Unknown

What makes a great hero? Selfless action, you say. Yes, but that is only one dimension, the one seen by most people and chronicled in the history crystals. Circumstances must be right for a hero to operate; he must be swept up in an epic tide of events that enables him to ride the crest of a human wave. The hero, especially the one who survives, is an opportunist. Seeing a need, he fills it and receives a substantial benefit. Even dead heroes receive a benefit.

Inside a spaceport tower on the plains of Kolhar, Aurelius Venport paced back and forth, watching the controllers at their instruments and scanning the banks of displays himself, looking for any sign of the incoming vessel. One of the swift space-folding cargo ships was due to return momentarily. Each time the mercenary pilots used their Holtzman engines, there was a significant chance that the craft would be lost.

Outside, the sky gleamed like a pale blue, translucent light, yet storm clouds loomed inside his mind. Briefly, on the return journey from Salusa Secundus, he had considered shutting down and uprooting his Kolhar operations and moving them wholesale to some unknown, uninhabited planet.

But a nagging internal voice warned him that Serena Butler would get her way in the end no matter what he did, that she would catch up with him and ruin him if he opposed her. His life, his livelihood, his success… everything he had worked for would be gone, if she simply commandeered his facility. He would probably also face treason charges, in spite of his logical answer when the Priestess of the Jihad asked him why he had not revealed the existence of his space-folding technology sooner. Venport sighed. While he could accept the concept of making reasonable contributions to the war effort, the Priestess blithely assumed that each person should sacrifice everything for her cause. He had to reach some sort of compromise with her. This would be his most difficult negotiation yet.

He also knew that Serena would waste no time. Her armed force would arrive on Kolhar. Soon.

Searching for an appropriate solution, he brought the problem to both Norma and Zufa Cenva the moment he returned to cold, bleak Kolhar. After hearing him out, the Supreme Sorceress had not been as sympathetic as he’d hoped. “Aurelius, you never did have the selflessness to help us win the Jihad. If each person were willing to offer his life, his full capabilities, we would have crushed Omnius long ago.”

“Is your entire universe black and white?” he asked her with a sigh. “I thought that was a Buddislamic view.”

Zufa’s expression remained brittle. “Sarcasm duly noted. But is the Jihad not more important than a merchant’s profits? Your ships can turn the tide of war, saving billions of lives by cutting off the conflict like a malignant tumor. You will be seen as a great hero for your generous contribution, a beloved patriot.”

Placing a slender, warm hand on his bare arm, Norma said, “Aurelius, from the very start, I always envisioned my space-folding engines used against Omnius. When I began working for Savant Holtzman, my mission was to help develop weapons of war.” Her face radiated beauty and excitement, her eyes were intense, and he felt his defensive turmoil begin to melt. “If the Army of the Jihad can use our engines to lift them to victory, how can we possibly refuse?”

Zufa gave him a mocking smile. “And what about your universe, Aurelius? Is it black and white, too? Do you see any other solution?”

He looked at her with a measure of surprise. He had spent— no, wasted— years loving this woman. Although she had scorned him, he knew she would sacrifice her very life for the common good, and he could not argue with her.

Norma consoled him. “Eventually we will benefit financially— but first the war must be won.” Her smile made all of his doubts vanish.

With a deep sigh of resignation, Venport said, “At least Adrien’s grandchildren could benefit from this.”

Since discovery of his operations by the Jihad Council, Venport had continued to operate his business at a heightened level, sending space-folding cargo vessels to League Worlds and Unallied Planets around the clock, focusing on the most profitable routes and products. He moved as much melange and pharmaceuticals as he could, set up partnerships to stockpile nonperishable goods, and sheltered his income so that VenKee Enterprises could survive the impending loss of the shipyards.

He had to pay his mercenary pilots more and more as the risks accumulated, and those willing to fly the spacefolders were the most desperate of men. But in the ancient days of commerce back on Earth, captains of sailing ships had also risked treacherous ocean passages; many were lost at sea, sunk on reefs, destroyed by storms. Was this any different?

Now his own footsteps rang in his ears as he paced back and forth inside the spaceport tower and waited for the next vessel scheduled to return to Kolhar.

