Working alone gave him time to miss Lillis, Shurko, Bentur, Waddoch, and Chumel. After finishing their training, his friends had been separated and dispatched far away to work on spacedocks or at commercial spaceports where they could intercept EsconTran ships and complete their acts of sabotage.

After his third sabotage, Taref decided he needed to report to Kolhar. So, when the next VenHold ship arrived at Junction Alpha, he resigned from his work at the spacedocks, a common occurrence. Workers came and went quickly; for most, this was never expected to be a long-term job. Taref used one of his numerous disguises, with a corresponding ID card, and transferred to the VenHold ship.

On Kolhar, he reported to the admin-tower to make his report to the Directeur. The young desert man had never met Josef Venport face-to-face, and the industrialist was an intimidating presence. Taref averted his eyes out of respect as he described his missions.

Draigo was present, remaining cool. Venport seemed happy with Taref’s work, particularly the pilgrim ship that had exploded in full view of everyone. But beyond the Directeur’s satisfaction and delight Taref saw a steely anger toward his competitor simmering just beneath the surface.

“Not only did your efforts remove an enemy ship, they also demonstrated how lax Escon safety is.” A smile crept up beneath his thick mustache. “As an added benefit, we got rid of several hundred fanatics. You don’t feel guilty about having blood on your hands, do you, young man?”

“In the desert we are no strangers to death.”

“My Mentat assured me that you and your companions are not cowards. So far, your success rate has been commendable, with sixteen clean sabotages and only one loss of an operative.”

Taref’s head snapped up, suddenly worried. “Someone has been lost, sir?”

“Yes. One of your confederates was manipulating a navigation system, rigging a ship to become lost in the void, but somehow he got assigned aboard the ship as a replacement crewmember at the last minute. He couldn’t transfer away without exposing the entire scheme, so he disappeared along with the vessel. Good man. Did his duty.”

Taref’s throat went dry. “Who was it?”

Venport frowned down at his desk as if searching for papers. The Mentat, standing at attention, said, “Shurko. One of the young men who came with you from Arrakis.”

A chill invaded Taref’s heart. Shurko, the one who hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Taref had wanted to show him the seas of Caladan, but now that imagined reward felt empty. He struggled to keep his voice firm. “So Shurko is dead? The loss of the ship is confirmed?”

“Yes, a major blow to EsconTran,” Venport said, as if that made up for Shurko’s death.

“Shurko,” Taref whispered. He longed to see the rest of his companions, especially Lillis; they had so much to talk about, so many stories to share. And now Shurko … Maybe he should not have convinced his friends to come here with him. Maybe he should not have come himself.

Draigo said in an irritating monotone, “We have a new mission for you, Taref. Not in another Escon shipyard, but on Arrakis.”

Distracted by his own thoughts, Taref wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Arrakis? Why would you want me to go back there?”

Shurko would have wanted to return in a moment … but now he was dead, vanished out in space.

Directeur Venport tapped his fingertips on the desk surface. “You must have been glad to be rescued from that place. I hope you don’t mind returning.”

“I will return there if you command it,” Taref said, though he felt reluctant. “What is it you need?”

“We’re so pleased with your performance that we would like to recruit more Freemen. We want you to speak to the tribes on our behalf and present our offer. Find others who would like to join you in your work.” The Directeur smiled. “I’m sure you can find young people eager to leave that dust pit. Aren’t you glad you left yourself?”

Taref hesitated. Being away from Arrakis had opened his eyes, but many of his people would never imagine leaving the desert. If Shurko had stayed behind, he would have spent his entire life in the sietch, never straying from the desert, except maybe to Arrakis City on occasion. It would have been a small and unremarkable life, but a much longer one.

“I will ask them,” Taref said, then admitted, “It will be good to feel sand beneath my feet again.”

Standing beside the Directeur’s desk, the Mentat touched his earadio, listened, and his normally flat expression broke into a broad smile. Josef Venport raised his bushy eyebrows, waiting for the report.

“Good news from the planet Baridge, Directeur,” Draigo said. “The people have capitulated. They say they will tear up the Butlerian pledge if we trade with them again.”

Chapter 40 (If a person is properly instructed)

In his half-timbered cottage on Lampadas, Anari tended the Butlerian leader. She felt possessive of Manford and always made herself available, should he need her in any way. She wanted him to feel safe and protected, but not helpless.

In her efforts, she was aided by a meek and matronly woman who cooked meals, maintained the cottage, and performed chores. Ellonda was soft-spoken and sweet, without the slightest whisper of doubt about the Butlerian cause. The housekeeper accepted the holy teachings as a matter of course, not bothering with nuances, simply agreeing with Manford in all cases. She often hummed as she darned his clothes or helped him into bed, though Manford was perfectly capable of moving about his own quarters.

Anari passed Ellonda in the hallway, and without knocking she walked into the room where Manford was reading at his private desk. He promptly closed a book, startled. Anari noticed his jerky movements, the sweat on his brow, and immediately looked for a threat. “What’s wrong?”

His tone was uncharacteristically defensive. “Nothing you need to worry about. I am merely … disturbed by what I just read.”

Manford tried to hide the book — which, in itself, told Anari what it was, because she’d seen him with it before. “Why do you torture yourself by reading the lab journals of Erasmus?”

His shoulders slumped in shame, but he still held the volume close. “To understand our enemies. We must never forget how dangerous they are. This strengthens my resolve.”

Anari sniffed. “We defeated the thinking machines. Our only enemy now is the weakness of human resolve.”

“The thinking machines remain a danger. The robot Erasmus wrote, ‘Given enough time, they will forget … and will create us all over again.’ I cannot let that happen.”

“I want to burn those books,” Anari grumbled, “so no one can read them — and so you no longer have nightmares.”

He placed the volume in a desk drawer and locked it. “I have more than enough nightmares — I’ve lived my life with them. They won’t go away, whether or not you burn the journals in my possession. I … need to know what they contain.”

Anari was disturbed to see him like this. He often read the laboratory journals in private, and she worried that he was increasingly obsessed with Erasmus, like a child playing with fire. Someday, for his own protection, she might slip into his office and destroy the volumes anyway. He would be angry with her, but she would be doing it for the proper reasons, to protect him.

He glanced at papers she carried, awkwardly changed the subject. “Something important?”

She placed a set of documents on his desk. “Despite your public blessing, it is clear that the ships of EsconTran are not divinely protected. You need to know just how bad it is, before you decide to travel offworld.”