Navigators of Dune

17

In his fur-lined ceremonial cloak, Roderick felt too warm on the blocky throne. Carved from an immense green crystal, it had been fashioned into this impressive seat for Emperor Faykan Corrino after the Battle of Corrin; the throne was intended to awe and impress the frayed survivors of humanity as they rebuilt their civilization.

The Imperial Audience Chamber was also ostentatious with gilded moldings, frescoes, glaxene chandeliers, and a marblene floor, but — as with the Imperial barge with which he had launched General Roon’s strike force — Roderick understood that such trappings represented authority and the perception of stability.

A line of carefully screened supplicants moved toward the elevated throne, escorted by uniformed guards. His new Truthsayer Fielle stood on one side, an imposing woman in her black robe. The scowl on her fleshy face and the intensity of her gaze seemed designed to intimidate anyone who might utter a lie in the Emperor’s presence.

Roderick knew he needed to quash Josef Venport’s defiance before it was widely seen as a rebellion, but he had heard nothing yet from Vinson Roon … which added another knot of tension. By now the surprise strike force had surely attacked Kolhar. Perhaps the mop-up operations were taking longer than expected, but the General should have sent a courier back immediately. Directeur Venport had made no outraged announcements, nor were there any reports of a great space battle, nor had Venport sent gloating messages of victory, and the silence filled Roderick’s head with imagined disasters.

If all went as planned, the force should have been more than sufficient to deal with VenHold defenses. If all went as planned.

If Roon’s battle group had been defeated or captured, however, the damage to the Imperial Armed Forces would be severe. Those ships comprised a significant portion of Roderick’s home defenses, and he had gambled them in a surprise attack. It was as if the strike force had tumbled into a void in space.

Roderick hated to feel helpless. As Emperor, he should be the most powerful man on countless worlds, but he was being pulled in opposite directions by Manford Torondo and Josef Venport, caught between the two dangerous extremes.

How he had suffered because of those two men! Venport’s insatiable commercial ambitions had led to the murder of Roderick’s brother, while out-of-control Butlerian mobs had trampled his beautiful daughter to death. His sister had gone missing when Butlerians overthrew the Mentat School on Lampadas, and Manford Torondo was likely to blame, although the Butlerian leader flatly denied any knowledge of Anna’s fate. A lie? Probably, but there was no proof.

Neither of those monstrous leaders accepted responsibility for the tragedies they had caused. In order to secure his rightful power and influence, Roderick needed to cancel out both extremes. How perfect it would be if Manford Torondo and Josef Venport could simply be induced to eliminate each other.…

This scheduled court appearance was a distraction, but he knew that holding the fabric of government together required finesse as well as power, and the various nobles and businessmen needed access to their Emperor in order to keep peace in the highest ranks of society.

Roderick leaned back on his throne and faced his visitors. This morning the supplicants were a colorful assortment from many planets. Some carried documents — petitions for him to review, or proposed changes in laws on their worlds. He noticed that Fielle listened carefully to each visitor, filing away her thoughts, which she would dispense in a later report to him. As his new Truthsayer, she seemed determined to be thorough.

Roderick also listened to complaints, issuing his counsel, opinions, and judgments. He always tried to be fair-minded and respectful, graciously accepting the gifts they brought from distant worlds.

Next in line came four rough-looking people, and something about them caught Roderick’s attention. The leader was tall and broad, a singularly unattractive woman with a rough face and curly black hair that was thin in patches. In contrast with her more ragtag companions, she wore a wondrous cape that had the form and movement of fabric, but shimmered like an alloy of metal and crystal. The cape captured distorted reflections of the chamber as it flowed, as if alive. Behind her, the woman’s companions carried a gilded chest, which had been thoroughly inspected by his guards.

The bearers set the chest on the first step of the dais, and the leader bowed. “Sire, I am Korla of Corrin.” She smiled. “Yes, Corrin, where the thinking machines made their last stand against humanity. My people settled among the ruins to reclaim those once-glorious cities. Some call me the Queen of Trash, but my people have salvaged many unique and valuable materials.” She tugged on the marvelous, swirling cloak so that it created a hypnotic dance of colors. “This fine flowmetal cape is but one example.”

