He continued the surface bombardment and the saturation fire. Their defenses were weakening—Roderick could see that. Yet VenHold warships also obliterated three Imperial vessels and crippled two more. From his flagship bridge, Roderick watched it all unfold.

  Just then, with a pop of displaced air and a small wave of pressure that swept across the deck, an armored Navigator tank appeared before the Emperor.

  Admiral Harte shouted, leaping to defend Roderick. The guards on the bridge deck drew their weapons. Some of the crew scrambled out of their seats. But the Emperor remained cool. He rose to his feet from the command chair. He could see Norma’s distorted form suspended inside the tank, floating in orange spice gas. He had faced her before.

  The armored chamber ticked and clicked, adjusting to the new environment with a brief startling hiss, as an overpressure valve vented a cinnamon reek of melange. Roderick gestured for his guards to hold their fire as he stepped bravely up to the tank. “Norma Cenva, I did not expect to see you here.”

  The swollen head looked at him with oversized, unblinking eyes. Her lips moved, and her eerie, otherworldly voice came through a speakerpatch on the tank. “Many Navigators have died. My Navigators. Next, I predict you will move against Arrakis … the spice operations. I cannot allow that. This conflict must stop.”

  Roderick was not intimidated by her bizarre form. “This conflict will end when Josef Venport surrenders and pays for his crimes—not a moment sooner. He is responsible for his own situation, and for the harm your Navigators have suffered.”

  “Josef did harm your brother, and he did fail to adequately safeguard your sister. Anna Corrino was difficult to manage, and she took her own life.”

  The revelation hit Roderick like a punch in the stomach. He struggled for words. “Venport should never have kept her as a hostage.”

  “There are many things he should not have done.” Norma hung there in silence, as if pondering. “For your Imperium, though, the Butlerians caused the greatest turmoil. Forbidden atomics destroyed Kolhar and my Navigator fields. I barely saved my children in time. Butlerian ships wiped out many of my vessels above Lampadas. Your battle group attacked us when we were vulnerable. Your scientists tortured and killed Dobrec. You are responsible for the instabilities as well, Emperor Roderick Corrino. This must end.”

  “I could not ignore the assassination of an Emperor!”

  “Your family squabbles are not relevant. The universe is ours, but we must make the correct decisions here today. My Navigators must be permitted to fold space and explore the cosmos. They will create the commercial fabric that binds the Imperium together. My Navigators must be allowed to evolve, to the full extent of their destiny.”

  “I realize that your Navigators are not active participants in this conflict,” Roderick said. “If Directeur Venport is defeated, I will save them. You and your collection of mutant humans will all be permitted to serve under Imperial control.”

  “My Navigators must fly ships. They must be free to travel across the Imperium and beyond. We need to make many more of our kind, and for that I must have melange. I cannot tolerate this harmful interference. Leave the spice operations intact and productive.”

  Wheels began turning in Roderick’s mind as he realized that she was negotiating with him, but without Venport’s knowledge. “As Emperor, I can ensure that your conditions are met. My Imperium also requires Navigators. I need safe and stable commercial shipping. If we consolidate the spice-harvesting operations on Arrakis under Imperial administration and flush out any smugglers there, you will have the constant flow of melange you need. To your benefit, and mine.” He placed his face almost against the viewing port. “I will save your Navigators, Norma Cenva—but Venport Holdings must fall. That is not negotiable.”

  “How would you save my Navigators without Venport Holdings?”

  He took heart from her apparent interest. “The VenHold Spacing Fleet is a good model, if it were under the leadership of anyone other than Josef Venport. Venport Holdings, as a company, must be dissolved. The whole Imperium must see that they have been defeated after defying their Emperor.” He spoke quickly of ideas he had been pondering, and now that the opportunity arose, he seized his chance.

