“Freemen are not easy to kill, either,” Naib Sharnak said.
Vor had been grappling with the same questions ever since his escape, squeezing and prodding the possibilities, but none of the answers made sense to him. The pair of attackers had called him by name. But he had lived a quiet life on Kepler for decades, and had come to Arrakis without fanfare. No one should have known he was here at all. Who could possibly be hunting him?
“If there is a threat to the desert, then there is a threat to us,” the Naib said. “I will send scouts to study the wreckage of the spice harvester—if anything remains. You will stay with us.”
“As your prisoner?”
Sharnak raised his eyebrows. “Are you foolish enough to attempt an escape?”
“Where would I go? In fact, I was actually hoping to encounter you. That’s why I came to Arrakis in the first place.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Naib Sharnak’s desert scouts returned, a pair of young men named Inulto and Sheur. While Vor sat with the Naib in a small sietch cavern, the two youths described in excited words what they had seen; the mission had obviously been an adventure for them. Ishanti came in to hear their report as well.
“We rode as fast as we could, Naib,” said Sheur. “An evening dust storm drove us to shelter early, but we were off again before the next sunrise.”
“And what did you find?”
“Nothing.” Inulto lowered his head. “A worm had been there. All the machinery, the aircraft, the dune rollers, the bodies—the evidence is gone. Nothing remains.”
“I know what I saw,” Vor said. “I’m sure the killers are still alive.”
Ishanti was anxious and angry. “I need to return to Arrakis City and report to headquarters. Directeur Venport will want to know.” She looked over at Vorian. “I presume you desire to return to civilization? We have a fast skimcraft. I can take you there directly.”
Vor surprised both by saying, “No, I’d rather stay here for a while. I am intrigued to speak with your people. Rumor has it you live very long lives, well over a century?”
“It’s the geriatric effects of melange,” Sharnak said. “That is how we live. You cannot steal any secret of immortality from us.”
Vor laughed. “Oh, I already have immortality, but I would be interested in talking to others about it.”
The Naib looked at his visitor’s features, probably noting the first hints of gray in his hair, and scoffed. “What would you know of immortality?”
“Only what I’ve learned during the two hundred and eighteen years of my life.”
Sharnak laughed even louder. “You harbor delusions! Offworlders believe ridiculous things, really ridiculous things.”
Vor gave him a contented smile. “I swear to you, I was born before the beginning of Serena Butler’s Jihad, well over two centuries ago.” He explained who he was, even though these isolated desert people knew little of the politics and history of the war against the thinking machines, a galaxy-spanning conflict that ended a century earlier. “I have fought in those epic battles, traveled much, and seen countless friends die, many of them heroically. I watched two of my wives bear me children. I raised families, and they, too, grew old … while I did not change. The cymeks gave me a life-extension treatment, and you have your melange with its enhancement properties, but we’ve both lived long lives—long, hard lives.”
The Naib seemed unsettled by his claims, but Vor stared at him until he looked away.
Ishanti reached out to touch the side of Vor’s face. “We don’t have soft skin like you do.” Then she caught herself and added with a snort, “Old men muse about such things. I am more worried about the business at hand, and whether those two assassins will attack other spice-harvesting operations.”
At the next sunrise, she flew off in her skimcraft.
A prize is worth nothing to the man who cannot keep it.
—JOSEF VENPORT, INTERNAL VENHOLD MEMO
The vessels in the VenHold Spacing Fleet were primarily used for carrying nonmilitary passengers and cargo, astutely avoiding interplanetary conflicts, but now Josef Venport was launching an outright attack. He doubted the Celestial Transport workers would put up much of a fight, but he intended to seize what should have been his in the first place.
Through his study of detailed star charts, Draigo Roget had identified the Thonaris star system as the likely location of a major thinking-machine base that had thus far escaped detection. Somehow, scouts for Arjen Gates had stumbled upon the place—probably through dumb luck—whereas Draigo had calculated the location through intellect and skill.
