Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

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 rule 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.”