Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

—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 preparations continued.

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.