Each day a young man, nearly her age, set up a workbench nearby, where he could listen to her. He was surrounded by the fumes of lacquer and turpentine as he built handcrafted balisets, which he also played to test them. He flashed Tula a smile whenever she turned her attention toward him.
She didn’t want to encourage him, didn’t want to use the Sisterhood’s psychological manipulation and seduction techniques she’d mastered in order to make herself irresistible—regrettably—to Orry Atreides. Tula could easily have enticed the young baliset maker into her bed, but the very thought formed a knot in her stomach. She concentrated on her own music instead.
The young man finally identified himself as Liem Valjean. “Your instrument is in tune, but if you adjust the flywheel, the tone will be richer. I think you have a slightly defective one.” He asked if he could see her baliset, and checked the pegs securing the strings, repaired and balanced the flywheel, and then began to play the instrument.
He was highly skilled, and the music he evoked was far superior to her own. When he offered to instruct her, she hesitated for only a moment. Liem was not her mission; she didn’t need to spy on him, seduce, or slay him. On the other hand, aside from Danvis, she could not think of anyone she even considered a friend. And a friend was what she desperately needed.
She played her baliset as he watched and listened. At first she picked out a sad song, and then she decided to play something livelier and more cheerful, one that Liem seemed to like better, as did she.
Allies can have different priorities. Some may be focused on personal gain, while others seek revenge. As for me, I am driven by my own destiny. That is my priority.
—DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, speech before dispatching the Venport Holdings fleet
As Josef strode across the field of Navigators, his thoughts were awhirl with his decision. He could no longer just sit back, gather his defenses, and wait for the Emperor to come to his senses; Roderick Corrino had forced him to go on the offensive.
Overhead, Kolhar’s midday sun was a bright spot trying to burn through the clouds. Josef stewed as he walked among the sealed tanks, smelling the sharp odor of vented spice. The candidates inside squirmed with their horrific transformation, but he was preoccupied with his own problems.
Josef had never considered himself a revolutionary, nor had he harbored any aspirations to overthrow the Imperial throne, but the Emperor had changed the rules. Damn the man! Rather than focusing on their mutual enemy, the dangerous Butlerians, Roderick’s pointless vendetta made collaboration impossible. By proving that he intended to destroy Venport Holdings at any cost, by showing that he wanted to ruin Josef and erase his legacy, Roderick demonstrated that he would never compromise or negotiate of his own free will.
So, Josef would make him negotiate—or he would crush the Emperor entirely. He needed to assume a position of overwhelming strength and finish the matter on his own terms. Roderick Corrino would either be reasonable, or else he would be replaced.
Josef peered through the murky plaz of a nearby tank to see a figure adrift inside, its eyes closed, as if at peace with the universe. But he drew no insight there, and moved on up the slope to the midst of the tanks.
Understanding the crisis in her own esoteric way, Norma Cenva had contacted her Navigators, who brought their scattered ships from across the Imperium, one by one, and waited to launch for Salusa Secundus. Cioba and Draigo oversaw the preparations while Josef came out here to contemplate. His ships would overwhelm the Imperial capital soon enough.
As a matter of tactics, the foldspace carrier holding Admiral Harte’s hostage Imperial battle group would remain here as leverage. Josef liked to have plenty of options. A third of his VenHold ships would also stay behind to protect Kolhar, just in case the Emperor’s bank seizure was a ploy to provoke him into leaving his headquarters vulnerable.
“You have to prepare for that possibility, my husband,” Cioba had advised him. “Emperor Roderick may have plans within plans.”
“I agree with your caution,” Josef had said, “but I am skeptical that he has the military resources for a full-scale, two-pronged attack. In fact, all the ships in his Imperial Armed Forces can’t defend Salusa Secundus against us.”
He was counting on that. His forces would lay siege to Salusa, and when the Emperor was put in his place, Josef would graciously give him everything back, provided concessions were achieved. Business as usual in the Imperium, efficient and profitable—that was all Josef wanted, but he could not let Roderick’s foolish political or personal decisions cause further disruption.
