The crew chief kept his attention back on the communication system. “Plot its course. How long do we have?” The spotter transmitted coordinates, and the location of the behemoth appeared on a grid-map of the surrounding dunes. “Gods below, it’s close! Why the hell didn’t you spot it sooner?”
“It must have been running deep, Chief,” the spotter replied.
“You should hire better spotters,” Salvador remarked.
Crew Chief Okarr’s drawn expression and gray complexion alarmed the Emperor. “This one is extremely close, Sire. Too close!”
Wondering what action was necessary, Salvador snapped a signal to his Imperial troops. “Be on high alert. We may need your protection.”
The factory crew chief blinked at him in disbelief. “Sire, your guards can’t do anything against a giant sandworm.”
Directeur Venport’s voice came over the comm speakers, sounding scratchy and distant, even though Salvador thought he had merely gone to an office in another part of the spice factory. “Chief Okarr, prepare to jettison the spice — we don’t have much time.” The Emperor was not impressed with the electrical systems aboard this big mobile factory. Static storms and dust must be playing havoc with the circuitry.
“Yes, Directeur. I summoned the carryalls, and my crew is ready to evacuate. I’m trying to reach the rescue ships right now — they should be inbound momentarily.” His hands a blur across the controls, the chief prepped the spice container and launched it.
The loud explosive report startled Salvador. “What was that? Are we under attack?”
“That was planned, Sire.” Chief Okarr was flushed and tense, but he still answered the Emperor’s questions. “All the spice gathered during our operations is packed into an armored cargo container, which I just jettisoned. In tight situations like this, we launch it with a locator beacon far from the spice factory. With the worm distracted by the greater vibrations from our operations, we can usually retrieve the container later.”
“Interesting,” Salvador said, but his nervous entourage did not seem interested at all.
The captain of the Imperial Guard picked up on the tension in the control room. “Sire, we should return to the Imperial shuttle. It’s time to get to safety.”
Salvador nodded. “Yes, let’s leave these good people to their work. Spice mining is a complicated business, as we’ve seen firsthand. Good job, all of you.”
The guard captain touched his earadio, listened, and recoiled. “Sire, there’s been an explosion on the shuttle! I think it’s sabotage.”
The entourage gasped, looking to Salvador for guidance. He tried to be strong, for their sakes. Mustering a calm voice, he said, “We were warned of the dangers on Arrakis, but we’ll be all right. Captain, arrange for us to get away.”
“Sire! The shuttle can’t fly! The engines are ruined.”
“Ruined? You mean they can’t be repaired?”
“Ruined, Sire! We’re trapped here.”
“Will we still be able to see the worm?” asked one of the baliset players, as if she were more interested in inspiration for a new song than her own safety.
“I’m sure we’ll see the worm from the evacuation ships. Crew Chief, where do we go to board your rescue vessels?”
The chief was short-tempered, barking orders into the comm system. “We don’t have enough escape ships for a hundred extra people!”
“Carryalls aren’t responding, Chief — I can’t raise them at all,” shouted one of the workers. “They’ve got to be inbound.”
Someone else yelled, “That worm will be here in less than five minutes.”
Venport’s voice crackled over the speakers on the control deck. “Emperor Corrino, my apologies, but urgent business has called me away. I would have preferred to tell you in person.” He sounded flippant. “I’ve decided to reject Imperial seizure of my spice operations. Here on Arrakis, power doesn’t come from a title or bloodline, but from actions, resources, and carefully laid plans.”
Salvador didn’t understand what the man was saying.
Venport continued, “Chief Okarr, the spice cargo has been jettisoned safely away. You and your men have served Combined Mercantiles well and generated a great deal of profit for us. It was your bad luck to be assigned here today, but rest assured that I will compensate your families generously for their losses. And Emperor Corrino … enjoy the rest of your tour.”
The chief roared curses into the voice pickup. Imperial soldiers closed around Salvador to protect him, though he didn’t feel any safer having them near. The factory workers were in a complete panic. Some curled up, muttering prayers, while others fled the control deck, but there was no safe place to go.
Outside on the dunes, a handful of ground rollers raced away from the harvester factory. Salvador wondered if he and his inner circle could commandeer those vehicles and get away across the desert, although apparently the giant worms pounced on any small vibrations.
He felt confused, frozen into inaction. Roderick would have known what to do—he would have issued the right orders to arrange an escape, might even have been able to prevent Venport’s treachery in the first place.
Alas, his brother had always been a stronger, more competent person than he was. Many of Salvador’s special guards and advisers were concerned that Roderick might assassinate his brother and take the throne, but Salvador had never worried. Roderick was his closest, most loyal friend.
No, his brother would have kept them all safe. In fact, Roderick had advised him against imperializing the Arrakis spice operations at all. It had been Manford Torondo’s idea, and a very bad one. Roderick had advised him not to go to Arrakis, too. He bit his lower lip and muttered, “You were right, dear brother.”
The guard captain withdrew his Chandler pistol and pointed the deadly weapon at the crew chief’s florid face. “Tell us how to get the Emperor out of here, now! There must be a way.”
Unafraid of the weapon, the chief bellowed back, “There is no way — I’d evacuate my own people if I could! We can’t possibly call in any rescue ships in time. We have only minutes left.”
At the observation window someone screamed — a thin, womanish wail, though it came from a stocky man, the Minister of Mining. Salvador shoved him away and pressed closer to look through the main window. Dust had blown in front of the plaz, obscuring the view.
The guard captain, still waving his ineffective pistol, took over the spice factory’s comm systems, swiftly adjusting to a private frequency to transmit to the Imperial Barge in orbit. “Our Emperor is under attack! Convey this urgent message to Salusa Secundus. Directeur Josef Venport sabotaged the operations and abandoned us to be consumed by a sandworm. I … I do not believe we can survive. I have failed in my sworn duty.”
Hearing this, the barge pilot should know to activate the foldspace engines and race away, returning to the capital world with the news. Roderick would learn the truth, and he would retaliate against Venport Holdings.
Salvador found that satisfying, at least. Everyone was screaming now. Looking through the observation window, he said in a peculiar, matter-of-fact voice, “There’s the worm.”
The eyeless monster burst out of the desert, its mouth a cave filled with sparkling crystal teeth that scooped tons of sand down its gullet as it swept forward.
“It’s so close!” Salvador said, until someone said the thing was still at least two minutes away — the gigantic size made it appear much nearer. The worm hammered forward, the size of a starship. His brain went numb, frozen with terror and disbelief.
Maddened by the pounding vibrations, the worm careened forward, and Salvador had to admit that it was indeed very impressive.