Navigators of Dune
Page 37
But Josef had killed one irrational fanatic only to be betrayed by another. It was time to reassess, and take an entirely different tack.
His remaining ships orbited high above the poisonous atmosphere of Denali. Josef’s throat felt raw from shouting his outrage, and even his Mentat remained silent now, internally making projections, trying to find some alternate way to recapture the lost prominence of Venport Holdings. Josef ransacked his own mind, because he’d always been able to find solutions. But he came up empty now.
Norma Cenva swam in the orange gas inside her tank, showing agitation. “My prescience is flawed—I did not see the attack coming. Now its shock waves clamor in my mind. My Navigators … so many harmed or killed! We must protect spice operations on Arrakis. The Emperor will seek to seize them.”
As Roderick understood the magnitude of the VenHold setback, he would indeed move against the defensive forces on the desert planet. That was what Salvador had tried to do in the first place, and he had died in the attempt.
He nodded grimly. “You are correct, Grandmother. Without spice, and without our Navigators, I could never rebuild Venport Holdings.” He turned to Draigo. “Mentat, tally our remaining assets, and determine how much more we can spare to protect Arrakis. Send what we can to guard the spice—everything that is not absolutely vital to our survival here. I will not let him have the melange. So long as we don’t lose Arrakis, I can make VenHold strong again.”
“Protect my Navigators,” Norma said from her tank. “Protect the spice.”
The Mentat offered his assessment. “I propose we send half of our functional warships to stand firm at Arrakis.”
“Won’t that leave Denali vulnerable?”
“We will still keep fifty ships here, but the secrecy of this installation is its greatest shield.”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s the best move.”
The Directeur had always recognized that business itself was a war. He had fought many commercial battles and vanquished countless opponents. Now, with the faintest of smiles, he remembered capturing the Thonaris Shipyards from his shipping rival Celestial Transport.
Now Josef had sustained one massive defeat after another. Was he to blame? Was it due to his own hubris, his own extreme pride? His financial assets had been stolen by the Emperor, and Norma herself had blocked an easy victory at Salusa Secundus in a failed attempt to save the spice bank on Arrakis. Even so, Josef had agreed to do as the Emperor asked, destroying the Butlerian savages, only to lose even more in the process when the Imperial forces turned against him.
Now that he had time to reflect, Josef saw how he’d been the Emperor’s pawn. Roderick had cleverly pitted Venport Holdings against the Butlerians, letting them tear each other apart, which left House Corrino as the true victor. He needed only to finish off whatever remained after the battle of Lampadas.
Trying to look at the situation objectively—which was not at all easy under the circumstances—Josef could almost admire the man’s adept planning and execution. But this was not over, not yet.
Nevertheless, he still felt unsettling concerns, and his mind kept imagining ways that Roderick could still harm him. Denali was secure, hidden, and protected—but even so.…
“No one knows of this planet’s existence,” Josef said. “But we can’t be too confident. Admiral Harte has access to the wreckage of VenHold ships lost in Lampadas orbit. The Emperor’s experts could comb through them, scour the foldspace records, study the automated logs, our security measures.” He locked gazes with the Mentat. “Somewhere among all those clues, what if he discovers the location of Denali?”
Draigo remained silent as his sophisticated thought processes churned through the available data. “The Emperor does have Mentats of his own.” Finally, he nodded. “That is a valid concern, Directeur. We should prepare for the worst. It is short of a certainty, but the Emperor’s forces may still be coming.”
Uneasy, Josef issued orders for all personnel to repair his remaining ships, salvaging weapons systems, rebuilding Holtzman engines and shields. He had to get ready for his next move … as soon as he figured out what that would be.
* * *
THE DENALI SCIENTISTS were stunned to hear about the defeat of all the cymeks and the deaths of Ptolemy and Noffe. In an emergency meeting, Josef summoned his lead researchers so they could inventory the defenses available, should Denali be attacked. The Tlulaxa researchers, who had done such an excellent job growing a biological body for Erasmus, were pleased with the breakthroughs they had achieved over the years, but could offer nothing on a scale that might stand against an Imperial assault of the planet.
Josef assigned Draigo to manage the scientists and inventory the projects under way in the research domes. Except for a handful of patrol machines left behind, the cymek army had been destroyed, and the Directeur’s instructions were to focus only on the projects with the best destructive potential.
The Emperor might well be coming.
Denali’s recent efforts had been devoted to developing and building the Navigator cymeks—a brute-force army designed to combat the primitive Butlerians on Lampadas, not to fight a well-organized Imperial space fleet. Now, the research teams scrambled to find a way to protect this facility. On another occasion, Josef would have been glad to see them so motivated. This time, however, it was desperation, and he didn’t like the feeling.
An eager Erasmus approached Josef, offering to help. “May I review the battle images transmitted by the cymeks?”
Josef gave him a curious, skeptical look. “Why would that be relevant? We lost all the cymeks on Lampadas, and have only a few cymeks left here, not enough to stand against the Imperial Armed Forces.”
The robot regarded him with his new biological eyes. “I wish to observe the massacre because I saw the Butlerians execute Headmaster Albans, my friend and former ward. I would find it inspirational to watch them die.”
