For months after the thinking machine attack on Rossak, Zufa Cenva devoted her time and energy to training replacement candidates. They had lost so many in psychic fire-storms against the cymeks.

Aurelius Venport had handled himself well during the crisis, successfully evacuating the people and keeping them safe out in the fungoid jungles while cymek warriors destroyed everything in sight. But Zufa had barely noticed. While Venport was sympathetic to the stress and responsibility she placed upon herself, the chief Sorceress spared little thought for her lover. It had always been this way, and he was growing weary of it.

Zufa had never fully bothered to see what the men of Rossak were capable of doing. Despite her telepathic prowess, Zufa did not understand the practical functioning of her sheltered world. Little did she know how the patriotic Venport kept the economy of Rossak strong.

For years, his teams of chemists had studied the medicinal and recreational potential of the jungle plants, barks, liquids, and fungi. Battlefield surgeons and medical researchers throughout the League depended on a reliable supply of drugs from the Rossak jungles.

In addition, he had begun to contract production of the innovative and efficient glowglobes that Norma had invented and shared with him. Profits from his business ventures would pay to repair and reconstruct the damaged orbital platforms, to rebuild the ruined cave cities, and also to fund an increased presence of Armada scout and picket ships on the perimeter of the system.

Zufa, apparently, thought such things came free. Venport’s business ventures funded it all.

At any time he chose, he could pack up his credits and live like a king on some other world. But he belonged on Rossak. Even though the chief Sorceress treated him with little warmth or compassion, he did love her.

Venport smiled to himself as he rode the lift cables to the undulating section of flat pavement on the polymerized treetops. Small ships could land there, though larger cargo barges had to remain in space, docking with the damaged orbital stations and off-loading supplies one crate at a time. Out in the jungle, fast-growing vines and tall weeds had already begun to cover the wide scorch marks made by the cymek conflagration. Nature had a way of healing itself.

Gazing up into the hazy skies, he searched for the expected shuttle, pleased to see that it was exactly on time. He watched it descend, a small private craft owned by a Tlulaxa flesh merchant named Tuk Keedair, a man who raided the Unallied Planets for slaves. Keedair also sold biological organs, reportedly grown in sophisticated tanks kept behind tight security on Tlulax.

A merchant himself, Venport had never considered slavery to be a lucrative or sensible commodity. Only a handful of League Worlds permitted the practice, but Keedair had a good reputation with his customers. Oddly, the man wanted to make a different sort of proposal to Aurelius Venport today, involving some commodity other than slaves. Curious, Venport had agreed to meet with him.

After the small Tlulaxa shuttle landed, Keedair stepped out. The flesh merchant stood with his hands on his hips, dressed in a clean blue blouse tucked into tight black pants. A dark braid shot with silvery-gray strands dangled like a badge of honor over his shoulder.

Venport extended a hand in greeting. For this occasion he had worn a formal jerkin belted at the waist and boots made from the blackish green pelt of an arboreal slitherer. Keedair raised a callused hand in a salute.

The flesh merchant said, “I have brought samples to show you, and ideas to make you lick your lips.”

“You come to me with a reputation for vision and foresight, Tuk Keedair. Tell me your ideas.”

While the Sorceresses were occupied with their endless war councils, Venport took his guest into a formal reception chamber. Here, the two men were alone, sipping potent tea brewed from fresh jungle herbs, going through the social rituals.

Finally, Keedair brought out a sample of brownish powder and extended it to him. “Nine months ago, I found this on Arrakis.” Venport sniffed and, at his visitor’s behest, tasted the potent, tingly substance.

He hardly heard the Tlulaxa’s further words, so focused was he on the remarkable experience that demanded his complete attention. Though he was quite familiar with recreational stimulants and mood-altering substances from the Rossak jungles, he had never imagined that anything like this existed.

The melange seemed to seep into every cell of his body, transmitting energy and vitality directly to his brain, but without the usual sensory distortions. This was pleasure . . . but much more than that. Venport sat back and felt the substance seduce and relax him, controlling him without controlling him. It was a paradox. He felt mentally sharper than at any time in his life. Even the future itself seemed clear.

“I like this very much.” Venport let out a contented sigh and tasted another sample of the powder. “I may become our best customer.”

Alerady, he suspected that he could arrange for many interested purchasers across the League. Many, many more.

THE TWO MEN agreed on the details and shook hands, then settled down to another cup of Rossak tea . . . this time sprinkling melange into it.

Aurelius Venport agreed to travel with the flesh merchant to the ragged fringes of explored territory. It would be a long trip on a round-about route, since Arrakis was as far out of the way as a known planet could be. But the man from Rossak wanted to see the source of melange for himself, to understand how he might turn spice harvesting into a profitable enterprise.

Maybe Zufa would take notice of him after this.