Navigators of Dune

66

The warship sensors were connected directly to Ptolemy’s brain via thoughtrode, so he was able to study the entire planet as the VenHold fleet approached Lampadas. Manford Torondo was down there, the man who had inflicted so much pain, suffering, and ignorance on the human race.

The last time here, when Ptolemy was accompanied by only two other cymeks, they had dropped down to cause mayhem and kill a single target. Although the latter objective had failed, they had learned much about the planet’s vulnerabilities. Now this full-scale, Imperially sanctioned operation would mount a frontal assault on the dangerous fanatics — using cymek walkers and advanced warships.

There would be no mercy, no peace talks, no prisoners taken. The Butlerian infestation would be exterminated in their own nest.

Directeur Venport had said it best. This was a sentence to be carried out in order to guarantee the future of human civilization. The titanic cymeks and the bulk of the VenHold Spacing Fleet would be enough to do the job.

As the ships closed in, Ptolemy, Noffe, and the brooding Navigator brains installed themselves in gigantic cymek walkers, each one an arsenal in itself. When the preservation canisters were locked into place, the cymek brains tested the thoughtrodes. The spiderlike walkers would be an agile and unstoppable army, ready to raze the city of Empok.

As the cymek drop-pods prepared to launch, Ptolemy wondered if he would feel pleasure once he avenged Dr. Elchan, or just a sense of closure to know he had at last done something for his friend and all the others the fanatics had harmed.

When the armored containers were loaded in the launching bay, Ptolemy’s external sensors showed him the adjacent pods containing Administrator Noffe and the other Navigator cymeks. They would smash the Butlerians like a hammer. Ptolemy swiveled his optical sensors to watch Directeur Venport enter the bay. The business leader stood proudly next to the cymek pods, with the black-garbed Draigo Roget at his side.

“You will launch as soon as we enter planetary orbit,” the Directeur said. “Cymek forces will take care of the ground battle, while our fleet will have its hands full fighting the barbarian warships.”

“Those old Butlerian vessels are no match for our shields or weapons,” Draigo said, not in a boastful manner, just stating a Mentat analysis. “But it will be a tactical challenge, considering the size of their fleet. We are risking everything on this.”

“With the Emperor’s blessing,” Venport said.

While he made sure that Arrakis was well defended, Venport had left only a skeleton crew behind at Denali, since the secret research outpost was secure in its isolation. Once they eliminated the Butlerian threat, the research station’s reason for existence would go away, and Ptolemy looked forward to the day when he and Administrator Noffe could focus on other scientific work to help humanity.

“We will accomplish the mission, Directeur,” Noffe said through the pod’s speakerpatch. “Given the level of resistance that Lampadas is capable of mounting, we will not fail.”

“I wish I could be down there myself,” Venport growled, “but I’ll do my share of destruction up here.”

Alarms sounded as the VenHold fleet entered Lampadas orbit. The antique Butlerian warships scrambled to respond to the unexpected arrival. They blasted away in a pell-mell barrage without any tactical coordination. Explosions rumbled through the hull of the VenHold carrier, and Ptolemy’s sensors detected energy discharges, but none of the enemy strikes penetrated the shields. Manford’s defenders were like a child having a tantrum, growing more desperate when it didn’t get what it wanted.

Draigo said, “We should launch the cymeks now, Directeur.”

Venport’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Yes, we need to do that.”

Connected to his fellow cymeks through external sensors, Ptolemy watched armored pods tumble out of the bay doors of other carriers, dropping through intermittent, timed gaps in the Holtzman shields. Finally Ptolemy felt his own pod launch.

Speeding down through the atmosphere like a meteor, Ptolemy scanned upward to watch the VenHold fleet begin its clash with the Butlerian ships. Already, three of the enemy vessels were damaged or destroyed.

And it was just the beginning.

ANARI IDAHO BURST into Manford’s office, her eyes uncharacteristically wide in panic. “Venport has come for us — we are under attack by his fleet! They’ve opened fire on our ships in orbit.”

Startled, Manford quickly concealed the Erasmus journal he’d been reading behind a pile of other papers. His rush of guilt vanished when he saw her look of urgency. “Venport?” he said. “But we obliterated Kolhar — what can he possibly have left to fight with?” He scowled. “I didn’t know he was even still alive.”

Deacon Harian strode into the room, his face flushed. “Apparently, he had more assets than just Kolhar, and now he intends to get his revenge.”

Anari nodded. “Venport’s ships have dropped more than a hundred armored projectiles through the atmosphere, just like the ones we saw before. I believe they are cymeks — and they are on the way down to Empok.”

As if to confirm her statement, the projectiles began to crash around the city, and Manford felt a sickening chill. We used atomics against him, and now he turns thinking machines against us.

