Navigators of Dune

by Brian Herbert

  Modoc continued, annoyingly persistent. “So much melange! My sietch is large and spacious, Directeur. How will you ever get all that spice?”

  Tomkir said, “We are running feasibility studies. The amount of spice the facility would hold is indeed beyond our present production capabilities.”

  Josef announced, “Then we acquire spice in other ways. Increase our raids on Imperial ships and spice silos, seize any available melange in Arrakis City and in desert outposts. Divert part of our exports to the stockpile and blame the shorter supply on the present turmoil in the Imperium, which will also drive up prices. Our spice bank will be complete in no time.” Grinning, he turned back to the tank. “Grandmother, we will then be safe against any crisis that cuts off our supply.”

  Modoc looked perplexed and amused. “Like my brother Taref, I do not understand offworlder foolishness. What is the point of hoarding spice in an empty sietch, when one can simply go out into the desert and gather more? There will always be spice.”

  Josef’s respect for the desert man diminished. “I have encountered enough obstacles that I no longer believe in the concept of infinite resources.”

  He does not suffer from a lack of ambition; rather, his ambition is controlled and rational.

  —From “Prince Roderick Corrino,” a biographical sketch

  In his fur-lined ceremonial cloak, Roderick felt too warm on the blocky throne. Carved from an immense green crystal, it had been fashioned into this impressive seat for Emperor Faykan Corrino after the Battle of Corrin; the throne was intended to awe and impress the frayed survivors of humanity as they rebuilt their civilization.

  The Imperial Audience Chamber was also ostentatious with gilded moldings, frescoes, glaxene chandeliers, and a marblene floor, but—as with the Imperial barge with which he had launched General Roon’s strike force—Roderick understood that such trappings represented authority and the perception of stability.

  A line of carefully screened supplicants moved toward the elevated throne, escorted by uniformed guards. His new Truthsayer Fielle stood on one side, an imposing woman in her black robe. The scowl on her fleshy face and the intensity of her gaze seemed designed to intimidate anyone who might utter a lie in the Emperor’s presence.

  Roderick knew he needed to quash Josef Venport’s defiance before it was widely seen as a rebellion, but he had heard nothing yet from Vinson Roon … which added another knot of tension. By now the surprise strike force had surely attacked Kolhar. Perhaps the mop-up operations were taking longer than expected, but the General should have sent a courier back immediately. Directeur Venport had made no outraged announcements, nor were there any reports of a great space battle, nor had Venport sent gloating messages of victory, and the silence filled Roderick’s head with imagined disasters.

  If all went as planned, the force should have been more than sufficient to deal with VenHold defenses. If all went as planned.

  If Roon’s battle group had been defeated or captured, however, the damage to the Imperial Armed Forces would be severe. Those ships comprised a significant portion of Roderick’s home defenses, and he had gambled them in a surprise attack. It was as if the strike force had tumbled into a void in space.

  Roderick hated to feel helpless. As Emperor, he should be the most powerful man on countless worlds, but he was being pulled in opposite directions by Manford Torondo and Josef Venport, caught between the two dangerous extremes.

  How he had suffered because of those two men! Venport’s insatiable commercial ambitions had led to the murder of Roderick’s brother, while out-of-control Butlerian mobs had trampled his beautiful daughter to death. His sister had gone missing when Butlerians overthrew the Mentat School on Lampadas, and Manford Torondo was likely to blame, although the Butlerian leader flatly denied any knowledge of Anna’s fate. A lie? Probably, but there was no proof.

  Neither of those monstrous leaders accepted responsibility for the tragedies they had caused. In order to secure his rightful power and influence, Roderick needed to cancel out both extremes. How perfect it would be if Manford Torondo and Josef Venport could simply be induced to eliminate each other.…

  This scheduled court appearance was a distraction, but he knew that holding the fabric of government together required finesse as well as power, and the various nobles and businessmen needed access to their Emperor in order to keep peace in the highest ranks of society.

