Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

He adjusted the cushions, felt a warm breeze on his face. He was making an impact here, but his goal was not to relax and enjoy the sunshine. After what the demon Venport had done—both on Lampadas and here—he knew he had to move against Kolhar as soon as possible. But even the Emperor was afraid to risk a military assault against VenHold headquarters. Deacon Harian wanted to unleash the Butlerians in a rampaging mob, not caring how many would be slaughtered, and Manford knew his followers would fight to the death no matter the odds. But he wanted to win, not just create another long list of martyrs. He needed some way to guarantee a victory. He prayed for a miracle.

Anari approached him, accompanied by a nobleman Manford did not recognize. The man wore expensive clothes, a rich green cloak, a gold-embroidered vest, and flowing pantaloons. A pie-shaped hat rested on his blond curls, making him appear more effete than handsome, but his eyes were open wide in adoration as he greeted the Butlerian leader. The man removed his hat and held it against his chest.

Anari provided the introduction. “Manford, this is an important Landsraad leader, Udorum Pondi from Gillek. Lord Pondi is a fervent convert to our Butlerian cause.”

The nobleman stepped forward, as if he didn’t know whether to fall to his knees or simply bow. “I am honored to meet you, Leader Torondo, and totally amazed. To be perfectly honest, my heart might burst.”

Manford nodded, accepting the enthusiasm. It was not the only time he had received such accolades, and he always liked to listen to them.

“I was one of the first noblemen to take the pledge on behalf of my entire planet. We swore not to interact with evil machines. We cut off all dealings with Venport Holdings. We purged our cities, removed any hint of dangerous technology. I memorized the speeches of our beloved martyr Rayna Butler, and I listened to each of your recorded rallies. I read all of your writings and took them to heart. I want my planet to remain pure, even though we suffered greatly after we were cut off by the VenHold embargo.”

“I wish I had many more like you.” Manford’s comment made the man’s expression light up. “Many of us have suffered. Suffering is part of life—but humanity suffered far worse under the thinking machines.”

Pondi wasn’t finished. “Yes, yes, Leader Torondo! I also spoke out on behalf of our cause at the Landsraad Hall, but there are those who don’t wish to listen, nobles with weak convictions. I’m not even convinced about Emperor Roderick’s dedication, but I know I can trust you.” He looked away as if ashamed. “I feel soiled by what I recently discovered on Gillek, but it is too important to ignore. I must turn it over to your hands. Such terrible weapons! Only you can be trusted to know what to do with so much power, Leader Torondo.”

Anari looked at him intently, gave Pondi a meaningful nod. Manford was intrigued. “And what is it you’ve found?”

“During the purge of my planet, we ransacked technological vaults and discovered things that had been hidden away for decades, maybe even a century or more. What we found there…” Pondi shuddered, and tears began to pour down his cheeks. “I’m not worthy to keep it. Such a resource must be yours.”

“What is it?” Manford repeated.

“A dangerous stockpile placed there for use against the thinking machines, but never deployed. They are intact. Perhaps … perhaps you can use them to save us all?”

Manford was growing impatient. “ What things?”

Udorum Pondi looked up. “ Atomics , Leader Torondo. A large stockpile of atomics from the Jihad. Enough warheads to destroy an entire thinking-machine world.” He began to stammer. “I—I believe they can be better used for the Butlerian cause, under your guidance. If you will do me the honor of accepting them.”

Manford’s throat went dry, and he kept his voice steady. “Yes, Lord Pondi, I believe we can put them to very good use.”

As a business leader, Josef could not let Venport Holdings be vulnerable to any single point of failure. Even after the seizure of his galactic banking operations, he still had wealth in places that the Emperor couldn’t touch. And, given time and increased production, he would even rebuild his lost spice stockpile. He would not give up.

He didn’t fool himself, though: He had been damaged severely but not defeated. No, he would find a way to grow strong again. The planetary shields and guardian ships would keep Kolhar safe, and all those additional warships on Arrakis should ensure that his hold remained firm there. Spice was the first and most important piece of the puzzle.

His operatives on numerous planets, particularly those with black-market connections, had scrounged alternative financing and secured temporary high-interest loans to keep VenHold functioning. Josef was forced to send some of his trading ships to service Butlerian-dominated planets, despite his prior edict to cut off the fanatics until they recanted their foolishness. Now, he could sell goods at exorbitant prices to those distressed people, while the extraordinary profits allowed him to maintain his defenses on Kolhar and to dispatch further shipments. His situation was no longer about the bottom-line profits that he could keep, but about survival, and making the money he needed to accomplish that. Too much was at stake—not just for him, but for the future of civilization.

A spice transport from Arrakis landed with a meager cargo load, barely a quarter full. Josef and Cioba went to meet the laborers who unloaded the packages of melange from suspensor pallets. He smelled the rich cinnamon aroma, which reminded him of all the scattered spice mixed with blood and smoke from his raided stockpile. When he looked at the paltry manifest, his heart sank.

“We are restoring our operations in the desert, Directeur,” said the dusty captain. “Combined Mercantiles is sending out four new fully equipped harvesting teams, and we’ve put all the commandeered Imperial equipment to work. The next load will be more substantial, sir.”

Josef gave a brusque nod. “It better be. This shipment isn’t enough to fulfill a fraction of our commercial obligations, so we’re reserving all of it for the Navigators. They must be our priority right now.”

Cioba agreed. Norma Cenva had been vanishing more frequently and seemed more agitated and less comprehensible than usual. Perhaps by giving this entire shipment of melange to her Navigators, Josef could provide her with some reassurance.

He paced on the landing field, feeling frustrated. “I need this embargo to end. It disrupts commerce for everyone. How do I make Roderick Corrino listen?”

Josef’s wife still favored the garments of the Sisterhood that had trained her. Cioba stood now in black robes that clung to her in the breezes. “In order to negotiate, there must be communication. But the Emperor will not talk with you directly—especially after your siege of Salusa. Therefore, you need an intermediary.”

“And who will speak for me?”

Cioba pondered for a moment. “When Salvador banished the Sisterhood from Rossak, you gave aid to them, assisting them in setting up the new school on Wallach IX, furnishing them with transport as well as modular buildings and supplies.”

Calculations raced through his mind. “Yes, their entire order survived because of me.”

“I think it’s time for me to go to Wallach IX and remind the new Mother Superior of the debt the Sisterhood owes us. At VenHold we need whatever allies we can get.” She faced him like a soldier about to do battle. “I will speak with Mother Superior Valya. What would you ask of them?”