Anari reached down to grab him. “Let me take you to safety in the deep tunnels, Manford. I’ll seal you in an armored room and guard you myself. We’ll send your body double outside—”

“You will not!” He shook free of her grasp. “The demon machines are our greatest enemies, and I will not hide while Venport’s monsters lay waste to my world. Now is the time for me to guide my followers — I will rally them!”

In a stern voice, Deacon Harian said, “Leader Torondo, this is the reason your body double exists. Let that expendable man take the risk. Anari can carry him into battle.”

Manford was growing angry. “Millions of my followers came to Lampadas for me, to be my weapons in the fight for the human soul. Now is the time I need them most, and I won’t let them be led by a counterfeit. Enough! There will be no further discussion.”

Outside in the streets, the crowd was roaring like a beast. Some fled in panic with no safe place to go, while others tried to form a solid defense against the cymeks that emerged from their crash pods. Manford could hear explosions and the heavy grating sounds of mechanical limbs, humming pistons, and thudding footfalls — far too close. The giant walkers began to march.

“Take me out there, Anari. My faith is strong enough to face down these demons.”

She looked torn. “But I swore to keep you safe, Manford.”

“Then don’t allow any harm to come to me.”

Anari’s thoughts and loyalties seesawed, and finally she secured her shoulder harness in place and lifted him onto it. Then she grabbed her sword and carried him out into battle.

WITH THE MENTAT at his side, Josef returned to the bridge of his flagship, which Norma herself had guided to Lampadas. Like birds of prey, more than two hundred VenHold ships had arrived at the Butlerian planet. Now, the enemy vessels standing against them were exactly what Josef had expected, the same ragtag vessels that had appeared unexpectedly at Salusa Secundus … the same ones that had bombarded Kolhar with atomics.

He would show the fanatics that reckless enthusiasm could not make up for the combined shortfall of inadequate shields and out-of-date weapons. Emperor Roderick would be pleased … as Josef himself would be.

By the time he and Draigo reached the bridge, the cymeks had been deployed on Lampadas, and above them the space battle was already under way. Josef expected to mop up the skirmish quickly; it was his task to take care of the barbarian ships in orbit.

The Butlerians shot projectile weapons at the VenHold fleet, and Josef frowned in annoyance as the bridge deck vibrated from the buffeting of explosions against his ship’s shield. After watching the outnumbered ragtag ships closing in like small, overconfident guard dogs, he said, “Cut them to ribbons.”

With Mentat focus, Draigo studied the warship positions, made a quick assessment, and issued instructions. With short, staccato sentences, he directed specific VenHold vessels to take designated positions and open fire. In less than fifteen minutes, seven enemy vessels had been destroyed and three others so severely damaged that they reeled away from the fight.

No, this would not take long. Josef drew a deep, satisfied breath.

Though he didn’t issue additional commands for the time being, he sat back in the captain’s chair, observing and enjoying. Down on the surface, Ptolemy and the new cymeks should be having an easy time mowing down the savages.

Beside him, Draigo gave a surprised gasp, and the command crew shouted. In an unexpected tactic, four Butlerian ships drove at full speed toward a large VenHold carrier in a suicidal charge. The Butlerians fired a spray of projectile weapons, hammering and hammering the VenHold shields in a frenzied effort, until the single ship’s defenses were overwhelmed. When the VenHold shields finally failed, three of the enemy ships peeled away at the last moment, while the fourth continued forward, accelerating like a battering ram. It plowed into the spacefolder, and explosions scattered the debris of both ships.

Josef stared in disbelief. After a moment’s assessment, Draigo said, “We’re heading into the den of a madman — I am not surprised he would encourage the use of suicide tactics against us.”

Josef’s skin crawled as he looked around. “It might be worse than that. The half-Manford was willing to use atomics against us at Kolhar. What if he uses atomics again? We thought he wouldn’t use them on Lampadas, not wanting to foul his own nest. But we might have been wrong.”

The Mentat’s answer was swift and cold. “We will find out soon enough.”

Josef leaned forward. “Put all our ships on high alert to watch out for warheads being launched, and prepare for evasive action if necessary. He’s not going to catch us by surprise. In the meantime, close ranks and open fire. Destroy as many of those ships as you can. They can’t launch atomics if their ships are wiped out.”

As soon as the VenHold fleet turned their weapons against the fanatical forces, the outnumbered Butlerian ships fell, one after another, slaughtered like cannon fodder. With each vessel he destroyed, Josef chalked up another bit of revenge for what these savages had done at Kolhar.

In addition to atomics, the barbarians had found ways to reveal even more aspects of their insanity, and they suddenly demonstrated one such tactic: The antique ships had been outfitted with old-style lasguns, a type of energy weapon from the time of the Jihad. Lasguns were known to interact violently with Holtzman shields, resulting in an energy release equivalent to a small atomic warhead. Thus, lasguns had been removed from any scenario in which shields might be present. No one wanted to take the risk of complete mutual destruction.

