Modoc prepared his fighters as the worms reached the line of rocks. They guided the first creature toward a once-narrow defile that VenHold engineers had widened for access. As the worm approached, four demolition experts leaped off its back, carrying explosive packs. They landed on the sand and rolled, then rushed to the safety of rock, where they implanted the powerful canisters.
Inside the former sietch, VenHold security forces sounded emergency alarms and brought their weapons to bear on the intruders, but the desert commandos planted their bombs and slipped away into openings in the rugged rock formation. The nearly simultaneous blasts sent columns of fire and smoke into the sky, triggering a sustained rumble of avalanches as the cliff walls fell—widening the gateway to the desert.
Modoc drove his worm forward into the breach, and the other six followed. He knew how much spice wealth was contained inside the vaults, and though he had struggled with possibilities for more profit, he could not find a way that he and his people could seize it all for themselves and sell it back to the Imperium.
Emperor Roderick had ordered him to destroy Venport’s stockpile. He remembered a Zensunni proverb, “What is stolen once can be stolen again, but what is destroyed is gone forever.” They would take what they could, carrying it in packs on their backs as they fled, but they had to move swiftly through the desert.
As the behemoths plunged through the enlarged passageway into the sheltered basin, Modoc and his fighters were ready to let the collective Shai-Hulud do the destruction for them. These worms were a weapon against which Venport’s mercenary fighters could not defend.
The sandworms surged into the enclosed rocky arena fronting a curvature of cliffs that held the protected spice bank. Choosing their time carefully, the desert people slid down the crusty worm segments, dismounted, and raced toward the most protected rocks.
Venport’s mercenary force opened fire, cutting down some of the Freemen. Modoc saw ten of his fighters fall, but that was unavoidable. They were all heroes.
As the worms smashed into anything within reach, the Freemen dropped additional explosive packs along the bases of the cliffs, bigger ones this time, with activated timers.
Venport’s defenders didn’t have a chance.
Knowing what was to come, Modoc and his fighters jogged away and took shelter just before the additional explosions went off. A thunderous series of blasts shook the rocks and weakened the cliff faces. Trapped within the enclosed rock walls, the worms became thrashing, violent battering rams.
Modoc and his commandos backed off to watch the destruction, letting the sandworms do most of the work for them. The behemoths hammered themselves against the cliffs, breaking down the caves and crushing anything that moved. The Freemen would wait until the fury had run its course, with the sietch devastated, and then they would set new explosives to release the trapped sandworms from their enclosure, hoping all of them survived. He convinced himself that they would; it would take a lot more than rock walls to destroy Shai-Hulud.
After letting the worms out, the Freemen would slip in to kill any surviving defenders that hid in the deep tunnels. They would take all the water and blood they liked, and their treasure in spice would be far more than they could carry.
When Modoc took his people back to the new sietch, he wouldn’t even have to embellish the story of what had happened to make this day one of the most legendary in the history of his tribe.
To negotiate, both parties must want something that is tangible and compatible. If one party wishes only the destruction of the other, no solution can exist.
—Landsraad League records, Salusan proceedings
The Emperor, besieged in Zimia, remained at a frozen standoff with the VenHold ships in orbit. The threatening cymeks loomed at the edge of the city, and the invaders held Roderick’s military ships at gunpoint. The Emperor had failed to respond to Josef Venport’s demand for surrender, but he would have to answer the ultimatum soon.
Roderick knew the Directeur could crush them and take over Zimia whenever he pleased. Venport had superior shields, newer and more powerful weapons … and three times as many ships. Roderick could see that he had lost; all that remained was to minimize the number of casualties.
But he would not just relinquish the Imperial throne!
Although the Directeur seemed to be in no hurry, his patience could be wearing thin. His next transmission was more gruff than the previous one. “I still await your response, Roderick Corrino. We have wasted enough time on the inevitable, and the Imperium needs to be set back on course. I require your immediate surrender. My terms will be reasonable—if you are reasonable.”
