Navigators of Dune

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.

The mind of a Mentat is no trivial thing.

It can become a deadly weapon.

—GILBERTUS ALBANS, late Headmaster of the Mentat School