Except the Butlerians.

One fanatic ship fired a lasbeam directly at a heavily shielded VenHold vessel — intentionally — and the lasgun-shield interaction triggered a vaporization shock wave that disintegrated both the VenHold ship and its Butlerian attacker.

Appalled, Josef let out a wordless shout, rising to his feet. “This is insane!”

In the uproar on his bridge, even Draigo could barely keep his calm. “Lasguns, Directeur! If all the Butlerian ships are outfitted with them, they won’t even need atomics against us.”

Josef choked out the words. “They are completely mad!”

A second enemy ship fired a lasgun beam, triggering another blinding detonation that wiped out a VenHold warship while simultaneously eliminating itself. It was total mutual destruction, one Butlerian vessel for each VenHold vessel … and the fanatics were willing to accept the losses.

The Mentat was coldly analytical. “We outnumber them, Directeur. If they continue the attrition until nothing remains of their forces, part of our fleet will still remain.”

“But that’s not acceptable to me. We would lose half of our fleet before we obliterated the enemy.” He shook his head. “It’s insanity. We can’t defend against such attacks. I won’t accept that way of winning!”

Another lasgun burst, two more ships annihilated.

The Mentat made a swift projection. “Then the only way for us to survive is to cease using our shields, Directeur.”

“That would leave us entirely vulnerable!”

“Vulnerable to damage, Directeur. But a lasgun-shield interaction guarantees annihilation. If we drop our shields, we eliminate their greatest advantage.”

The VenHold fleet dispersed in an urgent partial retreat, spreading their ships farther apart to mitigate collateral damage caused by the pseudo-atomic explosions. Josef clenched his fists. “Damn it, drop our shields — but go on the offensive. Use all the weapons we have, full force. I want to make the barbarians wither.”

WITH THE THRUM of pistons and hydraulics, and the sound of weapons locking into firing positions, Ptolemy rose on his segmented walker legs. He felt the crackle of the electrafluid that kept his brain functioning. He was strong and alert as he strode into battle. He felt invincible.

Manipulating his multiple legs, he charged into Empok, where he saw throngs of people like ants from a stirred-up nest. Every member of that crowd was his enemy, every deluded fool who had flocked to Manford Torondo’s call. Their spreading ignorance was a weapon of mass destruction.

Ptolemy could not forget the vicious fanatics who had surrounded his laboratory on Zenith, smashing his experiments and destroying his research; and with a simple nod from Manford Torondo, they had burned Dr. Elchan alive. The legless leader had sounded sickeningly paternal when he spoke to Ptolemy afterward: “It was necessary for you to learn your lesson.”

Now, Ptolemy intended to teach a lesson of his own.

Throughout the city he saw columns of smoke rising as other cymeks attacked. Explosions leveled buildings, leaving only tumbled walls, fire, and rising dust. Flame-cannons ignited entire neighborhoods. His auditory sensors picked up screams of pain, angry shouts, and the delirious panic of the fanatics. Ptolemy had the option to silence the distraction, but he found it strangely stimulating.

Marching forward, he launched a volley of explosive projectiles toward individual homes. He stalked after the milling crowds and sprayed them with acid hoses, leaving hundreds of people writhing and smoking in the streets, their skin melting. One man staggered away, clawing at the jelly that ran out of his oozing eye sockets; he dropped to his knees, vomiting acid, as his whole body collapsed into a wreckage of smoking meat.

Ptolemy’s flame-cannons incinerated the savages, and some of them continued to run for surprising distances before they collapsed into a horrific smoking tangle. His blasts of heat were so targeted and intense that skulls exploded as the brains inside boiled into steam. Then he widened the nozzle and mowed down crowds of hundreds at a time.

Swiveling his head-turret, Ptolemy saw dozens of cymeks wreaking similar havoc. Not far away, Noffe’s walker smashed a clock tower with a thundering noise, then plowed through the rubble to crush a warehouse and a school before scampering over the ruins.

To Ptolemy’s astonishment, though, he saw more than a thousand Butlerians rush toward one of the cymeks, not caring how many were massacred on the way. Only a small percentage of the mob made it to the walker body, where they used hooks and ropes to attach themselves, climbing onto the giant cymek like parasites.

Ptolemy realized that swarms of the people were also racing toward him. He blasted them with explosives, incinerated them with fire, burned their flesh with acid. A round orifice on his torso belched poisonous smoke and nerve toxins. In his immense form, he thundered forward, killing everything in his path.

It was exhilarating.

Still, the fanatics raced toward the cymeks, throwing away their lives for no purpose. The foolish Butlerians kept coming, and Ptolemy slew thousands of them.

Yet, tens of thousands filled the losses, and kept coming.