“Picking up an inbound from the outer edges of the system,” reported Yuell Onder, one of the controllers. In a common brown uniform with a matching square-billed cap, she tapped the scanner screen. “Something weird, though. Too many points… more than one ship.”

“Prepare to shoot down any fragments that penetrate our atmosphere,” one of the other controllers said.

“Wait, these are on a planned course,” Onder said. “Standard-engine spaceships.” Her screen was embroidered with trajectories, red slashes denoting unanticipated flight paths. She let out a whistle. “Looks like a whole damned fleet coming in. They should reach orbit in a couple of hours.”

“Thinking machines?” a younger technician asked, turning pale with panic. “A battle group to take over Kolhar?”

“Take a look here,” Onder said, tapping a close-up panel. “Those are the unmistakable profiles of Jihad ballistas.”

FLANKED BY A pair of guardian Sorceresses stationed here from Rossak, Venport waited for Jihad representatives to disembark from the battleship onto the tarmac. He tried to swallow his anxiety, but it hung on, like a bad taste in his mouth. Only one of the giant ballistas had landed in the Kolhar industrial spaceport adjacent to his shipyards, while the rest of the flotilla remained in orbit, like guards taking the high ground.

Ballistas were the largest, most awe-inspiring warships in the League Armada. But as Venport looked at the massive curves and blunt lines of the one in front of him, with its heavy engines and cumbersome fuel tanks designed for long journeys, he thought the vessel looked bulky and oldfashioned. After his work on the exponentially faster spacefolders, Venport could envision how the designs of the big military ships would change when Norma’s technology became commonplace… preferably developed and distributed by VenKee Enterprises.

A personal transport chamber slid down the side of the ballista’s outer hull, disengaging from the ship’s core. Its hatch unfolded to reveal two uniformed League Primeros, their chests and shoulders laden with ornate braids, medals, and ribbons.

The officers studied the partially completed cargo haulers in the Kolhar industrial yards. An army of engineers and workers bustled about on their appointed tasks, some of them operating construction cranes and lifting pallets powered by Norma’s suspensor technology.

Finally, the Primeros walked toward Venport. One man seemed almost twice the age of the other. As they drew closer, Venport recognized them as heroes of the Jihad, Xavier Harkonnen and Vorian Atreides. Their presence proved the very serious intent of Serena Butler.

Primero Atreides gestured with admiration at the humming shipyards. “I’m glad we made the journey. Just look at these facilities, Xavier— the ships, the drydocks, the equipment. A fine, strategic base of operations.” He nodded personably at Venport. “Directeur, we understand you’ve developed an amazing technology for military applications? We’re eager to see it in action, and begin modifying and incorporating VenKee ships into the Army.”

Xavier Harkonnen cleared his throat and added stiffly, “On instructions from Priestess Serena Butler, we have come to Kolhar to express our gratitude for your donation to our cause. Winning the struggle against Omnius is, of course, the primary goal of every loyal human.”

Venport’s thoughts spun as he struggled to make the best of a bad situation. Donation. He didn’t like the word but forced a smile. “Of course you may inspect my ships. As a service to the Jihad, I’m certain we can license VenKee’s proprietary technology to the military….”

He watched heavily armed crimson-and-green troops pour out of the landed ballista and spread in formation across Kolhar Spaceport. Several smaller vessels landed nearby, a pair of javelins and at least twenty kindjal fighters. Terceros shouted orders, and jihadi soldiers ran to assigned positions, taking control of the facility. Venport drew in deep breaths, knowing he could not object.

Like bookends, the two Primeros flanked him, looking around in all directions, taking a mental tally of his resources, the merchant ships on the landing field, the gigantic hangars and shipyards in which VenKee Enterprises had invested vast amounts of money.

Atreides took him by the arm. “Thank you, Directeur. This is fascinating. Show us your facilities so that we can see how best to adapt them to the war effort.”

Primero Harkonnen narrowed his eyes. “Naturally, we have full legal authority from the Jihad Council to commandeer any of your ships that we feel can be converted into war vessels. I understand you have approximately a hundred available?”