And now, with a large private fleet of VenHold ships, all augmented with weaponry purchased on the black market, Josef intended to take the outpost away from his business rival.
With shared information, star images, and unfathomable interdimensional foldspace calculations, the group of Navigators guided the VenHold fleet to the edge of the Thonaris system, an unremarkable orange star orbited by an all-but-invisible brown dwarf sun. High-resolution scans combed the volume of space for any signs of habitation or industrial activity.
Draigo stood next to Josef on the command bridge of an old military ballista that he had purchased from the Army of Humanity. With additional modifications from the Kolhar shipyards, the warship carried even more firepower.
“I’m confident this is the correct star system, sir,” Draigo said. “But we still have a wide area to search in order to find the depot.”
Josef frowned, scratched his thick, cinnamon-colored mustache. “It can’t be too difficult, or Arjen Gates would never have found it.”
“Accidents happen, sir … statistically speaking.”
After two hours, the search had pinpointed six planets in the system—two frozen lumps that were not much bigger than comets, one world that was far too hot and close to the sun, two gas giants with a smattering of moons, and a large cluster of rocky planetoids.
“Those planetoids radiate far too much energy,” Draigo said. “Indicates artificial activity, probably industrial operations.”
Josef was convinced. “That’s our destination, then. Prepare to move. Let’s make this quick and efficient.”
Draigo called up a projection of the seventy VenHold ships, which were scattered in a pattern like intersection points on a complex cat’s-cradle diagram. “It’s best to move in with a sudden, crippling blow. I have planned what I believe will be an effective scenario, sir. At the Mentat School, I acquired a great deal of simulated experience in complicated space military engagements.”
“That is what I wanted you to learn, Draigo. You will guide the strike. The Celestial Transport presence needs to be uprooted and discarded like a weed.” He transmitted to all of his ships. “My Mentat has tactical command. Follow his orders in this engagement.” Then he sat back to watch.
Under complete communications silence, the ships activated their standard faster-than-light engines and descended into the system. Draigo had already provided detailed instructions, ship by ship, mapping out each movement as if the battle had already occurred. All weapons were powered up and ready to fire, but Josef specified that they were to cause as little damage as possible. He warned the individual captains, “I’ll deduct the value of every viable ship you ruin from your bonuses.” That should give them sufficient incentive.
The shipyards rapidly came into view, proving the Mentat correct. One cratered planetoid was covered with automated strip-mining and metals-processing machinery, but the heart of the shipyard was its assembly complex in low orbit, large spacedocks that held derelict ships. Bright lights and thermal signatures indicated a significant level of activity.
At least fifty large robot vessels hung in various stages of completion, huge brute-force starships that were dark except for a spangle of lights and a flurry of figures moving about in the engine bays. Josef spotted at least a dozen smaller CT ships and pinpointed the base’s administrative hub in the orbiting grid work. In addition to the
fifty completed ships being upgraded with spacefolder engines, dozens more vessels were under construction. The Thonaris complex also held many robotic factories that used raw materials from the asteroids to create new structural girders, hull plates, and internal components. But the CT occupiers had not bothered to activate them. Rather, they were just commandeering the old, mostly finished ships.
Josef’s eyes drank in all the possibilities. “You have already surpassed my expectations, Mentat. When this is over, you may claim your reward.”
“Reward?” Draigo’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t this the task for which you hired me, sir?”
“And a good investment it was.” Josef leaned forward, staring at the screen.
The VenHold raiders converged on the Thonaris depot like a swarm of angry hornets, englobing the operations according to the Mentat’s assault plan.
As expected, panicked CT workers began to transmit alarms. A few ships attempted to evacuate, but they had nowhere to go. The VenHold fleet was an undeniably superior force, ready for a quick and decisive battle.
