Brian Herbert - Mentats of Dune

He touched her hand, held it, then let go. “People often surprise me, but not usually in a good way.”

Baridge’s turbulent sun was in the upswing of an active starspot cycle. Formerly, the planet had been known for colorful aurora displays, which trapped and deflected much of the solar radiation, but a rain of charged particles still penetrated to the surface. To protect themselves, the people of Baridge wore protective creams, covered their windows with filter films, and sheltered their streets with retractable canopies. Orbiting satellites monitored solar activity and warned citizens when they should stay inside. Advanced medical systems treated the resulting epidemic of skin cancers, and the population used melange heavily, which helped to protect them.

Under normal circumstances, Baridge was well prepared for the dangers of the solar cycle, but Deacon Kalifer and his ruling cabal had recently bowed to pressure from Manford Torondo’s barbarian fanatics. After accepting the Butlerian pledge and condemning Venport Holdings, Kalifer declared that his planet would henceforth be free from all tainted technology.

And so, true to his word, Josef terminated trade with the planet. He’d made it clear to the whole Imperium that his ships would not deliver equipment, luxury goods, melange, or other supplies to any world that embraced the Butlerian pledge. Lesser shipping companies struggled to fill the need, but they ran lackluster and outdated fleets, and none had Navigators to guide their ships safely through foldspace, which resulted in a disastrous lost-vessel rate.

Josef glanced up to the enclosed tank that held this ship’s Navigator. He could barely see the twisted form swimming in the murk of spice gas, but he knew that this one had originally been a spy named Royce Fayed, who’d been caught trying to steal the secret of creating Navigators. Josef had generously revealed those secrets to the man — by forcing him to become a Navigator. Under the direct tutelage of Norma Cenva, however, Fayed had become one of VenHold’s best Navigators. Now that the transformation was complete, he was deeply grateful for the gift he had been given.

The Navigator spoke through the tank speaker. “Arriving at Baridge.”

Josef often had trouble conversing with Navigators, because their minds were so advanced. “Yes, we are at Baridge.” Did Fayed think him unaware of their destination?

“I detect another vessel in orbit. It is not a commercial ship.”

With a shimmer, one of the metal bulkheads became a transmission window. At high magnification, it displayed a warship in close orbit — not a vessel from the current Imperial Armed Forces, but one of the old cruisers from the Army of the Jihad, recommissioned and used by the barbarians.

Josef gritted his teeth when he saw the watchdog vessel light up as it accelerated toward them. “It’s one of the Half-Manford’s ships.” He studied the craft on the transmission screen, saw its bristling guns, but felt no concern. He had no doubt the warship captain would be arrogant, full of faith and unreason.

Cioba’s brow wrinkled. “Does it pose a threat to us?”

“Of course not.”

A raspy-voiced young man sitting at the helm of the Butlerian ship sent a transmission. “VenHold vessel, you are forbidden at Baridge. These people have sworn not to use your accursed technology. Depart or be destroyed.”

“It does no good even to respond, my husband,” Cioba said with a sigh. “You can’t argue with zealots.”

Although he agreed there was little point, Josef couldn’t keep his words inside. He activated the transmitter. “Strange, I thought VenHold placed an embargo on this planet, not the other way around. It’s particularly odd to see such a vehement Butlerian follower flying a complex spaceship. Doesn’t such sophisticated technology make you lose control of your own bladder?”

The Butlerian captain would probably make some kind of rationalization about their technology being “used for the greater good,” or claim that it avoided being unacceptable because it was “in service of holy work.”

When Josef’s image appeared on the screen, the warship captain recoiled. “The demon Venport himself! You have been warned!” Surprisingly, he cut off the transmission.

Cioba nodded toward the transmission window. “He’s powering up his weapons.”

“Manford Torondo has likely placed a bounty on my head.” Josef found the idea as offensive as it was laughable.

Without warning, the aging Jihad warship opened fire, blasting them with old explosive shells. The kinetic bombardment hammered away at the VenHold ship’s advanced shields — another miracle invented by Norma Cenva — but the outdated weapons could inflict no harm. VenHold’s defenses were vastly superior to anything the enemy had.

“Make a log notation,” Josef said into the wall recorders. “We did not fire first. We committed no aggressive or provocative acts. We have been attacked without cause and are forced to defend ourselves.” He called down to the weapons deck, where personnel were already at their stations. “Destroy that ship. It annoys me.”

The weapons officer had been anticipating the command, and a swarm of projectiles ripped forth and cut the Butlerian vessel to ribbons. It was over in seconds, and Josef was glad he didn’t need to waste any more time.

As she watched the fading glow of debris on the screen, Cioba whispered, “I thought you said that ship didn’t pose a threat to us.”

“Not to us, but those Butlerian savages pose a threat to civilization itself. I believe this was a necessary punishment.” He spoke to the Navigator. “Are there other ships in the vicinity? Cargo carriers, rival commercial vessels?”

“None,” Fayed said.

“Good, then maybe the people of Baridge will be more tractable.” He sent a transmission down to the surface, addressing Deacon Kalifer directly. He made certain the conversation was on a public band. Josef guessed that many of the supposedly devout Butlerians there still had illicit listening devices, and he wanted them all to hear his words.

Deacon Kalifer responded as soon as Josef made contact, which implied that the planetary leader had indeed been watching their arrival. He probably also knew that the Butlerian watchdog ship was destroyed. Good — another reason for the deacon not to be difficult.

On the screen, Kalifer’s shoulders drooped and his skin sagged on his frame as if he’d chosen the wrong size from a rack. His speech had a slow and ponderous quality, and his sentences always took longer to complete than Josef could stand. Deacon Kalifer was a man who made every listener want to say Hurry up!

“Ah, VenHold ship, we hoped you would reconsider your embargo. And I’m pleased that you came here in person, Directeur Venport.”

“I came in person, but I’m not pleased with the reception. Be thankful that rabid watchdog ship won’t cause you any more problems.” This might not be a wasted trip after all; at the very least, it gave Josef a chance to twist the knife while the people of Baridge eavesdropped. “I bring pharmaceuticals, specifically cancer drugs, and polymer creams to protect you against the radiation onslaught from the solar cycle. I’ve also brought a team of the top doctors trained at the Suk School. They specialize in treating skin lesions and a variety of cancers, and they can help your people.”

“Thank you, Directeur!” Kalifer was so excited that he spoke quickly for a change.

Cioba caught Josef’s eye and he could tell that she knew exactly what he was doing. Her shrewd business sense and keen ability to observe made her an invaluable asset to him.

Keeping his tone neutral, Josef responded to Kalifer. “We also have a large cargo of melange, which I know is popular here. Baridge used to be an important VenHold customer, and we hate to lose your business. We offer this special shipment at a discounted price, to celebrate our renewed trade.”