Brian Herbert - Navigators of Dune

BUT THE YOUNG woman could not be found. Anywhere.

Draigo sent a summons over the laboratory-wide intercom system, and when she did not respond, he made a priority broadcast. “Anyone who has seen Anna Corrino, please inform us. It is most urgent.”

Still nothing. They couldn’t find Erasmus, either. Their searches turned up no sign of the independent robot.

Josef raised his voice. “I don’t understand. These are self-contained domes! How can they be missing?”

Draigo redoubled the search efforts, calling on all scientists, engineers, and security troops to inspect every corridor, ransack every chamber. The Mentat surrounded himself with display screens and reviewed every surveillance recording, scanning through records at the accelerated speed of his mind, absorbing multiple lines of input.

Anna Corrino was not difficult to spot in the recent images. Draigo noted that she looked distraught, walking unevenly and weeping. He watched her enter the cymek hangar and pass through an airlock to emerge in the outside air—to her certain death. Even more astonishing, Erasmus rushed after her only a few minutes later. Both of them had gone outside unprotected.

Draigo considered the ten patrol cymeks that remained at Denali, leftover walker forms that had either been under repair or otherwise not ready to join the Lampadas assault. But the machine bodies were functional enough to march around outside. He instructed the patrol cymeks to circle the domes and find where Anna and Erasmus had last been seen.

Adjusting the input to his screens, he watched as the big walkers searched the area just outside the domes, crisscrossing the rugged terrain. Their imagers used different portions of the spectrum to filter out the poisonous fumes and to cut through the dark gloom.

In minutes, two cymeks came upon a pair of human-shaped stains. Even the residue had mostly been eaten away by the acid mist, leaving only silhouettes and bone fragments. The cymeks took high-resolution images, zooming in.

Draigo’s thoughts and projections spun ahead, but he already knew the terrible answer.

One of the cymeks reached forward delicately, as if testing the dexterity of its large mechanical hands. It reached into the larger stain and scooped out a silvery-blue sphere—or what remained of it: the memory core of Erasmus. As the cymek lifted it, the sphere collapsed and oozed out as a synthetic gelatinous-metallic substance that dripped onto the ground.

Draigo closed his eyes. Their hostage, their only bargaining chip to prevent certain defeat, was dead—along with Erasmus.

WHEN HE OPENED the channel to Emperor Roderick in his flagship, Josef knew that his own survival, the future of VenHold, the distant spice operations on Arrakis—everything he had—was on the line. He had made his calculations and saw that his remaining Navigator ships could still put up a good fight, as could his handful of patrolling cymeks. He could defend against a frontal assault by Imperial troops, but only for a time.

It wouldn’t be enough, and he couldn’t fool Roderick for long.

Right now, he had to make the Emperor believe him, and he had to believe it himself , so he could lie and buy valuable time. Or, he could try to be evasive so that the Truthsayer would not detect his falsehood, giving him a chance to find a way to escape. Maybe during the melee he could fly off in a private ship, leaving it all behind. The Venport legacy would carry on somehow, although it might be hidden in the shrouds of history.

With a stony expression, he faced Roderick Corrino on the screen. The Emperor looked extremely displeased when he didn’t see Anna there. “I demand to see my sister immediately.”

“I would like to oblige you, Sire, but she is presently unavailable,” Josef said in a maddeningly calm voice. “She cannot talk with you.” It was the truth. He had to be careful with his choice of words.

“If you cannot produce her, then you are bluffing. We will commence firing on your ships in orbit and continue until Anna becomes ‘available.’” The Emperor reached forward to sign off.

“Wait!” Josef cursed his abrupt response, knowing it revealed too much. He caught a subtle flicker in the Truthsayer’s expression as she stood next to Roderick. “Your sister is my most powerful leverage. We both know that. And your Truthsayer can hear that I am not lying—Anna came willingly to me. She wanted to be here. I did not coerce her to come here in any way.”

Fielle paused, looked uncomfortable. “He is telling the truth, Sire.”

Josef snapped, “Withdraw your ships and deactivate your weapons so that we can talk like two businessmen.”

“I am Emperor, and I am here to mete out justice. When will Anna become available?”

Josef tried not to speak an outright lie but could only come up with, “I cannot say.”

Sister Fielle interrupted, asking in a sharp tone, “Will she ever be able to speak with us?”

He tried to think of a way he could answer truthfully. “I won’t reveal more of my situation. Withdraw your ships, Sire.”

Roderick raised his voice in a demand. “Is my sister still alive?”

Josef’s pulse raced now. He felt his cheeks flush. Any answer would be a lie, and any hesitation would also reveal the truth. He reached forward to terminate the transmission just as Fielle turned to the Emperor. “Unfortunately, your sister is dead, Sire. Josef Venport’s behavior confirms it, beyond any doubt.”

Roderick’s face fell. His voice came out cold and hollow. “Damn you, Venport!”

Almost immediately, the bombardment began.

Tula had been shot in the shoulder, and in Valya’s moment of sickened hesitation, Vor could have sprung at her and taken her down. Willem’s projectile weapon was pointed directly at the young woman’s head as she stood in front of him, holding a dagger, and bleeding. One twitch of his finger would kill her.

But Tula faced him, not blinking, not defiant, seemingly not even afraid. She waited with a certain courage and nobility, as if ready to accept her fate, whatever it might be. Yet only months ago she had committed a heinous, cowardly act by murdering Orry.

Watching the tableau, Valya froze in horror, obviously realizing that if she attacked Vorian now, then Willem would kill her sister. The pause was only a few seconds, but it seemed to stretch out forever. Vor sensed something unusual in the air, something unexpected. Was this hard and vengeful woman’s concern a reflection of her love for Tula? Was the Sisterhood’s leader even capable of such an emotion?

“If you wish to kill me, Willem Atreides, I cannot stop you,” Tula said, “and I understand why you’re doing it. The terrible pain of your loss justifies your revenge … just as the pain of Griffin’s loss justified our actions. No matter who killed him.”

The comment surprised Vor. The Harkonnens had been rationalizing their hatred toward him for generations, finding one reason after another to continue the feud against a straw man from the past. None of that, though, warranted the slaughter of an innocent young man on his wedding night, just because of his name.

“But if you kill me,” Tula continued with a ragged edge in her voice, “you’ll also be killing an Atreides. You see, I am carrying Orry’s child.”

Willem recoiled. “You’re lying!”

Vor felt a sick jolt. Was this a desperate trick to save her own life?

Valya looked at her sister in horror. “It can’t be true!”

Tula smiled sadly and shifted her body, causing her to wince in pain from the bleeding wound in her shoulder. She gazed at Valya and said, “But it is true, dear sister. I was actually fond of Orry, so even though I followed your command to murder him, I made love to him first.” Her voice hitched, but she forced herself to keep speaking. “When I returned to Wallach IX, you congratulated me for what I’d done … but you never met Orry, did you? You didn’t know him. I saw the obvious goodness in him. But even so, I did what you commanded me to do—for you and for House Harkonnen.”