  “I would endorse a unified and reliable spacing fleet of large ships guided without error by Navigators. I propose the creation of an independent Spacing Guild to serve commerce throughout the Imperium. Communication and transportation is the tapestry that binds our civilization together across countless planetary systems. Trade must be allowed to function unfettered by war or the threat of war. Under this new Spacing Guild, I will see that you have all the Navigators you wish, and all the spice you need.” He hardened his voice. “But only if Venport Holdings is defeated and dissolved.”

  Norma hesitated, considering possibilities in her advanced mind. “Very well, I will remove the defenses around Denali. Your troops may land and do as you wish.”

  Fielle interrupted, “But Josef Venport is your great-grandson. You would betray him?”

  “Josef is mortal and insignificant. On the great path of prescience, the future is spread out before us. I have foreseen a Spacing Guild such as you propose. Now we must make it happen.”

  Roderick’s heart pounded. Could the solution be so straightforward, so simple as this?

  Norma continued, “But I must have your word, Emperor Roderick Corrino. No more treachery.” She amplified her voice so that it pounded across the flagship’s bridge. “Vow, before your God and these witnesses, that no Navigators will be harmed, neither the ones that have been transformed nor those who are yet to undergo the transformation.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have my Imperial promise, and my promise as the noble head of House Corrino. No Navigator will be harmed. We have a bargain.”

  Without a word, Norma folded space, and her sealed tank withdrew with a clap of muffled thunder.

  Roderick looked at Admiral Harte, drew a breath, and said, “All Imperial ships, stand down immediately. Cease firing on the VenHold vessels.” His brow furrowed. “But continue our bombardment of the surface.”

  Less than five minutes later, without warning, every one of the original VenHold defense ships circling Denali simply folded space and vanished, abandoning the laboratory planet, leaving it naked and vulnerable. It reminded the Emperor of what Norma had done with the VenHold fleet besieging Salusa.

  Roderick smiled at the suddenly undefended installation. “Admiral Harte, dispatch our troops—thousands of armed soldiers in personnel carriers. Swarm the planet and arrest the scientists.” He took a deep, agitated breath. “And bring me Josef Venport.”

  Things of great value can vanish in an instant.

  —a saying of Old Earth

  As Valya coiled to kill him, Korla’s booming voice seemed to make time stop. “Enough! Step away from that man or you’l
l be suffering mortal wounds of your own.”

  Vorian lay battered and broken on the ground, expecting the next strike to be the deathblow. He was prepared for it. One way or another he had to stop this vendetta, even if it meant the end of his own long life. At least Willem could survive and thrive.

  But Korla was preventing the end of the feud. “Let her finish me,” Vor croaked.

  “No!” Willem shouted. “Kill him, and I’ll kill you.”

  “No,” Vor said. “No, you won’t. This vendetta has gone on too long, for too many generations. It has to stop here!”

  The scavengers who had gathered to watch the duel now put an end to it. The hard-bitten workers who had survived so much hardship raised their brute-force projectile rifles and aimed them toward the surviving commando Sisters. They also had daggers at their hips and were ready to fight. If any of the Sisters moved, they would be gunned down. Although Vor understood that they would not surrender easily with their deadly fighting skills, the odds were not in their favor.

  “That’s enough, I said,” Korla repeated. “Vorian Atreides leaves here alive.”

  Valya flashed a sharp glance at her. “We came all this way to kill the Atreides. I intend to do so.”

  “In life, we don’t always get what we want,” Korla said in a mocking tone. “You’ve had your fun. You’ve beaten him.”

  “Not enough.”

  “But I said it was enough,” Korla answered, with a swirl of her flowmetal cape. “And I rule here, not you.”

  Valya seemed torn between her desire to kill Vor and her desire to make him suffer for as long as possible. She looked at all the deadly weapons pointed at her commandos, hundreds of armed scavengers against a handful of women. After reaching an apparent crisis in her mind, she pulled away from Vor, lifted her hands in capitulation, and sneered down at his broken form. “You want me to let him run away.”

  “Yes,” Korla said.