Mentats of Dune

Salvador sounded defensive. “I will have Imperial soldiers with me. In fact, you should come along — we’ll do this together. We won’t be using a VenHold transport, and the faster-than-light engines on the Imperial Barge are perfectly safe.”

Normally, the Emperor and his contingent traveled aboard a perfectly safe VenHold spacefolder, but since the Emperor’s edict had such drastic implications for VenHold’s business operations, Salvador did not feel comfortable riding on one of Directeur Venport’s ships, nor would he accept the services of a rival transport company with an atrocious safety record.

“The non-Holtzman engines are safe, yes,” Roderick agreed, “but the trip to Arrakis will take three weeks, which means I have to stay on Salusa. You’ll be gone at least two months, and someone reliable has to run the Imperium until you return.”

They entered the palace hangar where the Imperial Barge was being prepared for the Emperor’s forthcoming trip, a grand old vessel that traveled the old-fashioned way, as all the ships in the League of Nobles had before Tio Holtzman’s invention of foldspace travel. Roderick agreed that the journey would be safer than risking foldspace travel without a Navigator, but that wasn’t what he worried about. He thought his brother’s entire plan to seize spice operations would provoke one of the most powerful men in the Imperium.

Salvador would not be convinced otherwise.

Echoing noises of tools and voices filled the hangar’s cavernous space. The barge was more than large enough to hold an entourage of Imperial guards, along with staff and servants. They all anticipated having a marvelous journey, filled with pomp and circumstance.

Salvador looked up at the gilded hull. “It will be fine, brother. Directeur Venport sent a message accepting the edict. He is not happy about the transition, but he agreed to show me the spice operations personally.”

Roderick lowered his voice. “That doesn’t sound right to me. All the profits and power you’re asking him to surrender? He’s not the kind of man to surrender to your decree so easily.”

“On the contrary, it’s refreshing when a subject actually heeds the orders of his Emperor. You can be sure we’ll hear plenty of complaints — a veritable army of VenHold attorneys will descend on Zimia to thrash out the details, and I do not for a moment believe he won’t profit from the change.”

Roderick made a noncommittal sound, unable to forget the image of the Manford Torondo look-alike assassinated in Arrakis City. He lowered his voice. “This might be an excellent time to test your stand-in. Your new double looks so much like you that he might almost fool me.”

“But he wouldn’t fool you, brother, and I doubt he would fool Directeur Venport either. My double would have to keep up the charade for weeks, in close quarters. No, this is something I must do for myself. I am the Emperor, and no one would dare harm me.”

Esther-Cano listened to both men. Even though she was a pureblood Sorceress with Sisterhood training, she had proved herself reliable to Roderick’s satisfaction. She had close-cropped black hair, small intelligent eyes, and an air of command, as if she had experience and wisdom far beyond her years. Now she interjected, “Sire, the Prince is wise to suggest caution.”

The Emperor shook his head. “I’ve already made my decision. We will depart as soon as the barge is ready and my entourage has been gathered.” He turned and issued orders to whomever might be listening, assuming that someone with authority would hear him. “Make certain the vessel is supplied with everything we need. Oh, and add some extra troops, just to keep my brother happy.”

Roderick let out a slow, uneasy sigh, didn’t argue further.

Workmen scurried along a webwork of scaffolding around the ship, inspecting the hull and taking measurements by hand, rather than using automated metal-lattice sca

Reverend Mother Esther-Cano looked up. “Away from the scaffolds—now!”

She rushed them to the side an instant before a heavy seam welder crashed to the hangar floor where Salvador had been standing. Above, the crew cried out in dismay; guards raced into the hangar, yelling for all work activities to stop.

Rather than being outraged by the accident, Salvador was fascinated by the Reverend Mother. “How did you know that? Are you prescient?”

“Just observant, Sire.”

He gave her a paternal pat on the back. “Well, I’m glad of that.” He shouted back up to the crew. “Interrogate the clumsy worker, but I want no delays. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

More cautious now, they continued the inspection, staying at a safer distance from the work area.

The barge was an elaborate and antique construction in the shape of a teardrop. Even though it would travel using old-style FTL engines, the aft compartment had been expanded to carry backup Holtzman engines as well, for folding space if necessary. The hull gleamed with an amalgamation of rare and valuable metals; the ship had a style and class of fine workmanship that had not been seen since the start of the Jihad. The Emperor especially liked the opulence of the interior, fitted with tiny jewels from a variety of planets around the Imperium.

The vessel was one of the treasures Salvador had acquired from the renegade House Péle, and he was eager to show it off. Several pilots were specially trained to operate the craft. When the fittings and preparations were completed, the barge would be ready, and its systems given rigorous shakedowns before the journey to Arrakis.

Salvador looked up at the barge, smiling. “I shall arrive with great fanfare and put an end to this matter. With spice operations under Imperial control, I shall reassert my authority and elevate my position as Emperor … and I will not have to worry about melange supplies. I’ll plant the Corrino flag and establish a desert palace on Arrakis.” He chuckled. “On an oasis, even if we have to import the water. It will be done, because I have commanded it.”

Filled with pride, Salvador made the whole Arrakis venture sound fabulous and romantic. Yet Roderick doubted his brother would ever want to return to the desert planet after he experienced what Arrakis was actually like. There would be no desert palace, no royal oasis.

The balding Emperor paused beneath the bulbous front end of the craft and admired the golden-lion Corrino emblem, shiny and polished, which had recently replaced the flame symbol of House Péle.

Despite his reservations, Roderick did not dispute the concerns Manford Torondo and Dorotea had raised about the overreach of Venport Holdings; he was more worried about the volatile Butlerians, however. Manford was a bully, a loose ca

The power and influence Directeur Venport wielded were just as great as Manford Torondo’s, but he had not been openly hostile to the throne. Much of the Imperial Armed Forces even depended on VenHold ships for transport. The man had built his own commercial empire, made his own rules, while paying little more than lip service to the Emperor. At least he was reasonable, Roderick thought. The lesser of two evils … unless Venport was provoked too much.

Salvador said, “I will be glad to be done with this. I have grown exceedingly tired of the petty feud between Venport and the Butlerians. I am the Emperor, and by taking over Arrakis I intend to show both of them who rules the Imperium.”

“Directeur Venport won’t see it that way — he’ll know you’re still doing what Manford wants,” Roderick said. “By bowing to Butlerian demands and seizing the spice business, you may well be creating a much more dangerous enemy.”