Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

Roderick stifled a groan. His brother had weakened the throne in ways that would take generations to repair … if House Corrino survived that long.

In the meantime, Roderick had signed extended contracts with EsconTran and other foldspace shipping companies to transport his peacekeeping ships around the increasingly restless Imperium. But only VenHold had Navigators, and so far Roderick’s scientists had not been able to poke, prod, or analyze the answers out of their captive specimen.…

Roderick struggled with the turmoil. An Emperor could not be tossed back and forth like a toy between the Butlerians and Venport! Soon, though, if the clash at Kolhar was bloody enough, the problem might resolve itself.…

BEFORE MANFORD AND his followers departed on their “holy mission,” the Emperor announced a day of celebrations to make the Butlerians feel appreciated. Their rallies seemed surprisingly restrained, because apparently they were saving their rage to be unleashed against Venport.

When Manford was ready to shuttle hundreds of thousands of followers up to his fleet in orbit, Roderick and Haditha gave the warships a grand send-off. They waved from the Palace towers as ship after ship lifted into the sky.

“Good riddance,” Roderick muttered. He didn’t really appreciate the Butlerians at all.

Haditha squeezed his hand. “Do you think they really could conquer Kolhar?”

“Faith and blind fanaticism are not sufficient weapons. I only hope the Butlerians inflict mortal damage on Venport’s forces before they themselves are destroyed.”

That would remove both of the annoying thorns that had been tormenting him.

Erasmus was true to his word. After allowing for the vagaries of positioning and more than a century of drifting, Draigo’s scouts found the thinking-machine fleet exactly where the independent robot had said it would be. Forty bulky battleships hanging in space, dark and cold, but intact.

Once scouts tagged the robot fleet, Draigo gathered a crew of Denali engineers and technicians to assess, inspect, and reactivate the thinking-machine vessels and pilot them back to the research planet.

Erasmus asked for permission to accompany the recovery team, but after Draigo considered multiple worst-case scenarios he concluded that he did not trust the robot enough: If given access to all those machine ships, Erasmus might just be tempted to seize them for his own purposes. Though his memory core now resided in a vulnerable biological body, Draigo chose not to take the risk.

A Navigator had brought the recovery team out into deep space, where the tagged robot fleet drifted, and now Draigo paced the piloting deck in silence, studying his prize. The Navigator in the tank behind him made no comment.

The Denali chief engineer, a tough woman named Hana Elkora, joined him on the deck. “I can’t wait to get my hands on those. Over the last ten years I’ve refurbished two dozen old thinking-machine vessels and added them to the VenHold commercial fleet—but never so many at one time.” Clearly pleased, she put her hands on her broad hips, as if considering all the hard work ahead. “This is a real treasure trove. Good thing the barbarians didn’t find them first. Those fanatics would have blown up perfectly good vessels without even attempting to salvage them.”

Draigo nodded. “What matters is that we have these warships, assets we can either turn against Manford Torondo or use to defend Arrakis or Kolhar.”

“Damned right, and we’ll get right to work,” Elkora said. “By now I know the usual machine booby traps, and I am more than familiar with lumbering old robot engines. We’ll get these ships going one at a time and fly them back to Denali. Even with just faster-than-light drives, you should start receiving the new vessels within a week.”

As the Mentat stared at the dark hulks floating there, he began counting and cataloguing them. “Directeur Venport will dispatch carrier ships with spare Holtzman engines to be installed. We can turn these wrecks into spacefolders in no time.”

“I’m ready to get to work,” Elkora said.

“All of us are.”

AN INITIAL CREW made their way aboard the first of the mothballed vessels. They used generators and battery packs to reactivate the rudimentary life-support systems, which the thinking machines had installed only for transporting human slaves. After several hours, the engineers managed to make the machine ship sufficiently habitable, and more workers came aboard in insulated suits and breathers.

Draigo and Elkora entered the echoing vessel, noting metal corridors and chambers and very few amenities. Aboard, they found hundreds of deactivated robots and combat meks. The ominous machines stood where they had frozen, burly and fearsome units. The Mentat stood in front of one motionless metal figure, examining its reinforced arms and legs, the integrated weaponry.

“These things are just junk,” said Elkora. “You always find them aboard abandoned robot ships. We can dump them out the airlocks—if you want us to bother with that.”

“Do what you feel is necessary.” Draigo continued to stare at the combat robot, as if challenging it. It was vastly different from Erasmus in his new biological body. “Cleaning out the garbage is not your priority. Remove the ones that get in the way, a minimum amount to save time. We can always dispose of the robots at Denali, where we have more manpower—pile them on the surface where the old cymek bodies rusted for decades.”

“Understood, sir. My team will take it from here.”

Feeling an odd compulsion, Draigo reached out to touch the exoskeleton of the combat mek. He thought of how much fear the thinking machines had pounded into the human psyche for so long.

He found it curious now, with the threat of the Butlerians and the repercussions from Emperor Roderick himself, that these thinking machines were no longer the greatest threat to civilization.

The Butlerian mobs had left Zimia, racing off to what would likely be their bloody, suicidal annihilation at Kolhar, but the Emperor remained troubled. Would it really be so easy to get rid of them? And to get rid of Venport?

When Roderick opened his eyes, moonlight filtered through the merh-silk curtains of his bedchamber. A disturbing dream had awakened him, and he could not dismiss it from his thoughts. Next to him, Haditha slept soundly on the wide bed, and that gave him a measure of comfort.

He recalled seeing her for the first time at a grand ball in the Imperial Palace. He had been a young prince, while she was the younger sister of one of the ladies in waiting in his father’s court. He’d noticed her in the throng of nobles with her long auburn hair and classic patrician features, wearing a white gown with a ruby-pearl necklace. As if drawn by gravity, he had moved closer to listen as she talked with a young man in a formal suit. She seemed so very much alive in contrast with other people around her.

Haditha had glanced in his direction, flashing a smile meant just for him. Later that evening, after an embarrassing incident when Salvador got too drunk and slipped on the dance floor, Roderick approached her again, and they strolled arm in arm through the palace gardens. It had been magical.