Her companions opened the chest to reveal another cape inside. Korla removed it, held up the shimmering metallic garment, and Roderick leaned forward to see facets within facets, prisms within prisms, and an incredible array of shifting colors. The nearest courtiers gasped as they watched the spellbinding play of light and color, and Roderick smiled, knowing that Salvador would have been overjoyed.

Pleased by the reaction, Korla took a step closer. “Sire, this cape is an item of salvaged flowmetal. It is my gift to you. Would you like to try it on?”

The guards closed in, suspicious, but Roderick glanced at the Truthsayer, who was intent on Korla’s words, tone, and demeanor. “I sense no outright danger, Sire. She sincerely intends to honor you with this gift.”

Roderick reached out to touch the cloak, feeling the slick, tingly metallic fabric. The Queen of Trash lowered her husky voice. “I have reason to believe this garment may once have been worn by the robot Erasmus himself.”

The Emperor flinched at the name of one of the most monstrous villains in history and pulled back his hand. Then he remembered, and said, “I have seen historical images that show him wearing something similar.”

Korla backed down to the main floor, and her companions began removing more objects from the open chest — metallic shapes, some smooth and bulky, others warped by the tremendous heat of a nuclear attack. “Even damaged, these are valuable artifacts, trophies from a vanquished enemy. As humanity’s leader, you should have them.” Korla draped the marvelous cape on top of the open chest.

Many in the crowded audience chamber muttered, nervous to see relics of the abhorrent thinking machines. Roderick knew that when Manford Torondo learned about them, he would demand that the Emperor discard all the relics as unclean. His followers would insist that he purge them from the palace, and that Roderick himself undergo some kind of ritual cleansing.

The thoughts brought a wave of anger to him. I am the Emperor. A group of fanatics cannot dictate my decisions. He smiled at the Queen of Trash. “You have indeed brought me fine gifts, Korla — reminders that we defeated the thinking machines, not the other way around.”

Roderick dismissed her. Korla and her fellow scavengers backed away from the throne. Guards folded the flowmetal cape, handling it cautiously, and tucked it back inside the chest, which they carried away.…

Hours later, when the visitors and courtiers had left, Roderick sat alone on the great throne, letting his thoughts wander out into the vastness of the Imperium. Fielle moved so subtly and silently that he was not aware that she had stepped closer. He saw great concern in her dark eyes. “You performed admirably today, Sire, but I noticed signs that you are troubled. I surmise that you are grappling with the intractable Butlerians? Or is it Venport’s rebellion?”

Roderick scowled. “I can deal with the fanatics as soon as Venport is neutralized … but I fear something terrible has happened to General Roon’s strike force.” He slammed a fist down on the arm of the throne. “I had expected this to be over by now.”

Fielle responded with an odd, knowing smile. “There may be another way to damage Directeur Venport, without a large military investment.” He looked at her, waiting for her to speak. “As I mentioned earlier, spice is his real vulnerability, Sire. He needs it not only for his commercial enterprises, but for the creation and sustenance of his Navigators. He continues his operations on Arrakis with impunity, even though you have an Imperial force there.”

“That force is too small to be effective, and I am not in a position to prosecute a full-scale war on Arrakis.” Especially if Roon’s strike force is gone. “I’d like to know what’s really happening there, though. If Venport is expending all his resources to defend Kolhar, then does he have any vulnerabilities on Arrakis?” He feared, though, that the opposite was more likely the case — that Venport could divert his own military might and overthrow the Imperial forces. Spice, and that damned desert planet, had been at the root of this whole mess.

“Arrakis has as many opportunities as vulnerabilities, Sire. I may have suggestions that could be useful.” Fielle gave him another peculiar, mysterious smile. “With your permission, let me look into the matter before giving you a firm recommendation. Never underestimate the eyes of the Sisterhood.” The woman bowed and left the throne room.