Inside the armored underground command center, Roderick clenched his fists, but did not transmit. “How can I negotiate with that man?”
His wife and children had been brought into the deep bunker. If he surrendered, would Venport kill his whole family anyway? Just to clean the slate?
Roderick had to find some way to drive back the cymek monstrosities and orbiting warships, but the invaders were more powerful than any forces he could rally. Should he order them to fight anyway? A suicide mission, for honor and glory if not victory? But if he incited an outright shooting war, his own people and his military would be cut to ribbons. And then what would the cymeks do to Zimia?
Would the people even fight and die for him?
Did he have any alternative but the surrender Venport demanded?
“The Director has shown unexpected restraint,” Haditha pointed out, without reminding him that she had advised Roderick to negotiate sooner, before they reached such an impasse. Too late for that now. “That means he wants something other than just to kill you. He knows, and we all know, he could smash into the palace and seize your throne.”
Roderick narrowed his eyes. “Is that what he really wishes? That man repeatedly claimed that he has no desire to be Emperor. So what does he want?” He realized the irony that he had never wanted to be Emperor either, but the Directeur, through his own machinations, had placed Roderick on the throne.
Haditha continued to sound calm beside him. “As a businessman, Directeur Venport’s overriding goal is to restore stability so he can build his commercial empire. He could devastate Salusa Secundus, but that would harm him as well. It would be a poor business decision, unpopular with the nobles. That is his weak spot and your advantage. Find some alternative that he will tolerate, a concession you can give. He will insist that you make some kind of gesture just to prove that he’s won. Maybe that will be enough.”
“What alternative could satisfy him without destroying me or the Imperium? Will it be enough for me to surrender publicly, and then he will withdraw? But if I surrender to him, even as just a formality, my ability to rule will be forever broken. The Landsraad nobles would see me as weak and defeated, and they will tear me to pieces. I could no longer serve as Emperor, and it would render the throne impotent for generations.” Roderick stared down at his hands, then looked into the concerned eyes of his beautiful wife.
There had to be some way to save face, to salvage the desperate situation. Roderick paced the shielded bunker. Without question, Salvador had been maddening and foolish, making so many bad decisions that Roderick spent much of his time mitigating them. Countless other advisers had whispered about the need to remove Salvador from the throne. But he was my brother.
His three children were wide eyed and frightened. He turned to his son. The twelve-year-old Crown Prince Javicco had been raised to fill his role as the next Emperor, although he was still too young to fully grasp what that meant.
Then Roderick realized that it wasn’t so much the Imperium at stake, but his rule. He was the one whom Venport needed to defeat, not the Landsraad League, not the throne itself. It was personal … because Roderick had made it that way.
Maybe only a personal solution would be acceptable.
He kept his voice low. “I can transfer the throne to Javicco to preserve the Corrino dynasty—set him up with a stable r
ule and let me take the fall. I may even have to sacrifice my life.”
“No!” Haditha cried out.
“Maybe I don’t have to die. In any event, I don’t mind being the scapegoat, as long as the Directeur raises no impediments to Javicco’s reign, and so long as the Landsraad League fully supports our son.” He stared hard at Haditha. “I can offer that as an alternative to Venport. He will see that it would be a far easier transition than asking the Imperium to accept a usurper. Unless he wants years of civil war in the Landsraad, he will see that it’s a viable option. A good business decision. He’ll have gotten rid of me, and that’s what he wants.”
On the comm, Directeur Venport was transmitting again, demanding the Emperor’s response. Roderick focused on his own decision, ignoring what he was hearing.
Javicco stared, confused and overwhelmed by the suggestion, but Roderick knew he had to do this. Before Haditha could argue, he raised his hand. “Commander Aliki, open a comm channel and tell Directeur Venport that I will present myself to him to discuss the matter.”
Aliki was appalled. “Don’t do that, Sire! He will kill you, just as he assassinated your brother.”
