Navigators of Dune

Howling and screaming, they held up the transparent cylinder, grabbed it and passed it from one set of hands to another. They were bloody, their fingers torn, their nails ripped off from clawing at the metal machine. But they had their enemy now, their prize, the one who murdered Manford.

They lifted Ptolemy’s canister high. It was disconnected from sensors and the speakerpatch, so he could not even scream. With a resounding roar of victory, they smashed open the seal, poured out the blue electrafluid, and dumped the naked pink brain onto the ground.

Thousands of brutal feet stomped until Ptolemy was no more than a thin splattered smear.

* * *

AS THE RISING tide of fanatical outrage surged across Empok, the crowds understood how to achieve their ultimate victory. As if possessed by the spirit of Manford himself, Anari led the infuriated followers in wave after wave of destruction. They all knew what to do. In their righteous rage, nothing could stop them.

Hundreds of thousands of Butlerians took down every last one of the rampaging cymeks. The fanatics paid an unspeakably high cost in blood—but they won.

Letting the mayhem continue on its own, Anari went back and wept over the torn remnants of Manford’s body. She cursed herself for failing to die in his place. She should be the one torn apart. Manford should still be alive!

Now, in her terrible misery, she understood exactly how Manford had felt when he held the mangled remains of his beloved Rayna in the wake of the assassin’s bomb blast. Yet Manford had used that anguish and fury to become a bright new flame, the next leader of the Butlerians.

A position he could no longer hold.

Anari touched Manford’s blood-soaked shirt, felt a hard, flat object inside, and drew out the stained icon painting of Rayna Butler surrounded by a halo of purity. He had treasured this, carried it with him every waking moment. Anari Idaho clasped the icon against her breast, feeling a warmth of love, and knowing exactly what Manford and Rayna would want her to do now.

The Butlerians needed a new leader.

* * *

SHAKEN BY THE surprise arrival of the Imperial ships, Draigo Roget scrambled to the flickering tactical console of the flagship. “We are betrayed, Directeur.” Harte’s fleet had plunged in from nowhere, opened fire on their unshielded ships. “The Emperor is attacking us.”

“But we are here on Roderick’s own orders!”

The Mentat said, “They hit us right when we were most vulnerable. A masterful treachery.”

The realization sickened Josef. “The Emperor sent them here to crush us while our shields were down and our backs were turned. Get those shields back up!”

Harte’s attack caused enormous damage to Josef’s flagship in the brief moments before the crew could reactivate their Holtzman shields. Meanwhile, on the live feeds from his cymek army down below, he was appalled to see one warrior machine after another go off-line, destroyed by hordes of savages.

Josef ordered his warships to ignore the pathetic scraps of Manford’s fleet and open fire on the Imperial vessels instead. They responded, but Draigo gave a grim Mentat assessment. “After the space battle, our weapons are mostly depleted, Directeur. Even our restored shields are far weaker than they should be. We have suffered great damage.”

Under concentrated Imperial fire, one more VenHold ship fell, its hull ripped open and engines blown off-line; the dying vessel drifted, a dark hulk in space among the other wreckage.

Josef tore the words out of his throat. “These—losses—are—unacceptable!”

Norma Cenva’s voice blared across the static and sparks of the flagship’s bridge. “My prescience did not warn me of this attack. Now too many of my Navigators are lost and we must retreat.”

Josef knew she was right. Admiral Harte intended to wipe them out—and had the weaponry to do so. Their shields were weakening, and their depleted weapons were no match for this large unexpected force. They had been cheated by the Emperor himself.

At least his vessels were faster, since Harte’s ships did not have Holtzman engines. “Tell your Navigators, Grandmother! Withdraw whatever ships remain.”

“They will expect us to go to Arrakis, Directeur,” Draigo said.

“Arrakis is well protected—no, we should go to our Denali stronghold, where they’ll never find us. Grandmother, set our course.”

The Imperial fleet continued to fire, causing more and more damage, and Josef needed to buy just another few moments as the Holtzman engines built up enough power to fold space.

He had one last card to play. It would be a close thing.

He transmitted a parting shot designed to make the Emperor think twice. “Admiral, you should know that Anna Corrino is safe in my custody. Her life is in my hands. Consider your next actions with extreme care. Unless you cease firing immediately, the Emperor will never see his sister again.”

On the comm screen, Harte was livid, but he did call off the continuing weapons barrage. “Directeur, I demand—”