“I understand completely.” Josef granted Erasmus full access to the laboratories and support buildings, hoping he might suggest some innovative strategy that even Draigo Roget had not considered. Seeing the gleam in Erasmus’s eyes, he knew the robot understood that if Denali fell, he himself would surely be destroyed. Josef pressed, “We have to find some other weapon we can use to defeat Roderick.”
Erasmus said, “There may be something we can use.”
Josef raised his eyebrows. “Did my researchers stumble upon something without telling me about it?”
“When the forty thinking-machine ships were brought here, hundreds of fighting robots were discarded on the surface of Denali. Some of them have already corroded into nonfunctionality, but I’ve seen others, and they might still be repaired. I can reprogram them remotely.” His bright eyes held a strange, intense expression. “If Imperial troops should land and make a ground assault, those combat meks could be our last line of defense.”
The Mentat pointed out, “If Imperial troops penetrate our orbital defenses and begin a ground assault, Directeur, then we have already lost.”
“And if that happens,” Josef said, “we have nothing to lose, and I’ll damn well want the robots, just in case.” He turned to Erasmus. “Do it. Do what you can.”
Anna Corrino glided into the chamber, smiling, her attention centered on her beloved Erasmus. She seemed oblivious to the tension. As Erasmus reviewed the violent images of the cymek massacre in Empok, she came up behind him and kissed the back of his head. “I missed you so much.”
Josef watched her. Despite all of Denali’s defenses, this young woman might be the best asset he had left.
One does not beg the universe for mercy.
—TERF BRAKHERN, a wandering minstrel of the Jihad
Though she was Mother Superior with responsibility for the entire Sisterhood, Valya was also a Harkonnen military commander on a vital personal mission. So much of her life had been focused on one man, one target, that his loathsome face came to her in nightmares.
Vorian Atreides.
But the man couldn’t hide from her. Valya had found him. For Vorian Atreides, there was no refuge, anywhere. Tula’s bodyguards had left the job unfinished on Chusuk, because those Sisters had not understood the true import of that enemy. Valya would not make that mistake.
She could have dispatched a team of anonymous killers to hunt him down—there were enough skilled assassins on Wallach IX to take care of the matter easily. With their combined new fighting skills, they could have overwhelmed him, no matter how hard he fought. But this mission was not something Valya Harkonnen wished to delegate. She needed to be there herself, to see Vorian’s fatal wounds with her own eyes, to dip her fingers in his warm blood and watch him die.
And Tula ought to be there as well, to witness the long-awaited satisfaction for her family. It would be her sister’s reward for her remarkable service in killing Orry Atreides … a young man who was of no consequence, except that his murder had hurt Vorian to the core.
Her operatives on Salusa had intercepted a trader from Corrin who came to deliver valuable salvage from the machine world; when pressed for information, the trader tried to convince the Sisters in the Imperial Court to pay him for the information they wanted about Vorian Atreides. The Sisters gave him a small fee and promised much more as they immediately dispatched him to Wallach IX so that he could speak with the Mother Superior.
The grinning trader offered Valya all the details she needed, acknowledging that Vorian Atreides was indeed in the settlement on Corrin, even including a sketch of the intricate tunnel system where the scavengers lived … where her target was in hiding. Even better, she learned that Orry’s brother Willem had now joined Vorian there. Good, that would neatly wrap up all the threads of her vendetta.
As a final loyalty test, Valya ordered Sister Ninke to dispose of the talkative trader, since she could not risk anyone warning Vor that they were coming. The former Orthodox Sister passed the test with skill and discretion.
Now Valya had everything she needed.…
After careful consideration, she designated Sister Deborah as her alternate to run the school, and then handpicked Sisters who would join her on her mission to Corrin. It would not be a massive military operation, but a surgical strike with a single goal in mind. The threat this one man posed was not to be minimized, but she was confident in herself, and in her fellow Sisters.
Then she used the school’s funds to charter a compact spacefolder, which quietly departed from Wallach IX.
After reaching Corrin, the spacefolder remained above the dead machine planet, while three small shuttles dropped down and flew in over the night side. Each craft carried five expert fighters, adepts in the consolidated combat style that she had developed personally; four of them were also Truthsayers.
The Atreides didn’t stand a chance. Three teams, together but separate, each backing up the others, each looking for alternate ways to kill the target and block any escape. Valya led one squad, accompanied by a surprisingly determined Ninke, and an oddly reticent Tula, who had been quite moody of late. Valya insisted that she take heart, saying, “It will all be good again once he is dead.”
“No, it won’t,” Tula retorted. “You’ve said yourself it will never be like the old days. We Harkonnens have lost too much.”
“But we have not lost our honor. We will destroy these bastards—mark my words, Tula. We will win.”
The younger woman looked pale. “Do we still have our honor if we win like this—by sneaking in to kill men who are only trying to stay away from us?”
Valya nodded somberly. “If we do nothing, we will have lost our honor. You must understand that.”
“Part of me does, and part doesn’t.” Tula looked away, then back at Valya. “You’ve wanted this for such a long time.”