Draigo Roget had completed another rushed trip to Denali, returning with a foldspace carrier that held the thirty-one new cymeks, their warrior forms tucked away in the hold, ready to be dropped on Salusa Secundus—a terrifying threat from the past that should result in Zimia’s immediate surrender.
Standing among the Navigator tanks, Josef turned to look back toward his main base of operations, where he could see two of the towering warrior forms marching in the distance—Noffe and Ptolemy. The rest of the Navigator brains remained in orbit, ready to be deployed once they arrived at Salusa, but these two seemed very restless.
Norma’s dais was empty, because his great-grandmother had already transported herself to the Navigator deck of the VenHold flagship. She was ready to go to Salusa, ready to end the chaos that disturbed her Navigators. The hidden spice stockpile on Arrakis ensured stability, but the political unrest imperiled their continued prosperity.
The two cymeks marched toward him, covering a great distance with their long strides. Noffe’s simulated voice came through his comm as they approached, “Directeur Venport, Ptolemy and I wish to speak with you.”
“I am here,” he said as the huge machines picked their way across the field. “Take care not to damage the Navigator tanks.”
“We are quite agile in our walker forms,” Ptolemy said as the machines stepped gracefully among the transformation chambers. Since Norma’s tank was gone, the top of the rise was clear, providing room for them to meet. Josef was not intimidated by the mechanical warriors. He could see the preservation canister connected to each body core, with thoughtrode linkages that allowed the brains to direct the complex mechanisms. Optical sensors swiveled to focus down on him as he looked up at the two cymeks, hands on his hips.
Noffe’s simulated voice said, “We have devoted our minds and skills to making you strong, Directeur Venport. That is the reason for Denali’s existence. You brought us together because we all have the same incentive. We all hate Manford Torondo.”
“We need to see the Butlerians defeated,” said Ptolemy. “Noffe and I are concerned about using our completed cymeks to attack the Imperial capital. That is not why we were designed, and the Emperor is not our principal enemy. It is a distraction. We are not interested in political squabbles or dynastic challenges. We are anxious to attack Lampadas in full force. Not Salusa.”
Josef faced them, annoyed. He had far more serious complications than coddling his cymeks and research scientists. But even though he wanted to tell them to fall back and do as they were told, because he made all the important decisions, he suppressed a harsh comment.
Instead, he said, “Lampadas will be our next target, I promise you—but the Emperor has provoked this immediate action. My company has to survive, or there will be no further attacks on the barbarians. Unless we can regain access to our financial assets, we won’t be able to finish building our cymek army.” He smiled. “In the meantime, once they see how easily our new cymeks overthrow Salusa Secundus, how can the Butlerians not shiver in terror, knowing they will be next?”
The two warrior forms raised themselves higher. Body turrets swiveled, then turned the optical sensors back toward him. “Very well, Directeur,” said Noffe. “We will help you take over the Imperial capital.”
Ptolemy added, “And then we attack Lampadas.”
The walkers marched back to the landing field, where Josef’s military preparatio
ns continued.
The most blessed gift I can give is to correct the error of a person’s ways and guide him onto the proper path.
—MANFORD TORONDO, private consultation with Anari Idaho
After the overthrow, the Mentat School had been cleansed and restructured to Manford’s liking, and the Butlerian leader was proud of the accomplishment. Zendur, the school’s deputy administrator who had served under the traitorous Headmaster Albans, was weak, terrified, and easily manipulated. Therefore, Manford considered him the perfect person to fill the position.
Even before the overthrow of the institution, many Mentat students had been Butlerian followers, and the rest were being properly reeducated now. In the aftermath of the siege, the school complex had been rebuilt and fortified along the shore of the marsh lake. The buildings were connected by wooden platforms, atop pilings driven deep into the soft soil. The ornate roof arches and walkways linking one structure to the next gave the complex the appearance of serenity, an elite academy dedicated to human contemplation. From now on, that contemplation would consist only of orthodox ideas.