The Celestial Transport operations appeared to be in the initial stages of consolidation, having reactivated only a handful of the manufacturing bases. Good, Josef thought. They hadn’t had time to cause irreparable damage. The workers also seemed so confident in their secret activities that they had not yet established a solid defensive perimeter.
Too bad for them.
The Mentat scanned images of the planetoids, the refurbished robot ships, and the CT vessels in orbit, calculating and recalculating possibilities. “They have no way to stand against us, sir. Logically speaking, they should surrender without firing a shot.”
“That would be convenient, but be prepared anyway.” By Josef’s orders, his ships made no response to the numerous indignant demands for answers from the panicked CT workers. A reply was unnecessary, since his intentions were certainly obvious. Only the details remained.
He looked over at Draigo, who showed no sign of mirth. The Mentat gave his brisk report in a quiet voice. “I’ve identified all the weak points, sir. I believe we can have the complex consolidated within the hour.”
To Josef’s surprise, Arjen Gates himself appeared on the screen. The head of Celestial Transport had short brown hair, a pointed chin, and eyes that blinked too often. His voice was thin, high enough in pitch that he always sounded intimidated—and he certainly had good reason to feel that way now. “Whoever you are, you are trespassing on sovereign territory. I have a legal claim on this unoccupied system under the laws of salvage! You have no right to be here.”
Josef leaned back and chuckled. The hated competitor was an unexpected prize that was gratifying on an entirely different level!
When no one replied to his demand, Arjen Gates sounded even more frightened. “If you are followers of the Butlerian movement and want to destroy these robot ships, I have already claimed them as personal property. You have no right! These are valuable relics to be used for the expansion of human commerce! I demand to speak to your representative.”
Josef let the man wait a few more seconds, then activated his own comm. “We’re not the Butlerians, my dear friend Arjen. If it’s any consolation, I don’t intend to damage any of these ships.”
When Arjen Gates began to splutter and yell, Josef muted the volume. “Commence consolidation, Mentat—no sense wasting time. We have a lot of work to do here.”
Logical enlightenment will always defeat emotional ignorance, although the battle is not necessarily pretty.
—MISSION STATEMENT, DENALI RESEARCH FACILITY
Ptolemy had been warned that even a single breath of Denali’s atmosphere would eat away his lungs and cause his painful death. Dangerous research projects were conducted under tight security, with interlocks and fail-safes that would sterilize or annihilate an entire laboratory module should anything go wrong.
Nevertheless, when he arrived here, Ptolemy felt safer than ever before. No ship could find this place without specific guidance from a VenHold Navigator. The Butlerians could never come here. And he was free to pursue the research he chose.
He felt like a projectile that had been launched on a set trajectory. Now he understood his true calling, the most important reason for doing research. Not for profit or convenience, but to stop the savages from destroying civilization itself. An intellectual problem to solve and a passionate battle to fight. His friend Elchan’s death would not be in vain.
He traveled with a scheduled shipment of chemical containers, pressurized gases, and food supplies. The Tlulaxa research head, Noffe, welcomed him, grinning broadly. With his bald head and prominent bleached patches on his face, Noffe did not much resemble Ptolemy’s murdered comrade Dr. Elchan, but some of the Tlulaxa racial features were similar. Seeing the man, Ptolemy felt a pang in his chest; he missed Elchan.
Noffe extended a hand to the new scientist. “Welcome to Denali, a place of unfettered discovery. Since Directeur Venport recommended you personally, I shall expect great things from you.”
The administrator’s voice had a similar timbre to Elchan’s, which caused Ptolemy to hear an echo of his friend’s dying screams in his head. He drew a deep breath and forced himself not to wince. “I am honored to be here, sir. This is what I need. This is what the human race needs … and I have a plan to stand up against the Butlerians.”
Noffe seemed to hear his own set of remembered screams. “We all have a common goal here, my friend. Those monsters ransacked my labs on Tlulax, destroyed my work. They don’t want us to discover anything.” He blinked, brought himself back to the present. “Here on Denali, it is different. Our work is subsidized by Venport Holdings, and profitable discoveries will benefit the company. But also human civilization.”