  Roderick leaned back on his throne and faced his visitors. This morning the supplicants were a colorful assortment from many planets. Some carried documents—petitions for him to review, or proposed changes in laws on their worlds. He noticed that Fielle listened carefully to each visitor, filing away her thoughts, which she would dispense in a later report to him. As his new Truthsayer, she seemed determined to be thorough.

  Roderick also listened to complaints, issuing his counsel, opinions, and judgments. He always tried to be fair-minded and respectful, graciously accepting the gifts they brought from distant worlds.

  Next in line came four rough-looking people, and something about them caught Roderick’s attention. The leader was tall and broad, a singularly unattractive woman with a rough face and curly black hair that was thin in patches. In contrast with her more ragtag companions, she wore a wondrous cape that had the form and movement of fabric, but shimmered like an alloy of metal and crystal. The cape captured distorted reflections of the chamber as it flowed, as if alive. Behind her, the woman’s companions carried a gilded chest, which had been thoroughly inspected by his guards.

  The bearers set the chest on the first step of the dais, and the leader bowed. “Sire, I am Korla of Corrin.” She smiled. “Yes, Corrin, where the thinking machines made their last stand against humanity. My people settled among the ruins to reclaim those once-glorious cities. Some call me the Queen of Trash, but my people have salvaged many unique and valuable materials.” She tugged on the marvelous, swirling cloak so that it created a hypnotic dance of colors. “This fine flowmetal cape is but one example.”

  Her companions opened the chest to reveal another cape inside. Korla removed it, held up the shimmering metallic garment, and Roderick leaned forward to see facets within facets, prisms within prisms, and an incredible array of shifting colors. The nearest courtiers gasped as they watched the spellbinding play of light and color, and Roderick smiled, knowing that Salvador would have been overjoyed.

  Pleased by the reaction, Korla took a step closer. “Sire, this cape is an item of salvaged flowmetal. It is my gift to you. Would you like to try it on?”

  The guards closed in, suspicious, but Roderick glanced at the Truthsayer, who was intent on Korla’s words, tone, and demeanor. “I sense no outright danger, Sire. She sincerely intends to honor you with this gift.”

  Roderick reached out to touch the cloak, feeling the slick, tingly metallic fabric. The Queen of Trash lowered her husky voice. “I have reason to believe this garment may once have been worn by the robot Erasmus himself.”

  The Emperor flinched at the name of one of the most monstrous villains in history and pulled back his hand. Then he remembered, and said, “I have seen historical images that show him wearing something similar.”

  Korla backed down to the main floor, and her companions began removing more objects from the open chest—metallic shapes, some smooth and bulky, others warped by the tremendous heat of a nuclear attack. “Even damaged, these are valuable artifacts, trophies from a vanquished enemy. As humanity’s leader, you should have them.” Korla draped the marvelous cape on top of the open chest.

  Many in the crowded audience chamber muttered, nervous to see relics of the abhorrent thinking machines. Roderick knew that when Manford Torondo learned about them, he would demand that the Emperor discard all the relics as unclean. His followers would insist that he purge them from the palace, and that Roderick himself undergo some kind of ritual cleansing.

  The thoughts brought a wave of anger to him. I am the Emperor. A group of fanatics cannot dictate my de
cisions. He smiled at the Queen of Trash. “You have indeed brought me fine gifts, Korla—reminders that we defeated the thinking machines, not the other way around.”

  Roderick dismissed her. Korla and her fellow scavengers backed away from the throne. Guards folded the flowmetal cape, handling it cautiously, and tucked it back inside the chest, which they carried away.…

  Hours later, when the visitors and courtiers had left, Roderick sat alone on the great throne, letting his thoughts wander out into the vastness of the Imperium. Fielle moved so subtly and silently that he was not aware that she had stepped closer. He saw great concern in her dark eyes. “You performed admirably today, Sire, but I noticed signs that you are troubled. I surmise that you are grappling with the intractable Butlerians? Or is it Venport’s rebellion?”