“He had Salvador killed for entirely different reasons. I have to hope that he is more interested in stability than in revenge.” Roderick squeezed his son’s shoulder. “For my family’s sake.”
Haditha did not like the option. “If Javicco takes the throne, Venport will insist on appointing his own regent to oversee him. Our son will be no more than a puppet.”
“But a Corrino would still hold the throne. He’d be alive—and you and I might be as well.” He hardened his voice. “We still have many allies in the Landsraad. A throne that is overthrown once can be overthrown again. It can be retaken.”
As Aliki grudgingly followed orders, Roderick drew a breath, as if this could inject clarity into his decision. He composed himself and reached forward to activate the comm response. No sense in delaying longer.
Before he could speak, though, his sensor technicians shouted, peering closer at their screens. The staff generals rushed forward to inspect the broader view of the Salusan system. Screens suddenly displayed a flurry of new blips arriving in space.
Aliki couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Sire, more than a hundred large warships just appeared out of foldspace! They seem to be old-model spacefolders, but they are fully equipped battleships.”
Roderick felt as if his breath had been snatched away. “Venport’s reinforcements? Does he wish to grind his boot-heel down even harder?”
A transmission came across all channels, bold and loud. “Emperor Roderick, it appears you need assistance.”
The face of Manford Torondo, a man as reviled as Josef Venport, appeared on the screen. “I brought my loyal Butlerian forces to join you in an alliance for humanity’s future. ‘The mind of man is holy.’ I pledge all these ships against the demon Venport and his machine-loving army.” He smiled. “We are ready to fight beside you.”
Enemies and allies are like planets whirling in a complex solar system. Sometimes they align, sometimes their orbits intersect … and sometimes they collide, with devastating consequences.
—NORMA CENVA, recorded conversations, subcategory: Spacing Guild
On the Navigator deck of his flagship, Josef felt the tension build as the standoff continued. Why did Roderick refuse to respond? What was he waiting for? The Imperial defenders over Salusa were afraid to open fire, because they knew they would be destroyed by retaliatory strikes. The giant cymeks under Josef’s control stood on the outskirts of Zimia, ready to be unleashed. It was only a matter of time.
He didn’t want to devastate the capital city: the people would hate him, and there would be disastrous financial consequences, as well as historical ignominy for Josef. But the Emperor was taking his damned time even acknowledging his defeat! If Roderick backed down, restored VenHold finances, and erased the charges against Josef, this could all be over.
Josef transmitted with an edge to his voice, “There’s no need for us to be on opposing sides, Roderick Corrino. If you are the man I believe you are, then you’ll want to do what’s best for all of humanity. We must discuss terms.”
Before the cowering Emperor could answer, though, alarms blared on the Navigator deck as another fleet appeared out of nowhere. Josef’s subcommanders responded with confusion, and he ran to the nearest screen to see a group of spacefolder warships—nearly 140. He blinked, unable to process all the signal blips on the tactical projections. “Where did they come from? Who are they?”
“Antique models, Directeur,” Draigo transmitted after only an instant of assessment. “They date back to the Army of the Jihad.”
When magnification displayed the enhanced images, Josef felt a chill, followed by a hot surge of anger. The garish and ominous symbol of the Butlerian movement was painted on the hulls: a black human fist clenched around a red machine gear.
The loathsome Manford Torondo suddenly appeared on the comm channels, broadcasting to all of Salusa Secundus, as if he were some sort of a holy savior. He offered his assistance to the besieged Emperor.
Now the reason became clear—Roderick had been waiting for this, playing for time!
Josef was outraged. This unexpected force of Butlerian warships changed the balance of the conflict. Even with their inferior weapons and shields, the extra 140 warships joined with the Imperial defense fleet made the odds more even. And the reckless fanatics were willing to fight in suicidal fashion, which made them far more dangerous.