“I don’t care if Josef Venport profits from my inventions.” He was anxious to get started. “I prefer to give power to rational visionaries rather than violent barbarians.”
After passing through three bulkhead doors into the heart of the facility, they reached Noffe’s administrative office. The Tlulaxa man took a seat, and folded his hands on his lap. “My heart goes out to you—I read the report about what happened on Zenith. Please accept my assurance that you don’t need to be afraid here.”
Noffe leaned back, as if a weight much heavier than planetary gravity was pushing him down. “I used to think fear was a weakness. How could a timid, frightened person accomplish much, if he was held back by his worries? But the Butlerians turn fear into violence and panic into a weapon. By creating imaginary problems and raising the specter of nonexistent enemies, they transform common people into a wild herd that destroys everything they do not understand.” He shook his head sadly. “And there is a great deal they do not understand.”
Ptolemy swallowed hard and nodded. “We have to win this battle for the minds and future of the human race. I thought the Butlerians simply had a different point of view, that we could debate the matter in a rational way.” He would never be able to forget the smashing, the ransacking, the wanton killings. “Now I see that they are evil. Truly evil. I will be one of your greatest soldiers in that upcoming war.”
Noffe chuckled. “Oh, I expect you to be much more than just a soldier—I want you to be one of my generals.”
The Tlulaxa administrator led him through the connected modules. With great pride, Noffe showed him a lab filled with sealed tanks containing the mutated, expanded brains of failed Navigators. They had been detached from physical bodies, reminding him of the legendary Cogitors, going back to before the days of the Jihad.
“Compared to us, these brains are as developmentally advanced as we are to a child learning his first steps.” Noffe rapped his knuckles against one of the curved, transparent barriers. “But even so, they are dependent upon us for life support and communication with the outside world. These subjects did not prove acceptable as Navigator-candidates, but we can test their enhanced brains as components of new machines.”
Ptolemy nodded. “My life’s work
, along with Dr. Elchan’s, was to develop a superior interface between the human mind and artificial components. I want to free fragile humans from the biological prison of their mortality.” He lowered his voice. “It’s anathema to say this out in the League, but I believe the cymeks showed the way to a great many potential advances … if only Agamemnon and the other Titans hadn’t been so evil.” He shook his head.
Noffe responded with a vigorous nod. “I agree completely. If a crazed person uses a hammer to kill someone, does that mean we should outlaw hammers? Absurd!”
Ptolemy continued to talk about the work he and Elchan had done on Zenith. “All my notes and data were destroyed by the mob, but I’m confident that I can reproduce most of my studies. Unfortunately, it was very hard to find intact cymek walker bodies after the Butlerians got through with their purges.”
Noffe’s eyes sparkled. “Then I have something that may interest you.” He led Ptolemy into a large hangar dome made of white plasteel tiles, brightly lit by glowglobes. Inside the bay stood an ominous machine—an intimidating combat body with hinged, reinforced legs and a shielded core, like a mechanical tarantula.
Ptolemy drew in a sharp breath. “A cymek warrior form—and it’s complete! Until now, I’ve seen only scraps.”
Noffe was magnanimous as he activated one of the hangar dome’s viewing windows so that they could see the landscape around them. Through the deadly chlorine fog, Ptolemy discerned the shapes of similar arachnid machines as well as builder and flying bodies.
“There are at least twenty of them right here in the vicinity of the lab domes,” Noffe said. “After Vorian Atreides killed Agamemnon and the last of the Titans, the neo-cymek brains at this base all perished in the dead-man code. The machine bodies are yours, if you can do something productive with them.”
“Productive,” Ptolemy mused. “And also defensive. I’ll create a way for us to stand against the insanity sweeping the Imperium.” Again, he reached out to grasp Noffe’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake. “We will band together and work for the good of humanity.”
Sisterhood of Dune Page 35