Navigators of Dune

After night fell, Anari checked the perimeter of the house and then left Manford to rest and meditate. He remained alone in his new quarters with the few possessions that had been salvaged from the rubble of his destroyed residence. One of those rescued items was the small icon painting of Rayna Butler, chipped and scratched but still beautiful. He knew that the saintly woman’s spirit was watching over him. Rayna had given a young Manford his mission in life, had led him and trained him, and now he stared at her beautiful visage, her soul-filled eyes. After a moment of indecision, he turned the icon facedown. He could not let holy Rayna Butler see what he was about to do.

After listening to silence for a few moments, gathering his courage, Manford took out his most frightening possession, the laboratory journals of the evil robot Erasmus, which had been found on devastated Corrin eight decades ago.

Anari was afraid of the books and would have liked to burn them, but she didn’t dare defy Manford’s orders; he insisted on keeping them, studying them. Even if his loyal Swordmaster didn’t understand why, Manford needed to read the terrifying yet insightful writings for himself.

He was horrified, yet fascinated by the thoughts of the sadistic thinking machine and the descriptions of what he did in his documented experiments on human beings. As Manford read, he felt like a rodent caught in the hypnotic gaze of a serpent. Tortures, experiments, analysis—some appallingly wrong, yet many conclusions seemed frightening and apt.

In the quiet night after most of the residents of Empok had bedded down, Manford read the robot’s strange musings. Erasmus had coldly dissected and vivisected countless human beings without remorse. He considered every experiment to be necessary scientific research for his own understanding of mankind. For the independent robot, it had been an obsessive pursuit, with the ends justifying the means to attain them—though he had never fully succeeded. His target, his prey, was elusive and constantly outdistancing him.

Manford had already read these journals several times, and was sickened by them, but he was also convinced the difficult task was necessary so that he could understand the enemy’s twisted thought processes. It made Manford feel superior, even smug, to know that despite all of the robot’s research and all the pain he’d inflicted, Erasmus had never acquired even the most basic comprehension of the human soul.…

Wealth and power are measured by whether one can take an important thing away from those who desire it.

—DIRECTEUR JOSEF VENPORT, financial briefing memo, Venport Holdings

After Josef had purchased the isolated sietch outright, Modoc’s people packed up and prepared to depart. They would find another home out in the deep Tanzerouft, and the new VenHold spice bank would be hidden and secure out in the most barren wilderness on Arrakis.

Although Josef was impatient to see the sietch, his inspection expedition was delayed when the satellites predicted inhospitable weather. “An impending Coriolis storm, Directeur,” said the Mentat Rogin. “It would not be safe to take fliers out there. Even the black marketeers have hunkered down until it passes.”

Josef narrowed his gaze, looked out on the sands, saw dust clouds in the distance. “Have the spice crews been withdrawn?”

“Many of them,” said Tomkir, “but some are risking it on the fringe of the projected storm path. They work on commission.”

“But the Freemen are going away unprotected?”

“The desert people are often irrational. And yet they survive.”

Josef frowned. “What about the spice crews working under Imperial contract?”

“Three Imperial operations are still working, despite the weather. It’s possible they are very brave and willing to take such great risk. More likely, they simply don’t have access to our weather satellites, and are unaware of the danger they’re in.”

Josef stroked his mustache. “So they are vulnerable—I can’t pass up such an opportunity. We have a significant mercenary fighting force, and it’s time to use them. Launch a raid immediately to strike those Imperial operations, seize whatever spice they’ve harvested, and destroy the equipment and crew.” He shrugged. “Easily explainable as storm damage.”

As his Mentats scrambled to implement the orders, Josef glanced at Norma’s sealed Navigator tank while she spoke. “We will use the additional spice to fill the vaults in our new stockpile.”