Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

Noncommittally, the Emperor said, “I agree that the Butlerian mobs are cause for great concern, and their use of forbidden atomics—even against you—makes them infinitely worse. It is apparent that they would bend any rule, break any law, to achieve their aims.” Roderick folded his hands in front of him on the negotiating table. “And their aims are not generally aligned with those of the Imperium. I can see that.”

Venport smiled in obvious relief. “Exactly as I have always maintained, Sire. We must work together. I can be your greatest ally, if we find a way to put this unpleasantness behind us.”

“ Unpleasantness ? My brother is dead because of you. The Emperor is dead because of you!”

Venport lifted his hands in contrition. “I understand your outrage, Sire. It was truly an unfortunate turn of events. Salvador’s death was never my intent, though I admit I wanted to remove him from the throne in order to stop the damage he was doing, the weakness he was bringing upon the Imperium.” He used his most reasonable businesslike voice. “I know you saw it yourself, Sire. You are nobody’s fool.”

“He was my brother ,” Roderick insisted.

“Sadly, my operatives were far too enthusiastic. I meant for them to take Salvador to a safe, sheltered place and hold him in temporary exile. I hoped I could convince him to abdicate in favor of your leadership. Let us be blunt, Sire—you are far more suited to the Imperial throne than he ever was.” The Directeur shook his head. “But the plan went wrong. A sandworm came unexpectedly, and the harvester could not be evacuated in time. I offer my deepest apologies, and I ask you to suggest any appropriate fine as compensation. I want to make this right between us.”

Roderick glanced up at his Truthsayer. Fielle had been watching the Directeur and listening to his words, and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Venport was lying or at least distorting something in his favor, just as Roderick had suspected.

The Directeur continued, “You’ve already seized the assets of my interplanetary banks, Sire, and a vast stockpile of melange here on Arrakis was obliterated.” He narrowed his blue-eyed gaze. “I assume you had something to do with that?”

“I’m sure it was just an unfortunate accident, like the one that killed my brother,” Roderick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “A situation that went further than I’d intended. Perhaps my operatives were too enthusiastic.”

Norma spoke up from her tank. “So much spice was destroyed … a setback to my Navigators. And it was unnecessary. End this squabble.” Her unusual voice seemed to carry a heavy undertone of threat. “If you do, the universe will be secure.”

“You brought a military force to Salusa Secundus and placed the Imperial capital under siege,” Roderick continued, as if listing the man’s crimes. “You threatened my citizens and my rule. You used cymeks, and yet you rail about atomics? If the Butlerians hadn’t arrived at the right time, you might have brought down the Imperial throne.”

Venport folded his arms across his chest, squirmed, then put his hands back on the table. “Only because you forced me to, Sire. I never wanted to rule in your stead. Even the actions I took against your brother were because I wanted you to rule the Imperium. Not me. I know you are wise and competent, but you forced me into an untenable situation.” The Directeur slumped back and glanced at Norma’s sealed tank, as if beseeching her for advice.

Glancing at Fielle, Roderick saw that these words were true. Venport didn’t want to be Emperor.

Emperor Roderick knew what the loss of Kolhar meant to Venport Holdings, and he knew that the company was nearly bankrupt after the seizure of their financial assets across the Imperium; the destruction of their spice stockpile had only made matters worse. These VenHold ships above Arrakis and his assets on the ground might be all the Directeur had left to his name.

Roderick assessed his nemesis, judging that Josef Venport was not yet defeated, but near it, and on the ragged edge of desperation. The Emperor intended to press his advantage. “And how do you propose to make amends?”

“Manford Torondo and his Butlerians committed serious crimes of their own, and I trust they will be punished. But who will do the punishing?” The business mogul’s eyes narrowed. “I can help with that, Sire. Let us find a way to resolve our differences, and get back to business as usual.”

Business as usual! Roderick fought to keep the disgusted expression off his face. The man acts as if he wants to be friends! He remained silent.

Venport pressed, “How can we end this feud, Sire? Please give me your ideas, and I will do everything in my power to meet your terms.”

A strong Josef Venport would never have made such an offer. Roderick squared his shoulders and looked the Directeur straight in the eye. “Take care of my Butlerian problem—completely and immediately. Then, and only then, will we talk.”

He knew that Venport didn’t have enough ships or weapons to face off against the Butlerian throngs. Even if Manford had no more atomics to use against Venport, the fanatics could absorb appalling losses and still call it victory. But they would be weakened … perhaps weakened enough by the time Admiral Harte’s slow fleet arrived.

Venport’s answer surprised him, though. “It would be my pleasure to take care of that for you, Sire. Consider it done. We will level Lampadas, just as Manford obliterated Kolhar. Except we won’t use illegal atomics.”

Josef rose to his feet, went to the Emperor, and extended his hand, but Roderick merely gave him a curt nod. “We will talk again—if you succeed.”

Now that he had the Emperor’s blessing—rather, his command—to destroy Manford Torondo and his barbarian followers, Josef felt vindicated as well as recharged. He gambled that Roderick would be true to his word, and if this was the price for putting the personal conflict behind them, Josef would gladly pay it. He had already wanted to eradicate the Butlerian vermin for his own reasons. He had intended to go after them with or without the Imperial sanction.

Obviously, the Emperor realized the necessity of eliminating the fanatics, even if he used VenHold to take care of the dirty work. This was truly a perfect solution, but the Emperor had no idea what kind of weapons VenHold could bring to bear against the Butlerians.

According to Draigo, their force of cymek warrior forms was ready to launch from Denali—more than one hundred battle machines with perfectly configured Navigator brains—not to mention the forty refurbished robot ships, which were ready to be placed into service as well. Josef intended to station those new warships at Arrakis, refusing to weaken his grip here while he went to Lampadas. No one would dare to challenge him.

And after their atomic attack on Kolhar, Manford and his savages had gone home to their primitive planet, where they were completely vulnerable.

Yes, this plan was indeed coming together nicely. Once they were back in the Emperor’s good graces and the antitechnology cancer had been excised, the Imperium would be strong again. VenHold and Josef would be strong again! Then he could come back and resume his spice production with a vengeance.

First, though, the Manford-devil had to die, and that was a task Josef anticipated with great relish.

Leaving Arrakis, the VenHold fleet arrived at Denali, the base from which Josef would launch his surprise attack on Lampadas. Since the laboratory domes could not support the many thousands of extra inhabitants, most of his personnel remained aboard the orbiting ships during the two days of staging. Josef traveled down to the surface to meet with Draigo, Ptolemy, and Administrator Noffe, so that they could finalize the assault against Manford Torondo.