Dune: The Machine Crusade (80 page)

“Thinking machines?” a younger technician asked, turning pale with panic. “A battle group to take over Kolhar?”

“Take a look here,” Onder said, tapping a close-up panel. “Those are the unmistakable profiles of Jihad ballistas.”

Venport nodded. “Serena Butler sent them.”

FLANKED BY A pair of guardian Sorceresses stationed here from Rossak, Venport waited for Jihad representatives to disembark from the battleship onto the tarmac. He tried to swallow his anxiety, but it hung on, like a bad taste in his mouth. Only one of the giant ballistas had landed in the Kolhar industrial spaceport adjacent to his shipyards, while the rest of the flotilla remained in orbit, like guards taking the high ground.

Ballistas were the largest, most awe-inspiring warships in the League Armada. But as Venport looked at the massive curves and blunt lines of the one in front of him, with its heavy engines and cumbersome fuel tanks designed for long journeys, he thought the vessel looked bulky and oldfashioned. After his work on the exponentially faster spacefolders, Venport could envision how the designs of the big military ships would change when Norma’s technology became commonplace… preferably developed and distributed by VenKee Enterprises.

Not just military ships, but every facet of long-distance transportation.

A personal transport chamber slid down the side of the ballista’s outer hull, disengaging from the ship’s core. Its hatch unfolded to reveal two uniformed League Primeros, their chests and shoulders laden with ornate braids, medals, and ribbons.

The officers studied the partially completed cargo haulers in the Kolhar industrial yards. An army of engineers and workers bustled about on their appointed tasks, some of them operating construction cranes and lifting pallets powered by Norma’s suspensor technology.

Finally, the Primeros walked toward Venport. One man seemed almost twice the age of the other. As they drew closer, Venport recognized them as heroes of the Jihad, Xavier Harkonnen and Vorian Atreides. Their presence proved the very serious intent of Serena Butler.

Primero Atreides gestured with admiration at the humming shipyards. “I’m glad we made the journey. Just look at these facilities, Xavier— the ships, the drydocks, the equipment. A fine, strategic base of operations.” He nodded personably at Venport. “Directeur, we understand you’ve developed an amazing technology for military applications? We’re eager to see it in action, and begin modifying and incorporating VenKee ships into the Army.”

Xavier Harkonnen cleared his throat and added stiffly, “On instructions from Priestess Serena Butler, we have come to Kolhar to express our gratitude for your donation to our cause. Winning the struggle against Omnius is, of course, the primary goal of every loyal human.”

Venport’s thoughts spun as he struggled to make the best of a bad situation.
Donation
. He didn’t like the word but forced a smile. “Of course you may inspect my ships. As a service to the Jihad, I’m certain we can license VenKee’s proprietary technology to the military….”

He watched heavily armed crimson-and-green troops pour out of the landed ballista and spread in formation across Kolhar Spaceport. Several smaller vessels landed nearby, a pair of javelins and at least twenty kindjal fighters. Terceros shouted orders, and jihadi soldiers ran to assigned positions, taking control of the facility. Venport drew in deep breaths, knowing he could not object.

Like bookends, the two Primeros flanked him, looking around in all directions, taking a mental tally of his resources, the merchant ships on the landing field, the gigantic hangars and shipyards in which VenKee Enterprises had invested vast amounts of money.

Atreides took him by the arm. “Thank you, Directeur. This is fascinating. Show us your facilities so that we can see how best to adapt them to the war effort.”

Primero Harkonnen narrowed his eyes. “Naturally, we have full legal authority from the Jihad Council to commandeer any of your ships that we feel can be converted into war vessels. I understand you have approximately a hundred available?”

Venport felt the ground turn unsteadily beneath his feet. “That is an accurate assessment.”

He steeled himself. All his life he had been a man of commerce, a negotiator, a businessman. He could work out suitable terms with the League. Even if the Army of the Jihad assumed they could take everything, Venport would find some way to extract important concessions from them. That way, everyone would benefit.

Still, he did not feel at all excited as he escorted the officers to his administrative chambers inside the terminal building. “This way, gentlemen. I will show you what my genius wife has accomplished.”