No wonder Roderick had dithered and remained incommunicado! This must have been a trick. Josef felt another twist of betrayal. Had the Emperor’s demonstrably weak Salusan force merely been bait to lure Josef’s ships here and trap them? So that VenHold would think they had an assured victory?
“Roderick couldn’t possibly have known about our siege,” Josef said. “And the savages could never have responded from Lampadas in time.”
“Manford does not have Navigators,” said Norma, sounding distracted inside her tank. She did not even acknowledge the arrival of the Butlerians. “But I sense another emergency elsewhere.…” She placed her splayed hands against the windowport. Her distorted face was filled with alarm. “An emergency I cannot ignore—”
Even before the half-Manford had finished speaking, Josef shouted to his command crew. “Prepare for immediate attack.”
He knew Roderick also hated Manford, blaming the fanatical leader for the murder of his daughter and the disappearance of his sister. A rational man would never ally himself with such a monster as Manford Torondo.
“The spice!” Norma cried in an eerie voice. “It is in danger!”
But Josef was focused on the immediate space battle threatening them. “I will see that your Navigators get spice, Grandmother. We have more important matters right now.” He turned to his tactical officer for an answer.
“We still outnumber them, Directeur. And our warships are superior in every way.”
Manford Torondo, though, didn’t seem to care. The Butlerian forces raced pell-mell into the already crowded Salusan orbit. What could one expect from a pack of wild humans? Watching their clumsy and frantic maneuvers, Josef flashed a harsh grin. If he decimated the Butlerians right here, that would take care of another one of his problems.
“Then let’s demonstrate our superiority. Cut them to pieces!”
* * *
ON THE BRIDGE of the main Butlerian ship, Anari Idaho stood beside Manford’s custom chair. She gripped her sword, which was of no use in a space battle, but she held it like a talisman. She also possessed a great deal of tactical and strategic expertise, thanks to her training on Ginaz. Manford relied on her.
Propped upright in his specially modified chair, he stared at the screens. He had never expected to find Venport here, but this was an extraordinary opportunity, although the battle would cost him a great many ships. A worthwhile sacrifice, however. A satisfied smile crossed his face. “This is a
miracle. Once we save Emperor Roderick, he will be beholden to us.”
“We can defeat the machine lovers.” Anari was utterly confident. “They may have better ships, but we have superior souls. Destiny is on our side.”
Manford’s antiquated warships soared forward, opening fire often before the gunners had acquired locks on their targets. The front ranks were merely cannon fodder, a vanguard filled with those who had already volunteered to be martyr soldiers.
With immense pride, Manford watched his ships move forward, saw how the VenHold vessels had entwined themselves like a cancer around the far-outnumbered Imperial Armed Forces. He had flown here from Lampadas on a mission of his own, so he had no idea how long the demon Venport had besieged Salusa, but Manford would smash that siege now—even if it cost him most of his fleet and many dead.
It would be worth the price. He could always find more converts. In fact, seeing the bravery of his Butlerian fighters, many witnesses on Salusa would join the movement, and his ranks would swell more than enough to make up for the losses.
Assuming that Manford survived—and he had no doubt he would, by God’s graces—he would insist that the grateful Emperor provide him with more warships so the Butlerians could continue the fight until Venport and his machine-loving comrades were eradicated and humanity’s soul was pure again.
“‘The mind of man is holy,’” he whispered.
“‘The mind of man is holy,’” Anari intoned. On the bridge, the rest of his followers responded in kind.
The Butlerian ships drove forward to what would surely be a titanic clash. Manford narrowed his gaze and watched as the expendable vessels reached orbit and opened fire in eerie silence. When the VenHold battleships retaliated, Manford could see that his followers were in for a bloodbath.
* * *
EMBOLDENED, THE IMPERIAL defense forces also opened fire as Josef’s fleet engaged the oncoming Butlerians. One of the orbiting Imperial ships shot at a nearby VenHold vessel. The defensive shields held and damage was minimal … but the equally brash VenHold captain responded without orders—and vaporized the Imperial ship.
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