Navigators of Dune

47

The heroic reception from the citizens of Zimia was so overwhelming that even after four days of parades, speeches, and celebrations, the zeal had not diminished. Manford was pleased.

The Emperor had been forced to embrace him and lionize the brave Butlerian soldiers who had arrived at the perfect time to chase away Venport and his evil machine lovers. Settling in with the throngs at the capital city, rather than returning to his flagship in orbit, Manford had inflamed the crowds. And he kept them energized.

The swelling crowds had taken over empty homes and apartments, pushed themselves into temporary shelters, commandeered spare rooms in large family units, and set up communal sleeping tents across the palace plaza — whatever they needed to do. It was all perfectly justified and necessary.

If anyone from Zimia grumbled about the conditions, Manford merely spread his hands. “Good citizens of the Imperium are willing to make sacrifices for the future of humanity. After all, if we had not saved you from Venport’s siege, your city would be in smoking ruins and you would all be dead. You can endure some small inconvenience to welcome your saviors.”

Manford knew he was exaggerating his own importance, but the Emperor could not pretend that Salusa Secundus would have survived without the Butlerian intervention. And Manford did not intend to let him forget it. Roderick Corrino might not be as weak as Salvador had been … but Manford was not weak either.

After the three cymeks had attacked Lampadas and killed Sister Woodra, Manford’s devoted followers howled for blood. New converts had rushed to his ranks, and even more joined after Venport’s invasion of the Imperial capital. That dangerous man, his monstrous Navigators, his insidious machines, and his terrible cymeks had to be eradicated from the galaxy!

But not everything could be blamed on Directeur Venport. Even as the struggle for the human soul continued across the Imperium, a smaller-scale disaster occurred on Salusa Secundus. Far from Zimia in the southern lowlands, a large flood broke the banks of a Salusan river delta, and the rushing water devastated several trading settlements and river communities. Thousands were killed, tens of thousands displaced. The Emperor rushed to send emergency crews with temporary shelters and medical supplies. The suffering was extreme.

Empress Haditha announced that she would lead the relief efforts, calling upon the citizens of Salusa to contribute their work and supplies. She showed her strength and leadership by rallying support from all quarters. Manford found it admirable, but it was none of his concern.

And then Roderick came to see him. Tens of thousands of Butlerians were camped throughout the palace district, and Manford received him there like a visiting dignitary. The Emperor made his appeal. “I have work for your people, Manford Torondo. If you truly care about the well-being of humankind, then your followers can assist the flood victims. I will provide transportation to take them as humanitarian work crews.”

Manford maintained a neutral expression, but he knew exactly what Roderick’s real intent must be. The Emperor wanted to use this mundane catastrophe as an excuse to disperse the huge crowds of Butlerians, to get rid of them. No, he and his followers would not be deceived so easily.

“The flood victims are suffering, Sire, but that disaster was clearly an act of God,” Manford said. “Those people must have been machine sympathizers. I would be cautious about helping them, because they likely deserved their punishment.” He nodded as if to reaffirm his own conclusion. “Thank you, but my followers will stay right here, at the heart of our glorious capital. Surely you have enough trained home troops to handle a civil matter such as this? Weather events are rather commonplace, are they not?”

The Emperor looked angry on many levels, but Manford just smiled placidly at him. Anari Idaho stood like a statue, not questioning Manford’s decision. Unable to coerce him, Roderick and his entourage departed.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, as Manford sat propped on cushions under the rippling fabric of his pavilion, he contemplated his next steps. Butlerians filled the palace square on the west side of Zimia, and tens of thousands of believers strained the city’s resources, but everyone would share the burden for the common good.

“‘The mind of man is holy.’” He always found the mantra calming.

Manford knew the restless crowds could easily be driven to violence, and he fully understood the necessity of occasional mob celebrations as a pressure-release valve, although the last event in Zimia had gotten out of control. The death of the Emperor’s young daughter had been an unfortunate tragedy, but at least the poor girl was a martyr.