  Roderick scowled. “I can deal with the fanatics as soon as Venport is neutralized … but I fear something terrible has happened to General Roon’s strike force.” He slammed a fist down on the arm of the throne. “I had expected this to be over by now.”

  Fielle responded with an odd, knowing smile. “There may be another way to damage Directeur Venport, without a large military investment.” He looked at her, waiting for her to speak. “As I mentioned earlier, spice is his real vulnerability, Sire. He needs it not only for his commercial enterprises, but for the creation and sustenance of his Navigators. He continues his operations on Arrakis with impunity, even though you have an Imperial force there.”

  “That force is too small to be effective, and I am not in a position to prosecute a full-scale war on Arrakis.” Especially if Roon’s strike force is gone. “I’d like to know what’s really happening there, though. If Venport is expending all his resources to defend Kolhar, then does he have any vulnerabilities on Arrakis?” He feared, though, that the opposite was more likely the case—that Venport could divert his own military might and overthrow the Imperial forces. Spice, and that damned desert planet, had been at the root of this whole mess.

  “Arrakis has as many opportunities as vulnerabilities, Sire. I may have suggestions that could be useful.” Fielle gave him another peculiar, mysterious smile. “With your permission, let me look into the matter before giving you a firm recommendation. Never underestimate the eyes of the Sisterhood.” The woman bowed and left the throne room.

  The mind of a Mentat is no trivial thing.

  It can become a deadly weapon.

  —GILBERTUS ALBANS, late Headmaster of the Mentat School

  Erasmus noted a metallic ring to his voice as it emanated from the speakers on a custom tray attached to his memory core. “Be careful not to jostle me.” The system obviously needed adjusting.

  Dutifully, Anna carried his gelsphere through the large cymek assembly hangar. His memory core also had a new sensory module developed by Dr. Danebh and inspired by the work of Ptolemy, which could supposedly simulate all five human senses, though it was a poor substitute, and not at all the same as having his own body. Erasmus had been detached, inefficient, and helpless for too long.

  At first, Danebh’s new sensory module had worked passably well, but the distortions and exaggerated responses had grown progressively worse over the past several days. Now, each jarring move sent a resonating feedback of signals into his core.

  Anna sounded guilty. “I am so sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he replied, then added, “I appreciate your efforts.” The words had a soothing effect on her. He had become adept at intercepting potential emotional crises.

  “What else can I do, Erasmus? I want to help.”

  He had studied this young woman enough to know that she needed to help him, needed to be with him. Their relationship had come to define her existence. At first the idea had been interesting and gratifying, exactly as he had programmed her to be, but now it had become more of a challenge. He had made Anna this way, out of the wreckage of her mind, but he now realized he would have found an independent personality to be far more interesting. “Just locate Administrator Noffe so I can discuss my needs with him. Then we will go to my own laboratory, where conditions are better.”

  Danebh had designed the sensory module to keep Erasmus satisfied so that he would continue to provide the Denali researchers with exhaustive information. The robot had intended to do so in any case, to help destroy the Butlerian fanatics who had killed Gilbertus, but he did not mind bargaining for something he wanted.

  “This new module is inferior to anything that was available to me on Corrin. In particular, the simulated olfactory senses are extreme and distracting.” What he really wanted was a mobile and efficient new body. Perhaps even a biological one. And now it was time to ask.

  Anna wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the smells on Denali either. This building is not as well sealed as others. Stink leaks in from the outside air.”

  She was so easily distractible. He reminded her of her current task. “Have you found Administrator Noffe yet, Anna? It is important to me.”

  She turned around, searching among the busy scientists working on the machine walkers that were being readied for the major Lampadas strike. In the high bay, a matrix of elevated walkways granted workers access to the towering machines. Finally, she pointed to where technicians were accessing the connections inside an open armored fighting body.

  A smaller, dronelike walker carried Administrator Noffe’s brain canister so that he could observe the operations. The Tlulaxa Dr. Danebh worked with him, tinkering with a walker’s thoughtrode connections.

