Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

Money was the least of their concerns, though. They would persevere. With massive numbers, they would persevere.

Alone in the haunted office, Anari began to look around, and discovered that one of the cabinets by Manford’s desk was locked. She was aware he had kept secrets, but she knew what those secrets were anyway. And she realized what must be inside that cabinet. Her pulse quickened.

She used a tool to break the lock and pry open the cabinet door. Inside, she found three thick books that had long ago been taken from the devastated ruins of Corrin … laboratory journals written by the vile robot Erasmus.

Her skin crawled. She touched the top volume and quickly withdrew her fingers as if burned. But the journal called out to her like a hypnotic serpent, and she took it out and placed it on the desk. This book was evil, filled with poisonous thoughts. Part of her knew that she should immediately burn all three volumes, destroying those words so that the insidious writings would be erased forever.

But she paused, weighed down by confusion and doubt. Anari knew that Manford had secretly read these books. He had pored over them when he locked himself in his room, believing that Anari did not know. But she kept such a close watch on her beloved leader that very little escaped her notice.

Manford had found something worthwhile in these dangerous writings, something important. He had once told Anari that he intended to understand the evil of the oppressors of humanity.

She opened the first volume and began to read, finding dark chronicles of violent experiments, tortures of captive humans, psychological manipulations, all part of the robot’s attempt to comprehend human emotions and motivations, although a demon could never grasp the human soul.

Anari’s brow furrowed as she kept reading, page after page.

And yet …

Manford had made numerous notes in the margins, his own thoughts, responses, arguments refuting the robot’s claims. And sometimes, appallingly, he actually agreed with Erasmus.

Anari closed the book and put it on top of the others. She would study the writings later, page by page, but she promised herself that she would not let them taint her. She would use the journals of Erasmus for her own purposes, just as Manford had. Yes, that was what she would do.

In a supreme irony, she and her reborn Butlerians would—through Erasmus—ensure that demon technology would never again run rampant in human civilization.

Denali was overrun, at last. The Imperial Armed Forces had suffered many casualties against the cymek stragglers and the corroded combat meks, but they had brought down the last of the battle machines before securing the entire domed facility. Now it was time to take care of loose ends.

Troops had breached the sealed laboratory domes and surged inside to capture the refugee weapons scientists. The soldiers had incurred more casualties in doing so, but now Denali was completely under Imperial control. All in all, Roderick was satisfied; he would have suffered far more significant losses in the space battle if Norma Cenva had not made her surprising bargain with him. All of her Navigator ships had simply withdrawn from the battlefield, leaving the VenHold laboratories completely vulnerable.

When Admiral Harte informed him that Denali was secure, Roderick descended to the surface to claim his hard-fought victory. All resistance had been quashed, and every one of the domes was under firm control, locked down by Imperial forces. Accompanied by his heavily armed escort, the Emperor took a military shuttle down through the murky clouds. He brought his Truthsayer along, but he remained silent as they rode through the bumpy air currents, lost in his own thoughts. He felt a sharp sadness over how much this conflict had cost him personally—Salvador, sweet Nantha, and now Anna as well.

But Roderick clung to his triumph. Both of his main enemies were now defeated.

The Butlerians were all but neutralized, their charismatic leader dead, most of their resources stripped away. Their fanatical core group was bottled up on Lampadas, where they would be closely monitored so that they never ran rampant across the Imperium again.

With the scheme Roderick had proposed to Norma Cenva, all the Navigator-guided spacefolders would form a politically unaffiliated Spacing Guild to ensure safe transportation throughout the Imperium. Never again would one power-hungry person place a commercial stranglehold on so many planets.

Directeur Venport had been broken, his trading empire disrupted, his vast wealth seized, and now his last stand had failed. Denali was under Imperial control—but that wasn’t enough. Josef Venport himself had to face justice.

After troops escorted his entourage into the laboratory domes, Admiral Harte greeted him with a sharp salute. Uniformed soldiers marched them toward the administrative chamber where the Directeur had barricaded himself. This enemy had to meet the same fate as Manford: death.

A black-garbed Mentat stood coolly by, a prisoner, but seemingly unconcerned about his future. Draigo Roget had already made his own deal when he surrendered to the Imperial troops: He offered his services to manage the spice operations on Arrakis, under the umbrella of Imperial control. Roderick knew Norma Cenva would prefer such a smooth transition to a prolonged clash between Imperial forces—who knew little about harvesting and distributing melange—and the leaderless Combined Mercantiles crews that were still working in the deserts. Although Venport’s pet Mentat would have to be watched closely for his loyalty, he was certainly competent to handle those operations. The complexities of the melange business would not be left to an amateur.

Draigo had cemented the deal by conceding an extraordinary percentage of the spice profits to be poured into the Salusan treasury. Fielle reminded Roderick that the Imperium’s finances had long been weakened by Salvador’s ill-advised decisions as well as numerous destructive misadventures with the Butlerians. A steady flow of profits from uncontested spice operations would be a swift and significant source of income.

As he stepped forward, Roderick looked around. “Where is Directeur Venport? I will see him for myself.”

Admiral Harte looked uncomfortable. “There is a slight … uh, complication, Sire.”

Roderick’s nostrils flared. “What do you mean? Was he killed? I ordered him to be taken alive. He was the whole reason for the ground assault—otherwise I could have just turned the planet into slag, bombarding it from orbit.”

“The Directeur has not been killed, Sire. But … Norma Cenva wishes to speak with you.”

Roderick saw that the armored door of the administrator’s chamber had been blasted aside. He wasn’t surprised. Venport would have barricaded himself to the last: The Directeur was not a man to surrender, but in the end he had lost. The Emperor strode forward, climbing over debris, looking around for Venport.

Inside, the small office was dominated by Norma Cenva’s Navigator tank. Thick clouds of swirling gas filled the box, but Roderick could see the familiar distorted form inside. Norma spoke before he could say anything. “You have your victory, Emperor Roderick Corrino. I withdrew my ships as promised, and thereby allowed you to conquer Denali. In return, you will form a Spacing Guild, and you will protect my Navigators. No harm will come to any of them. As you promised.”

“Yes, that is what I promised,” Roderick said in clipped words. “I am the Emperor, and I am true to my word.” He looked around the room. “But I will not forgive Josef Venport. He is to be turned over to me so that he can face justice.”