As Anari Idaho brought him to inspect the new facility, Manford saw that Headmaster Zendur was a broken, nervous man. Despite being a Mentat, the administrator seemed unable to extrapolate his own situation and put it in the proper context. Zendur had been trained by Headmaster Albans and was therefore suspect, but for now, at least, he would serve as interim manager over a carefully prepared curriculum, with students rigorously selected on the basis of their philosophical beliefs, rather than mental acuity.
For Manford loyalty was primary; everything else was secondary.
When Zendur came out to meet them, he pressed his hands together and bowed deeply. Manford had no doubt that this school would be exactly as expected, and this inspection visit was merely a pro forma exercise. The replacement Headmaster and the remaining Mentat students had learned their lesson. They understood that their role was to calculate and advise, not to lead some kind of thought-revolution.
Carrying Manford in her shoulder harness, Anari strode along the wooden walkways. Beside them, Zendur babbled about the new classes, the progress of the students, and even the survival-training sessions out in the swamps. Their footwear made noises on the wood.
“Has there been any sign of Anna Corrino yet?” Manford interrupted. “Any hint as to how she escaped? Any remnant of her body?”
“No to all that, Leader Torondo,” said Zendur, “but she never was a strong girl. If she fled into the swamps, there is no chance she survived.”
“You understand probabilities, Mentat, so you know there is always a chance, however infinitesimal it might be. Emperor Roderick fears that I had something to do with her disappearance. If I can return Anna Corrino to him, then I will secure his gratitude and cooperation, which is something I need.”
Anari made a dissonant noise. “We didn’t need Emperor Salvador as our ally. We simply made him do as we asked.”
“Roderick is different from his brother,” Manford said, but because Zendur was listening, he didn’t add his own concerns about how difficult it would be to manipulate or bully the new Emperor. Roderick saw through Butlerian strategies in ways that Salvador never had.
In a clear snub, the new Emperor had pointedly not invited Manford to his coronation. With Anna gone missing during the Butlerian siege of the Mentat School, as well as Roderick’s young daughter killed by an out-of-control mob during a rampage festival, the Emperor had sufficient cause to turn against their movement … or worse, join forces with Directeur Venport to eradicate him and his followers. Manford had been very concerned.
But then a miracle had happened when Venport was revealed to be the man behind Salvador’s assassination! The vile business mogul had become an outlaw, hated by Roderick, and this political shift gave Manford and his Butlerians a chance to regain ground.
From his perch on Anari’s shoulders, he asked the new Headmaster, “How many of your Mentats are trained well enough to be put into service? I need at least two to accompany us to Salusa Secundus.”
Zendur stammered, calculated, and nodded. “I have what you require.”
“Good. We will take them to the Imperial Palace as a gift to the Emperor. My followers on Salusa will help me cement a new position for our movement. We can provide Roderick Corrino with whatever he needs, and with a sufficient show of force, we will keep him on the straight and narrow path.”
Those without a true sense of history fail to see how volatile and transient human leadership is, even on the scale of empires. When viewed from the perspective of a mere lifetime, we tend to see our governmental structures as permanent and unchangeable. This is entirely false.
—FAYKAN CORRINO I, first Emperor after the Butlerian Jihad
Inside her tank on the Navigator deck of the VenHold flagship, Norma waved a webbed hand. “We are ready to depart. My Navigators will guide us to Salusa Secundus.” She drifted. “I am anxious to restore stability to the Imperium.”
Josef paced on the bridge beside her. He stared out at his orbiting spacefolders—more than three hundred of them. “I have no doubt our fleet will arrive flawlessly, thanks to you, Grandmother, and we will quickly overwhelm the Imperial defenses. Soon this will all be over. Does your prescience foresee an easy victory? We certainly have the military advantage.”
