“I expected nothing else from you,” Vor said. He couldn’t even feel disappointed. “You’re so set on revenge.”
“We are both going to fight you!” Willem insisted, glaring at Tula. “You did kill my brother.”
The Queen of Trash looked around at her people. Just behind her, Vor also spotted the wiry woman he had rescued from the flowmetal flood. Horaan Eshdi’s eyes shone in the light of the illuminators. “We have little enough entertainment here,” Korla said. “Let’s watch them fight.”
The scavengers muttered agreement.
Vor stepped forward with Willem at his side. Valya and Tula Harkonnen stood together, with the other dark-garbed women arranged behind them like primed weapons. Vor thought the remaining Sisters might be able to break through any resistance the scavengers tried to mount, but the number of people and weapons would at least make them think twice. Korla’s workers tightened ranks around the other Sisters, even pushing them back.
For now, the tableau was Vor’s to command.
Holstering his projectile pistol, he whispered to Willem, “They are able to move in a blur and use techniques you have never seen.” He strode toward Valya, suspecting that she carried concealed weapons, but he had his own as well. He had never expected this to be a fair fight.
Curiously, Tula hung back, so Vor motioned for Willem to do the same, even though the murderous young woman was the one they had been hunting all along. He heard the low voices of the scavenger crowd, but the other Sisters remained where they were, blocked from the combat arena.
Vor saw no reason to delay. This confrontation had been coming to a head for years. As the red-giant dawn tinged the sky, he and Valya circled each other slowly and warily, crouched in fighting stances on the rubble of the once-great machine city.
The duel consumed his awareness, sharpened his senses. He watched his nemesis with intense concentration, saw a muscle twitch in one of her arms, but did not react. She was testing him. He discerned what could be a dagger concealed at her hip. He had no doubt Valya would use it if she saw the opportunity.
Valya darted toward him, and he slipped sideways quickly to let her pass, but he did not whirl to face where he thought she should be. Instead, remembering the tricks Griffin Harkonnen had used during their combat, he dropped to the ground and rolled in Valya’s direction before popping back up to his feet, hoping that he had chosen correctly.
Somehow, Valya materialized several paces to his left. For an instant that lasted no longer than a caught breath, she seemed to wait for him to make the next move.
Behind him, to his concern, he realized that Willem and Tula were beginning their own combat. Vor had fought Tula once at an inn on Caladan just after she murdered Orry. Vor had barely survived the confrontation. He feared for Willem’s life now, but he could not let his attention stray from his own opponent.
During his flicker of hesitation, Valya flung herself into the air, and kicked him in the middle of his chest. Vor staggered backward. When she charged toward him to finish the attack, he savagely kicked her legs out from under her. Valya crashed to the ground with a look of surprise and irritation on her face.
Vor’s chest screamed in pain, but he kept his expression neutral and eyes alert as she bounded to her feet, ready to go after him again. Looking up from her apparent vulnerability, she spoke in a strange, throaty voice: “When I come toward you this time, your muscles will freeze.”
At her eerie, commanding tone, Vor suddenly found he could not move. It was as if his body had turned to stone, a frightening, uncontrolled sensation. By concentrating, though, he managed to break free of whatever strange hold she had inflicted upon him. Realizing that the attack was only in his mind, he forced it aside. Valya’s look of confidence faded as she saw him slide to his left, on the move again and ready to counterattack.
Just then the sharp report of a projectile gun rang out, and Valya saw her sister fall. She whirled and let out a sudden cry. “No!”
Tula writhed on the ground, and Willem loomed over her, his projectile weapon drawn and his face dark with hatred. Blood flowed from her left shoulder, and one arm hung useless. Tula struggled back to her feet, drew a dagger with her good arm, and faced him defiantly. Her face showed anger and pride … but also something else, something softer?
“What kind of monster pretends to love a man just to murder him?” Willem demanded. “My brother loved you — a Harkonnen!”
Valya snarled and tried to lunge toward her sister, but Vor threw himself against her to stop her from interfering.
Willem raised the projectile weapon again.
76
Sometimes victory is achieved in a surprising fashion, but I embrace it nevertheless, no matter the method or the circumstances.
When he arrived above the dark, mist-shrouded research planet, Roderick was pleased with the impressive fleet he had assembled on such short notice. Venport would not possibly be expecting them.
The foldspace carriers emerged, and the swarm of Imperial warships dropped out of the enormous holding bays and raced toward Denali, side by side. They were ready to fight.
From the bridge of Harte’s flagship, Roderick was surprised to see that Directeur Venport had assembled an unexpectedly robust defensive net, considering how many warships he had lost at Lampadas, as well as the force he had diverted to protect his Arrakis operations.
The Emperor stood with his hands behind his back. “Apparently he did not assume he was safe hiding here after all.”
On the bridge beside him, Admiral Harte offered a small smile. “The most important part, Sire, is that our ships outnumber theirs, and we have greater overall firepower. It will be a challenge, but we will defeat them.”
Roderick hoped the Admiral was right. He was uneasy that they had left Salusa more vulnerable than he would have liked, but his real enemy, the last remaining thorn in his side, was right here in front of him. As soon as Venport Holdings was broken, Roderick could create a new commercial network to conduct trade throughout the Imperium. He envisioned a golden age, without Butlerian resistance to common technology and without Josef Venport’s ruthless business practices.
Much blood had been shed already, and it would not be an easy victory. Scars would remain for a long time.
“Don’t underestimate them,” Roderick warned. “If Venport has weapons laboratories down there, he may well have surprises for us.” Now that the man had been betrayed, wounded, and backed into a corner, he would be enraged, desperate, and unpredictable, and that made him especially dangerous.
Harte said, “Our shields are up, Sire, and the VenHold ships ahead of us also have full Holtzman shields.” He paused to let the import sink in. “At Lampadas, Sire, the Butlerians used lasguns to fire upon shields. It was sheer suicide … but what if Venport is desperate enough to resort to such tactics?”
The Emperor shook his head. “Not a chance. The Directeur may be ruthless, but he is neither irrational nor suicidal.”
Like a noose tightening around Denali, the Imperial fleet closed in. The VenHold ships displayed arrays of glowing weapons ports as they prepared to make their last stand. The clustered ships hung motionless in orbit, and Roderick waited for Venport to acknowledge that he had lost, though the Emperor did not hold much hope for that.
He has Anna down there. Roderick was sure Venport would try to use her life to buy his own.