Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [83]
Murbella met him with a hard gaze. “Everything. We’re going to need the whole list.”
For thousands of years Richese and Ix had been technological and industrial rivals, each with their own areas of expertise. Ix had made its name doing groundbreaking research, producing creative designs and pioneering new technologies. Though many of their projects failed spectacularly, the successful ones generated sufficient profits to more than pay for the mistakes.
Richese, on the other hand, was better at imitation than innovation. They were more conservative in the risks they took, yet increasingly ambitious in their output and efficiency. By taking advantage of economies of scale, cutting profit margins, and pushing automated factory lines to the very limits of what the strictures of the Butlerian Jihad allowed, Richese was able to produce sought-after items in enormous quantities at low cost. Murbella selected them over Ix because the New Sisterhood needed huge numbers of weapons—as soon as possible.
The business complex where the Factory Commissioner always met his potential customers included lush landscaping with parks and fountains; the buildings were clean, stylized, and welcoming. Any unsightly industrial zones remained far from view. Walking down spacious hallways lined with showcases of items that Richese could produce on a moment’s notice, Murbella felt as if she were wandering through an unending exhibit hall of marketing displays.
Giving her plenty of time to examine the merchandise, the Commissioner chattered as they walked from one display case to another. “Since the death of the Tyrant and the Famine Times, Richese has been called on to provide defensive armaments for any number of brushfire wars. You will be satisfied with what we can produce.”
“If we survive the coming conflict, then I will be satisfied.”
She studied body armor and ship armor, pseudoatomics, lasguns, projectile launchers, microexplosives, pulse cannons, blasters, poison dusts, shard-daggers, flechette guns, disruptors, mind scramblers, offensive X-probes, hunter-seeker assassination tools, deceptives, energizers, burners, dart launchers, stun grenades, even genuine atomics “for display purposes only.” A holo-model of Richese’s southern continents showed vast shipyards producing space yachts and military no-ships.
Murbella said, “I want all of those space yachts converted into warships. In fact, we need to commandeer all of your factory systems. You must completely devote your production lines to producing the weapons we need.”
The attorneys and salespeople gasped, then consulted with each other. The Factory Commissioner seemed alarmed. “That is quite an astonishing request, Mother Commander. We do have other customers, you know—”
“None more important than we are.” She fixed him with a cold glare. “We will pay for the privilege, of course—in melange.”
The Commissioner’s eyes lit up. “It has long been said that wartime is hard on people, but good for business. Doesn’t the Guild have a standing order for all the spice your new desert belt produces?”
“I have severely restricted Guild purchases, though their demand remains high,” Murbella said. The Richesian was already aware of this, of course. He was simply playing a game.
The hovering attorneys and sales representatives were mentally going through some preliminary calculations. After they were paid in melange, the Richesians could turn around and sell the spice to the desperate Guild for ten times the already steep value the New Sisterhood had placed on it. They would reap profits backward and forward.
Murbella crossed her arms over her chest. “We will need a military force such as humanity has never before seen, because we face an Enemy unlike any other.”
“I’ve heard rumors. Who is this foe and when will they strike? What do they want?”
She blinked as a flicker of anxiety passed through her. “I wish I knew.”
First,