Navigators of Dune

Behind him, to his concern, he realized that Willem and Tula were beginning their own combat. Vor had fought Tula once at an inn on Caladan just after she murdered Orry. Vor had barely survived the confrontation. He feared for Willem’s life now, but he could not let his attention stray from his own opponent.

During his flicker of hesitation, Valya flung herself into the air, and kicked him in the middle of his chest. Vor staggered backward. When she charged toward him to finish the attack, he savagely kicked her legs out from under her. Valya crashed to the ground with a look of surprise and irritation on her face.

Vor’s chest screamed in pain, but he kept his expression neutral and eyes alert as she bounded to her feet, ready to go after him again. Looking up from her apparent vulnerability, she spoke in a strange, throaty voice: “When I come toward you this time, your muscles will freeze.”

At her eerie, commanding tone, Vor suddenly found he could not move. It was as if his body had turned to stone, a frightening, uncontrolled sensation. By concentrating, though, he managed to break free of whatever strange hold she had inflicted upon him. Realizing that the attack was only in his mind, he forced it aside. Valya’s look of confidence faded as she saw him slide to his left, on the move again and ready to counterattack.

Just then the sharp report of a projectile gun rang out, and Valya saw her sister fall. She whirled and let out a sudden cry. “No!”

Tula writhed on the ground, and Willem loomed over her, his projectile weapon drawn and his face dark with hatred. Blood flowed from her left shoulder, and one arm hung useless. Tula struggled back to her feet, drew a dagger with her good arm, and faced him defiantly. Her face showed anger and pride … but also something else, something softer?

“What kind of monster pretends to love a man just to murder him?” Willem demanded. “My brother loved you—a Harkonnen!”

Valya snarled and tried to lunge toward her sister, but Vor threw himself against her to stop her from interfering.

Willem raised the projectile weapon again.

Sometimes victory is achieved in a surprising fashion, but I embrace it nevertheless, no matter the method or the circumstances.

—EMPEROR RODERICK CORRINO I, private conversation with Haditha

When he arrived above the dark, mist-shrouded research planet, Roderick was pleased with the impressive fleet he had assembled on such short notice. Venport would not possibly be expecting them.

The foldspace carriers emerged, and the swarm of Imperial warships dropped out of the enormous holding bays and raced toward Denali, side by side. They were ready to fight.

From the bridge of Harte’s flagship, Roderick was surprised to see that Directeur Venport had assembled an unexpectedly robust defensive net, considering how many warships he had lost at Lampadas, as well as the force he had diverted to protect his Arrakis operations.

The Emperor stood with his hands behind his back. “Apparently he did not assume he was safe hiding here after all.”

On the bridge beside him, Admiral Harte offered a small smile. “The most important part, Sire, is that our ships outnumber theirs, and we have greater overall firepower. It will be a challenge, but we will defeat them.”

Roderick hoped the Admiral was right. He was uneasy that they had left Salusa more vulnerable than he would have liked, but his real enemy, the last remaining thorn in his side, was right here in front of him. As soon as Venport Holdings was broken, Roderick could create a new commercial network to conduct trade throughout the Imperium. He envisioned a golden age, without Butlerian resistance to common technology and without Josef Venport’s ruthless business practices.

Much blood had been shed already, and it would not be an easy victory. Scars would remain for a long time.

“Don’t underestimate them,” Roderick warned. “If Venport has weapons laboratories down there, he may well have surprises for us.” Now that the man had been betrayed, wounded, and backed into a corner, he would be enraged, desperate, and unpredictable, and that made him especially dangerous.

Harte said, “Our shields are up, Sire, and the VenHold ships ahead of us also have full Holtzman shields.” He paused to let the import sink in. “At Lampadas, Sire, the Butlerians used lasguns to fire upon shields. It was sheer suicide … but what if Venport is desperate enough to resort to such tactics?”

The Emperor shook his head. “Not a chance. The Directeur may be ruthless, but he is neither irrational nor suicidal.”