Navigators of Dune

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.”