Venport felt the ground turn unsteadily beneath his feet. “That is an accurate assessment.”

He steeled himself. All his life he had been a man of commerce, a negotiator, a businessman. He could work out suitable terms with the League. Even if the Army of the Jihad assumed they could take everything, Venport would find some way to extract important concessions from them. That way, everyone would benefit.

Still, he did not feel at all excited as he escorted the officers to his administrative chambers inside the terminal building. “This way, gentlemen. I will show you what my genius wife has accomplished.”

THE PRIMEROS WERE suitably impressed. Inside the offices, Norma took her time discussing the capabilities of the Holtzman engines, while her mother stood beside her. Venport studied the records of ships under construction and those scheduled to return from merchant runs, and he arranged for demonstrations.

Vorian Atreides seemed the most excited. “We planned to modify the cargo ships. But is it possible the technology could be adapted to our ballistas, and to the medium-sized javelins?”

“On the other hand, the factories and workers already exist here to refit most of the merchant ships,” Primero Harkonnen said. “I see no reason why the existing VenKee fleet can’t be converted into war vessels, with enhanced armor and weaponry. We can install decks and cabins to change the cargo compartments into crew quarters, and integrate full Holtzman shields for defense.”

“A massive, expensive project,” Venport cautioned, weak with the prospect of losing everything.

“Simpler and faster than building additional battleships from scratch,” Primero Harkonnen said.

“I do, however see some advantage to creating space-folding javelins,” Harkonnen added.

The Jihad officers discussed the possibilities, enthusiastically making grand plans and outrageous suggestions for how the space-folding warships and smaller scout vessels could be put into military service.

Venport cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I acknowledge the immense possibilities and advantages of our space-folding engines, but we have not yet agreed upon the terms of our arrangement.” He smiled stiffly at both Zufa and Norma. “We all want to do our part, but this technology and the ships represent a huge investment. Just look at the extent of my facilities. The setup costs practically bankrupted my company.” He spread his hands reasonably. “VenKee Enterprises must be compensated in some way.”

Primero Atreides chortled at his audacity, but his older companion frowned, as if he found the subject distasteful. “We are at war, Directeur. Such negotiations are… not within my purview.”

With a deep sigh, Venport looked at them both. Primero Harkonnen was known to be a stoic soldier, accustomed to giving orders and getting his way. Apparently, though, he had no business or negotiating sense whatsoever… and on a matter of such vital importance, Venport did not want to deal with an amateur. As for Primero Atreides, he seemed somewhat cavalier, which could also present problems. The Jihad Council might not go along with anything he negotiated.

“Perhaps I should go to Salusa Secundus with all due haste to work out a suitable agreement?” Venport suggested, in his most pleasant negotiating voice. “I am certain Grand Patriarch Ginjo or even Priestess Butler will be prepared to make those decisions.”

Smiling, Primero Atreides jumped at the suggestion. “Take one of your spacefolders. I’ll stay behind and map out the general work myself, so we can begin retrofitting the rest of your merchant fleet right away, adapting your industrial facilities to the manufacture of war vessels. Using all available resources, we should be able to launch the first converted military ships within a few months.”

“I don’t ride in the ships myself,” Venport said. “There are still risks involved in foldspace travel, and a great deal depends upon my personal survival. Of course, I pay mercenary crews handsomely for the risks they take.”

“Take one of our javelins then,” Atreides offered. “That will leave us an additional merchant ship to work on here.” He turned to his companion. “Xavier, could you accompany Directeur Venport back to Zimia?”

“Maybe I should send you, Vorian,” he responded. “Don’t forget, I do outrank you by a notch or two.”

“I just thought you might like to provide a military report to the council, and visit your home and family.”

The formal expression on Primero Harkonnen’s face softened. “You know me well, my friend. Octa and the girls change so much every time I see them. And Emil Tantor is getting on in years, so it would be nice to spend time with him.” He nodded, as the idea sank in. “All right, I would be happy to serve in that capacity— so long as it causes no further delays.”

Zufa interjected, “I am prepared to accompany Aurelius as well. My daughter Norma will stay here to work with the Army of the Jihad.”