He heard a muttering of discontent in the audience, but he didn’t care that his words were provocative. Josef brushed a forefinger down his bushy mustache, and smiled as he looked around the echoing chamber. “Today, I bring you good news — a step toward binding all civilized worlds into a much stronger Imperium. Venport Holdings has just purchased the vessels of Nalgan Shipping to expand our Spacing Fleet. With these additional ships, we can efficiently service every civilized planet in the Imperium, and adjust our routes to give the Butlerians their opportunity to live without technology, supplies, medical assistance, or commerce — since that is what they seem to want.” He had already terminated all Nalgan Shipping routes to planets that accepted Manford Torondo’s destructive pledge. Now they were effectively cut off.

The muttering rose to an uproar, and Josef reveled in it. He continued to smile. How much more would it take for them to see? “I am also happy to announce an exclusive alliance with Combined Mercantiles for the distribution of spice from Arrakis. From now on, VenHold will be the sole distributor of melange throughout the Imperium. Butlerians on isolated worlds will no longer be tempted by this so-called vice that increases the vigor and longevity of so many.”

The Emperor had gone pale, and leaned forward in his ornate chair. Salvador worked his jaw as if massaging the words before they burst out of his mouth. “Directeur Venport, you are in no position to issue an ultimatum to my Imperium. I am the Emperor.”

Josef turned to him with mild surprise on his face. “Sire, I run a commercial enterprise, and I must decide which markets best serve my business. I would never hinder your personal transport needs, or your personal supply of melange. The VenHold Spacing Fleet already transports and services much of the Imperial Armed Forces. In fact”—he spread his hands in front of him—“because I am your loyal subject, I’ll provide transportation services without charge to any member of the Corrino family, whether for official or personal business.”

Salvador seemed slightly mollified, reconsidering the situation.

Josef continued, “But you can’t force me to coddle my enemies, Sire. That spineless Manford Torondo and his fanatics destroyed my industrial shipyard at Thonaris and killed thousands of innocent workers. They even tried to assassinate me. And those reckless savages recently demonstrated their true colors here on Zimia. I believe they even killed your brother’s beloved, innocent daughter.”

Angry mutters rippled through the audience, but the tone was different. The madness of the rampage festival had frightened even those who gave lip service to the antitechnology movement.

Josef felt a hot flush on his cheeks. “Manford Torondo refuses to control his followers. He made no reparations for the enormous collateral damage he inflicted on my company. He hasn’t issued apologies to the families of the VenHold employees he slaughtered. Has he offered to pay for the destruction he caused on Zimia?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Until the Butlerian leader stops inciting his followers to violence, I have no choice but to deny my services to Butlerian-controlled worlds. It is my right.”

Roderick Corrino whispered into Salvador’s ear; Josef knew that with the recent death of his little girl, the Emperor’s brother was certainly no friend of the Half-Manford’s. Reverend Mother Dorotea stood near them, and she also spoke, probably taking the opposite point of view.

Finally Salvador muttered, “I grow impatient with this constant feuding among my subjects.”

Sounding oh-so-reasonable, Josef interrupted. “Then, Sire, command the Butlerians to stop the violence. Tell Manford Torondo to cease his inflammatory rhetoric and make reparations to those he has harmed. As you correctly pointed out, you are the Emperor. I am not — nor is he.” He could see that even the Emperor was afraid of the barbarians … and, alas, not afraid enough of Venport Holdings.

That would have to change.

Maybe if Josef stopped being so civilized, then Salvador would understand the strength VenHold represented as well. In fact, Josef was beginning to wonder about the relevance of the man on the Imperial throne. Salvador did little to lead, had insufficient military or political power, and was caught between two opposing forces.

Josef’s brow furrowed. Why did they need an Emperor at all? A man like Salvador simply got in the way.

Taref had not been thirsty for weeks, nor had he felt dust on his skin or in his hair. It was a marvelous sensation at first, and then became strange and unsettling. He hadn’t expected he might miss what he had previously scorned. Far from the desert world, this climate felt so strange.

He and his companions had been instructed to wear loose-fitting clothes that allowed perspiration to evaporate into the air; at some point later, it would fall back down onto the surface of Kolhar. He found this planet’s weather amazing, incomprehensible, and disturbing. His companions chafed in the strange garb and remained uncomfortable throughout their training sessions. Waddoch groaned that he was never going to get used to it.

Each day’s experiences forced Taref to reassess his understanding of the universe. For years he had dreamed of leaving the arid wastelands to explore exotic worlds and enjoy new experiences. He still marveled at what he was doing now, away from the harsh day-to-day sietch existence.

Yet the food here had strange seasonings and was difficult to enjoy. His desert friends remained astonished that offworlders had so much excess water to drink that they had the decadent luxury of adding flavors to their beverages.

He could see the difference in Lillis already: Her lean, leathery features were beginning to show soft curves as her body gained water fat. Shurko had grown ill from eating the unfamiliar items. Chumel developed a skin rash, some kind of rot or fungus that developed from too much moisture and too-frequent bathing, and he was ashamed of the amount of creams and salves he was required to apply. Waddoch and Bentur seemed edgy and irritable. None of them liked the annoying films they were forced to apply to their eyes to cover the distinctive blue-within-blue.

Though Taref anticipated seeing the ocean world of Caladan, he realized that his companions were growing homesick for Arrakis as they trained here. But they had barely begun their mission and still had much to learn.…

For the day’s instruction, Draigo Roget led them inside one of the landed spacecraft in the Kolhar shipyards. They followed the Mentat instructor down metal corridors until they reached the dim, stuffy engine decks.

On Arrakis, Taref had been aboard spice harvesters many times, and he was familiar with the loud hammering noises, the roar of engines, the unavoidable vibration that would inevitably summon a sandworm. Previously, he had scorned the giant spice factories, knowing that a group of Freemen could simply skitter across the sands, harvest raw melange, and carry it away with deft hands and irregular footsteps — all without summoning a worm. It had seemed so simple to him; that was the way a sietch gathered the melange they needed.

But he had never before understood the sheer volume of spice harvesting and the voracious appetite of the Imperium. Seeing the incredible amounts of melange the VenHold Navigators required, as well as the addicted populations of world after world, he was beginning to comprehend the scope of that hunger. Stopping that demand would be like trying to stop the moving sands.