Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

The communications chief tried to establish contact with the hidden spice bank, but she finally shook her head. “No response from our facility, Directeur, but there are several sandstorms in the vicinity. They could be garbling transmissions. Can’t tell if there is an enemy battle group here.”

Josef spoke over the main comm across all the ships that the Navigators had moved. “My grandmother brought us here from Salusa for reasons she considered sufficient.” He had to bite down hard on the words. “We expected to capture the Imperial capital—but now we’re at Arrakis. The matter may be urgent. I want twenty armored landing vessels to accompany me down to the spice bank, and eighty more at the ready in case I call for reinforcements.”

With knots of anger inside him, Josef left the piloting deck, not sure whether he wanted Norma to be right or wrong. He dreaded the answer either way.

FLANKED BY ARMORED landers as he approached the spice bank from the air, Josef could see a smoldering blot of destruction around what had once been a sheltered sietch. Though a passing storm swept dust and sand through the air, he saw lingering plumes of smoke, and felt sick.

Norma was right. Something terrible had indeed happened down there.

The troop transports descended like a flock of carrion birds. The pilots issued ominous reports as they approached the line of mountains, but Josef barely heard them. He looked through the windowport, thinking of the tall black cliffs, the labyrinth of caves and tunnels … it was all gone. Thousands of Freemen had lived there unmolested for ages, but now, after only a month of active operation, the VenHold spice bank had not only been raided, it had been destroyed .

The armored landers had to circle in the increasing storm winds, but Josef demanded they find a place to set down. He ordered all personnel to arm themselves, but he could already see that the battle was over. Norma had withdrawn them from their victory at Salusa because of this, and now they had arrived too late. The sand had been terribly churned up here, and he noticed a large break in the rock formation, forming a wide path that led out into the desert.

This was just the aftermath, the scar. There would be no more fighting to save the spice stockpile—just bloodstains and grief. The melange was gone.

He disembarked with his security troops, stomping across the sand. They picked their way around boulders the size of houses. Soot stains, sand turned into glass. The devastation was so great that the enclosed cliffs looked as if they had been bombarded from space.

“What caused all this destruction?” he demanded. None of his security troops offered an answer.

Inside the reeking, smoky sietch, he found smashed security walls, a number of torn bodies sprawled on the churned sand, along with destroyed weapons and ruptured crates of melange strewn about as if by a gleeful child.

A few fires were still burning, giving off the greasy smoke of oil and plastics. On rock faces he saw the scars of projectile explosions, but not nearly enough for this amount of damage. Such wild destruction had not been caused by traditional weaponry or explosives. It seemed primal, wanton … and highly effective.

His main spice stockpile was gone, leaving only the much smaller reserves on Kolhar and Denali.

Norma had transported herself down from the Navigator deck of the flagship and now her tank appeared there, resting on a pile of rubble. She drifted in her rich bath of orange vapor, and ripples of tangible distress emanated from the tank, an emotional reaction that Josef had never seen from her before. “So much spice. Many Navigators will be damaged from lack of spice.”

Josef looked around, his anger slashing like a machete as he analyzed the signs, focused on the wide path leading out into the desert. “This was a ground assault. Someone attacked us from the desert.” Momentarily forgetting about the abandoned victory on Salusa, his troops fanned out through the rubble, searching for survivors, records, evidence, but everything was destroyed.

“Years of profits … gone.” Josef made a vow for all to hear. “I will track down the spice thieves. We’ll find what they stole, take it back, and make them pay.”

“No,” Norma said. “It was not stolen. These were not bandits. Our stockpile was obliterated. That was the message they meant to send.”

Judging by the cinnamon-brown residue and all the smashed containers in evidence among the rubble, Josef realized she was probably right. “But this was enough wealth to buy a dozen planets. Who would just … wreck it? And why?”

“My prescience is unclear on this matter, but I know the spice is gone.”

Josef’s stomach knotted as the answer came to him. He could think of no one else who might even conceive of such a thing. It was a powerful, violent message, designed to cripple him. Josef looked around at the disaster site, smelled the smoke, and the rich, bloody scent of spilled melange.

“Roderick … Emperor Roderick did this.”

After the rest of the VenHold fleet vanished inexplicably, Draigo’s ship had remained in orbit just long enough to retrieve the cymek walkers that launched from their siege positions around Zimia. Retreating! But he had gotten the walkers away before they could be destroyed.

Draigo did not know what was happening, only that Norma Cenva had issued urgent instructions, just before the Directeur’s battleships flew off in the middle of the space battle—leaving his ship alone and vulnerable.

When all thirty-one cymeks had returned to the carrier’s hold, still intact, Draigo fought his way out of Salusan orbit as the unruly Butlerians swooped in, crowing over communications lines about their unexpected victory. In the aftermath, stunned Imperial ships took potshots at Draigo’s ship even after the main invading fleet had gone.

His shields endured a tremendous pounding as he fought to escape, and his hull suffered some damage, but nothing structural, and the Holtzman engines remained intact. He directed his Navigator to fold space and escape.

But the Mentat remained baffled by what had happened.

When the Navigator-cymek brains were secure once more in their proper holding racks, the preservation canisters containing Ptolemy and Noffe trundled forward on carrier carts to the command bridge. They demanded answers, confused as to how their imminent victory had suddenly collapsed. Why?

Draigo was just as perplexed as the cymek scientists were. Even though he ran numerous Mentat projections, he could find no conclusions that logically fit the facts. Why would Directeur Venport have withdrawn all his ships without explanation, on the verge of a huge victory? A message from Norma Cenva instructed Draigo’s lone ship to return the Navigator-brain cymeks to the safety of Denali. But why?

Draigo knew he would have to wait until he reconnected with Directeur Venport—where? On Kolhar? Impatient, he stepped up to face his ship’s Navigator. “I need to be debriefed by Directeur Venport as soon as possible. Where has he gone?”

The Navigator would not look at him. “Directeur Venport and his ships went to Arrakis to protect the spice stockpile. Norma Cenva informed me that you would be of greater use on Denali, where you will continue to prepare against our enemies.”

Draigo digested the information, which told him almost nothing. Beside him, the preservation tanks of Noffe and Ptolemy shimmered as electrafluid nutrients processed their agitated thoughts. “Denali has many weapons in prototype stage,” said Noffe. “But our main thrust has been to complete the rest of our new cymeks for the conquest of Lampadas. The destruction of the Butlerians is our goal!”