THE PRIMEROS WERE suitably impressed. Inside the offices, Norma took her time discussing the capabilities of the Holtzman engines, while her mother stood beside her. Venport studied the records of ships under construction and those scheduled to return from merchant runs, and he arranged for demonstrations.

Vorian Atreides seemed the most excited. “We planned to modify the cargo ships. But is it possible the technology could be adapted to our ballistas, and to the medium-sized javelins?”

“I believe so,” Norma said.

“On the other hand, the factories and workers already exist here to refit most of the merchant ships,” Primero Harkonnen said. “I see no reason why the existing VenKee fleet can’t be converted into war vessels, with enhanced armor and weaponry. We can install decks and cabins to change the cargo compartments into crew quarters, and integrate full Holtzman shields for defense.”

“A massive, expensive project,” Venport cautioned, weak with the prospect of losing everything.

“Simpler and faster than building additional battleships from scratch,” Primero Harkonnen said.

Venport could not argue. His heart felt heavy.

“I do, however see some advantage to creating space-folding javelins,” Harkonnen added.

The Jihad officers discussed the possibilities, enthusiastically making grand plans and outrageous suggestions for how the space-folding warships and smaller scout vessels could be put into military service.

Venport cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I acknowledge the immense possibilities and advantages of our space-folding engines, but we have not yet agreed upon the terms of our arrangement.” He smiled stiffly at both Zufa and Norma. “We all want to do our part, but this technology and the ships represent a huge investment. Just look at the extent of my facilities. The setup costs practically bankrupted my company.” He spread his hands reasonably. “VenKee Enterprises must be compensated in some way.”

Primero Atreides chortled at his audacity, but his older companion frowned, as if he found the subject distasteful. “We are at war, Directeur. Such negotiations are… not within my purview.”

“What sort of compensation did you have in mind?” Atreides asked.

With a deep sigh, Venport looked at them both. Primero Harkonnen was known to be a stoic soldier, accustomed to giving orders and getting his way. Apparently, though, he had no business or negotiating sense whatsoever… and on a matter of such vital importance, Venport did not want to deal with an amateur. As for Primero Atreides, he seemed somewhat cavalier, which could also present problems. The Jihad Council might not go along with anything he negotiated.

“Perhaps I should go to Salusa Secundus with all due haste to work out a suitable agreement?” Venport suggested, in his most pleasant negotiating voice. “I am certain Grand Patriarch Ginjo or even Priestess Butler will be prepared to make those decisions.”

Smiling, Primero Atreides jumped at the suggestion. “Take one of your spacefolders. I’ll stay behind and map out the general work myself, so we can begin retrofitting the rest of your merchant fleet right away, adapting your industrial facilities to the manufacture of war vessels. Using all available resources, we should be able to launch the first converted military ships within a few months.”

“I don’t ride in the ships myself,” Venport said. “There are still risks involved in foldspace travel, and a great deal depends upon my personal survival. Of course, I pay mercenary crews handsomely for the risks they take.”

“Take one of our javelins then,” Atreides offered. “That will leave us an additional merchant ship to work on here.” He turned to his companion. “Xavier, could you accompany Directeur Venport back to Zimia?”

“Maybe
I
should send
you,
Vorian,” he responded. “Don’t forget, I do outrank you by a notch or two.”

“I just thought you might like to provide a military report to the council, and visit your home and family.”

The formal expression on Primero Harkonnen’s face softened. “You know me well, my friend. Octa and the girls change so much every time I see them. And Emil Tantor
is
getting on in years, so it would be nice to spend time with him.” He nodded, as the idea sank in. “All right, I would be happy to serve in that capacity— so long as it causes no further delays.”

Zufa interjected, “I am prepared to accompany Aurelius as well. My daughter Norma will stay here to work with the Army of the Jihad.”

A
cross countless star systems, thinking machines and humans killed each other in massive numbers. Somewhere out there, Vorian Atreides fought his own battles, while Leronica Vazz lived her separate life on Caladan.