That realization gave him an idea that brought a broad smile to his face. Perhaps if Manford presented it that way, the Emperor and Empress would forgive him.…

Anari had arranged for Manford’s pavilion to be set up not far from a four-meter-high bronze statue of Emperor Faykan Corrino. Manford looked up at the statue, both impressed and offended by the towering figure. Faykan had been a hero at the end of the Jihad, and he certainly deserved to be celebrated — but not deified. Maybe someday there would be similar statues of Manford, though. He’d certainly done as much for humanity’s future as Faykan had, and arguably more.…

He adjusted the cushions, felt a warm breeze on his face. He was making an impact here, but his goal was not to relax and enjoy the sunshine. After what the demon Venport had done — both on Lampadas and here — he knew he had to move against Kolhar as soon as possible. But even the Emperor was afraid to risk a military assault against VenHold headquarters. Deacon Harian wanted to unleash the Butlerians in a rampaging mob, not caring how many would be slaughtered, and Manford knew his followers would fight to the death no matter the odds. But he wanted to win, not just create another long list of martyrs. He needed some way to guarantee a victory. He prayed for a miracle.

Anari approached him, accompanied by a nobleman Manford did not recognize. The man wore expensive clothes, a rich green cloak, a gold-embroidered vest, and flowing pantaloons. A pie-shaped hat rested on his blond curls, making him appear more effete than handsome, but his eyes were open wide in adoration as he greeted the Butlerian leader. The man removed his hat and held it against his chest.

Anari provided the introduction. “Manford, this is an important Landsraad leader, Udorum Pondi from Gillek. Lord Pondi is a fervent convert to our Butlerian cause.”

The nobleman stepped forward, as if he didn’t know whether to fall to his knees or simply bow. “I am honored to meet you, Leader Torondo, and totally amazed. To be perfectly honest, my heart might burst.”

Manford nodded, accepting the enthusiasm. It was not the only time he had received such accolades, and he always liked to listen to them.

“I was one of the first noblemen to take the pledge on behalf of my entire planet. We swore not to interact with evil machines. We cut off all dealings with Venport Holdings. We purged our cities, removed any hint of dangerous technology. I memorized the speeches of our beloved martyr Rayna Butler, and I listened to each of your recorded rallies. I read all of your writings and took them to heart. I want my planet to remain pure, even though we suffered greatly after we were cut off by the VenHold embargo.”

“I wish I had many more like you.” Manford’s comment made the man’s expression light up. “Many of us have suffered. Suffering is part of life — but humanity suffered far worse under the thinking machines.”

Pondi wasn’t finished. “Yes, yes, Leader Torondo! I also spoke out on behalf of our cause at the Landsraad Hall, but there are those who don’t wish to listen, nobles with weak convictions. I’m not even convinced about Emperor Roderick’s dedication, but I know I can trust you.” He looked away as if ashamed. “I feel soiled by what I recently discovered on Gillek, but it is too important to ignore. I must turn it over to your hands. Such terrible weapons! Only you can be trusted to know what to do with so much power, Leader Torondo.”

Anari looked at him intently, gave Pondi a meaningful nod. Manford was intrigued. “And what is it you’ve found?”

“During the purge of my planet, we ransacked technological vaults and discovered things that had been hidden away for decades, maybe even a century or more. What we found there…” Pondi shuddered, and tears began to pour down his cheeks. “I’m not worthy to keep it. Such a resource must be yours.”

“What is it?” Manford repeated.

“A dangerous stockpile placed there for use against the thinking machines, but never deployed. They are intact. Perhaps … perhaps you can use them to save us all?”

Manford was growing impatient. “What things?”

Udorum Pondi looked up. “Atomics, Leader Torondo. A large stockpile of atomics from the Jihad. Enough warheads to destroy an entire thinking-machine world.” He began to stammer. “I–I believe they can be better used for the Butlerian cause, under your guidance. If you will do me the honor of accepting them.”

Manford’s throat went dry, and he kept his voice steady. “Yes, Lord Pondi, I believe we can put them to very good use.”