All the while, she heard Fielle’s faint but ever-more-concerned voice in the background, as well as the private chatter of Other Memory inside her. With those past lives, Raquella had experienced death countless times over countless generations, but she was not ready to join the ghost voices, not yet. She had to do everything possible to keep herself alive — not because she was afraid of dying, but because she was afraid for the Sisterhood.

Fielle’s voice receded, as if slipping into a deep void, then grew stronger with each passing moment. When Raquella opened her eyes, she saw the younger woman close to her, with the other nine Sister Mentats gathered around, concerned. They cleared a path when a Mentat physician rushed aboard the shuttle carrying a small medical case, but the old woman waved him away. “I’m perfectly fine. I have performed my own internal analysis, thank you.” She glanced around the shuttle that would take them up to orbit. “I have important work to do for the Sisterhood. We must depart on schedule.”

With a disapproving expression, the doctor retreated down the aisle. Raquella smiled at the other Sisters, but an urgent clamor continued in her mind. I must not delay. Too little time left, and so much work to do before I die!

Prince Roderick Corrino had endless opportunities to seize the throne from his brother. Salvador’s failings were obvious, and Roderick had no doubt that he could be a better ruler of the Imperium.

Nevertheless, he refused to consider such thoughts, and discouraged others from making the offensive suggestion. His brother was the legitimate Emperor, and his family loyalty and strong moral fiber trumped any personal ambitions. Instead, Roderick devoted himself to helping Salvador become a better Emperor and guiding him through perilous waters. That was how Roderick could best serve the Imperium. The only way.

Unfortunately, Salvador did not always listen to his advice.

One of Roderick’s greatest concerns was that his brother refused to remove incompetent and dishonest officers from the Imperial Armed Forces; the Emperor filled the largely ceremonial positions according to the applicants’ noble connections, or the gifts they offered him, not their military skill. In the decades since the defeat of the thinking machines, the once-massive human military had grown sluggish and disjointed. Roderick disapproved of how the Landsraad families squabbled over their own importance, now that they no longer had a monolithic enemy to distract them from their personal ambitions.

A week ago, the Corrino brothers had been given a tour of sprawling Zimia Garrison outside the capital city. Commanding General Odmo Saxby organized and led the inspection, exuding a foolish overconfidence that anyone could see — except for Salvador, apparently.

The large garrison showed a lack of attention to detail, with poorly maintained buildings and equipment, and slovenly troops that marched in uneven formations. Saxby had a tendency to wave his arms when he became enthused, and he would fumble with his ornamental sword in front of assembled troops. His mannerisms would be laughable if he didn’t hold such an important position, and Roderick could only imagine how the soldiers must make fun of him in private.

For the sake of patronage and political influence, Salvador was allowing great harm to be done to the once-proud military forces. Morale in the ranks was obviously low, and Roderick had heard rumors that some officers were skimming money for personal use. But the Emperor did not see any of that as a concern.…

Roderick arranged some time each day to prepare the Emperor for the daily agenda. This morning, before the doors to the cavernous Audience Chamber were opened, Prince Roderick stood before his brother’s green-crystal throne. They had the chamber to themselves, but he could already hear the visitors gathering outside the closed main door. He would not rush his briefing, though.

Roderick stood almost at eye level with Salvador, who slumped on his elevated throne. The Emperor took a pinch of melange from a small jeweled box and slipped it into his mouth. Constantly fretting over imagined illnesses, he was convinced that frequent doses of spice would improve his health. Roderick warned that melange was also addictive, but his words fell on deaf ears. At least the spice sharpened his brother’s focus, which was beneficial.

Roderick spoke in an even tone. “This feud has taken its toll on commerce across the Imperium. Many worlds have taken Manford Torondo’s antitechnology pledge, and in retaliation no VenHold ships will service them.”

Salvador took another pinch of spice. “Will melange deliveries continue?”

“Arrakis is technically under Imperial control, and the Combined Mercantiles headquarters are in Arrakis City. While the desert people are fanatics in their own way, I don’t foresee that planet falling under Leader Torondo’s influence. Even though VenHold won’t deliver spice to any Butlerian world, shipments will come here without interruption.”

“That’s a relief, at least.” Salvador lounged back on the throne. “If the Butlerian planets suffer from a widespread embargo, maybe that will weaken the movement. I don’t like how important Manford thinks he is.”

Roderick didn’t want his brother to relax too much. “The Butlerians manage to receive supplies through rival, and inferior, spacefolding companies. Only Venport Holdings has a perfect safety record.”

“That’s what makes Josef Venport so arrogant. He thinks we have no other space-travel option, thanks to his Navigators!” Salvador snorted in anger.

“Our military does use VenHold ships for most of their bulk transportation, although we are also able to fly independently. Directeur Venport can be a difficult man, but I find him easier to deal with than Manford Torondo.”

Salvador fidgeted on his throne. “I’ve never liked space flight — too much risk in folding space. This is my palace. Others can come to visit me and take whatever risks they like on the journey. If they don’t agree with Venport’s politics, let them use EsconTran, or Nalgan Shipping, or Celestial Transport.”

“Celestial Transport has been gone for a year, absorbed by VenHold.” Roderick passed a document to his brother. “More troubling, though, is mounting evidence that the loss rate of the smaller companies is far worse than has been officially reported. VenHold’s rivals are concealing their high accident rates.”

Salvador skimmed the records. “So many reports, so many documents.” He glanced up, looking bored, as if he wanted to return to other diversions.

Roderick wouldn’t let him get distracted. He stepped closer to the throne so he could guide his brother through the numbers. “As you can see, the VenHold embargo has severely harmed trade across the Imperium, which impacts our tax and tariff revenues. VenHold is even bypassing worlds that claim to be neutral. Josef Venport and Manford Torondo each demand competing declarations of allegiance — no one is permitted to be neutral.”

“The rival companies should learn how to create Navigators,” Salvador said. “That would be good for competition.”

“But it is a closely held secret. Our covert advisers are always trying to glean information about how Navigators are mutated from humans, but VenHold has impeccable security and layers of protection we cannot penetrate.”

“Then bring in other advisers.”

Roderick sighed. “Salvador, you handpicked all the advisers. They’ll never argue with you on any matter of significance, or tell you what you don’t want to hear.”