Norma floated away from the plaz wall of her tank. “My prescience sees many possibilities around Salusa Secundus. I cannot say which one will become real.”
Without giving further details, she used her own control to activate the Holtzman engines, and Josef could feel the hull pulsing as the energy built up. The Navigators aboard the other ships coordinated their moves, and Josef quickly held on, bracing himself. All three hundred vessels vanished simultaneously into foldspace.
Disoriented during the passage, he clenched his fist, sucked in his breath. He wished Cioba could be at his side, but needed her to guard Kolhar as well as manage the commercial activities of Venport Holdings in his absence. Business went on. Despite the bank seizure, hundreds of his trading ships continued to travel throughout the Imperium illicitly delivering vital supplies—especially melange.
With their financial assets frozen, VenHold was crippled in conducting regular operations, but he would resolve the situation quickly and aggressively. Once the Emperor saw the enormous force arrayed against Salusa, he would have only one rational solution available to him, and Josef counted on him being a rational man: that was the gamble he had made all along, although Roderick had certainly disappointed him so far.
Guided by Norma and her Navigators, Josef’s well-armed ships reappeared in a tight cluster high above the capital planet. Knowing the amount of space traffic around Salusa, Norma had intentionally brought them to the upper fringe of the primary orbital lanes, where the VenHold ships need not worry about colliding with the bustle of governmental and commercial vessels. Nevertheless, it was a show of force that could not be denied.
At their stations, the VenHold crewmembers on the Navigator deck breathed a sigh of relief. “We are in a safe position for battle, Directeur. All VenHold vessels present and accounted for. Weapons ready.”
“They’ve seen us, sir!”
On the wide screen Josef saw the orbiting Salusan ships suddenly move erratically, like fish stirred in a bowl. He smiled. “Of course they have. That is our intent.” He would let them see and absorb the sheer military might he had brought with him—the biggest stick in the Imperium.
“Will you be addressing the people, Directeur?” asked the comm officer.
Josef placed his hands behind his back and walked slowly away from Norma’s tank. “Not yet. I want to give them time to think about the power we have brought to bear on them. Let them feel the crisis in their bones before I deliver my ultimatum to Roderick Corrino.”
From the bridge of one of the adjacent spacefolders, Draigo Roget reported. “The Emperor’s defensive fleet appears to be even smaller than anticipated, D
irecteur—no more than a hundred warships—and none of them a match for ours. What happened to all the rest? Our earlier intelligence suggested another full strike force here, but those ships are not in sight.”
Josef was concerned. “Are they otherwise deployed?”
“I cannot make that projection, sir,” the Mentat said.
Josef looked at the flurry of orbital activity, the trading and diplomatic vessels trying to escape while the greatly outnumbered Imperial military ships scrambled to form a defensive line. “Send no transmissions just yet. The Emperor will demand to know why I have come, and then he’ll ask for my terms.” He had decided that Roderick should bare his throat in some way, to prove that he understood where the true power lay. “And then he will surrender, but it’ll just be a formality. Afterward, we can put all this behind us.”
Anyone could see that the VenHold fighting force could overwhelm the Salusan defenses, should they choose to do so—and the Emperor would not dare let this turn into an all-out, bloody space battle. But Roderick had demonstrated a recent penchant for stubbornness and irrationality.…
Josef was ready to fight—decisively—if necessary. And take the capital. “Launch our cymeks,” he said.
Landing pods fell out of the lower hold of the Denali spacefolder, dropping into the atmosphere like precisely guided meteors. Josef watched them streak down, knowing the fear that such immense and powerful machines would evoke.
“General Agamemnon and his cymek Titans attacked Salusa repeatedly during the war against the thinking machines,” Norma said from her Navigator tank. “Now we are the invaders sending in cymeks.”
He could not tell if her voice contained irony. “I regret the necessity, Grandmother, but it is the swiftest solution. Such a threat will make them tremble—and concede.”
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