  “Take me up there,” Erasmus said. “The administrator can make the decision, and Danebh can advise.”

  Carrying the memory core on a special detachable tray, Anna boarded a lift platform that raised her to the secondary catwalk, where Danebh and Noffe were discussing adjustments to the thoughtrode linkages. Danebh looked up, and Noffe’s cymek form swiveled to focus on them.

  Erasmus said without preamble, “My sensory module suffers from flares, distortions, and feedback. The distractions make it difficult for me to ponder weapons concepts from the Synchronized Empire.”

  Noffe said, “Your information has already been valuable. We have sent your designs back to Kolhar for large-scale manufacturing.”

  “And I intend to provide even better information. I have many centuries of memories to impart, but my present form is no longer viable for optimal functionality. My memory core has been vulnerable for far too long. Therefore, I require something more appropriate from you—to benefit all of us.”

  Danebh looked at the exposed gelsphere and the array of enhanced sensors. “I can make some adjustments and build an armored case around your core.”

  “No need for that, Erasmus,” Anna interjected. “I’ll protect you.”

  “That is not good enough! I have been a vulnerable gelsphere for eight decades, listening to one excuse after another. If I am to continue my work, I require a physical form. Surely with all the technology available on Denali, you can provide me with a useful body.”

  “I would like Erasmus to have a body,” Anna added with building excitement. “I would like that very much.”

  Erasmus ignored her, as did Noffe and Danebh. The cymek administrator answered in his artificial voice, “I know the simulated sensations you have are far from adequate. Perhaps we could find a standard robot body, a combat mek or worker mek to accommodate your memory core. In that form, you would be more independent and able to conduct research much more efficiently.”

  “That would be an improvement, but still unsatisfactory.” Erasmus remembered when Gilbertus had given him a cumbersome old fighting robot to test, and Erasmus had been so ecstatic about the sensations that he’d ruined the machine body in the Lampadas swamps. “I prefer something more sophisticated than a robot body. I am entitled to it.” He directed his words to Dr. Danebh. “My primary body on Corrin was a marvelous flowmetal construction capable of expressions, full movement, sensitive responses to external stimuli. It would be too great a c
hallenge to re-create something similar here. However, I have observed Tlulaxa cloning abilities. Considering the limitations, a biological tank-grown body would be my preference—a human form at long last.”

  Anna’s surprise was so uncontrolled that she jostled his tray, but the sphere remained secure. She exclaimed: “That would be wonderful!”

  Erasmus wanted to feel human, truly human. For so many centuries, studying the species had been his obsession, and that journey of understanding had also been frustrating. He only had an inkling of what it meant to be a mortal person. He could not quite grasp all the nuances, and the gaps in his understanding were maddening, yet he kept his voice calm. “I would find it appropriate and useful.”

  Danebh’s eyes narrowed as he considered the question. “My own specialty is the interface between man and machine, thoughtrodes connecting a human mind to artificial components. It is all based on Dr. Ptolemy’s work. A machine memory core with a biological body … Combining the two would be quite a challenge, but Ptolemy could offer his assistance.”

  Administrator Noffe moved his little mechanical cart. “My brain was removed from my damaged body, and my situation is much improved now. I can connect to any mechanical form I like. Is it possible to link a robot mind to a human body? All the nerves, the tissues, the muscle control…”

  Smiling, Anna pressed her face closer to his gelsphere. She sounded warm and sincere. “I enjoy talking with your memory core, but I would rather have you. In the flesh.”

  As he pondered the question, Danebh began talking quickly. “It will not be simple, but the principle is sound. The gelsphere contains an extremely sophisticated mind. When a clone body is grown in a tank, it is a blank slate, an empty cellular structure. I see no fundamental reason why a pristine brain can’t be replaced by the gelsphere.” He smiled. “Yes, it might be done. Let me consider how we might implement such a procedure.”