“Since I was a small child, years before Vorian murdered Griffin.” Valya was disturbed by her sister’s lack of enthusiasm. Even so, she knew she and her fellow commandos could defeat their enemy. When they got back to Wallach IX, she would make sure Tula underwent rigorous guilt-erasure training. The girl had to be cured of this nonsense.
As they landed outside the dark ruins of the former machine capital, the shuttle sensors mapped out the main scavenger settlement, the largest concentration of inhabitants on the surface. According to the trader and his sketches, that was where Vorian had gone to hide. Valya stared intently through the green-tinted gloom of her light-enhancement lenses.
The three squads of women emerged at separate staging points outside the scavenger settlement, so they could move across the landscape and converge with no warning. As soon as they disembarked, the teams moved through the night, closing in on the ruined city. Fifteen deadly fighters in three teams against a pair of victims: redundancy to make absolutely certain they were successful. Valya carried a dagger at her waist, for the finishing touches.
Leading her own squad, she slipped a protective mask over her face, as did the others, completing the seal of their slick black suits. Tula was behind her, silent and ready, as well as Sister Ninke, the Truthsayer Cindel, and a tough and spunky young Sister Gabi. Valya confirmed her connection with the two other five-woman teams on her private comm, and they streamed forward with hardly a sound, like deadly shadows.
Approaching where they knew Vor had taken shelter, according to the intelligence from the bribed Corrin trader, Valya and her team came upon a landed ship, a small personal vessel of a vintage design. Valya called up the information that the trader had given them, and confirmed that this ship belonged to Vorian Atreides. His personal craft.
Motioning her Sisters to a halt, they circled the ship warily, scanning it. She didn’t think the man would sleep inside, but still felt a chill to know it was his, that he had been here. “This is what Vorian Atreides will use to escape from us if we don’t kill him in the tunnels. He’ll try to get away.” She paused, ran her dark eyes over the outside of the craft, staring at the engines, and then directed her Sisters to open the cabin, easily bypassing the minimal interlocks of the access hatch.
“We have to make sure he does not survive if he tries to slip away from us,” Valya said. She nodded to Ninke and Gabi. “I assume you know how to rig the engines? Sabotage them? It is one of the skills I believe both of you have learned.”
The two women went to work—it was done easily enough.
Later, as they glided through the ruddy night toward the entrance to the underground settlement, the ruined machine city gently shifted and rumbled. “Be careful,” Valya said in a hushed voice. “The ruins seem unstable.”
“We need to find the warrens where they are hiding,” Ninke said in an edgy voice. “We’ll dig them out and stab them through their hearts.”
Valya appreciated her intensity and dedication. She and the other commando Sisters did not know—nor did they need to—the details of the Harkonnen-Atreides blood feud. As far as the Sisters were concerned, their Mother Superior had issued instructions, and they would follow.
As they glided among the mounds of rubble and jagged silhouettes of once-towering structures, Sister Gabi suddenly slipped and flailed. The base structure shifted, rose up, and seized the young woman. A pool of flowmetal swirled in the slag at Gabi’s feet, and a swell of silver gushed up like the arterial blood of a machine. The well-trained Sister remained silent as she struggled to get free, using her bodily training to control her screams as the mobile, quicksilver substance pulled her down to her waist. The other commandos rushed to help her.
Fighting hard, Gabi grabbed on to an extrusion of black metal in the rubble. Ninke seized hold of her arm and pulled, trying to extract her.
None of them made any sound that might draw attention. Even Gabi, despite fac
ing the prospect of death, did not cry out as the flowmetal tightened around her hips, crushing her body. A starburst of blood came out of her open mouth, and her expression sagged into agony and horror—still silent—before the flowmetal lurched again, pulling hard, and sucked her under.
After Gabi was gone, the quicksilver pool became placid, hardening into nondescript slag that did not show even a ripple of movement.
The survivors stared, and Tula looked sickened. Truthsayer Cindel and Sister Ninke were both troubled and hyperalert. Valya gave them a moment, then turned her back and impatiently urged the group forward. “There are still four of us, and two other teams. Do not let down your guard,” she said. “Vorian Atreides is dangerous too.”
No secret is kept forever, and a hiding place is often exposed through overconfidence.
—Sisterhood axiom
Following Roderick’s command that the fugitive Directeur Venport be found at all costs, Imperial experts combed over the wreckage of the VenHold ships, hoping to find clues. In the days since the space battle over Lampadas, Admiral Harte’s troops had rounded up any surviving VenHold crewmembers, and seized some Navigators that remained alive but weakened in their damaged tanks. The captive Navigators died soon afterward, without revealing any information.
The sophisticated logs in the ships’ navigation files contained a wealth of foldspace data, but the databases self-destructed upon inspection, killing more than twenty of Harte’s best forensic technicians. One of the wrecked vessels was damaged sufficiently, though, that the purge routines failed when they were triggered, which left some information for the investigators to dig into, study, and dig into some more. From this, they were able to infer a set of mysterious coordinates for an unremarkable system that contained no known habitable planets. The Denali system.
But Roderick needed to be certain.