His jaw ached as he gritted his teeth. Manford called all of his quarantine ships to high alert. Rather than turning their weapons toward the planet below to prevent escapees, now they focused their firepower outward, their crews ready to face this oncoming threat.
Manford broadcast to the population below, not bothering to respond directly to the VenHold ship. “You are strong enough without medicine. Our beloved Rayna Butler endured the most horrific plagues spread by the thinking machines; diseases far worse than the red plague. Her heart and soul were strong, and she recovered. Rayna recovered because God wanted her to recover, knowing she had greater work to do. God will make you recover as well.”
He cut off the communication and looked at Anari, who gazed up at him with complete acceptance and reverence. All around the bridge of his flagship, he saw similar expressions, giving him assurance that every vessel in the quarantine cordon would react the same.
“We must protect them from the sinister influence,” Manford said. “We have to safeguard my people from the insidious promises of the demon Venport, and from their own weaknesses.”
Steeling himself, he sent another transmission. “To all the afflicted people of Walgis, rejoice! You are saved.”
Then he gave the order for all of his battleships around the planet to target the incoming medical ship. He felt no hesitation, merely relief when he issued his instruction. “Open fire.”
And his crews obeyed.
Out on the Kolhar landing field, Josef Venport gazed at his numerous ships, a fleet of spacefolder transports and large cargo shuttles that would travel to orbit to dock with even larger carriers. These well-armed ships were an enhancement to his own defenses, in case Emperor Roderick ever got up the nerve to attack here.
Fueling tankers filled the reservoirs of the large ships. With a whistling roar, one of the cargo shuttles heaved itself from the launching platform and thundered up into the sky. On the field, heavy machinery moved about, giving him a satisfied feeling. His VenHold fleet kept delivering much-needed—and now higher-priced—cargo to any planets in the Imperium that could afford the payments. It almost seemed like business as usual.
Except the entire Imperium had turned on its head.
“It defies reason! This is more insane than Manford has been before.” As he walked along, he clenched his fists and the black-garbed Draigo kept pace with gliding steps. “He destroyed our vessel, wiped out its cargo of vaccines, and left his own followers to rot from the pandemic. And they cheered him as he did it!”
Draigo gave a small nod. “In my Mentat projections, sir, I recognized a very small possibility that the Butlerians might react this way. I apologize for not giving it sufficient credence.”
“No one could have predicted such a heinous response, Draigo,” Venport said. “Even now that you’ve delivered your report, I still can’t believe it. Manford has doomed his people to die from a disease that is easily cured just because he doesn’t want the help to come from me. He’s a madman and a mass murderer.”
Venport felt disgusted as well as angry. He didn’t really care about the dying barbarians on Walgis. As far as he was concerned, they could all suffer horribly from the red plague. And truth be told, he lost only one small ship, easily replaced, and a few Suk doctors who weren’t even his employees. As a business loss, Venport could easily overcome it. But it was so damned outrageous! He was having a very hard time believing the half-Manford’s immoral act.
Draigo Roget shook his head. “It defies logic. If I am to make more accurate projections about our opponent, I shall have to learn to think more irrationally.”
Venport stopped to watch a delivery vehicle bearing a sealed container of spice gas, pumping it into one of the ships to fill a Navigator’s sealed tank. He considered all the battles he had fought, his struggles to save humanity and rebuild civilization, to overcome the scars the thinking machines had left . . . as well as his struggles against the inept and foolhardy Emperor Salvador. For the good of all humankind, Venport had replaced Salvador with his brother Roderick, a man he believed to be more rational—although Roderick was now more interested in revenge than in strengthening his Imperium.
“Sometimes I despair for humanity, and wonder why I continue this desperate and ruthless fight,” Venport said with a dismayed sigh. “Even after the defeat of the thinking machines and my constant struggles to help our race recover, the Butlerian fanatics remain. I fear they are our worst enemy. They will destroy our future as surely as any army of thinking machines ever could. The barbarians must be destroyed. No matter what weapons we must use or what sacrifices we must make, we have to crush Manford Torondo and his followers at all costs.”
“I agree, Directeur,” said Draigo.
Venport felt confident, though not arrogant. The Butlerian movement was composed of primitives, rabid barbarians, while VenHold had the most sophisticated technology in the Imperium. “They are no match for us,” he said.
Beside him, Draigo did not respond, but his brow furrowed as he reviewed the facts. Venport strode ahead, assessing his ships and other resources.
When the Mentat responded, he spoke so quietly that Venport almost didn’t hear his words. “And yet, I fear they will win.”
Red Plague Page 2