She raised her twin boys with love and attention, but did not spoil them. By the time Estes and Kagin reached the age of eight, she had already taught them to speak and write grammatical Galach at a level far beyond their years. She showed them images of other planets in the League and pointed out prominent stars in the heavens, tracing constellations in the shapes of animals and mythological beasts.

On cloudy evenings during the storm season, she taught her sons the history of the Old Empire and the domination of thinking machines, as well as the saga of the ongoing Jihad led by Serena Butler. While her husband Kalem sat by the fire carving intricate handmade toys for the twins, he listened intently to Leronica’s lessons himself.

She never spoke of Vorian Atreides. Despite his occasional letters to her, Leronica viewed her affair with him as little more than a youthful adventure from years ago. Now, the Primero had become almost as much of a legend in her mind as some of the stories she told the boys.

During the warm season, Kalem spent time with Estes and Kagin on the boat, showing them on-board systems so that they could someday become capable fishermen themselves. With the exuberant wonder of boyhood, Estes and Kagin played in the surf, swam in the gentle harbor, and ran around the coastal town. Sometimes they pretended to be mercenaries fighting combat robots, but more often their games were grounded in the world around them: finding treasures in tidepools, seeing faces and shapes in the scudding white clouds. Caladan was already larger than their youthful imaginations could encompass.

Leronica spent much of her free time studying images in books, dreaming of the planets Vorian had told her about. But she never let her sadness show, and she thought she hid it from Kalem, who never disappointed her as a husband. He had been true to his word, and so was she….

She had grown accustomed to waking in the cool, moist darkness well before dawn. In the tavern’s great room she brewed hot drinks and made heavy breakfasts for the bachelor fishermen. Today, as she bustled around setting out platters of spiced eggs and steaming fish-and-potato hash, she felt an emptiness in her stomach. Not because the boys were going away on an outing, but because of the very idea that Estes and Kagin were actually old enough to accompany their father and grandfather on the fishing boats.

She had no reason to fear, and trusted Kalem completely, but still she felt uneasy seeing her bright-eyed twins go off on their first long fishing cruise. They were still only eight years old, after all. From stories her husband brought back, she knew that things could go wrong out there. Dangerous things.

After setting out bowls of tart inland fruit and insulated pots of a strong roasted beverage favored by fishermen, Leronica looked at her scattered customers. “You can take care of yourselves. I need to go see my husband and boys off.”

Kalem had already taken the twins down to the docks after breakfast. The shouting boys ran with bursts of energy along the steep streets to the wharves, waking anyone who had not already begun the day’s work. Though they had been out on the boats for brief excursions around the bay, this time they would go out for days into the open waters and try to haul in a heavy catch. Like real fishermen.

Leronica could not tell who showed the most pride, the twins or Kalem. Her own father Brom Tergiet had already made several trips to his own boat, bringing baskets of clothes, special dark cakes as treats, and even toys for his grandchildren. Leronica packed extra blankets and medicines, despite the fact that they would only be gone for four days. Her boys were the progeny of Primero Vorian Atreides. They had good genes and a solid upbringing, so she knew they were tough and intelligent.

Down at the docks, water curled and sloshed around the pilings. Fishermen hailed one another as they boarded their boats, prying loose nets that had frozen stiff in the night’s frost. Leronica blew on her fingers to keep them warm, while hurrying to a pair of fishing boats that her father and husband worked together.

Kalem climbed up from the engine room, looking pleased. He gave his wife an affectionate smile. “Both boats are ready to go. We were just about to fetch you.”

Dawn broke across the ocean with a crimson line that edged, moment by moment, into brighter oranges and yellows. Leronica climbed over the railing onto the deck. “I wouldn’t want you to be late setting off. You men have a big trip ahead of you.”

Estes and Kagin ran to their mother, not shy about hugging her. When she looked into their faces, she saw a heart-stopping reminder of Vor’s handsome features, but they didn’t know about him. “You boys listen to everything your father and grandfather tell you. They have important work to do, man’s work. Don’t make them worry about you. And pay attention to the things they do— learn from them.”